LA Citybeat - Grant Morrison is the Devil

Originally published in LA Citybeat, March 2005

GRANT MORRISON IS THE DEVIL

by Natalie Nichols

When Animals Attack: We3

I hate Grant Morrison. Partly because the comics he writes are so packed with ideas, they make my head hurt. But it’s not my head that gets me wishing I’d never started reading something like his recent miniseries Seaguy, the surreal quest of an obsolete superhero, or We3, the wrenching tale of an animal cyborg team. It’s my heart.

“Heartbreaker” isn’t the first word you’d associate with the prolific Scottish comics guru. He’s more likely to be described as a multidisciplinary artist/magick practitioner/sometime rocker/motherfreakin’ storytelling machine. He stuffs twisted humor, heady philosophies, literary references, rock ’n’ roll, deviant sex, and galaxies full of notions into any given issue of … whatever he might be writing. Over his quarter-century in comics, Morrison has put his distinctive stamp on such cherished properties as Marvel’s X-Men (the acclaimed New X-Men) and DC’s Batman (Arkham Asylum); reworked dusty franchises such as Doom Patrol and Animal Man; and generated his own offbeat innovations, including epic conspiracy/time-travel/literature romp The Invisibles and trippy sci-fi adventure The Filth.

His work can be disturbing, but he’s not just aiming to freak readers out. Like fellow comics giant Alan Moore, Morrison has produced insane-yet-profound revelations that have expanded the medium’s scope. His take on Animal Man for DC (1989-91) had the titular superhero realizing he was a comic-book character; and one still-astonishing episode, “The Coyote Gospel,” envisioned Wile E. Coyote as a sort of toon spiritual martyr.

Many sources inspire him, but magick fuels his creative engine. He’s practiced it for 25-plus years, and is writing a book about his panoramic philosophy. For him it’s like meditation, helping him – not just to see past this frame of existence, à la poor, traumatized Animal Man – but to understand what he’s looking at. Likewise, his creations take us into realms where we might question reality on a cosmic scale, or at least ask what will become of us.

But, beyond being brain-teasers, his stories have a lasting emotional effect, and that’s why I hate him. His latest miniseries for DC’s Vertigo imprint – Seaguy (with artist Cameron Stewart), We3 (with Frank Quitely), and the new sci-fi/fantasy adventure Vimanarama (with Philip Bond) – plunge you into weird worlds that are nevertheless startlingly human, emphasizing love, loyalty, enlightenment, and trust … usually by making you endure loss and menace. Morrison and his artists come up with some pretty gruesome stuff, but the violence doesn’t bother me nearly as much as having to care about, say, Seaguy’s sidekick Chubby, a cigar-chomping talking tuna who hates water. Terrible things happened to Chubby, and I’m still not over it. (Hate him!)

Considering how hot comic-book movies are these days, it’s a bit puzzling that Morrison isn’t as sought after by Hollywood as Moore or Dark Knight creator Frank Miller … although The Matrix was partially inspired by The Invisibles. Maybe it’s just a matter of time. But perhaps it’s not as easy for the creators of conventional pop culture, the purpose of which is to distract us from the status quo while reinforcing it, to directly translate his unconventional ideas to the screen.

If so, too bad, because the Incredible Journey-meets-RoboCop tale We3 has all the elements of a blockbuster. In it, three lost pets – a dog, a cat, and a rabbit – are turned into living weapons by the U.S. government. Illegally freed by a sympathetic scientist, they seek “home.” Quitely’s manga-esque art – the animals in their sleek robot shells, the movement created with clipped little frames that explode into giant exclamation points of action – pulls you deep into the critters’ experiences as the consequences horrifically pile up. I cried through most of the third issue. (Hate him!)

I didn’t just feel for the animals, I felt as if I, too, had been snatched from cozy safety, violated … yet, by the end, amazingly returned home. Morrison plumbs the depths of human cruelty here, but ultimately the kindness overshadows the horror. Otherwise, I really would hate him.