Evan Dorkin and Dean Haspiel offer up a story that combines the lighter tone of the Silver Age of comics and the First Family of the Marvel Universe with a more modern, down-to-earth, character-driven sensibility. The shifts between one tone and the other are subtle, and those subtleties serve as the greatest strength of the book. Holding the book back, though, is a slighter greater focus on the more traditional approach to the title character. Dorkin spends a bit too much time establishing the character and the traditional elements than on the new, more intriguing side of the book.
After another typical day in life with the Fantastic Four -- meaning after saving the world and getting beat up by super-villains -- the Thing is feeling particularly rotten, and his teammates don't seem to have time to talk with him. He finds he has nowhere to turn to for friendship and comfort, and he ends up back in his old neighborhood on Yancy Street. Along with the usual barrage of insults and garbage from the Yancy Street Gang, Ben Grimm meets up with a beautiful face, and he just can't believe that she's as taken with him as he is with her.
Haspiel's simple but exaggerated style suits the title character quite well. He captures the fun and irrverence of the Silver Age of comics quite well. I love the second-page splash with the wide variety of villains surrounding the Fantastic Four. The key to the visual strength of the book, though, are Madden's colors. The Thing shines like a bright orange light in this issue, but he's surrounding by darker tones that capture the character's mood and the more mature tone of the story. And Orzechowskia adds a little something extra here too. I really like the new Thing caption format for the narration.
We've all experienced that moment when we really connect with another person and we wonder why he or she are so interested in us. One's self-image comes into direct conflict with the qualities one possess that interest another human being. It's a universal emotional dysfunction, and it's part of what makes us human. I'm pleased to see that everyday, grounded notion at play here. It works incredibly well with a character who's always been haunted by how he looks. I was also particularly taken aback and impressed with the edge that Dorkin has instilled in the character. Ben's violent outburst at Alicia's apartment came off as harsher than what we've seen before, and even a little dangerous.
The problem is that Dorkin spends a lot of time leading the reader to the point where the story transforms into some new and thought-provoking. He spends a lot of time revisiting the Thing of the 1960s, and I think the character is iconic enough that he doesn't need to spell things out quite so meticulously.
