Morse has always been an unconventional creator whose stories are always successfully touching and cute despite the unusual story elements and his unique, simple artistic style. Southpaw is in keeping with that traditional. It's just as thought-provoking as his other recent original graphic novel release, The Barefoot Serpent, but there's a greater degree of vagueness to it, an almost impenetrable profundity that's balanced by the cute and surreal premise of a tiger that earns his living as an underground fighter. Do I fully "get" Southpaw? I have to admit... no, not completely. But I'm nevertheless intrigued.
Southpaw is a ferocious tiger... but he hunts no prey in the jungle. No, he makes his living as a boxer, fighting in illegal matches in rural communities for the entertainment of many and the profit of a few. He's asked to do the unthinkable by his robot manager, and his actions have chaotic results and force him into a life on the run. Rumors begin to fly about that fateful fight, but the striped fighter never says a word. He has his reasons for what he does, and doesn't feel the need to share them with a soul.
Morse's simple style makes for seemingly crude but actually carefully crafted character designs. Southpaw is adorable, but there are occasional hints of his ferocity and power. The people in the story remind one of the slack-jawed morons that populate the creative mind of Ren and Stimpy creator John Kricfalusi. I have to admit, though, that I didn't care for the look of his robot characters here. They seem too random, and his thick linework approach
Morse brings together the dichotomous tones of innocence and violence here, and the contrast is a challenging one. On the one hand, we have a world in which cute tigers and robots exist alongside people and it's treated as being completely normal. It's a cartoon fairy tale, children's fare. But there's a darker side to this story as well. It's about double-crosses and violence as a means to an end. The harshness of certain scenes is surprising and packs a rea impact as a result.
Another aspect of the book that's really striking is the air of mystery that surrounds the title character. He says nothing, and his eyes give the reader little hint as to what he thinks. The book is more about how people react to him. I love how the hobo fills the awkward silences with inane chatter, for example, and for some reason, assumes the best of the striped stranger. It's not until the end of the book that Morse humanizes the character, that he gives the reader an idea of what motivates him, what thoughts are prevalent in his mind.
