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Writer: Tim Seeley
Artist: Jesús Merino
Colorist: Carrie Strachan
Letterer: Sal Cipriano
Cover: Tim Seeley with Chris Sotomayer
Cover Price: $3.99
On Sale Date: September 27, 2017
**NON SPOILERS AND SCORE AT THE
BOTTOM**
I’m still feeling sort of wary about this title, but
I have no great complaints about the previous issue. It’s just that I was so
badly burned by the first writer on the series since Rebirth, I can’t help but
to temper my enthusiasm. But that won’t make me temper my opinions, as you’ll
find out when you read my review of The Hellblazer #14, right here!
Explain
It!
The demon drink. “Lips that touch alcohol shall never
touch ours,” admonished temperate ladies a hundred years in the past. Mind you,
it wasn’t the lips of heavily-dressed women that most lushes were looking to
smooch, but the point was made: the 18th Amendment to the U.S.
Constitution, prohibiting the sale of alcohol, went into effect on the first of
January in 1920, and suddenly an entire nation was made to sneak their rummy
concoctions in back rooms and secret parlors of iniquity. The act had to be
repealed ten years later, not only because it was so unpopular, but because it
begat so much violence from organized crime. The government learned that there
are no overall gains to be made by placing one’s self in between an addict and
the object of his obsession.
But when that drink is actually some kind of
distilled essence of demon, that’s another thing entirely. Seems Constantine
knows an old magic trick (and it was nice to see him perform a simple ritual,
for once) that can make a location belch up its history by smearing bacon fat
on its counter correctly. I’m sure there’s more to it, but like the homespun
gadgets made in the television show MacGuyver,
this comic didn’t reveal the entirety of it lest the reader at home try it for
themselves. After a little trip through nightclub “The Bro Down’s” storied
past, which includes a sojourn through Constantine’s misspent punk rock youth,
Constantine learns that the folks he sat with last night were under the control
of ethereal dwarves—two, specifically, named Fjalar and Galar. Yeah, they’re
Nordic.
Seems they can sort of glom onto a person and make
them do stuff, and in this instance got John to drink from a bottle of the Mead
of Poetry, which then enacted his immediate fantasy—which was, at the time, to
drop a guy into the air conditioning unit of his apartment building. So now the
thing to do is find these dwarves and give them a right bollocksing, or
whatever British euphemism John wishes to employ. Investigating the
aforementioned murder is Detective Chief Inspector Ames, someone John met and
screwed in the fetid bathroom of the previously noted punk rock club, so she
has some history with the man. And this means she hates his guts.
Having burned “The Bro Down” as a natural recourse of
his bacon fat ritual, John Constantine smashes a bottle on the sidewalk and
strolls off into London’s equivalent of a sunset, left with a sense of purpose.
And we’re left with the sense of having read a fairly mundane but inoffensive
story. We got some magic-making, a little backstory, and now we’re off to find
out how John is going to screw over one of his dearest friends or ex-lovers in
order to stop these dwarves’ onslaught. It feels comfortable, but no better
than that. And after the last run that I couldn’t even finish, I am okay with
something consistent and understandable rather than utter claptrap. “Utter
claptrap.” That’s something John Constantine would say, isn’t it?
Bits and
Pieces:
There’s some classic John Constantine magic-making
action in this issue—and that means actual magic tricks and being yelled at by
someone he’s screwed over in the past. It feels pretty good. I much prefer John
as a sleight-of-hand trickster than an all-encompassing sorcerer. No complaints
about the artwork, but there’s nothing particularly moving here that should
pique your interest. John Constantine fans only need apply.
6.5/10
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