On The Eigth Day God Created ZWANNA SON OF ZULU

There’s an old theory which I’m sure you’re aware of that states that there are only seven stories and that no matter how complex a story is, no matter how many twists and turns the plot, any narrative will fall into one of those seven types. For the record they are:

[wo]man vs. nature
[wo]man vs. man
[wo]man vs. the environment
[wo]man vs. machines/technology
[wo]man vs. the supernatural
[wo]man vs. self
[wo]man vs. god/religion

This has held true for the total expanse of human storytelling history. Now there is an eighth: Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ZWANNA SON OF ZULU.




SWEET CHRISTMAS!!!!!!! Where to begin with this? Some context I suppose. 1993 was an interesting year to say the least. Cast your mind back to a time when Ace of Bass wandered the Earth painting it a wonderful musical shade of beige, a young man called Robin Williams taught us that trannies were fucking hilarious with Mrs Doubtfire, and the final episode of Quantum Leap caused us to utter a collective “whatthefuck?”



“LOOK OUT, MY FALSE TITS ARE ON FIRE"





How did I find my way to the Ace of Bass concert? I saw the sign!




“You aren’t from around here are ya stranger? Come on in, have a drink, and help us figure out what the fuck is going on!”

The comics industry was deep in the middle of its (in hindsight) totally pathetic Dork Age. Superman was dead and Batman was about to have his back broken. Hologram covers, multiple first issues, shite art (TM Rob Liefield), and comics based on absolutely any character were the order of the day. Seriously. ANY character...



"I'm a darker, edgier Captain America"


" I'm Thor with a beard"



"I'M NOT SPAWN"

And they were selling a shitload. Terrible comics were selling tens of thousands of copies. First issues were selling millions. MILLIONS!!!!!!!

Black America was at the forefront of public consciousness. The LA Riots were fresh in everyone’s mind, Malcolm X had proved a massive hit at the box office the previous November, and hip-hop acts like Public Enemy and NWA were surging in popularity. It was only a matter of time before someone realised the twin worlds of comics and black empowerment were not mutually exclusive. Many people felt that a comic about a contemporary black hero needed to be released badly. Few comics in history have been as badly released as this one.



"Zwanna son of WHAT?"

The idea of an ethnic super hero trying to redress the balance was not a new one at the time; Black Panther, Power Man, and Black Lightning had appeared at various points over the previous 30 years. But Zwanna was to be the first proactive black hero published by an all-black comics imprint, the extremely short lived Dark Zulu Lies.

Zwanna Son of Zulu is the simple tale of an African prince imbued with superhuman powers sent to the United States to somehow stop an international conspiracy by attending university and killing transsexuals.

Let’s all take a second to deal with that by reading the opening text caption word for word. The capitalisation is theirs, not mine

“DESCENDANT OF GREAT KING SHAKA ZULU, HIS VEINS FLOWING WITH THE VENOM OF A RADIOACTIVE, DDT-CRAZED COBRA: EXILED ACROSS THE VAST SEAS TO A SMELLY CONCRETE JUNGLE, VOWING REVENGE! NABILE HAGE PRESENTS: ZWANNA, SON OF ZULU."




The main character Zwanna has been sent from his homeland to the United States to learn the ways of the white man at “Black American State College”. I’m reliably informed that universities of this nature are quite common in large American cities; in fact the Cosby Show Spin off A Different World was based on this premise. They tend not to be so literally named however. He attends classes even when they clash with his favourite talk shows.


MISS THE MONTEL SHOW? CURSE YOU WHITE DEVIL!!!!

His brother the king has warned him of an “International Conspiracy”. This is run by what could only be described as “three pooftahs”.


"OH THAT ZWANNA IS A SILLY SAUSAGE"

Zwanna's mission is to use his secret jungle powers to kill them. Simple dimples.

The problems with Zwanna Son of Zulu are twofold. Firstly it tries very very hard to have black protagonists who are proud of their heritage. This is an admirable notion. The problem is that it swings too far in the other direction. Zwanna is a walking talking anachronism, a hero who wears a loin cloth and swings around the city on vines that shoot from his spear, a spear which he uses, by the way, to kill people. Really.

Take THAT whitey!!!!


And EVERY white character is either a drunken neo-Nazi, or black hating homosexual axe murderer. It puts one in mind of certain Spike Lee movies (as Howard Stern pointed out, “Every Jew is a money lender; every Italian runs a pizza shop.")

The second problem is that every single thing about this comic is TOTAL SHITE. The art is awful, the plot is caustic, and the dialogue? Oh the dialogue: “I got that jungle love for you, baby.” “Give it to me Wild Man."

Let's get 'em before they reproduce? Holy fuck!!!

It would not be too long after this that the excellent Milestone Comics would come along with a whole line of contemporary black characters that were well written, well drawn and handled respectfully. This is, as a wise man once said, “offensive to anyone with any viewpoint at all. It is at once racist, sexist, misogynist and homophobic. Thouroughly enjoyable."


Sadly, there was only ever one issue of Zwanna, Son of Zulu. Author Nabile P. Hage clearly felt quite strongly about redressing the racial balance. So much so that he was once arrested for climbing the Capitol Building in Georgia while dressed as Zwanna and throwing out free copies . I can’t imagine it sold too well. We were given 50 copies to give away as a prize at the 2d Festival 16 years after it was published. But no-one who has ever read a copy will ever forget the mighty African warrior and his adventures.



I have two copies of Zwanna Son Of Zulu to give away to the two people who leave the comments that bring me the most pleasure. Have at you!!!!!

cfx!!!

2D Festival Preview Verbal Magazine Issue 36

Full magazine can be read at http://verbalon.com/magazine/images/pdf-edition/1_verbal_36_low_res.pdf

Regarding yours , dear MS.Mc Dowall of Thursday the 5th of May

I try not to read the local press too often. It just annoys me for any number of reasons that are not necessary to go into right now. But every once in a while my learned friends on the interpipes will point out something that makes me want to go out and burn down the Irish News. Even if it was printed in the Belfast Telegraph. something like this:

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/opinion/columnists/lindy-mcdowell/is-festival-of-fools-really-a-laughing-matter-15150766.html#idc-cover#ixzz1LlKzpNtU

Where to begin with this trough of shit my darlings? Like most of the work that goes into Telegraph opinion pieces, not a lot of thought has been put into it. As is revealed in Ms McDowell'-s explosive first paragraph. Now it might just be me, but isn't kicking off with the phrase "...I had not given a lot of thought..." something of a bold journalistic gambit? Additionally, isn't "paying more attention" a basic conceit of any form of reportage? But let us put ad hominem asides, err, aside and focus on the TRUTH BOMBS being dropped here.

Once a year in Ye Olde Village of Belfast we get the opportunity to experience the classic forms of street performing that appear all over the world, many of them hundreds of years old representing divergent cultures and societies that may well have passed into history. While many of these seem to the naked eye to be mere "foolery" there are many subtle nuances to consider. Is that motorised robot designed to look like a homeless man a tasteless piss take ? Or is it a subtle satire of the way we treat the homeless? Somtimes if you look beyond FACE VALUE you might notice a SUBTEXT. If you are too shallow to try any of these ideas might I recommend November's "Festival of Saucers, Envelopes and Small Streams." I suspect they'll be at your depth.

The Festival of Fools allows, for at least a short period of the year, Joe Belfast to see some stuff they would not ordinarily get (it's considered too twee for the rest of the year). Without subsidies, much of the arts scene in Northern Ireland would simply not exist. Simply put, these things nine times out of ten don't make a profit. Why? BECAUSE IT ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT MONEY. SOMETIMES IT'S ABOUT EXPRESSION, OR ARTISTIC ENDEAVOUR, OR JUST TRYING SOMETHING NEW!!!!!!! Obviously because of this, these events might have limited appeal. It's not for everyone. So without vital funding we wouldn't get any of this good stuff.

All right the Cathedral Quarter Festival certainly attracts the crowds because it has big name acts, but if that festival isn't subsidised in some fashion either by arts council or sponsorship I will eat my fucking hat. In fact, just checked--massive arts council funding which was recently cut. Still, maybe that will result in a higher quality of craic, eh?

Basically what our Ms McDowell is saying is "I saw some people doing stuff I didn't understand or like. Some people told me they didn't like it. Other people may have. I couldn't be bothered to check. I saw Andrew Maxwell at the Cathedral Quarter last year and there were loads of people at that. That must be much better."

And a final note: if we were left to have our "craic" without funding, we would be left with either top end commercial acts who can pull a crowd themselves without any subsidy, or acts that are free. Like street performers. who apparently we are too sophisticated for. We can leave that for the bumpkins in Covent Garden.

CFX

I FEEL SO FUNKY

I love Ghostbusters more than 90% of the population of the planet. So i was mightily pleased to receive a pair of Ghostbusters branded pants from Santa Claus himself( in actuality my niece).

Pretty sweet EH? Primark generally do a good wearing pant and have exceeded expectations with this festive/supernatural offering

Thing is this is the back of the pant, and the front of the pant ( where my gentleman's teabags live) are adorned with the following legend:

Now given that this is the area where i store my *ahem* Proton Pack i suspect that either someone has just pulled an amazing example of Getting Shit Past the Radar or ( the more likely of the two) Primark is a spastic. You Decide

Cheese in a can: The verdict.

Fucked up childhood expectations.

As a young child growing up in Derry we were privy to a world of confectionery and toy products that, simply put, were not available to us. We got advertising on TV from England that allowed us to dream of enjoying such exotic fare as "Vimto" and "Penicillin". The few American comics that were available led to any number of trips to unlikely shops and enquiring if they had any "Kool Aid" or "Chips Ahoy". We were promised Transformers toys that never materialised (although to be fair a robot that turned into a microscope was a bit crap anyway). Film and TV showed us images of space food that we would never taste. What the fuck is a Twinkie anyway? They were golden days of the imagination where we could dream of eating a "Moon Pie" thus distracting us from whatever the fuck awful shite we were actually eating (probably stew sandwiches). Endless evenings spent watching Kurt Russel in Overboard and imagining exactly how delicious a meal composed of Spaghetti-os and Ritz crackers would be. Great days. Great days.

But those days are long gone. The internet and cheap commercial flights to the States have killed those wonderful dreams. I can not describe the horror I felt as the

long awaited hot dog from a street vendor in New York ended up tasting like Fritz'ls cock. Hershey's chocolate was rotten. Blaster might as well have turned from a robot into a pile of shite. Disappointments one and all.

I always thought the idea of Cheez Whiz sounded amazing. Cheese. In a can. That you spray. Mazin. Never tried it. Did not want to spoil it. I have acquired a tin of this wonder substance and it has sat unopened for the last two days because I did not want to

kill childhood. I am however going to eat some later on and share the experience with you, the reader, that your dreams of delicious 1980s food might die too. Wish

me luck and check back later.

Reviews From Feb 2010 Verbal Magazine

Footnotes in Gaza

Joe Sacco

Jonathan Cape Ltd

The historical context of the situation in Gaza seems like an unlikely source of inspiration for a piece of graphic literature, but there have been several excellent books on the subject. Joe Sacco’s Palestine provided an interesting (if a trifle one sided) look at life in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, presenting the daily struggles, humiliations and frustrations of the Palestinians living in the occupied territories. He returns to familiar ground with Footnotes in Gaza, a look at the small town of Rafah on the southern tip of the Gaza Strip. In 1956 a single bloody incident saw one hundred and eleven Palestinian refugees shot dead by Israeli soldiers. Sacco sets out to examine the conflicting truths surrounding this incident by immersing himself in daily life in Rafah, and trying to clear some fairly murky waters: was it a coldblooded massacre or was it a dreadful mistake?

As someone who is fairly naive to the political and historical situation in Gaza this book was a real eye opener. To present over 50 years worth of conflict, misery, and oppression in such a way could be off putting. However Sacco has a real gift through his artwork for humanising people who have committed some grisly act either in the name of their beliefs, or through following orders. Footnotes in Gaza provides a poignant snapshot of ordinary people trapped in desperate circumstances

The events depicted in Footnotes in Gaza should resonate strongly with the people of Northern Ireland, and the aftermath of that fateful day in 1957 clearly still affects the everyday life of the people of Rafah in a way that the residents of Claudy, the Bogside or the Shankill Road may sadly find all too familiar. Sacco is open and honest about not only the information he uncovers but the sources of this information, and his methodology. He presents his findings in an unbiased fashion and is typically able to avoid editorialising.

If nothing else Sacco has proven that the comic book can have a wealth of value above and beyond being an entertainment for children or idiots. This is less a graphic novel than one of the finest pieces of historical reportage I have ever had the pleasure to read. Absolutely astonishing.

Grandville

Bryan Talbot

Jonathan Cape Ltd

During last year’s 2d Festival Bryan Talbot gave a very brief preview of the follow up book to Alice in Sunderland (a book described in Verbal issue 10 as being “....aware of how clever it is. Almost TOO clever “). It was a crowded room on a very hot day, and I wasn’t paying attention so only managed to catch two words: steampunk and badger. Intrigued by the prospects of the book I asked him to elaborate and he would offer only that the inspirations for Grandville included Arthur Conan Doyle, Quentin Tarintino and Rupert the Bear. I’m not afraid to tell you I’ve been looking forward to getting a look at this one.

Talbot has made a career out of turning out comics that have ridiculous premises, his run on 2000AD’s Nemesis the Warlock is well remembered by fans as being nuttier than squirrel cack, but this one really takes the biscuit. Grandville is set in a world where technology has taken a turn for the strange (think Blade Runner by way of Thomas the Tank Engine) and France is the leading world power. It is essentially a Victorian style detective novel except that the characters are the cast from The Wind in The Willows, and it’s full of scenes of graphic sex and violence. Let’s all stop and think about how bizarre that is for a moment. No matter what you are thinking of, it is not nearly as bizarre as this is. Okay? The lead character is Detective Inspector Lebrock of Scotland Yard, a badger who becomes embroiled in investigating a shadowy 9/11 style government cover up and who must work his way through the murky underworld of Grandville, a hellish reimagining of Paris.

Talbot’s art is as always superb, managing to be both simplistic and richly detailed at the same time. The books unusual settings aside this is a good old fashioned action-adventure comic that starts slowly and quickly builds up to a frantic pace from which it never slows down. Owing as much to Eagle and Dan Dare as it does to Pulp Fiction and Herge,

Talbot has managed an unthinkable task by exceeding the meagre expectations I had formed in June of last year. I had imagined a slightly outré tale about a naughty badger getting in an argument about a pound note. This is a full on AA Milne on steroids affair. Thumbs up