The earliest of Naoki Urasawa’s works to be translated to English (pre-Monster, 20th Century Boys, and Pluto), Master Keaton (Viz) is a 12-volume series co-written by Hokusei Katsushika and Takashi Nagasaki, originally published between 1988 and 1994. It follows the “adventures” of Taichi Hiraga-Keaton, a half-English, half-Japanese archaeology professor, who sidelines in specialized insurance investigations, usually relating to his area of expertise: art forgeries, excavation sites encroaching into disputed territories, diplomatic liaison, and so forth. While that proviso may set him up as a worldly Indiana Jones type, Keaton is a curious character; leaning more toward the unassuming, quiet academic—with inner steel and gumption, of course.
“Intelligent/academic man befuddled by emotions” is too much a cliché for Urasawa et al. to capitulate to; previous heroes—Dr. Tenma, Kenji, even the robot Gesicht—are all traditional, essentially “good” figures thrown asunder by various situations that slowly unpeel and test their characters. Keaton, however, chooses to put himself into these situations, and he’s as in control of what happens as anyone can be. To the reader and people he encounters, Keaton appears bland, almost naive. He (fake) nods off at one point while being briefed by a client and regularly feigns benign disinterest. This somewhat natural demeanor is also something he cultivates and plays up; as an investigator, being perceived as nonthreatening and naive is helpful, as is portraying himself as something of an approachable blank canvas onto which people can reflect and reveal themselves.
Unlike Urasawa’s later work, Master Keaton isn’t immediately gripping, and Keaton’s emotionally removed façade characterization is partly responsible, a facet extending to the way in which Urasawa draws him, stoic at first and then unfurling more emotion and expression as the book continues. That initial reservation lends an uneven pace and tone to what would otherwise be exciting, dramatic proceedings. The deliberation in the absence of overt charm, wit, something, takes a while to ferment into the “adventure” mold; the absence, the determined guilelessness is the quirky eccentricity. Even Tintin was rather fond of a gun, but Keaton uses sellotape, a ladle, rocks, even a slingshot against such weapons, which stretches credulity, exemplary military survival training or not.
However, Urasawa is not anointed a master of the medium lightly, and his two major strengths come into force soon enough. The first is his ability to micro-manage plot beats and transitions, often marked by impactful, interpolating shorter stories that feed into the main narrative. The second is his introduction of various deft, empathetic characters: most notably Yuriko, Keaton’s 15-year old smart and kind gem of a daughter, the only really sorted person in the book, complete with awed, adoring boyfriend. She’s drawn neat, poised, unblinkingly sweet and serious, funny and idealistic, and easily the best thing about this volume as it grows increasingly assured and enjoyable, particularly in the downtime Keaton spends with his daughter and father. It’s an initially wobbly start, but there’s plenty here to hold interest and allow a second installment to be the real arbiter. [Zainab Akhtar]
Translating iconic characters between different media is a difficult task under the best of circumstances. For a character that’s been handled by the likes of Richard Roundtree and Samuel L. Jackson—to say nothing of Ernest Tidyman’s novels and countless homages—a new comic book series based on John Shaft had some very large shoes to fill. But Shaft #3 (Dynamite) proves that in the right hands anything is possible. Writer David Walker is an immense talent, well-served by his experiences working with Quentin Tarantino and Aaron McGruder (The Boondocks). (Walker also constructs killer playlists for every issue that you can access on the Dynamite Comics Spotify page.) Unlike the 2000 movie that brought Shaft up to modern speed, this comic is set where Tidyman originally put it. Shaft is a Vietnam veteran recently returned to New York City, but despite the difference between his time and ours, his predicament offers many possible parallels to modern-day America.
Arrested for the deaths of at least two people, Shaft is battling not only the racism of the NYPD convinced he’s to blame for all of the violence around him, but also organized crime that’s committing blatant violations, apparently without ramification. This is definitely not an all-ages book: Walker builds a reality that feels robust and genuine by not pulling punches. Slurs and violence appear with what looks like casual frequency, but with careful enough implementation that they do not lose their impact. More than the first two issues, Shaft #3 offers insight into the way John sees the world after a life framed by racial discrimination and a recent past that can’t escape the heavy weight of a difficult war. The interaction between John and Rudy Gomez, a building super who has to clean up one of the crime scenes Shaft is supposedly to blame for, is particularly potent. It’s the only scene where two people of color interact in the whole book, barring flashbacks, and the contrast between it and the surrounding panels is stark.
Bilquis Evely’s stunning artwork lends even more heft to Walker’s world, delivering pages that look vintage and retro without feeling stale. The clothing and haircuts are clearly not of this time, the cars are heavy and chromed, but somehow the art doesn’t look dated. Colorist Daniela Miwa has a deft, soft touch that makes every scene distinct and turns panels cinematic. The resulting Shaft is a welcome confrontation of racial politics in modern America. It’s just frightening that, four decades later, we still need John Shaft to do that kind of work for us. [Caitlin Rosberg]