Rage Of Ultron baffles those without in-depth Avengers knowledge

Kris Mukai’s latest sees the versatile cartoonist veer into yet another direction after the grimy humor of Commuter and foraging adventure of Bibi The Witch. As the title suggests, Weeping Flower, Grows In Darkness is decidedly more ominous in tone: Young friends Eleanor and Antony wander alone in the woods among a sea of dense, shadowy flora and discover a strange white flower. There’s an undercurrent that’s not immediately readable—they talk about the disappearance of Jeremy and Lawton, although it’s initially unclear who these people are and what’s happened to them. But the presence of them—or their absence—is very real, and integral to the kids’ reactions.

As it emerges that Jeremy and Lawson are Eleanor and Antony’s respective older brothers, Mukai’s deft hint at the unsettled acrimony between the families helps illuminate unfolding events. Something has happened between the older boys that the younger children don’t seem privy to; it seems they’ve either run off together or are in trouble of some sort. The uncertainty, whispers, and lack of disclosure has seeped down to Eleanor in particular, and paired with the appearance of the strange flowers and the results of an internet search, she begins making her own connections. The manner in which little incidents or an object take on significant meaning through the eyes of specific person, reflecting the psychological state of the beholder—here, Eleanor’s growing fixation with the flowers—is strongly reminiscent of early garo (alternative manga). Mukai nails that irrational creeping tension perfectly. The projection of Eleanor’s preying thoughts and anxieties onto anything vaguely out of sync with things as they should be—even something insentient—bloats it into new and unnatural shape.

The symbolism of the flowers is more overt, too. Eleanor and Antony’s apprehension over events runs together with the changes they see in people close to them. As siblings grow up and a little apart, a confusion can manifest over altered equations and relationships, over perhaps not understanding and knowing people as well as you thought. Strange things grow when secrets are left to ferment, so when things are inexplicable within the spectrum of knowledge you possess, you look beyond to other possible explanations. The apparent lack of communication here has impacted Eleanor and Antony individually, their friendship, and their family units, leading to a pocketed isolation. To that extent the growth of the flowers also signify a fear of discovery, or growing up—to grow up and become like Jeremy and Lawson, and acquire knowledge—and a loss of innocence, becoming different and strange. To Eleanor’s mind it’s simply a matter of time before the same fate befalls her: an image mirrored in her dreams in which pink, wormy tendrils rise from abscesses in her body—the same growths she saw protruding from her vision of Lawson’s corpse.

Mukai’s cartooning is superb throughout—there is no one in comics currently who has the same command of expression, and the way she manages to tease humor while emotionally escalating the tone in another direction is exemplary. It’s a pleasure to read the work of an artist clearly growing in strength and capability with each work, and this sees Mukai take it up yet another level, reaffirming her as an indisputable contemporary talent. [Zainab Akhtar]

Inside, the first couple pages are dominated by a back and forth between sleek action sequences of a woman taking on what look like prison guards and quieter blue-toned panels of a woman playing cello. Canete does something neat with these in particular, showing the musical notes as she plays to convey a sense of progress and speed. The fights are immediately reminiscent of Æon Flux and similar animation, no huge shock there since Canete worked on the show, as well as Beware The Batman and a handful of comic titles. Leonardo Olea’s beautiful colors and his skill for lettering and design make sure it doesn’t feel too much like ground that’s already been tread visually, taking two-dimensional art and making it rich and textured. There are even lens flares, though they’re used judiciously and appropriately. A brief shot of the ocean from underwater is particularly well done.

As the story progresses, panels are full of a vaguely dystopian future-scapes, while our heroine gives little backstory in voice-over. In this way, the issue is cinematic not only in art style but also in tactics, easily turned into storyboards for a pilot episode. What could feel tired if it followed previous stories too closely becomes far more compelling as the main character, Rain, encounters other people. Her doofy would-be love interest, Deyliad, is given some of the best lines in the book. His asides and random mutterings to himself would probably get annoying if he was a real person, but he’s allowed the chance to prove his competency early on, making him more nuanced than just the comic relief. And as the issue wraps up, the feeling that Rain might be the sort of strong female character whose reliance on stereotypes leaves her anything but strong begins to fade away. RunLoveKill #1 gracefully avoids the major pitfalls that a book like this can stumble into, and that might be a direct result of Canete and co-writer Jonathan Tsuei’s relative newness to making comics. They clearly love this genre and want to do something interesting with it, and they know just enough to be dangerous but not enough to be stuck in a rut. It might not be doing anything new and revolutionary (yet), but if this genre is in your wheelhouse, you should definitely pick it up. [Caitlin Rosberg]