In the September 2000 issue of The Comics Journal, Dan Holloway ripped Adrian Tomine a new arsehole over issue #7, citing gross character deficiencies and stiff, forced artwork. It’s difficult to disagree with his assessment that Tomine’s “[C]haracters are flat, charicaturistic re-renderings of youthful stereotypes.” But that’s hardly a revelatory observation. Optic Nerve has appealed to a 20-something demographic Holloway labels “indie rock savvy hipsters” because of the artwork (which to an untrained crayon clodhopper like myself, seems as strong as ever) and Tomine’s ability to illustrate and emote an authentic generational ennui. Yes, his characterizations have been better (in “Summer Blonde,” a depressed 30-something designer named Neil watches in frustration as new neighbour/sex addict Carlo scores with Vanessa, Neil’s unrequited love interest) but his narrative skills seem as strong or weak as previous outings. Where Holloway feels betrayed, I am merely disappointed. Unlike previous efforts, there are no barbed-wire moments that prick the memory in the 32 pages that comprise “Summer Blonde,” and I slid past the panels all-too quickly. Perhaps the problem is that Tomine has finally produced an average issue, and for an artist so revered and scrutinized, the shortcomings are all the more noticeable. Yet Tomine is acutely aware of the discourse surrounding his work. Reading through the two pages of letters in issue #7, you realize that his fans are his harshest critics, and more importantly, that Tomine isn’t afraid of printing negative commentary. This suggests he has the strength and confidence to defend “Summer Blonde” while integrating the wave of critiques he’s sure to endure, an ability even more precious than his skill with ink and paper. (RB)
comic, #7, $4.25, Adrian Tomine, Drawn & Quarterly Publications, PO Box 48056, Montreal, QC, H2V 4S8