Saturday, February 27, 2016

NOTE: This review is in CROATIAN!

"Low" je vizionarski strip sa mudima i odlicno smisljenim likovima

Pripadnici obitelji Caine su miroljubivi ljudi kao i većina ostalih obitelji u Salusu, najvećem gradu u svijetu Low univerzuma. Otac Johl Caine je veliki čovjek, mišićav, pametan i bradati izumitelj, osoba koji voli svoju ženu Stel, i svoje troje djece: dječak Marik, i djevojčice bliznakinje, Della i Tajo. Sve je lijepo i krasno u njihovom životu, dok okrutni gusar Roln ne ubije njihovog oca i ne ukrade "The Helm Suit of Salus", ronilačko odijelo kojim samo mogu da upravljaju članovi obitelji Caine. Naravno, kidnapovajući Dellu i Tajo nakon što ubije Johla, Roln sebi na raspolaganju stavlja DNA obitelji Caine, elemenat koji će mu omogućiti da upravlja najmoćnijem podvodnim odijelom u citavom okeanu.

Glavni lik prvog TPa The Delirium of Hope, je Stel Caine. Ona je jedinstvena junakinja koja nikad neće prestati da se nada za uspjeh svojih kćeri i sina, pa čak i za čitavo čovječanstvo. Njena želja je da pronađe novu planetu u galaksiji koja će omogućiti svim stanovnicima okeana, kojih ima oko dva miliona, novi početak, jer je površina zemlje opasna za život zbog jakih i smrtonosnih sunčanih zraka. Kao majka, Stel je jaka ali i istovremeno osjećajna žena. Kao junakinja, podsjeća me na Ellen Ripley, filmski lik koju je Sigourney Weaver igrala u Alien franšizi: spremna je biti nježna i plemenita svima kojim takvi osjećaji trebaju, ali je takođe spremna da se bori i ubije bilo koje negativce ili monstrume koji se motaju i hvataju nevine osobe na dnu okeana gdje ona pokušava da preživi. Uopšte nije osoba sa kojom bi se iko normalan trebao kačiti. 

Rick Remender u ovom stripu kreira svijet koji je surov, ali istovremeno prelijep. Njegovi likovi su uvjerljivi i nezaboravni, bez obzira jesu li negativci ili heroji za koje navijamo. Okrutno nasilje između negativaca i heroja je često viđeno u ovom stripu, i borbe između istih su napisane i izmišljene sa uvjerljivom originalnošću: nemoguće je predvidjeti šta će se sljedeće desiti, ili koji će glavni lik da umre ili da preživi. Ovo je svjež strip za sve stripofile koji su vidjeli i pročitali sve što se ima pročitati u domeni SF akcionog stripa, i koji smatraju da ih više ništa ne može iznenaditi.
Tocchinijevi kadrovi su vizualno brilijantni. Likovi, pa čak i podmorska okolina univerzuma u kojem se radnja razvija, su odlično urađeni i obojeni, i ostavljaju pozitivan dojam iz stranice u stranicu. Kadrovi su različito locirani u tolikoj mjeri da niti jedna stranica ne izgleda nimalo kao bilo koja druga, jer ima toliko različitih perspektiva raznih glavnih junaka iz broja u broj. Crtač nam maštovito predočava daleke dubine tamnog okeana, i kreira svijet koji, iako je surov i pun svakakvih ubica i monstruma ipak mjesto koje ne želimo da napustimo, bez obzira na svu patnju kojoj svjedočimo. 

Sve u svemu, Low je vizionarski strip. Kombinacija epske naučne fantastike, fantazije, akcije, a pogotovo emotivne drame u kojoj se jedna obitelj razdvaja, pa onda polako pokušavaju da nađu jedno drugog. Ovo je stimulišući rad sa strane Remendera i Tocchinija, dva umjetnika koji brzo piče sve naprijed i naprijed, i ubrzo će da budu titani u svijetu američkog stripa. Njih dvojica su se baš pronašli, i ja se nadam da će njihova junakinja Stel takođe da pronađe svoju obitelj. Jer unatoč svemu, nada umire posljednja.

Friday, February 26, 2016

How 69 turned out to be the last sensible number for the French…



        It was his Excellency’s favorite pastime.  A woman on top of him, facing the opposite way, her face in his crotch, while his mouth would be all too involved with her private area, licking and devouring it as if it played the part of the much awaited meal after a long day of fasting.  The French Emperor was a man of fine taste, and he knew what he liked, and he liked what he knew.  The sixty-nine position was of special fondness to him, for he would count upwards from one until he reached this glorious digit, which to him was the ultimate number there was.
         "Oh, mon amour, you truly are an angel of love", said the French Emperor to his mistress. "Not even Venus herself knows such pleasurable, sensitive areas of me to touch and kiss in all the right ways."
         The mistress, knowing full well that the Emperor liked her to count from sixty to sixty-nine as she was ready to finish him off, began.
         "Sixty, your Excellency."
         "That's it, mon amour!  I'll start from the beginning. One!"
         “Sixty-one", continued the mistress.
         "Two!"
         “Sixty-two."
         "Three, my glorious Goddess!"
         They both kept counting in their respective order, and when the mistress finally reached sixty-nine, she uttered that final number with such lustful passion - all the while her mouth and hands were busy finishing the emperor off - that the result was rather heavenly. When he ejaculated, he knew this was the best orgasm of his life, as he was in such a glorious moment of ecstasy that he struggled to pronounce the number that he had reached in his counting order. "T... ten."
         His mistress, with her mouth now full of something other than her vowels and consonants, still managed to speak the next digit.
         "Seventy, your Excellency."
         "What?", replied the Emperor.
         "Seventy," repeated the mistress. 
         "No, I don't like the sound of that", said the Emperor, as he finally exhaled in great relief, the tension that had been building inside of him now finally leaving his body at long last.  "I had reached ten in my order of numbers. Stay in the sixties. The sixty-somethings please me. Seventy does not."
         "But, your Excellency, there are no more numbers in the sixties. Sixty nine was the last."
         "It doesn't have to be. Make it sixty-ten, and keep going accordingly."
         “Sixty-ten? But that's not a number, your Excellency".
         "It is now. I'll announce it tomorrow at the meeting in Versailles, and it'll be official across the entire land staring next Monday".
         His Excellency's mistress knew better than to challenge the orders of the Emperor, for she was well aware that any further attempts to sway his opinion could result in her head ending up on the wrong side of the guillotine.  The city center was full of head remains of those who chose to argue with the most powerful man in France.
         “Sixty-ten, your Excellency."
         "That's it, mon amour. Keep going!"
         "Sixty... eleven?"
         "Oh, mon amour, I think it is rising again. Go on!"
         “Sixty-twelve."
         "My angel, I feel it growing. Quickly, tend to it as you did before. You know, the way I like", exclaimed the excited emperor, as he was looking to have yet another orgasm in a span of a few minutes.
         "Sixty -thirteen."
         "I'm almost there, mon amour!"
         The mistress reached sixty-nineteen, at which point the Emperor was overwhelmed with another moment of ecstasy, this one even more heavenly than the last.  A satisfactory smile formed on his face, and he appeared, for the time being, to resemble a child who suddenly discovered a well kept secret about all things euphoric and grand that he had not believed existed before.  His mistress let him enjoy this brief moment of enlightenment for a minute or so.  Then, she shook him slightly out of his present state of wonder, and whispered into his ear.
         “More, your Excellency?”
         The Emperor just nodded, “Yes.”
         “How high should I count?”
         “Do you remember when we made love on your twentieth birthday?”, asked the Emperor of his mistress.
         “Yes. That was an amazing night.”
         “How many times did we do it?”
         “Four, I think.”
         “Four?  And you had just turned twenty.  Wow… four.”
         “Yes. Four. And I was just twenty.”
         “Four…”
         “Yes.”
         “Twenty…”
         The woman was a bit confused at this point, for she could not figure out what the Emperor was driving it.
         “Four! Twenty! That’s it! Four-twenty”, exclaimed the Emperor, his joy and excitement now rising for the first time since he climaxed for the second time.
         “Your Excellency, I’m afraid I don’t understand”, said the mistress.
         “Keep counting, but after sixty-nineteen, say four-twenty, and not eighty!”  The emperor was now determined and dead-set on this new direction.
         “Four-twenty?  But your excellency…”
         “Do it at once, or I shall have you removed from my chambers and have your sister take your place!  She is a fine lover, and as such, would do just as well as you in satisfying me.  However, I doubt that she’d argue with my commands.”
         “All right, your excellency”, hesitated the mistress. “But, how can you be sure that people will understand this new numerology? Surely no one would say four-twenty or sixty-ten, when they can just as well say eighty or seventy?”
         “You just worry about making me hard again. I’ll worry about how sixty-nine is the number after which nothing else will make sense.”
         “All right, but what do I say when I get to ninety?”
         “Make me climax again, and I’m sure something will come to mind.”