Comics that look closely at the super-hero genre face a number of pitfalls. In some cases, they can lapse into the gooey state of a love poem. In others, their smug cynicism can be off-putting to the readers who actually enjoy the genre they examine. The best, to my way of thinking, focus on character and story over genre comment.
In Hench (AiT/Planet Lar), writer Adam Beechen and artist Manny Bello look at super-heroes from the ground up, not unlike Kurt Busiek’s Astro City (Wildstorm). It follows the rather unimpressive career of Mike Fulton, a super-villain henchman. Beechen and Bello take a very straightforward approach to telling Mike’s story, and it’s wonderfully effective. While they use the faintly absurd aspects of capes and crime for comic effect, they never stray from the story’s human core.
Mike is an ideal central figure for a story like this. He’s a former college jock whose promising career was cut off by an injury, and he’s never stopped wondering what might have been and missing the thrill of athletic demi-celebrity. He’s got a wife and son he loves, but work is a low-paying grind. My usual reaction to that kind of fictional dilemma would be “Suck it up,” but Mike beats me to it. He knows he could have it a lot worse and that his dissatisfaction doesn’t do him any credit, and that awareness manages to soften what might have been a dismissive response to his plight.
Another failed jock introduces him to the high-risk, high-return world of the super-villain henchman. After a bit of waffling (and a frankly hilarious introduction to some of his potential employers), he takes a gig with an evil sorcerer that turns out to be as lucrative as it is exciting. It’s not a perfect equivalent to the cheers of football fans, but it’s a lot closer than working in a warehouse. He knows it’s wrong and that he’s got a lot to lose (his family, his freedom, his life), but henchman work is both easier and more exciting than his everyday life.
A botched heist sends him to prison, and he’s determined to give up the job. But when his son is diagnosed with cystic fibrosis, he’s faced with mounting medical expenses and no easy way to cover them. He rationalizes his return to henchman work, even though he knows it’s not his only alternative. Not surprisingly, things deteriorate from there. Heists go wrong, his family is fragmented, and Mike continues to allow difficult circumstances to drive him to bad choices.
But the thing is, he knows they’re bad choices. He knows there are harder, more honest alternatives, because he sees his wife successfully embrace them. Mike routinely chooses what he perceives to be the path of least resistance, at least partly because of the camaraderie of the henchman subculture. He tells himself that these guys (even the super-villains he works for and super-heroes he fights) are like him: people with families and responsibilities just trying to get by. On some level though, he knows that’s not true, and circumstances keep cropping up to illustrate the fallacy of his thinking.
It all culminates in a dark night of the soul that frames the story. Mike finally finds himself in an utterly impossible situation that could force him to cross a line he’s always resisted crossing. At the same time, his belief in the essential humanity of the people under the masks is drastically shaken. As he looks back on his henchman career, the difficulty of his choice becomes increasingly clear. It’s terrifically controlled, progressive storytelling, building from amiably comic to disastrous while never losing its focus on Mike. Beechen always tells his story through Mike’s faulty lens, giving the story focus and humanity.
Bello’s fine visuals match Beechen’s work. He proves equally deft at the kitchen-sink moments as he is at the masked slugfests. I’m particularly taken with his nods to classic comic panels by the likes of Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, and others. Instead of being coy in-jokes, they illustrate the absurdity of a regular guy in out-sized circumstances.
Hench is a fine and balanced piece of work. It’s driven by character and kept to a very human scale, despite its super-heroic trappings. In a sub-genre that can lapse into excessive sentiment or arch superiority, this is a standout example.