Sunday, November 29, 2020

Sunday Splash Page #142

 
"Everybody's Looking Over His Shoulder," in Deadshot (vol. 1) #1, by John Ostrander and Kim Yale (writers), Luke McDonnell (artist), Julianna Ferritier (colorist), Tom Harkins (letterer) 

Released in the winter of 1988, this was Ostrander and Yale taking the chance to flesh out Deadshot's backstory and family history, to try and explain why he was how he was. Why is he so indifferent to his own life, or anyone else's? Besides the fact it makes him do cool stuff, I mean. In this first issue, he pretends to be for hire to get close to a drug lord named El Jefe, who stays on the move in airplanes constantly. When he points out one stray shot from Floyd will depressurize the cabin and kill everyone, including Lawton, Deadshot's response is "So?"

There's a great panel of the three guys around him with their jaws dropped right after that.

The real plot's kicked off by the abduction of Floyd's son. While Floyd heads off in pursuit, his therapist at Belle Reve, Marnie Herrs, tries to go digging into his past. Because she's become too attached and wants to save Floyd. Which gets her tangled in the twisted mess of loathing and backstabbing that is Floyd's parents' relationship. There's a lot in there about the two of them, and the social class they ran in, that apparently informs Floyd's perspective on relationships with women. There's also a lot about Floyd and his deceased older brother, Eddie. "Good" brother versus "bad", which I know Ostrander used as part of why Deadshot deliberately misses when he aims at Batman.

I would imagine a lot of it's hokum in any real psychological sense, but it makes interesting ground for writers to play in.

The fallout from this mini-series would come due in Suicide Squad at basically the same time, when Waller tells Deadshot to make sure Rick Flag doesn't kill a senator by any means necessary. Floyd's approach is. . . innovative? Or maybe just a valuable lesson for the Wall to better define her variables when it comes to Deadshot.

For a story about some damaged people trying to screw each other over because of petty grudges, McDonnell's art style is appropriate. It feels a bit like a proto-Sean Phillips. The characters aren't as gritty-looking, shadows aren't used as heavily, everyone's a bit neater, maybe more square, but no one looks glamorous, either. A lot of dumpy, out-of-shape guys and people carrying the years of holding grudges and trauma on their faces. There aren't many fantastic elements to the story, and so McDonnell doesn't make people look fantastic. Floyd's the only one running around in a costume once he gets on his own, and at the end of the day, he's just a crazy guy with guns strapped to his wrists.

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