Review of Rasputin

I am not a history fan, because as stories go, most of history is messy and complicated.  Whereas fiction can be bent and manipulated, like casting spells.  Fiction can be perfected, honed.  It lends itself to beats and rhythm, crescendos, and releases.  History on the other hand is not so malleable.  It is like stone.  An artist can only chisel away details to show the statue underneath, but, after all the effort, history still is just what it is, a large sculpted rock.

My dislike of history is so strong that I eschew even historical fiction, which although a fiction, still relies on certain unmovable details and facts which the author cannot eliminate or change but somehow incorporate into the work as a whole. 

I purchased the first issue of Rasputin realizing that it was historical, the main subject being that mystical creature of Russian myth, large, dark, black-bearded, whose powers lie in the dark realms, and, upon whom a myriad of evil acts are blamed, including the seduction of the Russian royal family into corruption.  I purchased it because the possibilities for story telling seemed great, that the right artist and writer might take the subject of Rasputin with all of his baggage and might turn him into something worth reading about.

Alex Grecian, Rasputin’s writer, described Rasputin as an idea that he had floating around for a long while which he wanted to explore through other media, but that his fascination was shared by the artist Riley Rossmi, giving rise to the project.  However, upon my reading of the book, it didn’t feel as if the project hadn’t been quite fully developed or thought through before it was released.

Issue One has four distinct acts, clearly defined, almost as if we are at the writing board with Grecian thinking the issue through.  It has the feel of a staged play, each scene consciously constructed to distraction, each scene with a clear and deliberate purpose, simple and uncomplicated by other activity making it apparent that the reader is reading a comic book about Rasputin.  Further, each scene has a sparseness to it which deprives the book of any real depth.

The issue starts with a house maid carrying a glass of wine on a tray.  There are dialogue boxes in which we hear our subject, Rasputin talk about fate, how it is imperceptible to others, but that he can see it.  He notes that the wine is meant to be suggestive of blood and ultimately Rasputin’s death.  It is a tired trope, especially in the realm of mystical European horror stories.  (I couldn’t help but think of any number of vampire stories.)  The manner in which the panels on the first page show a tilted perspective is vaguely interesting, but nothing ingenious or unique.

The house maid carries the wine to Rasputin who is sitting with his friends who he knows is going to kill him.  Interestingly, the reader sees ghostly figures standing behind the persons sitting at the table, one behind Rasputin, a big burly man who resembles Rasputin himself and another standing behind one of Rasputin’s friends.  It is also suggestive of the painting of the Last Supper, particularly in that Rasputin’s friends seem involved in a separate activity from that in which Rasputin is engaged in.

The scene jumps to Siberia when Rasputin was a young man.  He is with his father who is collecting wood that Rasputin is struggling to carry.  His father is clearly the ghost who was standing behind Rasputin in the previous scene.  When they arrive home, Rasputin’s mother asks for wood, and, in an act of stereotypical brutality, Rasputin’s father, throws a log at his mother, knocking her to the ground, bleeding.  Rasputin’s father than eats a dinner while she lays in her own blood.  Once Rasputin’s father leaves, Rasputin lays hands on his mother bringing her back to life.

It is at this point that the reader becomes aware of the silence of the issue, that no one really speaks other than Rasputin, and even then, only in thought.  Everything else is communicated through images, even when they are being spoken, such as when Rasputin’s mother requests the wood reflecting by a single log centered in a dialogue box.  It is a technique used in less serious books, a means to reflect whimsy.  As a result, it feels out of place in this book which is meant to feel heavy and black.  It dulls the horrific act of Rasputin’s father in throwing the piece of wood at his mother. 

In the third act, Rasputin and his father are outside fishing when a bear comes upon them.  Thereafter, Rasputin’s father and the bear engage in battle resulting in both of them collapsing and dying.  Rasputin thereafter chooses to use his power to save the bear and leaves his father to die. 

The final scene is Rasputin with his friends and the ghostly image of his father hovering behing him.  Knowing that the wine served to him is poisoned, he drinks anyway.

The art is ably done, but merely sufficient.  There was nothing memorable about it, no image which stood out.  In fact, the artist seemed to rely on a style harkening to the artwork found in the Hellboy/B.R.P.D. books, shadows, less-detailed characters.  It is an unfortunate comparison because places Rasputin underneath a heavy shadow, especially in light of Hellboy/B.R.P.D.’s own development of the Rasputin character. 

Ultimately, Rasputin comes off as being an after thought, a series of ideas about a mythic man of history.  It fails to break free from the man of history, which pulls the book down into the murk of mediocrity.  It is a slow beginning with not a lot of promise of pay off.  It leaves the reader detached and divested of interest in the character of Rasputin or the plot.