4 out of 5

Kingdom Bum gives good comics.  Like those DTV gems of yore – the oddball films you’d watch and rewatch, generally understanding why they bypassed the mainstream but never hesitating to pass it on as a recommendation – Kingdom Bum is the kind of title that sits comfortably with a smaller publisher, a little too fringe and frayed to work at even an Image or Boom!, but madly entertaining and highlighting some prime talent that we can only hope we see much more of.  And as an extra badge of accomplishment: being a New Yorker, I freaking hate the homeless (yes, accepting the internal mental war we all tend to wage where we wrinkle our nose, then say “but that could be me,” then say “but I’d never let myself get to that point,” then wake up homeless and realize that the Will To Live is a fucking horrible thing sometimes), but goddamn do I wish I could read more about these secret society bums in the KB world.  I mean: secret society bums.  It’s such a damned obvious and yet awesome concept.  Sure, molemen, homeless newspapers, but a full-on society with different houses dedicated to sign writing, and bottle gathering and etcetera?  It’s simple damned genius.

So yes, now you get the context of the title.  And our four issues highlight a power struggle within the Kingdom, flipping between past and present to give weight to the sudden appearance of “the Thumbless Ones” – a culty homeless group who cut off their thumbs in allegiance to their leader – who seek to usurp power from Simon, the bipartisan and intelligent dude currently overseeing things.  A minor subplot filters through via the character who’s our narrative point of view, but Wollet and Marshall don’t try to play this for too much mystery, which is for the best – plenty of plottime is taken up by political machinations that adding more layers might’ve amounted to clutter.  This does take a toll on the “reveal” of the Thumbless Ones’ leader, which feels kind of obvious given all the backstory we’re shown, but at a short four issues, the books are packed with enough characters and points of interest to not make this a huge deal.

And good god: the art.  A dash of Sergio Aragones’ energy; Guy Davis’ or Steve Parkhouse’s looseness.  The framing and personality is all artist Jon Reed, though.  It’s not that the book is beautiful.  I mean, it’s about the homeless, first off, so plenty of grungy faces and trash-strewn settings, but Reed’s style is also – what might at first glance seem – ugly, and sloppy, but in this perfectly, pristinely intended way.  I’m in love with the look of this book, with how much work Reed puts into his panels, his balance of details and character positioning.  And Jen Hickman has shot to the top of my list of awesome colorists with her subdued palettes on this book.  I’ve seen her do effective work on some other indies that have opportunity for a lot of pop, but wringing the most out of a more muted range is difficult and she supports Reed’s linework every frame of the way.  Wollet also double-duties as letterer, and his loose style (and awesomely placed sound effects – if those weren’t Reed) really work for the book as well.

So, no, it’s not changing the world, and I can understand it as a tough sell to your Spider-Man reader.  But to that young lady or lass browsing the indies, flipping through the more oddball books, shuffle them over to the Action Lab section.  Not only is everyone involved on this title a creator to watch, but this is exactly the kind of book that’s great to go into cold, with no expectations, and emerge from after four issues with a satisfied smile on your face.