4 out of 5

A lot of the indie comic guys have expressed their sexual hang-ups through their work, delving into dark recesses for moments presumably recognizable to many, as sexual hang-ups aren’t the exclusive domain of indie comic guys.  Although, yes, it’s a different mindset working through such stuff on the page vs. frat bro tweeting about how he thinks Brad is purposefully spunking on him during the weekly circle jerk.  (I’m out of touch – this is what people tweet about, right?  Brads?  Spunking?)  And there’s undeniably the gender component: Sexual hang-ups know no chromosomal bounds, but unless you have must-smeared goggles on through which you’re viewing the decades and centuries of repression and oppression, boys have fucking boundless imaginations for the worst of the worst.  I am not exempt, not nearly.

The world isn’t all evil, of course, but it’s not an easy topic – from any perspective – to emerge from without some admitted biases.

Tommaso’s indie work, from what I’ve read thus far, is an interesting curiosity, and Perverso is a clear, early example of that.  I’d say he chooses a genre to work in, with the seed of a feeling justifying that genre, and then just moves forward.  It’s not exactly confessional, or aiming toward revelation, or observational, or a documentary.  They’re stories.  And assuming you’ve gotten involved – which he’s good at getting you to do, if you’re down for whichever genre – when you hit The End, maybe you’re not gob-smacked with meaning, but you get the sense of the journey, from start to finish, even over 30 pages.

Perverso’s springboard is voyeurism, or the voyeurism of the male mind.  We follow porno photographer Roy, in a setting that the lack of technology sets back to perhaps the 70s, and watch through the snap of his shutter as he directs girls into various poses, imagines girls on the street the same, masturbates to his work, goes home to his wife – aware of his occupation, it would seem – and jerks off some more.  Are you rankling your nose in judgment?  Did you get aroused by some of the explicit poses Tommaso draws?  Maybe you missed that detail about his wife: That this isn’t a hidden occupation.  For the keyhole-esque spying of his lust, Roy’s thoughts and feelings are expressed openly.  With some shame, but with acceptance as well.  The inner narration bubbles bleed into the dialogue.  Roy looks the part of your 79s porno connoisseur – sweaty, bald, mustached – but he doesn’t seen all that horrible.  He seems normal.  Rich isn’t judging either way, and neither, I find, did I.

Some things occur which cause Roy’s comfortable existence to unravel a bit.  We can say ‘of course,’ and Rich does suggest there’s plenty going on outside of Roy’s narration of which he / we’re unaware, but again, its a neutral depiction.  And the odd choice Roy has to make ends up seeming sound enough.

There are further bumps along the way, which are suggestive of Tommaso’s slick and subtle story-telling, as he slips the narrative into something more deserving of his Dark Corridor noir tale.

And then we’re on the final page, back inside the safety of Roy’s head.  How much do you understand his plight?  How odd is it to consider the Roys you may know?  It’s not inherent or important to the story to consider such things, and the quickness with which the last section plays out robs it of some tension that might’ve been earned with more pages.  Nonetheless, when The End lands, I’ve gone on my journey, and – what does it mean in this context? – I’m satisfied.

Printed in oversize-magazine format with nice, white pages and thick paper / cover stock by Alternative Comics.