Ray Fawkes brings us a visceral horror debut that explores the sometimes blurry line between art and pain. Read on for our review, which contains minor spoilers.
Written and Illustrated by Ray FawkesCover by Ray Fawkes
Lettered by Steve WandsSERIES PREMIERE! ‘SYMPHONY,’ Part One-Critically acclaimed creator RAY FAWKES launches his new monthly horror series: UNDERWINTER, twisted portraits of our dark world, beginning with the perverse, topical SYMPHONY – a beautifully painted tale of music and cruelty in the modern age.
In one of the more popular quirks of modern comics, writer Ray Fawkes, in an interview with Image Comics, released a short playlist or soundtrack to accompany “Underwinter” #1. The first track is Requiem Mass by Mozart. Its familiar drama and grandiose sense of opulent mourning is used in film and TV quite often, but a requiem for the dead is a fitting theme for this debut issue, opening as it does with a raw, visceral nightmare of someone being played like a violin, their flesh being struck by a bow until the onset of a pain “beyond sanity.” Not long after that we’re dropped into mundanity, with a quartet of musicians bickering and arguing about their next gig. However, thanks to those first few pages, Fawkes has left the reader with a sense of unease that, like all good horror, taints the ordinary with a genuine, emotional nausea that remains throughout the issue.
The title of the aforementioned interview is ‘The Agony of Creation,’ which perfectly captures the ghoulish opening scene but more than that, “Underwinter” #1 sets up a story that begins to explore what it means to evoke emotion through music, and how, as an arbiter of such raw passion and creation, a musician gains an almost unfair control over their audience. In juxtaposition, Fawkes centers this tale on a string quartet that cannot seem to control their own broken lives; squabbling as they do over money and the perceived lack of commitment from their colleagues. It’s not unusual for a cast of damaged individuals to be the focus of a horror story, but it will be interesting to find out in future issues just how and why these characters are the way they are, and just how music has helped or hindered their lives. The central conceit is regarding an unusual gig that promises more money than they’ve ever been offered before. There’s a catch of course, but it’s not until a shockingly bizarre and unsettling final page that the blindfold is (quite literally) pulled away to reveal an answer that only raises more questions.
Capturing music on the comic page is always a fascinating concept, purely because there’s no single, right way of doing it. Books like “Wicked + Divine,” “Phonogram” and even “Jem and the Holograms” have all succeeded where countless others have failed. Here however, Fawkes is not only attempting to recreate the sensation of hearing music but attempting to evoke an emotional reaction akin to the horrific. He achieves this so masterfully that reading “Underwinter” #1 feels (to lean on his own analogy) like using a violin string to slice a nerve. His sweeping watercolors and broad linework approach abstract minimalism, but by giving the reader just enough to make out what’s going on (sometimes not even that,) we are left, much like children in the dark, inventing the worst creations imaginable in order to fill in the blanks. The result is something truly affecting and unique, at times grotesque and raw, but never anything less than beautiful. There’s the previously mentioned opening nightmare that plays out like a macabre dance, a frantic mess of inky blackness shot through with the bright red flashes of both a blindfold and abused flesh. Near the end of the issue though the tension mounts again, as these same visual tools are used – the blindfolds, the consuming darkness, the flashes of red – except this time it’s real and happening to the characters as they play together.
Thanks again to that playlist, Fawkes states that the piece that plays throughout these horrifying scenes is Bartok’s String Quartet No. 5, and by listening to this while you read the book, you instantly understand the raw, frenetic, unpredictable energy that Fawkes is going for. The truth is, listening to the music is unnecessary, at least on the first read through, because it’s captured so well on the page. The unsettling surroundings, the claustrophobic uncertainty, and the taut energy are portrayed through violent splashes of red and black, with the occasional background of virginal white capturing the skin of the players and the bodies of their instruments.
“Underwinter” #1 begins what promises to be a monthly horror title with the first part of ‘Symphony’, and much like its namesake, this story demands that all the instruments involved – in this case, those instruments being words, art, color, pacing, atmosphere and tone – play perfectly together, resulting in a movement that’s greater than the sum of its parts. Fawkes sets the reader up on a journey of visceral, emotional exploration that is at times raw and unpleasant but always evocative and engaging. His expressive colors and loose line work allow a freedom to explore the darkness that the narrative drags us through; if only giving us a weak match to light the way. Not much is revealed about the characters or, obviously, what is happening to them; nothing tangible anyway, but that, along with the sometimes abstract imagery, forces us to fill in the blanks. If the final page is anything to go by, as the series progresses and our eyes adjust to the darkness, we may find what’s waiting for us a lot more frightening than anything we can imagine.
Final Verdict: 9.5 – One of the boldest, most evocative beginnings to a horror series for a long time, “Underwinter” #1 is an almost primal, abstract tale of agony, passion, and creation. A must read.
