“Grant Morrison you crazy biotch what the fuck are you on about?!” - is what I was constantly thinking while reading The Filth (in between yawns)! I love Morrison - he wrote the greatest Batman run of all time and he’s the greatest comics writer there’s ever been - but, holy rice krispie treats, he produces some utterly impenetrable, way-too-out-there stuff sometimes!
There’s a dude called Slade who seems like your average middle-aged guy - but secretly he’s a James Bond-type agent for a covert agency that saves the world on the reg from bizarre threats! There are cars with teeth, entire planets in airplane hangars, women in sexy tuxes living in comics, a Stephen Hawking version of Superman, a “Pornomancer” trying to impregnate Los Angeles, a naked Nixon floating in a fake womb, a city-sized boat where the President of the United States is given a boob job, and a talking Russian commie chimp who shot JFK. Good fucking luck making any sense out of that - I know I completely failed!
It sounds wacky and fun but it’s actually really dull. When you can’t understand what’s going on and why - when everything seems so arbitrary - it’s impossible to care about anything as none of it has any meaning. Plot, character - basically everything you’d expect to find in a book is sacrificed so that Morrison can do weird shit seemingly for the sake of it. Ugh, and I hated the Scottish character whose dialogue is written phonetically like she’s an Irvine Welsh character - a horrible chore to decipher/read!
Chris Weston goes above and beyond bringing Morrison’s fever dreams to life with some really imaginative and highly detailed art, but that’s the only aspect of the book I can say I genuinely enjoyed. Otherwise this is 13 issues of the most incomprehensible comics you’ll ever read that only super-fans of The Invisibles will enjoy.
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