I do appreciate that Gaiman works in all the references to the sandman in popular culture. Here, the famous song is a running thread that ties together the disparate story elements, "Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream..." You know the one. Similarly, in the first issue, Gaiman managed to bring in the old DC vigilante Sandman, playing him off as a wannabe who stepped in during Dream's incarceration.
In comparison to the issues before and after, Dream a Little Dream of Me is a bit dull. It's got the mundane stuff like riding in taxis and searching through warehouses, and really really dull things like Constantine reflecting on his life. Yeah so John Constantine's more annoying than I remember. He's sort of a walking Nick Hornby cliche rather than the noir hero I remember him being.
But I get why the motions of the story had to be relatively tame; the horror of Rachel's addiction really shines through in contrast. That image when Dream and Constantine finally reach her has long been burned in my brain as one of the iconic images from the series:
Yes, it's horrible, but what she's done to herself IS horrible. She's been locked in a glass prison of her own making, where reality is clear and present but her ability to recognize it has been destroyed. But Morpheus lacks pity for her, and on some level we don't pity her either. But Constantine does, and influences Morpheus to show a little mercy.
Next up: Going to Hell
Despite the recovery of the pouch this feels like another expository issue to me. So what do we learn? That Dream he does not take kindly to his creatures "exceeding their bounds." That he has power over portals. That he's largely indifferent to the lives of mortals, though not altogether pitiless.
ReplyDeleteMore importantly, we learn that dreams can be deadly - not because they're scary, but because they're seductive. They've eaten Rachel's life because she became hooked on her own fantasies.
The Nick Hornby connection is a bit tenuous, but I agree that Constantine's not at his best in this issue. He points the way to a plot coupon and gives us our first look at Morpheus from another's POV, but he doesn't really get anything to do. Out of interest, what does his voice sound like in your head? He lives in London but he's actually from Liverpool; I like reading his dialogue in a thick Scouse accent.
This is the first issue where I felt the artwork was letting it down. There's an opportunity for some beautiful visceral stuff in this story, but it never quite works for me. From the description on page one Rachel ought to look a lot worse than she does. It's not just the icky stuff, but I don't really have the vocabulary to say more. Mind you, Dringenberg's Morpheus is still my favourite of all the versions we get to see.
A question: where is Rachel supposed to be living? Presumably it's still England, though those tress don't look native. It's too big to be her own place, but if it's her dad's - and her dad is the fleshy wallpaper - why has no-one else entered in all this time?
It's a funny thing about Constantine, I would have FAR preferred it if I'd heard a Manchester accent coming from him (a Scouse accent sounds like it would be even more grating than the London cabbie accent the dialogue read as to me).
ReplyDeleteI singled out that particular frame because it's the only memorable thing. Morpheus looks ridiculous in this issue, and you're right how poorly it's served by the art (a general complaint about Preludes and Nocturnes, btw).
It's definitely somewhere in London, btw. Chas the cabbie drove them there.
I got the distinct impression that other people HAD entered, and were swallowed up into the fleshy wall somehow.
On a final note, referring back, I like that the final sign that she's gone irretrievably mad is that she starts singing Kate Bush lyrics.