Greg Gildersleeve

I've been wanting for some time to say something about Sentry, Marvel's eight-issue series about a mentally ill super-hero and his alter ego (or egos, apparently), but I haven't found the right angle. For example, I was so taken with the complicated-but-not-confusing flashbacks in issues # 4-5, that I wanted to discuss them in terms of story structure. But I just spent three posts discussing structure, so I don't want to beat that equine to death.

I also wanted to compare the economical writing of Sentry to a certain other comic which is overwritten, but that approach seemed high-handed and judgmental. The other comic in question isn't necessarily bad, but it reads more like a blockbuster film -- something going on in every frame, and usually more than one thing happening at the same time -- than a comic book. While comics and film share much in common (not the least of which is that certain well-known writers -- Bruce Jones, J. Michael Straczynski, and Kevin Smith, to name a few -- have done both), one must remember that comics and movies are distinctly different media. Both have strengths and weaknesses, and the best writers understand the difference.

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Sentry #4-5 is a good example of a comic that is written as a comic book and not a film. Writer Paul Jenkins and penciller John Romita Jr. (who probably had a strong hand in the story telling) keep a suspenseful yarn going, no small feat considering that most of the story is told in flashback. (To make things even more complicated, there are flashbacks within flashbacks, some of which may or may not have actually happened to our hero. Whuzzat mean? Pick up the comic and find out for yourself!) Furthermore, the story is full of plot and character complexity to a degree that most of the mainstream comics I've read recently avoid even attempting. Instead, what passes for complexity these days is multiple subplots, a planet-size population of characters, and melodramatic emotions -- stories for the attention deficit, apparently.

By contrast, Sentry has only a few characters (only five to seven are important, depending on how one defines an individual character in this book -- again, refer to the source), and a very simple situation: Something has driven our schizophrenic hero over the edge, and he (or someone else using Sentry as a throw-toy) is busy laying waste to a carnival. As passersby flee in panic, the one person who stands between Sentry and total madness approaches: the bald, goateed psychiatrist, Cornelius Worth.

Both issues are told through Dr. Worth's eyes. As he enters the carnival grounds and surveys the damage done by his powerhouse patient, flashbacks reveal how our hero came to this state. It began, innocently enough, when Dr. Worth tried to probe into Sentry's past and learn the connection between Sentry and his arch enemy, the Void -- who, since the first issue, has remained imprisoned in the basement of the Sentry's Watchtower. This imprisonment, however, didn't stop the Void from manifesting recently in the Negative Zone, where Sentry was sharing an adventure with the Hulk. According to Sentry's alter ego, Robert, the Void broke every bone in the Hulk's body -- hence the now healed greenskin's desire to sleep on the floor of Robert's kitchen, right next to Robert's pet coyote (!). But the real question is, how did the Void get out, and how can Sentry prevent him from doing so again?

Dr. Worth finds his task cut out for him. First, Robert is cagey when asked about Sentry's origin. It seems that the version he's been telling Doc has a few holes in it. When Doc presses the issue, Robert storms out of the session. Thereupon, Doc -- aided by the Watchtower's automated caretaker, Cloc (Doc and Cloc: sounds like a country western duo) -- sneaks into the basement and learns the Void's startling secret: The reason he got out of the Watchtower was because he was never there! (Whazzat? You guessed it: Buy the friggin' comic.)

Complicating matters are subplots involving Robert's wife, Lindy, who is apparently having an affair with her yoga instructor, and Hammerhead, a gangster-type villain who threatens Doc's family for information on the Void. (Not that Doc's family is altogether safe to begin with: His wife has suffered some sort of nervous breakdown and his daughter is confined to a wheelchair with a spinal malady.)

The Void's true relationship with Sentry is only one of the twists and turns this story takes -- and not even the most shocking in these two issues. But all of this is handled deftly by Jenkins and Romita, who understand the effectiveness of simplicity. The goals of their main characters are perfectly clear. (This does not necessarily mean their motives are clear.) Dr. Worth's goal is to prevent the Sentry from going mad. Robert's goal (for reasons as yet unrevealed) is to keep Doc from digging too deeply into his past. This is a perfect protagonist-antagonist relationship, though it may not be obvious as such, since we're not used to thinking of the hero and his buddy/mentor (Doc fills both roles) being in an adversarial relationship, or of the hero being the antagonist. Yet that's exactly what Robert/the Sentry is.

Another example of this simplicity can be found in the arrangement of the scenes. The numerous scenes shift back and forth between the present and the past. But there was no confusion as to what was happening or when. This is because each scene serves a specific purpose: to advance the plot. For example, early in issue # 4 comes a scene in which Robert is in therapy, discussing the recent battle with the Hulk and the Void. This scene ends with Robert saying he feels "[d]amaged ... betrayed. Broken" (an excellent use of foreshadowing, by the way). Later, in another therapy session, flashbacks are added to illustrate Robert's version of Sentry's origin. Nothwithstanding the clever way in which these flashbacks-within-flashbacks are illustrated -- using the old-time "dot" coloring process to convey a feeling of a simpler, fantasy-oriented era -- this scene gives us a bit more information on the mystery of the Sentry. These two scenes -- having almost identical set-up and setting -- accomplish two very different purposes. Furthermore, they are "quiet" scenes, without anyone crashing through a wall or beating someone up. Yet they are loaded with tension. As a result, the story moves forward instead of repeating itself.

As an experiment, I untangled the scenes in Sentry # 4-5 and put them in chronological order. To my surprise, I discovered that only five scenes take place in the present. (It seems like more since some scenes are repeated or shown from different angles, each time adding new information.) Yet even though it takes Doc nearly two issues to walk through the wrecked carnival and reach Sentry, the story is not dragged out or padded. Every scene advances the story and keeps the reader anticipating what's going to happen next. I haven't read # 6 yet, but I can't wait to see how the cliffhanger at the end of # 5 plays out. I just hope that Doc -- the most sympathetic character in the book -- survives.

Whazzat mean? Buy the book already!