Good Cop Bad Cop
By Sam Hurcom
There’s one, rather bold way, to test the quality and intrigue of a comic book’s writing – strip back just about everything that can distract the reader from the core narrative. Remove bold speech bubbles, vibrant colours and unnecessary panels of filler. Reduce even the images drawn to their bare components; mere black lines and squiggles on a white canvas that provide only enough to present characters and objects in their simplest, recognisable form. Pull back a comic in this way, to the very minimal characteristics that define it as a ‘comic’ at all, and you’re left with something quite remarkable, if not challenging to a reader.
This is the intent of Jim Alexander in his recent series Good Cop Bad Cop. If nothing else, it’s a comic you cannot passively engage with.
There’s one, rather bold way, to test the quality and intrigue of a comic book’s writing – strip back just about everything that can distract the reader from the core narrative. Remove bold speech bubbles, vibrant colours and unnecessary panels of filler. Reduce even the images drawn to their bare components; mere black lines and squiggles on a white canvas that provide only enough to present characters and objects in their simplest, recognisable form. Pull back a comic in this way, to the very minimal characteristics that define it as a ‘comic’ at all, and you’re left with something quite remarkable, if not challenging to a reader.
This is the intent of Jim Alexander in his recent series Good Cop Bad Cop. If nothing else, it’s a comic you cannot passively engage with.
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Turn to the introduction and you’re offered a rather lavish synopsis - it’s the most information you’ll be handed on a plate for quite some time. Ahead is the story of Detective Inspector Brian Fisher, a cop situated in the hard streets of modern day Glasgow. Fisher battles with the classic, horror dichotomy of rationality and raging insanity, trapped within his own psyche (think Taggart meets Jekyll and Hyde and you’re on the right tracks). He conceals a dangerous monster, capable of exacting a gruesome form of justice on the low lives and murderers he comes in contact with. As a reader, you’re promised to be enthralled, horrified and ‘carried along like a leaf in the wind, anxious to know the answers’. This final point is nothing short of a great understatement – from the very first panel you’re left with a lot of questions.
Which in every respect reflects the idea of minimalism. Alexander’s storytelling, combined with the imagery of Garry Mclaughlin, is something reminiscent of a Graham Greene novel like A Gun for Sale – everything is about fast narrative pace and very little information. Within the first few panels you could feel a little dazed and confused. It’s something of an odd sensation, almost like being grabbed by the collar and dragged through a world you can’t quite keep up with. Many may feel more accustomed to this experience from the silver screen or theatre stage - even on re-reading, one can’t abate this sense of lagging behind. In reality it’s not an oversight by the reader who inadvertently skips a panel or page here and there. The feeling of being one step behind is a purpose driven stylistic quality, fashioned by Alexander himself.
For what end, you might ask? To maintain interest and engagement would be the simple answer. To reflect the hectic life and work of a Glasgow D.I. may be somewhat more subtle. Or to demonstrate the lack of coherence the protagonist character experiences in conjunction with his monstrous alter ego: it’s a bit of all the above. Ultimately, Alexander sets out to make the reader do a lot of work in not only understanding his comic but mentally creating much of its setting and environment. With the few details provided, the reader is governed with the task of imagining the grotty Glasgow back alleys, the claustrophobic interrogation room or quiet suburban streets. In this sense, you aren’t simply invited into the dream world of the author but offered the chance to build much of it yourself. The sparse imagery and black white panels grant you this opportunity. Like any good modern artwork, the spectator’s (reader’s) experience is almost entirely subjective, further enhancing engagement with the bare subject matter. Subsequently, no two readers will experience Fisher’s life and deeds in quite the same way.
This style however, is a dangerous act to maintain. Too little information or narrative signposting and the reader is left completely lost in an incoherent array of images and text. Unfortunately, some may find this the case in one or two instances. The series is divided into several short story arcs, illustrated initially by Mclaughlin, then Will Pickering and finally Luke Cooper. It’s hard to suggest that the individual comics compiled as a collection maintain a flowing narrative; in reality they don’t. The only real constant, in a work of varying stories and developing artwork, is Fisher’s unnerving disposition. It’s clear that Alexander’s intent is to build a rough profile of the character through differing snapshots of his life and livelihood. In this he certainly succeeds, no more so than in the intermittent case files that follow an investigation into a mysterious burglar, The Patrick Cat. The case files (which are wholly written pieces and not presented in comic book format) are perhaps the crowning achievement of the entire collection. They present, with utter clarity, Alexander’s fine writing prowess and skill. It’s hard not to commend a writer for wonderfully demonstrating the insanity and ferocity of a character through the act of swallowing a hot chip lodged in the back of the throat. The phrase “To help me concentrate I think dark thoughts. A rent boy self-harms. A head of a German shepherd kept in a fridge…” was nothing short of totally chilling.
Which in every respect reflects the idea of minimalism. Alexander’s storytelling, combined with the imagery of Garry Mclaughlin, is something reminiscent of a Graham Greene novel like A Gun for Sale – everything is about fast narrative pace and very little information. Within the first few panels you could feel a little dazed and confused. It’s something of an odd sensation, almost like being grabbed by the collar and dragged through a world you can’t quite keep up with. Many may feel more accustomed to this experience from the silver screen or theatre stage - even on re-reading, one can’t abate this sense of lagging behind. In reality it’s not an oversight by the reader who inadvertently skips a panel or page here and there. The feeling of being one step behind is a purpose driven stylistic quality, fashioned by Alexander himself.
For what end, you might ask? To maintain interest and engagement would be the simple answer. To reflect the hectic life and work of a Glasgow D.I. may be somewhat more subtle. Or to demonstrate the lack of coherence the protagonist character experiences in conjunction with his monstrous alter ego: it’s a bit of all the above. Ultimately, Alexander sets out to make the reader do a lot of work in not only understanding his comic but mentally creating much of its setting and environment. With the few details provided, the reader is governed with the task of imagining the grotty Glasgow back alleys, the claustrophobic interrogation room or quiet suburban streets. In this sense, you aren’t simply invited into the dream world of the author but offered the chance to build much of it yourself. The sparse imagery and black white panels grant you this opportunity. Like any good modern artwork, the spectator’s (reader’s) experience is almost entirely subjective, further enhancing engagement with the bare subject matter. Subsequently, no two readers will experience Fisher’s life and deeds in quite the same way.
This style however, is a dangerous act to maintain. Too little information or narrative signposting and the reader is left completely lost in an incoherent array of images and text. Unfortunately, some may find this the case in one or two instances. The series is divided into several short story arcs, illustrated initially by Mclaughlin, then Will Pickering and finally Luke Cooper. It’s hard to suggest that the individual comics compiled as a collection maintain a flowing narrative; in reality they don’t. The only real constant, in a work of varying stories and developing artwork, is Fisher’s unnerving disposition. It’s clear that Alexander’s intent is to build a rough profile of the character through differing snapshots of his life and livelihood. In this he certainly succeeds, no more so than in the intermittent case files that follow an investigation into a mysterious burglar, The Patrick Cat. The case files (which are wholly written pieces and not presented in comic book format) are perhaps the crowning achievement of the entire collection. They present, with utter clarity, Alexander’s fine writing prowess and skill. It’s hard not to commend a writer for wonderfully demonstrating the insanity and ferocity of a character through the act of swallowing a hot chip lodged in the back of the throat. The phrase “To help me concentrate I think dark thoughts. A rent boy self-harms. A head of a German shepherd kept in a fridge…” was nothing short of totally chilling.
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Which begs the uncomfortable question of why Alexander decided to produce his concept of D.I. Fisher in comic book format at all? His obvious skill as a short story author, along with the barebones imagery of each artist, may lead some to the conclusion that the comic is something of an afterthought, an easy alternative to producing a novel or short story collection. This however would be a cheap and unfair conclusion to make. The narrative of Good Cop Bad Cop is framed in the format of a comic quite deliberately, in an attempt to redefine how we engage with comic books at all.
The occasional rough image of a bloodied kitchen knife or wide eyed, psychotic stare is just as haunting as any inner monologue or descriptive paragraph within a written book. With its bare, undetailed imagery, Good Cop Bad Cop sits firmly on the precipice between the realm of total subjective imagination (experienced when one reads words off the written page) and pure image consumption (experienced when one reads a pictorial comic). Good Cop Bad Cop is a quality form of comic that cannot merely be ingested with little thought. Like an incomplete puzzle, the reader is offered mere fragments of image and dialogue, before piecing together the overarching story and subtext themselves. What the written case files provide is a descriptive rest bite from a comic that requires readers to put in a lot of rewarding time and effort. Simply put, you get out as much as you put in with the collection as a whole.
In short, Alexander should be commended for creating something wholly unique and distinctive. It’s hard however not to view this as the first trial run of a character and concept with a long and prosperous future ahead. The final comic (Tiny Acts of Kindness), with the combination of Alexander’s choppy narrative style and Cooper’s artwork, is by far and away the most refined and polished of all the individual comics (though the written case files are the stand out crowning achievement). Alexander clearly has a lot more to offer, and what should be noted is that this is an exciting prospect. At no point was this collection dull or in any way forgettable. Undoubtedly however, this work will be far surpassed by Alexander’s next instalment of the monstrous Detective Inspector Fisher – an eagerly anticipated prospect.
The occasional rough image of a bloodied kitchen knife or wide eyed, psychotic stare is just as haunting as any inner monologue or descriptive paragraph within a written book. With its bare, undetailed imagery, Good Cop Bad Cop sits firmly on the precipice between the realm of total subjective imagination (experienced when one reads words off the written page) and pure image consumption (experienced when one reads a pictorial comic). Good Cop Bad Cop is a quality form of comic that cannot merely be ingested with little thought. Like an incomplete puzzle, the reader is offered mere fragments of image and dialogue, before piecing together the overarching story and subtext themselves. What the written case files provide is a descriptive rest bite from a comic that requires readers to put in a lot of rewarding time and effort. Simply put, you get out as much as you put in with the collection as a whole.
In short, Alexander should be commended for creating something wholly unique and distinctive. It’s hard however not to view this as the first trial run of a character and concept with a long and prosperous future ahead. The final comic (Tiny Acts of Kindness), with the combination of Alexander’s choppy narrative style and Cooper’s artwork, is by far and away the most refined and polished of all the individual comics (though the written case files are the stand out crowning achievement). Alexander clearly has a lot more to offer, and what should be noted is that this is an exciting prospect. At no point was this collection dull or in any way forgettable. Undoubtedly however, this work will be far surpassed by Alexander’s next instalment of the monstrous Detective Inspector Fisher – an eagerly anticipated prospect.
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