Published by Image Comics, Precious Metal is a surrealist sci-fi epic by Darcy Van Poelgeest (writer/co-creator), Ian Bertram (artist/co-creator), Matt Hollingsworth (colorist), Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou (letterer), and Ben Didier (design). It’s over 300 pages of captivating strangeness that baffled and impressed me repeatedly.
In short, Precious Metal is about a tracker tasked with retrieving a modded boy who is being used as a weapon of mass destruction. At first glance, it’s very Blade Runner-esque, but it quickly turns into something far more complex.
To proceed further into the plot would alter and upset the experience of engaging with this comic. Yes, it demands your full and undivided attention, but even if you aren’t willing to reread in order to unpack this dense and layered narrative, I think there’s plenty here to enjoy. From early on, I was impressed with the way the main character’s drive is boiled down to a beautiful and heartfelt point: “Maybe [the boy] could help me remember who I am… where I came from. And if I knew that, maybe I could finally make things right.” It’s perfectly simple and accessible.
The true brilliance of Precious Metal is its depth. Take the first chapter title, A Strange Thing to Remember, which at first glance I took as: there’s going to be a thing here that’s strange to remember. But then I realized remembering is a strange thing. (Shout-out to Ben Didier for these stunning title pages that add so much to the reading experience!)
Comics are made up of static moments strung together to tell a story. Often this is used to portray nearly every frame of what would otherwise be a film. This doesn’t occur here. The team knows what they are doing. They know that their audience is smart and they are reaching directly to those that are willing to participate. In Precious Metal, there are over 300 pages, and yet it feels like there’s more off the page than on it. This is captured through the transitions, where in between the moments depicted are other moments. At times this can feel as though you missed something, and you did because there’s more here than a person can unpack through one reading. That’s the joy in a piece of fiction this dense, you’ll always be able to return to it and find something new.
One of the concerns I had going into Precious Metal was it is directly tied to a previous comic that I haven’t read, Little Bird. Precious Metal takes place 35 years prior, which means yes it is a dreaded prequel, and I have heard some say you must read Little Bird first. I don’t think that’s true. I got a lot from Precious Metal knowing nothing about Little Bird (all I know about Little Bird is Aditya Bidikar lettered it and he enjoyed being a part of that team. Aditya and Hassan used to have this great podcast, Letters and Lines, but then they got busy lettering everyone’s favorite comics). I don’t know how one could get more from Precious Metal, though I am eager to find out!
I think Precious Metal stands perfectly on its own. I’m reminded of a thing I’ve heard Mike Carey say about writing comics and specifically ending comics, (forgive me for paraphrasing) “Once you start a thing it narrows. It can be anything and go anywhere, but then you commit and it narrows and narrows until the end.” That’s what occurs inside of Precious Metal. The first page opens and it could go anywhere from there, but once you turn the page it’s already begun to narrow.
The comic nearly acknowledges this on those early pages with the protagonist, Max, narrating, “It’s not easy, pickin’ a beginning. In many ways, there never was one.” I’ve become a little obsessed with the choice here. Max is a man who has no memory, yet from the narration, we know he does have memory because the narration is written in the past tense. He’s telling this story from some point in the future. This is the beginning because there’s nothing before it, but also it’s the point at which the creators chose to begin their tale. This is what I mean by depth and layers, there’s so much to pick at from just the first few pages.
Then it’s not long before Max is faced with a vision — or is it a memory — and he freaks out. The pages that follow are haunting and as I look at them one by one now, I can see each one is intrinsically about one thing. Responsibility causes Max to flee. The next page begins with his narration: “I knew my place in the world.” and we are introduced to his boss/handler, Elle the Blade. It’s among my favorite sequences in the whole book, because of the transition. He goes from wisecracks to the following page where he’s standing behind her and without displaying anything you’re given so much about their relationship, that is completely off the page, or is it?
Can I talk about Ian Bertram now?
Every panel is a world. They could dedicate so much time to this world, explaining every corner of it. But why? It’s there, it exists. Does it need to be explained? The mystery of all these colorful characters is far greater than a bunch of character bios. It’s alive because Bertram brought it all to life. I would love to pick both his and Darcy Van Poelgeest’s brains about this and about creating this massive epic. How much of this is directed? I would suspect not a lot of it. All these creators are brilliant on their own and letting them all do their thing is what makes this book work so well.
Bertram’s character designs and character acting is incredible. The surrealist nature of this doesn’t push me away, it pulls me in. When you see Max’s face for the first time on the second page, there’s so much in his eyes alone. The facial expressions throughout carry so much of this book, because yes it’s an epic tale, but it’s also very human. I relate to it all quite a bit. I’ve forgotten things. I’ve forgotten people. Remembering is a strange thing.
I especially love the choice to tell this story in mostly wide panels. It makes me think of what Sophie Campbell once said about when she made the choice at the start of her lengthy and incredible run on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. She likened it to less of emulating the widescreen feel of cinema, instead the panels wrap around you. They engulf you. That’s how I feel while reading Precious Metal. It has engulfed me. The feeling is stronger than the knowledge.
The fact that everything isn’t explained throughout this makes me like it more. There’s a lot off the page, and none of this book is by accident. This isn’t a parade of bounty hunters to sell toys. All of these people and creatures feel alive and that’s all inside of the power of Bertram’s careful lines. And it honestly feels like Bertram is doing the color work as well. It’s so pitch-perfect that it’s surprising a colorist is involved here. Then again, it’s not really that surprising when it’s Matt Hollingsworth. I think his work is vastly underrated and underappreciated. He colored one of my other favorite books, Seven to Eternity, and there are whole scenes throughout that book that are very limited palettes, yet he makes them work. There’s not a dull page there. If you look at the two books together, you’d hardly guess the colors were done by the same person. And yet, they are. Hollingsworth is a superstar.
Which then brings me to Hassan’s lettering. He’s perfect. There’s no other way to put it. He’s a chameleon, in that he makes sure he ties everything together, but he’s never invisible. Which I think is brilliant. I know everyone always says good lettering is invisible, but that’s bullshit. Lettering is like the scallions sprinkled on top — sliced slanted — that ties the whole dish together.
Back to Bertram’s character acting, it reminds me of a thing I heard Alex Paknadel talk about in the run-up to his excellent comic with Caspar Wjingaard, All Against All, he initially wanted the aliens to look alien. But then readers wouldn’t be able to connect with them, he realized. We are hardwired to make connections with anything that sort of resembles a face. That’s why we can connect to punctuation marks arranged as faces. We want to see faces. All Against All, a story about aliens and a man who doesn’t talk made me sob. Because Wijngaard is one of the best artists working in comics.
In Precious Metal, a lot of the faces are odd. It’s not meant to be realistic, because this is a piece of surrealist sci-fi. I find myself attached to the oddest of the odd within these pages, like the thing that has an eyeball for a head. I love them. And when things happen, I feel for everyone. I haven’t been so attached to a cast of strangers in a long time. There’s kindness and sincerity here, even for a story about not-so-great people. This surrealist nightmare struck a chord in me. Part of that is due to how much work I had to do to engage with this, but also that was easy. Precious Metal demanded I participate and I found it unbelievably rewarding. This is unlike anything else and it’s why I’ve written nearly 2,000 words about it. It’s easy to do and I don’t think I’ve scratched the surface or ruined the plot or the experience of reading this masterpiece.
I think it’s unfortunate that this comic was overlooked. I know that this sort of thing will never be mainstream or at the top of the sales charts, but it’s sad how little my fellow critics wrote about this one. At the time of writing, Precious Metal is still inside its preorder window for the upcoming trade paperback. The retail price is $19.99 and a lot of stores and shops will have it at a discount. If you’ve read this far and like what I’ve said, preorder this book. If you like Blade Runner, preorder this book. If you’re at all intrigued by this, please, buy this book.
A piece of art this excellent should not go unnoticed or be allowed to fade into the waves of remakes relaunches and reboots never to be seen or admired. This is the sort of comic that could inspire a generation. I know it inspired me.
Precious Metal is indeed precious.
