A.J. Trillzynski
New member
And almost everyone in line carried at least one compilation of "100 Bullets," his crime opus, the comic that made him a brand name. Set partly in Chicago and centered around a mysterious organization that offers revenge (and untraceable bullets), it ran for 100 issues from 1999 to 2009, starting as a noir, ending as a conspiracy epic. Published by Vertigo, DC's then-fledgling, edgier, fantasy-heavy imprint, "it changed the way people thought about Vertigo and DC," Dennis said. It made a compelling case for hard-boiled, relatively realistic crime comics, a genre that Azzarello had grown up with but, Frank Miller's"Sin City"aside, had largely vanished.
Another fan approached.
"Loving 'Wonder Woman,'" the guy said. "Not saying it's Vertigo good, but it's edgier than anything else."
"OK," Azzarello said.
And another fan: "I have nothing to sign. I just wanted to say thanks for '100 Bullets.' Sincerely."
Azzarello blew air and nodded and looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. Later, Bermejo told me: "Brian's characters are thinkers. They think about what they say, so it's often perfect. But they don't say a lot. And that's Brian. He might take offense at this, but there's a sweet earnestness behind the way he is."
A woman approached the table and slid a stack of his books to him.
"Your name?" Azzarello asked, pen poised to sign.
"Not for me," she said. "For my husband. He's a police officer. He couldn't come. You're his favorite writer."
"A Chicago cop," Azzarello said. "Yeah, OK."
Azzarello turns 50 Saturday. He's married to comic book artist Jill Thompson, herself something of a brand name, having illustrated "Swamp Thing," "Scary Godmother" and Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" series. She said when he sends direction to the artists he's working with, "it's as succinct as he is as a person. It's hilarious. Take Brian's most popular comic book location, a bar. Most writers would send (an artist) something like, 'We have a medium to overhead shot, looking down on a bar with a walnut finish, peanuts in a bowl, burns in the bar where someone did flaming shots, and here's a woman with acid-washed mom jeans.' Brian'll send them: 'Dive bar. Also there's a tourist standing at the bar.' And that's it."
She also said he's the last person to acknowledge he has a following, telling me a story about howSamuel L. Jackson, a huge fan who was pointedly reading "100 Bullets" during a scene in "Snakes on a Plane," once accosted the Chicago writer at San Diego's annualComic-Con. "But Brian will never tell you that."
Indeed. Chicago actress Diana Slickman, a close friend of Azzarello's, told me she knew him for a while before she knew "he was a comic book god, a big deal. You bring it up, he pooh-poohs it. I get the impression he doesn't want to be defined as Comic Book Guy. Maybe because he's just a fantastic writer in general."
Azzarello grew up in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. His mother ran a restaurant; his father was a salesman. He was not a superhero fan. He read war and monster comics. He later studied painting and printmaking at the Cleveland Institute of Art, then spent years working odd jobs: as a janitor, in demolition. He painted at night and moved to Chicago in 1989; it was cheaper than New York City.
Around this time he became enamored of Black Lizard Press, which published scores of vintage crime noir from unappreciated authors such as James M. Cain, David Goodis, Lionel White. Also, the work of novelist Jim Thompson, whose books included "The Grifters," "After Dark, My Sweet" and "The Killer Inside Me," was seeing a revival.
After meeting Jill Thompson (no relation to Jim) through friends, he sent her — a fan of movie monsters — a story he had written about a werewolf. She was drawing for Vertigo and introduced him to editor Lou Stathis, who, Thompson said, "pretty much hated what he was working on, always referred to Vertigo as 'fairies and elves and (expletive)' and was, like Brian, a great, grumpy guy who thought comic books should be broader."
They hit it off.
At Vertigo, Azzarello met Axel Alonso, Stathis' then-assistant, who sent Azzarello an old comic featuring an obscure character, Johnny Double, beatnik detective. Azzarello and Alonso also pitched "100 Bullets" but were turned down. When "Johnny Double," drawn by Argentine artist Eduardo Risso, who later collaborated with Azzarello on all 100 issues of "100 Bullets," became a modest success, "100 Bullets" was revisited.
"I really wanted to show the viability of the crime genre," Azzarello said. "Because, and people forget this, but at the time, when you did have a cop in a comic book, the chances were that cop was probably possessed by the devil."
Chiang, who was working on "100 Bullets," then as an assistant editor, said: "Right away, ('100 Bullets') felt fresh. Because Brian's writing, which has this piercing, honed quality, felt new. It was the perfect vehicle for him — these dense little packages of the worst of human nature, all told through this terrific framework. Brian really became this vital counterpoint to the optimism that comic books so often tend to peddle."
When writer Warren Ellis walked off "Hellblazer" — DC refused to publish a story he had written about a school shooting, the Columbine shooting having just happened — Azzarello stepped in on the popular comic. Which led to work on Batman and Superman. He created a Western series named "Loveless." When he came across a list of characters that DC was not using anymore, he and Chiang teamed up for the very meta "Doctor 13," about a band of rejected comic book characters traveling to New York to confront their creators.
"I knew he was successful when he stopped showing me his stories before he sent them out," Thompson said. "He had so many comics spinning at once that he just didn't have time to show them to me anymore."
Another fan approached.
"Loving 'Wonder Woman,'" the guy said. "Not saying it's Vertigo good, but it's edgier than anything else."
"OK," Azzarello said.
And another fan: "I have nothing to sign. I just wanted to say thanks for '100 Bullets.' Sincerely."
Azzarello blew air and nodded and looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. Later, Bermejo told me: "Brian's characters are thinkers. They think about what they say, so it's often perfect. But they don't say a lot. And that's Brian. He might take offense at this, but there's a sweet earnestness behind the way he is."
A woman approached the table and slid a stack of his books to him.
"Your name?" Azzarello asked, pen poised to sign.
"Not for me," she said. "For my husband. He's a police officer. He couldn't come. You're his favorite writer."
"A Chicago cop," Azzarello said. "Yeah, OK."
Azzarello turns 50 Saturday. He's married to comic book artist Jill Thompson, herself something of a brand name, having illustrated "Swamp Thing," "Scary Godmother" and Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" series. She said when he sends direction to the artists he's working with, "it's as succinct as he is as a person. It's hilarious. Take Brian's most popular comic book location, a bar. Most writers would send (an artist) something like, 'We have a medium to overhead shot, looking down on a bar with a walnut finish, peanuts in a bowl, burns in the bar where someone did flaming shots, and here's a woman with acid-washed mom jeans.' Brian'll send them: 'Dive bar. Also there's a tourist standing at the bar.' And that's it."
She also said he's the last person to acknowledge he has a following, telling me a story about howSamuel L. Jackson, a huge fan who was pointedly reading "100 Bullets" during a scene in "Snakes on a Plane," once accosted the Chicago writer at San Diego's annualComic-Con. "But Brian will never tell you that."
Indeed. Chicago actress Diana Slickman, a close friend of Azzarello's, told me she knew him for a while before she knew "he was a comic book god, a big deal. You bring it up, he pooh-poohs it. I get the impression he doesn't want to be defined as Comic Book Guy. Maybe because he's just a fantastic writer in general."
Azzarello grew up in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. His mother ran a restaurant; his father was a salesman. He was not a superhero fan. He read war and monster comics. He later studied painting and printmaking at the Cleveland Institute of Art, then spent years working odd jobs: as a janitor, in demolition. He painted at night and moved to Chicago in 1989; it was cheaper than New York City.
Around this time he became enamored of Black Lizard Press, which published scores of vintage crime noir from unappreciated authors such as James M. Cain, David Goodis, Lionel White. Also, the work of novelist Jim Thompson, whose books included "The Grifters," "After Dark, My Sweet" and "The Killer Inside Me," was seeing a revival.
After meeting Jill Thompson (no relation to Jim) through friends, he sent her — a fan of movie monsters — a story he had written about a werewolf. She was drawing for Vertigo and introduced him to editor Lou Stathis, who, Thompson said, "pretty much hated what he was working on, always referred to Vertigo as 'fairies and elves and (expletive)' and was, like Brian, a great, grumpy guy who thought comic books should be broader."
They hit it off.
At Vertigo, Azzarello met Axel Alonso, Stathis' then-assistant, who sent Azzarello an old comic featuring an obscure character, Johnny Double, beatnik detective. Azzarello and Alonso also pitched "100 Bullets" but were turned down. When "Johnny Double," drawn by Argentine artist Eduardo Risso, who later collaborated with Azzarello on all 100 issues of "100 Bullets," became a modest success, "100 Bullets" was revisited.
"I really wanted to show the viability of the crime genre," Azzarello said. "Because, and people forget this, but at the time, when you did have a cop in a comic book, the chances were that cop was probably possessed by the devil."
Chiang, who was working on "100 Bullets," then as an assistant editor, said: "Right away, ('100 Bullets') felt fresh. Because Brian's writing, which has this piercing, honed quality, felt new. It was the perfect vehicle for him — these dense little packages of the worst of human nature, all told through this terrific framework. Brian really became this vital counterpoint to the optimism that comic books so often tend to peddle."
When writer Warren Ellis walked off "Hellblazer" — DC refused to publish a story he had written about a school shooting, the Columbine shooting having just happened — Azzarello stepped in on the popular comic. Which led to work on Batman and Superman. He created a Western series named "Loveless." When he came across a list of characters that DC was not using anymore, he and Chiang teamed up for the very meta "Doctor 13," about a band of rejected comic book characters traveling to New York to confront their creators.
"I knew he was successful when he stopped showing me his stories before he sent them out," Thompson said. "He had so many comics spinning at once that he just didn't have time to show them to me anymore."