Charles Forsman’s “Slasher” Cuts Deep — But Misses The Artery

Quick preamble : a good editor can make a big difference. I was commissioned to write this review for Daniel Elkin’s “Your Chicken Enemy” small-press site, and what follows is the text as originally conceived by yours truly. Daniel suggested — as opposed to demanding — a few small but crucial changes, and I think the piece reads much better in its “final” form, given that his observations were uniformly spot-on. I decided to run this “warts-and-all” version simply because, hey, it was saved “as is” in my WordPress folder, and I thought it might be of interest (to somebody? Somewhere?) to compare and contrasts the two versions.

Or, hey, maybe not. In any case, the “finished product” can be viewed here :




I’ll say this much for Chuck Forsman’s just-released Slasher trade paperback collection (Floating World Comics, originally serialized over five issues) — it leaves you with plenty to think about.

That’s a good thing. As is Forsman’s crisp, stark, cinematic illustration and moody, inventive use of color. The book’s visuals make the unnerving, the disturbing, both deeply and immediately human, offering no “safe distance” between reader and subject, utilizing its grindhouse aesthetic sense to deliver the goods by turning the world upside-down on page one (which explicitly portrays human beings as meat), then drawing back to something vaguely resembling “normalcy,” and then absolutely going for the throat — yes, literally. The ingredients for a memorable, even a classic, read? They’re all here.

And yet —

There’s an inescapable sense that we’ve seen this all before. That Slasher is staking out something of a “middle ground” between Forsman’s trademark “all is lost” portraits of alienated youth (The End Of The Fucking WorldI Am Not Okay With This) and his genre-themed work (the two Revenger series). Certainly he captures the flat and affect-less character of suburban American life that his protagonist, a data-entry clerk in her mid-20s named Christine, both internalizes and mirrors, with keen accuracy and clinical dispassion, but that’s taken as a given with Forsman at this point. We know he does this sort of thing and does it well,and ditto for the specific details, which are likewise right up his alley — Christine is sleepwalking through life, her sexual bloodlust providing the only points of exclamation in an otherwise wholly unremarkable existence; the internet, as you’d expect, has to date been the only “release valve” for her admittedly deviant fetish, and that’s where she vicariously “meets” Joshua, a 14-year-old handicapped kid from BF Nowhere, suffering through an openly vicious co-dependent relationship with his domineering, religious fanatic mother. Yeah, he’s jailbait, but he “gets” her. Even prods her forward. Goads/coaxes her into taking things to the next level, into making her fantasies an actuality. In due course, she outfits herself with a “gimp”-esque leather mask/bodysuit combo and buys the knife of her dreams. Oh yeah — shit’s gonna get real.

Her first “taste” — an anonymous bar pick-up that her gay “frenemy” warns her to avoid — isn’t enough. Things go a little bit wrong. She lets the poor schmuck live. Sorry, but that just ain’t gonna (insert groan here) cut it. But there’s hope for upping the ante right around the corner. Her sleazy, sexually-harassing pig of a boss invites her over to his place for a bit of “fun” while his old lady’s out of town. You already know only one person’s coming out of that house alive.

And so Christine’s “career” as a serial killer begins, partly done for her own gratification, partly done to impress her ostensible “boyfriend.” Shocking enough on paper, but again, par for the Forsman course. Two hopelessly broken souls come together and bring out the worst in each other. Why not? It’s a premise that got him all the way to Netflix last time around.

But wait! There is, as it turns out, a twist. And it’s actually a damn good one — so good that I won’t “spoil” it, except to say that when Christine finally works up the nerve to track Joshua down in person, she learns that when it comes to the world of online perverts, well — there’s always a bigger fish. And herein lies  Slasher‘s biggest opportunity — unfortunately, as events play out, it turns out to be a missed one.

For a good chunk of the “run time” here, Forsman really does throw a spanner into the works. Things could go in any number of directions. We’re thrust, at the 2/3 mark of the story, into the unknown. What will happen next is anyone’s guess. Christine’s bitten — or cut — off more than she can chew. All bets are off,and while I’ll grant you that the inherently conservative and moralistic undercurrent here — “following your own desires is just gonna get you in trouble” — is problematic, maybe even borderline-offensive, at least Forsman doesn’t take the easy route of info-dumping some clumsy backstory onto his protagonist, of “explaining away” her fetish/need by means of some childhood abuse or trauma . Okay, yes, her relationship with her mother is far from healthy (another point of mutual understanding she shares with Joshua), but Christine is who and what she is, and now that we know that, can her emotional survival be negotiated in a world specifically aligned against that very possibility? That strikes me as a very worthy and challenging question.  On the other hand, though, “no, it can’t, so don’t even try or you’re doomed?” That’s a gutless and far too easily-arrived-at answer.

And “gutless” is the operative word for Slasher‘s final act. The inexorable tug begins almost as soon as the plot twist I was just praising runs its course — the magnetic pull toward what we’ve come, in fairly short order, to recognize as a typical Forsman ending. And he just can’t resist. Maybe it’s not even realistic to expect him to yet — after all, in the scheme of things, his career’s just a handful of years old. But the simple fact that he shows, just pages earlier, that he’s willing to at least entertain the possibility of breaking his self-cast mold demonstrates that he recognizes it exists, and that some sort of way out of it must exist, as well. Then he seems to shrug his shoulders and admit that whatever that way may be, he just simply hasn’t found it yet. For the time being, at least, he’s a cartoonist who no doubt excels at taking readers out of their comfort zones — but clearly isn’t ready step out of his own. I know I talked a big game about keeping things “spoiler-free” just a few minutes ago, but at this point is it even a shock to find out that Christine’s story ends just as The End Of The Fucking World does? Just as I Am Not Okay With This does? Nah — I didn’t think so.

As stated at the outset, Slasher at least leaves the reader with many questions to think about — unfortunately, the biggest and most pressing of them is “When is Charles Forsman going to take the leap forward that he’s been on the cusp of for some time now”? It very nearly happens here — but he pulls his knife back at the very same moment Christine thrusts hers in for the final time.




2 thoughts on “Charles Forsman’s “Slasher” Cuts Deep — But Misses The Artery

    1. Ryan C. (trashfilmguru)

      Definitely a book that will engender different reactions depending on how familiar you are with Forsman’s work. If you’re new to it you’ll probably love it — if you’ve been following his stuff for the past few years it will seem like old hat.


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