The Maxx, by Sam Kieth

I came to Sam Kieth’s The Maxx by way of the inventive, off-the-wall (but surprisingly faithful!) MTV adaptation of the comic, and in hindsight, having The Maxx be one of my first indie comics is a lot like seeing Robocop as one of my first R-rated movies – it set a bar for certain things that made me assume that these would be the norm, not the outlier. (See also the amazing story about Bukowski turning on cable for the first time and seeing Eraserhead, and assuming that all cable was like that.) Even now, revisiting Kieth’s oddball series after more than two decades, it still feels surprisingly sui generis – a blend of inventive visuals, feminist philosophy, complex characterization, rejection of storytelling norms, and Jungian psychology that combines to something that still feels like something all its own.

To talk about The Maxx, you really have to separate it into two parts. There’s the first twenty issues, which revolve around a social worker named Julie, a teenager named Sara, a serial rapist named Mr. Gone, and a homeless man in a purple costume who calls himself “The Maxx” and views himself as Julie’s protector. And then, after twenty issues, Kieth jumps forward a decade, following up on Sara’s life a decade down the road, what happened to all of our original characters after the events of the first series, and also a new threat – a malevolent giant banana slug who recites self-help mantras as he takes out names on a list.

So let’s talk about that first story, which is really the story that people think of when they think of The Maxx – it was the basis for the MTV series (which adapted the first 12 issues of the arc) and really represents what Kieth was doing so well. Trying to explain the story here is complicated; Kieth has a way of drifting along through his story in a dreamlike fashion, with characters shifting as they go, events elided in the gaps between issues, and so much of the story being hinted at through symbolism, surreal interludes (like an issue-long Dr. Seuss pastiche), or even discussed and picked apart in Kieth’s chatty, thoughtful letters pages. But here’s a general effort: the story revolves around those aforementioned characters and their connection in an unnamed city, but also cuts to a realm known as the Outback, where Julie is a jungle queen who keeps shifting into a darker mode, the Maxx is a brutal warrior, and Mr Gone is some sort of sorcerer. What the Outback is only gradually becomes clear (well, clear-ish; Kieth is never super interested in spelling everything out), but it’s evident early on that Kieth is using it to explore personal trauma and repressed memories, anchoring his wild world with iconography and visuals that hint at so much more than they convey.

That all sounds serious and complex, which is part of what makes it hard to talk about The Maxx, because it doesn’t convey just how delightfully daffy, funny, and weird the series can be, too. Maxx has a habit of realizing that his internal monologues are being spoken out loud; Gone is too vocal about his plans and does tend to suffer because of it in increasingly Raimi-esque splattery ways, the cuts between the Outback and reality are wonderfully odd, and that doesn’t even get into the weird other touches – that aforementioned Dr Seuss story, the way that Gone’s little “henchmen” often appear as carnivorous grandmothers, Kieth’s willingness to poke fun at his own absurdity. The tone is impossible to convey, really, but what you get is this heady mix of ideas that takes trauma – including sexual assault and murder – incredibly seriously while never shirking its odder aspects, that throws together odd comedy with action sequences with complex discussions of gender roles and psychological scars.

Somehow, against all odds, it all hangs together and even works, and over the course of those twenty issues, Kieth tells a genuinely moving story, one full of flawed characters who are hard to pigeonhole into any category, debates over the merits of Camille Paglia versus Gloria Steinem (this is how teenage me was first exposed to major thinkers of the feminist movement), explorations of the impact of sexism and sexual violence, discussions of how people deal with their own guilt – and it’s a weird take on a superhero story, and an exploration of a magical realm, and a tale of friendship. Does it all cohere perfectly? Oh, absolutely not – there is a real sense of “seat of the pants” to it all – but that somehow enhances the story, not hurts it, making it feel discovered, not told. It’s odd and funky and lumpy, but it still moved me, even knowing the major beats, and it still feels groundbreaking even after two decades.

Which brings us to the second half of the series, in which Kieth gets bored of his own creation and limitations, and yet still manages to deliver some fantastic moments along the way, even if what you get isn’t quite The Maxx anymore. We start off following Sara as first, exploring her Outback and her own trauma, and exploring her connection to her father and the damage he did. That all feels like a logical continuation of the ideas of the first arc, and while you can’t help but miss Julie and the “original” Maxx, it’s interesting to see Kieth try something new.

And that’s before a stunning, heartrending two-issue exploration of Mr. Gone – now an older man who calls himself Artie and is trying to atone for his sins – and his childhood, exploring why he became the person that he did. Kieth gives us a harrowing tale of sexual abuse, bad marriages, shameful feelings, and more, and somehow threads the very narrow needle between “this helps us understand this man and humanizes him” and “this is an excuse for why he does things.” It’s a humane and difficult exploration of a fraught topic, and it’s a tough read, make no mistake; there are moments here that are genuinely haunting and upsetting, and as you read reader reactions to those issues, you see Kieth willing to grapple with the complexities and nuances of the story, trying to bring us empathy but never justifying his crimes. In some ways, these two issues single-handedly justify the entire second story; they feel like nothing else I’ve seen a comic try, and Kieth’s bravery and decency here are hard to look away from.

But then…then things get weird, even by Maxx standards. A character vanishes from the normal world and comes back in truly odd form. Bubbles erupt into the world that find Kieth telling other stories with new characters, none of which he finishes, until we end up with about six different stories going and no real sense of what any of them have to do with the book The Maxx anymore, and no sense of where we’re going. And then, abruptly, Kieth closes up shop, literally ending his characters’ world and setting up a sort of karmic sequel that he never revisited. It’s a frustrating, maddening ending to the series, feeling like our writer simply got bored and distracted by other ideas, and then just walked away to try something new rather than finish anything else that he was playing with (all of which Kieth basically acknowledges in the letters pages). It’s frustrating to an extreme level, and makes the end of the series feel like a mess that abandons our characters and the world of the story.

And yet…and yet, somehow, that feels right for The Maxx, a comic that always felt like it drifted in whatever direction its creator was interested in, and never really felt like it was super interested in tight plotting or delivering on expectations. None of that makes the final stretch of the book any less frustrating as a fan, or makes me feel any less like Sara’s story was given short shrift, but it also feels like the inevitable outcome of the comic, and also better than a story that unfolded without passion or interest. Whatever else you can say about The Maxx – and to be sure, it’s a flawed work, and one that is undeniably of its era, for all of its good intentions and forward-thinking humanity – it feels like an expression of Kieth’s passions and interests, and having a story that continued without those involved couldn’t help but disappoint.

All that being said: do I recommend The Maxx? I do – yes, even with its frustrating ending and its weird derails and its lack of focus that makes its “lore” sometimes bewildering. Even after all these years, it still feels like it’s own weird little miracle, full of ideas and beliefs and humanity and weirdness and imagination and invention, and the way that it’s so interested in complex psychological issues leaves you feeling like it taps into something that still applies today. And if some of that is my own nostalgia, well, so be it; I can’t help but acknowledge how much this thing blew my mind when I first saw it. That it’s still as weird and unique as I remember it? All the better.