With The Homeland Directive writer Robert Venditti offers a deep and meditative work on the nature of personhood in an era of mass marketing. Easily the equal of the illustrious works of John Reed or Jonathan Franzen, The Homeland Directive elevates both the political thriller genre and the comics medium.
Certainly, my wet dreams aren’t of some wanton tragic mulatto naked on her hands and knees, projecting that very old Plantation style racial order (See the next-to-last scene of Monster’s Ball). Rather, I fantasize about Mariah, Barack and Alicia.
The second act of Mariah's comeback doesn't wisely expand her sound: it instead succumbs to the blueprint so carefully laid out by its predecessor, a pointless remake that exists only because it has to.