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Fishing Out of the Mainstream 'Mephisto and the Empty Box' explores a life made empty by magic Mephisto and the Empty Box By Randy Meyeres I haven't been sleeping very well lately. The Bride of Son of Salmon (BoSoS) has recently started a new job as a corporate furniture representative. That's a fancy way of saying she sells cubicles. It's a great gig that means more bank for the Salmon household and she gets to work from home! (Talk about a killer commute.) But just like having to look at Michael Douglas now when you see Catherine Zeta-Jones, this too has a downside. Travel. Lots and lots of travel. The BoSoS has been gone every week for the past month. And the Salmon is starting to realize that he would no longer survive in the wild without she who is the BoSoS. From neglecting to eat at all rather than having to go to a restaurant by myself and feel like a zoo animal (I wanna stand up and tell everybody "It's okay. I HAVE somebody!") to restless nights without her by my side, I have come to terms with the fact that I don't really want to be a bachelor anymore. Sure there's beer, beautiful women and more beer out there in the single world. But, as the Salmon has discovered with the BoSoS being gone so much lately, it can also mean some pretty lonely, sleepless nights. It's probably because of this recent self-realization that Mephisto and the Empty Box hit me like a fistful of wedding cake to the kisser. Mephisto and the Empty Box is an achingly touching portrait of lost love that could make even the most hardcore womanizer realize that, like a certain '80s metal hair-band sang, "ya don't know what you got before it's gone." Eight years ago, John, the man who would one day take on the mantel of the Great Mephisto, was just a simple everyday Joe embarking on a life filled with newly wedded bliss. He who shall be Mephisto and his new bride kick off their honeymoon by taking in the original Mephisto's nightclub stage show. Mephisto's shtick consists of alternating between making things appear and disappear from his "magic box." The box, which is little more than a huge wooden crate adorned with the image of a devil's head on the door, is the source as well as the manifestation of Mephisto's act. At the prompting of her husband John, Carolyn uneasily makes her way to the stage to be the current Mephisto's assistant. Little is anybody in the audience, nor on the stage, aware that the current Mephisto's adulterous activities have raised the ire of a jealous husband. Just as the magician is about to make Carolyn disappear, the rotund Lothario falls to the stage dead on the receiving end of a bullet before he can finish his magical cadence. After the scorned, murdering husband takes his own life; Carolyn's husband rushes the stage to find Mephisto's magic box empty and his wife missing. Confused and broken-hearted, John watches the seasons pass as he mourns his wife's disappearance. One winter day while walking the lonely streets of the city, he wanders into an old curiosity shop. There he finds the original Mephisto's magic box, now collecting dust among the sorcerer's other pawned wares. Though nothing is in the box, he sees hope in the eyes of the devil on it's door. From that day on he dedicates his dreary existence to mastering the dark arts and finding a way to return his wife to his arms. He dons a mask and a tuxedo and orchestrates the return of the late Great Mephisto. Yet each night the applause from the crowd seems to mock him. He can do seemingly incredible feats of magic, yet cannot discover a way to return his wife from whatever abyss she is trapped in. Even the advances from his attractive young assistant leave him cold as he tumbles deeper and deeper into despair. The devil's face on the door of the magic box which holds his wife captive somewhere in its depths now seems to taunt him. One night while on stage, he attempts to unleash a hutch of rabbits from the magic box, but instead it sews forth a flock of crows. Mephisto realizes after this moment that he has never been, and never will be, the master of the box. Finally, one dark night Mephisto decides to end his tortured life. But as he prepares to face the end, will the box allow it? After all, it's Mephisto's ongoing struggle with the box that gives it life. What will it resort to in order to punish the magician it feels is trying to betray it? Maybe it has a trick or two in store that Mephisto is yet unaware of. Mephisto and the Empty Box reads like a long-lost episode of The Twilight Zone, from its stylistic artwork to its aged paper stock. But it's also more than just a mysterious and creepy peek into the occult that may or may not fuel popular stage magic. It's a snapshot of lost love and painful solitude. It's the story of a man who lives with the guilt of pressuring his new bride into doing something she didn't want to do. How urging her to move away from him, even for a brief moment, caused her to disappear forever. Mephisto and the Empty Box is dripping with melancholy and longing, yet has a B-movie charm to it that keeps it from becoming depressing or sappy. There's just enough dark, yet winsome, mysticism in it to keep it from drowning in dejection, and just enough serious angst to keep it from being saccharine. It's a careful balancing act that is nothing short of magical. Though some might find the artwork a bit cartoonish and too flat, it's actually perfectly suited to the World War II-era setting in which Mephisto and the Empty Box takes place. It captures a simpler time when stage magic mystified and, to a certain degree, even frightened those who watched it. Its dark panels evoke a world where pacts with the Devil aren't only possible, but nearly commonplace. Mephisto and the Empty Box, a love story with a Faustian
twist, is a brilliant debut for creators Hall, Kindt, Kindt and
Ford. It's sometimes sad, sometimes uplifting, sometimes magical,
and sometimes depressingly real. Not unlike a relationship itself.
Something I'm reminded of on those sleepless nights when the
BoSoS is on one of those business trips in hotel room miles away.
But unlike the Great Mephisto, at least I know when my love will
return. "This was in the same surreal vein as Runoff (reviewed by the Salmon here). It's brilliantly creepy with an ending worthy of a Greek tragedy. The stark artwork beautifully complements the story. Spooky. I loved it." Bride of Son of Salmon is an amateur fangirl in training and the Salmon's main squeeze. Look for her perspective on the indie comics Son of Salmon reviews each week in Fishing Outside the Mainstream. Randy "Son of Salmon" Meyeres lives in Seattle, Wash. He apologizes if anybody needs an insulin shot after reading such a lovey-dovey, sickeningly sweet column. Next week he'll return with his usual curmudgeonly, sarcastic style. Until then, you can reach him at randy@meyeres.net. |