Holy Lacrimony

In the psychedelic latest from Canadian alt-comics mainstay DeForge (Big Kids), a moody musician gets abducted by an alien who manifests as a massive, multi-jawed mouth. Jackie, who’s drawn comically thin and corpse-like, is hauled out the window of his apartment by the alien’s creepy pseudopod and deposited in a blank blue room. A shape-shifting alien named Kara announces itself as his “apprentice” and declares that the two will create a series of performances to educate aliens about human emotions: “You won’t just teach me to cry, you’ll teach me how to mean it.” The scenario is serio-farcical—Kara, who appears as the killer’s mask from the Scream films (“I assumed the likeness of a figure you draw meaning and comfort from”), is most fascinated by Jackie’s status as Earth’s “saddest living person.” After a reality-bending collaboration with Kara that ranges from tutoring and choreography to no-strings sex, Jackie is unceremoniously dropped back on Earth. DeForge’s Dali-esque style (masks, snake-like appendages, restrained palette), shifts to a gloomier and flatter black-and-white look to mimic Jackie’s terrestrial gloom. In the third act, Jackie joins an alien abductee recovery group, a development that brings a spiky edge to the woozily wry comedy and introduces a more meaningful exploration of alienation. It’s a surprisingly thought-provoking gambol. (Mar.)