This past weekend I finished an exhaustive re-cataloguing of my book collections after my original web-based system went kaput earlier this year.

(Yes. I have an extensive cataloguing and rating method for my pop culture reserves. You don’t cram a house’s worth of books, albums, comics and movies into a one-bedroom apartment without a system.)

At the end of it, I found myself with a lot of books that I’d read but hadn’t rated, which means — joy of joys! — that I have some targeted comics and prose re-reading ahead of me over the next year or so. Some of those re-reads will likely be making appearances in this column. Like, for instance, this one right here.

Sandman Mystery Theatre, Volume One: The Tarantula

I have a soft spot for the Golden Age heroes of the Justice Society of America. The original Flash and Green Lantern, Hourman, Starman, Doctor Fate, and of course, Wildcat: there’s something about the old guard of DC’s superheroes that strikes a chord in me. As much as I like the characters, though, I don’t generally like the Golden Age comics they appeared in. Rather, I like the stories that more modern writers have told about them. Much like their contemporaries Superman or Batman, the original JSA character concepts have a resonance that generally outshines the books in which they first appeared, and a talented creator can see that resonance 50 or more years later and make something wonderful with it.

In 1993, Matt Wagner and Guy Davis did just that with Sandman Mystery Theatre. Set in the 1930s, it stars the Golden Age Sandman, Wesley Dodds, as he investigates crimes in a very realistic New York City. Wagner and Davis eschew a lot of the historical comic book trappings, toning down the traditional vibrancy literally and figuratively to make The Sandman more of a pulp character along the lines of The Shadow or The Green Hornet. This Sandman isn’t a square jaw in a bright green suit and purple cape; he’s a slightly pudgy man in a much more drab suit and overcoat. He still wears a gas mask, though. Not only does it come in handy when one is in the habit of toting a gas gun, it’s a great way to conceal one’s identity.

In The Tarantula, Wesley Dodds is caught up in the investigation of a series of kidnappings of young women on the streets of New York, all committed by the eponymous Tarantula. In the course of Dodds’ investigations he uses his Sandman identity to get information through less-than-legal methods, but as the wealthy Wesley Dodds, he also gets information through a variety of high-society contacts, including District Attorney Larry Belmont. It’s during one of those meetings that he meets the D.A.’s daughter, Dian Belmont, a smart and determined young woman stifled by the atmosphere of the 1930s. Though Wesley and Dian don’t end up as partners, romantic or otherwise, by the last page of this first volume, it’s nice to see the two of them at the beginning of their relationship. The way Wagner writes their interactions reminds me of The Shadow’s Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane, or The Thin Man’s Nick and Nora Charles, except in this story the man and the woman are on much more equal footing.

Any book published under the Vertigo imprint generally implies that it’s for “Mature Readers,” and Sandman Mystery Theatre is no exception. There are all manner of dark goings-on in the first four issues of this series, which is a huge strength. The tone of the story feels very much like a Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler novel, which is a perfect setting for this Sandman. In the shadowy world of New York City after the end of Prohibition but before the start of World War II, ambiguity and moral relativism run rampant. Most of the characters in The Tarantula walk some line between right and wrong, including Wesley; dressing up like a vigilante and attacking people with sleeping gas is, at the very least, a questionable way of going about one’s business. It’s nice, though, to see The Sandman solving crimes using his brain more often than his brawn. In Sandman Mystery Theatre, he’s one part Sam Spade, one part Batman.

The art by Guy Davis and colourist David Hornung is very strong. Davis hardly alters his line at all, often using line shading and cross-hatching to indicate shadows where other artists would bring out the big ink brush. It’s a bold choice to use that style in what could read like a noir book with heaps of shadows, but for this story and this character it works. It almost reminds me of engraving or woodcut art, in a way. Hornung’s colour palette is pale without being bland, as he knows when to use a splash of pink or lavender or fern green to add a little sparkle to the page.

I liked The Tarantula much more on second reading than I remember liking it the first. If the only thing you think of when you hear the name “The Sandman” is the Neil Gaiman series or the guy with the black-and-green-striped shirt, then I highly recommend this book as a first introduction to the character.

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I’ve done more than just dabble in Golden Age reboots this week, though. Here’s a sampling of what else I’ve enjoyed over the past seven days.

Comics: This week I got three-quarters of the way through my copy of All-Star Comics Archives: Volume One. Although I’ve already said that I am not the biggest fan of most Golden Age superhero comics, reading them more for historical reasons than aesthetic ones, I have really been enjoying the work of a couple of the artists in the collection. Howard Sherman’s Dr. Fate strips are a little staid in their presentation but the cartooning is sometimes so good they remind me of Jack Cole, especially in some characters’ faces. Sheldon Moldoff’s Hawkman strips, though, are dynamite, definitely influenced by (or ripping off) Alex Raymond — Moldoff does amazing stuff with figures, shadow and action, and even experiments very effectively with page layouts. In what is otherwise a generally mediocre book, the works of Sherman and Moldoff shine out like diamonds.

Music: I’m going to embrace my inner 13-year-old boy and proclaim that yes, I bought “Weird Al” Yankovic’s final studio album, Mandatory Fun, and I am glad I did. Sure, the parodies may be a little too mainstream for this old man to immediately identify (apparently there is a real band called Imagine Dragons?), but the highlight of the album is the original song “First World Problems,” which sounds more like a Pixies song than anything off Indie Cindy. I don’t care that “First World Problems” is supposed to be a comedy song — it rocks like an Earth 2 version of “Debaser” and that’s good enough for me.

Movies: The fluffy romantic comedy For Love or Money is an easy sell for me, as I am a fan of the great Kirk Douglas. He’s known for his dramatic chops but this rare opportunity to see him do light comedy is a real treat; he manages to contort his handsome mug into some surprisingly comic facial expressions, and his delivery of the admittedly slight dialogue is always on-point. The film is supposed to be a satire of some of the follies of 1960s life (fitness crazes, modern art, psychologically applied advertising) but it’s not hard enough to bite and not clever enough to be really funny. Instead, my enjoyment came from the hoops Douglas’ lawyer character jumps through as he plays matchmaker for three beautiful sisters — Mitzi Gaynor, Leslie Parrish, and a pre-Catwoman Julie Newmar — and the film works best when it tries to be more farce than satire. Watching Douglas and Gaynor slowly fall for each other is worth the price of admission for me; not only are they gifted performers, they’re beautiful human beings who are incredibly easy to look at. For Love or Money is incredibly slight but I was surprised at how much I ended up enjoying it.

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That’s all for me this week. Until next time, try to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in seven days.