Title: The Iguana Author: Carlos Trillo and Domingo R. Mandrafina Publisher: Dark Horse Comics Publish Date: 2001 Pages: 82 Genres:: Graphic Novels, Fiction Reviewer: Jerome D'Angelo

Rating:

At what point does fear begin to blur the line into the erotic? Perhaps more simply: can something frightening be sexy? It’s actually a fascinating question. It’s a shame that The Iguana, a supposedly erotic graphic novel authored by Carlos Trillo and illustrated by Domingo R. Mandrafina, does not delve too deep into the very question it poses. A shame, also, that a novel about how fear can turn into turn-on does little to actually turn the reader on so much as repulse them.

The Iguana begins with the death an ill-reputed banana republic “terrorist” of sorts, called The Iguana. “Iguanita”, as he is affectionately referred to by the island’s fascist dictator general, the only person who liked the murderer, looks as though he is a reptile, sporting scales, claws and fangs. A thought-police officer, as it were, Iguana can make people confess to their heathenish ways simply by glaring at them. Think Killer Croc from the Batman comic book if he were employed by Spanish Inquisitors.

Along comes Susan Ling, an attractive Chinese-American reporter who wants to do a story on The Iguana only to find out that he’s been killed. The citizenry though, still has quite a bit to say about him, and many are still fearful that he’s not dead at all. The killer was thought to be immortal, you see. Long -- or just poorly told -- story short, Ling falls for the image of the killer. She proceeds to have sex with men who wear Iguana masks, resulting in screaming orgasms.

The concept of the novel is interesting enough. Certainly there is a basis for this both in reality and in literature; killers and criminals are often romanticized. How often does Charles Manson still get love letters sent to him in San Quentin? Or what about the Patrick Bateman character in American Psycho? Still, The Iguana comes up short on explaining how anyone could be turned on by fear, instead taking every opportunity to have The Iguana himself deride, smack around and mutilate women, while touring and killing some men along the way.

Though The Iguana is decently illustrated by Mandrafina, it doesn’t have a whole lot in the erotic department, save for a few infrequent frames of nudity and the occasional man-on-top-of-woman snippet that never really delivers. The Iguana seems to want to blend a slasher flick with a pulp fiction novel at times, as if it were a poor man’s Quinton Tarantino, if Tarantino weren’t already the poor man’s version of himself.

The combination makes for a grotesque read that doesn’t make up for itself with any sort of substance. It would be like if you threw a trio of sex scenes into Saw, with one of Jigsaw’s victim’s doing for him while he wore that crazy mask. The psychology of sexual attraction to reprehensible homicidal types is a fascinating subject, but The Iguana seems to pay it lip service while people just get torn up.

The Iguana gets a largely undeserved second star in this review just for being momentarily thought provoking. Hopefully a work exploring this subject more thoroughly will come along soon. In the meantime, consider the question, but don’t bother with this book.