It’s bloody hard sometimes. You have to have a modicum of interest in the comic to start with and the issue your reviewing may not be a stellar example of the run.
If a comic is good or shit they’re a piece of piss to critique but try to make an average, middle of the road comic review interesting is like trying to make it through Prime Minister’s Question Time without gurning so hard you chew your own face off.
Add to that reviewing single issues is like staring through a keyhole at a fresco depicting the fall of the Ottoman empire. There’s all the delightful little bastards telling you your subjective opinion is wrong because the realization they wasted their money will make them cry. Being a critic stops looking like fun after a while.
Doesn’t stop feeling fun though, if I think something deserves a blow job from the queen or molestation by a royal corgi then I feel an immense sense of satisfaction in getting my point across. Sometimes I look at the accolades on the front cover and see them as a challenge, for example I really tried to get through The Sherriff of Babylon but I’ll be honest it was so dry and tedious I couldn’t finish it. There again though it may have been the issue where the writers girlfriend left him for the milkman, don’t know, so I felt a bit unfair reviewing it.
I try to break it down with an initial reaction in a synopsis, then the writing, then the art, then a summing up. I also tend to avoid trades because I can only read them on a seven-inch screen in a limited time, plus I’ve come to enjoy the short sharp punch of a single issue.
So, critiquing comics, it’s a giggle when it goes right, a delight when it’s satisfying and like squeezing a spot on a corpse when it’s pants!