"Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven" by Brandon Easton

BOOK TITLE: Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven

AUTHOR: Brandon Easton

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Wrestling Biography

GRADE: Pass

Andre the Giant’s road to wrestling stardom was one filled with pain, unhappiness, excessive drinking, and tough choices. Starting out as a farm boy in France, he fell in love with professional wrestling in his teen years when he’d see these small shows performed in front of live crowds. Needing an escape from feeling like a freak, he used his massive size to his advantage and started his long hard road to becoming one of the biggest legends in the wrestling industry. He traveled all over the world wrestling matches that stunned spectators until he made it to the multi-billion dollar World Wrestling Federation. His larger-than-life star power would become immortalized with his matches against Hulk Hogan, The Ultimate Warrior, and many other future Hall of Famers. He died in 1993 due to complications with his gigantism, but he will never be forgotten.

Graphic novels and comic books alike get bad reputations for being ordinary picture books for kids (that was a dig at you, Bill Maher). This graphic novel in particular is much more than that. It’s a well-written biography with dialogue and narration any reader can get behind. I especially liked the part where the old lady at the fairgrounds told Andre that he’s “closer to heaven” because God doesn’t have to reach down that far to touch him. That simple act of kindness helped Andre feel like more than just a sideshow freak. He was a human being with real emotions and real struggles, just like any other regardless of size. The dialogue and narration help convey that message perfectly. In other words, he’s a three-dimensional character within the confines of a greater story.

Just like all three-dimensional characters, Andre had flaws underneath all of his stardom. He was so young and egotistical that he thought he was invincible, so he turned to drinking and telling inappropriate jokes to keep up this appearance. Partying was a huge part of the wrestling industry and some people succumb to their vices easier than others. In Andre’s case, his alcoholism led him to complicate his gigantism, where his bones were already aching and he needed so many surgeries that he lost count. Despite his flaws, it’s impossible to hate Andre the Giant as a character. He is, after all, human. He still feels guilty during his times of sin, especially as it relates to his estranged daughter Robin, who penned an emotional letter to him while he was away. This is a reminder that nobody is invincible no matter how big and strong they are. That’s true storytelling at its best.

In addition to his struggles with his physical health, his emotional health took a toll on him as well. Despite being a mega star every country he wrestles in, he couldn’t find his permanent happiness. He took the little things for granted until it was almost too late to appreciate them once again. Being able to catch up with his friends back home in France was a huge emotional boost for him. Forging new friendships with his business manager and his bosses helped keep him in check. Being able to shoot movies and work with friendly actors helped him escape from wrestling when he needed to the most. In the end, being happy is all that matters in this world. If you hate life with a passion, you can’t be like Andre the Giant and be “closer to heaven”. It’s not a religious thing. It’s common sense that we all push aside at some point down the road. The key is to remember who we are and why we do what we do.

As short as this graphic novel is and as easy as it is to poke fun at the wrestling genre (again, I’m looking at you, Bill Maher), Andre the Giant: Closer to Heaven is a brilliantly-written piece of art that should be appreciated by wrestling and non-wrestling fans alike. It’s not just a biography of a pop culture icon. It’s a story. A real, living, breathing, three-dimensional story about a human being overcoming gargantuan obstacles. A passing grade is what this graphic novel deserves.

The Ophidiomancer

When Shaun Goldberg breathed fresh cool air for the first time in his life, he was nearly brought to tears. The grass underneath his bare feet felt softer than a kitten’s fur coat. The wind massaged his wounded body with every heavenly blast. For a minute, he thought he actually was in heaven. Then again, even a public bathroom would have been heaven compared to the blood-and-shit-covered cage he was locked in from childhood to his current thirty years. Bending those bars in half and running away gave him a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

With only a sheep mask and a pair of blue jeans to cover himself with, Shaun ventured out into the countryside plains looking for…god knew what. He had no idea what the hell was supposed to be out here. Would the strangers of this new land treat him just as badly as his mother had? Pushing that possibility out of his mind was like fighting with a schizophrenic ghost. The visions of his mother beating him with a belt and setting him on fire caused him to clutch his head so tightly that his ears bled. He had scars and slashes all over his chest and back because of it.

When the traumatic nightmares fought harder and harder to make Shaun’s head explode, he ran across the wheat field with no destination and a freakish cry in his lungs. He could only run for a short distance since his exhausted legs gave out on him. He crashed to his knees and bawled like a baby. He screamed like a wild beast and flailed his arms like morning stars. What good was having freedom if he had nowhere to go, no education, and nobody to talk to? Was he only delaying the inevitable? Was his thirty years on earth just one miserable hellhole?

Shaun’s traumatic voices were interrupted by religious chanting off in the distance. That baritone voice. Those Latin words. The hisses of poisonous snakes. Could he really be out here? Shaun picked his head up and stared languidly at the ritual going on before his very eyes. Yes, it was him! Reverend Carlos Pierre, the televangelist his mother used to watch on TV all the time. With such charisma in the preacher’s voice and a strong presence, surely Mr. Pierre could help Shaun find his way again.

When the masked giant approached the snakebite ceremony, he looked down on the ground to see several of Carlos’s followers rolling around and coughing up venom. The preacher smiled down at them and spoke in tongues while sprinkling some kind of dust on their bodies. With a blue Hawaiian shirt, white trousers, and sandals with black socks, Carlos looked more like a casual slob than a legitimate cleric. But what would Shaun know about fashion? For all he knew, Reverend Pierre was the real deal.

The priest gazed up at Shaun with his thousand mile stare and said, “You’ve come to the right place, my son. We were just in the middle of a ritual. You’re welcome to join us. Heck, it was probably destiny to begin with. The gods have brought you here, my friend. I know that you’re lost and you don’t know what to do. Kneel before me and all will become clear.”

Shaun was shivering with nervousness at the possibility of finding out what his true purpose in life was. He couldn’t have been a punching bag all these years. There was more to it all than that and he was sure Carlos was going to show him the way. With shivering legs, he got down on one knee like they did in the telecasts and bowed his head.

“Very good, my son. You should know by know what’s coming next,” said Carlos with his devious grin. From the crumbling stone well next to him, he pulled out a brick compartment and opened the hatch to release a hooded cobra from its resting place. He picked up the little bastard and petted it like a newborn puppy. “Hello there, little guy. Who’s my handsome little man? You are, my friend!” The Reverend kissed the cobra on the head before holding it like a whip and approaching Shaun while speaking in strange tongues.

The seven-foot tall giant lifted his head for a slight moment and leaped backwards while screaming like an infant. He remembered seeing these kinds of snakes all the time around his cage. He would cry out in the middle of the night and his mother wouldn’t help him. He got bitten and traumatized by these little hellions and his intense whiny breathing said it all: it was going to happen in adulthood.

Carlos wagged his finger at Shaun and smiled before saying in his smooth jazz voice, “Now, now, my son. You want to be healed, right? You want all of those scars on your body to fade away? You want to meet your savior and creator? You must go through with this, my friend. There is no other way to salvation. If you can’t trust this million dollar smile, what can you trust? Do me one other favor, my boy: take off that silly mask.”

“I…I…I can’t, Mister Reverend Sir. She won’t let me! That bitch won’t let me!” panicked Shaun with his hands defensively over his face.

“I’ll let that burst of foul language slide this time around, but if you do it again, you’ll find yourself in a fiery pit by the time this ritual is over. You don’t want to go there, do you? You look like that’s where you’ve been this whole time. Whoever this woman is you’re referring to, she can’t hurt you now. Nobody can hurt you now. The snakebite is all but a heavenly sting. And then the juices will release you from your worst nightmares. Now do as I say and take that mask off,” said Reverend Pierre in a firm, but polite voice.

Shaun slowly let his hands down and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Pierre. I can’t do it. You don’t want me to. I’m just going to be a sinner if I do.”

Like the animal he held in his hands, Carlos struck quickly when he yanked Shaun’s mask off. The preacher’s expression changed from polite psychosis to pants wetting fear. “Holy shit!” he whispered when he backpedaled and held his cobra out like a sword. The reptile hissed and flicked its tongue in Shaun’s direction.

Both the sheep mask and the gloves were both off. This man was not a preacher. He was a con artist not unlike a certain matriarchal parent. Shaun’s face was covered in blood and looked like a bare skull with a holy cross tattooed on his forehead. The face of a heavyweight boxer looked more pristine after one of his fights than Shaun’s did after thirty years of torture.

The savage giant stood up on both bare feet and slowly approached the frightened ophidiomancer. The cobra in Carlos’s hand would snap and hiss while the preacher himself kept chanting, “Get away from me! You’re nothing more than a foul beast! Be gone, sinner! Be gone!”

When Shaun got too close, the cobra finally struck. The little creature would have sunk its razorblade teeth into the giant’s chest if Shaun hadn’t instinctively grabbed its head and squeezed with all of his angry might. “Let him go!” shouted Carlos as he tried to pull the snake away. “He hasn’t done anything to anybody! He’s just an animal! He’s innocent! He’s the gateway to heaven!”

Carlos pulled too hard and snapped the snake’s smashed up head off. The goop, blood, and venom in Shaun’s hand was shaken off like a common stain. The preacher backed up until he was cornered against the stone well. Shaun lifted his hands offensively and smiled a devilish smile at his prey. When he reached down for his opponent’s throat, Carlos sprang back up and started punching and elbowing Shaun’s already bloodied up face. Sprays of thick red gunk splashed all over the now dead corpses of Carlos’s followers. After one too many strikes, Shaun fell backwards like a domino and snored heavily.

The ophidiomancer looked down at his victim with a wicked grin and laughed like this whole encounter was one big joke. He had life juices all over his arms as he held them to the sky and laughed like a maniac. “You see that?! I told you I was the one who was going to send you to heaven! But did you listen?! No, and that’s why you’re rotting in an eternal hell!”

Shaun sat up and glared at his attacker dead in his now frightened eyes. “No…no! How can you?! You’re just a demon! You’re a common sinner! You’re a fool!” shouted Carlos.

The giant nipped up to his feet and bull rushed Carlos back first into the stone well. While the preacher was struggling for air as Shaun held his throat, the giant said, “Truth is, Reverend, the only hell that exists for me is miles back there! If you want to know what a real fire pit looks like, I’ll be happy to show you!”

While Carlos was shouting “No!” repeatedly, Shaun reached into the well and pulled out yet another poisonous snake. With one hand firmly wrapped around the creature’s neck, he wrapped the body around Carlos’s throat and strangled him with brutal force. The preacher’s legs were dangling as he was being hoisted in the air by this ogre-like nightmare of a man. Oxygen only lasted for so long, but Shaun Goldberg’s newfound smile lasted forever.

The beauty of the afternoon passed into the chill of the night. The Goldberg family residence was little more than a beat up trailer with a shit-stained farm out back. Bursting the door open with a slab of red meat was a corpulent woman dressed in a pink bathrobe with bunny slippers. “Shaun! Rise and shine! It’s dinner time, you sack of shit! You’d better be up and awake before I bet your ass again!”

The matriarch of the Goldberg family kicked open the barn door and burst into tears at what she saw. It wasn’t her precious little boy in the bloody cage. It was her dear and beloved Reverend Carlos Pierre hanging by his own snake, lifeless as the corpses he collected that day. The mother sobbed and wailed as she waddled over to the dead body and hugged it tightly. “Oh, Reverend! I’m sorry my bastard boy did this to you! I know now that you’re in heaven!”

“Hello, mother dearest!” said a familiar gravelly monster voice. The bitchy mother slowly turned her head and saw that her “bastard boy” Shaun was standing in the doorway covered in live poisonous snakes. The mother dropped on her ass and continued to shed pathetic tears. The son? He had only one question: “What’s for dinner, momma?”

King Blizzard

Jason Clark was getting sick of waiting around. He aggressively rocked in his wooden chair on the front porch while stoically chewing a piece of wheat. The fields before him were bountiful with vegetables and fruit whether it was corn and potatoes or strawberries and watermelons. They all looked mouthwateringly delicious to even the biggest of appetites. These vast fields of food were all thanks to the backbreaking, sweat dripping hard work of the Clark family.

Middle-aged Jason didn’t want to think about his family too much. Knowing they would never come back from the dead put the occasional tear in his eye. A beautiful wife and two happy children were ripped from his life in a bloody struggle that Jason could never forgive. “Today is the day,” he said to himself in a stern and gravelly voice. “No turning back.”

And then the sounds and tremors of gigantic footsteps rang across the fields. Even though Jason’s two-story house was shaking, he wasn’t in a huge hurry when he stood up and slowly walked in front of the dirt path leading to his home. The source of the earth-shattering footsteps was plain in sight and all the farmer could do was fold his arms and give him a hateful frown.

There he was in all of his fifty-foot tall glory: King Blizzard. He had the golden crown and long red cloak to prove his “royalty”. He looked more like an outlander barbarian with a fur loincloth covering his body and ogre-like dentistry. He acted like one too when he leaned down and screamed at Jason in an attempt to get his bones rattling and adrenaline flowing. The stoic farmer didn’t blink, let alone budge.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who could get stepped on like the insect you are!” grunted King Blizzard in his throaty, demonic voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Jason. “All I did was put in the best work of my life this year to make sure you have all your food. That is what you came here for, right? An undeserved handout? Hell, I could have used one when you murdered my family.”

Blizzard stood up straight and let out an obnoxious belly laugh. “Trust me, you didn’t need those little twerps anymore. They were doing you no good. If anything, they held you back. You know what happens when farmers don’t give me what I’m entitled to, right? They get smashed!”

The unflinching Jason Clark spit out the wheat straw and said, “Yeah, I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. But the real question is…do you know what I’m capable of?”

The giant’s next belly laugh caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass, sending a ripple throughout the ground and nearly knocking Jason on his back. “Wow, you’re quite the comedian today! Maybe instead of being a farmer, you should be a court jester! You’d probably make more money dancing and singing like an idiot than you would feeding my big ass! Speaking of which…”

Blizzard started uprooting various crops around his massive body. He ate handfuls of pumpkins and watermelon like they were candy. He picked his teeth with ears of corn. He stuffed mounds of lettuce in his mouth like it was his last meal. Throughout his banquet, he smacked his lips, drooled rivers all over himself, and burped sonic booms like the annoying bastard he was. “Is this seriously all you’ve got? I’m still hungry! Feed me, you pathetic human!”

“How about instead of eating like a spoiled brat, you actually start being thankful for the bounty these farmers give you! We work our asses off for three hundred and sixty-five days a year just so you could feed that massive belly of yours! And just so you know, Blizzard, we were all secretly hoping that your filthy eating habits would earn you a heart attack! But I guess that’s all wishful thinking, now isn’t it!” screamed Jason with his clinched fists at his sides.

“You’ve got some balls on you, son,” said Blizzard as he started to stand back up. He looked down on Jason as if he was nothing more than a flea. The giant’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice grew angrier. His balled up fists were like wrecking balls. His whole body was a weapon of war, a war he was determined to win within seconds.

He reached down and picked up Jason Clark before squeezing him tightly in his mountainous hand. Aside from a few grunts and groans, the farmer remained as stoic as ever, uncaring about his own life now that his family was torn away from him. The giant could squeeze until the Jason’s head popped like a zit and there would still be courage in the little guy’s heart.

“I should just crush you in the palm of my hand right here right now!” shouted King Blizzard. “But I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of a quick death. No, I’m going to draw this out for as long as I damn well want. The first thing I’m going to do is rip off your arms and legs one at a time.”

In a strained voice, Jason said, “Do your worst! See if I give a shit!”

“Your balls are too big for your own good, little buddy. Maybe I’ll rip them off first!” threatened Blizzard. “But first, I need to have a seat. All that food’s giving me a cramp.” The giant chuckled evilly before sitting down on Jason’s two-story house and crushing it to toothpicks.

And then Blizzard’s threatening mood changed to one of pain and agony. At first he winced and shivered to try and ease himself. He even loosened his grip around Jason long enough for him to get away and roll on the ground to cough up little droplets of blood. Blizzard couldn’t take it anymore. He let out the world’s loudest growl of pain as he rolled over and revealed the source of his agony. He had a column of piled up furniture going up his ass crack. Heat stoves, couches, bookshelves, and even a spiky tube was stacked high from the top to the bottom of the house.

As King Blizzard’s anus was bleeding profusely from the furniture sodomy, Jason, who was on his back breathing painfully, poked his head up and said, “You feel that, big guy? You feel that?! Good! I hope it hurts like hell! I’ve been hurting for a whole year ever since you took my family away from me! But did I back down? No, I didn’t! I kept plowing my fields and I gave you some of the best food you’ve ever eaten! Consider this your last meal before your execution!”

Blizzard’s breathing became labored and raspy as his anus continued to bleed all over the remains of Jason’s house. “Execution?! You’re the one who’s going to be executed, you little shit!” The giant fumbled and staggered in his attempt to stand back on his feet. He was still bleeding profusely, but for a moment he blocked out the literal pain in his ass and focused on the figurative one lying on the ground below him.

The giant limped and dragged himself over to Jason’s broken body. But the minute he knelt down to pick him up again, the pain in his ass fired up and he screamed some more. After a while of dancing around in pain, King Blizzard’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards with a resounding thud, shoving the furniture up his ass even more. There was no more movement, no more screaming, and no more tyranny. King Blizzard had just become the world’s biggest rotting corpse.

In his groundbreaking fall, Blizzard landed back first on Jason’s body, crushing it into blood and bones and taking him to the afterlife with the giant. But was this battle considered a draw? Hardly. After a few days of inactivity, several of Jason Clark’s farmer friends visited his fields and saw the proof themselves that he was a hero. King Blizzard was slain and a victory square dance was in order.

Before there could be a grand celebration, a funeral would take place to honor the Clark family. There would be plenty to eat at the ceremony since Blizzard left behind fields and fields of uneaten food. But more importantly, Blizzard himself would be on the menu since his muscular body had more meat on it than the entire world’s cow population.

What did the farmers call this new food company? The name was a no-brainer. Ho, ho, ho! Green Giant!

Wade Bryan

When you combine the names of WWE wrestlers Wade Barrett and Daniel Bryan and make a Dungeons & Dragons character named Wade Bryan, you’d better make him into a serious badass. He can’t just look good carrying a two-handed sword and dressed in 100-lb. metal armor; he has to look and fight like a war god. He may be a level one human fighter, but back in 2010 when my D&D output was particularly high, he was my level one human fighter. He’s Wade Bryan, damn it, and every time he kicks the bad guys’ asses, everyone gathers around him for flash photography. Wait a minute…flash photography in a medieval fantasy game? How can that be?

In order to grow up to be a kick-ass fighter, you have to be battletested both mentally and physically. That means growing up with a dark past few people gather the inner strength to talk about. For Wade, that was easy. He grew up on a farm with lots of cute animals. He petted chickens, rolled around with pigs, patted the cows on their heads, basically, he was one happy kid whose joyful nature couldn’t be tainted by anything. That is, anything except for learning about what eventually happens to these cute animals on the farm. Wade Bryan wasn’t just shocked by learning these animals were eventually slaughtered; he was traumatized and disgusted.

Upon seeing a row of cow corpses in the slaughterhouse, Wade’s childhood was ruined. He ran away from home with his cousin Chris and decided to pilfer vegetables off of other people’s farms. He and Chris made a pact together to never eat a single bite of meat, eggs, cheese, or any other animal byproducts for the rest of their shattered and war-torn lives. Being a vegan was easy for Wade, because every time a piece of steak would touch his lips, he would get violently ill from the trauma he experienced as a kid. Since he and Chris were close, Chris sympathized with Wade to where he too would get sick at the thought of meat.

Stealing vegetables wasn’t the best way to survive in farm territory, so when Wade and Chris were old enough, they joined the National Guard under the tutelage of the ultra-tough Zell Jardine. Zell put them through hell, and no, I’m not trying to be cute by saying that. The training consisted of constant aerobic and combat exercises with Zell’s piercing screams blasting in the trainees’ ears. It got bad enough for some people that they quit after the first few days. Wade and Chris, on the other hand, graduated with honors and eventually became best friends with Zell Jardine. Funny how that works out.

When Wade Bryan was introduced to the Dungeons & Dragons scenario, he was part of a government program called The Bodyguard System. The Mayor of Middlesex (the main town of the game), Shawn Simms, would grant the services of a high ranking bodyguard to whoever helped his city in any way, shape, or form. The main characters of the game, Darthania Galveston and Brutus Warcry, protected Shawn Simms from various criminal gangs, so they got the services of Wade Bryan. The rest, they say, is history. Wade wasn’t just a government employee, he was also a fuck buddy for the female characters of the game. But that’s a story for another day, probably in a future publication called Fifty Wades of Grey. I’m kidding. Maybe. I don’t know.

　

***PROVERB OF THE DAY***

“What you do to your children, they will do to the world.”

-Unknown-