From Men to Gods

As a Black comic book fan, I’ve always celebrated the transformation of African deities and Black folk heroes into comic book superheroes, a practice that mirrors the reimagining of figures like Thor, Hercules, and Shazam. Greg Anderson-Elysée’s Hammer Act 1 not only continues this significant practice but profoundly elevates it; by infusing Afro-Caribbean spirituality and Afrofuturist elements into John Henry’s lore, Elysée forges a uniquely compelling narrative of resistance and cultural reclamation.

His interpretation fondly reminds me of Rob Guillory’s Mosley – another hammer-wielding hero of god-like proportions. Both titles turn folk hero John Henry into a demigod whose war against the machines is a “holy” one. I find this version a little more explicit in its spiritual overtones, referring to Henry as a mythical savior of “flesh folks.”

Witch’s Brew

In Anderson-Elysée’s story, John Henry is an ill-tempered herald of the earth herself: Mother Asase. This idea is wonderfully depicted by David Brame in the very first panel, where we see John nestled into Mother Asase as if he were a child. From this point on, Anderson-Elysée doesn’t simply write this story — he conjures it, pulling inspiration from several ancestral places. There’s an opening journal entry written in a form of southern Black vernacular which leads to a Zulu lullaby. Then there’s a very familiar slave narrative scene of a disheveled Black man leading his wife and child through the woods in the dead of night. As if you couldn’t get any more overstimulated, he then introduces a robot who speaks fluent Brooklyn ratchet: “Ya damn near scared my wires off. We need to go before you get your flesh asses caught.” The art keeps pace by inventing robots and cyborgs inspired by anime such as Battle Angel Alita and Ghost in the Shell. It’s this amalgam of cultures and genres that makes this story so fantastical.

Power of the Tongue

Greg Anderson-Elysée cleverly distinguishes “flesh folks” from machines through their language; human characters use a rustic dialect while the machines speak with more modern dialogue. What’s most unsettling is how Anderson-Elysée imbues David Brame’s robotic monstrosities with whimsical speech. Lord Bolt, for instance, possesses all the charm of James Spader’s Ultron, and his “children” truly steal the show, resembling a blend of Chucky and Terminator.

Nonetheless, this witch’s brew he has concocted does have its faults. Sometimes the language feels odd, as if he is trying his hand at Ebonics but not quite mastering it. John Henry’s lines, for instance, as he’s wandering the desert, read like conversations in Thor’s Asgard when the lettering turns to calligraphy and all the characters suddenly use Shakespearean grammar. The experience does create a sense of place, however, I wish it were used more practically.

Bold Moves, Big Wins

Ultimately, Greg Anderson-Elysée’s Hammer transcends mere superhero fare, demonstrating a profound elevation of the Black folk hero tradition. His vision, deeply rooted in John Henry’s spiritual connection to Mother Asase and presented through a mishmash of Afrofuturist elements, conjures a mythic savior whose “holy war” against machines is deeply resonant. Despite minor linguistic stumbles, the sheer audacity of Anderson-Elysée’s storytelling—from the jarringly compelling dialogue of his robotic adversaries to the vivid art of David Brame—solidifies Hammer’s place as a uniquely compelling narrative of resistance and reclamation. His well-deserved Glyph Awards stand as a testament to his bold willingness to take risks, proving that true innovation in comics comes from embracing diverse voices and narratives that defy easy categorization.

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