ADVANCE REVIEW: The Ministry of Compliance #1: Worldbuilding at its Finest

Warning: Minor Spoilers for The Ministry of Compliance #1

The danger of science fiction stories is striking the right balance of concept and character. Too much focus on the big, lofty ideas will often result in the sanding of the project’s characters, who must serve the controlling theme or idea. On the other side of the spectrum, an undefined plot will waste rich characters and their wants/desires. The greatest sci-fi works strike a middle balance, letting the concept and character work in harmony to enrich one another.  

The Ministry of Compliance #1 – written by John Ridley with art by Stefano Raffaele, colors from Brad Anderson, and lettering by Ariana Maher – doesn’t quite strike the right balance, opting for more focus on the concept. The book opens on a colonized version of Earth as Avigail Senna performs her duties as the Minister of Compliance. The role serves the Devolution, the governing body made up of 13 ministers, as an enforcer of the beliefs and bureaucracy of the civilization. The issue spends a bulk of its page on real estate developing this world, its system, and the power plays at work. 

A major turning point in the issue is the prime minister of the Devolution being recalled, which spins the entire cabinet into chaos. Avigail is asked to consolidate power and the codes for leaving Earth, as the Ministry of Compliance is slated to serve the Devolution’s mission versus following a specific person or administration.

Ridley’s script is filled with an interesting interaction of worldbuilding and colonialism clashing with bureaucracy. The political system, monolithic ministries, and preparation of Earth all make for a compelling hook to the series, using the sci-fi elements to underscore the inherent flaws of any society built around the colonization of another group. The notion of colonizers corrupted by the indigenous people is not necessarily a new idea, but Ridley lampshades the concept of it being used by the aggressors to justify immoral behavior. The script makes clear it understands the critiques and hypocrisies of colonization but finds interesting gray areas to explore the notion of hybridization in socialization. 

On the flip side of the conceptual is the characterization, which comes off as bland and stiff due to the alien nature of its leads. Avigail is a bureaucrat through and through, right down to the crisp gray suit and flat expression. The book opens with a narrator that comes off as overwritten and more akin to the prose of the novel, which betrays the trust of sequential storytelling. That stylistic choice fades as the story progresses, but the artificial tone never dissipates. The only time Avigail breaks character is when a moment of annoyance flashes through her after being called a pencil pusher. The brief moment does a lot to endear the killer and makes her seem a bit more compelling. 

Much of the stiffness results from Raffaele’s linework, which thrives when illustrating fluid action and in the inorganic architecture of the world. The movement created by the juxtaposition of continuous, repeating panels makes for smooth, cinematic fight sequences that sell the methodical attack patterns of Avigail. The backgrounds pair well with these moments, as Raffaele’s linework is strongest in the depiction of inorganic matter like weapons, modern buildings, and more. 

This is thanks to the heavy use of clean, smooth lines. By utilizing the specific style, the artist creates an air of futurism that feels adjacent to, but still beyond, the look of modern Earth. The downside to this style is it flattens the character anatomy and expressions, smoothing the dialogue and narration’s emotions and conflict to a bland affair. The missing emotion could be positive or negative to the overall story attempting to be told but is unclear throughout the issue.