Billed as an animated comic epic, Broken Saints
summons to mind myriad questions about form and entertainment. What
constitutes a movie or series? In the ongoing dialogue between the
comics and graphic novel industry and their Hollywood suitors, what
unique structural elements are inherent to each format? And where, too,
does original Web content fit into all of this?

Running over 10 hours and spanning two dozen episodes, Broken Saints
got its start on the Internet, where it was an original and independent
serial effort on an eponymous Web site. Fusing anime style and
comic-book text with more traditional cinematic effects and production
technique, the hypnotic and surreal fantasy/horror epic here gets a
full-blown DVD treatment, one that may hook new fans who appreciate
being able to enjoy in larger, discrete segments episodes, ranging in
length from nine minutes to a finale that, at 83 minutes, touches
feature length.

Written and overseen by creator Brooke Burgess, the story centers
around four strangers who each receive a sequence of chilling
apocalyptic visions. Drawn together from the corners of the Earth to a
single city, they come to find their fates are inexorably tied to one
another, and to a conspiracy involving a global satellite network and a
mysterious orphan girl with a terrifying secret. Their fates in turn
inform that of the world at large. Will they stand up to face the
encroaching darkness? And if so, at what individual price?

Broken Saints is reminiscent at least on some level of the old Aeon Flux
animated series on MTV, in that its conspiracy-dipped and
paranoia-tinged narrative is married to a style at once florid and
gracefully simple. The full breadth of innovative artistic effort on
display here is certainly impressive, and sometimes quite mesmerizing.
But the series as a whole is waterlogged by emotionally distant
metaphor and an obdurate devotion to flowery, cryptic prose that
prevents much accrued downhill momentum. (A mercifully succinct sample:
“I hear the ocean serenading the soft white sand and feel the warm sun
cradle its children. The trees beckon with gifts of fragrance, fruit
and shelter.”) The combination, too, of voiceover narration (The X-Files’
William B. Davis and Michael Dobson are among the voice talent) and
comic-book-style thought and spoken-word bubbles, is just a strange one
to get used to, at least for the length of the project here. The purred
meta-physical and philosophical musings herein swallow the story, and
the series’ running time kills off any sense of lasting wonderment.

Regardless of what one might think of the program, Broken Saints
is packaged and presented in an undeniably groundbreaking and
interesting fashion, one that definitely feeds its cutting-edge image.
With 24 episodes presented in 1.66:1 widescreen and over five hours of
supplemental material spread out over four discs, the series is a
mini-marvel of technical savvy and prowess — clean, clear and
streamlined. The set’s packaging unerringly continues this theme, with
an inch-thick binder housing four glued-in plastic trays, and in turn
slipping (topside) into a clear plastic case that features four
attached, double-sided, cardboard corner sleeves featuring characters
from the series.

The disc’s menu screen cheekily boasts of “tasty trailers and a
bounty of BS featurettes,” and it’s not kidding. Creator Burgess sits
for full series audio commentary, while a 19-minute production
featurette includes chats with camera-shy technical director Ian Kirby
and many others. Fan films, other behind-the-scenes featurettes,
documentaries and interviews only extend the immersive experience. On
the downside, so dense and crammed with content are the discs that the
menu screens are sometimes a bit slow, particularly when toggling
between episodic selections, which are replete with description. C (Show) A (Disc)