Reviews
There is something to be said about an author who manages to make a basic noir plot set in post-WWII Hollywood exciting. The genre has become so formulaic over the years it's pretty much become a cliché in itself: sex, drugs, scandal, murder, blah blah blah. Enter Ed Brubaker. I think I'm a little in love. I wouldn't say he did to the noir genre what he did to James Bond in Velvet (where clichés were appropriately shaken and stirred) but he came pretty close. Granted, the story has an unoriginal premise: a Hollywood writer wakes up in a strange place after drinking himself to oblivion and finds the dead body of an up-and-comic actress in the next room. Think this is boring and oh-so conventional? Don't yawn just yet! Because Brubaker is here to work his magic. I picked this up thinking I'd read a few pages and finish it the next day. Silly little me, I couldn't put it down. The characters are complex and the plot is compelling. What makes it really interesting is that Brubaker keeps adding new layers to the story as it progresses, giving it much more depth. Sean Phillips' art might not be as atmospheric as Steve Epting's in Velvet but it really adds to the noir setting. The panels are brilliantly laid out and the color scheme complements the story perfectly. This is pretty awesome stuff. And look at that cover! And at all the covers for the individual issues! I love them so much I'm actually tempted to buy each of them separately. Too bad my bank account doesn't agree. But I have to admit one thing really really really pissed me of here. That ending? Seriously? When I don't have volume 2 handy and have yet to order it?! You have got to be kidding me. How am I supposed to sit here and wait for 8 whole freaking days until it gets here?! Not so in love with you right now Mr Brubaker. I guess all that's left for me to do is to read Fatale while I bite my nails in frantic anticipation. Then again I could also reread James Ellroy's L.A. Quartet series. Yeah, that could definitely work.
