From Publishers Weekly
A game attempt by the creators of
Teenagers from Mars to out–Sin City
Sin City, this work traces the misfortunes of a lowlife so anonymous that his name is John Dough, who makes his living as "filler" in police lineups. Dough gets involved with Debra Cross, a hooker with a heart of darkness and a black eye; Cross and his attempt to rescue her from her vicious pimp gets him beaten to a pulp and framed for murder. But Dough and a writer friend fight back, by way of a couple of rather unusual metafictional twists. This book's look is as noir as they come and clearly inspired by Frank Miller—it features thick, oozing blotches of black and shocking patches of red, straight lines arrayed into menacing sets of bars everywhere, and an entire cast of lowlifes with chiaroscuro-heavy faces who look like they've actually
never seen better days, and never will. The moodiness of Rob G.'s artwork makes up for some of his drawings' dubious anatomy, and the story's Grand Guignol torrents of misery and gore eventually become kind of funny. The strength of the book isn't in its bluntly obvious symbolism or over-the-top grimness, though: it's Spears and Rob G.'s smooth, deliberate storytelling.
(Apr.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Spears and G's hero is filler: a guy who fills a space in a police lineup. It ain't much, but, along with regularly popping for the blood bank, it's a living for a combat vet who's got his marbles but no hope. Then a hooker who's still a looker--except for the shiner her pimp gave her--accosts him for a light. One thing leads to another: to bed, to our man playing white knight, to getting framed for murdering the pimp and his goon. Hauled in to star rather than fill in, the vet escapes and goes to see a fellow filler, a down-and-out writer who concocts a scheme to get our man off the hook and out of the country. In the end, everyone's got his or hers, though not all like what they get. Terrific noir entertainment that stokes fond memories of Munoz and Sampayo's great Alack Sinner stories of the 1980s, with G's stark, blunt black, white, and red compositions less intricate than Munoz's, but still damned effective.
Ray OlsonCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved