Confession time: I decided to give this one a shot when I flipped it open and saw the scene of our seedy prostitute-turned-superhero giving a blowjob to a Superman proxy. Just as he is about to cum, he tells her to move her head, and he shoots his wad through a brick wall and high into the sky where it shears the wing off a passing jet. I thought that was hysterical – which may not say great things about me – and I brought the book up to the register right away.
What I admired in that scene was the utter disregard for the pieties of comics. Introducing the idea of sex, raunchy sex and not the soft-focus of puppy-dog love, seemed brilliant. It seemed, in fact, a whole new frontier for third-generation comics. It was an invitation to a comic that would undercut everything you expect a comic to be and then give something urgently fresh as well. And it had a striking, bold art.
Sorry to report that, outside of that one brilliant scene, there isn’t much to enjoy here.
On the one hand, there’s a deep laziness. Our Pro gets her powers simply because an extraterrestrial being decides he’d like to prove that even the lowliest of humans can be a hero under the right circumstances. (He’s a take on Marvel’s The Watcher, called in this case the Viewer – which another character keeps getting wrong as “the Voyeur.” Mildly funny, but an unexplored premise.) There’s nothing at stake in that, no claim he’s making or testing. Yes, I get that it’s a joke, but it’s a joke within comics – a hee-hee, did you get the reference moment – rather than a joke to make some original point about the nature of voyeurism or indifference to the suffering or experience of others.
Then comes the superhero team who welcomes her. Again, it’s an adolescent, fan-boy wink to the comics ‘other people’ are silly enough to enjoy. We have a Superman clone, a Wonder Woman, a Green Lantern. It’s such a Justice League parody that it has nothing to say other than “look at us for treading on Superman’s cape…aren’t we clever.” There’s a reasonably funny moment when the Green Lantern figure gets his ring finger shot off and, mid-flight, crashes horribly to earth. Otherwise, there’s nothing original or thought-provoking to the characters, other than vague (and tired) implications that someone’s sidekick is probably his boy lover.
Beyond that refusal to develop the situation in any way that might reflect a fresh vision, there’s a surly, half-baked libertarian politics in the air. The Pro raises a couple of potentially intriguing points when she notes that real heroes would have stopped 9/11, or when she realizes that a quasi-police force of superheroes is often the wrong security detail for the job. She suggests loosely that we shouldn’t trust the powerful just because they’re powerful – which is a potentially worthwhile inquiry to make in a comic that put more energy into its project – but even that notion sits lazily above the rest of the action. She doesn’t pursue the insight, and the story moves on as if she never said it.
And, in even uglier fashion, the story seems to celebrate that she’s a low-rent whore. Yeah, there’s something potentially funny about the idea that her superpowers – whatever they are, since we never really learn – allow her to give hand jobs at super speed, but other than a raunchy joke, that doesn’t get developed here. There’s a defiance when she defends her choice to turn cheap tricks, but it’s not clear to what effect. She lives an ugly life – even this book acknowledges that – and she does so without apology. But the only thing we seem to take from that is the idea that no one is morally superior enough to judge her.
In context, that feels less like a reasoned argument for the limits of government – as the Pro discusses in her throwaway monologue – and more like a self-defeating, teenage manifesto: I’m 17 and I can make my own decisions even if you think they’re dumb.
So I recommend passing on this. There’s an extra star for its art and for that one funny scene, but the rest of it falls far short of what my first glimpse suggested it could be.