Last year, I picked up a hardcover copy of Pulp, a part-Western, part-noir bit of comic narrative by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips. I loved it, and wondered what else these two had done together. This is because I'm an idiot.
I've long been familiar with the two names in comics. Brubaker (along with his partner Michael Lark) did a long run on my favorite comic, Daredevil, and also developed and co-wrote Gotham Central, a street-level look at cops in Batman's city. I loved this guy.
But Brubaker/Phillips had really made their name in semi-independent crime and horror-noir (Fatale, Criminal, Incognito, The Fade Out), and despite this being directly in my wheelhouse, I avoided it all. Why? Well, I'd like to say it's because I wanted to preserve my favorite writers and artists for a rainy day or something. The truth is, even though I'm a sucker for noir, I hate smoking. I just hate it so much. And if a cover features a character smoking, I will not buy it.
It's not that I've mellowed over the years, but The Scene of the Crime - an early 2000s neo-noir written by Brubaker, drawn by Lark, and inked by Phillips - caught me before I could change my mind. I've made a long habit out of rationalizing enjoying art when smoking is involved (being in love with Tarantino films has been a colossal effort), but in Scene of the Crime, my saving grace was that none of the three main characters did it, so I could be safe with them. It's absurd, I know. But it's how my brain has to work to help me like stuff like this.
And I do like it. Quite a lot, actually. It's sort of a boilerplate mystery of missing persons, cults, unbelievable abuse, and a lone-wolf private eye with a Dark Backstory. What makes Scene of the Crime work so well is the characters, as is generally the case with crime fiction. Jack Harriman is a young detective trying to move past his demons; he kind of reminds me of Lawrence Block's Matt Scudder, if he was a lot younger. I liked the color of San Francisco - kind of the prime locus of this kind of fiction (it makes me want to read more crime fiction from the 1940s) - and the fact that in this world, a crime-scene photographer can be famous enough to warrant a small museum dedicated to him. Lark's art reminds me a lot of David Aja's work in Hawkeye, a lot of heavy linework and a xerographic feel that makes everything a little grittier.
I think I'm going to have to work through my phobia to read more work by these two, especially since The Fade Out is about old Hollywood, and oh my am I a sucker for that stuff. I'm really glad this story is back in print (with extras! a bonus story! behind the scenes stuff! a Bendis intro!) and I'm looking forward to a journey of exploration.