French author Antoine Maillard writes and draws some kind of story that is apparently trying to combine the teen slasher genre with noir tropes. This is small town America viewed through a misanthropic French eye and the results are somehow both laughable and grueling. Mon Dieu, the implicit condescension of the author, the lack of empathy. Très irritant! These aren't characters, they are human shadows on a page. This isn't a story, it's a sketch. There isn't an ending, there's just more nothingness. Apparently a mysterious and brutal killer armed with a baseball bat isn't sufficiently unnerving; may as well throw in some animal mutilation and a Mrs. Bates-level repressive mom for one of the supposedly sympathetic teen protagonists. Oh and how about a set-piece featuring a gratuitous gang rape. One might ask: to what narrative end is this sympathetic supporting character drugged, stripped, and victimized? What was your rationale, author? Je ne sais quoi, he replies with a gallic shrug. Such are American lives. Quelle horreur!
The killer felt ripped off from the infinitely superior Paranoia Agent, which dealt with similar themes of alienation and repression and projection. Plus baseball bat.
The celebrated black & white pencil art is fine. Certainly effective in creating a noir mood. Blobby faces though.