The opening to this book is awesome (and what a stellar first line: "Charlie still thought about The Phantom Planes sometimes"). And just like that, you know you're in Brubaker/Phillips territory. Their last book, a mash-up of demonic cults and film noir, Fatale, just ended in July, so it's not like we were all waiting with baited breath or anything for a new dose of their hard-boiled gut-punches. This new book is similar to all of their others, which might be a shame if their typical stuff wasn't any good. It's post-WW2 Hollywood, and the 50's brings us an alcoholic screenwriter who happens to get mixed up in a murder cover-up by the studios. The main character, Charlie Parish, is almost too much like most of the other main characters Brubaker and Phillips have cooked up...but that's the only bad thing I can say about this book. It's super entertaining, engrossing, brutal, and has terrific art by Sean Phillips as usual. And the Hollywood locale will no doubt add some interesting characters and scenarios to the mix. It's same-old, sure, but a knock-out nonetheless. ***1/2 (out of ****)
