This whole "talk positively about comics that I like" thing sure has been wearing on my nerves lately. Seriously, I've not gotten my snark well and truly on in a while and what better time than the holiday season to unleash some holy wrath upon unsuspecting creators? The endorphin boost will surely help me through the dreary weather, you know? This time, two consummate industry professionals, Peter David and George Perez, are the subjects of my ire with the trite, nasty 1994 miniseries
Sachs and Violens.

First of all, I want to put it on the table: I fully respect these two creators. Peter David's solid run on
The Incredible Hulk, along with several other enjoyable projects (I've always had a soft spot for his
Trek work) has made sure that while I may not be his target audience, I think he's earned his place at the Comics Dinner table. George Perez is, of course, George Perez, master of detail and storytelling. Comics of the 70s, 80s, and 90s would surely lose a good deal of their glory without his work at the forefront.
That said, they've both made missteps along the way - David's recent return to the green goliath featured a useless
House Of M tie-in and he seemed to write as if he were ill at ease with the whole write-for-the-trade editorial mandate and I fail to be as impressed with his creator-owned
Fallen Angel as he seems to be. George Perez was responsible for a science fiction horror comic about menstrual blood gone bad called
Crimson Plague that lasted a mercifully brief two issues before being put out of the readers' collective misery.
Sachs and Violens features a model and a photographer who battle evil with whips and bullets. (Guess who uses what!) After discovering that her friend Wendy has been murdered on a set of a snuff movie, Juanita Jean (J.J.) Sachs vows revenge and her own personal Bruce Weber, Ernie "Violens" Schultz (somebody explain to me how he got that nickname because I don't recall any sort of comment in the text besides "That's what they called me in Vietnam") ends up tagging along to save her from both herself and the bad, bad mens what want to hurt her real bad. Once their initial adventure is over, they find themselves roaming the country for the rest of this 4-issue miniseries.
There's an essay in the back of the first issue wherein Peter David pontificates a bit on the nature of sex and violence in our culture and how he wants to use this series to address it. What's suspiciously missing is his saying "Yeah, I read that
Sin City book that came out and thought to myself 'Self, you should break off a piece of that action' so that is what I'm doing." All the trademarks of Miller's black and white epics are here: skimpy outfits, large men with guns, villains that represent the very darkest in human nature, but it seems strangely diluted and cuted up for no particular reason. It's almost as if some Lifetime director had gotten their hands on Rodriguez's screenplay for the
Sin City movie after significant rewrites by the same sort of people that befouled
Catwoman after Rogers was off the project.
Maybe Peter David doesn't have a genuinely nasty streak in him like Miller does - the scripts for these four issues keeps reminding us that Violens was in Vietnam and my gosh, bad things happened there and it may not explain everything, but surely you can understand why he might blow the head off a guy with an axe who's going to murder his partner, right? There's no need to wallow in the reason why the man's so handy with a gun - he just is. I'm always annoyed when subtext becomes hamfisted text, constantly rearing its ugly head instead of trusting the reader to discover that there's more to a character than presented. Not that Miller necessarily hints at greater depths in
Sin City, but there's the opportunity for interpretation for a dedicated reader who wants think that that it's about more than just ninja hookers with machine guns.
There's a scene that sticks out like a sore thumb: early on, Schultz is looking for JJ and is touring various sex shops, hoping to pick up a lead and keep her from committing a truly grievous crime. After some salty discussion of snuff film distributors, whips and chains, and the like it comes to light that the woman Ernie is speaking to is his own mother. Oh-ho! Golly, wasn't that unexpected? What a knee-slapper! It's a very diluted shock that doesn't so much shock the reader as distract them as they plow through the dull, overexplained story.
Scenes like that, along with characters like Rugmuncher The Evil Lesbian (which pissed me off as much as if he'd created a character named Darkie the Magic Negro) and Gerry The Gerrymander (a too-obvious Barney knock whose name drove me to distraction. He might as well been a clown called Richard The Redistrictor,) reduce any sort of impact that the series could have. There's seriously disturbing stuff being discussed here too: snuff films, child labor, Mardi Gras (where there's a panel dedicated to
two dudes kissing, oh my god that is so fucking
edgy) all get their chance but the entire enterprise feels like the sort of "dirty" fiction I wrote in tenth grade and kept in a secret notebook. Clich�s abound, characterization and quirks replace actual character and no matter how over-the-top
Sachs and Violens is supposed to be, chunks of this
1 are hard to swallow.
Oh, and don't think I'm going to let George Perez get off unscathed. First of all, JJ looks like Wonder Woman throughout the book and her Catwoman Light costume reeks of 1984 heavy metal video - you remember the kind, back when women straddled hoods and stood in formation far away from the performance, trying to look like they weren't just waiting for their next fix. Pages are packed far too tightly, never letting the reader breathe for a moment or savor any of the action besides the occasional splash page. The coloring is pure 1994 Photoshop madness as well - too many shading effects render what were probably some perfectly agreeable character shots completely into garish, ugly garbage.
In fact, the only person to escape this without any scorn at all is letterer John Workman. Outside of doing his usual consummate job, I hear he crawls into critic's beds at night and slits their throats. John Workman: you da man!

So, why did I read the whole miniseries? I'd heard people that I trusted praise this book, saying that it was an underrated gem in the crapheap that was the mid-90s comics explosion. I thought that industry stalwarts like Peter David and George Perez could provide a worthwhile, if not exactly great diversion for a mere four issues. I read it because it was free to me and I've come to realize something: that's never an excuse. Maybe I'm glad I didn't fall for this series - it's mean that I had to go and pick up
Fallen Angel and see what's happened to them in the decade since they debuted, and that's a step I'm not willing to take.
1The line "Hey, Rugmuncher! Munch this!" just before the character gets their head blown off made me long for Loeb's brilliant
Commando screenplay.