Page 45 Review by Stephen
One of the funniest graphic novels of all time which has aged not one jot since it first appeared some two decades ago. Kyle Baker appears to be almost psychic: he nails neuroses like nobody's business.
For example, Anne and Rick are in a bar. They're often in a bar. She's actually very pretty, and he's kinda handsome in a "you just know he has a cool record collection" way. And who in a bar can resist checking out the other drinkers? Anne speaks first:
"Look at them! The fools! Thick necked desk jockeys and ninety-pound Barbies! Look at them laugh! Blissfully ignorant of their own uselessness!"
"Yeah, they are pretty fake."
"God, I wish I were one of them."
"Wait, the one in the red just dropped her napkin."
"You know, there's nothing like a festive atmosphere to depress the hell out of me."
"Lighten up, Anne. I've never heard anyone complain so much in spite of the fact that she's got no real problems."
"I've got problems."
"I've never heard that said with so much pride before."
""It's pretty crowded by the bar, Rick. Maybe you could cop a cheap feel."
"I'm serious, Anne. You've got to stop. You're young, talented, and pretty, and too insecure to realise how young, talented and pretty you are. Which, in a way, is good, because if you ever did realise how young, talented and pretty you are, you'd be insufferable."
"Well, at least I'm not insufferable. Balloons! They've got balloons here!"
"Calm down. Save something for the drinking."
"I can't help it! Look! We've died and gone to mall!"
"Look, if it bothers you so much, why do we eat here?"
"Because Mexican restaurants are the only place you can drink abusively with your meal and not look like a lush, Frank."
"That's another thing. Stop calling me 'Frank'. That's about the eighth time tonight."
"Sorry."
"It's pitiful. I mean, Frank left you six months ago. It's way too long to still be calling people 'Frank'. I bet you're still writing 1988 on your checks."
"I don't have a checking account, you know that. Anyway, Frank broke my heart."
"You didn't even like him."
"So?"
"Anne, really, you gotta snap out of it. Get another boyfriend already."
"Right. Where?"
"For instance, that guy in the green jacket has been staring at you."
"Where?"
"Behind you. He's hypnotised."
"Is he cute?"
"Turn around, I think he's drooling."
"That's okay, I can see him in the mirror. Hey, he's pretty cute."
"So, go talk to him."
"What if he doesn't like me?"
"Look, Anne, if you're too shy to talk to him, you can at least smile at the guy, let him know you're interested."
"I guess."
"You guess."
"Well, I mean, what if I smile at him, and then he comes over here, right?"
"Yeah?"
"So then we get to talking, and it turns out I don't like him. I'll be in the position of having to turn him down after I'm the one who led him on in the first place! I'd look like a cock tease!"
"Wow, Anne, you're really screwed up."
"Glad you like it."
There are two hundred pages of this nimble, almost musical dialogue all wrapped in some of the most luscious art I've ever seen, with sleek lines, perfect blacks and a light, sandy wash. Anne's the main protagonist. She's a journalist, a drinker, and her sister's coming to come and stay. Her sister honestly believes she's the Queen of the Leather Astro-Girls of Saturn, and she's about to get Anne into several shades of crazy.
