Page 45 Review by Stephen
"AS SEEN ON TV!" as hastily repackaged collections are so quick to squeal.
But hey, the middle-aged bloke who served me at Sainsbury's had seen the series, taken note that it was based on a comic, and he knew who'd written it. Never read a comic before in his adult life. That's pretty cool, so however shall I sell it to you...?
Profanity, hot bullets and blue Brony action!
Many sarcastic thanks to whichever of my sympathisers on Twitter explained the term 'Brony' to me before the launch of MY LITTLE PONY comics, following a flock of five adult fellows in a single swoop pre-ordering the MY LITTLE PONY #1 COMPLETE BOXED SET at £18-99 each. I cannot unlearn what I now know to be true, so I may never fully recover. What I learned was this:
There has been a surge of what could loosely be called man-love for that saccharine pink pony, and those enjoying such a wayward cultural misalignment are called Bronies. Now, I'm hardly the butchest boy in the box and obviously Page 45 is an all-inclusive, non-judgemental love-in for all manner of diverse penchants and pleasures
but there are fucking limits.
By which I mean: "That'll be £18-99, please. Thank you very much! You are so loved!"
And honestly, you are.
I'm just being cheap and I deserve all / any flack that I get.
But how could this possibly be of any relevance to a Grant Morrison and Darick Robertson comic?
Well, Happy here is a feathered blue pony with big, bulbous, bright shiny eyes, a purple unicorn horn and accentuated, goofy front teeth. Knowing Grant Morrison you may seriously doubt this, but potentially he's the product of a delirious imagination as ex-Detective Nick Sax is sped across town in an ambulance after receiving several gunshot wounds in part-exchange for having murdered the four Fratelli brothers. They thought they were on a mission to axe our Sax, but it was no-nonsense Nick who hired them in the first place. The police are swift to the scene but that's good news for no one except the Fratellis' Uncle Stefano who's determined to keep it all in the family - "it" being the Fratelli fortune. Unfortunately no one bothered to tell him the password and the only person still alive who knows that now is Nick.
Corruption is the order of the day on the snowy streets of God Only Knows and torture/interrogation will follow, all kindly overseen and endorsed by New Jersey's Finest in the form of Maireadh McCarthy who's firmly in Uncle Stefano's pockets. Time to send in arch-information extractor Mr. Smoothie:
"I feel like the ghost of a hard-on that will not die."
Along the way we meet a drunken paedophile dressed up as Santa (you'll meet him again - and, after Nick knows where, you'll know when), while Sax quite casually and coincidentally dispatches a serial murderer in a prawn costume smoking a spliff from a back end of a hammer which was five seconds away from coming down on the head of a prostitute blowing him to blissful oblivion. Did I mention it's Christmas?
From the writer of WE3, NAMELESS, JOE THE BARBARIAN, THE INVISIBLES and DOOM PATROL etc. comes something akin to THE FILTH only without the giant, flying spermatozoa. Profanity abounds and he's set out to sully the holiday season whilst lobbing in the incongruity of bright-eyed chirpy-pants Happy The Horse who claims to be Hailey's imaginary friend sent to Sax to rescue her from the plastered paedo.
TRANSMETROPOLITAN's Darick Robertson is on his best form ever with masterfully slick choreography, the sturdiest of figure work and eye-popping street scenes all beautifully lit and then coloured to perfection by Richard P. Clark.