At the end of last issue after an enormous drink and drugs bender with Airboy, writer James Robinson and artist Greg Hinkle have been taken from the ordinary world we inhabit to the four-colour Steampunk WW2 of Airboy.
After a close encounter with some Nazi fighters where the three escape just with their lives it’s clear that in this strange 1940’s world, Robinson and Hinkle are still acting like people.
Airboy obviously treats Hinkle’s shit-filled trousers and Robinson’s massive erection with the contempt he feels they deserve though when they get to Airboy’s secret hideout and meet the gang things get weirder as Robinson finds his double in this reality in the morgue.
There then follows a remarkable page or so where James Robinson bares his soul for all to see and it’s a simply electric bit of reading yet voyeuristic at the same time.
By this point this feels like therapy for Robinson not to mention an apology not just to his fans who’ve seen his work decline over the years but to his wife, and I have no idea how honest the material regarding his wife is but fuck me, it’s a powerful bit of writing regardless of the real truth. Just as this touching moment is over things go back to sex crazed insanity..
Yeah, Greg is fucking Airboy’s girlfriend Valkyrie. This leads to a set-up for the final issue that promises much, but even if it’s a damp squib Robinson has created a remarkable thing here. He’s made something I’ve never, ever seen in mainstream American comics, Sure, there’s a lot here that’s familiar in style and tone to independent and underground comics but this is different but the confessional aspect of it is so brutal (not to mention potentially career ending with the likes of DC Comics) that I can’t think if any other creator that could do something like this. It’s simply that good a piece of work.