Shaolin Cowboy #3 Review

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Reviewer: Jimmy Lin

Written and Illustrated by: Geoff Darrow
Lettered and Colored by: Peter Doherty
Prologue by: the Wachowski Brothers
Publisher: Burlyman Entertainment

I’m writing this in a VW bug speeding through the Poconos. There’s a catgirl at the wheel; tomotao, cucumber, and bamboo plants in the backseat; and a pair of turtlebabies named “Genius” and “Baka” (Japanese for “idiot”) in the compartment to my left. I’ve spent the weekend at a drive-in movie theater, a flea market, and a rousing session of cowchip bingo. This feels like the best environment in which to write my reviews.

If you haven’t been reading Shaolin Cowboy, then you must hate the Shaw Brothers, Jackie Chan, Monty Python, Dali, John Wayne, and mescaline. Shaolin Cowbody is the most enjoyably strange book I’ve picked up in a while, and I’m including Cromartie High School #1 in that characterization. Geoff Darrow, the artist behind Frank Miller’s Hard Boiled, pens and illustrates this surrealist sci-fi chop-suey Western in his inimitable OCD, gore-ridden style, and it is certainly a pleasure to read.

In Issues #1 and #2, the Shaolin Cowboy single-handedly defeated King Crab (actually a crab), Crab’s Shaolin fist, and his group of Revengers, using the might of Hsing-I kung-fu (strangely appropriate, if you know kung-fu at all). Issue #3, most of the story is given over the Cowboy and his talking ass, Lord Evelyn Dunkirk Winnieford Esq. the Third (henceforth, just “ass”), as they travel across the desert to whatever adventure awaits them. Since the Shaolin Cowboy is an inscrutable Oriental, his ass does most of the talking. As his ass discourses on cloning, dinosaurs, the badassery of Robert Mitchum, and his general dislike of hip-hop, the pair encounter a slaughterscene that could rival any that the Cowboy’s skills could produce. A little further down the way, they encounter an infant clutching an MP3 player and a doll’s head in his blood-stained hands. With the single utterance of “mine” from the baby, a trio of demons spring up from the desert floor, speaking formal English, thug, and surfer. The surfer, “Mr. Excellent,” wins the hand of rock-paper-scissors to take on the cowboy in a battle of apocalyptic proportions.

There are definitely Tarantino-esque aspects to all of this, but Shaolin Cowboy ain’t no Kill Bill. For one thing, Kill Bill sucked [haha Jamie, my column, up yours!], and Shaolin Cowoby pwnz Quentin’s smug sense of retro cool. Darrow takes Grand Guignol to a place that only he lives in. If we lived in Geoff Darrow’s head, the streets would literally run red with the blood of the infidels. His almost neurotic detail has a strange charm that saves his art from being stiff and lifeless like Gary Erskine’s. There’s a trancelike quality to his panels because of his preference for transitory moments, rather than completed posture. Even his bloodiest panels have a timeless quality to them; bodies, limbs, and blood seeming to float in a timeless ether before the next panel shows you the progression of movement. His writing isn’t bad either – his wordplay is a little undeveloped, but he’s definitely no slouch.

Final Word: Shaolin Cowboy #3 shows that Geoff Darrow’s kung-fu is strong indeed. The writing has some power, but the art makes up for shortfalls the words might have. I can’t wait to see if the Cowboy has to pit his Hsing-I against some good, old-fashioned Pa Kua. A rollicking good read, and never mind the ass.