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tobin_elliott's review
dark
mysterious
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
1.75
It's not a shockingly exciting start to a limited series, but it does do a good job of setting up some expectations of what's to come—though Moore will do a ridiculous about face in the fourth issue—in that you have a standard overly-attractive woman that can only exist in a comic book written and drawn by two men—or the woman has had extensive plastic surgery enhancements.
Yes, she has a real name, but she goes by Voodoo and she's an exotic dancer. Why? Don't know, and the reasoning only gets murkier as the plot progresses. She's played as the standard babe-in-the-woods, fish-out-of-water, wide-eyed innocent who seems to have no idea of the effect she has on men (aside from the fact that she dances and takes her clothes off).
The first issue also sets up that the reader will get gratuitous, lovingly drawn images of mostly unclothed women, and all the men that want a piece of her.
The second issue switches up artists, and ups the ante on the pretty women quotient. Moore gamely tries to increase the mystery.
But still...wide-eyed innocent Voodoo stumbles through Moore's paces.
By the third issue, Moore finally gets a bit of a story in motion, but it's done in such a desultory way, it's hard to get really invested in it.
Oh, and Voodoo is still the led-around-by-the-nose, innocent waif, though she's experiencing some weirdness now. That's something, I guess.
And here we are at issue four. The cataclysmic conclusion to this shocking tale.
Or something like that.
Honestly, Moore and Rio gamely try to bring this thing to an end...as well as a new beginning...but honestly, aside from a bunch of New Orleans voodoo terminology, and semi-unclothed women, this entire story is rather vacuous.
And to make matters worse, shy, quiet, no agency Voodoo herself suddenly spouts, "I used to be a superhero," then kicks all kinds of ass all over the place (of course, in a mini-skirt). She does this ridiculous about face that we're supposed to just accept.
Sorry, no. I don't accept this.
I literally only picked this up because the Great Alan Moore wrote it. But I'll tell you right now, had his name not been all over it, I never would have touched it, and as it stands, having read all of it now, I'd truly like to contest the authorship of this.
I mean, this is not good, even by Moore standards (yes, I'm looking at the last few League of Extraordinary Gentlemen volumes as I say this). This is Moore slumming. Or collecting a quick paycheque.
Or sleeping at his keyboard. I don't know.
It's terrible.
Yes, she has a real name, but she goes by Voodoo and she's an exotic dancer. Why? Don't know, and the reasoning only gets murkier as the plot progresses. She's played as the standard babe-in-the-woods, fish-out-of-water, wide-eyed innocent who seems to have no idea of the effect she has on men (aside from the fact that she dances and takes her clothes off).
The first issue also sets up that the reader will get gratuitous, lovingly drawn images of mostly unclothed women, and all the men that want a piece of her.
The second issue switches up artists, and ups the ante on the pretty women quotient. Moore gamely tries to increase the mystery.
But still...wide-eyed innocent Voodoo stumbles through Moore's paces.
By the third issue, Moore finally gets a bit of a story in motion, but it's done in such a desultory way, it's hard to get really invested in it.
Oh, and Voodoo is still the led-around-by-the-nose, innocent waif, though she's experiencing some weirdness now. That's something, I guess.
And here we are at issue four. The cataclysmic conclusion to this shocking tale.
Or something like that.
Honestly, Moore and Rio gamely try to bring this thing to an end...as well as a new beginning...but honestly, aside from a bunch of New Orleans voodoo terminology, and semi-unclothed women, this entire story is rather vacuous.
And to make matters worse, shy, quiet, no agency Voodoo herself suddenly spouts, "I used to be a superhero," then kicks all kinds of ass all over the place (of course, in a mini-skirt). She does this ridiculous about face that we're supposed to just accept.
Sorry, no. I don't accept this.
I literally only picked this up because the Great Alan Moore wrote it. But I'll tell you right now, had his name not been all over it, I never would have touched it, and as it stands, having read all of it now, I'd truly like to contest the authorship of this.
I mean, this is not good, even by Moore standards (yes, I'm looking at the last few League of Extraordinary Gentlemen volumes as I say this). This is Moore slumming. Or collecting a quick paycheque.
Or sleeping at his keyboard. I don't know.
It's terrible.
civreader's review
3.0
Very different to the New 52 series of the same name. Only thing they share is Voodoo's real name and profession as an exotic dancer. That makes (a little) more sense in this story, given the serial-killer-supernatural aspect of the story. Only four issues long, it didn't really have much time to dig deep, but there was still a lot of stuff about voodoo. And not a daemonite in sight...
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