Writer/Artist: Frank Miller
Publisher: Dark Horse
It’s weird. I often hear Hell and Back referred to as the weakest Sin City yarn, but I simply can’t agree – not that it would be easy to name a weakest out of these incredible stories, mind you. Hell and Back simply doesn’t receive enough credit for a number of understandable reasons; it’s easily the black sheep of the bunch. It’s different from the others. But different doesn’t automatically mean lacking in quality.
There’s still the usual Miller trademarks: huge hands, flying cars, seductive women, a relentless hero, and a heaping body count. Hell and Back is distinguished though, often for the worse, for its many differences. The protagonist is a man called Wallace who is just as resourceful as Marv, Hartigan and Dwight, but takes a much more patient and methodical approach to his dealings. Though passion drives him, of all four Sin City leads he is the least consumed by it. His internal narration is far less ironic and gung-ho and much more subdued and contemplative, infusing the story with a strong “lone wolf” tone. He is the least ruthless of the four and yet the most morally questionable.
I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it again: if you buy any Sin City story for the art and the art alone, that’s perfectly okay. Miller’s art isn’t just married seamlessly with his narrative; they’re on their tenth honeymoon and going strong. The panel-for-panel adaptation to cinema should be enough evidence of their inseparability. Hell and Back demonstrates a strange evolution of Miller’s style. He’s moved beyond the striking detail of rain and facial creases that littered the first volume. His characters have become rougher expressionist shadows, more defined by their body language than the number of hairs on their heads or scars on their backs. Some of the most striking images of Wallace are the ones in which the only notable details are his hair, hands and sneakers. The women become even more delectable for what they’re wearing than for what they’re not.
But there’s such a complexity of artistic composure and flow of the panels and pages that goes far beyond simple figure rendering. Though Miller doesn’t render the way he used to, he’s at the top of his game when it comes to chronicling a story through images. Every small hand gesture becomes an event unto itself, and every foreground beer bottle and background guard rail add volumes of depth to the atmosphere. Again, though the art isn’t nearly as pretty as in The Hard Goodbye, I found much more to gaze at and examine to make Hell and Back a far longer reader than its pages would indicate at face value.
Aside from the new protagonist and approach, there are two parts to the story that seem poised to put off readers. Toward the end of the book comes a very trippy chapter, both figuratively and literally in the context of the story, and it’s entirely in color. Miller’s clearly having a lot of fun with the images he includes, and the images that appear run parallel to the story’s events, but it’s nevertheless an entirely offbeat chapter that doesn’t quite fit. Then there’s the rushed conclusion that has to rely on an interlude to set up the final conflict and unfolding events so they even attempt to make any sense. It’s jarring and cuts into the momentum of the story, and it’s especially unusual for the conclusion of a Sin City yarn. One could say it’s an ending as unconventional as the rest of the tale, but I see it as a ball being dropped.
There’s absolutely no reason not to own Hell and Back, especially for those who enjoy the work of Frank Miller, but don’t expect utter satisfaction. The strengths far outweigh the weaknesses, but the weaknesses can’t be excused.
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