5 out of 5

Volcanic Revolver is everything Morse does well – contextual, breezy tales that are simple in presentation but belie depth through their trust in the reader – amplified by its uniqueness in tone in Morse’s oeuvre.  As is the case with a lot of Scott’s work (save Soulwind, perhaps), the plot can be summed up pretty easily.  In this case we have a glimpse at the counterfeiting operation of some 1930s goombahs.  Some people get shot, a lot of slang is used.  But it doesn’t feel like it’s skating by just on novelty – a painted prologue (culled from the Oni double-feature series) sets the tone with a lil’ old lady inquiring about the time the bakery – where they make two typsa’ bread – opens, then a silent-paneled exchange between Vincenzo, owner of the bakery, and an unwelcome visitor.  As the widescreen panels cut back and forth away from the action, a lesser illustrator might have trouble properly figuring out how to fit the beats, but this is Scott’s show, and the off-timing of it all is a perfect juxtaposition to his swooping line art, which is both lovably cluttered with lines and yet never confusing.

And because it hangs back – it doesn’t try to lump in the emotions of Soulwind, or the surreal perplexity of Ancient Joe, or the jazz-obsessed goofiness of, say, his Elektra mini-series – because Volcanic Revolver excuses itself from trying to do anything but entertain, it has more lasting power than some of these titles.

So what else?  Well, the trade is nice, printed in Oni’s mini 6″ x 9″ size – large enough to study art but small enough to carry around – and Morse included a glossary of the slang in the back, which is pretty funny to read.   It’s also surprisingly adult, with swears and murders, which, although moments of the story definitely carry Scott’s trademark silly humor, bubbles the series with a sense of consequence and realism.  Does VR knock Watchmen on its ass?  Of course not.  It’s a totally different book.  But for any fan of cartoon art with open tastes, it’s hard to beat this lean package, filled to the brim with story-telling skill.