There isn’t anything profound here except that George Clooney has draped himself into a comic book page and immersed himself whole-heartedly in a redemptive tale of a thief trying to get his wife back. Throw a son in the mix and a former-heist partner, who turns out to be Conrad’s brother-in-law and you’d expect that to impress upon Conrad and make him a better star and central figure for this book. It doesn’t work that way. This would have been better if broken down to a few panels and inserted into the first issue. It’s engulfed in a steep sense of nostalgia but we don’t get much info into any sort of present day predicament that Conrad experiences.
The book is predicated with heists that lack any figurative or literal action, haphazard (yet not too shabby) art that fails into inflect any strong emotion into the tale, and it tries too hard to assert itself viscerally or cathartically into the reader. It wants you to empathize but it’s a clichéd and repeated formula that a lot of books employ and fall flat on its face with. I’m still waiting for the kicker in this book but Spencer/Kirkman/Martinbrough have too much of an average book on their hands to panhandle around as something that sparked bigger and unfulfilled hopes in me to date (5.5/10)
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