Pay no heed to the book's title... there's no "Crew" to be found in this book, not yet anyway. Instead, what we get is a character study of a broken man, and it's surprisingly easy to relate to him. We've all had those lows, those ruts from which we thought we could never emerge, and the main character in this debut issue is experiencing the same. This is a dark look at one man's mind as well as an exploration of the urban jungle, and it certainly piques one's curiosity as to the overal direction of this new series. This focused and simple beginning is uncharacteristic of Priest's work, but it still makes for engaging reading.
James "Rhodey" Rhodes is broke. The only remnant of his War Machine armor that he still has is his helmet, useless in and of itself. Worst of all, he feels utterly alone. Cosmic timing being what it is, that's when he learns of a death in the family, which lures himself eastward from the Bay Area to New York City. He's determined to find the men responsible for his loved one's death, but he finds that the rules are getting in the way. In the process, he meets two potential new friends and allies.
Bennett's artwork captures a dark atmosphere that's in keeping with the beaten-down feelings of the protagonist. There's an intensity to the visuals that indicate that something big is brewing, something bigger than Rhodey's personal quest for justice. Bennett's work here reminds me a little of the style of Norm (Anarky) Breyfogle. The colors and inks are appropriately dark as well. The design for one of the new characters -- Josiah X -- struck me as a little too similar to the current look of Luke Cage, AKA Power Man, though.
Priest has said that The Crew is not a "black" book. It's a fair assessment. But at this early point, it is an urban book, and it takes readers like myself -- creatures of suburbia -- into a dark but real and unfortunate place in America. But make no mistake... the story isn't about race. At this point, it's just about one man and his mistakes.
I know how Rhodey feels in the opening pages of this issue. I've been in one or more of those self-pitying ruts, when one thinks of oneself as a victim of the world around him, while in reality, one's just a victim of one's own lethargy. Sometimes, it's a good break that helps to dispel the fog, but often, it's a crisis that forces one into action, to take control of one's own life. That's what happens to Rhodey here, and that universal quality crosses cultural barriers and draws the reader -- any reader -- into the story.
