Shangri-La is one of those high concept graphic novels that is impossible to explain without just using the phrase "It's fun. Trust me." Bryant postulates a story where a washed-up rockstar is sheperded by a burnt-out assassin on the run from some truly weird forces that represent a music conspiracy more evil and heartless than the RIAA. And it's all watched from Rock and Roll Heaven by some familiar faces, who recognize their own lives in the tale being told. It's a weird, and sometimes disjointed, tale, but I'll be damned if it isn't a fun rollercoaster ride, especially for those for whom music isn't just something you listen to in the car, but something with a life all its own.
In terms of plot, Shangri-La is actually pretty straightforward, and even familiar. It's a buddy comedy, playing up the hilarious differences between a pampered, arrogant (and more than a little stupid) rock star and his tightly disciplined, no-nonsense assassin-turned-bodyguard. It's got a little bit of the Preacher road movie feel to it as well, although Bryant's story doesn't really move all that far, with the characters coming together fairly quickly and easy for confrontations. Where the book is a little more unusual is in Bryant including rock and roll elements in the story, which makes for a more interesting MacGuffin than your usual suitcase full of drugs or hooker who witnessed a murder or something along those lines.
Bryant does eventually get around to explaining everything, but the story doesn't always flow as smoothly as I'd like. Jetta's reason for not assassinating Corey seems like it would have been better if we'd known it at the time, because it was a weird contradiction that bugged me until, pages down the line, we learned the reason. In addition, Corey, the lead of the piece in many ways, is a jackass who you want to see assassinated for much of the graphic novel, and the revelations about his softer side almost come too late in the game. In fact, it's largely Jetta's desire to protect Corey that you respect, rather than any great desire to see the guy live another minute.
The script, however, reads a lot like the kind of thing I was hoping Garth Ennis would follow up Preacher with, rather than the super-hero stuff he's been doing. Though I find Corey Stinson annoying as hell, he's an interesting character, and Jetta Helm is a smart, strong woman right out of a Rucka novel. Then there's the madman of an assassin, Lonesome Roscoe, who has an over-the-top origin and modus operandi and who I came to absolutely love as a result. Bryant leaves reality behind about three pages in and serves notice that we're reading a story set in a dark and funny world ruled by the laws of entertainment, meaning that people are a little (or a lot) off-kilter and it's just accepted.
Shepherd Hendrix (and how ironic is that surname, given the subject matter) is a new name to me, but one I definitely hope to see again. His work reminds me in all the good ways of the work of Charlie Adlard and Phil Hester, using plenty of shadows and characters that have a lot of definition and detail despite the relatively few lines used to characterize them. I would have liked to have seen a little more consistency in the characters, especially when it comes to the likenesses of the rock and roll legends who serve as narrators of sorts, but in general this is excellent work, and I'm sure we'll be seeing Hendrix again.
