Since I've covered The Hard Goodbye and Big Fat Kill, That Yellow Bastard will complete my reviews of the graphic novels that make up the Sin City film (save a short and a scene from other places). That Yellow Bastard represents something of a return to familiar territory for Sin City and for Frank Miller, because to me, That Yellow Bastard has always read a lot like Bruce Wayne from Dark Knight Returns running through a story structure very similar to that of The Hard Goodbye. It's a great read, and has a lot of memorable moments, but it almost feels at times like Miller is trying to recapture what worked out of past works instead of blazing a new trail as he did with most of his Sin City work.
There are a lot of easy comparisons to make between That Yellow Bastard and The Hard Goodbye. There's a powerful, connected villain named Roark at the center of it. There's a tough guy antihero who is framed for a crime and whose reward for doing the right thing is pain, torture and worse. There's a beautiful girl in jeopardy from a monstrous killer. Even two of the main female characters of The Hard Goodbye, Lucille and Nancy, show up in key roles. However, for all that That Yellow Bastard has in common with The Hard Goodbye, it also has very important differences. This glimpse of Nancy's more vulnerable side, her origins, humanizes the character quite a bit and makes her more than an object of lust. Lucille again plays the put-upon parole officer, and we again see that her noble intentions help her not at all in Basin City, but there are important differences between her relationship with Marv and the one she has with Hartigan.
Probably the most notable difference, and the reason That Yellow Bastard works, is in the lead character of Hartigan. Miller works in a lot of his "tired old man" self-deprecating narration here, which is what reminds me to some extent of Dark Knight Returns, but Hartigan is definitely a Sin City hero as much as anything else. He's a strange blend of the monstrous physical power of Marv and the noble spirit that drives Dwight, a stereotypical cop just days from retirement who gets put through a wringer worse than any other cop archetype ever has been. When Marv was tearing his way through Sin City, there was always a nagging doubt that maybe we were rooting for the bad guy, but with Hartigan, you know this guy is an old school crusader for justice, doing the right thing in bad, bad ways. Hartigan is brutal and mean, but the reader never once doubts that those he's targeting deserve everything they get.
I was surprised in rereading That Yellow Bastard to notice little details that escaped me until the movie brought them to my attention. For instance, I didn't remember Kevin being at the farm when Hartigan made his assault on it, which begs the question of why he didn't do anything but also winds up being a nice little tie-in to Marv's story. Indeed, there are any number of details in That Yellow Bastard that suggest Miller was starting to really open up to Sin City as living, breathing place by this time. The notion that the Roarks aren't just one bad apple in a key position in the church, but a family of corruption going back decades is probably the best example of this kind of thing, but Miller has a lot of other links to the wider tapestry of Sin City, including a scene with Dwight and Shelley from out of A Dame to Kill For and the appearance of Lucille, not to mention the name-checking of Marv.
That Yellow Bastard wasn't the first time Miller used color in Sin City, but it might be some of the most effective use of color that the book has had. Miller's twisted, grotesque inhuman portrait of the killer is highlighted by the sickly yellow colors, and the result is that Junior comes off as more than just a killer, but actually like a monster out of fables. This helps to elevate Hartigan to the level of mythological hero as well, although that is also helped along by Miller's Marv-esque design for Hartigan, who despite his grumblings about age and weakness comes across as a powerful brickhouse of a man in action. Miller also throws in a memorable scene of Nancy dancing and performing acrobatic leaps that really sells her not just as an exotic dancer but something that elevates that particular profession to erotic art, despite being performed in a rundown sleazy dive.
In the end, That Yellow Bastard reminds me a lot of The Hard Goodbye, and so that spark of originality isn't quite as bright as it was in the other volumes. However, there's no denying that the over-the-top sensibilities, the great moment-to-moment writing and the pulp sensibilities are all still there. That Yellow Bastard probably marks the place for me where Sin City ceased being a handful of stories and became a property, a place and set of characters that Miller can return to time and again, and that brings with it an increase of familiarity that is both a blessing and a curse. At any rate, while That Yellow Bastard might not rock you back once you've read some of the other Sin City stories like Hard Goodbye or Big Fat Kill, it's still a fantastic read and shows once again why Sin City is so beloved in comics circles. 9/10
