Cool beans! David Lapham’s “Stray Bullets” is testimony to what a creator can do unbound from the shackles of commercial consideration; which is to say this is nothing like Lapham’s writing for “The Strain”.
Before the likes of “Lost” and “Orange is the New Black” were playing with chronology to produce genuine revelations about character, “Stray Bullets” was doing it, taking a large cast of mean-to-do-good-but-ne’er-do-wells from the dark side of the ’70s, (with murder being committed under the”Star Wars” marquee) to the ’90s, (that distant era that a whole generation now idolizes as the idyll before 9/11.) The issues stand alone; intense cautionary tales that feel as though Lapham was processing a binge-watching session of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” meaning there are heaps of ironic turns and “be careful what you wish for” twists. Or else sex and violence meet at some intersection of Raymond Carver and Raymond Chandler. Or else… What DOESN’T “Stray Bullets” encompass? It does Lynch, it does Tarantino. It’s so recommended! It’s simply a masterpiece of American neo-noir. Here, try the first few issues, and beware: those bullets hit the heart and the brain as often as they hit the guts.
RATING : MASTERPIECE!!!