presentation 2--Plastic Man and the Spirit: Pre-Postmodern Heroes of the Golden Age

On the morning of Saturday, October 13th I presented at the Midwest Pop Culture Association's conference in Kansas City. My presentation was the first one of the day, at 8:30 am, the morning after the free food was served at the bar as the opening night's reception. So attendance was not as great as the previous weekend's presentation. Besides the other presenters, there were less than five people there, and two of those people were the panel chair and the girlfriend of one of the other presenters. Oh, and my presentation was scheduled in a room that, essentially, was one big room that was split into two by... a thin curtain. So you could hear the presentation going on on the other side of the room the entire time I was speaking... Suffice to say, circumstances were less than ideal.

This time around my topic was "Plastic Man and the Spirit: Pre-Postmodern Heroes of the Golden Age." My presentation was supposed to be around twenty minutes in length, but I ended up speaking for about twenty-five. And I still had to cut stuff. For this presentation I had to do a lot more research, because I wasn't as familiar with the subject matter as in the previous week. This fact also meant that I didn't feel as confident just getting up there and winging it, so I wrote a bit more ahead of time with this one. I did a full intro and conclusion, plus a much more extensive outline of the body, complete with notes on which stories to discuss when and particular quotes from sources I might want to use.

Here then was my introduction, verbatim:

In the contemporary era of comics, the influence of postmodernism can be felt far and wide. Daniel Clowes, Charles Burns, and Kevin Huizenga spring to mind as obvious examples of indie comic artists whose works take a turn into the bizarre. More mainstream works inspired by postmodernism can easily be found in Alan Moore’s classic deconstruction of the superhero Watchmen or the metafiction of Grant Morrison’s Animal Man.

But postmodernism’s roots in comics stretch back all the way to the medium’s infancy. Even in the Golden Age as the genre of the superhero was still forming, it was already being deconstructed. Both Jack Cole’s hero Plastic Man and Will Eisner’s infamous creation The Spirit defied the conventions of the superhero genre in every adventure they undertook, and at the same time their creators explored the ways to defy the conventions of the medium of comics and in fact all storytelling conventions as they related these adventures to eager readers.

(I chose to call this notion “pre-postmodernism” in my abstract for two reasons. First, it seems to fit in neither category as solely modern or postmodern, utilizing some modern ideas regarding form yet serving an intent that is purely postmodern. Secondly, it sounded like an interesting hook.)

So from there I dove into the body of my presentation which I had divided up into three sections: conventions of the genre of the superhero, conventions of the medium of comics, and storytelling conventions. And for each division, I broke it down further, looked at each aspect of those conventions and explored examples of how both heroes defied them.

Starting with superhero tropes, I looked at the secret identity and how neither character really had one. After the origin story of the Spirit, Denny Colt was for all intents and purposes dead, and he walked around as the Spirit all the time. Meanwhile, in Police Comics 26, Plastic Man's secret identity as criminal Eel O'Brien is discovered by his chief at the FBI, and in order to be pardoned for his crimes, he essentially must prove himself worthy by solving three unsolvable crimes in twenty-four hours. Once the task is completed, Eel is pardoned... and is no more.

I moved on to costumes then, to briefly discuss how Plastic Man's "costume" of a red leotard and sunglasses eschewed the typical cape and mask. Then I moved on to the Spirit, who of course had no costume but a domino mask. Otherwise he was just a guy in a suit, which of course how Eisner wanted it. Eisner didn't like the idea of drawing costumed heroes, and the mask was a compromise he made with his publishers.

As for origins, Plastic Man's was very unconventional. He of course started out life as a crook, but all that changed when he had the requisite accident with chemicals. Suddenly, spontaneously, and in the course of one whole panel, he decides to leave his life of crime behind and become a force for good.

As for why he makes this drastic change in character... this explanation is all we get. Just like the explanation of how he got his powers--chemicals--it's like once Cole got the result he wanted, got the story going in the direction he wanted, he just didn't care. In a story from Police Comics 24, Plas's sidekick Woozy Winks gets his powers for a day, and in the end of the story Plastic Man unzips the red and black leotard Woozy is wearing, and Woozy exclaims dejectedly that he has lost his powers. And that's it, the entire explanation of how things went back to normal. Zip, no more powers. Again, it's very much like Cole just wanted to tell his zany stories and didn't care too much about logic.

And that brings me to tone, that Plastic Man is probably the earliest example of the trickster hero. He has a lighthearted attitude toward fighting crime, like it's actually fun for him, and his victories were often rather unconventional. In his fight with Sadly Sadly, a villain whose "power" was that he made such a sad face that would make people feel so sorry for him they would give him all their money, Plastic Man defeats him... by tickling him with a feather until he laughs.

In much the same vein Eisner mixed humor with hardboiled crime stories in the Spirit's adventures. The December 1948 story "Two Lives" involves a criminal breaking out from prison, at the same time that his doppelganger runs away from a home where he is dominated by a controlling wife. The two decide to switch lives, and while the henpecked husband happily goes to jail, the escaped con lives with the domineering wife for a week or so... and tries to turn himself in to return the jail. But no one believes him and he's stuck. Meanwhile, the Spirit's victories as a hero often involved dumb luck. He would get beat up and knocked unconscious, and the criminal would make some kind of mistake to get himself apprehended or killed while the Spirit was out cold. Not very "heroic" in the end.

I'll continue on to how the characters defied the conventions of the medium and of fiction in general tomorrow. For now, this entry is long and I'm tired.

Building a Better Batman: Grant Morrison's First Year on Batman

Grant Morrison has been the writer on Batman for a little over a year now and, soon, the Bat-books will launch into a two-month crossover concerning the resurrection of Ra's Al Ghul. So, that begs the question, how was Morrison's first year (11 issues) on the book?

Batman & Son (#655-658)

Seven of the 11 issues so far have been drawn by Andy Kubert and all I've got to say is "meh." He's wildly inconsistent in that some panels look amazing and others look like something my friends and I churned out in the seventh grade. Besides specific criticisms/comments, that's all I really feel I need to mention about Kubert's art.

Actually, I should also add that it does fit the book. Normally, I would demand a higher class of artist for a Morrison book, but Morrison's approach here is much more traditional than his work elsewhere, so Kubert's art isn't entirely out of place. On my first read of these issues, I was much more put off than my reread these past couple of days, especially in this first arc.

It begins with a bang--quite literally, as Batman shoots in the Joker in the face. But, before that, Morrison gives the Joker a fantastic line: "I DID IT! / I FINALLY KILLED BATMAN! / IN FRONT OF A BUNCH OF VULNERABLE, DISABLED KIDS!!!!" While we don't know it quite yet, this is Morrison's last hurrah for the Joker we currently know and love.

We don't realise that this isn't really Batman lying beaten and bloody until he draws a gun and says "DIE." only to shoot the Joker with the real Batman a few seconds too late to stop it from happening. However, this fits with the larger arc of Batman here as he is ineffectual at times, often resulting in the (seeming) deaths of characters. Except the Joker isn't dead here (somehow). And, thus, Batman throws him in a dumpster.

This issue is devoted to Morrison bringing back the playboy millionaire Bruce Wayne as Alfred insists he relearn that role and Commissioner Gordan suggests he leave his "comfort zone" of Gotham. Meaning, let's head to London for some African charity thing. The charity event is interesting as it takes place at an art gallery where the exhibition is devoted to comic book pop art, which is used magnificantly in part two of the story where the pieces of art in the background often work with or comment on what's happening in the comic.

The first page of issue 656 has Jezebel Jet, a beautiful model approaching Bruce Wayne with the piece of art behind her depicting a wide-eyed person and a thought balloon that says "WOW!" When the ninja Man-Bats attack, Bruce looks up at them and a piece of art has a frightened person yelling "YIKES!" Batman enters the fray, jumping at a Man-Bat with a picture of a city much like Gotham behind him, symbolically leaving his home to fight here, almost like it were a teleporation window or something similarly comic booky. Batman punches a Man-Bat and the woman in the picture yells "OUCH!" He fires his grappling hook with a giant "BLAM!" right behind him. When more Man-Bats arrive from above, there's a picture of a man shouting "LOOK! UP IN THE SKY..." Right before the Man-Bats hit Batman, an army man yelling "INCOMING!" Batman's inner monologue says "FROM TWO STORIES BELOW ME COMES A SOUND LIKE A 21-GUN SALUTE." with a piece of art that just has RATATATRATATAT repeated.

I'm sure I missed a couple of references, but it adds a whole other dimension to the action and I'm not sure if that was Morrison or Kubert's idea. I'm inclined to give credit to Morrison just because he chose the location, but, either way, Kubert lays it out in such a manner as to accentuate these background pictures. As well, if there's one thing Kubert can do, it's action, which this entire issue is pretty much.

An interesting technique used by Morrison is the narration by Batman, which is something he had avoided in his previous work with the character (excluding some JLA moment) as Timothy Callahan points out in his book on Morrison when discussing Arkham Asylum and Gothic. (Callahan's book, by the way, is Grant Morrison: The Early Years. I got it last week and read all of it except for the Doom Patrol section as I want to get the rest of Morrison's run on that book before reading Callahan's thoughts on it. The book itself is a fantastic read and a thought-provoking, in-depth look at Morrison's five well-known early works Zenith, Arkham Asylum, Animal Man, Doom Patrol and Gothic. You should definitely get a copy and I'll probably wind up referencing Callahan a lot as a result of his discussion of Morrison's early Batman work, as well as the three columns he spent discussing issue 663-665 of this run over at Sequart.) The narration doesn't actually begin until the Man-Bats attack, signifying the shift from Bruce Wayne to Batman. Callahan argues that Morrison avoided the technique in the past as, at the time (late '80s), it was such a cliched and overused technique because of Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns. However, its inclusion here relates to Morrison's current take on Batman, which is the inclusion of all past incarnations of the character. As Callahan points out by quoting Geoff Klock, Morrison doesn't use continuity in a traditional sense where writers often focus on making sure characters are portrayed in-line with recent depictions (such as post-Crisis), he utilises every depiction of the character, which is why nearly every story in his year on the book so far relies on or alludes to past, usually pre-Crisis or seemingly out-of-continuity stories. In a way, despite 52's creation of a new multiverse, Morrison's take on the character relates strongly to his concept of Hypertime where every story ever told actually happened--even stuff like the bleak '80s that Morrison seemed to dislike so much at the time, which means the Batmonologue is back.

The main thrust of this opening arc is the reintroduction of Batman and Talia's son, Damian, who Batman is given at the end of issue 656. The couple's child originally appeared in a seemingly out-of-continuity graphic novel where the two had sex and the child was put up for adoption. Ever since, DC has denied it as being part of the character's official history. But, as I just said, everything is in play as far as Morrison is concerned. And, as we find out here and in issue 666, Morrison alters Damian's past to make it so he was grown in an artificial womb and then trained by the League of Assassins. So, while everything is in play, Morrison still recognises the need to make sure it all works together as a cohesive whole.

With issue 657, Morrison begins to play with an old theme of his while writing Batman: fatherhood. In Arkham Asylum, he was concerned primarily with mothers, but fathers played a role there as when Batman does a word association, his reponse to "father" is "death." In Gothic, fathers are referenced much more as Thomas Wayne actually speaks to him in a recording, which helps him. Or, even in JLA: Earth 2, the relationship between Owlman and the Thomas Wayne of the alternate Earth is contrasted when Batman and the rest of the JLA cross over. Here, Morrison pushes that theme further and does something new by still using fatherhood as a major theme, but with Batman/Bruce Wayne in the father role. Actually, it first pops in #655 with some small interplay between Bruce and Tim, who he adopted as his own son in the previous arc under James Robinson, I believe.

In 657, the question of what kind of father Batman is becomes more prevelent with the inclusion of Damian at the mansion. Damian and Tim immediately becomes rivals as Damian sees Tim as a threat for his father's legacy and, most likely, love. Tim also feels threatened as he questions Batman about their relationship, which Batman says won't change, but Tim rushes off in a huff nonetheless.

The first test of his fatherhood ends with Batman at his most frightening and angry, which is the also the first time we see Damian not insolent and challenging. However, we soon learn that Damian escaped from his room and beheaded a mediocre supervillain only to return to the Batcave to challenge Tim. Initially, Tim makes an effort with Damian, reflecting the way Batman wants him to act, while Damian is aggressive and attacks Tim. The defing moment of why Tim is obviously the true heir to the Batman mantle comes when he saves Damian from being eaten by the giant dinosaur in the Batcave only to have Damian knock him off the dinosaur and send him crashing down to the bottom of the cave. The issue ends with Damian in a Robin costume with the addition of a white ninja hood and Tim in a broken heap on the floor of the Batcave, in between glass display cases of costumes. While the cases at the end of the issue don't depict it, the panel where Tim falls has the top of the case containing Jason Todd's costume (I assume--as we can only see the domino mask), which would have made for a much stronger final image, alluding to the fate of Tim's predecessor and the idea that Damian may, in fact, replace Tim as Robin--semingly by killing him.

While this is the first time Morrison has played with the idea of Batman as a father figure, it isn't the first time Batman has been as such, obviously. Of particular interest, though, is the relationship between Tim and his other "brother," Dick Grayson. I'm not familiar with their entire relationship, but, from what I know, his relationship with Damian here is quite different. Namely, Tim plays the role of the older brother, most likely acting in a similar manner to Dick. While he expresses signs of jealousy to Batman in private, when dealing with Damian directly, he is nothing but friendly and encouraging, trying to make Damian feel at home as much as possible. But, unlike the way Tim no doubt responded to Dick, Damian reacts with violence and sees Tim as a threat rather than a big brother. Tim is the adopted son, while Damian is the biological and was raised on the stories of his father and his greatness. The adopted/biological difference is also a big one as when Dick and Tim first met, Tim still had a father and Dick is not Bruce's biological son, so both were in much more similar positions than Tim and Damian here. Or something like that.

The final issue of "Batman & Son" is entitled "Absent Fathers," referring to Batman not being in Damian's life until recently, the fact that Ra's Al Ghul is dead which prompts Talia's actions at the end of the issue, Bruce's dead father (who is mentioned) and even Tim's dead father who Batman now replaces albeit not in this issue as he leaves Tim at the mansion to recover while going off to fight Talia with Damian in tow, symbolically chosing Damian as his son over Tim in this instance.

The plot is basically, Talia has kidnapped the wife of the British PM in an effort to extort him into turning over Gibraltar to her, and Batman must stop her. The issue begins with Batman and Alfred tending to Tim as Damian does his best to ingratiate himself with his father by pleading to help, revealing Talia's plan.

Batman and Damian arrive, beat up a bunch of ninja Man-Bats and Talia tells Batman that what she really wants is the three of them to be a family. She will give up her legacy as the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul and devote all of her resources to helping Batman's war on crime. He refuses and she blows up the submarine they are on. The issue ends with Batman on the shore and holding the ninja cowl Damian was wearing, which washed up on the shore.

This introductary arc does a couple of things:

1) It introduces the idea that everything we've ever known about Batman is now in-play no matter when it happened.

2) It sets the tone of Morrison's run as much more traditional and action-oriented than one would expect. His work here is more in line with Gothic than Arkham Asylum, which is interesting as the latter is much more known than the former.

That is, until the next issue...

The Clown at Midnight (#663)

First off, here is Tim Callahan's analysis of this issue. I'm trying my best not to steal any of my ideas from him, so forgive me if things get repeated.

When I first read this issue, I wasn't that impressed. I thought it was decent, but nothing special. Like most of the run, this second reading turned things around.

"The Clown at Midnight" is a complete left turn from the sort of stories contained in the first arc and seems a conscious attempt on Morrison's part to recognise Arkhama Asylum and, at the same time, move past it. The issue is told entirely in prose with odd drawings by John Van Fleet that are partially computer generated, specifically the people. It is reminiscent of Dave McKean's art, but also distinct because of the obvious computer elements.

Morrison's choice of prose is interesting. As Callahan points out, it allows him to tell this story in a single issue instead of over several, which I think is purposeful in the allusion to Arkham as it was also a single book. But, also, it seems a response to the current state of comics and suggesting that things just move too damn slow. Let's be honest, all Morrison does here is reinvent the Joker, which seems like a one-issue idea, but the plot points to get there would require more.

The prose itself is very stylised, which was one of the reasons I didn't like this issue on initial reading. This time, it worked for me. Maybe it was the contrast to the morning paper, which I read before it. Maybe it was the bright lights of my office. Maybe I just didn't appreciate it the first time around.

However, I do think the prose is a weakness in one regard: I'm still unconvinced we are given a clear idea of who this new Joker identity is. Yes, there is some interesting stuff on the relationship between Batman and the Joker; yes, he is willing to sacrifice Harley Quinn, thus sacrificing his former lighthearted mirth; yes, he seems more evil almost--but how is this DIFFERENT REALLY? That's still the gaping flaw of this issue: I don't know what makes this Joker different from previous incarnations really. Especially as I'm fairly certain the character has shown up elsewhere since this issue and I'm willing to bet the writers there ignored this issue completely.

Of course, is this issue supposed to matter, or is it an effort for Morrison to further integrate as much of Batman's past as possible? Callahan points out that this issue alludes to another Batman prose story from the '70s; as well, the little psycho midgets from The Killing Joke show up; lists of nicknames for the Joker at various stages are given; Harley Quinn representing a specific era.

Hmm, I wonder--is the idea to kill Harley Quinn a jab at fellow Bat-writer Paul Dini, the creator of the character? Is Morrison drawing a line in the sand that says this is where he is and that's where Dini is? And to what purpose? Harley is left alive and unscarred--although, she is willing to let the Joker cut her face up like his. But, that doesn't happen. Is Morrison attempting to set up a duality between the Joker and Harley? The fact that Harley is the one that takes the Joker down at the end by shooting him suggests that she ultimately makes the break. She recognises that he was progressed, that he's changed and she leaves him, in a sense.

I do like the idea that Batman is the one person that the Joker won't kill. It makes sense in a twisted way. In his mind, there is only the two of them, everyone else is not real. Morrison harkens back to the relationship between Professor Xavier and Cassandra Nova, but here, the two are siblings in a more twisted, psychological sense. Two sides of the same coin as it were.

And what of Batman's personality changes? While Morrison directly addresses the changes the Joker goes through, even arguing (once again) a concept of supersanity as the reason, Batman's various personas remain unaddressed, at least explicitly. But, more on that later with the "Club of Heroes" story.

Hopefully, Morrison will get a chance to do more with this Joker as I am curious to see how this one is different. In the past, the Joker has always been very slapsticky and outgoing, but I wonder if you could push him in the direction of other types of humour. I wonder if a more subtle, dark-humoured Joker could work as well. Really push him into some uncomfortable areas. Is that the Joker here?

And then we return to the Batman we know and love from "Batman & Son"...

"The Ghosts of Batman/The Black Casebook" #664-665

Again, Callahan's analyses of these issues are here and here.

With these issues, Morrison continues his work to reestablish Bruce Wayne as a playboy millionaire as well as integrate various loose threads from Batman's past into a cohesive whole.

Strangely, issue 664 picks up immediately following the end of "Batman & Son," suggesting that "The Clown at Midnight" exists in its own space. However, the beginning of this issue could also be a flashback. In the first half of thise issue, Bruce Wayne goes skiing with Jezebel Jet and establishes himself as cooler than James Bond. Not much is actually accomplished here beyond showing Bruce Wayne being cool and his budding relationship with Jezebel.

Then, almost aburptly, at the mention of the death of his parents and assurances that he got over it, we're in Gotham where prostitutes are being killed by some sort of monster that's protected by the cops. Morrison reintroduces the standard plot of a corrupt Gotham police force. While it never exactly went away, it hasn't been quite this explicit recently (I think--I could be wrong--of course, the Jim Corrigan character in Gotham Central was corrupt as hell, so it has been a plot point recently, but perhaps not to this extent). After Batman beats up the cops and some other thugs, he gets information from the pimp and tells one of the hookers to apply for a job at Wayne Enterprises as a receptionist. Then, he goes after the monster, who is apparently a cop.

Here, Morrison once again uses an inner monologue, but a different type than the one used in the second part of "Batman & Son." This one has large font and looks like computer font almost. As well, the style is more gritty and halting. Sentences are fragmented--and then we meet the monster, which is a man a hybred Batman/Bane costume. He's giant and takes Batman down easily.

Before this, Batman mentions the smell of testosterone, which plays an important role here. One of the major themes of superhero comics is the concept of masculinity and what it means to be a man. In these two issues, this idea is presented in various forms. First, there's Bruce Wayne who is the parachute onto skis and then take down a small helicopter with a ski pole before whisking the girl off to a fancy dinner sort of guy. Then there are the corrupt cops and the pimp, all exploiting women for their own gain. They equate being a man with dominance over women and the gain of money, which isn't exactly that far from the actions of Bruce Wayne. One of the reasons why he's so cool is that he's rich and saves the girl from a potential assassin (turns out to be paparazzo). And then thee's the monster who equates manliness with physical power and, again, dominance over women. We're told that the only thing that pacifies him are the prostitutes who he eventually kills. He does the venom drug and exudes testosterone, which Batman equates to the smell of board meetings, the stock exchange and executive washrooms. This Bat-Bane is pure alpha male and is able to beat Batman by using superior strength and intimidation.

Another key element mentioned here is the black casebook, which we find out in the next issue is where Batman writes down the details of events that don't fit with the presumed nature of reality. His encounters with aliens and the supernatural, etc. are all included there; the things that don't exactly fit with the grim-n-gritty Batman established in the '80s. Morrison reframes these events in terms of that reality and has Batman acknowledge that they don't fit with what he knows. This way, they still don't work within the context of what we think a Batman story necessarily is, but since Morrison and Batman both recognise this, it doesn't matter and, ultimately, works.

Issue 664 ends with Bat-Bane stomping on Batman's back, refencing Bane breaking his back in the early '90s. Morrison here integrates another element of Batman's past, one that is not remembered with fondness by current readers and brings it into the present. While those events aren't out of continuity, Infinite Crisis suggested (quite strongly) that those events were mistakes, a feeling often put forth by readers. The '90s are not looked upon favourably by most and Morrison brings back the key Batman '90s moment, almost saying that it wasn't so bad and that we're judging it harshly. Who are we to pick-and-choose what should count and what shouldn't? Everything is in play with Morrison--and everything has the potential to be cool. (I should add that I don't think the entire Bane/Azrael story is a low-point for Batman--in the same way that I still look upon the death and return of Superman with fondness--and even, to some extent, the Spider-Man clone saga.)

Issue 665 begins where 664 left off, Batman beaten and crawling on the ground. Morrison uses the narration in a fantastic way here, having Batman "say":

Face down in my own blood and vomit in the pouring rain. / Must / Must be / Must be a better way / to strike terror / into the hearts of criminals.

He plays with the convention of Batman's fragmented narration and his cliched catchphrases to poke fun at the seriousness of the character--especially as he is then recused by prostitutes.

Ultimately, he is patched up by Alfred, Tim goes off to fight Bat-Bane, he follows and they defeat the monster. In these scenes, though, we learn more about the black casebook and are introduced to the three Bat-Ghosts. At the end of the previous issue, Batman draws a connection between this Bat-Bane and the cop in issue 655 who shoots the Joker in the face. Both cops, both wearing Bat-costumes and both were figures in a vision he once had of three versions of himself that he took to be warnings of who he could become:

1. An unhinged, gun-toting vigilante.

2. A steroid freak devoted to being as strong as possible

3. And a third, shadowy figure we learn from Bruce sold hissoul to the devil and destroyed Gotham.

Alfred and Tim write this off an effect of the pain medication, but Batman has seen two of these figures in person now. Are the events in the black casebook as far-fetched as Alfred thinks? He actually says about those events, "I'D AZARD A GUESS THAT YOU AND MASTER DICK WERE OFTEN THE VICTIMS OF ONE TOO MANY EXPOSURES TO SCARECROW GAS OR JOKER TOXIN," but Batman dismisses Alfred's scepticism.

Here, Batman begins to towel himself in Bruce's dirty shirts to blanket himself in pheromones and testosterone in order to beat the Bat-Bane on his own terms. As Batman says, "WHAT'S THE ONE THING AN ALPHA MALE IS PROGRAMMED TO RESPECT? / ALPHA MALE PLUS." While the Bat-Bane creates a manly image of himself through drugs and artificial testosterone, Batman relies on his natural masculinity, specifically Bruce Wayne's. Morrison subtly raises Bruce Wayne up to be Batman's equal or, perhaps, superior here.

Tim's speedy exit once again plays with the father/son relationship of the two as he is still eager to prove himself in the wake of Damian's visit. Again, Batman assures him that there is nothing that Tim has to prove to him, of course failing to see that one of the reasons that he is Batman is because he feels he must prove himself to his dead father.

Batman saves Robin from being beaten and then attacks Bat-Bane in a scene that recalls the fight between Batman and the gang-leader in The Dark Knigh Returns. Once again, Batman is fighting a larger, stronger enemy and does so in a construction site not unlike the muddy pit of DKR. Except, before he can finish it, Batman is interrupted by dirty cops that cover for Bat-Bane and threaten to shoot Batman.

Commissioner Gordan tells Batman that something is wrong with the Gotham PD and maybe the corruption of old is back.

The issue ends with Talia and a lead-in to the upcoming Ra's Al Ghul storyline. She learns of Bruce's relationship with Jezebel-and the fact that the two have been seen twice together that week. In Venice, the two are together and Bruce explains his injuries away before kissing Jezebel. The inclusion of Jezebel is another old trope of Batman Morrison reuses. Back in issue 655, Alfred lists some of the women of his past like Kathy Kane, Vicki Vale and Silver St. Cloud. In recent years, the focus has been placed on Batman to such an extent that Catwoman is the only romantic interest I can recall, and that was a relationship with Batman, not Bruce Wayne. The films always follow a pattern where Bruce Wayne meets a girl and ends up revealing his indentity to her. Is Morrison using that same story here?

"Batman in Bethlehem" (#666)

Like "The Clown at Midnight," many have not known what to make of this issue as it stands outside the rest of the run in a very odd way. I was actually tempted to include it with the previous two issues as it concludes that little story, albeit in an odd manner. In this issue, Damian is Batman in the future and fights against the third Bat-Ghost, a Batman who is the anti-Christ. It is suggested that because the Bruce Wayne Batman wouldn't kill him, the apocalypse will come. Damian as Bruce's successor is a necessity as his methods differ enough that he able to defeat someone his father never could.

One question that has to be asked is whether or not this is a real story. And, does that matter? Obviously, it's a REAL story, but is this the future really? Does Bruce die with his son as Robin? Does Damian take up the mantle instead of Tim or Dick? Does Barbara become commissioner? Now, within the context of this run, the story is 100% real and accurate as every story is. However, I wonder if this is meant to be a real depiction of the future or something else entirely. The only problem with that is I'm not sure what else it could be except for an alternate future, but what would be the point of that? Usually, alternate futures are framed in a way that reflect upon the present, but this doesn't. The only pieces of the present we get are in the two-page spread "The Legend of the Batman / Who he is and how he came to be..." where we get Damian's origin--which is Morrison using the comic book staple of retelling origins, especially at the beginning of the issue.

This is Morrison's most inventive issue as little here is known. Damian faces an entirely new rogues gallery with guys like Candyman, Professor Pyg, the Weasel, Max Roboto and Jackanapes--and, of course, the anti-Christ Batman. The issue is devoted to the fight between the two Batmen with a glimpse into Damian's life as Batman. In one panel, he walks through his Batcave and we see two costume display cases. In one is Damian's Robin costume with two Batmen. Is this a suggestion that someone else took up the mantle before him? Is that what Tim did? Maybe Dick? The other display case houses the Joker's suit and his smile--what the hell?

At the Hotel Bethlehem, the two Batmen fight with Damian eventually winning as he also made a deal with the devil. He sold his soul at 14 to ensure Gotham's survival, suggesting that as the age when Bruce died--which can't be too far off from the current timeline, although I don't remember Damian's age being mentioned. Hard to say exactly how old he is now.

During the fight, the anti-Christ Batman says something interesting about the two Batmen sharing the same father, both sons of the Batman. Some have taken this to mean that the connection is through Ra's Al Ghul, but maybe this other Batman is the more traditional son of Bruce and Talia, the one named Ibn al Xu'ffasch? Given up for adoption, he learned his true parentage eventually and was jealous of Damian the same way Damian is jealous of Tim? Or maybe Jason Todd? Who else could it be? Maybe even Tim.

Damian says something interesting when discussing how he boobytrapped various buildings in Gotham: "I KNEW I'D NEVER BE AS GOOD AS MY DAD OR DICK GRAYSON." A subtle jab at Tim?

In the end, Damian kills this anti-Christ Batman and is shot by the police, only to stand up, unharmed, protected by the deal he made with the devil.

What does this story mean? Morrison plays with the obvious Satanic reference with Damian's name, but why tell this story? I think it's partly to provide a conclusion to the Bat-Ghosts story in that we see how the third ghost is eventually defeated. An untraditional method of concluding the story, but interesting. There's the fact that it is issue 666, another devil reference. Is it a true representation of what's going to happen?

It does further a few of Morrison's themes like fathers and sons, which also ties into concepts of masculinity. As well, one of Morrison's recent obsessions has been examining heroes through various doubles. As Jog has said of All-Star Superman, Morrison has the hero confront various versions of himself. Here, Bruce Wayne doesn't confront other versions of himself, but we're given two more to go with the others we've seen (the gun-toting Batman, Bat-Bane, the Joker--who, YES, is another version of Batman, at least the way Morrison depicts them--the ninja Man-Bats, and even the young Damian who recalls a young Bruce Wayne while also doubling Robin). This leads into the Club of Heroes story where Batman deals with numerous doubles.

"The International Club of Heroes" (#667-669)

Earlier, in the section on "The Clown at Midnight," I mentioned the issue of Batman's various personality changes and this arc introduces the issue in an implicit manner. The cover of issue 667 features a picture of Batman, Robin and the original International Club of Heroes in classic '50s or '60s style. The picture is repeated inside the issue and asks the question: does that Batman still exist in the history of the character. In the arc, it is said that Batman only attended one meeting of the group, suggesting that his current personality of a loner and asshole applies then when he was a much more cheerful and fun character. Now, I assume the group only appeared once originally in that typical Silver Age fashion where story ideas were used once and then ignored because the idea of continuity was applied to how a character acted, not the events of the story. Morrison explains that away by applying the post-Crisis Batman personality to a pre-Crisis event. Does that mean all of those old stories happened, but with the modern Batman character rather than the Silver Age one? Or has Batman also changed personality over time like the Joker has? Morrison raises an interesting tension there.

Surprisingly, rereading this arc as a whole left me cold. I found the plot to be very weak, almost secondary to the furthering of Morrison's themes and motifs. The major idea here is Batman confronting all of these alternate versions of himself. The Knight (British Batman) is a recovering drug addict and alcoholic trying to make good by stepping into his father's shoes. The Legionary is a fallen hero, fat and corrupt. Man-of-Bats is also a second generation hero, stepping into his father's shoes. And so on. However, I'm not sure we gain a lot of insight into most of these characters.

The real doubles here are John Mayhew and Wingman. Mayhew is a double of Bruce Wayne, a rich man who instead of becoming a costumed vigilante, bought his own superhero team full of Batmen--except it fell apart partly because of Batman's lack of interest. Mayhew lived the life of the millionaire playboy that Morrison pushes Bruce Wayne into during his run, except without the Batman morality to hold him in check. We find out that he possibly killed his mistress and he is the mastermind of the murder plot here.

Wingman blames Batman for his unknown status, claiming that he thought of the Wingman idea a year before Batman showed up and that the Club of Heroes was his chance to be a famous superhero. Here, his costume has been updated from the odd red and yellow spandex outfit he originally wore to a bluish-black and grey armoured outfit that alludes to Azrael's Bat-costume, but also very clearly resembles Batman's regular costume. He has modelled himself after Batman despite claiming to be ahead of Batman. One of the interesting quirks Morrison adds is having Wingman say "TT" from tie to time, which is a characteristic of Batman that he started in JLA (along with "HH"). He also makes an interesting comment about sidekicks, mocking Batman for needing one--although, he is actually Mayhew's sidekick in a sense.

As well, Robin faces two doubles in the form of Beryl, the female Squire (sidekick to the Knight) and Raven Red (who insists he's not "Little Raven" as his father calls him). All three are not the first to wear their costumes/identities as both Man-of-Bats and the Knight were sidekicks to their fathers, so Beryl and Raven Red have stepped into those roles only when the former sidekicks became the heroes.

The sidekick elements also introduce Morrison's fatherhood themes, especially in a discussion between Man-of-Bats and the Knight where they talk about their fathers and how they seemed like such big heroes when the two were kids--but they were wrong. They weren't heroes, just men. Red Raven and Man-of-Bats also have a strained relationship as we get the sense that Red Raven wants to be respected for his own abilities while Man-of-Bats keeps seeing him as a little kid.

The Knight/Squire relationship is interesting and continues from Morrison's JLA Classified arc where the two were introduced. We get a sense that Beryl watches over Cyril rather than the other way around. Cyril is the dysfunctional father (although I should point out that the two are not father and daughter) that requires the child to grow up quickly and take on a parental role. In this way, Beryl often comes off as more mature than Tim. Tim goes through the story making jokes about the Club of Heroes, which Batman chastises him for.

While Wingman is a double of Batman, he also exists in a father/son relationship with him. Even though Wingman claims to have donned a costume before Batman, Batman tells us at one point that he spent a summer training Wingman. Wingman rebels against his superhero father, siding with his OTHER father, the one who believed in him and nurtured him, John Mayhew.

JH Williams III's art here is fantastic. He conveys a lot of information about the characters by depicting each in their own unique style. He says this was his idea, so it adds to the story, but doesn't necessarily further Morrison's themes. As for the plot, it's pretty standard and seems like it could have used more room to breathe. The ultimate solution to the mystery is partly a surprise, but also a disappointment in that I don't think the necessary clues were there, especially in the killing of the Legionary, which is shown to us.

However, Morrison does explore his major themes more here and further his goal of including every piece of Batman's history in continuity.

Almost at the end

Morrison's first year on Batman is notable for his inclusion of elements of Batman's past that we wouldn't normally think of as "in continuity," but that is because, to Morrison, every story is in play no matter how different it is. He brings back the child of Bruce and Talia, the Club of Heroes and introduces the black casebook as a means to explain the non-noir/gritty elements of Batman's past. He alludes to the '80s and '90s numerous times, suggesting that those "dark" times still have worthwhile elements. He progresses beyond his own Batman stories, pushing familar themes like fatherhood beyond Bruce as son to Bruce as father, as well as continually has Batman face different versions of himself, a subtle means of incorporating the concept of alternate realities and "Elseworlds" stories without explicitly doing so. I'm interested in seeing where Morrison takes the character in the rest of his run, as well as what he will do with his reinvented Joker.

And that does it. Who knows when I'll post again.

A Music Video On Paper: The Final Chapter Of Codeflesh

(Note: the use of "/" in quotes is meant to show where speech balloon breaks occur. Also, all quotes seek to copy what appears in the comic as faithful as possible, so capitalization, italics and bold are all as they appear in Codeflesh.)

It's not often these days that you come across something that makes you sit up and take notice because of its uniqueness. Most of the ways to make comics have been done already and all we get left are variations on those. But in the final chapter of their book Codeflesh, Joe Casey and Charlie Adlard did something new with the form and it showcases just how skilled both are, and just how much potential comics have as a form.

In simple terms, the story is a music video in the form of a comic, but that's a big simplification. Instead of regular dialogue, narration and sound effects, every word of the issue was part of a letter written by the main character, Cameron Daltrey. Every speech balloon, caption and sound effect continues the letter. But what's more is that the art reflects a regular story and the actual placement of word balloons and sound effects actually suggest that Casey wrote those scenes out normally and then replaced what was written with the letter. It is the starkest juxtaposition of prose and art that I've seen where it wasn't simple text with spot illustrations. The closest thing we've seen so far is overlaying captions on a story, but somehow the two, while appearing similar in nature, only cross paths in the most superficial manner.

In the majority of stories that have used a juxtaposition of captions and pictures, the technique is broken up with dialogue within the story or it is done simply through captions, which suggests a distance between the text of the captions and the pictures. This is especially true in cases where the text in the captions are quotes from other works (a poem, for example). What makes what Casey and Adlard did in that final chapter of Codeflesh so unique is the integration of the narration into the story. As I said, it appears as if a regular Codeflesh story was produced and then all of the dialogue was replaced with the contents of the narrating letter.

This technique brings to mind music videos where often the same technique is used: the song and lyrics replace the actual words spoken by the people within the story of the video. The best example I can think of that showcases this is the video for "We Are All Made Of Stars" by Moby where the video cuts between various scenes where various people all lip-sync to the song. The visuals tell a story, of sorts, while the fact that the people in the video speak the words of the song causes a correlation to be formed between what you hear and what you see.

In the final chapter of Codeflesh, this is done in a unique way as the story is not a self-contained story, but the conclusion of a larger story, so it is able to accomplish much of what it does because of the reader's familiarity with what has gone on before. While this may seem like a failing, all this means is that Casey and Adlard chose a smart manner in which to attempt this "music video" technique. This is something that easily could have failed miserably, but partly because of its use in the eighth and final chapter of the story, it works incredibly well.

The story of Codeflesh is of Cameron Daltrey, a bail bondsman who specialises in giving bonds to superpowered criminals, a group that is likely to attempt to skip out on their bail. He does this so he can hunt them down and bring them back in. At some point before the series begins, Cameron was ordered by the court to stop doing that himself and since that time he has dressed up in a costume to disguise his activities with only his partner Staz knowing what he does. This, of course, causes a strain in his relationship with his girlfriend Maddie in the classic Peter Parker mould. In the final chapter of the story, Cameron writes a letter to Maddie in which he attempts to explain everything and this letter narrates the story.

The first indication we get of the "music video" technique is on the second page where in the first panel, the phone rings and instead of a standard sound effect, the text used is "SONG AND" which continues the letter begun on the previous page and leads into Cameron answering the phone with "DANCE THAT WE'VE ALWAYS BEEN THROUGH," and so on (Casey 112). The fact that the technique is first used with a telephone ringing sound effect and features the word "song" may be a coincidence, but it just seems strangely appropriate.

On the next page, we are given a scene where one cop is discussing the vigilante he's seen, who we know is Cameron in disguise, and within the scene there are a few panels that taken by themselves work rather well with the dialogue of the letter. This is probably the most unique effect produced by the technique: pictures that when taken out of context seem to work with the dialogue of the letter. The best example in this scene is the final panel on the page where the cop is being mocked by the other cops and has this sort of pouty/annoyed look on his face while he says "FOR THAT MONEY SO I TRACKED HIM DOWN IN ENCINO AND BROKE TWO OF HIS / GODDAMNED TESTICLES AND, YEAH, HE LOST AN EYEBALL. BIG FUCKING DEAL, RIGHT?" (Casey 113). The picture of the cop coupled with that last bit of dialogue almost seems to mimic how Cameron looks while speaking of the incident.

The next effective juxtaposition takes place two pages later where a large, superpowered criminal returns home and in the final panel of the page, we see his head sticking up into the attic and he says in a quiet voice "WITHOUT THE JUDGE THROWING MY ASS IN JAIL" which works just perfectly as this criminal is going to skip out on his bail (Casey 115). In the following pages, Cameron fights with the criminal until he finally subdues him, but sustains injuries to his legs. He then calls Staz and the context of the picture narrative and the letter narrative work well together again, as he says on the phone almost immediately "PRETTY FUCKING BRILLIANT, RIGHT?" to which we then see Staz respond with "ANYWAY, I CAN ALREADY HEAR IN MY HEAD WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO SAY . . . / 'CAMERON, COULD YOU BE A BIGGER ASSHOLE?! THIS IS FUCKED UP!'" (Casey 118-119). While the text doesn't match up exactly, the general feeling is almost perfectly matched in a strange way.

The final and best example of the interplay between words and pictures is in the second-last scene of the chapter, which takes place as Maddie is at her job as a stripper. She is doing her job and one of the customers gets a little rowdy and tosses some beer on her, and she responds by kicking him in the face (as his head is about level with the stage she's on). She then proceeds to yell at him and the text used just works so well, as it expresses both what Cameron wants to tell her and what we believe is what she ultimately wants to tell him, but can't because of his behaviour. The text she yells at the customer is "PLAIN AND SIMPLE, / I DON'T WANT YOU OUT OF MY / LIFE." (Casey 121). This is the climax of the story, I believe as it is where the two stories intersect the strongest and after that, it is just a gradual slowing down.

The story ends with Cameron alone in his office after he has crumpled up the letter. He does this after he writes the line "And if us being together means I have to give up the job, then I guess I" (Casey 122). This is an interesting way to end the story as it shows just how addicted Cameron is to his secret life, but it also undermines the narration we've just read. Even though we didn't see the letter sent, we assume that while we read it, Maddie is also reading it and that we will be given a happy ending of sort. By having Cameron discard the letter, Casey and Adlard destroy that assumption, but also give us a more powerful story.

The ultimate achievement of the story is that while there is a connection between the words and pictures at some points, for the most part, there is a total divide between the two, but the reader never has any trouble following the story told in pictures. Often, readers and creators forget just how visual comics can be and this story proves just how important pictures are in storytelling. In a manner, this is essentially a silent story, the likes of which Marvel attempted to do a few years ago, but it also isn't like those stories because of the use of word balloons. The fact that word balloons are there suggest to the reader that a conversation is happening, along with who specifically is speaking and roughly, how much they are saying. This almost causes the reader to create dialogue in their heads for what is being said, but without actually doing it consciously. This is a strange trick, as the combination of what the pictures convey through body language along with the size and type of word balloons give the impression of a conversation that the reader unconsciously creates and assists them in understanding the visual story.

I hope I'm explaining all of this right. It is difficult as this technique relies heavily on the visuals, and I'm left only with words that show up on some computer screen. Hell, I haven't even been able to come up with a name for the technique besides "music video". It really is unique and complex. Half of the stuff I mentioned here I didn't even notice until I began working on this essay. What Casey and Adlard did in that final chapter of Codeflesh is new and that's rare in comics today. I hope other look at what they did and try to do it again, if only so we can see if it is a technique that will work outside of this one case. People are always talking about comics as movies, but comics as music videos just seems as relevant. Even the length of the story (12 pages) captures the music video feeling more because it is short, while the so-called "movie comics" usually end up in the 88 to 132 page range, so perhaps that will be a requirement for any future applications of this technique. Nonetheless, the final chapter of Codeflesh is a unique storytelling experience that, as far as I know, hadn't been seen in comics previously (and knowing my luck, that will be proven wrong five minutes after this essay goes up).

Work Cited
Casey, Joe and Charlie Adlard et al. Codeflesh. San Francisco: AiT/Planet Lar, 2003.

Who Was Holiday?

When Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale began work on their classic tale Batman: The Long Halloween, they set out simply with the impetus to tell a story of what happened to the gangsters seen in Frank Miller’s seminal work Batman Year One. Loeb himself stated in the introduction to the trade paperback collection of the tale that, once Archie Goodwin approached him with the concept, his mind raced, “stuck with this black-and-white dream of a Gotham City that was controlled by Guys with guns, Dolls with Lipstick, and Shadows who had shadows” (6).

Along the way, the two creators spun a yarn that is perhaps one of the most indelible murder mysteries ever written in comics form. In fact, The Long Halloween sparks debate even today, years after its initial release, due in no small part to its ending. Throughout the graphic novel, the serial killer Holiday has been surreptitiously taking out most of the Gotham City underworld month by month as each holiday passes, and Batman has been running himself ragged all year in search of the murderous fiend. In the beginning of the thirteenth and final chapter, however, Holiday is finally captured and revealed to be Alberto Falcone, son of crime boss Carmine “The Roman” Falcone (323). Alberto was himself thought to be Holiday’s victim on New Year’s Eve but had faked his death (119-120). The mystery had been solved...

Or so it would seem, for in the final four pages of the book, Loeb and Sale drop quite a bombshell. In these pages we see Gilda Dent, alone in the home she had shared with her husband Harvey until the day Sal Maroni threw acid in his face during a trial, putting Harvey on the path that would end with his transformation into the villain Two-Face (291-292). Gilda says then, standing alone in her basement, that she herself was Holiday, performing the earliest Holiday murders in order to lighten her husband’s caseload and bring him home to her. She stopped killing on New Year’s Eve, she claims, when her husband came home late and Alberto turned up dead, knowing that he had taken up the cause she had started (368-369).

This final twist making the resolution of the novel unclear, readers are left with the burning question: Who was Holiday?

The mystery is further complicated by the fact that Loeb steadfastly refuses to clarify the ending. He has famously stated time and again (most notably in an interview that appeared in Comicology magazine while The Long Halloween’s sequel Batman: Dark Victory was still in production) that he prefers to leave the ending open to reader interpretation. The answer to the question, he says, is in the reader’s hands to decipher. However, he is always careful to add that the answer is in the book itself, that all the clues needed to fathom Holiday’s identity are within the text itself.

In issue 77 of Wizard, the magazine’s staff tried to formulate a theory that incorporated both confessions provided in the story. Their idea was that there were two Holidays: Gilda AND Alberto. Gilda performed the first three murders just as she stated in the book’s conclusion. She quit killing because “Gilda had gotten what she really wanted: a house to have a family in (and she and Harvey were going to try to have kids again), [and] as of New Year's Eve she mistakenly thought Harvey took up the reins of Holiday with news of Holiday's killing of Alberto.” In reality, however, Alberto at that time faked his death in order to become Holiday himself. “This plot was launched by Alberto and Carmine,” says the Wizard staff, “who both decided to use the Holiday identity to whack the men of rival Maroni: note the shift in victims from New Year's forward” ("Whut The--?!" 35).

Since this issue of Wizard was released, this theory has become the commonly accepted answer as to Holiday’s identity. But, if you’ll allow me to be a bit editorial for a moment, this theory simply does not hold water.

One reason why this theory of a switch in killers is unlikely to be true lies in the forensic evidence left at the scene of every crime by Holiday: namely, the .22s with which Holiday committed the murders. It is revealed late in the story that when Alberto was acting as Holiday, he was having his guns specially made by the Gunsmith (217). If Gilda did not buy this same type of gun from this same guy, then there would have been noticeable differences that the police would've been able to find from looking at the guns, at the bullets, and at the holes the bullets made in the victims. All .22s are not exactly alike.

In fact, in the April Fool’s issue, Batman is shown doing actual forensic tests on the guns (182). If the guns had been manufactured by different people, the markings left on the bullet by the barrel would be different, and Batman would surely have noticed during his tests. Such a point would then have become a major clue, espeically after one of Holiday's victims became the guy who made the guns, and it would have been stated on panel. Since this was not the case, we have to assume that all the guns were the same. If both Alberto and Gilda were acting as Holiday, as Wizard purports, then the guns used in all the murders must be exactly alike, which is highly unlikely given that Alberto’s were specially constructed just for him.

But perhaps the largest hole in this hypothesis is that it is just too much of a coincidence that Gilda’s killings ended and Alberto’s began at the same time. If Gilda did commit the initial Holiday murders, then Alberto had no way of knowing that someone else would not also be killed that night. His plan to fake his own death only works if he knew no one else would become a victim of Holiday on New Year’s, and he could not know that if Gilda had been Holiday up to that point. It simply does not add up logically. Thus, if we do not accept the switch, then we are left with only two theories, the ones that are in fact laid out in the book itself. Alberto confesses to the crimes, and Gilda similarly admits that she and Harvey both committed them. Since Loeb has repeatedly stated that the book holds all the answers, these theories are what we must turn to.

So which is the most plausible? In my mind, there is no question; it is clear that Alberto was the only Holiday killer.

To illustrate why I believe Alberto is the killer, let us first analyze Gilda’s confession. In it, she claims that Harvey took up the murders when she quit, starting with the murder of Alberto. We know that this statement is incorrect for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the simple fact that Alberto is in fact alive. No less than three of the Holiday murders after New Year’s are committed solely to protect the identity of Holiday: the death of the Gunsmith on Mother’s Day, the murder of the Gotham City Coroner on Independence Day, and the death of Carla Viti on the Roman’s birthday, August 2nd (218-219; 251; 295-296). Each of these murders are directly tied to Alberto Falcone being alive and well, something Harvey would not have as a motive for killing but Alberto would. Also, we the readers (along with Jim Gordon) witness the murder of Sal Maroni on Labor Day by Alberto, so it is clear that Harvey was not Holiday in this case either (319-320).

Gilda states that she was Holiday until New Year’s, and then Harvey took over. We know the latter half of the statement is untrue, so why accept the former? But if we must consider the possibility of Gilda actually committing these crimes, then let us look at the facts. When the evidence as it appears in the story is laid out clearly, there are many obvious reasons why Gilda could not have committed the murders that she claimed.

Returning to the subject of the guns that she supposedly used in the killings for a moment, we are still left with the question of how it is that the guns used in the initial killings are identical to the ones used later. However, perhaps the bigger question would be how Gilda, a suburban housewife, had access to these firearms at all. Perhaps she could have gone out and purchased them on her own, but this concept simply raises more questions. How would she have known where to go to buy these weapons? Where did she get the money to pay for them? How was she able to get a gun when she was in the hospital on Thanksgiving or in a wheelchair on Christmas? Would they have even sold her a gun in the first place?

All of those questions presuppose that the guns were purchased from an illegal dealer, but perhaps she did in fact buy them through legitimate methods in a gun shop. That scenario creates more questions in regards to the paper trail such purchases would leave. The paper trail could be covered by filing the serial numbers off the guns, as it is in fact stated in the text that Holiday had done (48). However, Gilda would have no means to do so on either Thanksgiving, when her house was a pile of rubble, or Christmas, when she had not yet fully moved into her new home.

Then there are the methods of the murders themselves. Johnny Viti, Holiday’s first victim, is killed in the bathtub in his own home, begging the question of how Gilda could possibly gotten past the security sure to be found in a mob boss’s home, let alone know where he is (46-47). By that same token, how could she know of the Irish Gang’s whereabouts on Thanksgiving, and how could she have known she would find Milos outside of the Roman’s penthouse at just the right moment on Christmas?

Similarly, the methodology of each of the Holiday killings shows a measure of skill with a firearm that Gilda Dent is unlikely to have. Johnny Viti is taken out with two shots to the head. The five members of the Irish Gang are murdered before any of them can fire back at their killer, despite the fact that two of them were in the process of drawing their weapons when Holiday entered their room (80-81). Milos is killed on Christmas with a gun sitting on the ground next to his hand (102-103). Gilda Dent has most likely not had as much training and experience with guns as any of these mobsters, yet if we believe her confession, she had the speed and accuracy to kill them all in an instant.

Gilda also states in her final confession that she got the idea for the Holiday killings from reading case files that Harvey had brought home (368). However, on an earlier occasion Gilda reacted with surprise and alarm when she discovered that Harvey brought evidence home with him, directly contradicting her later statement (278). In fact in this scene, Gilda is accusatory with Harvey about the possibility that he might be Holiday, not happy as she would be if she had committed the earlier crimes herself and wanted the Roman out of the way so they could be together (275-277).

Having looked at the means, let us turn then to opportunity and see if Gilda had the opportunity to commit these crimes. Certainly on Halloween her whereabouts at the time of Johnny Viti’s murder are undisclosed, so it is possible that she did in fact have the opportunity to kill him. But not so on Thanksgiving and Christmas. On Thanksgiving day, Gilda Dent is in the hospital with a head injury, clearly depicted in the story as being hooked up to IVs and monitors with her husband a mere couple of feet from her at her side (77). Even if she were strong enough to, she could not have left these surroundings to go commit five murders without the hospital staff or her husband noticing she was gone. On Christmas, Gilda is in a wheelchair, barely able to walk on her own (95). Again, it is highly unlikely that she had an opportunity to leave her husband, find Milos, and kill him in such a state.

I have left her possible motive in these crimes for my final point because it is the weakest aspect of the argument for Gilda being behind the murders, and thus the easiest to refute. Supposedly Gilda commits these murders because her husband was overworked and not spending enough time with her (367). These murders were her attempt to create less work for him, so they could be together more. How anyone could think that killing mobsters would get the district attorney home any earlier in the evening is beyond me.

Her motive is flimsy. Her means are unlikely. Her opportunities were nonexistent. These are but a few of the glaring examples that prove that Gilda was not involved in the Holiday killings in any way.

However if Alberto was Holiday the whole time, then everything fits. As the son of the Roman, Alberto could easily gain access to Johnny Vito, the Irish Gang, and Milos. He knew them; some were even members of his family. Gaining access to their homes and hideouts would not be difficult, and it would be easy for him to know when Milos was outside of the penthouse since Alberto himself lived there as well.

Alberto had access to weapons, as is illustrated by the Gunsmith. Like Gilda, Alberto might not know how to kill someone either, but he could easily ask any number of family members who ARE trained assassins to teach him how to shoot (much like Michael Corleone was taught in the gangster epic The Godfather, a clear inspiration for several scenes in The Long Halloween).

If Alberto were committing the Holiday killings all by himself from the beginning, then he would know faking his death on New Year’s Eve would work and that there wouldn't be a double killing. It is in fact the only scenario in which Alberto faking his death makes sense, because his being Holiday is the only way that he could be certain his survival would not be found out.

Finally, there is his motive in the killings. Alberto’s motives in all of the latter killings are clear. The murders on Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Father’s Day, and Labor Day were all members of the Maroni crime family, the Falcones’ chief rival in the battle for control of Gotham City’s underworld (145-146; 171-172; 234-235; 319-320). As previously stated, the other three murders were committed to cover up the fact that Alberto was alive and secretly Holiday. These murders clearly all benefit either Alberto directly or his entire family.

Some readers then try to poke holes in this Alberto theory with talk of the supposed change in motive before and after Alberto's "death." Before New Year's Eve all of Holiday’s victims were members of the Falcone family, and these readers believe it is not logical for Alberto to take out members of his own family. After New Year's the victims were all Maronis, and this switch, some would point out, is evidence in support of a switch in killers.

However, Alberto did have a potential motive for each of the early murders, despite the fact that they were all members of his family, both in name and in blood. First, there is Johnny Viti, who it is stated in his introduction (in both Year One and The Long Halloween) had recently tried to have the Roman killed (10). This act of betrayal would be unforgivable to a crime family like the Falcones, so he is repaid for his attempt to have a knife slipped between the Roman’s ribs with two bullets to the head.

Next we have the Irish Gang on Thanksgiving, who could be marked for death by Alberto for two reasons. One, they had been hired to put out the hit on Harvey Dent, and it turned out that Dent was still alive (71, 75). They failed in a very vital assignment, the murder of a district attorney, and in the mafia failure is not taken lightly.

Two, after their failure to fulfill a hit, they had all been easily apprehended by the police and Batman. Despite the fact that the Irish Gang had been given the opportunity to rat the Roman out and hadn’t, there was always the chance they could change their minds, and so they had to be eliminated. They knew too much. Really it is not too hard to see the motive here; if a group of people have evidence that a mob family is involved in an attempted murder, and those people are then killed, a member of the mob family is the most likely culprit. Besides, the Roman has precedent for this type of action. In Batman Year One, the Roman trusted his flunky Jefferson Skeevers to not give up any information about their organization once he was in police custody, but Batman intimidated him into doing just that (Miller et al. 77). Perhaps the Roman is simply living by the adage “fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

Finally there is Milos, whose murder is a bit more difficult to justify, but not impossible. Milos, it was stated in the text on several occasions, was the Roman’s personal bodyguard and most trusted friend. However, he too had failed in his duties of late. On the day of Johnny Viti’s wedding, both Batman and Catwoman broke into his home and eluded capture, a fact that the Roman did not take lightly (28). Just moments before Milos’s death, the Joker too broke into the Roman’s penthouse and easily bested Milos (100-101). It seems then that Milos was not the most effective bodyguard around and perhaps had to pay for his failures with his life.

It is also possible that Milos had to die in order to provide the Falcone family with an alibi. Throughout the year, the Falcone family is seen very publicly to be pointing the finger at others as the ones behind the Holiday killings. On New Year’s Eve Carmine Falcone says to Sal Maroni that it has been the Falcone family hit up to this point, implying that perhaps Maroni might be behind the killings. Perhaps Milos’s death was perpetrated just to belie this point (117).

This entire scenario is only strengthened if you factor in the involvement of Carmine himself. Alberto might have committed the actual killings, but Carmine was the mastermind behind it all. Carmine mentioned to Maroni on New Year's that all the blood was on his side to make it look like he was NOT backing Holiday when he really was. Carmine told Carla to go up on deck that same night because he KNEW Alberto was going to fake his own death (because how could he survive a plunge into the icy cold waters of the harbor without some help?) and wanted a witness (118).

Carmine kept up a front of Alberto's non-involvement in the family business in front of everyone (including his sister Carla and his daughter Sofia) so that he would not be suspected. Yet Alberto was always present at family meetings and Carmine thought to himself on New Year’s that Alberto was the only one he could trust (41; 118). These examples are more proof of the collusion between Carmine and Alberto both in the family business in general and the Holiday killings specifically.

This secret was one that Carmine went to great lengths to keep. On April Fool's Day Carmine hired the Riddler just so people would think he was in search of Holiday, again to throw suspicion off himself. However, the Riddler in the end came up with the right answer: "Carmine Falcone" (198). Carmine pretended to laugh it off and threw Riddler out, telling Sofia to hurry back because he didn't want Sofia to see Alberto in that alley, acting as Holiday (199-200). Holiday spares the Riddler’s life for the simple reason that they want it known that the Roman is looking for Holiday, a conclusion Batman himself eventually reaches (282). It is a classic case of misdirection.

And in the few instances when Alberto’s involvement is almost revealed, Carmine tips him off and Holiday takes care of the problem. When Sofia got too close to the truth about Holiday getting his guns at Chong’s Tea House, the Gunsmith ended up dead. When Carla got too close to finding out Alberto was alive, she was the one who ended up a victim. In both cases, the murders make more sense if Carmine was involved behind the scenes of Alberto’s Holiday killings.

There is only one remaining argument that those who support the Gilda/Alberto theory can even muster, and that point revolves around Julian Day, the Arkham Asylum inmate better known as the Calendar Man. He is consulted three times by Batman and Jim Gordon over the course of Holiday’s reign of terror, and some readers feel that his insights provide clues to the identity of Holiday. Specifically, Julian Day switches the genders of the pronouns he uses whenever he refers to Holiday, which some believe supports the Gilda/Alberto theory.

However, Julian Day could not possibly know the identity of Holiday, for he spends the entire time locked in a cell in Arkham. There is no way he could have gleaned enough information from the newspapers to come to any kind of conclusion about the killer’s identity, and he is simply switching the genders of his pronouns because he is unsure of the killer’s identity. This is why he refers to Holiday as “himself. Or herself” (emphasis mine) at his first meeting with Batman and Gordon (88).

Instead, he is using Holiday’s crimes for his own purpose. At their first meeting, Gordon promises Calendar Man he will be released if he can help the police catch Holiday, and from then on Day is looking for an angle (88). When Batman returns to Day’s cell on Mother’s Day, Day blatantly states that he will give them what they want if he is released. Batman however sees through his game and demands the information first, which Day never provides (206). Similarly Day is using the Holiday case as a means to get attention. He states as much on Batman’s third and final visit to him on Labor Day: “Just so we understand each other. The Calendar Man is being forgotten. I can’t have that” (316).

Careful attention to detail will show the astute reader that Julian Day’s gender switching could not be evidence supporting the Gilda/Alberto theory, because he does so during the first visit, on Christmas, before the supposed switch in killers even took place. Batman clearly doesn’t waste much time on Day either; their first meeting ends when Day begins shouting random holidays and Batman drags Gordon out of the room (89). Thus, we can see Julian Day’s so-called clues for what they really are: desperate attempts at freedom from an attention-craving mental patient.

So in the end if we reject the idea that Gilda performed any of the murders, accepting Alberto Falcone as the one true Holiday, we are left with the question: why? Why does Gilda claim she was Holiday in the end? And again, the answer is simple: Gilda is delusional and has lost touch with reality.

This conclusion is easy to see if we analyze Gilda’s behavior throughout the book. Gilda has been disappointed for months that her husband Harvey has shown less and less of an interest in her desire to start a family, going all the way back to New Year’s Eve (122). In the tenth chapter, Gilda seems to be expressing in her conversation with Barbara Gordon a wish that she and Harvey could reunite (260-261).

Soon thereafter Sal Maroni throws acid in Harvey’s face at his trial, and Harvey flees from the hospital where he was being treated (294). When he finally does resurface, he sets free the residents of Arkham Asylum, kills his assistant district attorney Vernon who was on the take, and eventually puts two bullets in the head of Carmine Falcone himself (337; 355; 350-351). Is it any wonder that these incidents put Gilda on the path to insanity herself?

Despite all of these heinous acts Harvey commits, Gilda still loves him and is incapable of completely separating herself from that feeling. She still then desires closeness to him, and so she creates an elaborate fantasy in her head that brings them together, a fantasy in which she actively fought to keep her marriage going rather than passively watched it crumble as she really did. She claims that they together were the Holiday killer, “so we could have time together. A child” (369). This way she can see a good reason in the very bad things he’s done and transfer some of the blame for his crimes onto herself.

On some level, she knows she is in denial. It has been two months at that point since Harvey’s murder of Falcone on Halloween, and he has been in Arkham Asylum all the while. She clearly recognizes that her marriage is over and that there will be no reconciliation, or she would not be packing up boxes, preparing to leave the home they shared together (367). But she wants so badly to believe that it would work out that she constructs this fantasy. Thus, her confession takes place while she is alone in an empty house, standing in the dark in her basement. She was trying to convince herself that it wasn't over by building up this idea; the speech is her just trying to make it real for herself, to convince herself of the fantasy.

I feel that the final pages of The Long Halloween are meant to show how much of a tragedy this book has been. Yes, the original promise Gordon, Dent, and Batman make on the night of Johnny Viti’s wedding to bring down the Roman has been fulfilled (36-37). But at what cost? Batman and Jim Gordon have lost a great ally and friend in Harvey Dent, and Gordon states that he “won’t know if it was worth it for a very long time” (362).

We are given one final look at each of the main characters in the conclusion, visiting them each in private moments. Jim Gordon says to his wife Barbara, "I believe in Gotham City," even though his heart is more than a little broken (363). He says it to himself to move on, and it is a statement tinged with irony for readers who know that his belief in his job and in the city will lead Barbara to leave him and will eventually claim the life of his second wife Sarah Essen. Batman too stands on a building-top somewhere in Gotham, stating that he believes that some day he will be able to keep his promise he made to his parents when they died that he would rid Gotham of evil, a promise that we readers know is impossible to fulfill (364-365).

So too does Gilda try to keep herself together with her confession, saying on the final page "I believe in Harvey Dent" even though it is a foolish pipe dream (370). The scene was put there by Loeb and Sale to show how far they had fallen, to illustrate just how sad Gilda's life is going to be (and how messed up Harvey's will be). Too many people read the book and take the things Gilda says literally when they are simply meant to reflect that same feeling of loss. The only real evidence we have that the things she says are true are the words themselves, and they are clearly the words of someone who has been crushed by the weight of the world.

When it comes down to it, we must follow Loeb’s advice and turn to the story itself. In the text we are given two theories. Alberto confessed to all the murders. Gilda confessed to some of the murders and said Harvey did the rest. You can believe only one of them, and having weighed the evidence, I believe Alberto.

But if you're still having trouble believing that it was all Alberto, then ask yourself this: who does Batman, the greatest detective in the DC Universe, think did it? Who does he think is Holiday? Alberto Falcone.

and who are you to argue with Batman?


Works Consulted

Blitz, Stefan and Brian Saner Lamkin. “Jeph Loeb: The Comicology Interview.” Comicology 1 (Spring 2000): n. pag.
Loeb, Jeph et al. Batman: The Long Halloween. New York: DC Comics, 1998.
Miller, Frank et al. Batman: Year One. New York: DC Comics, 1988.
“Whut The--?!” Wizard 77 (Jan. 1998): 35.

Taking what precious little is left.

Though it was probably James Joyce's fault, generations of authors of all sorts have taken the conceit of a person living their life as a work of art or literature and abused it in decades since "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" saw print. Self-awareness empowers and limits at the same time. If anything, living as though life might be a great novel einforces a notion of surveillance from above and outside, Moses sneaking out of town late at night while the burning bush kept watch.

Stephen Dedalus' characterization in "Portrait" can be seen in such later works as "Franny and Zooey," "This Side of Paradise" and even such step-children as Rob Fleming from Nick Hornby's "High Fidelity," who seems to be aware that his life is an outtake reel from "A Hard Day's Night." Extensions to the concept crop up in post-modernism, with the creation of self-aware narrative, where every aside is another opportunity to challenge and complicate the reader's expectation.

Comic books also picked up the self-awareness concept somewhere in the 1980s. It's debatable which writer explored the concept of the comic book character who realizes that he is not just a comic book character (Captain America comics are sold in the Marvel Universe, after all), but that his life is nothing but a comic book. Keith Giffen's "Ambush Bug" was certainly an early exploration of the concept; John Byrne is here waving a copy of "The Sensational She-Hulk" #14 in the air, though it's still not funny or terribly insightful; Alan Moore's early superhero work, both on "Captain Britain" and "MarvelMan," essentially described the modernist, self-aware hero without reaching the revelatory moment where the implicit becomes explicit. In other words, Grant Morrison's "Animal Man" is the best example you're going to find.

Metatextuality is the logical extension of a character who realizes he lives at the whim of a sentimental Scotsman with a typewriter and an always-ceasing string of tragic, beloved cats. The final showdown between Morrison and Baker in "Animal Man" #26 remains a high-point of superhero comics, primarily because its goal is not the deconstruction of the superhero, a remarkably low ambition, but is instead the deconstruction of the writer and of fiction itself. For once, sign and signifier are united and explained fully. The curtain is parted, and the great and terrible Oz apologizes for the deception. Wonder is lost, but self- and world-knowledge is increased. It's one titan of a comic with a pay-off that actually matches its ambitions.

All of which is a very long way to say that Bryan Lee O'Malley's "Scott Pilgrim" series of digest-sized original graphic novels is one hell of a breath of fresh air. You'll note it has been about 15 years since Grant Morrison stopped writing "Animal Man." Far too much characterization in comics is "realistic" (a blanket term which typically means "chatty and boring" or "violent"), "heroic" (bland) or, worst of all at this point, "clever" (laden with already-dated pop culture references, inventive swearing and or rather simple fourth-wall shattering gimmicks). Scott Pilgrim, though ostensibly a realistic unemployed 23-year-old in a realistic Toronto with realistic thrift stores, is, in fact, Little Mac from "Punch-Out" with a bass and a 17-year-old girlfriend named Knives Chau. That's really all you need in the way of a plot summary. He's richer than that, or the book wouldn't be worth reading, let alone celebrating: He has a gay roommate Wallace, with whom he shares a bed out of poverty; he plays in a rock band called Sex Bob-Omb; his younger sister is much more mature than he, despite her worship of Scott; and he receives specific, signed challenges to battle over the Internet and from the postal service.

I can think of few characters in any medium with less self-awareness or more obvious motivations and goals than Scott Pilgrim, and I'm a big fan of the movies of Wes Anderson. Scott enjoys it when life is awesome. He's really attracted to beautiful girls, especially when they wear roller blades and deliver him CDs from Amazon. Getting a girl, any girl, is far more important than finding a job, practicing with his band or maintaining present relationships, platonic or romantic. What Scott cares about is becoming the champion, winning the belt, and then jogging to the Statue of Liberty behind Doc's bike, in order to find the cheat code for this level of glory. Because as much as those who have read "Portrait of the Artist" like to believe they view their lives as a continuous narrative, it is at the most crucial moments when people are at their least aware. Only in retrospect does any coherence appear. Scott pretty much accepts everything thrown at him in the same way: In stride and with confusion.

When introduced to Scott, we learn the following: He's dating a 17-year-old, and it's really not that gross, because they haven't even kissed yet, and he doesn't want to, anyway, so really, it's kind of out of sorts to judge him. The scene is framed as a group of friends exchanging stories before going into a flashback to when Scott met Knives, on a crosstown bus. Knives, ignoring her mother, spills her books onto the floor, and Scott intervenes. It's here that O'Malley begins to demonstrate the (hilarious) formal experimentation he has undertaken. In a small, neatly typed font, Scott is identified as "Scott Pilgrim, Age: 23 years old; Rating: Awesome." The episode concludes quickly, Scott continuing to insist on the morality of his own actions. What's intriguing about the scene is not the way in which Scott can only seem to see the up-side to dating a high school student, which includes high school gossip, the feeling of being admired and no sexual pressure, but rather that O'Malley establishes that his characters live in a literally black and white video game world, divided between power-ups and dangers. Acquiring a girlfriend is certainly a level-up for Scott. Acquiring a better girlfriend, in this case the rollerblading delivery girl Ramona, who uses his head as a warp pipe (no, really!) to reach her customers faster, would be a high score indeed.

Very early into reading the book, I dubbed O'Malley's encapsulated ratings of each character as "Nintendo Realism." The world the characters inhabit is largely normal, except that everyone has a handy stat-sheet which determines their capabilities. Perhaps most insightful in this shortcut is its reflection of life, where the "statistics" of a human being can determine their livelihood, success in relationships and ability to participate in certain activities. The device is outlandish but also in some ways painfully honest. Rather than compose an angst-fueled slacker epic, O'Malley stepped outside of existing genres to create a celebration of people just getting by, reveling in minor achievement. Scott is, in the strictest sense, a video game hero. His friends are not competitors, they're supplemental characters who might offer advice which help him to overcome the dangers of new enemies and challenges.

This innovation character is also a break-through in comics narration, which has traditionally been, at best, predictable. First-person narration by a character, strewn across the page in neat caption form, or overly descriptive third-person work simply recapitulating the visible scene. Neither approach has much new to offer (though Ed Brubaker still made some remarkable attempts during his early run on Catwoman), least of all to Scott Pilgrim, whose sole values are to try to thrive and to try to avoid injury. So O'Malley once more goes to the well of the collective video game conscience for his narrator -- the score-keeper. No video game can function without rules. This point was emphasized most clearly upon the original release of the NES Genie, which for the first time enabled players to use an invincible, flying, invisible, fire-spewing and altogether boring Mario. If success and failure become identical, no high-score can possibly make either feel satisfying.

With such a golden revelation of concept, it's little wonder O'Malley uses this narrator sparingly: Initially only through the personal ratings, then occasional editorial comment. The best use of the latter comes at the novel's true climax, when Scott kisses Ramona for the first time. It's an expected moment, coming immediately following a walk through a snowstorm and as Ramona is shedding wet clothing to warm up. As the young hipster's lips lock, the voice of the scorekeeper immortalizes the moment, saying, "Nice one, Scott! Now turn the page." Taken from its video game roots, "nice one" has multiple meanings here: As a description of Ramona, and also of the very act of achievement and an exhortation to greater success. The narrator validates and tempts his actions. Not as God, merely the one keeping track of his qualms and quarries. This is one narrator who is utterly reliable and incorruptible, a value system more than a personality.

Which made the final act of "Scott Pilgrim Volume One: Precious Little Life" (itself a pun on video game health systems and the desperation when you're down to one heart) both surprising and oddly satisfying at once. Early in the book, Scott begins to receive challenges to battle through various channels from Matthew Patel. Though initially set up as a particularly odd form of junk mail, Patel emerges in the midst of a Sex Bob-Omb concert to fight Scott. He is one of Ramona's seven evil ex-boyfriends, of which there are seven, and he demands satisfaction. Rather than play the scene strictly for laughs, O'Malley has Scott launch into a 67-hit-combo, his all-time record. With the help of his band, he vanquishes a group of demons and leaves with the princess, Ramona. It's basically a recapitulation of either Mega Man III or the original Legend of Zelda, it's difficult to say which. Regardless, it's like virtually nothing else in Western or Eastern comics.

The introduction and discovery of Ramona's mode of transportation is an early insight which is best discussed last in the video gane world Scott Pilgrim inhabits -- ours. Though it contains truly outlandish elements, such as dream-travel and magic, they are no more exciting or disturbing than Sean Hannity's eyebrows. Ramona apologizes for using Scott's head to make faster deliveries, he doesn't even consider being upset in the first place. "Like in Super Mario 2?" he asks. His response is both typical and parodical of the young and hip. There are many in this world who would react to an actual invasion by aliens with indifference, unless their presence made them more or less attractive to the opposite sex or if their spaceships had really good theme music. For Scott, the details of his life (unemployment, the collapse of a long-term relationship, poverty, strange women who enter his dreams uninvited) are far less important than the chance to foster a great relationship or meet someone new.

This hints at something profound, and which can perhaps never be said enough: Self-discovery and a strong base of support are more important in life than the things that will make up a biography. Job title, salary, pants size, eye color, warp pipe brain, car color don't add up to anything. Seeing life for what it has to offer makes Scott a character worth celebrating. This is not a tale of angst, it's a story of joy and discovery -- none of which has to do with the often fantastic framing of each vignette. Rather than dwell on the inevitable period of your 20s when the best you can muster is the occasional venture out with friends and the ability to sleep for 16 hours straight, O'Malley crystallizes the new experiences that make that time survivable and rewarding. His Pilgrim is a Moorean -- G.E. Moore, the early 20th Century Philosopher who authored "Principia Ethica." That work, Moore defines the two states of mind which bring about the most good: The enjoyment from the viewing of beautiful objects (which is not as gross as it sounds when applied to women as it might sound) and the pleasures of human intercourse, chiefly referring to conversation in this context. For many of this generation, simply making friends laugh or kissing another human being who brings out the best in you is a triumph -- squandered potential be damned.

Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life is a 168-page black and white digest from Oni Press. It costs $11.95, which is less than four issues of, say, Gambit. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, the continuation of the story, is 200 pages, also costs $11.95, and will reach finer comic stores everywhere later in February. Remember -- Life is totally sweet.

The Future Is X-Rated: Marvel Boy, The Modern World And The History Of The Marvel Universe

Marvel Boy has been a bit of a forgotten treasure in Grant Morrison's career. It was his first major work for Marvel following his acclaimed work on JLA, but was quickly overshadowed by his run on New X-Men. That's not terribly surprising considering the book is filled with new characters, big ideas and is really only the first book in a trilogy of books that will most likely never be completed. Basically, despite the high profile creators, it just isn't what mainstream superhero audiences are looking for. Despite its lack of popularity, Marvel Boy is probably Morrison's most complex piece of work for Marvel and is, in a way, his defining statement on the Marvel universe as a whole and on modern superhero comics.

In this essay, I will outline various readings of Marvel Boy, including how the book can be seen as the history of the Marvel universe contained within six issues, how the book can be seen as the first "ultimate" book Marvel produced (although not as a part of what is now the official "ultimate" continuity obviously), how the book is a statement upon modern superhero comics, and how it is also a statement upon the modern world, specifically the modern corporate world. One aspect of Marvel Boy that I will not be looking at is what Morrison described as "a fairly blatant supersigil invocation/download of the incoming current of Horus, the newly arriving Lord of the Aeon" (Ellis 126). While this may be an aspect of Marvel Boy's subtext, it is beyond my understanding and I wouldn't know where to begin talking about it.

Marvel Boy as the history of the Marvel Universe

Even a casual reading of Marvel Boy shows an extensive amount of Marvel concepts taken by Morrison and altered in some way. The entire book is steeped in Marvel history and ideas, and the three primary actors (Noh-Varr, Midas and Exterminatrix or Oubliette) are no exception, with each representing one of the "ages" of Marvel's history (Noh-Varr being the only exception as he represents two "ages," but in a way that shows the cyclical nature of comics).

Noh-Varr is the representation of both the "golden age" and what I will call the "modern age" for lack of a better term. In initial comments on the series, co-editor Joe Quesada points to both the "golden age" and "modern age" aspects of the character: "The name is a tip of the hat to Bill Everett, who created the first Marvel Boy [during the 1940s], but it's Grant's attempt at finally creating an angst-ridden, Marvel hero for the next millennium . . . Grant's Marvel Boy is a guy who walks in the grey area between good and evil, sort of constructed on the Sub-Mariner principle" (Brick 42). The comparison to the Sub-Mariner is an easy one to make as both he and Noh-Varr are outsiders who essentially declare war on mankind. While the Sub-Mariner attempted to flood New York, Noh-Varr simply destroys the UN's headquarters and carves the words "FUCK YOU" into Manhattan and justifies it by saying, "Because it was the likes of you and this whole murky, hypocrite race who powderized my guiltless crewmates for no reason better than profit and ignorance" (Morrison "Boy" 18). As for his representation of the "modern age", I will explore that more in-depth later on.

Midas represents quite obviously the "silver age". It is key to point out here that Midas is a superhero, not a supervillain. While Noh-Varr is the protagonist of the story and Midas the antagonist, Noh-Varr is the alien invader, of sorts, and Midas is the superhero protecting Earth and the status quo. The most obvious tip-off that Midas represents the "silver age" is his costume: Iron Man's second armour (the first being nearly identical, but in grey rather than gold). Midas is dressed almost exactly like one of Marvel's most iconic superheroes, but with the addition of a leather jacket. His business is to kill aliens and he does that for profit, which is a play on the fact that Iron Man's began as Tony Stark, weapons profiteer. Also, if you look at Midas' allies in the story, you will find that they are all concepts or groups from the "silver age": SHIELD, the Bannermen (combinations of Captain America and the Hulk), the Mindless One, and even his attempt and success to become the Fantastic Four. Midas is most definitely a modernized superhero from the "silver age".

And finally, Exterminatrix represents the "bronze age". She is a woman who runs around in black leather and kills things for her father, sort of a modern Punisher. She is also not quite accepted by her father in the same way that heroes from that time period weren't quite accepted by the heroes of the "silver age". She acts as the bridge between the "silver age" and the "modern age". Ultimately, she sides with Noh-Varr as one would expect.

Each character represents a particular time period in the Marvel universe's history and its progression: Noh-Varr to Midas to Exterminatrix to Noh-Varr again. While not a complete history by any means, the book gives the basic structure for it.

Marvel Boy as the first "ultimate" book

"Grant asked himself, 'If Stan [Lee] was the age he was when he created Spider-Man today, what would have he created?'" Quesada said of how Morrison went about creating Marvel Boy, and I contend that Noh-Varr is "ultimate Spider-Man." The basic similarities in the characters support this: both are orphans with only one figure of moral guidance left (Plex for Noh-Varr and Aunt May for Spider-Man); both are basically teenagers, both had their first great love killed by their nemesis (Merree killed by Midas and Gwen Stacy killed by the Green Goblin); both end up with redheads (Oubliette and Mary Jane Watson); both have similar powers (cockroach-spliced genes for Noh-Varr and bitten by a radioactive spider for Spider-Man); and even their costumes follow a similar design, but with opposite colours (green, yellow and white for Noh-Varr compared to red, blue and black for Spider-Man) and a lack of mask for Noh-Varr (notice that their hair are also opposite colours).

The two begin with similarities, but it is their differences that we see how Noh-Varr is the more "realistic" "ultimate" version. What is more likely behaviour of an angry, newly-orphaned teenager with superpowers: that he would dress up and stop bank robbers, or that he would blow up buildings and carve swear words into cities? Noh-Varr is a representation of the true teenage mindset of the time, which is what Marvel's "ultimate" titles soon became about: modern versions of old characters. Noh-Varr is exactly how Peter Parker would have acted in modern times: he'd blow shit up and try to change the world so that it fit with how he thought it should be.

Almost all of the other pre-existing concepts from the Marvel universe that Morrison uses are updated to be more "ultimate". Midas is a good example of this, as he basically is a modern version of Tony Stark (minus the suave playboy side of the character), focussing on his evil corporate side (sort of like how Stark would have acted if he hadn't come so close to death and had a change of heart (no pun intended)). The idea of supersoldiers who are essentially mindless and programmed with a set of UN directives is how a Captain America-styled project would be done. SHIELD also is more modern with its orbital platform and caters to business interests in an almost overt way (a cynical comment, of course). Plex is also an "ultimate" version of the Supreme Intelligence, while at the same time functioning as "ultimate" Aunt May.

The only main character that isn't an "ultimate" version of anything is Exterminatrix really. While she can be seen to be an "ultimate" Mary Jane, that is a minor characteristic best used just for comparisons between Noh-Varr and Peter Parker. Beyond that, she has no real "ultimate" role. That doesn't prevent the reader from looking at Marvel Boy from this perspective, it merely suggests that Morrison did not strictly adhere to the idea of modernizing concepts in that way (although, as said earlier, Exterminatrix is a modern "anti-hero" of sorts, just not one in particular).

Marvel Boy as a statement on modern superhero comics

This is a tricky area to deal with as the biggest definer of the modern superhero comic was Warren Ellis and Bryan Hitch's The Authority, which was only a year or so old at that point, so it's difficult to tell exactly how much it may or may not have influenced Morrison. Let alone the fact that Morrison's JLA was also a large influence upon the style and tone of the modern superhero comic. For those reasons, I will ignore those external influences and just look for aspects of the modern superhero comic in Marvel Boy as I see them.

Noh-Varr, as I said earlier, represents the "modern age" of superhero comics, which I think is just a cyclical rebirth of the "golden age". The extreme methods and "walking in the grey" are both characteristics of both "ages". By far the most modern thing about Noh-Varr is his desire to actively change the world. This has been an aspect lacking in all of the previous "ages," even the "golden age." The idea of a superhero--as while I called Noh-Varr a villain that was meant within the confines of traditional superhero/supervillain definitions, not within the more modern meanings of the term where the boundaries are less clear and seem to depend on whether or not the character is a protagonist--playing the role of supervillain in his methods and goals is a relatively new one. Noh-Varr has good cause to believe himself superior to humanity and decides to impose his views upon it. This aspect of the modern superhero would be seen later in The Authority when they took over the United States.

To accomplish this goal, though, Noh-Varr had to displace the old order, which meant he had to defeat Midas. He does this primarily by "corrupting" his daughter through his sexuality. The overtly sexual superhero is another characteristic of the "modern age" and this can be seen in issues four through six of Marvel Boy as almost every comment Midas makes in relation to the two is of sexual nature, and Noh-Varr uses this to taunt Midas: "She loved it," he says weakly as Midas is beating him in issue four and also "I took your daughter" in issue six. Through sexuality is how Oubliette chooses to relate to Noh-Varr. He appeals to her because of the oppressive nature of his father as the idea of sexuality had been repressed greatly in previous ages. While it was never entirely absent, it was also only permitted to a certain point.

The rejection of the old ways by Oubliette is best seen in his casting off of her mask, which Midas describes as "her face" (Morrison "Zero" 19). The mask being a large part of the old ways of superhero comics, and by her rejecting it, she sides with the modern superhero. This effect could later be seen at Marvel in various titles as their heroes one after another had their identities revealed to some extent or another. The concept of a secret identity and separating one's self into two is no longer seen as realistic. The modern hero has no need for masks.

Another indication of Noh-Varr, and later Oubliette, representing the concept of the modern hero overcoming the old ways is in their fight against the Mindless One, which is literally being killed by the future (Morrison "Mindless" 5). The creature is used to a slower, older environment and can't compete with Noh-Varr and Oubliette who can handle the faster, more modern world.

Hexus, The Living Corporation, the "villain" of issue three is the representative of the modern supervillain in that in the "modern age," conflicts are not just a matter of simply physical confrontations, but of ideological confrontations. Noh-Varr cannot beat Hexus just by blowing things up, he must use ideas to defeat it, because it is an idea itself. Hexus is also an especially capitalist idea, which tends to be the role of modern supervillains, in that they usually represent things like greed and oppression of people with what Marx called a "false consciousness." The hero is usually put in the role of the oppressive liberator, who dominates the populace in an effort to free them, or as the Kree philosophy is described in issue six: "Zen fascism" (Morrison "Mindless" 21).

Marvel Boy was both a follower and precursor of the modern superhero comic. It conforms to established ideas about the "modern age" while at the same time sets up a few others.

Marvel Boy as a statement upon the modern world

From what I can count, there are approximately nineteen corporate brands or products mentioned or shown throughout the six issues of Marvel Boy with the majority of them in the first three issues. I am hard-pressed to find another comic, even a modern one that has that many "product placements"; while the number isn't amazingly high--only an average of around three per issue--it is higher than nearly any other comic, and one must ask why that is. It obviously ties into the character of Hexus, who I've labelled as the representative of the modern supervillain, as Hexus is the Living Corporation. Hexus' methods involve taking over the corporate culture by creating an appealing brand. This means doing everything from cola to music, and the underlying message is clear: corporations control the modern culture. Now this may not be a big surprise to many, it is an idea foreign to most comics--especially a mainstream superhero one.

This idea is raised again at the end of the series where Exterminatrix begins her attack upon the modern culture on behalf of Noh-Varr by destroying Disney World. She doesn't attack political or military institutions, she attacks a beloved corporate, capitalist entity.

This hatred of the greed and capitalism is introduced right from the very beginning of the series where the entire conflict is brought about through the destroying of "The Marvel," Noh-Varr's ship because Midas wants to steal the technology and make a profit off of it. Let's not forget that Midas is also a representative of the corporate world, which highlights even stronger Oubliette's turning against her father. While she comes from a corporate culture, she prefers to rebel against it much like the youth today do. But much like the youth of today, Exterminatrix is also a hypocrite as when she declares war upon "the way that was," she re-dons her mask, this taking up the methods of her father. While the youth of today claim to despise their parents' culture, they often act in much the same way; they will claim to despise the inhumanity of the corporate world and then catch their breath by taking a drink out of a bottle of water that they paid four bucks for. Exterminatrix directly stands in for the youth who are trapped between a capitalist world and one of socialism, with Midas and Noh-Varr standing in for each.

Also, if you notice how Noh-Varr looks upon humanity, you'll see that he sees our culture as a virus, of sorts, and uses it against us. A piece of dialogue in issue two sums up this feeling best, as Plex says to Noh-Varr, "You spent a day in the ship's limbo suite learning their English for this? Noh-Varr, you know every word in their language."

Noh-Varr replies, "Too bad I have to stick to the simple ones they understand." Before attacking humanity, Noh-Varr takes an effort to learn about it and understand it. At the end of issue two, we see him return from his attack on New York to sit down and watch dozens of TV screens in an effort to learn more about humanity. He doesn't go to libraries or schools or even reads the paper to learn about humanity, he watches TV.

Also, in issue two, the "promotional video" for the United Nations Bannermen is done in such a way to show just how corrupted we are by the media. Instead of an informative report on the group, we are given lame voice-over and quick shots of action and meaningless posing. Our political systems no longer contain actual substance, they've been reduced to catch-phrases and Hollywood videos.

Conclusion

Marvel Boy is ultimately a book about the modern world, including the modern superhero comic. It is a book that while ahead of its time already seems dated because it was very much of its time. If Morrison went about trying to create this book now, it would look radically different--something that I don't think could be said about any of his other work for Marvel. It was his ultimate statement on the Marvel universe and his mission statement, in a way, for what he planned to do there. It can also be seen as the first "ultimate" book as Morrison literally tried to recreate what Stan Lee did in the early sixties, but for the twenty-first century--and I would suggest succeeded far greater than those who created the actual "ultimate" line of titles. He manages to capture the feeling of what it was like to be living in the year 2000, especially what it was like to be a teenager at the time. Sadly, it is not likely that we will see the sequels planned for it, but luckily, other creators--including Morrison himself--have carried on in the tradition of Marvel Boy--which is part of the reason why the comic seems so dated. Titles like Wildcats Version 3.0, Daredevil (under Brian Michael Bendis) and The Intimates seem to be direct descendents, in a way, of Marvel Boy and I believe it will be a lasting influence upon any other titles of the "modern age" however long that lasts.

Works Consulted

Brick, Scott. "Taking Aim: Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon's 'Punisher' marks the major moves of Marvel Knights' second year." Wizard, October 1999, No. 98, pp. 40-44.
Ellis, Warren. "Come In Alone Twenty-Eight June 9, 2000". Come In Alone. San Francisco: AiT/Planet Lar, 2001. Pp. 121-127.
Lawrence, Christopher. "Marvel's newest boy." Wizard, May 2000, No. 104, pp. 20.
Lawrence, Christopher. "Marvel Boy: Will Grant Morrison end his comic career with a roar?" Wizard, July 2000, No. 106, pp. 60-61.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Hello Cruel World". Marvel Boy, August 2000, Vol. 1, No. 1.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Boy Vs. World". Marvel Boy, September 2000, Vol. 1, No. 2.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Digital Koncentration Kamp One". Marvel Boy, October 2000, Vol. 1, No. 3.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Exterminatrix!" Marvel Boy, November 2000, Vol. 1, No. 4.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Zero Zero: Year Of Love". Marvel Boy, December 2000, Vol. 1, No. 5.
Morrison, Grant, et al. "Mindless: The End". Marvel Boy, March 2001, Vol. 1, No. 6.