The Fair, the (Bad and the Ugly)

Two quick comic reviews: Rucka’s novelization of Batman: No Man’s Land, and Miller’s DK2 #3.

Batman: No Man’s Land (Novelization by G. Rucka)
Comic book novelizations are always tricky. Such a primarily visual medium is difficult to translate well into text. To give Rucka credit, though, he gives it the ol’ college try. That he ultimately fails has little to do with his talents, and more to do with the project as a whole.

“No Man’s Land” was a multi-title, multi-issue saga, in which Gotham City, smashed by a massive earthquake, is declared no longer part of the US. People are given a chance to evacuate, then the bridges are blown, the barbed wire and mines laid, and military patrols of the borders begin.

Why the government would actually do such a thing, even with the multiple disasters that have wracked Gotham, is never fully explained, though at least one conspiracy theory plays a big role in this book. That fundamental implausibility starts NML — the tale of the survivors and the folks who stayed behind, including Jim Gordon and the GCPD, various Arkham arch-criminals, and, of course, Batman and his coterie — with one strike against it.

The ultimate problem, though, can be found on page 3 of the book, where the list of titles, issues, and writers of the original series can be found. Over a dozen writers contributed to the NML saga, across various books, focusing on different characters, and not always under the best of editorial control. The result is that Rucka has a lot of good raw material to work with, but can never find the thematic threat for the novel — largely because there never was one.

He tries. Individual scenes, individual characters, tend to shine while on-screen. The Huntress, Batman, Jim Gordon, Rene Montoya, Joker, Two-Face, Bane, Mercy Graves, and a grunt-thug named Garrett all have their moments in the sun (and shadow). And Babs Gordon — Oracle — provides the framing piece, a journal she’s keeping during NML. But the whole never rises above the sum of the parts, and the sum never, so to speak, rises that far.

Rucka does best when focusing on the GCPD’s individual members, why they stayed behind, how they handle the descent into anarchy, the moral and ethical compromises they make, or refuse to make.

He starts to stray when dealing with the cape-and-cowl contingent. Batman comes off as a whiny git too much of the time. Huntress’ storyline goes strong to begin with, sputters mid-way through, and nearly vanishes by the end. His matter-of-fact dealing with the madness of the Joker (and Harley Quinn), and the way he provides us a better Two-Face than many another writer, are both high points. But the coming-and-going plots of the new Batgirl(s), and the way other characters appear from nowhere, then disappear without a ripple after building our interest, is as good a sign as any of the mess Rucka had to deal with.

I never read the NML comics, though they’re available as four or five TPBs. And I seriously doubt they do any better than Rucka in this odd tale. Chops to Rucka, though, for managing to breathe life into the individual scenes in NML, even if he couldn’t get the overall saga to do more than twitch a bit.

DK2 #3/3 (DC)
What. The. Fuck?

Frank Miller has been portrayed, with some justice, as one of the Great Talents of the Comic World. And he’s done some fabulous, ground-breaking, thoroughly-enjoyable stuff in the past.

In the past.

Fifteen years after his original Dark Knight Returns helped revitalize Batman and the industry, Miller finally started his Dark Knight Strikes Back series, popularly known as DK2. And an unconscionable number of months after DK2 #2 hit the stands, DK2 #3, the last of the mini-series, arrives.

And Miller’s rep, to my mind, has taken three good shots to the kidneys, a shotgun blast to the chest, and a “Kick Me!” sign on the butt. All self-inflicted, with a Joker-like nose-thumbing back at us to boot.

The story is nearly incoherent. The art goes beyond the consciously cartoony to being just bad in 90% of the panels. The plot is nearly impossible to follow. The concepts are corrupt, puerile, or simply badly handled.

Here and there glimmers of brilliance shine through, but the whole thing reads like a fabulous five course dinner that’s sat on the back porch for a month and is now being served up for your pleasure. Even where you can see where something might have been quite fine in its time, you almost can’t bear to look at it.

If there’s any message in this mish-mosh, it’s that Miller despises super-heroes, despises super-hero fans, and knows how to milk both for a lot of money. And keep them waiting to boot.

Run, don’t walk, away from this. God forbid you should pick up the eventual collection. I won’t.

“Don’t beat around the bush, Dave! Tell us what you really think!”

I think I would rather spend the next month reading the various b&w throw-away freebie comics from the indie tables at the Con — complete with their cartoon violence and helium-inflated women — than read this again any time soon. I’d come out of it feeling cleaner and less exploited.