| June
2008 |
By Alex Boney
In our
November 2006 issue of Guttergeek, I favorably
reviewed All-Star
Superman—a book
that features the still-impressive work of writer Grant
Morrison and artist Frank Quietly. DC’s “All-Star” line is
intended to showcase some of the industry’s top creators on
DC’s top-tier properties. When the creative team for
All-Star
Batman and Robin was
first announced a few years ago, the hype was astounding.
And in at least one way, the book lives up to its name.
Frank Miller, Jim Lee, and Batman would seem to be a mix
made in fanboy heaven. Miller made his name on high-profile
80s projects such as Batman:
Year One and
The
Dark Knight Returns, while
Jim Lee garnered critical praise for his work with Jeph
Loeb on the 2002-2003 “Hush” storyline. A big book with big
names and a big character, All-Star
Batman and Robin is a
book that should have been better than this. But nine
issues in now, it is becoming increasingly clear
that All-Star
Batman and Robin is as
bad as All-Star
Superman is good.
One of the major problems with All-Star
Batman and Robin is that
nobody seems to agree how to read it. Some readers seem to
believe that the book is being written sincerely—that this
is Miller’s and Lee’s attempt to write the biggest,
baddest, most kick-ass and over-the-top superhero book ever
written. In some ways—if I squint hard enough—I can see
this. The layouts are lavish but uncomplicated. The splash
pages are numerous. (Issue #4 even features a six-page
gatefold panoramic illustration of the Batcave.) The
dialogue is simple, repetitive, and ostentatious. Miller
seems to be tapping into the darker, grittier direction in
which comics turned in the late 1980s—a direction he
himself helped pioneer. In issue #5, Batman races across
the Gotham rooftops thinking to himself, “It’s a beautiful
night. It’s a perfect night. It’s a hunter’s night. Every
inch of me is alive.”
But even if the tropes and techniques of
All-Star Batman and Robin are
recognizable, something is terribly wrong about all of
this. For one thing, this is horrible writing. When Batman
climbs on top of Black Canary in the middle of a
thunderstorm in issue #7, he thinks, “We keep our masks on.
It’s better that way.” Simplistic, absurd, cliché-ridden
monologue and dialogue may work (for some) in
Sin
City, but
Gotham is no Sin
City.
Although Batman began as a superhero in a pulp/noir
atmosphere, it evolved into something more complex over
time. There’s nothing complex about Miller’s take on the
character. While All-Star
Superman makes
the familiar new and innovative, All-Star
Batman makes
the old feel more stale and more ridiculous.
A second theory about All-Star
Batman and Robin is that
the book provides an outlet for Frank Miller’s latent
hatred of the superhero comic book genre. This take is
partially supported by Miller’s gravitation away from
superhero comics and toward hard-boiled creator-owned
projects (Sin
City,
300)
in the 1990s. The “Frank hates capes” theory becomes more
believable as you make your way through what passes for
dialogue in the series. Issue #5 opens with Wonder Woman
walking through Metropolis and dismissing a pedestrian with
“Out of my way, sperm bank.” Later, she might as well be
channeling Miller’s voice when she yells at Superman, “You
bastard! You bastard. I hate your guts. I hate your guts.
You make me sick.” Fully half of issue #3 is devoted to
“characterizing” Black Canary as a glorified bar-keep
prostitute, and all of issue #9 is devoted to making Green
Lantern look as moronic as possible. It’s as though Miller
truly despises these characters, and he’s doing everything
he can to deflate them as heroic archetypes.
Another theory circulating about this book is that Miller
is intentionally writing a parody. According to this
approach, the book is actually pretty funny if you don’t
take it seriously. Part of me sees this, too. I do laugh
several times each issue. But the main problem I have with
seeing this as a parody is that I can’t figure out what
Miller is parodying. If Miller is parodying himself, then
it’s a sad commentary on the work of a once-gifted
storyteller. Although the grim-and-gritty tone of superhero
comics became ubiquitous and boorish in the 1990s, Miller
helped comics evolve in the 1980s with projects like
Daredevil,
Ronin,
and The
Dark Knight Returns.
If All-Star
Batman and Robin is a
parody of the comic book medium (and specifically the
superhero genre), then Miller simply comes across as
ungrateful. When he uses past Batman creators’ names as
street names throughout the series, Miller seems to be
paying homage. Similar homages are made to Richard
Outcault’s Yellow
Kid in issue
#9 and Winsor McKay’s Little
Nemo in issue
#8. But in a book as absurd as All-Star
Batman and Robin, these
insider references are more misplaced and offensive than
they are reverential. Miller is not honoring the legacy of
comics in this book; he’s defecating all over it.
All-Star
Batman and Robin was
originally pitched as an outside-continuity re-imagining of
the origin of the Batman and Robin team. But thus far,
Miller and Lee have provided nothing new, innovative, or
re-imagined about the characters. There is nothing touching
or heartfelt about Batman repeatedly calling a child who
just lost his parents a “little snot” or leaving the child
alone in a cave and telling him to fend for himself. It’s
not understandable or interesting, and—even if this book is
a parody—it’s not even very funny. It’s lazy and
outrageous. And after nine issues of reading this book
while shaking my head, I’ve come to believe that the only
person who can really think this is funny is Frank Miller.
Because he’s making a presumably large sum of money off
readers who—whatever the reason—continue to buy his lazy,
outrageous book. And even this isn’t very funny. It’s
actually pretty embarrassing—for all
involved.
