I must admit: I'm a Bat-whore. The Batman franchise is one of those few franchises I have loved since childhood (Star Trek being the other), when my mother and I would watch reruns of the old Adam West series on Nick At Nite. I've been with Batman through the Tim Burton films (which blew away all memory of Adam West's rendition of the character), through Paul Dini's masterful animated incarnation, beyond the horror of the Joel Schumacher ruinations (though I have to admit: "Batman Forever" is a guilty pleasure, and as bad as it was, "Batman & Robin" is good for a campy laugh now and then), all the way through Christopher Nolan's masterpiece distillations of the character. While I greatly appreciate the early work done by Bob Kane and Bill Finger and I can... TOLERATE the campier version of the character popularized during the 1960s and 1970s, I grew up reading the Post-Crisis On Infinite Earths version of Batman (greatly inspired by Frank Miller's seminal classic "The Dark Knight Returns" and kicked off by Miller's much-acclaimed "Year One"), so this is the Batman I am accustomed to: the paranoid, obsessively master-of-all-trades super-powerless bad-ass masquerading as yet another WASPy half-wit member of the drunken elite "trust fund babies", a clueless male Paris Hilton by day, brilliant-but-brooding nigh-Olympiad techie detective/crime scene investigator/one-man intelligence service mourning the loss of his beloved parents via hunting down criminal scum by night.
When DC announced it's "The New 52" reboot but reported that Batman's chronology would remain largely the same (which it hasn't, but that's a bitchfest for another time), I was greatly pleased. When they announced what books would be released first and who the creative teams behind the books would be, I was ecstatic (especially seeing preview pics of Greg Capullo's stunning work on "The Court of the Owls"). However, there was ONE Bat-book that didn't impress me at all for some reason. It wasn't that I didn't look forward to the book; it just didn't grab me the same way that the stories and creative teams from "Batman", "Detective Comics", "Batman & Robin", "Batgirl" and "Nightwing" would.
As you've no doubt guessed, this - "Batman: The Dark Knight" - was the book in question. I should've gone with that initial gut instinct... Batman would've.
My first impressions of the premiere issue were lackluster, to say the least. When a new Batman book debuts, the book will invariably bring to mind an earlier version of the character in the Batman fan's memory. If your Batman comic makes me think of the following, then you've done well:
* Tim Burton's "Batman" and "Batman Returns";
* "Batman: The Animated Series";
* "Batman: Arkham Asylum" (characters, not necessarily plotwise);
* Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy;
* Frank Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns" and "Batman: Year One" (but NOT "The Dark Knight Strikes Again" or anything following that);
* Any Batman book with the name "Jeph Loeb" on the cover.
If your Batman book makes me think of Joel Schumacher, you have passed beyond the boundaries of mere failure and have plunged headlong into the miasma of franchise destruction. This is the point when longtime fans begin asking themselves: "Is the writer's plotting and dialogue so terrible on accident, or is he purposely trying to destroy the character?" This isn't necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Garth Ennis despises the concept of super-heroes, yet he has penned some fantastic super-epics. When someone reviewing your work uses descriptive phrases like "Prequel Era George Lucas" to describe your writing (and you'd better believe I WILL be in this review), you suck worse than a supermassive black hole at the center of the galaxy and need to seriously reconsider writing comic books as a viable career option.
Let's take a closer look at this disaster...
--- SPOILERS! SPOILERS! ---
Sam Quixote already mentioned the cliche manner this story begins. Beginning a story with an inmate escape at Arkham Asylum has been done to death so many times even Nightwing has made a running joke about Arkham's "revolving door" policy. Bars in real life have "Ladies' Night"; bars in downtown Gotham have "Arkham Night": no cover charge for any patron still wearing their straight-jacket.
Oh, but this time the Batman villains are displaying powers and abilities beyond the norm (what's "norm" for them, anyway) and are acting without the typical fear they possess for Batman. While a novel concept at first, the idea quickly grows tiresome.
The most effective uses of the "inmates escaping Arkham" concept I've seen were in the "Knightfall" saga (essentially, Bane was Batman's version of Doomsday) and in the epic "No Man's Land" tale. In "Knightfall", Batman had already been running in high stress mode for some time and his health was slowly deteriorating with every villain he fought. Seeking to conquer Gotham's Dark Knight and claim the city as his own, Bane released numerous inmates from Arkham in order to weaken Batman further until Wayne was ready to drop from sheer mental and physical exhaustion before Bane finally confronted him at Wayne Manner (as Bane had somehow already deduced Batman's secret identity). Several issues focused on Batman trying to round up all the Arkham escapees while being stalked by the muscle-bound madman in a luchador mask. In "No Man's Land", a massive earthquake hits Gotham (which had already been hit pretty hard by a highly infectious pathogen designed by Ra's al Ghul). Arkham Asylum was relatively untouched, its recently-upgraded security measures keeping its inmates confined to the Asylum complex. However, as Gotham City proper deteriorated and city services (water, electricity, emergency medical services, et all) shut down in the wake of the disaster, the inmates at Arkham faced starvation. Rather than think of the safety of Gothamites first, bleeding heart senior psychiatrist Dr. Jeremiah Arkham released the inmates to allow them the chance to survive in the ruins of Gotham rather than starve inside the asylum. Naturally, the inmates flooded Gotham's streets, and the worst of the inmates carved large swaths of the city apart in brutal gang wars. Since Gotham's police were busy trying to maintain some shred of order & rescue victims of the 'quake and Bruce Wayne was in Washington, D.C. petitioning for Federal aid for Gotham, no one was able to prevent Batman's rogues gallery from eventually transforming a post-earthquake Gotham City into an active warzone with Batman's regular villains as feudal lords.
Sadly, this story has none of the brutal, well-plotted panache of "Knightfall" or "No Man's Land", and the inmate escape - even with the inmates acting like muscle-pumped jocks on a 'roid rage - rarely seems like more than a minor inconvenience to Batman. "Ho hum, they escaped again. Bring out the Bat-tasers. Beatings for everyone!"
Probably the worst part of this segment of the story is the reveal of the drug-addled Harvey "Two-Face" Dent, now calling himself "One-Face" as the drug has apparently reconciled both his Two-Face and Harvey personas into one monstrous, fearless mess. Merely reading the name "ONE-FACE" was cringe-inducing enough, but the dialogue was an absolute mess that gave me really, really bad "Batman & Robin" flashbacks. Reading this comic was less a literary experience and more like a really bad drug trip, minus the fun of actually being on drugs.
As Quixote mentioned in his review, "Alice & Wonderland" references abound in this story, from appearances from the Mad Hatter, Tweeldedee and Tweedledum to the new villainess of the story, a rabbit-eared, white lingerie-clad reject from the Playboy Mansion calling herself the "White Rabbit". (God, now I'm having flashbacks to "The Matrix Reloaded". Quit making me think of bad movies, comic book!)
Now, I'm a happily heterosexual male and I enjoy depictions of the female form as much as the next heterosexual male, but DC Comics villainesses in the Batman family seem to be wearing less and less clothing lately. Less clothing does NOT make a villainess sexy; their attitude, the way they are written, makes them sexy. The artwork either enhances or detracts from that.
Moreover, Batman villainesses have displayed various types of "sexy" over the years, from the bizarre (Poison Ivy has made many a male want to go vegan) to the fetishistic (Catwoman was a dominatrix in Frank Miller's "Year One", hence her characteristic cat-o-nine-tails whip) and the downright frightening (Harley Quinn - sweet, girly, cutesy, demure Harley - is totally devoted to a sadistic, psychopathic killer clown who carves smiles into his victim's corpses, poisons people with lethal overdoses of laughing gas, and once beat a teenage boy - Robin #2, Jason Todd - nearly to death with a crowbar before leaving him in a warehouse with a timebomb). Nevertheless, the Batman villainesses have managed to be sexy without having to resort to wearing naught but lingerie. (Poison Ivy: essentially a one-piece bathing suit with a plant pattern; Catwoman: skintight full-body leather bodysuit, technically a form of very-light leather armor; Harley Quinn: full-body Spandex jester's costume, in keeping with her clownish character; Talia al Ghul: anything from a stylish, conservative business suit as CEO of LexCorps to skintight, full-body black leather tactical gear as head of the League of Assassins. All the skintight clothing makes sense in a combat situation: less loose cloth means less for the enemy combatant to grab and use as leverage to throw you across the room.)
That seems to have changed with "The New 52". While Power Girl has gone refreshingly conservative with her wardrobe and closed the silly cleavage hole her past costumes have possessed, the Batman villainesses are tarting it up, wearing less and less. In the new Suicide Squad, Harley Quinn 2.0 wears a corset and bathing suit bottoms, sports a short shock of black-and-red dyed hair and looks less like the cheerful Harlequin and more like a generic punk rocker. Her personality is totally gone, replaced by a generic "bad girl" 'tude and the sort of clothing one might find in a fetish shop.
This new villainess is no exception. What's her costume? White lingerie. Bunny ears. An eye-covering mask. A rabbit tail. That's it. She's a Playboy bunny who fled from Hefner's palatial manse (probably next door to Bruce's; where do you think Wayne finds all his dates?) to start a life of crime in Gotham City. No real personality to speak of outside of Alice & Wonderland quotes, which we already got from the Mad Hatter (who had more style). No real air of menace. A little bit of "Who IS she?" mystery, but that's all. A dab of mystery and gratuitous T&A does NOT a character make.
If all I wanted from a female comics character was lots of cheesecake, I'd watch porn instead. Give me characters with real personality or stop writing!
Granted, the "Who Done It?" mystery at the heart of the story is intriguing enough to keep someone reading, but - again, as Quixote noted in his review - the dialogue and characterization is a train-wreck. At one point, Batman asks Alfred to scour the Internet for information on the White Rabbit and gives Alfred her description: rabbit ears, lingerie. Alfred actually makes a joke about surfing the 'Net for porn out of this, and Bruce *smiles*.
BATMAN DOES NOT SMILE.
Unless he's about to beat someone senseless for not telling him where the Joker is before he can prevent a bomb from filling City Hall with laughing gas, that is. But that's it! Batman doesn't smile!
And since when did genteel, kindly Alfred make jokes about looking at photos of scantily-clad ladies on the Internet? Granted, Alfred has always had a biting sense of sarcasm, but he's always been a classy, highly professional British butler. This joke seems out of character even for Michael Cane's rough-and-tumble version of Alfred.
Sam Quixote noted Commissioner Gordon's very out-of-character phone calls to Bruce pleading for Batman to come out and play. As he noted, British comic writer Paul Jenkins is to blame. Jenkins worked primarily for Marvel, where he drew critical acclaim for his work on Peter Parker: Spider-Man and Spectacular Spider-Man. That's his main problem: he's still thinking in a Marvel mindset. The characterizations and dialogue in this book would work well in one of the Spider-Man books; in a Batman series it all feels very off kilter.
Remember how flat and dull the characters in the Star Wars prequels were compared to how vibrant and lively the characters in the original Star Wars trilogy were? That's the difference. In Snyder's and Capullo's seminal Batman series, the characters feel like the Batman, Alfred, Nightwing, et all that we all know and love. In this series, it feels like we're reading some strange alternate universe Batman. The difference is as glaring as the difference between George Lucas' early work with the original Star Wars trilogy and his later work with the prequels, and when it comes to dialogue "Batman: The Dark Knight" is just as bad as the prequels were.
Ultimately, the story revolves around a novel concept: "What if the Scarecrow made a different version of his fear toxin that took away your fears rather than inducing terminal panic attacks?" Interesting idea, barely adequate execution. As former Marvel editor-in-chief Tom DeFalco once said, "A good idea does not a story make," and that adage rings true here. The concept is solid, but it needed much more coaxing to make it work, much less cliche, and the writers needed to familiarize themselves with the characters more in order to make their dialogue and actions more believable.
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Out of the three primary Bat-books available monthly from DC - Batman, Detective Comics and this book, Batman: The Dark Knight - this book is definitely the weakest link. If you can only afford one Batman comic per month, skip this one and read Snyder's and Capullo's subtitle-less "Batman" monthly series instead.