Fanboy Rampage
by
Jeff Lester

I’m going out on a limb here and writing about something that will actually be out and on the stands only a week or two after Brian runs this column through the dinky piece-of-crap copier in the back and stacks it next to the register. In the past, I’ve mouthed off about upcoming comics or comic-related projects so far in advance of their release that, by the time they’ve come out, I could pretend I didn’t remember what I was originally thinking. "I said the X-Men movie would suck? Are you sure that was me? I said Just Imagine Stan Lee Created Eros Comics would be lousy? Well, obviously, I was drunk when I wrote that…"

But I kind of have to speak up here and be honest, and say I’m kinda worried about The Dark Knight Strikes Again, Frank Miller’s follow-up to the original groundbreaking miniseries from fifteen years ago. And not just because I may well have said, a decade ago, something like, "Oh, sure, he’ll do a sequel, yeah, right. And then we’ll just hop in our hovercars and fly over to the movie theater and watch a movie adaptation of Lord of the Rings. Yeah, whatever you say, Nostradamus."

No, I suppose my first reason for worrying about DK2 can be summed up in three words: The Phantom Menace. I mean, does anyone want to see a scene like this:

PANEL ONE - INTERIOR – THE BATMOBILE

Batman is speaking into the microphone around his neck as he drives.

BATMAN

Robin, are all the charges placed exactly where I told you?

PANEL TWO – EXTERIOR – GOTHAM POLICE BUILDING

A horrible, bug-eyed lizardy thing wearing a Robin suit speaks into a tiny transmitter.

ROBIN

Yassa, Batmemaw! Meesa placeka all de boom-booms in de rizza-gree-gree.

PANEL THREE – BACK TO BATMOBILE – TIGHTER ON BATMAN

Batman smiles with grim tenderness.

BATMAN

Good soldier.

Of course, I’m not literally worried that Frank is going to put Jar Jar Binks into DK2. But there is, perhaps, insight to be gained from comparing Messers Miller and Lucas. After all, both of them are intelligent loners who entered their fields young and triumphed so completely (and largely on their own terms) that you simply can’t understand what has happened in those fields since without trying to understand their impact. If you ask me, Star Wars’ impact on Hollywood and Dark Knight’s impact on mainstream comics are relatively analagous.

Since Mr. Lucas seems to exhibit some of the more unfortunate characteristics of someone who’s become insanely successful on his own terms—that is to say, hubris in extremis—it is not unfair to wonder if Mr. Miller might himself also have a certain "my way or the highway" approach to Dark Knight II. Just as George brought his current obsessions to The Phantom Menace (kids, video game scenarios, digital actors) to the screen whether the audience wanted it or not, I worry that Frank will bring his recurring, uh, interests in Sin City into the sequel:

PANEL ONE - INTERIOR – STRIP CLUB

Batman, in the disguise of "Matches" Malone (looking like Burt Lancaster from Atlantic City, perhaps) stands watching a powerfully built female stripper, naked but for tiara and bracelets, spin a golden lasso before a transfixed crowd.

CAPTION

‘Paradise Island,’ indeed. This place must draw in a third of Gotham’s revenue. No wonder Dinah joined. And Barbara. And Kara. And Lois. With talent like that drawing in the customers, Diana’s got access to all the power players of the Eastern Seaboard. And all the info…

CAPTION

Info I need. Not that Diana would ever tell me, even if she knew who I was. We never did see eye to eye on things.

PANEL TWO – SAME INTERIOR

Tighter on "Matches’" face, smiling grimly.

CAPTION

Fortunately I don’t have to worry about that now. My inside source is in place and should be ready….

(OFF-PANEL)

Get you a drink, sir?

PANEL THREE – SAME INTERIOR—BATMAN’S P.O.V.

Carrie Kelley stands there holding a drink tray, nude but for a yellow cape, green shorts, and ‘R’ pasties over each breast.

CARRIE (whispering)

Tonight’s the night. If I can pull this off…

CARRIE (whispering)

No pun intended…

CARRIE (whispering)

we should be set…

PANEL FOUR – SAME INTERIOR—TWO-SHOT OF BATMAN AND CARRIE

They stand side-by-side in the foreground as, in the background, the women of the DC Universe shake their nekkid bodies for the almighty dollar. It’s, uh, social commentary. Yeah, that’s it. Commentary.

BATMAN

You remember what I told you?

CARRIE

Yes, first, the cape, then the pasties, then the shorts.

PANEL FIVE– SAME INTERIOR– TIGHTER ON BATMAN

Batman smiles with grim tenderness.

BATMAN

Good soldier.

I also worry about an affliction that, at least for now, I’ll call "Sim Syndrome" (not to be confused with the upcoming computer psychoanalysis game of the same name). This is a curious affliction that seems to strike loner male cartoonist types, causing them to think that society has become a politically correct morass of double-speak and thought control, and that people (particularly loner male types) will be physically assaulted and/or legally considered a criminal if they try to, say, light a cigarette or order a steak. (Although I’m not certain, I think this may come from listening to too much talk radio while cross-hatching). Although not the closest follower of Miller’s work, it certainly seems like he’s still waving about his cigarettes, T-bones, and homphobia as signs he remains a renegade and a genuine free thinker in this nation of P.C. pantywaists. Since The Dark Knight Returns succeeded, at least in part, because of Miller’s perfectly honed satirical snapshot of the national zeitgeist, I tremble that Frank will feel compelled to once again give us a picture of this country’s spirit, and end up having, I don’t know, O.J. references or something.

I mean, sure, Miller managed to nail the zeitgeist back in ’86, but really, looking back on it, how hard was that? Miller had to create a world where Batman made sense—a grim, gritty, world, almost without hope and filled with fear, where the only possible solution was a dark and terrifying one. And, in this way, the world Miller needed to create was in perfect synch with the world the American media needed to create—one where Ronald Reagan as President made sense; a grim, gritty world where the only possible solution was dark and terrifying Cold War escalation and massive economic deregulation. Also, let’s face it, back in ’86, you could actually have a national mood that lasted for more than twenty minutes. Now, thanks to the Internet, cable television news and my own dwindling attention span (now so small it’s the new benchmark for scientists showing off how dinky they can make transistors), it seems the national mood changes faster than the bra sizes at an ‘N Sync concert (Dear God, I’m slowly turning into a Jay Leno monologue!); I wouldn’t want to be the one whose three issue color prestige format miniseries may hinge on being able to, once again, nail it.

With all that off my chest, you have every right to ask, "well, Jeff, since you’ve just spent the last thousand words telling us what’s probably going to be wrong with it, are you going to buy DK2?" To which I can only say:

Oh, hell, yes.

Miller may be the only mainstream comic creator who has come back to a character he’s revitalized (both Daredevil and Batman) and not only done work equal to his original run, he’s surpassed it. As good as Dark Knight was, as amazing as his first run on Daredevil was, he came back with stories for both characters (each time with the god-like David Mazzucchelli) and knocked the brain right out of my head. If Miller announced he was writing a new Batman story where each word was engraved separately on a piece of macaroni and you had to buy an entire case of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese just to have a chance to assemble the first issue at your kitchen table, I wouldn’t hesitate in committing Grand Theft Cheap Pasta. I’ll still put my money down, no matter how slim the chances may seem, on the hope I can feel like I did that first time I got halfway through the first issue of The Dark Knight Returns (and, later, Batman: Year One): so lightheaded I thought I was in mid-air, a man of thirty---of twenty, again, and I felt that surge, that thrill, that I hadn’t even realized was gone until I got it back.

Born again, baby. Born again…