Batman, Volume 5: Zero Year - Dark City (Review)

Batman, Volume 5: Zero Year - Dark City

The fifth volume of Scott Snyder's Batman epic, Dark City, concludes the Zero Year storyline in suitably grand fashion. I've pointed out before that one of Snyder's strengths as a writer is his ability to blend genres, and Dark City is perhaps the best showcase of this. It's a tricky thing to tell an unexpected story, especially with a familiar character. Yet Snyder continues to defy the odds by spinning a new and interesting origin story that hits all the right character beats, demonstrating just what makes the Batman a complex and serious literary character.

The previous volume, Secret City, was a fun, pulpy narrative that began with its foot on the gas pedal and never really let up. Those same high points of breathless adventure are present in Dark City, but here they're more subdued, and really occur toward story's end, where they function more like a traditional climax. Instead, the story opens with a mystery. One of my frequent complaints about the Batman character is that so often his "core" is lost. The character got his start in a pulp magazine called Detective Comics. He is given the mantle of "World's Greatest Detective." But more often than not, Batman stories—on both page and screen—tend to lose this element of his character. Batman is first and foremost a detective, and a darn good one at that. So it's a welcome thing to have this volume kick things off with a good ol' fashioned detective story.

We begin in the aftermath of Edward Nygma's attack on Gotham City. With Gotham in a blackout, first responders are working tirelessly to get the city's power back online. Things take a turn for the gruesome and bizarre, however, when the police begin discovering bodies with their bones having burst from the skin and twisted into something more like beanstalks. While Gotham's only honest cop, James Gordon, works the crime scene through proper channels, another detective begins investigating from the shadows. The Batman is a relative newcomer to Gotham City, and people are still trying to figure out his role in things. The current police commissioner, Loeb, is adamant Batman is a threat. Gordon isn't convinced, and continues to try and see the big picture.

Batman's investigation leads him to mad scientist Karl Helfern, who has taken the moniker of Doctor Death since his experiments to try and develop better bone structure in humans failed. Doctor Death is a nice throwback to one of Batman's original 1939 villains, and a clear indicator that Snyder is working to honor Batman's rich legacy as much as he is telling an updated origin story for modern readers. Batman's investigation into Helfern takes up much of the first half of the volume, and the story unfurls like a moody detective story straight out of the old pulp era. The shadows are long, the terror is real. But as Batman uncovers the true threat, the man behind Helfern's descent into madness—Edward Nygma, now calling himself "The Riddler"—the story changes gears into something unprecedented. When Riddler blows up the nearby reservoir, flooding the city, we jump forward some weeks in time to find that Gotham is now something more like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Batman is believed to be dead. Riddler holds the keys to the city, having cut off all access points, and controls things from an undisclosed location. Gotham City stands on a knife's edge.

But, of course, Batman must return, and he does so in glorious fashion to rescue the city from destruction. This is a story we've seen told a thousand times. Gotham City is threatened by a megalomaniacal super villain, and Batman must stand in the gap to battle the villain and ultimately save the day. In one sense, there is nothing special here, nothing new. In another sense, though, there is something to be said for a familiar story well-told. And that's what Snyder does here. In a way, this is Batman stripped down to his bare essentials. Gone are the gadgets that usually give him the edge in combat. When he can't solve the problem with his fists, he is forced to rely on his cerebral powers instead. Often forgotten is the fact that Bruce Wayne is a kind of genius, on top of being a physical powerhouse. In many ways, his mind is his ultimate weapon. You might beat him in fisticuffs this time, but he's always thinking, learning, calculating a way to turn the tables on you in the next encounter. Snyder understands this, and in Dark City he gives us a Batman who is as quick as he is strong, as sharp as he is deadly. Beating Riddler doesn't take much strength. It's hard to fight the man who would rather just drop a building on you than face you himself; on the contrary, it takes a brilliant mind to outthink the man who is always plotting ten steps ahead. You beat him by outwitting him—and that's exactly how Batman finally beats Riddler.

Perhaps the most satisfying element of Dark City is how Snyder gives us a Batman who learns. Bruce Wayne is young, only in his mid-twenties or so. He's new to this caped vigilante business, and he makes mistakes aplenty. He fails to anticipate Doctor Death using Wayne's friend, Lucius Fox, against him. He fails to stop Riddler from flooding Gotham City. These are devastating, costly mistakes. But he learns from these mistakes, and that's what makes him dangerous. It's absolutely fascinating to watch this angry young man morph into a hardened crimefighter, learning all the lessons that will be crucial in his later battles. Most of those lessons come through in the story's quieter moments, which are easy to miss thanks to the pure spectacle of the action scenes.

For example, Batman learns that allies are necessary. He must rely on people like Lucius Fox and Jim Gordon to help him bring down Riddler. There is a subplot running throughout the story that focuses on Gordon, who is perhaps one of the most underrated characters of the entire Batman mythos. In a slight twist, it turns out that Bruce Wayne harbors great disdain for Gordon, believing that Gordon is just as corrupt as the rest of the cops in Gotham. But as the story unspools, it's revealed that Bruce has misread things, and that Gordon is anything but corrupt. He's stalwart and ineffably straight, a true cop who cannot be bought, bullied, or outdone. Snyder deepens Gordon's character, and makes a real case for the value of uncompromising virtue. In a world where pretty much every character has some serious flaw or psychological disorder, Jim Gordon is a constant. His unwavering commitment to justice as well as his will to fight in Dark City makes it clear why he will go on to become Batman's greatest ally in the fight to save Gotham for many years to come.

All these heroic feats make this story a comic book classic, but Snyder's most profound insight into the character of Batman comes at this volume's conclusion. In the weeks following Riddler's fall, as Bruce Wayne steps in to help rebuild the city, Gordon is finally made police commissioner, and the status quo we're accustomed to begins to fall into place, Bruce's trusted butler, Alfred Pennyworth, tries to set Bruce up with Julie Madison, an old girlfriend. There is a touching sequence in which Alfred envisions Bruce's life with Julie, where Bruce gives up being Batman and elects to settle down and raise a family, having finally escaped from the darkness. But Bruce rejects Alfred's attempt to reintroduce him to Julie and steps fully into his role as the city's dark protector. Batman, Bruce argues, must become a symbol for the city, to show people that they do not have to live in fear of evil men. And this, Bruce insists, makes him happy. Alfred counters his assertion by saying, "You say that because you don't know, Master Bruce. You don't. There are joys you haven't experienced. Deeper types of happiness." But his words fall on deaf ears, and Bruce simply, tragically, replies, "Not for me."

The irony, of course, is that Alfred is very right. He is the only one who sees the Batman for what he truly represents. Whereas Gotham City might look upon Batman as a hero, as a symbol, Alfred understands that there is a human being behind the mask. That Batman is actually Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne is a young man still traumatized over witnessing the death of his parents, still hurting at having grown up alone. Batman, Alfred understands, is not so much a hero as he is the manifestation of one boy's wanton act of self-destruction, a dark alter ego that Bruce indulges to numb the pain. If there is one complaint I have about this Batman story, it is that Snyder does not devote more time to exploring this notion. Alfred is noticeably absent for a good majority of the story's latter sections, and seems a bit underused. Then again, it could be his absence that makes his insight so profound. While Batman is off saving the city, Alfred waits alone in the darkness, for Bruce Wayne to reemerge and come home again. And when it's necessary, Alfred will step in and do what needs to be done to keep Bruce Wayne alive. He tells Bruce at one point, "I might not agree with you, ever...but I'll always be there to patch you up."

There is a dimension of sacrifice to Alfred's character that goes unsung all too frequently. Alfred is understated, and remains at Bruce's side because of the sense of commitment he has to the Wayne family. He is a man of honor, but he is intelligent and caring enough not to play into Bruce's delusion that Batman is somehow good for him. He understands that Batman is a choice, a choice Bruce makes to remain on life support, a choice that offers temporary relief, but does nothing to heal the pain. He speaks to Bruce of "deeper happiness," and I cannot help but think of C. S. Lewis and the "deeper magic" of The Chronicles of Narnia. Out here in the real world, we all must face our personal tragedies. And in the process of doing so, we run the very real risk of putting on a cape and a cowl, of convincing ourselves that sometimes our darkness is the best we can hope for. And that darkness doesn't necessarily manifest itself in stereotypically bad ways; in fact, most of the time our darkness works its way out in glittering vices as we indulge the things we like. These are the things that keep us on life support, the things that keep us numb to our pain, the things that keeps us from a deeper happiness—happiness defined as a thing that doesn't always wear a beaming smile. Following Jesus Christ is not always a happy venture. As any honest Christian will admit, it's usually one marked by a deep sense of loneliness, profound loss, and great and terrible pain. But there is a kind of resoluteness to Christianity, a strong resolve to make the hard but necessary choice to let Christ tear into our wounds in order to heal them.

See, our tendency is to think that Bruce makes the heroic choice by choosing to remain as Batman and forfeit his chance at a normal life with Julie. But the truth is—and Alfred sees this—the choice to remain Batman, for Bruce, is the easy way out. It's just another way of closing himself off, of remaining numb, of avoiding the human element. This truth is what makes the Batman such an important and profound character. He has as much to say about the human condition as any of the great literary figures throughout the ages. And like the best of those characters, Batman provides us with a strong warning. We, like Bruce, need allies in the midst of our own little battles, each and every day. It's not impossible to go at it alone, and in many ways we would prevail. But the real cost, the loss of the human element, ensures that the darkness that will eventually consume us is one of our own making. This is the great warning Alfred puts before Bruce. It's the great warning that Batman puts before us all.

With the Zero Year storyline, Scott Snyder tells a rollicking tale that seems tailor-made to be adapted for the big screen, offering up big, bombastic action sequences over against quieter character moments that are easy to miss. As always, the art by Greg Capullo is second-to-none. Batman has never looked better. And no small amount of credit goes to inker Danny Miki and colorist FCO Plascencia. The colors splash and electrify in hues of purple and red, and there are some truly stunning panels that plaster a silhouetted Batman against a sky marred by forks of lightening. This story is sure to go down as another classic, as Snyder continues to outdo himself with each subsequent volume. I'm eager to see where he takes the character from here.

Batman, Volume 4: Zero Year - Secret City (Review)

Batman, Volume 4: Zero Year - Secret City

Scott Snyder shakes up the Batman mythos again with Batman, Volume 4: Zero Year - Secret City. With the New 52 initiative, the DC Comics universe underwent a soft continuity reboot. The slate of character histories was wiped clean in favor of establishing new and updated stories, effectively bringing their pantheon of heroes into today. Being one of DC's biggest properties, Batman's well-known backstory was one of the many that came under new penmanship. How fortunate that Snyder was the one wielding the pen.

After three quintessentially dark and murky Batman stories, the bright splash of color that greets readers on the first pages of Secret City is both a jarring and welcome shift in tone (having Danny Miki and FCO Plascencia on ink and colors, respectively, is nothing short of a revelation). The very first panel establishes that this is Gotham City, but six years ago. And this is where things take a turn for the surreal. The city lies in ruins, a kind of hellscape where fish swim in flooded subway tunnels and the buildings are overrun with overgrown shrubbery. Into this strange, post-apocalyptic world comes a child, who is almost immediately assailed by thugs. Enter the Batman, like you've never seen him before. Instead of his trademark cape, he's packing a rugged rucksack and crossbow. Instead of the classic Batmobile, he's mounted on a mud-slicked dirt bike meant for navigating harsh terrain. This is Batman by way of Mad Max. He saves the child, who proceeds to tell him that a mysterious "he" has been telling everyone that Batman is dead, "ever since he killed the city."

"Good," Batman retorts. "Then he won't see me coming." And suddenly we're off again, jumping back in time another five months, where we meet a younger Bruce Wayne—before he becomes Batman—who has an axe to grind. He has only recently returned to Gotham City after some years of being away, and everyone believes him to be dead. He wants to keep things that way. See, even though Bruce has yet to become the Batman, he has wasted no time getting his hands dirty as a street-level vigilante, working to infiltrate the vicious Red Hood Gang. Bruce is a young man, looking to be somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties. While he's full of piss and vinegar, as the old codgers say, he's a tad unrefined and takes ballsy but unnecessary risks.

The story established here is poles apart from Snyder's two previous narrative arcs. Which is an intelligent storytelling decision. After the dark subject matter of Death of the Family, having something a little lighter in tone gives readers who are in for the long haul some room to breathe. Snyder executes these kinds of genre shifts with a kind of flawless perfection. He has such an understanding of both the Batman character and classic genre tropes that he can flip between horror, thriller, adventure, and even science fiction with ease, exploring Batman through a multitude of lenses. If the first two volumes were action-thrillers, and the third flirted with horror, then this volume is firmly planted in the pulpy, adventure-thriller genre. For a retelling of Batman's origin, this is completely appropriate, given that the character was originally conceived by Bill Finger and Bob Kane in 1939, at the height of the old pulp fiction era.

Noticeably absent from this volume is Snyder's trademark use of mythological themes. This isn't necessarily a criticism, as Snyder is a master of genres, and he puts the storytelling emphasis not on symbolism, but on character development and big, bombastic set pieces. It works for the more adventurous feel that this volume is going for.

There are three major relationships Bruce develops throughout the narrative. The most obvious one is with his butler, Alfred Pennyworth. Ever the caretaker, Alfred is quite opposed to Bruce's harebrained schemes, and early in the volume the two have a rather startling confrontation. Alfred has serious issues with the fact that Bruce refuses to reveal himself to the world and reclaim all that he is entitled to as the sole heir of the billion-dollar Wayne estate. He even goes so far as to accuse Bruce of behaving as a coward, and tells him that his parents would be ashamed. When Bruce turns physical, Alfred gives him a much-needed slap to the face—it's a jarring moment. After Alfred storms away and refuses to help Bruce further, Bruce flies into a fit of rage. This is a young man full of anger and defined by his pain, specifically the pain of having lost his parents to a senseless mugging as a child. This singular moment from his past is what drives him. Every criminal he faces down essentially wears the mask of the man who murdered his father and mother. There's very little selflessness here, and Alfred is right to walk away.

Another relationship of note is the one between Bruce and his maternal uncle, Philip Kane. Not long after Bruce's return to Gotham, Philip finds him. In Bruce's absence, Philip has been running Wayne Enterprises, the company that is the Wayne family legacy. With Bruce now back in Gotham, Philip approaches his nephew and asks him to reveal himself to the public and to return to Wayne Enterprises as the golden boy of Gotham, since the company never really recovered in the wake of the Wayne murders. Bruce refuses Philip's proposal, but is disturbed to learn that the Red Hood Gang has been stealing non-lethal arms manufactured by Wayne Enterprises. As the story unfurls, it becomes clear that Philip's not the most honest businessman, being that he has actually been negotiating with the Red Hood Gang to sell them small arms, in hopes of deterring them from stealing the more dangerous weapons. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Philip is drafted into the gang and is looking for a way out. The man he turned to in the past, a strategist with his own sordid history, is one Edward Nygma. It's clear that Nygma is Philip's confidant, and when Bruce refuses Philip's request to return to the public sphere, Nygma suggests that Philip should have him killed in order to gain public sympathy. While Philip's difficult position is to be appreciated, he is clearly a weak man who always looks for an easy way out and who is now paying dearly for it.

The third (and most interesting) relationship Bruce forms in the story is with the leader of the Red Hood Gang. As the name suggests, the gang is identified by the crimson masks each member wears when carrying out gang-related activities. There is implied to be a system of rules in place within the gang that prohibits the members from divulging information about their personal lives to one another. So each member is assigned a number, which becomes their gang callsign. As such, the leader of the gang is identified as Red Hood One. Now, this is where being a bit of a serious Batman reader pays off. One take on traditional Batman mythology tells us that before the Joker became the Joker, he was a small-time criminal known as the Red Hood, and only becomes the Joker after a confrontation with Batman leaves him boiling in a vat of chemicals. In Snyder's rewriting, it's clear that Red Hood One is the modern incarnation of the classic Red Hood villain. Though we only ever glimpse the man under the mask and never see him outright, Capullo brilliantly ensures the Joker's trademark hook nose is present, as is a penchant for unsavory jokes and a dark fascination with the Batman. It's a subtle thing that unfamiliar readers are likely to miss, but it's worth pointing out that Red Hood One and the Joker are likely one and the same, if only because of the nice parallelism with Snyder's previous yarn. As Bruce Wayne evolves into the Batman, Red Hood One evolves in the Joker. The hero and the villain are intricately tied together, even in origin. In a turn of sinister poetry, this provides a basis to the Joker's codependence on Batman, which was the highlight of the previous volume, Death of the Family.

The story forward is by the numbers, yet there's something to be said for doing something familiar, and doing it well. It gives the things we're accustomed to a new sheen, and that's exactly what Snyder does with Secret City. After Philip chooses to go public about Bruce's return on his own terms, his strategist Nygma goes behind his back and hires the Red Hood Gang to kill Wayne, and they nearly do. Broken and alone, Wayne heads to the only place he has left to go—Wayne Manor, where Alfred is waiting to patch him up. His brush with death giving him a new perspective, Bruce reconciles with Alfred and resolves to fight this war on crime in a different way. In a powerful moment, beneath the cold stare of Thomas Wayne's statue, Bruce resolves to "become a bat."

As Batman, Bruce begins dismantling the Red Hood Gang through fear tactics and guerrilla warfare. When he uncovers a plot involving the ACE Chemical Processing Plant, he chooses to combat the gang on two fronts by finally going public and announcing his return to Gotham, reclaiming the Wayne legacy. The story's climax involves a battle at ACE Chemical between Batman and the Red Hood Gang, during which Philip sacrifices himself to save Batman, and Red Hood One is dropped into the vat of chemicals despite Batman's attempt at saving him. Again, this is all pretty familiar territory for Batman fans, but the execution is done well enough that it's a thrill to read anew.

The biggest twist comes in the final pages of the main story. Batman and Alfred are discussing the outcome of the battle at ACE when Edward Nygma—now calling himself the Riddler—causes a city-wide blackout. This, of course, sets the stage for the story told in the first few pages of the volume, which depicts Gotham as a devastated cityscape. It's definitely an interesting wrinkle in Batman's backstory, but one that will have to wait until the next volume to pay off. The backup stories collected at the end of this volume give snapshots of Bruce's training sessions around the world. These are smaller, self-contained stories that are equally as fun as the main plot. One short story that stands out is titled "The Pit," and depicts a 24-year-old Bruce Wayne who has battled in a death match in Norway for 28 hours straight, simply because he refuses to kill his opponents. His instructor, a cryptic woman identified only as the Queen, tells him that the lesson he has yet to learn is that the only way to win a war is by finally killing his opponent. Sparing lives only leads to battles being won, not wars. Or so she preaches. But after hours of fighting, it turns out that no man is willing to set foot in the pit, having been frightened into submission. Bruce wins, having conquered his enemies with fear. It's a nice touch, demonstrating the beginnings of the scare tactics the Batman will eventually use to keep the villains of Gotham in check.

This volume is certainly not as deep as Snyder's previous work on Batman, but deep is not exactly what this particular story is going for. Batman, Volume 4: Zero Year - Secret City is a fun, adventurous romp through Bruce Wayne's earlier years, that provides an interesting context for the relationship between Batman and Joker. It drips of pure, pulpy goodness and fist-pumping excitement, with a zinger of an ending that promises a bigger and more unexpected story to come.