As one door closes, another one opens...
Jun. 6th, 2013 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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scans_dailyWe've seen the end of the Silver Age Batman in a previous post. But as a wise man who may or may not be a figment of my imagination once said: for every end, there is a beginning. And as DC comics plunged headlong into the 1970s, the first shots of Bronze Age Batman were delivered, loud and clear, with the January 1970 issue of Detective Comics.
It would probably be fair to say that this story broke just as many traditions - if not more - than its predecessor. This, after all, was a Batman story with no Wayne Manor or Batcave, no Alfred or Gordon, no Robin, and no Gotham. It's a straightforward, pulpy little yarn with quite a lot in common with the first Golden Age Batman stories - the dark atmosphere (literally as well as figuratively - it takes place over a single night, after all), the high-stakes clashes, the overtones of mysticism and magic (Silver Age Bat-comics preferred to shy away from such things; even Bat-Mite was explained through sci-fi mumbo-jumbo), and more.
And men who brought this story to us? Oh, just three little nobodies by the names of Denny O'Neil, Neal Adams, and Dick Giordano.
(This awesomely-drawn cover, by the way, brings us back to the realm of "Covers Always Lie". The settings and characters are accurate enough, but the villains of this story have no interest in sharing their secret of immortality with anyone.)
Yep. A story that features about a half-dozen references to death on the first page? We're in the Bronze Age, alright.
That said, those of you with a Hispanic background might find the Muertos' names a tad silly. Can you imagine a family in an English-speaking community being named "The Deads"?
Anyways, the balloon racers are off, but one poor sap, Pedro Valdes, finds his balloon being attacked by trained falcons. He plunges toward a river and to his certain doom, when:
Goddamn, no one can draw Batman like Neal Adams draws Batman.
So, anyways, Valdes lives. When he turns around to thank Batman, Batman does one of his trademark vanishings, and returns to the Muertos' party as Bruce Wayne, one of the invited guests.
Admittedly, this part of the story is kind of jarring, if not exactly weak - Bruce monologues about how he's investigating the Muertos solely because they're notorious social recluses who have suddenly decided to throw a party and invite "every social butterfly in the Western hemisphere". While this does seem a bit fishy, is it enough of an excuse for him to travel all the way to Mexico, leaving Gotham unguarded for Lord-knows-how-long (especially since Robin's now at college and everything)? Good thing Two-Face won't be returning to comics until a year after this story, and Joker won't be returning for another three.
Some more plot happens, and Bruce saves Valdes from a second assasination attempt. By this point, it's firmly established that the Muertos are Bad News, since they conveniently monologue about having masterminded both attempts. Eventually, they decide to go the more direct route and engage Valdes themselves, offering to show him a "secret" inside a small crypt in a nearby cemetery.
Valdes, faithfully playing the part of a horror movie victim, follows the Muertos to the crypt before revealing his true identity: a government agent sent to investigate and arrest the couple. He already knows what they want to show him: a store of Sybil flowers, said to bring immortality...
Woo. Shades of a certain other pair of O'Neil/Adams creations all over the place!
Batman shows up to save Valdes, but he too, is overcome by the Muertos (thanks in part to the Sybil flowers, which generate a hallucinogenic pollen).
A rather standard Batman-escapes-deathtrap scene ensues, with Batman fighting off the Muertos' falcons, and possibly killing them. That's another thing about Bronze Age Batman, actually: while not particularly bloodthirsty, he's far more willing to kill/abandon living beings to die than Silver Age Batman was, though probably not as much as Golden Age Batman was. O'Neil, in particular, wrote several stories in which Bruce rather graphically killed various animals (which were generally part of some villain's deathtrap) on-panel.
Anyhoo, Batman breaks loose, overcomes the hallucinations, grabs a torch, leaves the crypt, yadda yadda yadda. Time for the big confrontation with the villains, in which he brings them to justice after an extended fight scene?
Yeah, no.
Brrr. The art might have been done forty years ago, but scenes like that will never get old. *Dodges rotten tomatoes*
This scene, however, brings up the rather small dilemma of Batman doing things that verge on straight-up murder. I suppose that, in some ways, it's the sort of issue that almost every story featuring immortality as a plot point has. And as many problems as I have with Ra's al-Ghul and with Greg Rucka's work, I must admit that I did appreciate how the combination of the two in Death and the Maidens addressed at least some of these ethical concerns: is it murder - at least, indirect murder - to willingly deny an immortal his source of immortality? Such issues are compounded by the question of whether you think Batman really needed to burn the Sybils; the only reason he offers is that he can't risk them finding their way into the outside world, and driving everyone insane.
But, for that matter, is it indirect murder if you know a source of immortality, but refuse to share it with anyone, as with the Muertos? Back in the day, there was a massive shitstorm about this on the TV Tropes page for the first Harry Potter book, and the debate rages on across the 'net.
Well, in any case, the Muertos are pretty much cold-blooded murderers, and had they not tried to kill Valdes, he probably wouldn't have tried to arrest them in the first place, so I suppose that all is well. One last bit, though, that may redeem O'Neil's Batman... or make him a zillion times less sympathetic:
A touch of macabre humor to end our story on? That much is certain, from a meta-textual standpoint. But what of the in-universe standpoint? Is Batman grimly acknowledging his responsibility in the Muertos' deaths? Is he mocking their supposed "immortality" and their avowed love of death? Or is he simply doing what any man in that day and age would be expected to do when he comes across a pair of recently-filled graves with not-quite-accurate headstones?
The appearance of the graves of themselves is a minor plot hole in this story, IMO - they only showed up at the very beginning, and one might have assumed that they were meant to be taken metaphorically. But if they do exist literally, then that begs the question: why? Had Dolores and Juan simply constructed the things as part of their own fascination with death? And assuming that those birth dates are accurate, wouldn't someone have at least noticed and said something?
Oh, well. We can't expect everything to be wrapped up tidily in fifteen-and-a-half measly pages. The rest of this issue is taken up by a backup feature, in which Bruce and Alfred read about Dick's first solo adventure at Hudson University - I might post that one some time, if someone else hasn't already. It might be worth it for the sheer quaintness of the Red-Scare overtones alone.
And so, it was this tale that the Caped Crusader plunged headlong into the Bronze Age, and all the Lovecraftian mental hospitals, resurrected mad scientists, successor Robins, and Earth-swallowing Crises that lay ahead. O'Neil and Adams would be launched into stardom, and go on to craft dozens - perhaps hundreds - more Bat-tales, some far darker and edgier than this one, some far lighter and softer.
In any case, the Batman mythos would never be the same again.
It would probably be fair to say that this story broke just as many traditions - if not more - than its predecessor. This, after all, was a Batman story with no Wayne Manor or Batcave, no Alfred or Gordon, no Robin, and no Gotham. It's a straightforward, pulpy little yarn with quite a lot in common with the first Golden Age Batman stories - the dark atmosphere (literally as well as figuratively - it takes place over a single night, after all), the high-stakes clashes, the overtones of mysticism and magic (Silver Age Bat-comics preferred to shy away from such things; even Bat-Mite was explained through sci-fi mumbo-jumbo), and more.
And men who brought this story to us? Oh, just three little nobodies by the names of Denny O'Neil, Neal Adams, and Dick Giordano.
(This awesomely-drawn cover, by the way, brings us back to the realm of "Covers Always Lie". The settings and characters are accurate enough, but the villains of this story have no interest in sharing their secret of immortality with anyone.)
Yep. A story that features about a half-dozen references to death on the first page? We're in the Bronze Age, alright.
That said, those of you with a Hispanic background might find the Muertos' names a tad silly. Can you imagine a family in an English-speaking community being named "The Deads"?
Anyways, the balloon racers are off, but one poor sap, Pedro Valdes, finds his balloon being attacked by trained falcons. He plunges toward a river and to his certain doom, when:
Goddamn, no one can draw Batman like Neal Adams draws Batman.
So, anyways, Valdes lives. When he turns around to thank Batman, Batman does one of his trademark vanishings, and returns to the Muertos' party as Bruce Wayne, one of the invited guests.
Admittedly, this part of the story is kind of jarring, if not exactly weak - Bruce monologues about how he's investigating the Muertos solely because they're notorious social recluses who have suddenly decided to throw a party and invite "every social butterfly in the Western hemisphere". While this does seem a bit fishy, is it enough of an excuse for him to travel all the way to Mexico, leaving Gotham unguarded for Lord-knows-how-long (especially since Robin's now at college and everything)? Good thing Two-Face won't be returning to comics until a year after this story, and Joker won't be returning for another three.
Some more plot happens, and Bruce saves Valdes from a second assasination attempt. By this point, it's firmly established that the Muertos are Bad News, since they conveniently monologue about having masterminded both attempts. Eventually, they decide to go the more direct route and engage Valdes themselves, offering to show him a "secret" inside a small crypt in a nearby cemetery.
Valdes, faithfully playing the part of a horror movie victim, follows the Muertos to the crypt before revealing his true identity: a government agent sent to investigate and arrest the couple. He already knows what they want to show him: a store of Sybil flowers, said to bring immortality...
Woo. Shades of a certain other pair of O'Neil/Adams creations all over the place!
Batman shows up to save Valdes, but he too, is overcome by the Muertos (thanks in part to the Sybil flowers, which generate a hallucinogenic pollen).
A rather standard Batman-escapes-deathtrap scene ensues, with Batman fighting off the Muertos' falcons, and possibly killing them. That's another thing about Bronze Age Batman, actually: while not particularly bloodthirsty, he's far more willing to kill/abandon living beings to die than Silver Age Batman was, though probably not as much as Golden Age Batman was. O'Neil, in particular, wrote several stories in which Bruce rather graphically killed various animals (which were generally part of some villain's deathtrap) on-panel.
Anyhoo, Batman breaks loose, overcomes the hallucinations, grabs a torch, leaves the crypt, yadda yadda yadda. Time for the big confrontation with the villains, in which he brings them to justice after an extended fight scene?
Yeah, no.
Brrr. The art might have been done forty years ago, but scenes like that will never get old. *Dodges rotten tomatoes*
This scene, however, brings up the rather small dilemma of Batman doing things that verge on straight-up murder. I suppose that, in some ways, it's the sort of issue that almost every story featuring immortality as a plot point has. And as many problems as I have with Ra's al-Ghul and with Greg Rucka's work, I must admit that I did appreciate how the combination of the two in Death and the Maidens addressed at least some of these ethical concerns: is it murder - at least, indirect murder - to willingly deny an immortal his source of immortality? Such issues are compounded by the question of whether you think Batman really needed to burn the Sybils; the only reason he offers is that he can't risk them finding their way into the outside world, and driving everyone insane.
But, for that matter, is it indirect murder if you know a source of immortality, but refuse to share it with anyone, as with the Muertos? Back in the day, there was a massive shitstorm about this on the TV Tropes page for the first Harry Potter book, and the debate rages on across the 'net.
Well, in any case, the Muertos are pretty much cold-blooded murderers, and had they not tried to kill Valdes, he probably wouldn't have tried to arrest them in the first place, so I suppose that all is well. One last bit, though, that may redeem O'Neil's Batman... or make him a zillion times less sympathetic:
A touch of macabre humor to end our story on? That much is certain, from a meta-textual standpoint. But what of the in-universe standpoint? Is Batman grimly acknowledging his responsibility in the Muertos' deaths? Is he mocking their supposed "immortality" and their avowed love of death? Or is he simply doing what any man in that day and age would be expected to do when he comes across a pair of recently-filled graves with not-quite-accurate headstones?
The appearance of the graves of themselves is a minor plot hole in this story, IMO - they only showed up at the very beginning, and one might have assumed that they were meant to be taken metaphorically. But if they do exist literally, then that begs the question: why? Had Dolores and Juan simply constructed the things as part of their own fascination with death? And assuming that those birth dates are accurate, wouldn't someone have at least noticed and said something?
Oh, well. We can't expect everything to be wrapped up tidily in fifteen-and-a-half measly pages. The rest of this issue is taken up by a backup feature, in which Bruce and Alfred read about Dick's first solo adventure at Hudson University - I might post that one some time, if someone else hasn't already. It might be worth it for the sheer quaintness of the Red-Scare overtones alone.
And so, it was this tale that the Caped Crusader plunged headlong into the Bronze Age, and all the Lovecraftian mental hospitals, resurrected mad scientists, successor Robins, and Earth-swallowing Crises that lay ahead. O'Neil and Adams would be launched into stardom, and go on to craft dozens - perhaps hundreds - more Bat-tales, some far darker and edgier than this one, some far lighter and softer.
In any case, the Batman mythos would never be the same again.
no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 03:48 am (UTC)Close enough? http://www.surnamedb.com/Surname/De%27Ath
no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 04:25 am (UTC)Mockery of modern DC aside, this looks pretty good, I only have a limited knowledge of this era of Batman, but this sort of globe trotting pulp adventurer feel is intriguing.
no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 11:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 12:54 pm (UTC)Freaked the hell out of me...
no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 01:28 pm (UTC)Oh, and bear in mind it would be another 15 years before a successor Robin came along, Jason Todd didn't debut until 1983 and wasn't Robin until some point after that
no subject
Date: 2013-06-25 10:38 pm (UTC)