Detective Comics 412

In my recent post about Detective Comics #408, I discussed how the Gothic elements found in Batman’s earliest Golden-Age stories had resurfaced at the beginning of the Bronze Age. This idea is again exemplified in the chilling pages of Detective Comics #412, where two knights, one medieval and one modern, do battle in “Legacy of Hate.”

Bruce receives a telegram from Lord Elwood Wayne, a distant relative who is on his deathbed. He requests Bruce’s presence at Waynemoor Castle in Northern England so that he can bequeath his inheritance, along with those of his other remaining relatives, in person rather than by way of a will. Bruce meets up with these other relatives on a rainy station platform: Wilhemina Wayne, from South Africa, Rev. Emelyn Wayne, a missionary in Asia, and Jeremy Wayne, from Australia.

A hearse shows up to take them to the castle, which, along with the rainfall, effectively sets the mood for the story. The driver is appropriately ghoulish, wearing a sinister expression and looking not unlike the Crypt Keeper or some other horror-comic “host.” As they approach the castle, he suggests that Waynemoor is haunted and, further, that the impending death of Lord Elwood is likely to awaken the vengeful ghost of the castle’s first lord, Harold, who died under mysterious circumstances and was never properly put to rest.

They are welcomed by Asquith, the direct descendant of Lord Harold’s retainer, who leads them to Elwood’s room, where he is being attended by his doctor. Barely clinging to life, Elwood tells them that they are each entitled to an equal share of the estate and that if any of them dies, the survivors will divide that share. Further, if they all die, the estate will go to his doctor. We’ve all seen this kind of set-up before, and we know, at least to some extent, what to expect.

Or do we?

Everyone retires except for Bruce and Wilhemina, who decide to have a drink. As Bruce decants the libations, Mina spots a frightening figure outside. Clad in chain mail and a knight’s helm, the phantom crusader is the very image of Lord Harold. Bruce dissembles, insisting that he saw nothing, and takes Mina to her room. After taking the time to calm her, he dons his costume to explore the castle as Batman.

As he walks the battlements, he hears Mina scream. Swinging through her window on his Batrope, he encounters the “ghost” they saw earlier. When he smacks Batman in the face with his gauntleted hand, it’s clear that he is no specter. Batman ripostes with a punch to the gut, which is, unfortunately, absorbed by the knight’s breastplate, and then his foe butts him in the torso with his helmet and escapes.

Mina, never having heard of Batman, is almost as unsettled by his appearance as she was by the knight’s. He explains that he wants to help her, and she gratefully accepts. They notice a battleax imbedded in the headboard of her bed, and Batman, having verified that “Harold,” as he expected, is not a ghost, tries to determine who might be inside the armor and why he or she would want Mina dead. The obvious conclusion is that it’s one of the other beneficiaries, wishing to claim her share of the estate. He begins to mentally run through the list of suspects but is interrupted by sounds of struggle in Jeremy’s room.

The brawny Australian explains that “Harold” attempted to murder him, but that Batman’s arrival scared him off. The Dark Knight returns to his room to make his bed appear slept in when he hears another scream from Mina. Bursting through her window, he finds her in front of the door; she claims that someone was trying to get in. Unbolting the door, Batman discovers muddy footprints leading inside and back out.

Following the trail to the moor, he gets stuck in the mire as the knight gallops out of the mists on a steed and thrusts his lance into Batman’s chest. Believing his pursuer dead, “Harold” turns to leave, exclaiming, “Now—my vengeance truly begins.” Batman recovers from the blow, having used a tree branch to shield himself from the lance’s point, and, now realizing who the knight really is, heads for the armory.

As Batman enters the chamber, the knight swings a morning star at him, but the Caped Crusader seizes him and throws him to the floor, knocking his helmet off. The mad eyes of Asquith regard him as the voice of the Lord Harold vibrates his vocal chords. He leads Batman to a hidden crypt, where Harold was entombed, and the Dark Knight beholds the words of the murdered lord, written on the wall, naming his killer: his jealous brother. Asquith claims that Harold’s soul can never rest as long as any of his brother’s descendants live. As he laments his failure to wipe out the remaining Waynes, Asquith is throttled by Harold’s spirit and dies.

The next day Batman learns that Asquith perished at the exact moment that the life left Lord Elwood’s body.

We hear a lot about curses and inherited evil and stuff like that, about how the soul of an ancestor can use his or her descendants to seek justice, and it’s certainly an interesting concept. It is well established in fiction that the primary reason behind hauntings is restless spirits, those who were murdered or otherwise died in unpleasant circumstances. There is often some sort of unresolved issue that must be addressed before the spirit can be freed, and this is certainly the case in Detective Comics #412.

Do our actions really have that kind of power? Murderers always believe that they’ve gotten away with it, but have they really?

People commonly use murder as a means to get others out of their way because they cannot see any other option. In Greek mythology, we find that killing someone is the only way to truly remove him or her from the picture; whenever someone chickens out and doesn’t see it through, the victim always comes back to fulfill the dreaded prophecy.

But we also find that those who are wrongfully murdered refuse to keep quiet about it. In Shakespeare’s Hamlet, for instance, the King’s ghost tells Hamlet that Claudius murdered him and demands vengeance. In “Legacy of Hate,” the restless spirit takes a more active role, possessing the body of Asquith (if we can accept such an explanation), believing he can trust no one else to avenge him. It is unclear at the end of the story whether or not the curse is broken, leaving Batman to ponder the true nature of the “haunting.”

Neal Adams provided an irresistible cover for this issue, appropriating the story’s splash page and giving it even greater dramatic flair. The art, by Bob Brown and Dick Giordano, makes good use of both the castle’s interior and exterior to frame the story and create a sense of unsettling wonder by blurring the lines between history and modern day.

As the plot summary can attest, writer Frank Robbins gave us another winner with this one. I'm sorry to say that it has not been reprinted at this point.

Detective Comics 403

In the landmark Batman #217 (December 1969), the issue that is recognized as having ushered in the Dark Knight’s Bronze Age, Bruce Wayne outlines his new strategies for dealing with crime, as well as his initiative for protecting the victims, who are all too often left out in the cold even when cases are successfully closed. The former is the bailiwick of Batman, while the latter is that of Bruce. Even though they are two sides of the same coin, the Caped Crusader and his civilian alter ego are distinct personas, and it is this duality that allows one to operate during the daylight hours and the other at night, thus doubling his effectiveness. (The question of when he’s supposed to sleep is addressed later on.)  

The “special assistance” initiative, sponsored by the Wayne Foundation, is dubbed V. I. P. (Victims, Inc. Program). It often serves a dual purpose, as the victims who come seeking Wayne’s help are also unwittingly apprising Batman of the injustices they’ve suffered. I’m sure that Bruce considered this when he established the program. After all, even though the Masked Man-hunter is usually several steps ahead of the criminals in Gotham (and elsewhere), he still appreciates the fact that getting the “inside scoop” from the horse’s mouths saves him a lot of footwork and the necessity of relying on his network of informants. 

As Detective Comics #403, “You Die by Mourning,” opens, a woman identifying herself as Mrs. Randall appeals to Bruce concerning the death of her husband, Laird. When he remarks that he was unaware of the incident, she tells him that his death hasn’t occurred yet, but it will soon. As she reaches into her purse to pull out a handkerchief, a pistol tumbles out onto the desktop. Startled, she turns and flees from the office, leaving a perplexed Bruce in her wake. 

That evening, Batman visits the home of the only Laird Randall in the phonebook and, peering through the window, finds the mysterious woman he encountered earlier (whose name, we discover, is Angie) looking happy as she gets ready for a costume party. Her husband, still very much alive, has dressed himself as the “Ghost of Dracula” (whatever that means), and despite the incident in Bruce’s office, things seem all right. We learn that they are headed to a party at a “haunted house,” having been invited by an unknown host. A horse-drawn carriage arrives to whisk them to the soiree, and even though Angie is initially unsettled, the couple soon begins to appreciate the romantic ride. 

Things turn sour when a car tears out of the woods and pursues the carriage. The coachman takes this opportunity to leap from the vehicle, as men in the car begin firing on it. Batman, who has been “stowing away” on the carriage’s underbelly, tosses a smoke grenade at the car, impairing the driver’s vision, causing him to crash into a tree. Batman climbs onto the horse’s back to calm the animal, bringing the carriage to a halt. The coachman, unnerved by the Dark Knight’s appearance, rushes back to the carriage, explaining to the Randalls that he panicked when the car began chasing them and promises to get them to the party. At this point, Batman rules Angie out as a suspect, since she had just as much to lose as her husband. 

Batman interrogates the men in the wrecked car and finds that they don’t know the name of their employer, as they received the down payment for the hit in the mail. They were supposed to receive the rest of the money at the “haunted house” because, as Batman deduces, the Randalls were never supposed to arrive. Knocking out the gunmen, he rushes to catch the coach, realizing that Laird and Angie are in terrible danger. 

When the carriage pulls up to the house, the couple remarks that it appears abandoned, and the driver tells them that they are, in fact, the only “guests” and that he is the host.  He leads them inside the crumbling building at gunpoint and reveals himself as Van Paxton, the crooked owner of a rival paving firm. He had previously tried to strong-arm Laird into dropping out of the bidding for a lucrative contract, but the latter had refused. As he fires his pistol, a woman appears seemingly out of nowhere and dives in front of the bullet. 

It turns out that woman is Audrey, Angie’s twin sister and unhappy wife of Paxton. Batman shows up and subdues Paxton, revealing that he realized there had to be a twin since Angie was clearly unaware of her husband’s impending murder. It was Audrey who had appealed to V. I. P., posing as Laird’s “widow,” because even though she hadn’t spoken to Angie in years (due to her husband’s mob connections) she couldn’t bear the thought of Laird’s being killed. His plans foiled, Paxton attempts to escape but falls through the rotten floorboards and is strangled by his scarf. 

The case is solved, but Batman is left feeling dejected, as he failed to prevent Audrey’s death. 

Artistically, Detective #403 is a good representation of the change, still in its incipient stages, from the Silver Age to the Bronze. Bob Brown and Frank Giacoia do an adequate job in telling the story, and you can tell that they’ve taken a cue from Neal Adams and Dick Giordano in trying to give the art an updated look. DC had a “house style” during the Silver Age, based largely on Carmine Infantino and Curt Swan’s styles, and when someone is accustomed to drawing this way it can be a tough pattern to break. (Recall that Marvel’s management wanted everyone to draw like Jack Kirby during the same time. No offense to Kirby, but, thankfully, this likewise changed as it became clear that the 1970s was going to be a decade of “moving forward” for comics.)

 

The cover of this issue, brilliantly rendered by Adams (does this guy have an aptitude for composition, or what?), succeeds in summarizing its contents without giving away any of the plot. There is a very clear suggestion of malice on the part of the deceased woman’s spirit, which is, of course, in contrast to the story, but it encapsulates, at least on a metaphorical level, the anguish that Batman experiences at not having been able to save Audrey’s life. 

 

The impetus behind the Dark Knight’s actions has always been the pursuit of justice, and when it is not done it puts him right back in the alley with his parents’ bullet-riddled corpses: helpless, alone, tears streaming down his young face. He knows what it’s like to be a victim, and he doesn’t want anyone else to have to go through that.

 

This issue has only been reprinted once, in Showcase Presents: Batman volume 5, which is unfortunate because the story, by Frank Robbins, is very solid and, unlike many comic stories, leaves the reader with something to think about. I really wish DC would publish a monthly reprint title of Batman’s Bronze Age (like Marvel used to do with Spider-Man in Marvel Tales), but, unfortunately, the historically low sales of reprint books coupled with the proliferation of trade paperbacks, the preferred reprint vehicle, makes this unlikely.

Detective Comics 408

Batman has a relationship with the Gothic that goes all the way back to Detective Comics #29 (1939).  

Around that time, seminal horror films such as Frankenstein (and its sequels), Dracula, and the various adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories (The Black Cat) and poetry (The Raven), all of which have strong Gothic elements, were immensely popular at the box office. Horror as a distinct genre did not yet exist (the work of its practitioners at the time, which included such writers as H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and August Derleth, was lumped into the category of “weird fiction”), but audiences clearly responded enthusiastically to its tropes. Terror is a powerful emotion, and filmmakers lined their pockets again and again by enticing moviegoers with the dark romances of nineteenth-century literature.

Horace Walpole’s novella The Castle of Otranto (1764) singlehandedly laid the groundwork for Gothic fiction (mystery, the supernatural, dark secrets, curses, svelte females in nightgowns), and authors have used its motifs in various ways ever since. The one thing that almost all Gothic stories share, however, is the building, be it manse, castle, or office block. The evil needs somewhere to set up shop, after all. In many stories, the building itself is a character (Shirley Jackson’s 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House being an excellent example), although the source of its sentience may be obscure. These things don’t always have to be explained, and it’s actually often more effective if they’re not. 

It makes perfect sense that comic-book writers would recognize the value of the Gothic, as well. 

As I’ve mentioned before, Batman was originally designed to be the antithesis of Superman. His early adventures pitted him against vampires, madmen, zombies, and other characters we associate with horror. Many of his cases took him away from Gotham City (even though “Gotham” is an alternate name for New York City, I’m sure the creators’ decision to use this name was no accident) to shadowy locations and cobwebby castles filled with hidden passageways, spooky statuary, and chandeliers dripping with the paraffin of blood-red candles. Like the winged mammal from which he took his name, Batman mostly stayed out of sight during the daylight hours. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long, and by the early 1940s his “dark avenger of the night” persona was scrapped. Thankfully, he regained it in 1970. 

Several of Batman’s Bronze-Age stories take place in creepy residences, but Detective Comics #408, “The House That Haunted Batman,” puts an interesting spin on the concept. Writers Len Wein and Marv Wolfman immediately draw the reader into the story by “talking” directly to him, via the captions, as if he were the main character. This technique had been used in comics before, notably in Stan Lee and Bill Everett’s “Zombie” in Menace #5 (1953), and there are probably instances of it in earlier superhero comics, but, regardless of its originality or lack thereof, it elicits a visceral response from the reader because rather than just reading about Batman, he has become Batman. 

As in Batman #246 (see previous article), Robin has been kidnapped by an unknown party from Hudson University and is being used as bait for the Dark Knight. The story opens with Batman’s arrival at a “dusty old mansion” on the outskirts of Gotham City. What makes it particularly strange is that it wasn’t there last week. How the hell does a huge house just appear out of nowhere? You can be certain that the situation is only going to get weirder. 

Soon after entering, Batman finds his ward standing alone in a darkened corridor. The Boy Wonder collapses, and when the Caped Crusader catches him, Robin immediately decomposes into sand, which runs through Batman’s fingers. Before he can deal with this, Batman is compelled to rush up the stairs to locate the source of a piercing scream. It turns out to be a phonograph recording, but as he lifts the needle someone fires on him. Pursuing the assailant, Batman finds Robin holding the gun.

Falling backwards to avoid the bullets, the Dark Knight slips into a hidden chamber and complete darkness. When he lights a match, he beholds a bizarre scene: his own body in a coffin, surrounded by his friends and allies (Superman, Commissioner Gordon, Robin, et al.), who take turns proclaiming how Batman was a worthless, fraudulent crime fighter, which greatly upsets him. His match goes out, and when he manages to light another, he finds the deathly tableau gone and the walls closing in on him.  

At this juncture, the visions he has been experiencing fade away, and he finds himself trapped in a glass tube. Robin is likewise encapsulated nearby. On a monitor in front of them, Batman recognizes the face of Dr. Tzin-Tzin, the master illusionist, a villain he originally faced in Detective Comics #354 (1966). This is noteworthy because prior to this point in the Bronze Age, Batman had never encountered an established supervillain (though it’s arguable whether one previous appearance constitutes establishment). All of his foes were one-off criminals that met their ends at a given issue’s conclusion. The Joker, Two-Face, Catwoman, and the other members of his rogues’ gallery would not show up until later. (Tzin-Tzin appears again in Batman #s 284 and 285, but we’ll examine those issues in a future article, I’m sure.) 

In any event, Batman manages to escape and takes out the illusionist’s goons. Disgusted with whole situation and accepting the fact that none of his schemes have succeeded, Tzin-Tzin descends into the chamber, intending to take the Dark Knight out the old-fashioned way: with a bullet. Before he can fire his gun, however, Robin subdues him from behind. The reunited partners restrain their foe and take him to the Batmobile, but he distracts them with one final illusion and gets away. Then, without warning, the mysterious house bursts into flame. 

In Batman’s earliest Bronze-Age adventures, ghosts were, by all appearances, real, but as time went on the writers changed their minds about this and decided that the supernatural elements in the stories should be explained away in some fashion, perhaps to make things more believable (as if a man battling criminals in a bat suit is plausible). In the case of this story, Batman’s bizarre visions are illusions created by Tzin-Tzin, which is reasonable enough, although I personally have no problem with the idea of actual ghosts. I’m reminded of the fiction of American author Henry James (which was itself Gothic); some of his stories, such as The Turn of the Screw, feature spectres, but literary critics have suggested that they are either metaphorical or illusory. (Whatever, says I.)  

In any event, the “source” of the visions isn’t really important. What matters is that they are, by nature, Gothic. The house is labyrinthine, and the pervasive darkness operates as a disorienting, almost tangible, presence. The unsettling image of Batman’s corpse lying in a coffin and his subsequent “entombment” (Poe’s “The Premature Burial” comes to mind) are, arguably, about as Gothic as it gets. At one point, a suit of armor is even used as a shield (bear in mind that Walpole’s inspiration for Otranto was Medieval Romance). 

Neal Adams’ art in this issue is, of course, dynamic. That almost goes without saying.

 

Want this story? (The correct answer is “yes,” incidentally.) You can find it reprinted in Batman Illustrated by Neal Adams volume 2 (now in paperback) and Detective Comics #477. The first one is your best bet, really.

Detective Comics 404

When it comes to storytelling, it’s hard to go wrong with a plot involving a “cursed” film production.

Other than the fact that some people believe this is a real thing (see Poltergeist), it’s just inherently entertaining. We savor the idea of someone’s spirit’s having been disturbed or angered by the perceived audacity of a filmmaker who wants to explore a story that is apparently better left alone. Superstitions like this one fascinate us because they ostensibly indicate the influence of mysterious forces that somehow manipulate the world as we know it and imbue it with a species of logic that we can never possibly understand. They let us peek behind the curtain, but we only see shadowed figures moving about, and their movements are inscrutable.

This idea predates the invention of film. After all, who can forget the taboo of saying Macbeth in a theater? It’s just that movies are now an indispensable aspect of our culture and are, as such, always in the public consciousness. I have no idea where this idea first showed up, but the first time I encountered it was, like so many things, in an episode of Scooby-Doo. It’s been ages since I’ve seen it, and all I can remember about it is that a monstrous gorilla was trying to wreck a movie. I don’t recall what was supposed to have pissed the gorilla off, but, as with all Scooby-Doo episodes, it turned out that there was an ulterior motive and that the gorilla was just used to distract people from what was really going on. It was disappointing, if predictable, when the gorilla was unmasked as the stuntman or something, but it was undeniably interesting before the “reveal.”

In Detective Comics #404, “Ghost of the Killer Skies,” Bruce Wayne is in Spain overseeing the production of a film that he is helping finance. (We accept this premise because Bruce has an insane amount of money and probably gets bored from time to time.) It becomes clear right off the bat (no pun intended) that things are not going as planned when a plane being used in the movie crashes into the side of a mountain and bursts into flames. Batman (for reasons that are not entirely clear) witnesses the crash and pulls the pilot out of the fiery wreckage, only to find that he has been strangled.

The director, Anson (I assume this is his surname, as it is the only name he is ever given), and the cameraman, Gavin, quickly arrive on the scene, and, regarding the burning plane and dead pilot, the former remarks that there has been “nothing but trouble since [they] started.”

“Props,” he continues, “are missing…film-stock catches fire…sound tracks get accidentally erased…and now this.” (You know: the kinds of things that directors get upset about.) Having changed back into his civilian identity, Bruce proposes that a meeting be called to assess the situation and see what steps can be taken to get things back on track.

The film, tentatively titled The Hammer of Hell, concerns German pilot Baron Hans von Hammer (known to Silver-Age DC fans as Enemy Ace). Over budget and facing competition from similar productions, Anson considers abandoning the film, but Bruce maintains that it’s a unique story that needs to be told.

During the meeting, Heinrich Franz, the film’s “technical expert,” shows up, suggesting that the film should be shelved, as he believes von Hammer’s ghost is plaguing its production. Bruce goes back to his hotel to do some research and finds that Franz is a dead ringer for von Hammer. Donning his costume, he heads to the set under the cloak of darkness to investigate and finds a group of men trying to destroy the planes with dynamite.

After dispatching the perpetrators, Batman realizes that Gavin is behind the sabotage attempt and confronts him in his trailer, revealing that he knows a rival film company paid him off.  Suddenly, shots ring out, and Anson collapses in the doorway, claiming that the ghost of von Hammer fired on him. Gavin absconds, but Batman subdues him just in time to hear the roar of plane engines. Turning around, the Dark Knight finds the “ghost” holding him at gunpoint.

It comes as no surprise that the mastermind behind the attacks is Franz. A descendant of von Hammer, he believes that the film is an insult to the memory of his ancestor. Rather than shoot Batman outright, Franz agrees to engage in an aerial dogfight with him. It becomes clear in short order that Franz is the superior pilot (coupled with the fact that he has a Luger), but Batman relies on his instincts and quick thinking. Leaping from his plane, the Caped Crusader latches on to the wing of Franz’s craft and attempts to wrench the gun from his foe’s grasp. The struggle concludes when Franz’s scarf gets snagged in the propeller, and he falls to his death.

Batman lands and ruminates on how the love of war, with which Franz was clearly inflicted, is a destructive thing indeed.

Written by Denny O’Neil and illustrated by Neal Adams and Dick Giordano, “Ghost of the Killer Skies” is really a love letter to the Enemy Ace stories of Joe Kubert and Robert Kanigher and is frequently considered a classic in Batman’s canon. Adams’ dynamic storytelling and photorealistic renderings give the story a cinematic feel (appropriately enough) that synthesizes the essence of its source material and pushes it to levels never believed possible. Bear in mind that while Adams’ art still impresses us today, when it was new it was nothing short of revolutionary. The amount of detail he packs into each panel is staggering, and the characters seem so real that they virtually leap off the page. No other artist could have done this story justice.

This story has been reprinted in numerous places, including Batman Illustrated by Neal Adams volume 2, The Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told, and Showcase Presents: Batman volume 5.

Batman 246

Criminals always seem to want to mess with the Batman.

His reputation as a crime-fighter, peerless detective, and guardian of Gotham City makes him the frequent target of oddball schemes, cooked up by criminals with varying agendas, designed to test his patience, resourcefulness, and mettle. As far as crooks are concerned, defeating—or perhaps even killing—the Dark Knight is the ultimate goal, and the more ingenious the means by which they achieve it, the better. Torment him before you deal the killing blow; make him pay for his one-man crusade against Gotham’s underworld.

Illustrated by the team of Irv Novick, Dick Dillin, and Dick Giordano, Batman #246 (1972), “How Many Ways Can a Robin Die?” is a full-length tale that sees the Caped Crusader pushed almost to the breaking point by an elusive criminal who clearly understands Batman’s capabilities and exploits them for his own purposes.

Our story opens with Batman returning home after the successful completion of a case. He is perplexed by the sudden appearance of the Bat signal, which is originating from somewhere on the other side of the city rather than from police headquarters.

When he arrives at the source, he finds Robin tied to the tower on the top of a high building. As Batman tries to sort the situation out while climbing the ladder to rescue his ward, an arrow flies past him and right into the Boy Wonder’s chest. His body plummets to the roof as Batman looks for cover in case the shooter plans to fire again. Tracing the arrow’s origin to a vent, he finds that it was activated remotely and investigating Robin’s body finds that his captured ally is merely a dummy. A note bound to the arrow’s shaft informs the Dark Knight that a similar incident will occur the following evening.

Worried that the real Robin could be mixed up in all of this, Batman rushes to a phone and is dismayed to discover that his landlady has not seen him in twenty-four hours. He proceeds to check around, and finds that none of Dick’s friends have seen him lately either. The potential for Robin’s actual death has, at this point, become very real, and Batman knows that he must play along with the perpetrator.

Having figured out the location of the next “murder” (thanks to a clue intentionally left by the attacker), Batman takes the Bat copter to a charity event, where the main attraction is a magician who calls himself Chandra (?!) the Magnificent. During his act, he stabs Robin with a sword but manages to elude the Caped Crusader with his conjurer’s trickery. It comes as little surprise that this Robin is also a dummy. A note impaled on the sword tells Batman that another such incident will take place the following night.

Again working out the clue, Batman makes his way to the fog-shrouded wharf. He has no sooner arrived than Robin is thrown from the dock with a block of cement tied to his ankles. Batman suspects that it’s just another dummy, but he realizes that he can’t take that chance. He dives into the water and finds that this Robin is not the real deal, either. This time there is no clue, but assessing the events leads Batman to the right conclusion.

The next night in St. Elmo’s graveyard (what is it with Batman and graveyards?), the Caped Crusader finds an open mausoleum, wherein another Robin effigy has been hanged. A barred door slams behind him as he studies the dummy, and by now, our hero has reached his wit’s end. He manages to escape and, suspecting a connection between all of the “murders,” calls the warden of Gotham State Prison. It turns out that a mass murderer that Batman sent "up the river" was recently released on a technicality, and Batman knows that he must be the one behind all of this.

The Dark Knight determines that the killer, Emil Ravek, has returned to the location of his final crime before going to the slammer, the Waxworks Murder Museum, fittingly enough. This time, he has the real Robin bound and drugged and plans to behead him with the guillotine. (Why a real working guillotine would be in a wax museum is beyond me.) Batman pleads with the killer to revenge himself upon him rather than Robin, but Ravek explains that he’d rather see Batman suffer by witnessing his partner slain. Batman hurls a metal tray to stop the blade’s descent, but the criminal madman, undeterred, grabs an executioner’s axe from an exhibit with which to do the deed. Too slow to match the reflexes of his foe, however, Ravek falls onto the scales of a giant statue of Lady Justice, defeated.

Everything about this issue fits the idiom of Bronze-Age Batman perfectly. The artwork is dynamic, and there is an almost palpable air of mystery and menace permeating each page. I found the inclusion of the magician and the wax museum to be particularly effective, as, from a metaphorical standpoint, both involve illusion. Moreover, the “swords through the box” trick that Ravek performs on stage at the charity event perfectly parallels the coda of the story, which occurs in what is essentially a chamber of horrors.

Ravek himself is actually a fairly terrifying antagonist. When Batman finally confronts him at the museum, he is clad in executioner’s garb, and his hooded visage is frightening to behold. As I have pointed out before, Batman’s rogues’ gallery had not been “introduced” at this juncture, and villains, interesting though they might be, typically only lasted one issue (Dr. Darkk, original leader of the League of Assassins, being a notable exception).

As we have seen, Robin was not “eliminated” during the Bronze Age; he and Batman were merely separated for the most part, which allowed Batman to become a “darker” character and, at the same time, to give Dick an opportunity to make his own way in the world, to find his own identity (which he eventually did). In this issue, they don’t work as a team, and Robin is really little more than a plot device, which, as a non-fan of the Boy Wonder, suits me just fine.

The cover, by Dick Giodano (frequently misattributed to Neal Adams), is extremely effective, and I have no doubt that this comic flew off the racks. I’m sure that no one honestly believed that Robin perished in the issue, but an illustration like this one is always irresistible.

Definitely a cool issue.

Again, as if often the case with Bronze-Age books, a copy of the original will set you back a pretty penny (unless you get lucky in an eBay auction like I did), but you can find the story reprinted in Batman: The Greatest Stories Ever Told volume 2 and Showcase Presents: Robin the Boy Wonder volume 1.

Detective Comics 397

During the Bronze Age, many of DC’s comics split their page counts between two or more characters. This was particularly true in the case (no pun intended) of Detective Comics. It made sense in a way, though, because Detective was originally an anthology about various sleuthing types rather than a Batman title (just as Action Comics was not originally exclusively a Superman book). I don’t understand why DC didn’t just do away with Detective as a title when it rebooted its entire line in 2011, since it’s been just a Batman book pretty much since the late ‘80s, but whatever.  

The cover of Detective #397 clearly states that it features both Batman and Batgirl, so it should come as no surprise that almost a third of the book features no Batman whatsoever. Quite honestly, I almost never bother reading the non-Batman stories, as they focus on characters that don’t interest me and are frequently executed by second- or third-tier creative teams; I can’t help but think of these stories as filler. I mean, there may be Elongated Man fans out there, but I’ve never encountered one.

The reason I mention this is that many of the Batman stories of this period were short, typically fifteen pages or so. Modern comics, which are usually twenty-two pages, tend to have fewer captions and fewer panels per page because of the trend for stories to be spread out over several issues. In Bronze-Age stories, writers had less to work with, so they put in a lot of exposition to allow the stories to take place over several days. In other words, the immediacy that we associate with many modern comics didn’t exist because the stories would be over too quickly, leaving readers dissatisfied. The stories had to be broken up into chunks in order to keep the pace under control, with the gutters (space between panels) serving as literary speed bumps.

Maggie Thompson of Comics Buyer’s Guide (may its soul rest in peace) refers to these types of comics as “done in one,” though I don’t know whether or not she came up with the term. The idea is that a story is self-contained; it does not continue in the next issue. It exists within a bubble of sorts. Everything is resolved at the end. While references to the story may appear in future issues, it essentially stands on its own. There are, of course, a few exceptions to this standard, but they are just that, exceptions.

Despite what the cover of Detective #397 (illustrated by perennial favorite Neal Adams) might lead you to believe, the Batman story within, “Paint a Picture of Peril” (by Denny O’Neil, Adams, and Dick Giordano), is not about a man’s desire for a ghost but, rather, explores the potential for a jilted lover to go completely off the deep end.

Our story opens the evening before Gotham’s annual Marine Festival charity event. Four men in wetsuits emerge from the harbor, intent on stealing a painting from the art exhibit. Batman shows up and takes one of the men out before another threatens to kill the hapless guard they had knocked out earlier. Having the Caped Crusader at a disadvantage, two of the men shoot him with harpoons, and he plunges into the water. Their mission accomplished, the frogmen dive back into the harbor and disappear.

As he often does, Batman was pretending to be more injured than he actually was, although he caught the point of one of the spears in the bicep, making it impossible for him to pursue the men. He does find, however, that the painting that was stolen was the least valuable in the collection, the image of a mermaid.

When he returns to the penthouse in his Bruce Wayne guise, he finds that the cleaning lady has left the television on, and, as he tends to his wound, he halfway listens to a documentary about the mysterious Orson Payne, whose opera-singer fiancée disappeared, the heartbreak of which compelled him to become a recluse. When the cleaning lady returns, she switches the set off, disgusted.

While underwater, Batman noticed that the nearby seaweed was glowing, indicating that a nuclear sub had been nearby. His arm healed well enough to investigate, he returns to the harbor with an undersea craft and follows the trail of radiation left in the sub’s wake. It leads him to Payne’s luxurious castle. Looking in the window, he finds the eccentric recluse talking to an array of artworks, all of which appear to be modeled after the same woman.

The Caped Crusader makes his presence known, and Payne, clearly insane, admits that he collects paintings and sculptures that resemble Caterina Valence, his lost love. He explains that he has to steal the artworks because the owners refuse to sell them. He takes a crossbow down from the wall and fires a bolt at Batman and then flees. Hidden from the Dark Knight’s view, Payne pulls a level that releases a trapdoor, and Batman falls into a pit. The madman then pulls another lever, which lowers a two-ton block of stone over the cavity, intending to drop it into the hole.

Thinking quickly, Batman escapes and finds that Payne, in his desperation, has gone completely mad. An apparition of Caterina appears, and he follows it off a high balcony. Batman manages to save him just in time and has him taken away to the state mental hospital.

The next morning, the cleaning lady finds Bruce watching a news report about Payne’s capture and turns the television off. A thought striking him, he asks her if she was once an opera singer, and she tells him that she was but gave it up because she was in a toxic relationship with, you guessed it, our art-loving madman.

The setup of this story works really well. Any time a crime is committed in which a thief purloins an object of ostensibly insignificant worth, the story always works well because it makes the reader question the nature of the concept of value. Why are gold and jewels, for example, so valuable? Because they’re shiny and rare. People like them, and they show status, which many find appealing. The mermaid painting, along with the other artworks, is priceless to Payne because he is fixated on an ideal that escaped him, that he drove away. He ascribes value to the images of Caterina to fill the void in his soul. Outside of the original owners, few people would find the pieces worthwhile. It’s something to consider.

It goes without saying that the art in this issue is fantastic. Adams, ever the versatile artist, masterfully captures both the menace of Payne and the quotidian interactions between Bruce and his cleaning lady. There has been a lot of discussion over whose inks worked best with Adams’ pencils, but I’ll forever be in the camp that prefers Giordano (no offense to Tom Palmer).

Like all of the issues of Batman and Detective that Adams illustrated during the Bronze Age, an original of this issue, especially in reasonable grade, will require a second mortgage, but, thankfully it can be found reprinted in Batman Illustrated by Neal Adams volume two (now in paperback) and the phonebook-sized yet economical Showcase Presents: Batman volume five.

Batman 267

There are few more iconic or compelling images than the Grim Reaper. Dating back to the fifteenth century, the cloaked skeleton, often wearing a devilish grin, automatically brings to mind death in general and graveyards and all the trappings that go along with them in a larger sense. 

The cover of Batman #267 (1975) uses the hooded personification of death to spectacular effect. The fact that the Reaper is larger than Batman is not only striking but also works on a metaphorical level. He is a giant that must be slain, and the Dark Knight may have to go into battle less well-equipped than his foe. The glowing invitation, being hurled like a shuriken, suggests the immediacy of the situation, the extreme danger, and the fact that Batman will have to be at the very top of his game to avoid a horrible fate. (Not bad for a “funny-book,” huh?)  

This tale, “Invitation to a Murder,” is penned by David V. Reed, chronicler of many of Batman’s Bronze-Age adventures. Having read quite a few of his stories, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from this one. Opinions of Reed’s stories vary wildly, but the one thing I’m sure everyone can agree on is that he spins yarns that stretch the Caped Crusader’s detective skills to the limit. His stories are usually fairly implausible, and Batman’s ability to successfully close a case often relies heavily on chance, but they’re always entertaining and intriguing. 

Our tale opens with Commissioner Gordon’s receiving a mysterious glowing letter. It is, strangely enough, an invitation to a robbery at the Jewelers’ Exchange Building at midnight. Gordon, of course, immediately summons Batman. The glow, the Caped Crusader deduces, is attributable to a chemical the envelope has been soaked in, but it fails to elucidate the situation any. Gordon orders the building surrounded, but at the stroke of midnight the edifice bursts into flames.  

Fire-fighters rush to the scene, and when Batman scales the building to investigate, he finds them in the midst of a heist. Bursting through a window, the Dark Knight sets about apprehending the ersatz firemen but succumbs to smoke sprayed on him by one of the perpetrators, and they make a clean getaway.

The following night, Gordon receives another note. This one is an invitation to the airport to witness the landing of an experimental aircraft, after a thirty-three-hour flight around the globe. As soon as the plane touches down, a member of the service crew holds the pilot and copilot at gunpoint, demanding that they take the craft back into the air so he can hold them for a huge ransom. Batman, having boarded during a refueling stop, subdues two of the hijackers, but the third steals a parachute and jumps from the plane. 

Based on the clues he’s collected, and with Alfred’s help, Batman works out the criminal mastermind’s identity: a man known as Django (no, not the “unchained” one). When the Caped Crusader visits police headquarters to apprise Gordon of his conclusions, the commissioner hands him another luminescent invitation, this one to a rock festival at Gotham Palace, where the attendees will witness Batman’s execution.  

The Dark Knight shows up at the venue as Bruce Wayne and does a bit of schmoozing before donning his costume. Watching the concert from the catwalk, he quickly recognizes the disguised Django, based on his actions, and follows him off the stage. Confronted, he initially denies everything but drops the charade when Batman informs him that he has deactivated the explosive devices that he attached to the invitations of Waxey Kruger and Big Jim Cody, Gotham’s two top mobsters, who had attended the event to see the Batman expire. 

Django tears off his mask, holding aloft a pair of finger cymbals, which he claims will detonate a similar device that he planted on Batman during the fight in the burning building. He commands the Caped Crusader to remove his cowl so that he can learn his identity before he kills him but is shocked to see his own face underneath. (This mirrors a scene in Detective Comics #355, “Hate of the Hooded Hangman,” where the titular Hangman similarly finds his own visage when he removes Batman’s mask.)  Django clicks the cymbals together, but nothing happens, as Batman had defused the device a couple of nights before. Realizing he has been caught, he makes once last attempt at escape but finds himself no match for the Batman. 

His plan, it turns out, was to eliminate Batman, Kruger, and Cody all at one time so he could take over Gotham’s criminal underworld. With everything wrapped up, Gordon asks Batman how Django managed to plant the invitations, and Batman is forced to admit that he’s still trying to work that part out. 

The art chores for this story are handled by Ernie Chan and Dick Giordano. Both are talented artists, certainly, but I’m not sure that they work particularly well together, as their styles vary greatly. The art manages to tell the story effectively, and there are a few really nice panels, but there is nothing eye-popping here. Readers seeking dazzling illustrations should look elsewhere. 

I appreciate the fact that Reed manages to cover all the bases, as it were, explaining how Batman worked out the perpetrator’s identity and how he managed to deduce the significance of clues. Batman is frequently called the “World’s Greatest Detective,” and Reed’s stories certainly provide credence to his right to the title. Coincidence does play a part, but it’s up to Batman to determine how everything fits together. 

Overall, a good issue.