The impact early Frank Miller had on Batman media and the world of graphic novels is palpable decades later still, even to the most uninitiated. Many deem his incarnation of the character to be the definitive one - tired, gritty, restless and uncompromising, looming over Gotham not as a slick, vigilant shadow, but a bulky, growling rook, ready to crash down any time. People have almost come to expect this cold despondency and nihilism from other authors' works, but because I grew up religiously revering the Schumacher films, I don't personally feel much of a connection with Miller's Batman. ...With the exception of Batman: Year One. A book so perfectly complete, so satisfyingly whole and competent, so sharply written and terse, it almost makes me wish it was it's own thing entirely, free of the cape crusader's tropes and character limitations. A story, which may be simple in the big picture, but so intricate in how it's told. Beautiful, poetic and philosophical, yet gritty, raw and cold. A true perfect storm of opposite fronts clashing gloriously across this 4-issue page turner. It sets itself up with an amazing introduction to Gotham for James and Bruce, who both enter Gotham the way they'll see it for the rest of their lives - the former via road, in the belly of the beast, the inside man - the latter from the sky, outside looking in, carefully observing, distant. It's fair to expect a similar level of storytelling throughout the book, and it absolutely does not disappoint. It's one of the very few times in Frank's career where he actually treats these characters as people. And it felt so natural, it's anyone's guess why it's such an anomaly among his works. And what's so intriguing about it til this day, is that with such a real, grounded depiction of Bruce Wayne, it really leaves you unknowing if this interpretation of the character could really become the legendary, noble Batman we've all come to know and love, or will this hideous, sickening world produce something more akin to what we've seen in DKR and DK2? It really tests your para-social relationship with the character, your empathy. Do you want to see Bruce become this nightmarish Milleresque monster tormented for your amusement, or an Adam West-like, quippy detective you can befriend and root for? A brilliant character study. Just read the flippin' thing, it's a one-evening affair and it's one you'll remember for long. Even if, like me, your bread and butter is more lighthearted superhero action. If for nothing else, at least get it for that beautiful, strangely vaudevillian, red-black cover. What a strong image to haunt the reading of this book, hot darn!

With work this revered and universally acclaimed it almost feels pretentiously contrarian to have anything bad to say about it. Given how long of a review I left here for it's sequel, I can't even think of any reason to break up this one into paragraphs. Dark Knight Returns treats it's story of obsession, legacy and perseverance like a footnote to it's sloppily drawn panels upon panels of clichė dystopian socio-political babble, flat characters with no growth or change throughout it's 4-issie run, and would-be stylish action sequences, had they been drawn by literally anyone else but Miller. There is very little here of substance - none of it's first sequel's post-modern commentary, it's second sequel's grand, epic scale, or Year One's weight and importance. I did however enjoy it in the context of it's supposed cult following and resonance in further Batman media. It was nice to trace the Cape Crusader's dark side to it's roots. Even mere holding it in my hands felt strangely important. It's a mysterious and mystic allure, I just wish there was something more tangible to it once you actually read through it. Also, "balls nasty". What a ring it has! It's gotta be Millers most "Miller" line of dialogue ever.

Dark Knight Strikes Again looks vagrantly crass and ugly, at times unbareable to read or even look at. Period. Yet once I got through a couple dozen of it's hideous pages, I found it had a certain unexpected hold over me, leaving me invested on until the final panel, exposing a very unapologetic, uncompromising and viscious character. And while I still believe this 3-issue series is a comicbooky equivalent of a renal colic - the dust has settled, all these negative sentiments have long ben uttered again and again, and I found a renewed interest in salvaging whatever good may be here. And to a degree, I did. And I feel like some of the criticism, while accurate, may have missed the actual point of the book. Now, one thing to know is - this is not your average superhero affair. And it should be very well communicated to any poor soul who ventures to read through this mess for the first time. DK2 aims to deconstruct the genre in a true post-modern fashion, which is to say it wants to be more of a commentary on the medium, rather it's product. Frank Miller wanted us to percieve his characters as the twisted, demented and unstable people that they would apparently be, if any formulaic comicbook restraints were removed. To achieve that, the artwork is distorted, panels often lack backgrounds, texture or color, people's expressions sometimes resemble those of old timey cartoon characters from the likes of Tex Avery or Hanna & Barbera, and certain pages look straight out of a bad acid trip. And I believe this book - it's story, it's characters, it's themes - certainly wouldn't work without this cloud of crazy looming over it. ...But I don't really think it works very well WITH it either. The crazines feels as much a part of this book, as does the cape and cowl, and to have it removed and be drawn by a more coherent hand, it would rid this book of any identity or point it tries to make. But it's simply overbearing, it's an assault on the senses and it intrudes on every moment of immersion you could muster out of reading this thing. It's in the way. So It's really a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" type deal with DK2 - it's trying to be a Watchmen-style commentary on the medium itself, but where Watchmen, despite it's reserve, had respect for the graphic novel format, Dark Knight Strikes Again is just too dispondent, hopeless and flat-out mean to it's reader. It's why I think it's the comicbook equivalent of Metal Machine Music or Michael Snow's Wavelength, and as such should be treated more as a cruiousity rather than an actual entry into a Batman hall of fame. One thing is sure tho - much like a renal colic - I'll remember it for the rest of my life. Oh, I sure will. And an emotional roller-coaster like that's gotta be worth something. At least a 4/10.

A great story with twists and turns page after page - crime, detectivey stuff, gangs, mafia, villains, romance, explosions, alliances, backstabbings - it's all great stuff. The back cover, it's list of celebrity recomendations, along with decades of accumulated, worldwide praise have made picking up this book feel like I was pulling the mighty Excalibur out of the rocky peak of Mt. Doom. But getting from the first panel all the way to that back cover was a series of letdowns and whimpers that left me completely baffled and puzzled. By far my biggest gripe in my time with The Long Halloween was the way it looked. Altogether it was just flat-out ugly. Which to some may be a small hurdle, but to others - clearly a minority - a red flag sapping enjoyment panel by panel. And unlike many cases of badly-drawn comics, I can't really put my finger on what exactly is wrong here. It's just that every panel feels unfinished. Like there's detail missing. And because of that, Gotham feels cleaner, less polluted, less chaotic than it usually does in those more dark-themed Batman stories. Every face is slick, clothes are clean, floors and walls are plain, like there was one more person on the team responsible for the finishing touches that would add grit and character to everything, but they just took a day off and the book got printed either way. Another thing is that I just feel like on top of every page being ugly and dull, each issue tries too much to be it's own story. Like Loeb and Sale were not really sure people would stick around, so they wanted each issue to stand on it's own at least a little. Which in turn results in the main, overarching narrative feeling shoved off to the side to make room for your regular villain-of-the-week stories, most of which are the same issue from issue. You could literally cut out the whole Joker book out, and it would not make a single difference. And that's fine within confines of simpler, more light-hearted stories, but with a tome as culturally relevant as this, a book that inspired what's considered by most to be the best ever Batman film - I can't shake off the feeling that The Long Halloween doesn't go all-in into being neither a solid, complete, dark detective story, nor a fun, colorful series of villain beatdowns. It's middle-of-the-road character is thus reflected in my middle-of-the-scale score. All in all, Sale and Loeb's supposed magnum opus tries to have cake and eat it too. And even if it momentarily feels like it commits to a either choice, it's still a pretty ugly, bland and flavorless cake.

Man, I love the 80's nostalgia. If only there there were at least one film, book or graphic novel that wouldn't shove 80's media and products, movie posters, song references or famous people down our throats, and instead just used the innocent 80's suburban lifestyle as a backdrop for a fun, time-bending, alien-invading, power-of-friendship story... ...So I loved every page of Paper Girls' first issue! It felt somehow refreshing, despite 80's being so colossaly played out. It was fun, it was it's own, it was wholesome and colorful and I can't wait for more!