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178 of 207 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Die Laughing, or: Our World in Greasepaint, July 3, 2001
*Batman: The Killing Joke*, apart from being Tim Burton's favorite comic book, is Alan Moore's most concentrated achievement (working in a shorter format), and, rare amongst adolescent passions, gives me the same pleasure today as it did when I was a wee boy. It is a dark, visual poem, running the gamut from high episodic drama to an interesting attempt at sentimentalism in its (definitive?) portrayal of the Batman/Joker dichotomy. Sure, Moore often falls back on trite phrases and mechanical epithets, but the book's strengths far outweigh my elitist quibbles, both in conception, writing, and visual delivery.Illustrator Brian Bolland has touched the limits of what can be done in the mainstream comic medium, surpassing even Dave Gibbons in *Watchmen* (that undisputed *Citizen Kane* of graphic novels). I've counted roughly 230 individuated facial expressions in this book's 48 pages, every cameo and minor character penciled, inked, colored, storyboarded into life, the backdrops brimming with nuance and articulated detail, the coloring as lurid and suggestive as Steven Soderbergh's color-coded triple-narrative in *Traffic*. The Joker alone is granted 62 articulated facial expressions (19 during the course of his pre-Joker psychodrama), ranging from bright, sportive lunacy (each facial shot individuated) to an almost genuine grief and sadness towards the end. The spinal-paralytic Barbara Gordon, who appears in only 26 panels, is granted a dramatic reality remarkable given her minor role in the story. The portrait of her staring in bemused horror at the Joker (standing in the hallway with Hawaiian shirt, camera, and revolver), while the scene turns "orange" in anticipation of bloodshed, is the most memorable facial expression I've ever seen rendered in a comic book. As a close runner-up, the Joker's hang-dog look on page 41, as he asks Batman sincerely, "Why aren't you laughing?", is the only *convincing* moment of unfeigned sadness the Joker has ever given us, in any comic book. The blocking and visual narrative is perfectly tuned, each panel calculated for sleek momentum and smooth dramatic economy. *The Killing Joke* is eye-candy from start to finish, and is over before you know it, leaving one to ponder the perfection of its design. As someone who once aspired to write for comics, I've meditated long and hard on how it might be "one-upped," while remaining in a commercial format, resisting the temptation for self-indulgent surrealist excess (i.e. *Arkham Asylum*). Needless to say, I've yet to come up with a solution. There is no other comic book that's done so much for the Joker, that's made him as "real," as darkly appealing a figure (almost sentimentally so). The difficulty of representing so hyperbolic a personality, and making him seem refreshingly "human," is a testament to Moore's script and Bolland's incredibly articulated visual style. The duality between Batman and the Joker is a psychodrama I'm always eager to see re-rehearsed, but by 1988, in *The Killing Joke*, the leitmotif may have reached its limit. Even *Arkham Asylum* couldn't overtake it. (And let's face it, *The Dark Knight Returns* just prostituted the Joker for an uninteresting subplot.) In the mad bacchanalia of our postmedia funhouse-culture, the Batman has become obsolete, an aging revenant that cannot keep up with the Joker's all-too-knowing take on media pathology and American theme-park culture. As Mark Dery points out, the Joker may be (superficially anyhow) Deleuze-Guattari's ideal schizophrenic, a de-centered whirlwind of morbid indulgence who never records "the same event in the same way." As the Joker confesses over the funhouse P.A. system: "Something like that happened to me, you know. I...I'm not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another. If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice! Ha ha ha!" But now I'm just being cheeky. The reader must decide for himself whether I am "overstating" the Joker's case. Moore's rough draft for the Joker was Edward Blake (a.k.a. the Comedian) in the aforementioned *Watchmen*. But despite the dramatic achievement of that character appearing drunk in Moloch's bedroom, confessing terror and obsolescence to his old enemy, Moore's Joker is far more chilling, far more suggestive, and as I mentioned, dangerously appealing. The duality between this harlequin in toxic greasepaint and that billionaire-criminologist who "dress[es] up like a flying rat" reminds me of a certain line from Cervantes: "Don Quixote is a madman and we are sane, yet he goes away sound and laughing while your Grace is left here, battered and sorrowful. I wish you would tell me now who is the crazier: the one who is so because he cannot help it, or he who turns crazy of his own free will?" Batman turns crazy to put himself on the wavelength of the villains he tracks and combats, and the consequences for him (and those he protects) are real and immediate. If Moore's thesis is correct, then it would seem that Batman *needs* the Joker, if not to rehabilitate him, well, then, simply to *contain* him, as a talisman held up in uneasy triumph against the impending waves of fin-de-millennial mass dementia. In one scene, the Joker boasts: "I've demonstrated there's no difference between me and everyone else! All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day." John Wayne Gacy would be proud. *The Killing Joke* succeeds because it is able to cloak its pretentions in a commercial format, allowing us to put our guards down just long enough for Moore and Bolland to hit us hard. It may seem silly to try and "intellectualize" comics, but as the medium develops, a more sophisticated criticism is required to play catch-up with its images and explorations, and Alan Moore has long been a figurehead worth catching up to.
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by Alan Moore
by Frank Miller
by Grant Morrison
by Brian Azzarello
by Jeph Loeb
