Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
...OR: "SECRET SHAMES
OF THE SILVER AGE OF COMICS"
(PART FIVE)
There is no greater, more iconic mainstream comics hero than the Batman.
Period.
The facts, in this particular, are inarguable; and more than adequately speak for themselves. Unlike every other would-be pretender to the throne -- Superman; Spider-Man; Captain America; Wonder Woman; as eminently worthy as they all undoubtedly have proven (and, doubtless, will continue to so prove) -- it is he, and he alone, of whom ALL of the following may truly be said:
1.) His tenacious, adamantine grip on generation after generation of readers -- young and old alike -- has continued, unabated, for nigh unto sixty consecutive YEARS, as of this writing. (Sayanora, Spidey; Cap.)
2.) Unlike his two closest four-color meta-fictive "peers": his origin, motivation and "back story" have never needed the aid of some silly everything-you-know-is-wrong "revamp" in order to remain as vital and compelling today as they were with the long-ago publication of DETECTIVE COMICS #27 (5/39). (Adios, "Man of Tomorrow"; later, "Amazon Princess.")
There are (I believe) any number of good and sufficient reasons why this should be so, of course. The Batman's origins are more steeped in tragedy and gut-wrenching childhood angst than those of virtually any other heroic character (in any storytelling medium); his sole, chill motivation (i.e., "Vengeance Is Mine"), the most universal and human.
... and -- of course; as has been repeated time and again; both here and elsewhere -- he has been singularly blessed with the all-time, hands down, no-doubt-about-it greatest "rogues' gallery" in the history of the comics medium entire.
The Joker. The Catwoman. Two-Face. The Scarecrow. Ra's al Guhl. Poison Ivy. Bane. The Penguin. Deadshot. The Riddler. Killer Croc. Hugo Strange. The Ventriloquist. Man-Bat. Mr. Zsasz. Black Mask. Anarky. Maxie Zeus. Mr. Freeze. Clayface.
... heck: I'm not even decently winded, yet. 
Occasionally, however -- every so often; every now and again -- in the course of sixty years...
... a gen-you-whine lame-o of a super-villain would slip through.
Like the guy you're about to meet, f'rinstance.
"The Monarch of Menace" (DETECTIVE COMICS #350; 4/66; writer and artist credited as "Bob Kane." Shyeah. Right.) opens up with a shot of costume-less Boy Wonder Dick Grayson (i.e., Robin) "arriving at Gotham City Airport after a visit to a friend," just in time for the luckless lad to witness his caped- and-cowled mentor confronting a trio of dynamite- toting escaped cons.
"The 'hot seat' only burns you once, Batman" the spokesman for the trio exclaims (in dialogue eerily reminiscent of the late James Cagney, circa ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES). "So what difference does it make to us -- if we add you to the two guards we already gunned down, breakin' out've 'The Big House'! Buzz off! And let this fly-guy take us up to the wild blue yonder! Or I'll plough up everyone on this field with this sizzlin' stick of TNT!"
("The Hot Seat"; "The Big House"; "Buzz Off"; "Fly-Guy"; and "The Wild
Blue Yonder"... all in one dialogue balloon, no less. And we're
only on Page One, mind. That's just gotta be worth bonus
points. Gotta be.)
Naturally, the supernaturally efficient Batman makes a quickie quiche out of his nominal opponents, leading a gushing Dick Grayson to fawningly enthuse: "You're the greatest, Batman! You're the king!"
"I hate to disappoint you, Dick," a grim Batman counters. "But -- when we get home -- I'll tell you who really is the king! Because it certainly isn't me!"
At this point, the more mentally agile (or giddily
deranged) reader might well be forgiven for intuiting a scene in which
the Darknight Detective shows the awestruck youngster his elephantine collection
of Elvis Presley memorabilia. ("Say it with me again, Dick!
Again! Only with more feeling this time, dammit! Vivaaaaaaaaa
LAS VEGAS -- !!")
However: we are treated, instead, to the sight of a grim manhunter leading his youthful squire to a framed portrait (!!) of a mind-numbingly foppish little prat tarted up in faux regalia, hanging from a wall of the fabled Bat Cave.
"In all honesty, Dick -- I have to tell you that there is the real 'King'! [sic] The Monarch of Menace! The King of Crime!"
A suitably flabbergasted Robin responds with one of the following (I know you all like playing this little game as much as I do):
1.) "Heyyyyyyy... waitaminute! What happened to the nude oil painting of Alfred that used to be right here...?"
2.) "You have just got to be yanking my 'Bat-Mite,' f'chrissakes."
3.) "Wertham was right about you, you twisted maniac! Send you a postcard when I hit Metropolis. Lay even a finger me, and I'm singin' to the JLA."
4.) "No freakin' WAY that's Jack Kirby, dude!"
Look... I have to do something while I'm waiting for the ol' "medication"
to kick in, all right...?
Back To the Pain Factory: "I can still hear his taunting laughter" (Bruce doth say unto Dick) "... as I caught him and his henchmen leaving the scene of one of his numerous bank robberies..."
(Remember the good old days of comics, when bad guys actually used
to do that sort of thing? "Robbing banks," I mean. Nowadays,
it's all "conquer the universe" this and "bend the time-space continuum
to my freakish and unbending will" that, for pity's sake. My God,
but sometimes I feel so bloody old.)
As the Batman launches himself towards the Monarch's
toga'd henchmen -- who certainly don't look as if they'd seem too terribly
out- of-place lounging about George Michael's "rumpus room," most weekends --
the Crowned Crimeboss commands them: "Teach this masked churl he
cannot approach my royal person without kneeling on bended
knee!" (As opposed, one presumes, to "kneeling" on, say, his earlobes
or somesuch. I'm just sayin', is all, here...)
"You hoid th' Monarch! Kneel!" one of the bare-legged bullyboys bellows at the charging Batman, attempting to trip the cowled crimefighter while so doing.
"Yeah!" another chimes in, brandishing a handgun. "Kneel -- before I crown yuh wit' dis heater!"
"HA -- HA -- HA!" the third and final gunsel adds,, in an agreeable, hail- fellow-well-met sort of way.
Quickly trumping the trio of knock-kneed knaves, the Batman then attempts to collar the mocking Monarch; only to discover --
... well: this is, perhaps, one of those scenes which is best allowed to incriminate itself, ultimately.
"I -- I'm stuck fast!" the Batman gasps, having (somehow; inexplicably) managed the not- inconsiderable feat of stepping precisely in the fleeing felon's footsteps.
"Cough-Cough!" the Batman wheezes, having elected (for reasons unknown and unknowable) to simply stand and watch as the Regal Rotter sprays him with some unspecified sort of "gas."
"OWWWEEE!" the Batman yodels, finally, as the Vicious Viscount dispatches him with what is (in essence) a glorified cattle-prod.
I think this must have been the BATMAN comic which (ultimately) was
solely responsible for making film director Joel Schumacher a lifelong
"Bat"-fan.
"This all happened a long time ago," a (doubtless) mortified Batman informs his junior partner; "... before you joined me in fighting crime! But -- now you see why I can't honestly be called the King of Crime- Fighters! Not while the Monarch of Menace went free as a bird!"
"I hope he comes back someday, Bruce!" the stalwart sidekick stoutly proclaims. "I'll put that 'bird' in a cage!"
Leaving the Boy Wonder to his idle daydreams, re: the complete and total annihilation of Due Process in Gotham City... we turn our attentions to Page Eight of our narrative, where we are greeted by the following caption:
"At that very moment, in a jungle hideout, the Monarch of Menace holds 'court'..."
"T'ree cheers fer th' Monarch O' Menace!" one of the crimelord's cronies offers by way of after- dinner accolade. "Th' on'y real King O' Crime who didn't wind up in th' 'hot seat'! Who flattened Batman! Who made crime pay enough to retire!"
Before said happy henchman can explicate further on the sheer, unmitigated wonderfulness of doin' the 9-to-5 thing with this guy as your employer ("Best damned 401K options in the underworld, by golly!"; "The only super-villainous hideout with on-site day care!"; "Those swell little chocolates he leaves on your bedroom pillow, each and every night!"), the Royal Rogue elects to change the topic of post-prandial patter by cocking a thumb in the direction of a frail and glum-seeming gentleman seated to his left, clad in fool's motley.
"Look at him!" the Ermine'd Evil-Doer sneers. "As wretched a jester -- as he is a failure as my soon! No more able to follow in my footsteps than if he had two left feet -- laced into one shoe -- put on backward! [sic] The Clown Prince of Fumblers!"
"You're th' greatest!" his henchmen agree, amiably. "And your son's the worst! HO -- HO -- HO!"
Having skulked his solitary way from the dinner table -- without so much as even nibbling at the jellied crab consume, mind -- the anorexic adolescent wanders lonely, like a clod; "crushed" [it says here] "by humiliation and jeering laughter."
"I've got to make them stop laughing at me!"
the nameless young nabob soliloquizes, inwardly. (Hey: you walk
around all the livelong day in a dopey-lookin' jester's hat -- with teensy li'l
bells on it, no less -- and people are just plain gonna make fun
of you... all right, Poindexter? And don't even get me started
on the little pointy-toed shoesies, f'chrissakes.)
We return once more (and not an instant too soon, for my money) to Gotham City, where a dispirited Batman is moping about the Bat Cave, sighing despondently over those long-supressed memories of having had his big blue spandexed hinder good'n'whupped by The Grand Exalted Poobah of All Goobers, ages agone.
"Sigh... sigh..."
(GAWD, but I love the Silver Age -- !!)
Returning home from a masquerade party, a few nights later ("Wait till Bruce hears I won a prize for impersonating myself!" the Boy Wonder exults.) (I like to imagine the Dark Knight's reaction involving the words "secret identity, screamed repeatedly, at the top of his lungs. And a tire iron.), Robin espies the goofily-clad figure of You-Know-Who striding with nonchalant purpose from a nearby bank; a bulging bag of ill-gotten lucre in hand.
Robin pretty much goes to town on the Royal Recidivist, indulging himself in some suitably smart-assed commentary all the while. ("Looks like you've flipped your lid, Sire!" he gloats, after sending the latter's "hypnotic crown jewels" flying with a well-tossed Batarang.)
The Teen Tornado takes the opportunity to truss up
his fallen foeman like a young tom turkey, at this juncture. ("Wh-what
are you going to do to me?" the panicky Monarch bleats, concerned --
quite understandably, I daresay -- that he's just been beaten; bound; and
blindfolded on a deserted nighttime city street by a hyper-aggressive young
roughneck in "shortie" shorts. And a mask.)
The Boy Wonder responds (see if you can pick the real one):
1.) "Take you blindfolded on a surprise visit -- before you go to jail."
2.) "Take you. Blindfolded."
3.) "Actually: Gotham City doesn't even have a jail. And I'm supposed to make it look like... you know... an 'accident,' this time."
4.) [sobbing, hysterically]: "Mommy... you died and left me alone with the CLOWNS, Mommy!" [picks up the Monarch's fallen sceptre]
"The CLOWNS!" [Begins To Do Something Unspeakable To His Opponent With Said Sceptre] "THE CLOWWWWWNNNNNNNNS -- !!"
Okay. Fine, then. Next time, you do the @#$%ing
web site. See what I say about your stuff.
A smug Boy Wonder frog-marches his hapless prisoner back to the Bat Cave.
("Looks like you'll have to take a back seat to me from now on, Batman!"
he gloats. "I got the Monarch of Menace! The criminal
kingpin who made you play second fiddle to him!") (Rough translation: "Go to bed, old man! Go to BED -- !!")
Manfully shrugging aside the urge to bounce the smart-alecky li'l runt off a conveniently-placed stalagmite or two, the Batman cannily observes: "That doesn't sound like the Monarch I met! It sounds more like --!"
... well: c'mon, now. We all know what he's going
to find when he whips off that dopey purple skullcap... right?
Yup, yup, and yup: it's actually the Monarch's inadequate
and inept offspring, from the aforementioned Page Eight; who took up
both sire's sceptre and secret identity, in order that (as he stammeringly
puts it) "I could follow in his footsteps -- make him proud of
me -- so he wouldn't laugh at me -- call me a fumbling fool!"
(Well... that certainly worked out well, didn't it...?)
Under the adoring adolescent gazes of both Boy Wonder and Boy Bonehead, the Batman studies the latter's uniquely dorky arsenal; the better to cobble up effective "counter-weaponry" versus same.
"Now," the Gotham Guardian ruminates, gazing at the
cheap, gaudy gimcracks. "How can I avoid being stuck by his super-adhesive
boots?" (Answer: try NOT stepping obligingly wherever
he steps, O Genius.) "Stunned by his sceptre?"
(Answer: Punch him in the face and head. Repeatedly.)
"Gassed by his cloak?" (Answer: run over him
with the Batmobile. And tell Gordon that it was Robin behind
the wheel.) "Dazed by his crown jewels?" (Keep your
eyes above the beltline. Freak.)
The following day, the Batman and Robin escort the costumed (and handcuffed) "Monarch" to the offices of The Gotham City Gazette, where various snap-brimmed and fedora'd news photogs pop flashbulb after flashbulb; while the Dark Knight informs all and sundry that "my partner, Robin, has captured the notorious 'Monarch of Menace'... single-
handedly!"
You've got it: a cheap (and patently transparent) ploy on the part of the Dynamic Duo, in order to gall and/or humiliate the real "Monarch of Menace" to salvage his underworld "rep" by returning to Gotham once more.
Naturally -- being (as previously mentioned) both cheap and patently transparent -- such a brain-dead stratagm could not possibly work on any carbon-based life form intelligent enough not to consider gravel one of the four basic food groups.
The real Monarch of Menace is in Gotham City by the following nightfall.
This time, however -- after the Batman has thwarted the Ridiculous Regent's latest "brilliant" criminal enterprise (hint: it involves a bank) (I'll tell you all this much: if I lived in Gotham City... I'd keep all of MY spare loot in an old mattress or something, by golly) -- we get to watch, breathless and agog, as the detective takes off on foot after a fleeing (but still snide and insufferable) Monarch.
In one-two-three order, we see the Dark Knight's latest array of "Bat"- gadgets deployed (and proven effective) against the Monarch's own ...
... only to stare, slack-jawed and incredulous, a moment after that as the Batman --
-- the *B*A*T*M*A*N*, mind, now; the world's greatest costumed athlete; the fellah a gushing Superman once (quite rightly) referred to as "The Most Dangerous Man On the Planet" --
... trips over his own two FEET.
Right. In. Front. Of. This. Losersaurus.
I mean... Jesus wept.
There's a final bit of lunacy, at this juncture, involving the Batman managing (somehow) to coldcock the sneering, strutting Monarch while "looking into a hand mirror" [see panel reproduction, below] --
... and then: it's over. ALL of it.
The toga'd, stogie-chomping Huntz Hall and Leo Gorcey lookalike criminal henchmen; the young Goofus Apparent, flopping disconsolately about in his "Merryman" Underoos; people utilizing "CrazyGlue" footprints as tactical weaponry --
... finito. Finished. Done with (thank God).
I have heard it opined, more than once, on the various and sundry fannish message boards online, that "the Batman was a better character before Dennis O'Neil and Neal Adams came along" to (or so the argument goes) "twist" him into something "far removed" from his original, baseline conceptualization as a remorseless, vengeance-driven manhunter.
This pigeon-toed rhetorical stance (as I understand it, at any rate) is posited on the belief that stories such as the preceding effort were superior storytelling achievements, overall.
As much as my own "Silver-Age-or-Bust" bona fides have already been well and truly established, by means of weekly and ongoing installments on this very site...
... it must be stated, nevertheless:
Horse puckey.
Go ahead and pull the other one, people.
It's got bells on it.
Be right back here next week, Monarchs and Matriarchs.
Unca Cheeks wants to share a stinky li'l something-or-another with you from
the 30th Century.
"The Legion of Substitute Heroes." "The Super-Pets." Lame "Spider-
Man" jokes, even.
Oh, yeah.
This one has it all, people.
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE ONE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE TWO
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE THREE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE FOUR
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE SIX
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE SEVEN
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE EIGHT
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE NINE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE TEN
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE ELEVEN
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