When Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns came out, it nourished the concept that vigilantism was quickly manifesting itself as the middle-class conservative’s wet-dream. That yuppie anger, spurned by the Reaganomic rule, oddly enough found its values emerging in comics. And while most critics did and still treat Dark Knight as a darling savior, they ignored that it was inherently a fascist piece of art. Dark Knight was a fanatical justification of the super-hero male power fantasy; a re-tread of the Joseph Campbell hero-myth, integrated with a plethora of self-hatred. I’ve always viewed it as The Birth of a Nation for comics; it is brilliant and innovative in narrative technique and scope, but fundamentally, what it’s saying makes it nearly unjustifiable.

What ultimately happened was that these concepts and images were superficially placed in mainstream comics. In 1986, the same year as Dark Knight, Marvel gave a mini-series to the Punisher, a hit-man like villain/hero from Amazing Spider-Man. The Punisher (Vietnam vet Frank Castle) became the anti-hero-as-hero: a nihilistic, gun-totting mob-killer haunted by the dead family he couldn’t save. It became a poster-child for the new-wave of ’80s comics, all about the anti-anti-hero (even the Punisher’s name evoked some sadistic/masochistic perversity). It completely jumped over the envelope Dark Knight pushed; the Punisher killed people, a mainstream moral abhorrence that most publishers shied from in their characters. Punisher, and its ensuing titles (Punisher full series, Punisher: War Journal, Punisher: War Zone) was not about the fanatic, a victim of some tragic tragedy that beget a deranged psychosis. It became a celebration of the fanaticism; Miller’s Dark Knight first person narrative was liberally borrowed to immerse the reader in the sullen-eyed, first-person determination of a vigilante. The tone worked for years, being one of Marvel’s best sellers, but Punisher ultimately lost its readership in the early ’90s as its values went out of style. The Punisher went from poster-child to antithesis almost over night. Marvel shifted tones for the character, using noir-ish, super-hero-y, and (most recently) even metaphysical takes on the character, all to failure. And maybe all along, it just took Garth Ennis to simply lighten it up.

Granted, I’d be the first to admit the derivative nature of Garth Ennis’ work. Quentin Tarrantino, John Woo, Sam Peckinpah, Sergio Leone; his transparent influences have a distinct, if not cinematic flavor. But his style of violence mixed with irreverence has been some of the freshest, most entertaining writing in comics today. Having Garth Ennis and his Preacher partner-in-crime Steve Dillon take a twelve-issue maxi-series crack on Punisher (freed from Marvel’s editorial iron fist by the Marvel Knights Joe Quesada and Jimmy Palmiotti) seemed like a natural and brilliant fit. Ennis promised a more comedic Punisher take, a continuation of his earlier Punisher Kills the Marvel Universe. This Punisher would be rooted more in Chuck Jones and Judge Dredd than in Dirty Harry.

And again, Punisher is a tonal death wish, giving aimless aspirations to even the most gifted writers. Sure, Ennis can play some jokes, especially when he’s working with a stone-faced straight-man such as Frank Castle. But he treads too much of Punisher mainstays. A sense of mockery in the first person narration is negated by the still apparent fanaticism. Dillon can’t help too much because he’s partially lost his thin-line edge, thanks to the talented but more conventional line work of inker Palmiotti. Dillon’s work has in the past lived and died by his inker—when he inks, he is perfectly in control, especially when he chooses a minimalist effect. It can look bland and weightless in the hands of someone like John McCrea (as in Preacher: Tall in the Saddle). Here, Palmiotti saturates Dillon’s pencils, completely fleshing it out (for better or worse) with Comicraft’s computer colorings. 

Ennis has always had problems with individual issues; while he can write the best cliffhangers and last pages in comics, his books are always fast reads. Ennis’ mind is on the big picture—you can’t truly appreciate individual issues. Unlike Preacher’s first issues, where he seemed so confident in his series out-line, but conscious enough of the enticing pacing needed in introductory issues, Punisher’s first issue is a mixed bag. Is he going to gain a proper footing and will reveal a grand masterplan? Will he ever balance the thin-lined straight-man tone? There are indeed fun spots in the first issue, and Ennis heavily hints to much more comic perversity in issue #1’s afterword (“Watch out for Frank's imaginative use of a flamethrower in issue three,” says Ennis). And at least they lightened up the damn comic. Maybe Ennis’ and Dillon’s Punisher series won't go down as having a stellar opening issue; so trained on proper serial writing, Ennis’ knows how to throw up plot elements and attempt to gain some semblance of guidance in later arcs. But based on the his and Dillon’s past accomplishments, I personally can’t wait for that flame-thrower.