Critically examine Frank Miller’s Batman: The Dark Knight Returns as a graphic narrative.
The monstrous Penguin-like infant’s accession to the hospital maternity nursery and the emblematic destruction of the feline foreshadows the gothic macabre infested upon Gotham
locale in the midst of holiday seasons. “There is a sense of decay everywhere [...] darkness, danger, toxicity and tragedy.” Like the prejudicial denizens of Gotham, these parents exonerate
their plight by forsaking their bestial offspring in the dump of the disposables to be awashed by the frozen icy stream.
Penguin’s messianic and visionary apparition thirty three years later
uplifts humanity of that society that erstwhile alienated the castaway Moses. Then Penguin’s politicization in the grotesquery of Madonna and child when he soars on the hydraulic platform of the sewer saving and rescuing Richard Doyle’s/Mayor’s offspring. Dickensian scene re-enactment and re[visioning] in Penguin as the fur collared and a beatific expression while holding the Christmas gift of the baby who is dressed in red and white mini Santa suit.
Penguin despises the fathers of Gotham, especially Max Shreck for unfolding inhumanity through the unwitting catalyst of the destruction and dooming disposable dumpsters. Saviours in temporality spatially transpose the politicization acts as indictment of the commercialization of religiosity as well as of the sheep-like mentality of the populace.
Corris writes of the evil clothed in colour and light persuasive of genteelness of the spirit: “Black is good—-Batman, of course—---red or bright is bad[...]The Penguin’s sever level lair; Arctic world is garishly a colourful place; charterhouse toxic bile and a giant yellow ducky serving as Penguin’s Stygian barge.”
“How can you be so mean to someone so meaningless?” remonstrates the house broken and unruly pet symbolized by the dramatis personae of Selina with epitaphic and metonymical
associations to convenience, coffee pourer, and a drudge”[...] “Life’s a bitch, now so am I” self effacing transformation of the feline herdess responds after being lambasted and chastised by
her employer and boss Max Shreck.
Catwoman Selina correspondingly declaims “Hello there!”
as inverted version “Hell here!” while defying wasters, poisoners and recyclers and abdicates two letters from the neon sign of the billboard of the apartment. Selina’s slickers attires herself as Catwoman to empower the secretariat drudgeries and Shreck’s havoc; nonetheless while doing so, Selina is trapped within her victimization. Selina finds her nails in the sewing basket
after dismantlement of the phone and answering machine and she cuts the rain slicker to stitch with her Catwoman attire.
Selina is a victim of herself in a state of commodification destined to
be recycled nine times somewhat mystical but not immortal. Max Shreck is a twisted and inverted and maladjusted Scrooge, as Selina maligns “Anti-Claus” through annihilating former using electrically shock device that she had gotten from the members of the Red Triangle Gang.
This behaviour is counterfoiling as self-reflexive and self-effacing with personal imperative. The later also relinquishes her eighth life, as she kills her former boss with an electrically charged kiss. Scriptwriter Water states, “Selina isn’t a villain and she isn’t Wonder Woman for the greater good of society”; she will not gather up that by which she is not valued by bearing her lives.
Penguin possesses animal or freakish monstrosity and wretchedness as well as anthropogenic traits as dualistic dichotomized identities like Selina Penguin waves shredded pieces of incriminate documents in Shreck’s face to blackmail Max Shreck into making him well respected monster. Oswald Cobblepot deconstructs the abandoned child of the overwhelming parents. Batman empowers surplus names in the same sense by which Max Shreck manipulates energy
surplus to sustain a futuristic existence. Both of these decadent cynical personalities whose recycled public selves become dangerous constructs that succeeded in impressing the
gothamites they address. “I’ll take care of the squealing, wretched, pinhead puppets from Gotham [...] You gotta admit, I’ll play this stinking city like a harp from hell.”
Batman takes up the mode of reusing that which was cast off without a thought—----here language to bring down Penguin’s plot to lead the city. The dichotomized hero’s methods become the same one the
villain adopts for they are both ⁴sick. Catwoman’s shopping expedition at Shreck's gives the viewer her face behind the large happy cat that is at the store’s logo. This new version of
shopping becomes both playful and destructive as she whips the head off the mannequins, threatens the security guards by pointing out that they confuse their pistols with their privates and rigs a microwave oven and gasoline to demolish the place.
In a sense, adopting comics characters to the screen does the same thing as the childrens’ comics become the adult film nightmare of a society controlled by the twisted products of neglect and abuse. Penguin goes much further than Catwoman, for he claims for himself the place of God, the avenger, the herod, the transgressor when plots to kill all of Gotham City’s first-born sons. The police chase Penguin over the same terrain his parents covered him the
night they disposed of him. Penguin even knocks over a couple who could have been stand-ins for his parents as he heads for the bridge and the icy water.
In his own way, Penguin is a tragic figure, caused by his past doomed to repeat and recycle it. “My name is not Oswald, its
Penguin. I am not a human being. I am an animal. Crank the the-ac! Bring me my lists!” The battles in Batman Returns aren’t between the forces of light and dark so much as between competing neuroses.
We should not assess this graphic novel as disparaging through its legality, nor should we glamorize it by deference to its perpetrators. Frank Miller’s Bruce Wayne and Carrie Kelley embody Fixer and Burglar as “the self-made American ascendant, free, accountable to no authority—-yet haunted by guilt [...] a ruthless, monstrous vigilante breaking the foundations of our democracy [...] a symbolic resurgence of the common man’s will to resist [...] a rebirth of the
American fighting spirit.”
Hyperreal fantasy of the demonical villains Joker/Michel Emerson, the Mutant Leader/ Gary Anthony Williams, and the Two Face demonstrate the biochemical warfare exposition through televised mediatising of the broadcasters obfuscating real life antecedents: “I
am atop Gotham twin towers with two bombs capable of making them rubble. You have twenty minutes to save them. The price is five million dollars. I would have made half, but I have bills to
pay.”
Batman has been habitually adapted to salvage the rescue operations associated with laughing gases, fear dust, mind control lipsticks, artificial phobia pills and toxic aerosols to a considerable extent. Postmodernism blends the reality of the fictitious world into the reality of the real world [...] often suggests that the two are inextricable, that the boundaries are indecipherability muddy and
impossibly evasive.
Miller’s Batman transmutates from the stereotypical old school hero to nihilistic anarchistic vigilante, duality of the characteristic traits of the goodness and evilry, blackness and whiteness. The Rise of the Postmodern Graphic Novel [...] the Golden era of stereotypes and symbolic personifications [...] There was no place for ambiguity. Nuclear fallout of the US Corto Maltese by Russian invasion causes the cowardly traitor superman [...] blotting out the source of all my powers [...] the hope for screaming millions. God-like steel ness
superheroism of superman is eradicated by the hubristic flesh and blood of the cold war contrasting revenge driven psychopath and ardent pursuer of divine justice.
Julia Kristeva’s formation of subjectivity through blending of linguistics and psychoanalysis contextualizes Lacanian readings as a splitting subject that is in conflict who risks being shattered and is on the brink of heterogeneous contradiction. Batman’s disfiguration and maligned image throughout the signification process obdurates the vigilante saviour with the blame of alleged murdering of Joker “The Joker’s body found mutilated and burned [...] murder is added to the charges of the Batman [...] Batman’s breaking and entering, assault and battery, creating a public menace” furthermore creates a polarized dichotomy between the semiotic and symbolic.
Language will speak the unspeakable as the consciousness will reveal through unravelling of itself. “[...]the spectacular career of Batman comes to a tragic conclusion [...] as the crime fighter suffered a heart attack while battling the government troops [...] his body has been identified as a fifty-five year old billionaire Bruce Wayne [...] and his death has proven as mysterious as his life.”
Further Reading and Works ConsultedSusan M. Bernardo’s [ Wagner College Staten Island NY] Recycling Victims and Villains in “Batman Returns”, Literature/ Film Quarterly, Vol. 22, No. 1, pp: 16-20, Salisbury University
Politics and Society “Should we celebrate or lament the pop culture endurance of Batman, a violent vigilante?
The Return of the Vigilante: An Essay on the Possibility of Political Judgement, Bradon Little John Daniel Croci’s Holy Terror, Batman!
Frank Miller’s Dark Knight and the Superhero as Hardboiled
Terrorist Jan Axelsson’s New Times, New Heroes, Ambiguity, Sociopolitical Issues and Post-Modernism
in Frank miller’s Graphic Novel The Batman Returns
Ruzbeh Babaee’s [Porto University] Heroic Subjectivity in Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, Research Gate.
Sprout
As I looked at the corner of our yard, I visited the distant paths of my memory.
When I was still in middle school, my grandfather brought me a bunch of sprouts and books. He looked at me while he was planting the seedlings and handed me the books he brought and said:
- I’ll play with you. Surprised, I said:
-I don’t know how to plant seedlings, of course you will win. My grandfather laughed and said:
- I will plant the sapling, and you will read these books. If you finish reading the books before this sapling grows and blooms, you will win me.
- Who needs this game? I don’t read books. I ride Salih’s bike.
- Don’t ride your neighbor’s bike. If you beat me in the game, I will give you a new bike. I was so happy that I didn’t even know that I agreed to the game. My grandfather, who had not come from the yard, tended to the seedlings in the morning and in the evening, and watered them lovingly. I read a book without looking up. Months passed, months gave way to years. Today, while proudly holding my bachelor’s degree, I looked at the fragrant roses in the corner of the yard and the dusty bicycle that had not been ridden. If I count, it has been seven years since my grandfather left us…
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntos por las letras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korabl znaniy» and «Talenty Rossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «Kayva Kishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina's «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
The Girl of Lugansk
Barefooted walking girl on the street
In prickly frost of morning hours
On icy slippery scald- head of the earth
With broken bloody knees.
Standing up and falling down,
Going alone nowhere.
Teared away from the world and herself.
Becoming more wicked.
Cold touching upon the bones
Of the kept silent victim.
Passers- by not finding any word.
Somebody tightly hiding the neck
Under fox collar,
Feeling sorry deep in the heart,
But not asking her anything.
Another one looks askance at the girl,
Expressing the contempt.
…O, Umpire judge!
Sometimes we can hang
The lock of indifference,
Not hear the dumb scream for help.
We are deaf, as caterpillars,
No demand from us,
And the conscience
Becoming blind,
The fire in the eyes is gone.
Nigar Nurulla Khalilova is a poet, novelist, translator from Azerbaijan, currently in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She is a member of Azerbaijan Writers Union. She graduated from Azerbaijan Medical University and holds a Ph.D.
When I drink tea in New Jersey
Like a girl who writes poetry about a boy she has never seen
My day sits with all this disappointment
Counting her fleeting moments
I remember my mother using the smell of onions
To shed her tears in the kitchen
For the absence of my father
Who climbed his life war by war
Whenever he wore his military belt
He wished that war was just an old shoe
He could take it off whenever he liked
And he didn't need to think of fixing it at the cobbler's shop
I remember my brother
Who asked in his letters--
When will the war understand that we are not good at dealing with death?
I remember us forty years ago
We were kids, very much kids
With colourful clothes and hearts
It was enough for us to see a balloon
To drown in big laughter
I remember all this now
When I drink my tea
And
I practice my loneliness.
Faleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language.
She is a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2018, Pushcart Prize Nominee for 2019. She's also a:
Member of International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020,
Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021)
One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023
Winner of women the arts award 2023
Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023
SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023
Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Ours is a Place
Ours is a place
Where nature smiles on
Ours is a place where birds circle overhead
Ours is a place
The green welcomes
Ours is a place where the peacock dances with colorful feathers
Ours is a place
Where the tigers, the lions roar in the Sundarbons
Ours is a place
Where rivers, lakes run through almost all its areas
Ours is a place
We love each other
Ours is a place which we bought
In exchange of sea blood
Ours is a place
We sleep with a sweet dream and get up
Walk hand in hand stepping in and out all over.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
25 April, 2024.
Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.
COME
Like a boat wake
What, escape from time
And not from water
I come from the slow day of words,
That the moment undoes to the elements
I come and prostrate myself at this time of the afternoon, before the altar of shadows
I come from the gestures that have sunk in a sea
Without voices, with dry violet eyes, on the bottom rock
I know that the twilights accumulate and surround me
Here I am
I have been going, silently, for the silences
The times do not match
The words leave me in cycles of old voices
That's why I come and go
No questions, no answers.
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires, she graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
It is Raining!!!
Pitter Patter, a symphony
Drops of diamonds I longed to see
Listen to its gentle harmony
Calmness comes with destiny
Months I waited to meet
Sieved by spidery nylon net
No floods, no swamp, yard unwet
Cool misty breeze, winkled cheeks pet
Days of drought, soul withered, upset
Burning ground, leaves vexed to death
Feverish, stinky body covered by sweat
Now vitality's reborn, one's lifespan reset
Rain, oh beloved rain
Just a short visit, much did gain
Summer's gone, May is here again
Small kisses, wispy clouds so plain
Let Me Ride
Let me ride the waves of your sea
Corals, turtles and school fish to see
Show me the beauty of your depth
No sufferings of life nor of death
Let me ride the curves of your hill
Where time peacefully stood still
Trees, meadow of grass and flower
Butterflies, bees and birds gather
Let me ride the winds of your sky
Free to fly way above all so high
Sun, moon and stars hanging bright
And fluffy clouds floating so light
Let me ride lines of your poetic words
Strum my heart with nature's chords
Let my mind be where body can't go
Let me ride along your ink as it flow
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
