Kingdom of the Spiders (1977, John ‘Bud’ Cardos)

Kingdom of the Spiders opens with some scary music for the title reveal, then an original country song by Dorsey Burnette starts playing over the titles, extolling the virtues of Verde Valley, where Kingdom takes place. It’s a terrible opening titles sequence, followed by the film’s first failed attempt at suspense. Unfortunately, it will not have any successful ones. This first one, involving a bunch of spiders attacking a cow, forecasts the film’s lack of ability for suspense, humor, or anything whatsoever. I mean, there’s good photography from John Arthur Merrill and a handful of affable or inoffensive performances, but otherwise, Kingdom hasn’t got it. It doesn’t even have a kingdom.

After the spider attack—entirely from the spiders’ points of view, so we don’t know it’s spiders yet—the film introduces leading man William Shatner. He’s just a small-town, rural vet, but he carries a lot of sway. He could quarantine the farmers, and wouldn’t it be too bad if he did, what with the County Fair coming up? Shatner’s actually pretty good as the town vet. He and Woody Strode have decent chemistry, even though neither is doing a particularly good (or bad) job. Of course, Shatner’s first scene involves his widowed sister-in-law Marcy Lafferty (married to Shatner in real-life at the time, which ends up being awkward given the love triangle). Shatner gets to ride a horse and do his own stunts, so he’s having fun. Then Lafferty comes on to him because all the ladies love Shatner in Kingdom, only she moans her dead husband’s name (his little brother who died in “‘Nam.”). Shatner tosses her off him—not the last time Shatner tosses a costar violently in the film—and heads off, but not before shaming her a little for her behavior.

Shatner heads off to the state lab to turn in the cow’s blood for testing in what seems the set-up for a scene at a university, but the action just cuts to Strode and wife Altovise Davis having a quiet night at home. Strode and Davis are fine in the movie, but they give off big “Davis married her dad’s best friend Strode” vibes. Or “Davis married Strode in exchange for Strode giving Pa some acreage.” It never feels quite right. But then the movie treats them like they’re living in the thirties, so maybe Strode’s lying to Davis about the state of reality. So it would track, especially for Davis’s frontier woman costumes.

Pretty soon—in time to threaten the County Fair, natch—big city spider scientist Tiffany Bolling comes to town to see what’s happening with these spiders. She’s snooty to Shatner, who mocks her, but then once they’re working together, he just constantly sexually harasses her, sometimes physically, as he makes it clear they need to find the nearest bed or sleeping bag. Bolling manages to churn out endless expository passages while Shatner’s mooning at her, touching her, or otherwise distracting her. Bolling’s not exactly good. The writing on her part’s lousy and director Cardos doesn’t do anything for his actors, but Bolling’s got great timing. Up until she falls for Shatner’s macho charm, anyway. Until then, which is when he starts bossing her around like a possession, Bolling’s the only one who seems to know how to keep Kingdom moving.

Because, otherwise, it’s a slog. An intentional one. Cardos and editors Igo Kantor (the film’s producer) and Steven Zaillian (Oscar-winning screenwriter of Schindler’s List) belabor every action beat, drag out every shot, and just generally pace Kingdom like a slow roll through a rock pile.

There are some other surprises. Bolling and Lieux Dressler pass Bechdel in their first scene. They never do in any other scenes, quite the opposite, but it’s initially pretty cool.

Did I say “surprises” plural? It’s the only surprise. Except when Shatner flaunts Bolling to Lafferty almost immediately after telling Lafferty he’d eventually get horny enough he doesn’t care she’s his dead little brother’s wife, so he’d knock on her door. The longer the movie goes on, the less likable Shatner becomes. By the third act, you’re just waiting for a spider to get him.

Or for anything to happen, which it doesn’t. Except for a bewilderingly inept town panic scene.

With a better director, better script, better editors but the same cinematographer, and maybe even Shatner, Kingdom could be a fun homage to fifties sci-fi. Instead, it’s a dull, joyless turd.

Detective Comics (1937) #474

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When I was eleven, I first read this comic in the Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told hardcover. Then there was the next part in Greatest Joker. It’d be years before I could read the complete Steve Englehart, Marshall Rogers, and Terry Austin arc. But this issue is where it all started.

So as I break through the bonds of my earthly confinement, traveling through time and space to remember… “Batman: The TV Show” was still a thing back then. It regularly reran. Bad Batman-related narration was a thing. Hell, it might’ve saved the Schumacher movies.

Because while I’m not going to strain myself singing this issue’s praises, it’s the best issue of Detective I’ve read so far from this era. Like, lots happens. Englehart’s pacing is a lot better. Rogers is finally able to do quick action sequences, which means the issue’s got at least four action beats. Five. See, so many I forget them.

The issue opens with Batman and Robin wrestling in the Batcave because bros. Then there’s something about Robin being a ladies’ man just like Bruce, which is problematic, but it sets up Bruce Wayne as having an emotional arc this issue. Englehart doesn’t do a great job, but it’s not bad either. The way he plots the arc is outstanding. The central drama this issue is Bruce becoming convinced Silver St. Cloud suspects he’s Batman and being awkward through lunch with her.

Well, and Deadshot breaking out of prison for the first time since Batman locked him up twenty-five years earlier or something. It ties into the Penguin’s arrest after last issue. Everyone makes fun of the Penguin in this issue, but in ableist, shitty ways. It’s weird.

Deadshot gets a flash new costume—his last outfit was a society dandy with a top hat and Zorro mask—and goes Batman-hunting. They have a delightful six-page fight ending in Silver’s convention hall. She’s a convention organizer because Bruce Wayne’s not falling for an unaccomplished gal. Englehart’s never written Silver particularly well, so this issue’s probably the best; she gets to talk the most she’s ever talked, interrogating Bruce about his history with Batman.

There is a lot of bad writing from Englehart, though. Lots of the narration is terrible.

But it’s Rogers’s best issue so far. He does a better job breaking down the page, how the panels interact with each other, not just how they exist on their own. Still very design-oriented, but learning. Fast learning.

Or maybe I’m still just ten years old reading it.

Detective Comics (1937) #473

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Steve Englehart writes Bruce Wayne as a narcissistic asshole who bullies and psychologically abuses ward Dick Grayson. Grayson, for his part, has drunk the Kool-Aid; at one point, he talks about how mental illness is no excuse, and at another, he waxes on about Batman’s such a great man. It’s such weird, bad writing.

Though Englehart does his version of a Bob Rozakis, “can you solve it,” and Englehart’s a complete prick about it. It’s not even a good mystery. It’s a boring one and a distraction. This issue has Batman and Robin going after the Penguin, who’s in town to rob some gallery. The Penguin’s giving them clues, which Robin’s overconfident about solving, and Batman gleefully berates him for his mistakes.

There’s also Robin being creepy about Silver St. Cloud, who has a kiss-and-make-up scene with Bruce. She apologizes for investigating Bruce’s weird behavior, even though she’s the one who got the ball rolling on saving the day. The boys try to assuage her, but then it’s just kissy time. The scene might play better without Robin being a creep. Unfortunately, he’s a little creep multiple times in the issue.

The issue opens with them just a moment too late to discover Hugo Strange is dead—and piece together who killed him since the thugs dumping the body work for Councilman Rupert Thorne. There’s lots this issue about the people of Gotham still liking Batman even though Thorne’s outlawed him. Robin agrees elected officials have no right to limit Batman’s vigilantism, so they’re going to buck the system and go on the Penguin hunt.

The draw’s the art; Marshall Rogers and Terry Austin do a much more design-oriented book than the last couple. It’s all superhero stuff with Batman and Robin, no mood, no time for tone. It’s good art, sometimes beautifully designed, but rarely exciting.

The pacing’s good, which helps. It only drags once Penguin’s silly caper is revealed. Until then, Englehart’s got a good momentum going.

It’s just it’s momentum for a middling issue.

Detective Comics (1937) #472

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I’ve the sneaking suspicion last issue, when the evil nurse commented on Hugo Strange and Batman complementing each other’s physical and mental prowess when they should be fighting, it wasn’t writer Steve Englehart acknowledging the absurdity of the machismo; it was him making fun of the silly woman for not getting it.

There’s a scene with Robin, and he’s a little fascist, muscles bulging and breaking his uniform to leave him with a heck of a V-neck. Throw in the ending, which has a character ruminating on the pure machismo of Batman… I think Englehart’s on the level with this nonsense.

Bummer. It’d be nice for the story to have some black comedy.

That not inconsiderable observation made, it’s a reasonably good issue. There are some genuinely great moments thanks to Marshall Rogers’s pencils, Terry Austin’s inks, and Jerry Serpe’s colors. Not great Batman moments—for reasons—just great comic booking. Silver St. Cloud is a thunderstorm, for example. It’s five panels; four vertical rectangles (two of them skinny) and one horizontal. She’s mad at Bruce Wayne for breaking up with her, so she decides to go to the private hospital where he was being treated. It’s just a beautifully visualized sequence.

There are a few of them throughout the comic. Makes up for some of the shortcomings.

Hugo Strange has assumed Bruce Wayne’s two identities; he’s Batman now, too (something the cover makes a lot of noise about but has zip to do with the comic); Alfred’s imprisoned with an unconscious Bruce Wayne; Silver’s gotten dumped by an imposter; that imposter is set on bankrupting Wayne Enterprises and selling Bruce’s secret identity to the highest bidder. There are three bidders—corrupt politician Rupert Thorne, the Penguin, and the Joker.

One of them will skip the auction and attack Strange, even if he’s traveling with his monster men. Rogers and Austin do a great job with Strange and the monster men. Just something about the designs and how they fit in the panels; they look great. Rogers does well with those layouts—they’re a gangster movie homage. When it comes to acrobatic Robin action? Not so good. Rushed and not so good. The issue turns it around because Rogers can handle the finale. His sense of design works for the overwrought, dramatic finish, but he can’t do simple fisticuffs.

There aren’t really any story highlights—though, depending on next issue, the plot might be quirky. It’s too soon to tell here. Maybe Englehart’s got some ideas; maybe he doesn’t. He needs to follow through. This issue is a delay but also an often gorgeously illustrated one.

I’m not as enthusiastic a fan of this run as I used to be, but it’s got some definite pluses.

Detective Comics (1937) #471

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So, I figured out where Steve Englehart and Marshall Rogers’s Detective Comics belongs. As a comic strip in late seventies Playboy. Seriously. Rogers’s art is detailed but plain, intricately designed but not artsy. Englehart’s exposition is childish—“comic book-ish”—and treats Batman as a fascist action figure, but it’s incredibly consistent. Lots! Of! Declarative! Statements!

Plus, this incredibly banal writing—dialogue too, the dialogue’s just! As! Declarative!—is just the style; the content’s adult. Political corruption and sexual innuendo for Bruce Wayne and Silver St. Cloud. It’s a lousy cologne commercial.

And a well-illustrated one. Rogers visualizes the heck out of Englehart’s script with a phenomenal combination of detail and personality. It’s excellent comic booking.

But I don’t like it. I always considered myself a big Englehart and Rogers Batman fan; since the early 1990s, since The Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told. But I’m not digging it. Yet. I might dig it. But it’s too didactic, too pragmatic, too effective. To be that asshole, there’s no slippage.

I get it too. Englehart’s done a couple issues of Detective already, and they look terrible when they don’t have an incredibly tight artist on them. It’s infinitely impressive how successfully Rogers is illustrating. But the story’s camp. The art’s not camp—and the art before on Englehart’s issues wasn’t camp—but Englehart’s script is camp. Maybe it’s intentionally camp; I hope it’s intentionally camp. It might not intentionally be camp.

Doesn’t matter. It plays like camp, and it clashes with the art; only the art is able to successfully package it. It’s a hell of a comic.

It’s just not a very good story. Lots of moody art—not a lot of moody Batman yet, mostly Bruce Wayne—but Rogers’s just doing setup. Bruce checks into a ritzy hospital for his radiation burns while the corrupt politicians conspire against Batman. It turns out the hospital is fake, set up to kidnap rich people.

Bruce Wayne might be locked in his room, but Batman can get to the bottom of it, leading up to a big reveal cliffhanger. Right after introducing the deep-cut villain return.

Wait, someone makes fun of how Batman and the villain talk to each other. Englehart knows what’s up. Still not a good story. But, damn, does Rogers tell it well.

And great inks from Terry Austin, obviously.

Detective Comics (1937) #470

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There’s a lot to be said about this issue, but the “highlight” has got to be when writer Steve Englehart describes Batman as the “pensive prince of shadows.” This line comes just before Batman goes to the Batcave and yells, “I’m the goddamn Batman,” to himself as a positive self-reinforcement.

I’m only slightly exaggerating; Englehart writes Detective Comics with a boisterous, entirely unwarranted enthusiasm. Unfortunately, he’s incredibly thoughtless too. The first big swing is Batman stops a jewel heist and, while beating up the crook, tells the villain he’s just defending his municipality of residence and, as a citizen, it’s his right to be a vigilante.

Just then, a process server shows up and hands Batman a subpoena for a grand jury. Gotham’s regular folks have had enough of Batman. The issue implies there’s something shady about these elected officials out for Batman, which makes sense—they’re shitty rich white guys just like… oh, wait, just like Bruce Wayne.

And even if Batman thinks they’re corrupt, shouldn’t he have proved it at some point instead of going rogue? Or letting them operate for decades. So no, “your feast is nearly over” here. But he’s now been duly, lawfully told he needs to knock off the vigilante shit, and his response is exactly what you’d expect from a mega-rich white guy.

Englehart writes Batman as an asshole fascist in Detective, but, you know, for kids. Except when Silver St. Cloud shows up, Bruce forgets about his “I’m Bat-Man, and I don’t like girls” monologue. Then Bruce turns on the sultry seventies predatory charm.

Amid all the nonsense, Batman fights Dr. Phosphorus. The story’s title is The Master Plan of Dr. Phosphorus! but he literally just gases people at a stadium. There’s not much master planning to it. Otherwise, he’s waiting around for Batman to show up and kick his ass. Englehart’s Batman’s a killer too.

Seriously, the whole thing reads like a potentially better Val Kilmer and Joel Schumacher Batman movie. It feels like a pseudo-gritty riff on “Batman: The TV Show.”

Either I’m acclimated to Al Milgrom inking Walt Simonson, or the art’s a little better. Simonson and Milgrom’s costumed Batman art is very, very silly—which the exposition sometimes exaggerates, like when Batman “stands motionless” for seven minutes after being served his subpoena. On the other hand, there’s a little more regular people talking this issue; they’re fine with the Bruce and Silver stuff. Not great, but fine.

The Dr. Phosphorus fight’s weak sauce, though, both writing and art.

What a weird, bad comic.

Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown (1977, Phil Roman and Bill Melendez)

There’s only one adult referenced in Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown. When the bus leaves Charlie Brown (voiced by Duncan Watson) stranded, they’ve established the driver’s silhouette. Not having any adults makes a lot of sense since, somehow, the Peanuts parents all decided to send their kids to a camp on the other side of a distant desert with no adult supervision. The camp’s name? Camp Remote.

The desert bit gives Sally (Gail Davis) a scene to threaten some local kid, which doesn’t go as expected, but since the movie’s setting it up for Sally to back down… it’s a bit of a surprise. I think the local kid is from the comic strip somewhere. She and her little brother (the anti-Browns, in a way) seem familiar, and they’re only in the one gag.

Sally prominently figures in the first act of Race for Your Life, right up until Peppermint Patty (Stuart Brotman) starts talking about running things as a democracy. The boys and girls have been split into their different tents, with Patty running for tent leader. She confuses the other girls with her version of fair voting (by secret ballot), which becomes a recurring gag, and from then on, Sally’s just got the occasional lovelorn wail for Linus.

Both the boys and girls have a similar problem in the first act—the camp bullies. There are three of them with their mean cat, and none of them have names. Two of them have the letter “R” on their shirt; it never means anything. What’s so peculiar about them is Race never tries to humanize them, never tries to redeem or even provide context for them. They’re just assholes.

Okay, now, I’m reading something into the “R.”

Anyway.

The second act of Race is all about the best tent competition. The kids do various activities, with the bullies winning by cheating. Since there are no adults and presumably the teen counselors supervising the events are paying attention to the other two dozen campers we rarely see (at least two Peanuts supporting cast members, Violet and Frieda, end up amongst them). The most important race is the raft race.

It’s more a wilderness survival race, with rafting involved. The kids have to camp at night, feed themselves, and get back on the river. It seems to be a three-day event. If it weren’t a cartoon with a dog and his best friend, a bird, riding around America on an Easy Rider chopper… it’d seem dangerous.

Though there is danger. For a fairly long section of act two, Snoopy thinks Woodstock’s dead, the kids think Snoopy’s dead, and everyone’s lost in the woods trying to find one another. So it goes on for a while, with Snoopy mourning his presumably lost friend. Oh, and then the evil cat hunting Woodstock as he tries to survive on his own.

It’s impressive how Charles M. Schulz’s script—the pacing and plotting—and then Melendez and Roman’s direction make it so intense. There’s objectively no danger to the characters, but the movie makes believe so strongly, the emotions come through. It’s a fascinating use of narrative empathy and sympathy.

The raft race takes up most of the movie. The bullies have a speedboat with a wonky motor, so the Peanuts kids can get ahead often enough for tension. Snoopy and Woodstock add a sail to their inner tube, which leads to some pastoral scenes and disasters, though maybe if Snoopy didn’t sleep while at the wheel….

The boys and girls each have a raft, with Charlie Brown’s arc for the movie involving him becoming more of a leader. Peppermint Patty’s would possibly be listening to others while leading. No one else gets a character arc. Linus (Liam Martin) gets to defend the kids from the bullies thanks to his blanket snapping, and there are some other recurring personality gags, but not arcs. The movie’s too busy and the race too severe to slow down for them.

The original songs are strange but not bad; imagine a disco Cat Stevens, and then also more pop-folk. Ed Bogas’s score is good. The animation’s beautiful, with excellent editing from Roger Donley and Chuck McCann. Race has a somewhat peculiar vibe; while there’s a lot of action, including harrowing POV shots, there’s also the tranquil nature stuff, especially for Snoopy and Woodstock. It’s a fine mix. The end credits are a hallucinogenic Charlie Brown sequence, which provides the final synthesis. It’s weird and a perfect finish for the film.

Acting-wise… Watson’s okay. He’s got some weaker moments, but the movie never leans on him too long or adjusts for it after doing so. Brotman’s good, Davis is good, Martin’s good. I was expecting a lot more from Lucy (Melanie Kohn), but she gets less than Marcie (Jimmy Ahrens), who doesn’t get much.

The filmmakers know how to get the best out of the performances. Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown’s good.

Detective Comics (1937) #469

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Why does Steve Englehart’s writing sound like he’s doing a spec script for “Batman: The TV Show” cliffhanger narration? I can’t decide if it’d be better if he’s serious and thinks it’s good writing to treat your readers as infantile or if he’s doing it because he’s being condescending to the material. Either way… lousy start.

Especially since I only started reading this era of Detective for an Englehart run.

Yikes.

From the first page, it’s a lot. There’s the narration, but there’s also Englehart doing a flashback on the second page to right before the first page. Alfred passed out when bringing Batman his morning snack. It appears sensational at first, then, you know, medically concerning. Maybe Alfred hit his head.

Batman can’t get an ambulance because there’s an epidemic all of a sudden. People collapsing all over Gotham, so he rushes Alfred to the hospital as Bruce Wayne because Bruce Wayne “pays his way.” But, again, is Englehart being silly, or did he just finish reading some Atlas Shrugged for inspiration?

A new villain is poisoning the city—Mr. Phosphorous—no, wait, Dr. Phosphorous—and he’s not going to stop. So Batman goes home (his Bruce Wayne caring for Alfred thing does not warrant a scene of concerned Bruce, it’s nonce) and investigates what poisoned Alfred. It takes Batman longer than it should. Like, it’s one of those Bob Rozakis “you-solve-its” only Batman had to cheat on the last page and turn the comic upside down.

He’s able to go confront Doctor Phosphorous, who’s got a hilarious way of poisoning the people, and they have a big fight. Only Doctor Phosphorus is really hot, and it hurts to fight him, which leads to Batman wrapping his non-heat or flame-resistant gloves in his cape. The cape is heat and flame-resistant. It’s a poorly designed outfit or something, doesn’t matter. Neither does Batman’s next way to compensate.

The scene ends with Doctor Phosphorous running off while Batman whines at him to stay and fight; Doctor Phosphorous says you have to come back next issue, silly, it’s a two-parter.

The backup is Doctor Phosphorous’s origin, which unexpectedly ties into the main story. Phosphorous knows the city council guy who’s giving Gordon shit about Batman being a deputized vigilante—a different city council guy than a few issues ago; apparently, each Detective writer has to introduce their own similarly smarmy white guy whine. The city council’s corrupt and caused Doctor Phosphorous to become Doctor Phosphorus (sort of, he’s the one who thought he’d inspect a nuclear power plant on his own). So to pay him back for ruining his life, the city council has to set up Batman.

It’s a complicated, petty politics story arc, with narration written for a very bored narrator to read. At times it feels like Englehart must’ve tested the lines aloud and liked the terrible way they sound.

Big sigh.

Al Milgrom inks Walt Simonson pencils. It doesn’t go well for Batman or the people, but Doctor Phosphorous is all right. The art stylizes the people strangely—some guy’s got Norman Osborn hair—and Batman’s awkwardly bulky. Phosphorous is a glowing skeleton. They do best with him.

It’s a bad comic. Like, even for this era of Detective… it’s a bad comic. What have I gotten myself into?

Detective Comics (1937) #468

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At least the art’s better. I can’t imagine how this issue would read without it. Marshall Rogers is still way too design-focused, with most of the action taking place against blank backgrounds, but when there is scenery, it’s excellent. And Terry Austin’s thin, dark inks are perfect, particularly on the Batman pages.

But the writing’s even worse than I was expecting, and I wasn’t expecting much.

This issue concludes writer Bob Rozakis’s Calculator story, which had been running in Detective backups for the last five issues. The Calculator does some crimes, gets arrested by a superhero, hits a button on his chest keyboard, then escapes from prison immediately after. Neither the backups nor the feature explain the Calculator’s powers, but his computer can apparently create physical matter as well as do omniscient computer stuff.

In other words, silly seventies computer shit.

The issue begins with Batman fighting Calculator, beating him, but Calculator confidently going to jail. See, once he hits the magic button, his computer figures out how to forever beat the superhero he’s been fighting. Computers, am I right?

He escapes from jail, and Batman goes to consult all the Justice League members who’ve been fighting him in the backups. They have a big team fight, with some competent but not engaging art; only Calculator still wins. Of course, since it’s a Rozakis comic, he’s going to tease the reader with the solution, but it’s such a silly solution it’s hard to believe Rozakis was talking about it. Until Batman explains, yes, indeed, the ridiculous solution was the inspired gimmick the whole time.

There’s a subplot about Morgan Edge wanting Bruce’s vote for something and Bruce blowing him off. It’s a strangely grown-up plot for a comic otherwise written for eight-year-olds, though all the senseless computer jargon wouldn’t work for an eight-year-old either.

Doesn’t matter. This inane story arc is finally over, and Rogers and Austin are on a quality uptick. Despite exclusively swinging around during the day, their Batman is pretty darn good.

The finale’s punchline is particularly godawful but not a surprise. Rozakis’s script’s terrible.

Detective Comics (1937) #467

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In my youth, I never liked these “solve-the-mystery-yourself” stories. To the degree, I negatively associated them with writer Bob Rozakis. However, I got over it eventually, instead associating Rozakis with bland, cloying stories, much like the feature he contributes to this issue.

The art’s from John Calnan, and the inks are Vince Colletta. I’m unfamiliar with Calnan, so I don’t know how Colletta’d he’s getting, but Bruce Wayne looks like a forty-something accountant, which can’t all be Colletta.

Bruce is going to narrate the story for a mystery visitor. Now, I won’t spoil—because it’s one of the mysteries you can solve—but it’s a white guy with brown or black hair. This comic is pre-Crisis, meaning every DC superhero knows Batman’s identity, and they look alike. Could be Clark Kent, could be Hal Jordan, could be anyone but Green Arrow or Flash; they’re still blonds at this point.

Batman sits down with this mystery visitor and rings for Alfred to bring them breakfast. Then, Batman’s going to tell the visitor a story and see if he can guess the conclusion.

Now, at this point, I still had vague hope for the comic. I figured it’d at least be a puzzling mystery. Then the title of the story– Pick-Up on Gotham 2-4-6!—references Pelham 1-2-3 so I thought we were in for an elaborate heist story.

Nope. Batman’s in disguise on the subway, and some guy dressed as Batman runs through the train car, then exits the train. Batman follows him, chases, fights, fights, chases, returns to train for resolution, then poses the mystery question to his visitor (and the reader). But it’s an eleven-page story, and three or four pages are used on the framing. The mystery doesn’t relate to the fight scenes either, so all the mystery stuff occurs in a page or two. And then some of the solution is less about deductive reasoning than reading comprehension.

As a result, I’m concerned about my youthful reading habits. Or maybe this one’s just not a great Rozakis who-dun-it.

Anyway.

Rozakis’s also writing the back-up, which is more of the Calculator messing with various superheroes. This time it’s Hawkman, who’s running a courier service of sorts. Except, oh, no, the Calculator turns out to be his package. And so they fight, with the Calculator using some of the powers from previous foes, like Elongated Man’s extended bendy arm punch. Coming out of Calculator’s forehead thing.

That costume design is weird.

Marshall Rogers and Terry Austin do the art (though Austin later said Neal Adams inked some of the pages; I wonder if they were the better or worse ones). The art’s better than last time, but still a bit of a disappointment from Rogers. His best panels are all design-work, too, like they’d make great T-shirts, but comic panels… not so much.

The next issue promises the Calculator story will be important, just like every one before.