If you’re going to judge a book by its cover, then comic books are perfect for that. The covers for Superman: Year One #1 are pretty uninspiring. So is the book itself. But it’s more than uninspiring. It’s cruel.
Frank Miller and John Romita Jr. team up for a modern-day retelling of Superman’s origins — except there’s nothing modern about it. Let’s get the stale plot out of the way so that we can talk about the stagnant idea behind it, the cancerous stereotypes, and the dusty tropes.
Krypton blows up. In a rocket made by his father, Kal catapults through the galaxy. He crashes into earth, where he meets his parochial parents and becomes Clark Kent. Immersed in Miller’s version of Americana, Clark grows up, fights off some bullies, saves his crush from a gang-rape (more on this disastrous scene in a bit), plays some football, gets laid, and then enlists in the Navy.
As you can see, the plot isn’t innovative or remarkable. But it does make you see Superman in a new light. That light isn’t flattering.
Clark doesn’t have any interiority here. If he does, all we get is his sense of superiority and frustration. Sure, Clark’s a teenager, but his thoughts reek of Miller’s own prejudices and teenage hangups — from sexist comments, creepy innuendos, obnoxious bravado, to stubbornness that’s nothing more than stupid.
Before the bullies escalate their crimes against innocent podunk Kansas to rape, they’re doing the classic bully stuff that has been portrayed in American film and TV for decades. Amid this yawn-inducing buildup, Clark says, “This is madness. Madness. Why?” It’s because they’re bullies, Clark. This is as deep as Clark Kent gets in Miller’s hellscape.
The bullies achieve obligatory villain status when they attempt to gang-rape Clark’s crush, Lana. She’s on the dirt, crying, with some hands holding her down, others touching her where she’s vulnerable. Clark saves her before the violence escalates, commenting on how feeble human beings are all the while. He then whisks Lana up into the clouds before dropping her at home and asking “Let me court you, Lana Lang” with no regard for what she just endured, no curiosity, no compassion, no sorrow, no anger. It’s incel savior mentality at its worst.
Clearly, the intent and ideas behind Miller’s writing are lacking. So is his style. The voice of the narrator drunkenly wobbles between Miller and Clark Kent. There’s a matronly-looking teacher who says “dumplings,” “my blossoms,” and “angels” within four fucking panels. There’s establishing narrative captions, like “Back home. Supper time” that are entirely pointless because we can see that Clark is indeed at home eating food.
The worst and most prominent lack of style is the unnecessarily bolded font. In the very next panel after the rape scene, here’s what Frank Miller has to offer the people who paid eight dollars to read this: “Boning up there, Mr. Kent?” (Lana) “Damn if Lana doesn’t just have a way of saying things…” (Clark). Excuse me while I go hibernate in a nuclear winter.
Comics are collaborative, so Miller can’t fully bear the weight of this book’s crushing failure — with the exception of letterer John Workman and colorist Alex Sinclair. Workman excels at making Miller’s gratuitous dialogue highly legible, neat, and crisp. Alex Sinclair imbues finer textures, like prairie grass and hair, with colors that feel natural and bright. John Romita Jr. may have sprung from the loins of a legend, but apparently it takes more than that to draw children’s heads proportionally. Many times, Clark Kent looked like a bobblehead. Danny Miki’s crosshatching is too clumsy and spaced out, while his line weight is unbearably light and heavy. Then again, no inker could salvage Romita Jr.’s creepy take on the human form.
The first installment of this new Superman series was the perfect opportunity for Miller to explore Clark Kent’s boyish charm in a complex, characteristically dark way for the author. Instead, we all can see how immature Frank Miller really is. There’s nothing charming about it. While this Black Label retelling of Superman’s origin is supposed to deviate from the world’s first superhero who we know and love, it’s nothing more than a perversion.
Rating 3/10
Secret Society Comics 