Batman: Urban Legends #2: Cheer

Jason Todd has been through a lot, both as a character and as a “person.” Starting with his introduction as a Dick Grayson clone and into his reinvention as a child from Gotham’s underclass… to his murder and resurrection, he has been in a constant state of tumult. Despite that, and despite being a villain, protagonist or major player in multiple titles and storylines, there has been relatively little examination of Jason himself: how he ticks, how he feels, and why. It’s always struck me as a waste of what is a complicated, multilayered character.

So basically, it’s Chip Zdarsky to the rescue.

Last time, in Chapter 1 of “Cheer,” Jason targeted the new street drug, Cheerdrops. This brought him into contact with a boy named Tyler, living with his drug addicted mother (currently overdosing) and a criminal father. For Jason, who grew up under similar circumstances, it was impossible to leave Tyler alone, so he sought out the absent father, Andy… …only to find that Andy is an abusive monster who doesn’t care if his son lives or dies. After that, well, alas poor Andy he has chosen the wrong vigilante to spout off to – Jason decided that age goes before beauty and executed him. Meanwhile, Batman made his own first moves against Cheerdrops, beginning an investigation that seemed sure to bring him and Jason face to face once again.

Outside of specifics, this seems a relatively familiar setup: Jason has killed, now Batman’s going to be mad. It’s a cycle that repeats between the two of them, made inevitable by the gap in their methods and perspectives. But, as they say, the devil is in the details.

Killing Tyler’s father isn’t just shooting a supervillain, or even a random thug who has their guns aimed at Jason right back. It’s not executing the Joker. Andy was a terrible person, but he wasn’t a killer. More importantly, he was Tyler’s father and seemed likely to become Tyler’s only living parent. Now he’s not even that. The second he pulls the trigger, Jason recognizes the significance of what he’s done to Tyler, and what it means, and what it could mean.

That he relates to Tyler is made explicit through flashbacks to his own childhood – his gaunt bodied, sunken eyed mother sending him to the store for bread, the drug dealer who brings her “medicine” but stops to physically abuse Jason himself. It gets worse from there; nothing good comes from mixing Jason and drug dealers, not at any time or for either party. Now, as he watches Tyler stand on the edge of the abyss, too young to even realize he’s in danger of falling, he is simultaneously desperate to save the kid and entirely unequipped to do so.

It’s in that mix, and that confusion, that we locate Jason’s heart.

Often, Jason Todd is perceived as DC’s take on the Punisher – in that same half-serious way that people refer to Moon Knight or Daredevil as Marvel’s Batman. It’s not completely wrong – Jason and Frank Castle do have some similarities, mostly in their approach to “evil.” But Jason is younger, softer, and ultimately more willing to change because in the end what Jason really wants is less to kill than to have a reason not to kill.

That’s not to say that he wants someone to morally talk him down from the ledge – I doubt he has a single problem, morally, with shooting the Joker in the face. Rather, I’m suggesting that what Jason wants is for his family to want him, and love him, enough to inspire him to make that compromise – the way he did when he was Robin. The fact that he has agreed to swap live rounds for rubber bullets because he doesn’t want Bruce to be mad at him is evidence enough of this. Better evidence can be found in how desperately he tries to keep Tyler from becoming like him.

The relationship between Jason and Bruce has always been conflicted, difficult – it’s honestly painful to watch sometimes, these two people who are family, who love one another, and yet are each wholly unequipped to speak one another’s language or understand one another’s perspective. Each trapped in this vicious cycle warring with one another, all more or less because when Jason returned, Bruce was unable to stop being the Dark Knight long enough to be Jason’s father.

It’s a good thing Barrows, Ferreira and Ferreira are top notch with expressions because there’s a great deal about this story that wouldn’t work without that nuance. It’s through expressions that we come to feel Jason’s uncertainty, or Bruce’s silent pain. The expression on Bruce’s face as he says “Stay down” speaks volumes – and frankly it’s impressive how much they manage to convey through that cowl. In their hands, Batman looks mythic, larger than life, with his billowing cape half made of shadows. The contrast between Batman and Red Hood, aside from the colors, is in Jason’s no-frills costume made mostly of street clothes. It’s stark and turns the normally intimidating Jason into an angry child at his father’s feet.

Marcus To’s smoother, more pared down style is a perfect complement. In the last issue, it served to differentiate between the dark, gritty present and the seemingly brighter times in the past when Jason was Robin, and everything was fine. Here, he brings out the darkness lurking underneath the surface of in thicker shadows, sharper gazes.

Adriano Lucas is on colors, and does a masterful job, making Gotham City come to terrible, beautiful life. Several sequences really stand out for me – mood coloring, like the green tinged flashback, and the red and gold lights that saved the Batman battle sequence from taking place entirely in the dark.

Finally, let’s talk about Chip Zdarsky. There are very few writers whose work I would be willing to try sight unseen and he’s one of them. He brings a humanity to characters that redeem even the most difficult, troubled or troubling souls, but without pretending that their actions were not problematic. Zdarsky doesn’t flinch back from portraying Jason’s darkness, but he also never forgets that his violence comes from pain, and his pain originates in trauma. Furthermore, Zdarsky’s Batman is legitimately terrifying… but nonetheless carries with him a pathos that makes his sometimes startlingly poor choices seem understandable.

Altogether, a fantastic second issue in what could truly be a definitional run on a character who has had too few definitional runs.