Daredevil: Cold Day in Hell #1: Stations of the Devil

“Of course his quest is a tortured one, fraught with failure and guilt and pain. It has to be that way.” 

The life and times of Matt Murdock should never be easy. It’s something that Frank Miller espoused in the prologue to Daredevil: The Man Without Fear #4. The notion carries itself from page to page of every Daredevil comic, sowing the seeds of pain and heartache for the blind lawyer/catholic vigilante. Murdock’s inner life is one of contradictions that manifest into his outer one, driving him to acts of violence and self-sacrifice. It seems impossible to imagine any end to the Daredevil story that doesn’t end in pain and heartbreak. The guilt and pain linger even as the title moves into one of these potential ends, lining the pages with the harsh expectations for the man without fear. 

Daredevil: Cold Day in Hell #1 – with a story by Charles Soule and Steve McNiven, dialogue by Soule, art and colors by McNiven, and lettering by VC’s Clayton Cowles – gives Matt Murdock his own grim future as New York finds itself trapped under the haze of radiation (possibly a nuclear winter). Murdock is no longer the man without fear, having lost his radar sense years ago. Some superpowered individuals like Jessica Jones and Captain America are still alive and kicking in this world but greatly diminished from what is to be believed.

After a visit to the grave of an old foe, Matt returns to the decimated shell of the city to continue his work running a soup kitchen. Crime, violence, and sickness run rampant while authoritarian-looking police forces walk the street with little interest. Matt’s work is interrupted by the explosive of a dirty bomb, which manages to kill and maim plenty while giving him back his radar senses. Settling back into old habits, Matt saves civilians at the cost of another superhero’s life. He then tries and fails to intercept the ones responsible for the explosion before they get away. Matt is spurred to retreat to his decrepit apartment, ready to clothe himself in the mantle of the devil once again, ready to face down whoever set off the bomb. 

The scripting for the issue is tight and straightforward, forgoing any sense of flashback or prologue in favor of dropping the audience straight into this world. On a narrative and visual level, this New York feels similar enough to the current world to skip over explanation while still leaving enough breadcrumbs to make assumptions about what’s transpired. It’s difficult to delineate the storytelling between the two lead creators, as revealed in the backup material to the issue. The duo worked in a much looser method than what’s typically in superhero comics, allowing McNiven to flex his storytelling muscles beyond just the artwork.

As a result, the book feels more confident from its opening page, excelling as a story engine and sequential delivery method of plot and characterization alike. Flourishes in the linework and colors, or dialogue and narration, only help to elevate the craft on display. Working in perfect tandem, the partnership is a well-told and illustrated portrait of a hero at the end of the rope. A lean story that knows the textures from this world is essential to the evergreen quality of the book, helping to lay a foundation for what might just be a generational end to the ongoing saga of Matt Murdock. Of course, corporate cape characters like Daredevil will never really come to an end, but some of the best stories for the character feel like definitive endpoints. 

McNiven’s linework is looser than his previous Marvel titles, working to match itself to the book’s weary ethos and laxer creative direction. That approach creates a style that riffs in equal parts on John Romita Jr.’s The Man Without Fear and The Dark Knight Returns’s Frank Miller artwork. It’s a palpable comparison to make, as the book from cover to cover knows the crossroad it’s standing at. The premise of a retired superhero picking up the mantle again in a borderline dystopian future is the clear line between Dark Knight Returns and Cold Day in Hell. A strong and substantial choice, however, that sets it apart from the oft-seen clones and imitators is the rejection of a broadcast media device running throughout the book. 

Famously (and some might say ahead of its time) the running chorus created by the 24-hour news offered Miller a chance to comment on the coming realities of cable. Reporters and anchors made a shift into carnival barkers and entertainers, forgoing their ethics in favor of celebrity and endless eyeballs glued to sets. In 1986, it was a prescient critic and bit of prognostication for the world to come. Subsequent follow-ups have just felt to be poor imitations and frameworks to be copied, rather than necessary expressions from the story’s world. 

Here, in Cold Day in Hell, there’s a healthy mix of gravestone reflection and running interior monologue that works to contextualize the world and Matt’s current place in it. It’s lifting from the best parts of both the character’s comic and television history to synthesize a verbose Matt even far beyond the influence of a courtroom or confessional. To that end, this is both a Matt has matured internally as his powers waned but still retains a bit of his flippant spark, not totally beaten by the world. 

His faith remains but it has an edge to it, the doubts permeating the white and red space between his words on the page. Even his reflexes remain, etched onto a body that rejects him, filled with pain and the weight of a bitter life. A body that still knows fight just as his mind continues to grapple with the conflicts of the spirit and mind. 

Choosing to operate in a world of endless lines creates a sense of wrinkles and scar tissue on the city and its inhabitants alike. This New York is filled with a looming sense of dread that somehow feels a bit quaint in comparison to the realities of the world outside our collective window. Even with the roving clouds of toxic material, fascist police forces, and decaying landmarks, life preserves and bits of wonder can still exist. Something about the final page of the issue and the way McNiven uses shadow, smoke, and snow to contrast Matt’s leap of faith still evokes a visceral response. It’s not quite the breathtaking beauty of Romita Jr.’s rooftop running splashes in Man Without Fear or the striking image of Batman against lightning in Dark Knight Returns, but comes close to creating an image that affecting. 

While McNiven’s linework is looser throughout the issue, his paneling is tight and rigid, to the point of crystal clear 16-panel pages. When the artist settles into the rhythm of those dense layouts, Matt Murdock’s senses and the depiction of its overload become electric. A specific page leaps out with the overwhelming sense of inputs that flood back to the elderly Matt, enough to send him to his knees as everything from a stray heartbeat, last gasps of air, and even the drops of blood ring louder than bullets and bombs. 

In this moment, McNiven and Soule play their Man Without Fear influence, as Matt works to quiet his mind and senses. The stamp of Stick’s cane and his one-sentence mantra are given equal space to the world’s cascading noise, reminding Matt to center himself. After these two, McNiven alternates between similarly shaped panels and thinner ones containing tighter close-ups, now on the drip of blood leaking from an injured woman’s hand. McNiven guides the reader through the mental process of shutting out the other details from the world, putting the focus directly on that hand and its seeping wound. It directs the mind right to the following page, propelling Matt and the reader alike into familiar territory, with Matt saving the victim. 

There’s a stunning symmetry in Matt’s handling of the noise as a child and of it here in the future. Once, Matt was allowed to rejoin the world and learn to appreciate its beauties and terrors alike. Now, he’s reminded of his power and fortitude to help, reigniting the world he previously knew. In both cases, this is where Matt Murdock is reforged for the occasion of the moment, created by their circumstances. Soule and McNiven give a passive Matt his abilities back through coincidence, in contrast to the child who makes a conscious decision to act and receives his powers in return. 

If the book stumbles in one place, however, it might be that heavy reliance on the touchstones of its influences. While every part of the creative process feels like it’s firing at the highest gear possible, something about the core of the plot feels lacking. Since this is only a three-issue series, the nagging lack of biblical epic or feeling of revelation may be wiped away. It’s true that to the core, Daredevil is a swashbuckling street-level hero, but oftentimes there is an operatic quality to his character and stories that convey a righteous man’s battle against hell. That element is what is lacking in the pages of this first issue, but again, could find its way to the surface in the cold open of next month’s installment.