Longbox Legerdemain: Detective Comics #401
By Matthew Sunrich
In 1924, Collier's magazine published a dazzling piece of short fiction by Richard
Connell, a story that would go on to become one of the most famous in the history
of literature. Connell later enjoyed a successful career as a novelist and
screenwriter, but he will always be best remembered for the story, which would
influence and inspire numerous other stories, films, and television episodes.
This story was "The Most Dangerous Game."
"The Most Dangerous Game"
is one of those stories with which almost everyone is familiar because it is
frequently a part of school curricula, alongside "The Monkey's Paw"
and "The Cask of Amontillado." All three have been borrowed from and
parodied ad nauseum, but Connell's
yarn is arguably the most poignant of these because while it is an unlikely
tale, it is a plausible one.
The idea of man hunting man is
certainly intriguing, and the story made a lot of sense in the historical
context in which it was written. Big-game hunting was very much in vogue in the
early twentieth century (remember Teddy Roosevelt); of course, only the rich
could afford it, so it was regarded as an elitist pursuit. As it was beyond the
means of the bulk of the population, it had a mysterious appeal, one that
conjured images of dense, steamy jungles and astonishing adventures. It was,
moreover, a way to measure just how much testosterone flowed through a man's
veins, which is neither here nor there, as far as I'm concerned.
It's not hard to see how hunting
can become an addiction, and, like a drug, the same dosages—or in this case
types of prey—just don't do the trick anymore after a while. Man is far more
cunning than a lion or a rhinoceros (at least in theory), and it stands to
reason, I suppose, that hunting one could be appealing for the hunter seeking
the ultimate challenge. The hunter, of course, has to make every attempt to
mentally remove the humanity of his prey in order to see it as a target rather
than a person, unless we assume that he is just a complete sociopath, which is
also a distinct possibility. Connell's choice of the story's title is
particularly apt because of the multiple meanings of the word "game,"
which in this instance can refer to both wild animals and a battle of wits.
Detective Comics #401 appropriates aspects of "The Most
Dangerous Game" in an adventure called "Target for Tonight."
This is not the first story in comics to be influenced by Connell's tale.
Remember that one of Spider-Man's earliest foes was Kraven the Hunter, who made
his first appearance in Amazing
Spider-Man #15 in 1964 (six years before this story). A Russian big-game
hunter, he believed that defeating Spider-Man would prove that he was the
greatest hunter in the world. The difference, of course, is that Kraven prefers
to use his bare hands rather than weapons (this is probably related to the
Comics Code restrictions of the time, quite honestly). Additionally, Kraven
became a recurring villain in the pages of Spidey's books, whereas the hunter in
this story does not wear a costume, lacks a stereotypical "comic book"
name, and only makes a single appearance.
The story begins with Batman's
dropping by Commissioner Gordon's office and discovering an envelope that had
been delivered through the open window by a falcon. Inside he finds a picture
of his face in the center of a target with a message declaring that someone
called "The Stalker" has chosen the Dark Knight as his latest prey.
Suddenly, a bullet explodes through the window and rips right through the
center of the target. Batman realizes that the shot was meant to be a warning,
that the bullet could have killed him had the unseen marksman wished it to.
Returning to his penthouse to do
some thinking as Bruce Wayne, he sees a television interview with a man named
Carleton Yager, a big-game hunter and member of the Safari Club. Bruce is
startled to find that Yager has a falcon on his arm and that among the
impressive collection of trophy heads on his wall, there is one empty plaque
reserved for what he describes as "the most dangerous challenge." The
program is jarringly interrupted as the screen is shattered by an arrow. The attached
missive reveals that the hunter knows that Bruce and Batman are one and the
same and that the hunter has studied his "habits, camouflages, and
techniques for survival," as he does with all of the game he hunts. Bruce's
suspicions about the hunter's identity are confirmed, as the note is signed "Carleton
Yager."
Batman decides that a proactive
approach is best and begins by visiting Yager's suite at the Safari Club. He
finds it deserted, unsurprisingly, but ventures in with caution. He is not at
all surprised to find a plate bearing his name on the empty plaque but is
caught off guard by a crossbow bolt, which, fortunately, only pierces his cape.
A recording of Yager's voice greets him then, telling Batman that he will be
waiting for him on New Urbia Island.
The island is question is the
site of a vast new housing project, and Batman recognizes that Yager chose it because
the incomplete construction bears a resemblance to the jungles the hunter
frequents. The Dark Knight assumes that Yager will take the highest vantage
point and makes every attempt at eluding him. In the process, however, he plays
right into the hunter's hands and winds up ensnared in a net suspended several
feet off the ground. Batman admits defeat, cursing himself for being so
foolish, but Yager refuses to kill such an easy target, preferring to allow the
Masked Manhunter to free himself and to wait for him in the darkness.
As Yager expected, Batman escapes
from the net fairly easily and makes his way into the shadowy skeleton of the
surrounding construction. Hearing muffled cries coming from the building's
underground garage, he finds Alfred, bound and gagged with a target on his
chest.
Batman feigns walking away but
after a few steps turns and executes a superhuman vault over the ramp sloping
into the garage. He knocks the man down and punches him a few times before
tearing off the mask on the man's face to reveal Yager's astonished visage. The
hunter manages to kick Batman off of him and attempts to replicate the Dark
Knight's leap but misses by inches and falls into the pit of sharpened
construction rods that he had intended for Batman.
The real Alfred shows up at this
point, explaining that he would have arrived earlier to help had he not gotten
stuck in the mud surrounding the site. Batman had, in fact, realized that the
other "Alfred" was a fake when he noticed that his shoes were clean.
Being Batman, he had deduced that the ramp contained a trap and had acted
accordingly.
Frank Robbins and Bob Brown,
writer and illustrator respectively, spin an effective yarn here, giving an
interesting twist to Connell's story. The most jarring aspect of the story is that Yager figured out Batman's
identity. This is a big deal (as, up to that point, no one I can think of other
than Bruce's detective mentor in a story I remember reading from the 1940s or
1950s ever managed to work it out), and we are never told how Yager managed to do it. We are, of course, dealing with, a
fifteen-page story here, so there wasn't a lot of room to expound on details
such as these. It was just something that was necessary to make the story work.
Ra's Al Ghul, who debuts in Batman #232 about a year after this
story was published, is the first major villain to work out the Dark Knight's
identity, and it is a major aspect of his character. That Yager's determination
of the fact is never explored is—let's face it—pretty cheap
Like many issues of Detective published around this time, its only fault is the difficulty it seems to have in finding its footing. Remember that 1970 was the beginning of the Bronze Age, and while there isn't really anything recognizable as "camp" in the story, there is still a lingering sense of the Silver Age clinging to the edges of the panels. This would quickly fade in the ensuing months, particularly as Neal Adams' influence became more defined (he did draw the cover of this issue), and Batman was able to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of an era that almost put an end to him.
Like many issues of Detective published around this time, its only fault is the difficulty it seems to have in finding its footing. Remember that 1970 was the beginning of the Bronze Age, and while there isn't really anything recognizable as "camp" in the story, there is still a lingering sense of the Silver Age clinging to the edges of the panels. This would quickly fade in the ensuing months, particularly as Neal Adams' influence became more defined (he did draw the cover of this issue), and Batman was able to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of an era that almost put an end to him.
Labels: Batman, comics, Detective Comics, Matt Sunrich, reviews
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