Oh wow. Cloak and Dagger were among those characters who were part of the scenery when I was first getting into comics, so like Alpha Flight or the West Coast Avengers, they have a certain deep-rooted fascination despite my not being sure whether I read much or any of their stuff at the time. But this...this is like huffing the mid-eighties. The opening page is Times Square at its sleazy neon extreme; the first story sees our heroes (or are they?) busting out a bunch of girls from a peepshow, who *obviously* are all kidnapped, hooked on drugs by pimps and/or brutalised. The second issue, it's bored rich kids setting fires while their parents decadently party, and the minute Dagger walks in she's pushily propositioned by the lot of them, including (eighties bingo!) a pair of predatory lesbians. The cops are slobby and corrupt (except for one female detective, whose days are clearly numbered), and of course the protagonists got their powers from a crime syndicate testing addictive new variants of The Drugs. I could practically hear the theme from The Equalizer playing throughout. Of course, as a 1985 series, born on the cusp of the Bronze Age and the Dark, there's a weird tension between these more adult (or at least, desperately trying to seem that way) elements, and the hokeyness of the pre-Watchmen medium. It was standard back then for captions or creaky dialogue to remind readers of the leads' identity, powers and origin each issue, but I swear sometimes here it happens multiple times within a single issue, just in case the kids are all too distracted by the hyper-realistic graphics on the new NES to keep up. And of course, there's Cloak and Dagger themselves. Both runaways, but she's posh, blonde and has light powers; he's poor, black and has darkness powers. It's so thoroughly on the nose that you can quite understand the brief attempt made recently to mix things up by switching them over. The relationship between them was never intended to be healthy, but reads even more iffily now, with only her light able to allay his darkness and stop him from going full psycho, sucking the innocent-ish into the nightmare dimension within his cloak. And then you have the controlling figure of the priest at whose church they take sanctuary, forever trying to save Dagger from Cloak, unwilling to accept the possibility that there might be evil within his flock... The whole thing is problematic on pretty much every conceivable axis (let's not even go into the scene where Spidey shows up for a guest spot, removes his mask with nary a care, and snogs teenage Dagger), but the sheer fervor with which it takes on life at the bottom of the heap, its threats and temptations, has a real power. This is pretty much a type specimen for street-level superhero comics.
And then, as part of a Secret Wars II crossover, the all-powerful Beyonder turns up. Which at least provides a laugh when Dagger sees someone who looks like late-period Michael Jackson (though less pale) wandering blithely down a slum street, and says that he doesn't look like he does drugs. Thereafter things go a bit wonkier, not least when the pair are joined by a new chum, the undead-ish Mayhem, and suddenly decide they can abandon their debates about killing or not to leave her cheerfully slaughtering her way around the neighbourhood while they head off to stop the drug trade – at source! Inevitably, eighties comics do not get any less awkward once they head to foreign climes, and it's mere pages before one luckless goon, and arguably the series, have literally jumped the, or at least a, shark. The circus issue is lovely, true, but before long our heroes take a detour to Latveria and what had quite recently been a grim tale of vigilantism on the piers and backstreets of the Big Apple instead lays on the second most laboured Prometheus metaphors I saw yesterday as they confront a Doctor Doom bent on ending nuclear reactions around the globe with some special particles – and, Cold War notwithstanding, the daft buggers decide that they need to stop him rather than pat him on the back. The story ends with a Christmas story set in Bethlehem, a big showdown in the Golden Triangle and a reunion in India which...well, let's just say they're not the most postcolonial things I've ever read.
At times this feels like a prototype of the Ostrander/Mandrake Spectre run a few years later – a cloaked figure meting out harsh poetic justice, a church as recurring location, the tension between two halves of a whole, between justice and mercy. But if so, that learned an awful lot from this about how to balance the gritty realism with the high-level superheroics. And for all The Spectre's grand guignol tendencies, the fact that it's a comic about the literal Wrath of God, it also feels positively restrained and naturalistic in comparison.