This goes for probably quite a number of anthologies out there, but Volume 2 of the “Batman: Black and White” series reads like the result of a creative workshop. Not that Volume 1 was altogether different, since in both cases you have the pairing of a comic book writer and an illustrator (sometimes there is one person behind all the work, like in most group projects), given the task to create a very short story about the Caped Crusader.
I have no idea whether the dynamic duos have been paired at random or chosen based on some sort of selection, but throughout the first three quarters of the volume it felt like the gods of lottery had been in the mood for some serious pranking here. Granted, I did have the opportunity to reencounter two of my most beloved artists (beloved for their work on my favourite childhood superhero comic), but neither was impressive here. There was Paul Dini’s very good and very canonical origin croquis, unfortunately paired with an extremely irritating drawing style; an instance where Paul Rivoche’s clean, classic artwork overshadowed a fair but cliché plot; another where you could recognise Dave Gibbons’ drawing in a heartbeat; yet another where Enrique Breccia’s very specific visual style, that had at first seemed too frenetic and chaotic, proved itself remarkably complementary to the story. You’ll also find Howard Chaykin’s and Jordi Bennett’s decent comic relief, a parody of old-school comics from the fifties, in plot, mind-set and drawing style alike. But distinguishing itself from anything offered here, stands a rounded story about Batman’s confrontation with Green Lantern, a hero so very different from himself, as well as his confrontation with his own beliefs and actions. Here you have it, black on white (pun intended), how much contents can be fitted into so little space. Good in itself, Alan Brennert’s story is trumped with superb artwork by José Luis García-López. So superb that I feel like digging up as much of his work as I can. His use of perspective, diagonal panels and his presentation of motion reminded me of my favourite classic X-Men story drawn by Neal Adams, though García-López’ work here is more sophisticated.
Unlike Volume 1, which contained an introduction, commentaries, panel studies and what not, this issue is quite bare and stripped to its essentials. Quite a number of the stories are so crazily short that there is not even a chance to develop anything resembling a narrative. A vast majority of the artwork is distorted and jumbled, mostly indecipherable. On top of that, the entire concept is already familiar through Volume 1, so that all the contributions delivered here would have had it far more difficult anyway to make an impact. They lack the element of novelty. And they are in total not very good either. Two halfway decent woks, two reasonable ones, one surprisingly good and one remarkable are not enough to save the anthology’s honour. They go under in a mess of raw concepts and frenzied lines that feel like something created by a spider high on caffeine and anxiety. In fact, hardly anything could win against some examples of hopeless imbecility, nor against people who should never ever be allowed near a drawing board or a script.
The few sound stories in this volume make honourable exceptions which would have deserved better treatment and better company. Just like the editor should have been able to cut his losses and face the fact that some things just won’t do. As it is, this collection feels mostly like a pot of leftovers somebody didn’t have the heart or character to throw away.