"Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are."
It’s no secret that the comic book faces an ongoing stigma. In the 1950’s, Superman and Batman were hidden under the bed sheets amongst Playboy. A super powered imagination was considered near pornographic to the staunch conservative adults of the era. Chalk the scarred reputation up to Fredric Wertham’s “Seduction of the Innocent” and the soon-to-be established writer restrictions AKA the Comics Code Authority. Heaven forbid Papa catch you viewing brightly colored spandex and flowing capes, what was then thought to inspire what every red-blooded Christian-American parent dread: latent homosexuality. Hah!
Occasionally comics actually do fit the billing of immature drivel. Throughout the vast and diverse history of one of the USA's few genuine art forms, though it pains me to admit it, some really are nothing more then glorified wrestling matches. Fast forward to the 1980’s. We’re publicly shown via the "British Invasion", through writers like Alan Moore, Neil Gaimen, and Grant Morrison, that the so-called lowly comic books of old inspired brilliance. Since superhero inception, we’ve been introduced to deeply underlined religious parallels, moral motifs, and ethically empathetic power-fantasy themes. It merely takes a keen eye to notice what (for ex:) dear ole' Stan "The Man" put in those 1960's Silver Age subtexts, dare I go older.
Arkham’s riddled with hidden symbolism subtext that even the most overly analytical readers would gapingly miss. I get new interpretations of scenes with every subsequent re-reading. Always eccentric Morrison gives us a setting that’s every bit as much a personality as it is the (almost literally) haunting and Gothic location. With the inclusion of Harvey Two-face’s therapeutic exchange of his iconic double-headed coin for Tarot cards (effectively giving his dueling psyche seventy-five options instead of his previously limiting fifty-fifty split) dark magic superstition effectively establishes the macabre tone. Even famed and feared occultist Alistair Crowley makes a brief but memorable appearance. The borderline expressionistic artwork leaves many disinterested, but give its pseudo-noir ambiguity a chance. I found the chaotic imagery to be the crescendo of the inner broken cog insanity that is the storyline. It’s literally a painted walk through the mouth of madness, emphasizing the collaborative correlation between illustrator and author.
“Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth” is one of those rare novel-quality comics I use as an example to battle against pulp prejudice and spread awareness. This is the perfect introduction for the most cynical of comic critics. It proves that the medium is (much to the surprise of the ignorant) filled with intellectual dialogues, set in stone allegories to mythological literature, and psychological caricatures that rival Jung’s archetypes. You’re left questioning reason itself, everything set upside-down. Is Batman perhaps as dangerous and deranged as his rogues, Joker alluding to the outside world being as crazed as the incarcerated? What is rationality? It leaves you deeply disturbed and profoundly paranoid…everything a great psychological horror should do. And make no mistake, that's what I'll always categorize this nightmarish classic as: genius horror!
The comic book effectively has become a genre worthy of respect, albeit long overdue. So the next time someone says “Pssh! Comic Books? Child's stuff!” with eye rolling condescension…hand them this contemporary comic chef-dour and watch them shut up fast.
"Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are."
