Questions, Punctuated by an Occasional Beating

Such is the noir humor of Slam Bradley, the pugilistic private eye whose 1937 Detective Comics debut beat Batman’s first appearance by two years. In 2001, writer Ed Brubaker (Sleeper) artist Darwyn Cooke (The New Frontier) got him standing for another round, this time to hunt for the supposedly dead Seline Kyle.

You might know her as Catwoman. You might also dry heave, remembering the many ludicrous feline-themed costumes foisted on her during the last sixty years (purple leotard with tail, countess getup with cape and heels, that dreck starring whatsername). Thankfully, in an old safe-house in Gotham’s East End, Selina wonders, “How to get rid of that side, all the painful memories and mistakes, take back the mask… and still be able to sleep at night.”

Selina’s thinking of her early life as a street thief, prostitute, and kink in Batman’s neck. Still, we perfectly agree with her. Which brings us to the collection The Dark End of the Street, the first four issues of her definitive incarnation–and Slam Bradley’s coffee-stained reintroduction, built from backup stories in Brubaker’s Detective Comics.

Cooke draws both, inking the latter himself and scoring every line with filthy charisma. On mostly nine panel pages, Bradley’s dogged tale stomps through pawn shops and back alleys. He gives and takes beatings with a relish blissfully matched by the artistic delivery. Matt Hollingsworth’s cool, muted colors are like headlights creeping on an apartment wall.

Indie comics pillar Mike Allred (X-Force) bounces in to ink Catwoman‘s main event. He smooths most of the grit from Cooke’s art, and the book’s noir tone pivots for a bit of light. A quick glance and you’ll think of the superb Batman animated series from the 1990s. The story, however, deals with a serial killer of prostitutes.

“Lookin’ for a party?” asks a girl named Lisa. Shadowy from inside his car, the man says yes and that his name’s Brian. “You’re not a cop, are you?” Lisa continues. “No,” he answers, “I’m pretty sure I’m not a cop.” He is handsome, though. And doesn’t want to be looked at. The brutality that follows is handled with the lurid discretion of classic TV shows like Homicide or The X-Files. When the killer throws up and mutters, “Oh, God… no,” you’re ready to read this trade in one sitting.

Which you will, since it’s as hilarious as it is dark. After Selina leaves her therapy appointment (to cure her dreams of flames and cat-suits), she travels the sludge pit that is Gotham’s East End. She ignores the incessant crooning of dealers, only for one of them to shout, “Ain’t'chu hearin‘ me, girl? Said I gots what’chu need.” Slyly she replies, “I sincerely doubt it.”

What Selina needs is a uniform that’s genuinely stylish and practical. She decides this time on short ears, safety goggles and combat boots (that can pop blades, if necessary). Hunting confidently again on rooftops and back alleys, she runs into the gruffly concerned Batman, but also the young runaway Holly, with whom she left her sister years ago at a convent.

As Catwoman closes her snare on the killer (helped by the ultimate noir clue, a matchbook), Brubaker and Cooke’s dingy corner of Gotham becomes rather homey. You’ll read almost too fast, but there are three more trades to enjoy, including Cooke’s graphic novel prequel, Selina’s Big Score–an apt title, because Brubaker and company put her on a pedestal. Most creators usually leave her on the porch.