NEAR-MYTHS: “CARNIVAL OF THE CURSED” (BATMAN #224, 1970)

It’s been roughly a week since the announcement of Denny O’Neil’s passing. I’m sure there have been any number of essays devoted to his contributions, and without looking I’m reasonably sure that most fans will mention most fondly his work on various Batman stories, while placing less emphasis on his contributions to such franchises as Superman, Wonder Woman, Spider-Man and Iron Man. Were I writing a standard obituary, I would certainly write something similar. O’Neil wasn’t the first writer to steer the Batman away from gimmickry and toward Gothicism and gloominess, but he maintained a consistency of tone and an emphasis upon downtrodden humanity that redeemed even the most hackneyed plots.

When considering my favored subject, that of “myth in literature,” O’Neil certainly doesn’t rank alongside the creators who tally up the greatest quantity of mythcomics, such as Fox, Broome, and Kirby. Of course, even the best myth-makers, in order to stay gainfully employed, had to craft many, many stories that appealed to the reader’s desire for easily comprehensible lateral meaning, whereas the more difficult vertical meaning proved hit and miss. Indeed, a lot of the stories in which I’ve observed a high symbolic discourse seem to have done so without much conscious intention. I would’ve thought that, given his considerable investment in the Caped Crusader, there might’ve been a fair sampling of myth-tales during O’Neil’s various outings with the character. But even the stories with O’Neil’s most celebrated creation, Ra’s Al Ghul, only rate as near-myths.

“Carnival of the Cursed” also comes damn close to the mark. Batman learns of the murder of a jazz musician, Blind Buddy Holden, and jets down to New Orleans to find the culprits, simply because the crusader was a fan of the man’s music. Providentially, the hero arrives during Mardi Gras, so that the exoticism of the city’s Catholicism-driven holiday is on full display. Batman finds the murderers quickly enough, but he also finds that they have a powerful ally, an apish brute named Moloch. Without going into the specific reasons for the jazz-man’s murder, it’s not surprising that money is at the root of it all, so that I found myself wondering if the name “Mammon” might’ve been a more appropriate name for the villain. But the act of giving the grotesque evildoer the name of a pagan god certainly contributes, as much as jazz music and Mardi Gras costumes, to the impact of the story, ending with this page, certainly one of the most perfect denouements in commercial comics.