When DC Comics announced its new Absolute run—yet another alternate universe reboot—I was one of its loudest detractors. Sure, Absolute Wonder Woman’s design objectively goes hard, but my favorite hero, Batman, looked goofy as hell. That fat, illegible logo on his chest barely resembled a bat, and the only thing “absolute” about him was that Bruce “beefcake” Wayne was an absolute unit of a man. Since his first issue was released last year, I would scoff and clown on him to my friends whenever his visage graced my timeline. I didn’t want anything to do with the series…until I did.
As with most of the random things I wind up experiencing and writing about on Aftermath, the inciting incident that led me to barrel to my local comic book shop and cop myself a volume of Absolute Batman was something small. In this case, it wasn’t the unintelligible Frank Miller-esque bat-logo I’ve mocked since day one, or the caped crusader’s Dorito-shaped natty build—it was his whip: the Batmobile. A vehicle more slab of metal than car, something that looked ripped straight out of Mad Max and dropped into Gotham. Seeing it out of context on Twitter a week ago made me ask: What the hell is Batman fighting to justify rolling around in that beast?
So I barreled to my local comic book shop, picked up the first volume of Absolute Batman, and got my answer. Gotham is more messed up than it’s ever been, and it needs a different type of Batman to save the day. A Batman who’s already shot up the leaderboard as one of my favorite iterations on the character.
Absolute Batman, written by Scott Snyder and drawn by Nick Dragotta with colors by Frank Martin, strips Bruce Wayne of his usual hallmarks. No mansion. No generational wealth infinite money glitch. No philanthrocapitalist posturing. He’s arguably the most on-the-ground version of Bruce Wayne I’ve ever seen: a blue-collar collar engineer. Instead of one central hub that gets more comedic with every trophy he adds to his man cave, he sets up a network of safehouses in abandoned construction projects. He’s tapped in as Bruce Wayne, listening to the city’s pulse from the ground up and acting as a seismic earthquake, reshaping Gotham to the people’s needs. Meanwhile, Batman is bigger, scrappier, hungrier, and as tame as a rabid dog. Yet in that rough, visceral outline of his still-recognizable silhouette is a heart that feels more Batman than most Batman media I’ve experienced.
Some light spoilers on that
As someone who was there for DC’s New 52 reboot of the comic universe in high school and checked out ever since, Absolute Batman is the first iteration of the character that I’ve truly vibed with in years because it finally addressed a gripe that’s always kept me at arm's length: Batman never felt class-conscious. The whole conceit of Bruce Wayne being a nepo baby with infinite resources—a core tenet of his character—made it hard to buy into his crusade against injustice when he was, in many ways, its financial beneficiary as the head of Wayne Enterprises.
I even caught heat for saying as much on Tumblr years ago in a post that’s still garnering notes from all 50 people still using the site—when I wrote about how, for all his wild crossovers fighting Xenomorphs and the like, Batman never seemed concerned with systemic issues like wealth inequality plaguing Gotham, giving credence to streets literally called Crime Alley. Folks dug up receipts of Bruce Wayne doing philanthropic stunts, ironically enough, like hiring out Black Mask’s goons, helping them go straight. Still, they missed the point: it was always a performative flex to one-up villains, never a sustained commitment to real change. It was giving black square and hashtag on Instagram activism energy, and I never took the bait on that aspect of Batman’s brand of heroism.
Absolute Batman, however, is about that action. This version of Bruce doesn’t posture; he dismantles. Like Pattinson’s Batman realizing fear can’t be all he symbolizes, he adopts radical heroism. What’s more, he manages to do so by inflicting Snyderverse Batman levels of violence that push the envelope even harder without feeling out of place, given how chaotic and unjust his world has been allowed to fester unchecked. I mean, look at his Joker. Absolute Batman’s gotta put Batboots to asses to save the day, no matter how torn from ass to appetite his foes are in the aftermath. He’s basically as close as Batman’s gonna get to being The Punisher. Yet, he’s not at all as cringeworthy as I assumed that premise would be, thanks to Snyder’s stellar writing, Dragotta’s kinetic art, and Martin’s moody coloring keeping him tethered to reality.
Seeing Black Mask—a villain I’ll forever be tilted about getting shafted for Joker in Arkham Origins—finally gets his spot as Batman’s starter villain in Absolute Batman felt like vindication. This version of Black Mask is more conniving, cyberpunk-coded, and disturbingly relevant to the type of 4Chan-incited anarchistic violence. He embodies all this by enacting a Purge-esque plan to weaponize Gotham’s distrust of local politicians by turning corruption into a bounty system where citizens can literally profit off of taking out the powerful. It’s a delicious counter to Batman’s vigilante ethos. I mean, Black Mask takes “eat the rich” to its most literal extreme.
Nick Dragotta and Frank Martin/DC Comics
And it’s not just Black Mask who gets a refreshing remix. Ripples of familiar Batman mythos—Riddler, Killer Croc, Penguin, Two-Face, and of course, Catwoman—are reimagined as Bruce’s childhood friends. In what I’ve gleaned of them, they’re not just rogues-to-be; they’re both reflections of how shared trauma as children of Gotham and decisions they'll make as adults will test their growing pains. For now, their interests are aligned, but the winds are already blowing in the direction of them becoming emotionally entangled adversaries when they inevitably clash. As an anime fan and lifelong BatCat shipper, I’m just ticked at this version of Catwoman being Afro-Latina with an aesthetic evoking Celty Sturluson from Durarara!!
Getting back to the man himself: Black Mask tests Batman’s mettle not just physically (which he surprisingly has hands enough to do), but ideologically. He even wafts money in Bruce’s face, tempting him to give up the whole crime-fighting schtick for millions of dollars. Bruce literally sets it on fire (in the shape of a bat), and while Absolute Batman still walks that razor-thin Batfleck-style line of not killing, the story thumbs the scales just enough to keep the cool factor from drowning out his non-lethal ethos. He still doesn’t kill, mind you—but he certainly leaves a lasting impression.
Also, that dumb logo I clowned on? Turns out it’s one of many utilitarian use cases for his whole beefy look. The bat logo on his chest is actually a slab of iron Bruce retrofits into an axe—a literal hammer and sickle. His war rig Batmobile is a convertible construction vehicle he uses to rebuild Gotham after every battle, complete with a wrecking ball that doubles as a weapon and an anchor to one of his many Batcaves beneath the riverbed. His long-ass ears? They’re concealed combat knives. Even his weird-ass cape is kitted out with a multi-tool of hooks, claw-thumbs, and retractable spikes. Absolute Batman is an embarrassment of edgelord design elements pushed to their absolute zenith. I’m not made of stone. That shit goes hard.
No image can further cement why I mess with Absolute Batman than artist (and fellow Chicagoan) Daniel Warren Johnson’s illustration of Batman choking out an ICE agent with his hamhock arms and fighting off the Ku Klux Klan. I used to joke online about half-expecting DC to never go there with Batman as a hero who’s about that action. And now it finally has with Absolute Batman, I’m all in.
