Broken Frontier

Is the time of superheroes coming to an end? Lex Luthor thinks so, and he’s got a plan to make it happen.

Luthor and his legion of (former?) supervillains have grand plans for humanity. They offer, peace, prosperity, an end to suffering, and a future that makes the 21st century look like the Stone Age. Sure, superheroes have been there for the world, repelling alien invasions or thwarting plans for world domination. But what have Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, and their ilk done to change the lives of everyday people for the better? Once villains who now claim to be reformed are taken out of the equation, what have the superpowered really done for the powerless? Millions continue to live in desperation or deprivation, dying of diseases that truly great heroes should’ve eradicated long ago. The world is still the same, Luthor and his gang say, and that is a greater evil than any of them have ever been responsible for. And whose fault is it? The very people who’ve claimed to be saving humanity all along. It’s time for a change. But have the supervillains really changed their ways, or does their one supreme act of goodness entail another act of utter evil that will leave Luthor and Co. the only game in town?

The timing of this miniseries couldn’t be better. If the central question of Infinite Crisis is "What does it mean to be a hero?," the other side of the coin—"What does it mean to be a villain?"—is at the heart of Justice. In issue #4, Jim Krueger and Alex Ross begin answering that question in an excellently crafted story scripted in two concurrent plotlines. As massive hologram projections of Luthor, Black Manta, and Poison Ivy are beamed to every corner of the world, these "former" supervillains promising to do for humanity what the Justice League never have, other members of the Legion make precisely timed and well-planned surgical strikes on the heroes. The match-ups are as classic—Sinestro vs. Hal Jordan, Wonder Woman vs. Cheetah, Superman vs. Bizarro and others—as they are ruthless. But while the action sequences give no quarter to either the reader or the heroes who are getting their asses handed to them, the true drama of Justice #4 is found in the interplay between the two plotlines. Luthor’s devastating critique of superheroes and his legion’s promises of a better world are both so sensible and eloquently scripted that one considers actually taking them seriously. Likewise, their hits on the heroes are so lightning quick and decisive that there’s no time for response. In both plotlines, but in different ways, the heroes are caught off-guard and exposed without much of a response, while the villains reach a level of true villainy—conceiving a new world order in their own image, regardless of law or morality, and then destroying anything that prevents it from coming about.

Alex Ross is one of a kind, the depth and power of his artwork so much closer to what superhero movies should look like than the movies themselves. So it’s no surprise that in terms of figure illustration and storytelling, he and Doug Braithewaite do not disappoint. The painted art also gives Justice an operatic scale in which the reader viscerally understands what’s at stake in this battle between heroes and villains simply by taking in the images. But though the figures and storytelling are exemplary, the framing and colors aren’t as appealing as they should be. There’s not much variety in shot length—variations of medium shots bounding—and some shots that would seem to work better from longer vantage points are rendered more closely. And in a story in which vibrant colors would seem an interesting if not killer fit with Ross’ ultra-realism, he and Braithewaite instead offer muted and drab color schemes instead. The framing and coloring issues prevent that feeling of being blown away, but they do not inhibit enjoying an impressive installment in a miniseries that grows stronger with each issue.

In short, think Super Friends on steroids and you’re thinking of Justice.