Gotham Central is Good Police

Cop shows are as thick as thieves on the landscape of our television screens. If a show doesn't feature attention starved ex-celebrities kicking each other out of houses or people humiliating themselves for recording contracts, there's a good chance it features police officers, doctors, lawyers, or some combination thereof. Because of their ubiquity, I'm kind of burned out on them; when done well, however, shows about criminals and the people who dedicate their lives (sometimes literally) to catching them can neatly encapsulate many of the themes that make for compelling drama: social inequity, physical danger, families strained and cracking and surrogate families being built.

In comic books, there are plenty of criminals. Many of them are of the gaudy, insane variety that we do not see as reflections of ourselves and society's ills. They are pursued and defeated by beings that similarly live above and outside of society, with some notable exceptions (The Punisher, for example, in most of his incarnations.) There are not a lot of cops. Well, they're there, but they aren't cast as the heroes in these dramas. They're cannon fodder, or annoyances, or people to kidnap or kill.

While not existing outside of the world in which these gaudy, insane villains exist, Gotham Central re-casts these police officers in the role we're accustomed to seeing them in on television. They are the ones who catch the bad guys. Sometimes they are the bad guys, because they're as flawed as we are, and sometimes as flawed as those they chase.

Gotham Central is written by the team of Ed Brubaker and Greg Rucka. They each handle one shift at the police station (day or night), and collaborate on some arcs such as the two parter that opens the series. I've frankly never been much of a fan of Brubaker's writing, going all the way back to his slacker, Lowlife days and continuing on through projects like Scene of the Crime and Criminal. None of it has struck me as poor, just...boring. Workmanlike. His characters spoke like real human beings, but dull human beings who used the same cliched phrases that we would hear while lingering at any bus stop or bar in America.

I don't know if it's his collaboration with Greg Rucka, whose work I have generally enjoyed (and my previous favorite Brubaker work is also collaborative, on Iron Fist, so who knows...), or if these characters just spoke to him in a particular way, but this is by far the best writing I've encountered from Brubaker.

And it is those characters that are the stars of this book. It's a large cast, but deftly characterized. Some of the officers, like Renee Montoya and Marcus Driver, are clearly being set up to be more prominent than the supporting cast members like Nelson Crowe or Josh Azeveda, but it's to Rucka and Brubaker's credit that they all feel like distinct human beings without being caricatures, lazily defined by the color of their hair or some personality quirk. In some cases only appearing for a page at a time, if that, all of these characters feel like they have different goals, different reasons for being cops, different methods of doing their jobs. There is a feeling of deep water, histories and secrets just below the surface, even from the most briefly introduced of them.

Michael Lark, the artist in the 10 issues that comprise the first volume, also provides superlative character work, not only in making them all distinct visually, but also in nailing every facial expression and bit of body language. In all ways, the artwork is the match of the excellent writing. The storytelling is so strong that sometimes, paradoxically, I almost forget there is artwork; "cinematic" gets thrown around a lot, but I feel it's appropriate here. There was literally never a panel that didn't flow perfectly into the next, or a moment I didn't know what I was looking at, or why. It's economical and also detailed, both exactly when it needs to be. The muted blues and browns also match the tone of the story perfectly, so kudos to the three listed colorists.

Through the three story arcs I've read so far there is a strong sense of continuity in the best possible way. Seemingly insignificant or minor details are never forgotten, and indeed, might become much more important in the light of future developments. Peripheral events take center stage, and repercussions aren't swept under the rug and ignored. The first story arc is the weakest overall, but it introduces an important theme: the reliance on, and bitterness toward, Batman. The police officers of the GCPD are a prideful, competent bunch, and they don't like relying on their mysterious, winged benefactor. Sometimes they're forced to swallow their pride in the name of public safety, but it doesn't sit well with all of them. Another story detail, the case that Detective Driver is working on when the first issue begins, becomes the focus of the second arc, along with an arson case that we have also heard mentioned in passing.

The third arc, five issues in length, is the strongest yet. Focusing on Renee Montoya, it ties together her family history, her sexuality, a past association with a sleazy rapist who is trying to blackmail her and a dangerous man who will go to any lengths to prove his devotion into an emotional and harrowing descent into hell, and eventually, redemption. But not entirely; this isn't the Brady Bunch, and Montoya's problems aren't wiped away by the end of this story. As far as some are concerned, her descent into Hell is just beginning, and her journey is certainly far from over. The same can be said of my journey with this series.