Frank Miller

Q: When you took over Daredevil in the late 70's, you were practically an unknown in the comics industry, but you managed to immediately become a household name. What do you think the public (and the critics) saw in your work that made them stand up and take notice?

Miller: I think I got by for a while on sheer exuberance. Drawing comics had been my passion since I was six years old and first used a stapler and sheets of folded typewriter paper to imitate comic book pamphlets, drawing my own little-boy stories. The comics audience responds to sincerity and passion. It's quite forgiving to weaknesses of craft. And it took me a few years to marry my enthusiasm with stronger drawing and writing. So I guess I'd say that they could tell I love my job.

Also, I stole from the best.

Q: When you started writing as well as pencilling Daredevil, was your intention to basically sweep off everything that came before and create something dramatically different, or was it a more progressive change?

Miller: I never planned to draw superheroes. My favorite genre has always been crime fiction. So there I was, bugging New York publishers with a very young version of what would become Sin City many years later - and there the editors were, explaining that all they published were guys in tights. It was adapt or die time, so I adapted. With Daredevil I found the perfect vehicle: The hero's signature feature is an impairment. He's blind. I was able to do my kind of crime comics. I followed the example of Will Eisner's The Spirit. He gave his hero a mask to keep the publisher happy. Me, I had a blind guy in red tights.

Like I said, I stole from the best.

Q: How did you come up with the character of Elektra? It was one of the earlier cases of ret-conning a popular characters continuity by inserting previously unknown elements in their history. How did the editors at Marvel respond to this?

Miller: I stole from the best. Compare Eisner's Sand Saref with Elektra's first appearance. I copped his structure cold. As I drew and wrote Daredevil, Elektra became her own, terrifying sexual fantasy - I don't recall Eisner ever having The Spirit tricked by an old love into stepping into a bear trap.

The editors loved it, and it sold. It was a grand time.

Q: Fans of your work in Daredevil consider Elektra still dead and disagree with Marvel's decision to resurrect her.

Miller: God bless them, every one. Elektra is dead.

Q: Which brings us to a two-fold question about continuity and ethics. Do you feel that readers have a right to pick and choose which parts of a title's continuity they prefer?

Miller: Yes. When a character's been published monthly for forty or seventy years, a reader has to pick and choose between the good work and the bad. And if a talent has either made up a character or left his indelible stamp on it, a reader is under no obligation to blindly follow whatever nonsense the publisher pumps out. Surely no reasonable JAMES BOND follower would demand that fans of Sean Connery's Bond should be required to stick with every actor that succeeded him. As audience, we are the judges of what we consider meritorious.

Did I mention that Elektra is dead?

Q: After making your name working for Marvel, you got up and left to do Ronin for DC. What were the reasons that led you to this career choice?

Miller: Freedom. Genuine authorship. A chance at wild experimentation. It was, at the time, the wisest and most creatively rejuvenating decision of my career. An artist mustn't let himself go stale. Sometimes it's essential to scare the crap out of yourself.

Q: After all these years, do you consider Ronin to be a creative success or failure? Depending who you ask, you might get that it was a masterpiece or pretentious crap. Some people also believe that it was ahead of it's time. Do you agree with any of these assessments?

Miller: I'll have to settle for all three.

Q: Then came Dark Knight Returns and people outside of comics started looking in to see what the buzz was about (to be fair, Watchmen and Maus had a lot to do with this, too). What kind of feedback were you receiving at the time?

Miller: Once it came out, I knew it was selling through the roof and getting wild attention from mass media. DC was very happy. Batman was back, and finally the badass son of a bitch he always should've been.

Q: What were your intentions when you decided to create Dark Knight Strikes Again? Did self-sarcasm fall into the picture?

Miller: No, no self-sarcasm. Quite the opposite.

Q: I was out to remind readers about the inherent joy and wonder these superheroes offer, and also to celebrate their delicious absurdity. I saw the superheroes as Gods and Heroes in the Classic sense: Mighty, quirky, lustful, capricious, noble, petty, wrathful, unpredictable. Superman, Wonder Woman, Lara, Batman, Brainiac, Luthor, and Green Lantern are Gods. Carrie Kelley and the rest are heroes, offspring of Gods and men. Batman is the greatest of these Gods. Even though he can't leap tall buildings or throw cars around, he knows what he wants, and he's smarter than any of them. He uses his Pantheon to save humanity from its own self-embraced slavery.

Miller: I wanted to drag these Gods and Heroes out of that musty museum they'd been stuck in and drag them back to the streets where they belong.

Q: Did you anticipate the rather negative critical response it received?

Miller: I expected shock. I wanted it. I never make it my mission to reassure people. Time will make its own judgement.

Q: In connection with the previous question, do you care about reviews and critiques of your work anymore? I mean, one would think that being "THE Frank Miller" could get to your head, making you completely indifferent about anything written about your work or yourself personally.

Miller: Good reviews make me happy. Bad reviews make me sad. They're all contact. They're fuel. Everything is fuel. Life, politics, fashion, fiction...everything.

Q: When you started doing Sin City (the comic book, not the movie), were you shooting for a Mickey Spillane atmosphere and storytelling style?

Miller: That, and more. I use the wealth of great crime fiction to attempt something new.

I steal from the best.

Q: People have accused it of sometimes being more than just "homage".

Miller: Much more, I hope. I take that as a compliment, though I suspect not the way you imply.

Q: How do you see the current trend for "fallen" heroes? Do you perceive the protagonists of Sin City as "fallen angels"?

Miller: My Sin City heroes are knights in dirty, blood-caked armor. They bring justice to a world that gives them no medals, no praise, no reward. That world, that CITY, often kills them for their brave service.

Q: Sin City was also a big move for you artistically, with more heavy blacks and high contrast panels and less detailed linework. What led you to this creative move?

Miller: As always, the stories. Each calls for stylistic adjustments. A Dame to Kill For needed a nervous line to reflect young Dwight's anxiety. That Yellow Bastard, the most heroic of the series, called for a lean, stark manifestation of Hartigan's pure, abiding, self-sacrificing love for Nancy Callahan.

Q: After the immense success of the first Sin City film, are you thinking of expanding your endeavors into the film industry?

Miller: You bet. Robert Rodriguez opened up a whole new career for me, and I love the job.

Q: Are you satisfied with the quality of the current comics output?

Miller: Of course not. But there's more great stuff happening all the time. Superheroes are going from being the only genre in American comics to taking their place with a plethora of other ideas, other genre, other wild, new visions. This is a happy time. But satisfied? I pray I never am.

Q: Do you think your creative prowess lies more in your writing or your artwork? How important was it for you to be able to excel in both independently?

Miller: It's one craft. My pictures are incomplete with words. My words make no sense without pictures. Mostly, I do the whole job myself. Sometimes I share the job with other talents. But it's one, single craft, not a shotgun wedding between two.

Q: Have you reached a certain emotional plateau as to become disassociated from your former work?

Miller: Hell, no. My stories are the only children I ever intend to have. My love for them is lifelong.