What would a third Tim Burton Batman movie have looked like? Rumors have swirled for more than 30 years about what could have been, if Warner Bros. hadn’t moved on from the director’s gothic vision for the more Happy Meal-friendly approach of Batman Forever. Allegedly, Robin Williams was Burton’s pick for The Riddler, a role that went to Jim Carrey. Imagine!
We’ll never truly know what could have been — but we’re about to get closer than ever, thanks to Batman: Revolution, a new novel from John Jackson Miller.
Miller’s first foray into the “Burtonverse,” last year’s Batman: Resurrection, picked right up after Burton’s 1989 movie, charting the fallout of Joker’s rampage, introducing a grounded spin on Clayface, and probing how Bruce Wayne dealt with his first major encounter. Resurrection ends (spoilers!) with a very clear tease of a Riddler-centric sequel. Here’s what Miller, a lifelong fan of Burton’s Bat-films, told us last year:
This was something which was intended in the beginning — that there would be the second act. And so all along in the writing, I was setting that up. In much the same way, the branches are there in the first film for things to happen in the second or third or fourth. And I think that it really did help me ground and focus the first book a lot better, because I didn’t have this feeling that this could be the only one ever, that I’ve got to have every thought I’ve ever had about Batman here.
Batman: Revolution takes place shortly after Resurrection, and introduces Bruce Wayne to his brainy nemesis. Ahead of the novel’s Oct. 21 publication, Polygon is happy to publish an exclusive excerpt, which reintroduces another pivotal character from the Burtonverse lore: Max Shreck. Here, Shreck takes the stage to announce a newly discovered family letter that solidifies him as one of Gotham’s most important children, only to see his plot sabotaged.
I am this city’s deep, twisted soul…
Max Shreck had thought that many times before — often, when looking into the mirror the morning after a corporate takeover. But tonight, he was something else.
I am the light. And I know how to run a show!
No sane person would pick an old library on the edge of condemnation for a major public unveiling, but one of the props he needed was right here. So he had volunteered to go last in Borg’s program — and brought his team into one of the activity rooms to prepare. Now that all the guests were hot and thirsty, Max, their savior, had blessed them with relief. A half dozen smiling models dressed as U.S.O. girls circulated through the audience, distributing iced tea and mai-tais from trays. Other assistants brought in electric fans and blocks of ice to cool down the room.
Max Shreck might have shared a name with an actor in an old vampire movie — thanks, Mom and Dad! — but the Gotham bigwigs and reporters would view him as a hero. And he was just getting started.
He strolled to the lectern, which stood beside the statue of Revolutionary War hero Konrad Straub. The reason Max was there—the wheeled display—flanked the statue, still covered. The display unit really had been unreachable, creating some anxious moments. The idiots who worked for him had stored it for safekeeping in the maintenance director’s office on Friday, not realizing there wouldn’t be anyone around on Sunday night who could unlock the door. Fortunately, Shreck had picked a lock or two in his life.
Those days were past. This was all about respect, now.
He’d put on the self-made-man act for years, telling people how he’d climbed from hardscrabble beginnings to a position atop a commercial empire. There was a kernel of truth to it; he’d indeed started out poor. But smashing the class barrier had required breaking the businesses — and occasionally bones — of people who’d stood in his way or belittled him. And a new batch was right in front of him.
The gang’s all here. Let it rip.
Shreck gripped the sides of the lectern and cast his eyes across the audience. “Thank you all for your patience — and your attendance. Particularly my special invitees: the members of the Star-Spangled Club, the Children of the Revolution, the Gotham Patriots, and more. Welcome!”
You’re a bunch of snobs, the lot of you. Bald guys and blue-hairs, too stuck-up to set foot in the store with a cartoon cat on the roof. But never mind.
“I’d also like to thank Bruce Wayne.” Shreck shot a look at Bruce, who looked almost ready to climb out of his skin. Max’s rival kept glancing up at the skylight. Was he expecting his helicopter to pick him up? “Bruce, I’m sure your new library will be a benefit for years to come.”
As a tax write-off, no doubt. Don’t go anywhere, Old Money. You’re about to get company in that exclusive club of yours.
“And finally, thank you, Mayor Borg, a man whose bold leadership has put steel in Gotham City’s spine.”
All the while without having a spine of his own. The guy declared Gotham City the birthplace of the taco just to support a restaurant opening. “And most importantly, for showing the wisdom and vision to accept my idea of restaging the bicentennial!”
He paused for a round of applause. What he received was less than he’d hoped for — but understandable given how the last bicentennial had fared. But this event meant something completely different to Shreck.
To think, if I’d unloaded the T-shirts from the last one, I’d never have come up with it. It’s going to change this city — and my life — in ways these fools can’t imagine!
“I understand the mayor’s told you of my contribution to Patriots Park. Of all the statues we’ll be relocating to a place of honor, this is perhaps the most important.” He gestured to the graven fellow beside him. “Gotham City’s own Revolutionary War hero, Konrad Straub!”
He left the lectern to pace around the base. “I can see from some of your stares that you don’t know the history. Shame on you — but let me enlighten you.” He looked up in awe. “Konrad Straub came to America from what is now Germany. A veteran of the French and Indian War, he worked as a printer’s apprentice in a shop near the very place we’re standing. A good worker, no one special. But fate had plans for him.”
Shreck spun — facing the audience with a scowl. “Konrad’s moment came in the summer of 1777, when General Howe and the British besieged Philadelphia, forcing the Second Continental Congress to flee. Gotham City welcomed the body with open arms. Legend holds that they planned to meet in the building that stood here before this library opened.”
He gestured to the walls and ceiling — and his words grew more serious.
“But before the first session convened, a local patriot discovered that British sympathizers intended to capture the representatives. The new nation, barely a year old, would have been smothered. The American dream, dashed!”
The department store owner cast his hand toward the statue. “But the invaders couldn’t contend with Konrad Straub. Low-born but high-minded, he wouldn’t stand by while the hopes for a new nation were crushed. So he arranged for a daring escape, spiriting the Congress out of Gotham City so it could resume further inland, continuing the work of creating a country!”
He crossed his arms as he took in Konrad’s visage. “That’s right. One of the Revolution’s greatest heroes wasn’t a general or politician, but a man of commerce and trade, born from nothing.” He spun to face the audience. “Konrad Straub’s story is my story. And your story. The story of Gotham City — and of America!”
His son Chip began clapping wildly — and other listeners joined in. Even Bruce Wayne.
Shreck basked in it. He glanced over at Bruce and pointed a thumb up at Straub’s statue. “If you’re looking for a name for your new library, I think we have a contender!”
Bruce, clearly aware of the eyes on him, shrugged and smiled awkwardly.
“Now, you may not know much about my roots,” Shreck said. He clasped his hands in humility. “To be honest, neither did I. But as a man grows older, as he builds a connection to a community and wants to give back to his country, he goes exploring.” He looked up and smiled. “I’m pleased to say I am a direct descendant of Konrad Straub!”
The listeners chattered like the squirrel-brains they were. It was time to bring it home.
“Yes, yes — you’re wondering how I know. Well, it happened in this very building. While preparing for the upcoming library move, a worker found a letter trapped behind an ancient desk in one of the sub-basements. The missive, also from 1777, is from a dry goods dealer in New England. Isaac Schreck — then spelled with an additional ‘c’ — the first member of my family to live in the New World!” Shreck raised a finger. “The maiden name of Isaac’s wife, Johanna, had long been a mystery, until the letter’s discovery. In it, Isaac refers to Konrad as his father-in-law and thanks him for consenting to the marriage.”
The audience buzzed — and Shreck seized the moment to swivel his arms toward the statue. “Great-great-great-granddad!”
Laughter and applause filled the atrium, rising to the heights.
This was it, Max thought. The door-opener. Validation. In the audience, two old brooch-wearers shook Chip’s hand. They wouldn’t have given the kid the time of day before. Now he was one of them. Max was one of them. He cared little for their hoity-toity clubs and service organizations. But Shreck was a man who always looked for the ladder, the elevator to the next floor.
It doesn’t matter to me if I belong. What matters is you can’t tell me I don’t.
The moment was grand, but there was always a sour note to be expected. It came from a predictable source. From the peanut gallery, Alexander Knox—the most annoying member of the Fourth Estate—peered at him. “Can we see this letter?”
“I’m way ahead of you, champ.” Shreck turned to the covered display. “You can all read the letter for yourselves, here under protective glass. Welcome to the family, Konrad!” He grasped the tricolored cover and ripped it off the display case inside. Inside sat the letter, browned by age—
—but the bigger surprise was the other message. Words, painted in green on the glass of the case, provoking gasps from the audience. What the hell? As flashbulbs went off, Shreck stepped around to the front of the case to see the lettering. It was a riddle, punctuated by an oversized question mark. He read it aloud:
WHY DON’T PEOPLE MINE FOR STEEL
?
The audience buzzed with confusion. “Is this a joke?” Max asked, incredulous. Staring at it, he repeated the words aloud. “ ‘Why don’t people mine for steel?’ ”
“Because it’s forged.”
Max turned to see that the answer had come from Bruce Wayne.
It had been little more than a mumble — but it caused the gathering to erupt. Journalists shouted questions over one another, while Max took out his handkerchief to try to wipe off the offending question.
Knox made his voice heard over the others. “Is the letter forged, Mister Shreck?”
Batman: Revolution hits store shelves on Oct. 21, and is now available for pre-order.
