His collaborators were some of the most significant creators in the medium: Klaus Janson, Bill Sienkiewicz, David Mazzucchelli, and John Romita Jr., among others. As many of you likely know, Miller himself is not only a remarkable writer but also a brilliant artist, with a distinctive style that has become influential in its own right. His visual signature has left a lasting mark on comics, inspiring countless others since.
Now, let me get a bit more personal.
The truth is, I’m not very familiar with today’s comics—only on a surface level. From what I have seen, most of them seem to follow a safe path. They rarely take risks, either visually or narratively. I don't want to dwell too much on this subject. I simply want to set the stage to explain my recent revisit of this classic title—a series that defined an era, impacted the medium deeply, and, in my opinion, has yet to be surpassed. I still have Bendis’ run ahead of me, which I plan to dive into soon.
Given when these stories were published—and the fact that even today they retain their power—reading them back in the 1980s must have been shocking, even chilling. That was the decade when Western comics matured. What I mean is that certain creators were given the opportunity to explore themes like death, loss, and existential doubt in ways that hadn’t been common before. They examined the cost of decisions, the other side of the coin—not just the hero who saves or defeats the villain, but the defeated villain as a character with his own voice.
Who are all these flawless, infallible personalities? Don’t they have struggles of their own? Don’t they sacrifice personal lives "for the good of humanity"? Are they really as noble as they appear? This was the moment when such questions began to arise—and, importantly, they resonated with readers. These stories found their audience and earned their place, and Daredevil under Frank Miller was among those that helped shape this new era.
Naturally, a movement formed. A trend. Around that time, other works emerged, each shaking things up in its own way—introducing new themes, offering social critique, poetic allegory, satire, or stark realism. These stories challenged established tropes and broke stereotypes, offering something truly original. To name just a few examples:
Watchmen, V for Vendetta, and Swamp Thing, all by Alan Moore. The Dark Knight Returns, which Miller created after his work on Daredevil, followed by Ronin. Many of Howard Chaykin's works marked the era, as did Hellblazer—a spin-off of Moore’s Swamp Thing—with Jamie Delano as its first writer, a personal favorite of mine. Alan Grant and John Wagner gave us Judge Dredd in 2000 AD, and Sláine by Pat Mills. From the early to late '80s, Alejandro Jodorowsky and Moebius gifted us the masterpiece The Incal, which sparked its own revolution in comics. Then came The Nikopol Trilogy by Enki Bilal and, earlier still, Corto Maltese by Hugo Pratt, and Lone Wolf and Cub by Kojima and Koike.
The list goes on, as you can imagine, and that tells us one thing: there was a deep need for these stories to be told, and readers—receivers of these tales—were hungry for them. It was a sign of the times.
Miller’s Daredevil run was one of the first comics I ever got my hands on. A friend, knowing my tastes, handed it to me when I asked for something different from what I was used to reading. I didn’t ask for something darker, more violent, or anything specific—I just said, “I want something else.” He replied, “Take this. Then come talk to me.” There was no turning back after that. I came out of it changed, and hungrier than ever.
I craved more, stunned by the realization that comics could tell such stories.
One scene I’ll never forget is when a minor character, after an accident, loses his grip on reality, wandering through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen until ends up in the sewers, serving a terrifying figure below.
That image will stay with me for the rest of my life.
Since most of what I’ve said so far is information familiar to anyone who’s spent time exploring this side of comics, I wanted this piece to not only recount historically significant facts, but also to offer a glimpse—brief, so as not to bore—into the personal impact this work had on me. I hope I succeeded, and that you found something of interest in it.
One last thing: it’s incredibly important—and unfortunately rare—for readers to revisit works they’ve already experienced. It’s not often that someone says, “Ah, I read this comic or book for a second or third time.” I understand why that is; there are many reasons, all valid. Still, I want to encourage you to return to the stories you loved. A second visit often reveals hidden secrets you’re unlikely to catch the first time around. And don't we all love uncovering secrets that are just waiting to be found?
That’s all for now.
Until next time, take care—and keep reading.
It’s important!
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