10.13125/2039-6597/4220
application/pdf
2039-6597
4220
20
en
urn:nbn:it:unica-26952
Alessio Aletta
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0
Between
Dante Alighieri
From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle: adaptation and appropriation in Detective Dante
Text.Serial.Journal
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between
10
Intermedial Dante: Reception, Appropriation, Metamorphosis
2020-11-30
2020-07-19
2020-11-30
2020-12-07
267-299
1
Alessio Aletta
2020/11/30
10.13125/2039-6597/4220
267
University of Toronto
2039-6597
20
Dante Alighieri
en
299
urn:nbn:it:unica-26952
From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle: adaptation and appropriation in Detective Dante
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between/article/download/4220/4544
10
             From the dark wood
             to the asphalt jungle:
         adaptation and appropriation
               in Detective Dante

                              Alessio Aletta

Abstract
      Detective Dante (2005-2007) is a comic book miniseries written by
Lorenzo Bartoli and Roberto Recchioni. The eponymous hero, Henry
Dante, is a violent policeman who, haunted by the ghost of his wife,
moves from New York to the fictional ‘Paradise City’. The series,
composed by 24 issues divided in three cycles (Inferno, Purgatorio,
Paradiso), is noticeably influenced by the Divine Comedy both in its
general outline and in some single episodes; nevertheless, it ultimately
tells an original story. Through a close reading of the first issue as well
as more general considerations about the series in its entirety, this paper
investigates the intertextual relations between Detective Dante and the
Divine Comedy. In the context of Dantean comics, this series exhibits a
number of unusual traits: its references are thematical and structural,
rather than graphic; it contaminates elements from the Commedia with a
modern and noir setting, generating unique combinations; perhaps most
importantly, it refutes the subservience to the literary source typical of
many comics adaptations.
Keywords
Adaptation; comics; Roberto Recchioni; Lorenzo Bartoli; Dante Ali-
ghieri

Between, vol. X, n. 20 (Novembre/November 2020)
ISSN 2039-6597
DOI: 10.13125/2039-6597/4220
                                   Between, vol. X, n. 20 (Novembre/November 2020)




              From the dark wood
              to the asphalt jungle:
         adaptation and appropriation in
                  Detective Dante

                            Alessio Aletta


     Among the many adaptations of the Divine Comedy into comics, the
miniseries Detective Dante seems to have escaped the attention of
scholars – so much so, in fact, that not only there are no specific studies
on this work, but it is not even named in otherwise commendable
surveys of Dantean comics (for instance Winter 2018: 62-64; it appears,
however, in a list of “Divini comics” posted by Lorenzo Barberis [2016]
on his non-academic but insightful blog). This omission may partly be
due to the relative obscurity of Detective Dante ( especially in comparison
to masterpieces like L’inferno di Topolino or Nagai’s Dante Shynkioku);
perhaps an even more decisive factor, however, resides in the utterly
peculiar relation that this work establishes with the Dantean source,
which arguably makes it hard to even consider it as a veritable
‘adaptation’. Attempting to define this intertextual relation is precisely
the goal of this paper.
     The series was created by Lorenzo Bartoli and Roberto Recchioni in
2005; at the time, this duo was at the peak of its success with John Doe
(2002-2012), another ‘bonellide’1 series which has attained cult status
over the years. John Doe was a quintessentially postmodern comic: a


     1
      Comic books imitating the format made popular by iconic Bonelli series
such as Tex and Dylan Dog (paperback, black and white, 16x21 cm, around 100
pages).


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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



cocktail of disparate influences and references, where the morally
ambiguous protagonist could work with the Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse and find himself battling Moby Dick, Santa Claus or his own
authors – and even Detective Dante himself, in two cross-over episodes:
Detective Dante #11 “Arriva John Doe” (2006) and John Doe #59 “Con tutta
la forza che posso” (2008).
      As declared by Bartoli and Recchioni, Detective Dante was
conceived as a conscious attempt to create something completely
different from John Doe: a more linear story, which would come to a
definitive end in just 24 issues (a promise partly broken by the
aforementioned cross-over episode in John Doe #59) and, most
importantly, limited to one genre (however loosely defined): the hard-
boiled detective fiction. The authors address the issue of the relation
between these two comics in an interview released on the website
Comicus.it in occasion of Detective Dante’s launch:

         Su Dante abbiamo più che altro cercato di esplorare le varie
      forme del romanzo hard-boiled, del poliziesco, del thriller,
      dell'azione e via dicendo... spesso contaminando l'una con l'altra
      ma cercando di evitare tutto l'aspetto referenziale di JD o un certo
      tipo di strizzatine d'occhio ai lettori. (Recchioni in Dal Grande
      2005)2

      This professed return to simplicity is contradicted by the seemingly
incongruous insertion of a Dantean subtext into the essentially ‘noir’
setting, which makes Detective Dante a distinctly postmodern work, no
less than John Doe; not only for the contamination of sources in itself,
but above all for the deconstructing effect it has on both its main
components, the ‘crime fiction’ canon and the Commedia. In fact, the


      2
       [“With Dante, we essentially tried to explore the various forms of the
hard-boiled, crime, thriller, action genre and so on… often by contaminating
one with the other, but trying to avoid the referential component of John Doe
or a certain kind of winks and nudges to the reader” (my translation)]



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                                     Between, vol. X, n. 20 (Novembre/November 2020)



authors’ attitude towards these texts can be perfectly summarized in
Umberto Eco’s seminal definition:

       The postmodern response to the modern consists […] of
    recognizing that the past – since it may not be destroyed, for its
    destruction results in silence – must be revisited ironically, in a way
    which is not innocent. (Eco in Rosso 1983: 2)3

     The reference to the Divine Comedy is made apparent not only by
the name of the eponymous hero, detective Henry Dante, but also by the
division of the 24 episodes composing the miniseries in three cycles
called respectively “Inferno”, “Purgatorio” and “Paradiso”.
     In the aforementioned interview, Bartoli and Recchioni explained
how they envisioned this intertextual relation:

       Recchioni: Ci saranno dei contatti e dei parallelismi con la
    Commedia di Alighieri molto forti e per tutta la durata della mini-
    serie. Nei primi albi saranno più sottolineati mentre in quelli
    successivi andranno a sfumare (rimanendo comunque presenti). Di
    numero in numero decidiamo quanta distanza prendere dai canti e
    quanto rimanere fedeli allo sviluppo originale della Divina
    Commedia, se agire attraverso un forte simbolismo oppure evocare
    solamente taluni personaggi e certe tematiche. Scoprire questa
    chiave potrà essere divertente per il lettore più attento e curioso ma
    non strettamente necessario per fruire la storia.
       Bartoli: Abbiamo seguito la struttura dei canti, metaforizzando i
    ruoli e gli incontri che costellano la Divina Commedia. Ogni tanto,
    però, siamo usciti dal seminato, per evitare ripetizioni di tematiche
    che l'Alighieri aveva a cuore ma che mal si sarebbero adattate ad
    una trasposizione fumettistica. Niente cultura alta, comunque...




    3
        Later incorporated in the famous Postille a Il Nome della Rosa (1984).


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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



      non siamo capaci né vogliamo metterci dietro una cattedra. (Dal
      Grande 2005)4.

      This attention to the “structure” and “metaphorization” of the
Divine Comedy is in itself an anomaly in the context of the comics
adaptations of Dante’s poem: one of the main reasons for the abundance
of Dantean transpositions in a visual medium such as comics is the
famed ‘iconicity’ of the episodes and characters so vividly represented
in the Commedia, and especially the Inferno. More often than not, a
decisive role is played by the mediation of Gustave Doré’s illustrations,
which Alfonso Amendola and Mario Tirino have described as a veritable
“filter” connecting Dante’s poem to visual media (2016: 30); Doré’s
influence is evident, for instance, in Gō Nagai’s Dante Shinkyoku
(Ciannella – Martí 2018: 140).
      In Bartoli and Recchioni, on the contrary, the reference to the Divine
Comedy’s visual imaginary (as represented both in Dante’s text and in
the iconographic tradition) is virtually non-existent: the parallelisms
established between poem and comics concern exclusively the themes
and the narrative in general (single episodes and characters, as well as
the overall structure of the story), while all of the comic book’s graphic



      4
       [“Recchioni: Throughout the miniseries’ run there will be strong ties
and parallelisms with Alighieri’s Commedia. In the earlier issues they will be
more stressed, while later on they will start to fade out (but they will still be
there). For each issue, we decide how much to deviate from the cantos and
how true we want to stay to the original unravelling of the Divine Comedy,
whether to operate through a strong symbolism or to only evoke certain
characters or themes. Looking for this key may be fun for the more careful
reader, but it won’t be necessary to enjoy the story.
     Bartoli: We followed the cantos’ structure, metaphorizing the roles and
encounters punctuating the Divine Comedy. However, every once in a while,
we went off the grid, to avoid reiterating topics which Alighieri held dear but
wouldn’t translate well in a comics transposition. No high-brow culture,
anyway… we are not up to it, nor are we interested in giving lectures.” (my
translation)]


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components are built around some declination of the crime fiction
hyper-genre.
     The foundation is of course laid by the classic hard-boiled novels,
on which Bartoli and Recchioni boasted an encyclopaedic knowledge5.
However, while these influences constitute the backbone of Detective
Dante in terms of motifs and, above all, tone, the aesthetic layout of the
series has more recent references, starting with the character design,
which is evidently inspired by movie stars. This approach is fairly
common in the comics industry (especially, but not exclusively, in
Bonelli comics), as taking a celebrity as reference simplifies the
communication between writers and artists (Del Grande 2005).
However, the choice of a specific actor as the model for the character is
in itself significant, as it helps orienting, even subconsciously, the
expectations the reader. One particularly clear example is Sorrow by
Cicogna and Freghieri (1976-1985), perhaps the most conventional ‘noir’
in the history of Italian comics, whose protagonist is a carbon copy of
Humphrey Bogart.
     In this respect, Detective Dante sends completely different signals.
The heroine, Meridiana Cortez, has the face of Eva Mendes, an actress
who had recently gained notoriety appearing in action films such as
Training Day (2001) and 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003). Originally Henry Dante
was to be based on Bruce Willis, although this idea was abandoned in
the final design, which was elaborated by Recchioni and the artist,
Elisabetta Barletta (DD #9: 2). Nevertheless, ‘casting’ two action movie
stars as the main characters is certainly indicative of the direction in
which Bartoli and Recchioni were stirring their series: away from the
classic noir and towards the action thriller. In fact, in the cover of the
issue #15 “Nero alla fine del buio”, set in the world of cinema, the



     5
        In the comic book’s accompanying notes, the authors explicitly cite
many of the fathers of the genre, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett,
Elmore Leonard, Donald E. Westlake (DD #9: 2), but also less illustrious
names, such as the Italian Alan D. Altieri, who is especially relevant to the
series for his emphasis on violence and action scenes (DD #2: 99).


                                                                              271
Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle




 Figure 1. Cover of Detective Dante#1 "Paradise City". Art by Leomacs (Massimiliano Leonardo),
 graphic project by Paolo Campana.


protagonist is portrayed with trench and fedora, in the signature Philip
Marlowe attire, clearly meant to be parodistic.
     Henry Dante’s final design does not correspond to any celebrity in
particular; he vaguely resembles a normalized and conventionally
attractive version of Marv, the herculean, monstrous anti-hero of Frank
Miller’s Sin City. A more direct reference might be the eponymous
protagonist of Angel, a spin-off of Buffy the Vampire slayer, which aired
from 1999 to 2004 in the USA and from 2003 to 2007 in Italy (making it
contemporary to the comic book)6. Despite its supernatural and gothic
elements, Angel is essentially a detective series, with strong ties to noir
cinema (Abbott 2005: 1-13) and set in the glamorous California, just like
Detective Dante; the gritty and dark look of this tv show has clearly been
an influence on Bartoli an Recchioni’s comic, most evident in the covers
of the first eight issues of Detective Dante (that is, the “Inferno”).
     These covers are also noteworthy for their design (fig. 1), which
imitates the ones of the classic pulp magazines (see Lesser 2005),

      6
       I am indebted to Prof. Wyatt Phillips of Texas Tech University for
pointing out this connection.


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                                      Between, vol. X, n. 20 (Novembre/November 2020)



especially in the use of “screamers” (the flashy writings those
periodicals often put on their covers to enthusiastically advertise their
content). This is an effort to differentiate Detective Dante from the Bonelli
and ‘bonellide’ market, while at the same time signalling its belonging
to the hard-boiled vein.
     It is harder to make general statements about the art of the comics
themselves, since Detective Dante employed a dozen different
pencillers/inkers, with very different styles: the first issues tend to
feature clear strokes and realistic depictions7; as the series progresses,
however, there is an increasing presence of stylized, raw, sometimes
almost caricatural art8. One commonality linking such diverse styles is,
unsurprisingly, a massive use of chiaroscuros, which is a key feature not
only of noir comics but of the noir genre tout court (this trait was derived
from the German Expressionist cinema, one of noir’s main influences9.
In time, this recognizable look has become a standard of crime-noir
comics10). It should be noted that adventure Italian comics, traditionally
in black and white, are particularly apt to this kind of design,11 and as a

     7
        Such as those by Elisabetta Barletta (DD #1), Cristiano Cucina (DD #2),
Alessio Fortunato (DD #4).
      8 With artists such as Werther Dell’Edera (DD #3,10,12,17), Giorgio

Pontrelli, (DD #6,14,19) and Giacomo Bevilacqua, who makes his debut on
Detective Dante #22. Bevilacqua would later ascend to fame thanks to his
comedic webcomic A panda piace; interestingly, he has later switched to a more
realistic style and now works frequently for Bonelli, with comics such as
Lavennder (2017) or Attica (2019-2020).
      9 An early attempt to replicate this kind of visual effects on paper are the

wordless novels by Lynd Ward, illustrated using the technique of wood
engraving. I thank Prof. Alberto Zambenedetti of the University of Toronto for
his input on this topic.
      10 Across such landmarks as Chester Gould’s Dick Tracy, Will Eisner’s The

Spirit (Lyons 2013: 461-462), Carlos Sampayo and José Muñoz’s Alack Sinner;
this last work is probably the most direct influence on Detective Dante, as they
both share a similar expressive intent in the use of strokes and contrast.
      11 I am indebted for this insightful observation to Prof. Luca Somigli, of

the University of Toronto.


                                                                                 273
Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



matter of fact, Italian comics boast a remarkable tradition of so-called
“fumetti neri”(Castaldi 2010: 13-22)12.
     In extreme synthesis, these are the coordinates in which Detective
Dante positions itself: a constellation of diverse influences which relate
rather loosely to the broad category of ‘noir’ and that nonetheless come
together to form a distinct and yet cohesive canvas.
On this foundation, in itself rather stratified, Bartoli and Recchioni
weave their web of Dantean references. This peculiar kind of
intertextuality is perhaps best illustrated through a close reading of the
very first issue of Detective Dante, “Paradise City!” (corresponding
approximately to the Commedia’s first five cantos), where these allusions
are most numerous and transparent.

     The comic book opens with a first and somewhat obvious
(inescapable?) Dantean reference: the Divine Comedy’s incipit (Inf. 1, 1-3),
quoted in caption over the establishing panels depicting a rain-drenched
crime scene in New York (fig. 2). The quotation of Dante’s verses as a
commentary of the action is the most direct example of intertextuality
employed in the series, and it will be reused (although not constantly)
throughout the “Inferno” cycle.
     In this case, however, the graphic construction of the page seems to
be of particular significance: the tercet is divided in three captions, each
superimposed to one of the three panels composing the page. This
disposition might be fortuitous: Bonelli (and ‘bonellide’) comics’ grid
typically divides the page in three two-panel strips, and panels
establishing the setting, which are the most intuitive choice to start a


       The slew of “fumetti neri” in the 60s-70s was kickstarted by Angela and
      12

Luciana Giussani’s Diabolik (1962) and its numerous epigones, among which
Kriminal and Satanik, both drawn by Roberto Raviola alias Magnus, one of the
greatest artists not only as regards noir but also Italian comics on the whole
(Castaldi 2010: 13-22); Magnus would go on to create the character of “The
Unknow”, Lo Sconosciuto (1975), which may well be considered Italy’s most
mature noir hero.



274
                                             Between, vol. X, n. 20 (Novembre/November 2020)




        Figure 2. The ‘dark wood’. Detective Dante #1: 5. Drawings by Elisabetta Barletta.

story, tend to take an entire strip. Nevertheless, the disposition of the
panels mirroring the verses in caption may also be read as an artifice to
translate the metrical structure of Dante’s ‘terza rima’ into the visual
grammar of comics, subtly accustoming the reader to the distinctive
rhythm of the Divine Comedy from the very first page.
     The quote from the Commedia anticipates the theme of this first
sequence: detective Henry Dante’s entrance into the “selva oscura”. In
the original poem, Dante’s fall from grace happens after Beatrice’s death.
In the noir setting of Detective Dante, this death translates, of course, to a


                                                                                             275
Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



murder: when Henry arrives at the crime scene and uncovers the body
of the victim, he finds his wife, Maria (DD #1: 6-7). From a narratological
point of view, both women function as the motor of the story: in the
Commedia, Beatrice is the one who sends Dante to his journey through
the netherworld; in Detective Dante, Henry is motivated by the guilt
caused by not having been able to protect Maria and the desire to find
her killer. Furthermore, ‘Maria’ is named after the Holy Virgin, who is
at the very origin of Beatrice’s work of salvation (Inf. 2, 94-96).
      Feeling lost after the death of Maria, Dante moves to Paradise City,
California (a fictional metropolis shaped after Los Angeles). This change
of place can be read in two ways: on one hand, it reflects Dante
(Alighieri)’s bewilderment when he embarks on his metaphysical
journey; on the other, it is a conventional starting point for the noir
novels from the 30s, whose protagonists often had just moved into the
city13. The sense of disorientation is a trait in common between the
Commedia’s pilgrim, who can only rely on Virgil’s and Beatrice’s guide
to makes sense of the Netherworld’s wonders, and the noir hero, who
typically find himself involved in an obscure and intricate plot, on which
he has little control. These influences are combined in the character of
Henry Dante, who, despite his toughness, is repeatedly fooled and
constantly misinterprets reality14.
      Fresh off the plane, Henry Dante stops at a diner where he comes
across three robbers, evidently alluding to the three ferocious beasts
from the first canto of the Inferno. However, contrary to his literary


      13
         This topos reflects the context in which the genre arose, reproducing
the experience of the drifters in the years of the Great Depression (once more,
I have to thank Prof. Zambenedetti for this clarification).
      14 He is also blindsided and passes out time and time again (once already

in this first issue). This situation, too, is a cliché in noir novels, related to the
detective’s inability to stay on top of the situation; but again, it may also be
linked with Dante’s fainting in a number of occasions throughout of the
Commedia (so often, in fact, that Cesare Lombroso diagnosticated Dante
Alighieri with epilepsy and Giuseppe Plazzi, more recently, narcolepsy [Plazzi
2013]).


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counterpart, detective Dante is not shaken by the frightful encounter, as
he nonchalantly guns the crooks down (DD #1: 12-18). This deviation
from the Divine Comedy’s hypotext, meant to showcase Henry Dante’s
personality and skills, does not affect the progression of the story: the
confrontation still results in Dante meeting his guide. In the comic book,
the role of Virgil is filled by detective Meridiana Cortez, a policewoman
born and raised in Paradise City’s Hispanic district, who hastened to the
scene after receiving reports of gunfire. She will be assigned to Dante as
a partner and eventually become his lover, only to die in action at the
end of the “Purgatorio” cycle (DD #16). Despite being a completely
different character from the Mantuan poet in almost every conceivable
way (gender, personality, relationship to Dante…), Meridiana fulfils the
same function: she is experienced, rational and familiar with the area,
therefore can chaperon Dante in his journey through Inferno and
Purgatory (but, like Virgil, she will disappear before the Paradise).
      After introducing him to the Chief of Police, Meridiana takes Dante
for a tour of the city. As they drive across Downtown, once again a series
of captions reminds us of the Dantean subtext, quoting the tercets
inscribed on the gate of Hell (Inf. 3, 1-9; DD #1: 26). Dante and Meridiana
receive the report of a homicide in the Hispanic district; as they enter the
area, Meridiana instructs Henry with words that essentially paraphrase
the “Lasciate ogni speranza” quoted only a few pages earlier:

        Oltre questo punto, inizia il territorio della gang dei Maldecido,
     il loro quartier generale. Una sola via d’entrata… nessuna via
     d’uscita, se loro non vogliono. Molti casi d’omicidio portano qui…
     in un vicolo cieco. (DD #1: 31)15

    The name of the gang, “Maldecido” (Spanish for ‘damned’), is one
more hint to the symbolic significance of passing this threshold; but
should all these quite transparent clues escape a careless reader, a


      [“Beyond this point, the territory of the ‘Maldecido’ gang begins: their
     15

headquarter. Only one way in… no way out, if they don’t want you to go out.
Many homicide cases lead here... to a dead end.’” (my translation)]


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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle




       Figure 3. 'Charon'. Detective Dante #1: 32. Drawings by Elisabetta Barletta.

caption narrating Dante’s interior monologue blatantly announces that
we are, indeed, in Hell: “Benvenuto all’inferno, detective Dante…” (DD
#1: 33).
      Before Dante and Meridiana can reach the Maldecido’s
headquarter, however, their path is blocked by a gangster standing
guard: a stand-in for Charon, who has traded his boat for a sports car
(fig. 3). Nonetheless, Bartoli and Recchioni are not interested in
transposing Charon’s role as Hell’s ferryman, but merely his function as
regards the protagonists’ journey: an obstacle to overcome. Like Virgil,
Meridiana’s right to enter the district is acknowledged by ‘Charon’, but
she has to persuade him to let Dante pass, too. In addition to the
narrative reprise from the third canto, the identification with the
Dantean “Caron dimonio” is confirmed by a textual reference: the word
“Dimonio” tattooed on the gangster’s chest.
      Having passed ‘Charon’, Dante and his guide meet El,
superintendent of the building where the murder has happened, who is
sitting peacefully in his chair with a newspaper and a cigar. Meridiana
introduces him to Dante as “una persona molto importante, qui […]. Lui
sa sempre tutto. Specie sugli affari della sua gente. […] Non è un



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capobanda… ma la sua opinione è rispettata da tutti” (DD #1: 36)16.
Contrary to Charon, there is no explicit reference to Alighieri’s text, but
Meridiana’s description seems to relate El to the infernal judge Minos,
who knows all damned souls’ sins (“conoscitor de le peccata”, Inf. 5, 9).
In the Divine Comedy, Minos indicates which of Hell’s circles is assigned
to each sinner by wrapping his snake-like tail around his body; El, more
prosaically, tells Dante and Meridiana the numbers of the floor and
apartment where they will find their crime scene.
     There, they find their culprit: the boss of the Maldecido, Miguel
Trejo, who killed his woman and his brother after catching them red-
handed in his bed. Both the crime of passion and the incestuous adultery
between in-laws reference the tragic end of the lustful Paolo and
Francesca (Inf. 5).
     This is the last clear Dantean revisitation present in the issue: after
that, the arrest of Miguel Trejo escalates in an all-out war with the
Maldecido, with Dante and Meridiana sieged in a mini-market – a
situation which does not seem to have a precedent in the Divine
Comedy17.

      Nevertheless, the climax of the episode is noteworthy for the
appearance of Maria’s ghost, whom Dante sees in moments of doubt or
peril. The parallelism between the Divine Comedy’s Beatrice and Detective
Dante’s Maria is perhaps the single most interesting aspect of Bartoli and
Recchioni’s adaptation. As already mentioned, the death of Beatrice and
Maria can be considered the ‘inciting incident’ of the respective stories.
Like Beatrice, Maria continues to watch over Dante even in death: she
appears to him as a ghost, warning him of dangers and granting him a


     16
         [“A very important person, out here. He always knows everything,
especially about his people’s business. He is not a boss… but everyone respects
his opinion.” (my translation)]
      17 As the authors note in the comic book’s closing remarks (DD #1: 99),

this part of the episode does not pertain to the hard-boiled genre either, but is
instead inspired by the “siege” topos as portrayed in movies such as Howard
Hawks’ Rio Bravo (1959) and John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13 (1976).


                                                                                279
Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle




            Figure 4. Maria. Detective Dante #1: 89. Drawings by Elisabetta Barletta.

seemingly supernatural protection in shootouts. Henry repeatedly
refers to her as “my guardian angel” (for instance in DD #1: 83, 89); later
on, it is Maria herself to allude to her heavenly role: “Sono il tuo pezzo
di cielo…” (DD #8: 98) 18. And yet, Maria is far from an angelic presence:
she is resentful, possessive and hostile, constantly accusing Henry of
having forgotten her and left her unavenged. The visions of Maria haunt
him and incite him in his increasingly violent impulses: in the last issue
of the “Inferno” cycle (DD #8), Dante finally finds a serial killer who
targets cops’ wives and, spurred by Maria’s ghost, shoots him in cold
blood. In the same episode, it is revealed that, in actuality, Henry Dante
had never been married: “Maria” was just an anonymous victim, with
whom the detective became obsessed (perhaps an allusion to the fact
that Bice Portinari, traditionally recognized as the ‘real’ Beatrice, had, in
fact, no relation to Dante Alighieri). Despite Dante avenging her, and, at


      18
           [“I am your piece of sky…” (my translation)]


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the same time, accepting she has never been real (“Chiunque tu sia… ti
ho vendicata…” DD #8: 98)19, Maria stays with him throughout the
“Purgatorio”; she will finally disappear after the death of Meridiana
Cortez, only to be replaced in the “Paradiso” section by Meridiana’s
ghost.
      The insertion of this paranormal presence contaminates the
otherwise extremely grounded noir setting of Detective Dante with a
gothic element. Maria’s alterity is underlined by her graphic
representation: Elisabetta Barletta colours her using grey tones, while
the rest of the comic is in black and white. Greys are also used to
represent flashbacks (DD #1: 5-7) and oneiric scenes (DD #1: 45-46),
which anyway all revolve around Maria, either directly or indirectly.
The artists working on the following issues do not use greys, but instead
they draw her without shadows, in contrast with the common
chiaroscuros (which, as mentioned before, are a distinctive feature of
noir comics). Either way, Maria is graphically marked as an ‘alien’,
otherworldly character (both thematically and as regards genres.)
      However, if Beatrice, as Aldo Vallone summarizes, is the epitome
of the Medieval ideal of the woman as “iter ad Deum” (1996: 542), then
Maria represents an ‘iter ad Diabolum’: ultimately, she is a haunting
presence who, while she seems to protect Henry Dante from physical
harm, mentally vexes him and encourages his worst tendencies,
eventually leading him to perdition and to madness. Her role of
diabolical temptress, as opposed to Beatrice, is emphasized by her
conspicuous but unsettling sexualization (see fig. 4). The remarks about
her angelic or heavenly nature, as well as the reference to Beatrice, are
thus to be understood as ironic.
      The examples of references to the Divine Comedy we have found in
the first issue of Detective Dante (which are, on the whole, indicative of
the entire series) can roughly be categorized into three main typologies.
The simplest form of Dantean reference is the textual quotation of
Dante’s verses, through the use of caption. In his seminal comic book-
essay Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud dedicates a whole chapter

     19
          [“Whoever you are… I avenged you…” (my translation)]


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(“Show and tell”) to the hybridisation of pictures and words typical of
the comics medium. After proposing a categorization of the possible
relations between verbal and pictorial text, he concludes:

         Perhaps the most common type of word/picture combination is
      the interdependent, where words and pictures go hand in hand to
      convey an idea that neither could convey alone. […]
      Interdependent combinations aren’t always an equal balance
      though […]. Generally speaking, the more is said with words, the
      more the pictures can be freed to go exploring and vice versa. […]
      When pictures carry the weight of clarity in a scene, they free words
      to explore a wider area. (McCloud 1994: 155-157)

       In Detective Dante, the sequences quoting verses from the Commedia
are invariably picture-specific: the story is entirely told in panels with
no dialogue, while the captions add a commentary which is not
necessary to understand the scenes; in fact, in some instances the reader
may not even catch on to the thematic connection between the quotation
and the action depicted, interpreting the word/picture combination as
not “interdependent” but rather “parallel” (“words and pictures seem
to follow very different courses – without intersecting”, McCloud 1994:
154). Thus, when the Dantean quotes are tendentially “parallel” to the
pictures, they activate additional meanings; otherwise, they nonetheless
elevate the story, conferring the scenes a lyrical or epic tone. This use is
symptomatic of the entire series’ approach to intertextuality: the story is
enriched by the ulterior layer provided by the Dantean source, and yet
does not depend from it.
       The second typology of Dantean intertextuality in the series is the
presence of elements which explicitly recall objects from the Divine
Comedy, but do not seem to expand on the connection in any meaningful
way. In “Paradise city!”, for instance, the tattoo reading “Dimonio” is
little more than a throwaway reference (contrary to the gangster sentry
himself, who in a way constitutes a statement about the Dantean
character of Charon). Other examples from later issues include a serial
killer nicknamed “il Minotauro” (DD #4), like the mythological creature



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guarding Hell’s seventh circle (Inf. 12), or a rave club called
“Malebolgia” (DD #5). References of this sort are the least significant
from a thematical and narrative perspective, but they add an element of
complicity with the readers, who are invited to participate in the game
of discovering the Dantean ‘Easter eggs’ disseminated throughout the
series.
     On the other hand, the most complex references in Detective Dante
are the stand-ins for characters and episodes from the Divine Comedy, of
which we have encountered numerous examples in just one issue,
including the aforementioned gangster/Charon; perhaps the most
meaningful of such transpositions is in the issue #2 “Uomini di fango”
[“Men of mud”] (obviously referencing Hell’s third circle, Inf. 6), where
the gluttonous Ciacco becomes the drug addict Chuck.
     This strategy can be assimilated to what Ursula Winter describes as
the broader process of “updating” Dante, for instance through the
insertion of contemporary elements such as modern technology; a
tendency not uncommon even in more traditional comics adaptations of
the Divine Comedy (Winter 2018: 69-71). Nevertheless, one would be
hard-pressed to find another comic book where this updating is so
extensive; the complete change of the setting, in fact, would perhaps
more fittingly be likened to analogous attempts which are rather
common in theatre, opera and cinema (for instance, the numerous
modernized cinematic adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays).
     Besides, the process of adaptation of the Divine Comedy into
Detective Dante is further complicated by another, even more drastic
transfer: not only from a Medieval netherworld to 21st century
California, but from allegorical poem to hard-boiled crime fiction.
Again, this kind of operation is not unheard of in cinema: one famous
example is Sergio Leone’s For a Fistful of Dollars being recognized as an
unauthorized remake of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. In that case,
however, the adaptation concerned two fairly similar genres, ‘chanbara’
and western, while Detective Dante attempts a way more arduous
transplant.
     Nevertheless, Bartoli and Recchioni are not alone in having thought
of contaminating the Divine Comedy with the noir: in 2011, Seymour


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Chwast publishes Dante’s Divine Comedy, in which Dante is portrayed as
a trench-wearing, pipe-smoking hard-boiled detective à la Philip
Marlowe, while Virgil resembles a stocky bodyguard in Poirot-like
moustache and bowler hat (De Rooy 2017: 104); some of the episodes are
also updated in the same vein20, although the comic book remains for
the most part faithful to the Medieval imagery of the original. The
depiction of Dante as a Humphrey Bogart caricature, not exempt of
some comical intent, is deemed “incomprehensible” by Winter (2018:
73). However, especially if we consider that the Inferno is the cantica that
left the most striking impression on popular imagery and particularly
on comics artists (Frezza – Pintor Iranzo 2018: 7), the ominous and gory
tones of the Dantean cantos do not appear, in fact, incongruous with the
aesthetic conventions of the hard-boiled and noir genres. As Karl
Fugelso notes:

         Film noir, the Comedy, and graphic novels, […] all three are
      sophisticated yet accessible. Dante weaves a complex political
      program and profound spiritual insights into a gossipy tale
      peppered with bawdy references and couched in the vernacular of
      his main victim—Florence. Film noir dwells on deep moral
      ambiguities in lurid tales of sex, drugs, and (proto-) rock and roll,
      not to mention violence. And graphic novels wrap the pictorial
      immediacy of comic books around overtly high-brow themes and
      extremely intricate plots.21 (Fugelso 2011)




      20
        For instance, “The feud between White and Black Guelphs in medieval
Florence (Inf. 6) is represented as a gun battle between mobsters, judge Nino
Visconti (Purg. 8) lies in his coffin with a period submachine gun and the
Roman emperor Justinian is represented as a cabaret dancer (Par. 6)” (De Rooy
2017: 104-105).
     21 While the point of this last observation may still be essentially valid, it

is perhaps questionable to structure this argument around a differentiation
between so-called graphic novels and the broader category of comics, since the
majority of scholars and comics artists seem to agree that the label of ‘graphic


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     Furthermore, De Rooy points out the existence of a “broader
postmodern trend that associates Dante with crime fiction, both in print
and on screen” (De Rooy 2017: 104), citing David Fincher’s Seven (1995)
and Ridley Scott’s Hannibal (2001) as especially noteworthy examples in
cinema; and one could add Brian De Palma’s Obsession (1976) and Lars
von Trier’s The House That Jack Built (2018), among many others.
Nonetheless, while the pervasiveness of this association is undeniable,
there is a visible distinction between these films and comics like
Chwast’s: crime cinema tends to reprise specific concepts or images
from Dante and isolate them in the frame of a present-day story22;
Chwast, on the other hand, crafts a veritable adaptation (however
extravagant) of the whole Divine Comedy, contaminating it with a noir
imagery.
     Bartoli and Recchioni are arguably somewhere between the two:
Detective Dante is certainly a detective story containing recognizable
Dantean passages , but it can also be read as retelling of the Divine
Comedy on the whole. At the same time, the relation between the two
souls of Detective Dante juxtaposed in its title is not entirely linear: the
reference to the Divine Comedy can conflict with Henry Dante’s actual
story, raising new questions and generating new meaning.
     An essential component in Detective Dante’s use of its literary
hypotext is irony – an approach especially noticeable in the character of

novel’ is not supported by any inherent distinguishing feature (if one
discounts perceived cultural prestige and marketability).
      22 Obsession cleverly uses the “screen lady” from the Vita nuova in a plot

reminiscent of Hitchcok’s Vertigo. In Seven, a serial killer murders his victims
according to their capital sin, referencing Dante’s law of retaliation
(‘contrappasso’). In The House That Jack Built, another serial killer recounts his
crimes to a man named ‘Verge’ who eventually accompanies into Hell (with a
visual reprise, rather than Doré, of Delacroix’s Barque de Dante). In Hannibal,
we find the titular cannibal is also a well-read Dante scholar, who recites lines
from both the Comedy and the Vita nuova; while this last work is perhaps the
most multifaceted as regards Dantean intertextuality (according to Peter
Merseau, “Hannibal is, believe it or not, a film as much about Dante as serial
murder”; 2001), the references do not concern the movie in its entirety.


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Maria/Beatrice, as previously mentioned. Perhaps the single best
example of this intertextual strategy is at the end of the “Inferno” cycle,
where a caption reading “E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle” (Inf. 34,
139), the verse celebrating Dante’s emancipation from the oppressive
darkness of Hell, is superimposed on a panel depicting the walls topped
by barbed-wire of the mental institution in which Henry Dante has just
been committed (DD #8: 98).
     The ironic reference to the Divine Comedy, however, is not limited
to specific passages; rather, it encompasses the series as a whole. To
appreciate the extent of this operation, we need to briefly summarize the
events following the “Inferno”.

         Having spent seven years in a psychiatric institution, Dante is
      released and reconnects with Meridiana, who has left the police and
      started a private investigation agency; he becomes her partner and
      her lover, although Maria’s ghost keeps haunting him and accusing
      him of having betrayed her. Throughout the “Purgatorio”, Dante
      finds himself working for disreputable clients and killing for profit,
      but he keeps behaving in a relatively moral manner. The cantica
      ends with Meridiana being killed and Dante abandoning the city.
          In the “Paradiso” cycle, Dante, after seven years in Mexico,
      returns once again to Paradise City, which in the meantime has
      been half-destroyed by an earthquake and has fallen prey to
      criminals and corrupted militaries; he is no more a detective, but
      some sort of mad vigilante23 whose mission is “to kill the city”,
      which he sees as responsible for Meridiana’s death. He is haunted
      by Meridiana’s ghost, who however, contrary to the destructive
      Maria, acts as the voice of reason (eventually ignored by Dante). In
      the final issue of the series, Dante ends up killing an innocent girl
      to steal a nuclear device from a terrorist organisation. At this point,
      Maria appears once again, instigating Dante to commit suicide.
      Meridiana, on the other hand, urges him to save the innocent


      23
        In this last cantica, Dante shifts further away from his noir
characterization, coming to resemble, even in his appearance, Marvel’s The
Punisher.


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     population of Paradise City by taking the nuke away into the
     desert; Dante’s intention, however, is to denotate the bomb himself,
     accomplishing his mission to destroy the city once and for all. The
     story ends with Dante pointing a gun at his head with one hand,
     while in the other he holds the nuclear bomb’s detonator. The last
     page is completely black except for a caption informing us that he
     is pulling “the trigger”, without specifying which one (DD #24: 98).
     The phrasing is ambiguous in that we do not know whether Dante
     has chosen to shoot himself or to detonate the bomb; in both cases,
     however, he ends with a self-destructive act.24

      Although the Divine Comedy can be read in many ways, no one
would argue in good faith that the journey of a pilgrim who ascends
from the torments of Hell to the contemplation of God could in any way
translate to a delusional detective turning to violence and eventually
killing himself (and possibly a whole city). And yet, neither is Detective
Dante a reversal of the Divine Comedy. Henry Dante’s trajectory, in fact,
is not opposed to the pilgrim Dante’s: he is not blissful in the “Inferno”
and desperate in the “Paradiso”. Instead, over the course of the three
canticles he does emancipate himself from the guilt and doubts which
burdened him at the beginning of his journey; only this liberation is not
achieved through repentance and enlightenment but rather by
embracing his destructive inclinations. While the morality of his actions
gets more and more questionable (and less and less put into question),
Henry Dante becomes more empowered and, seemingly, also happier:
he merrily slays his enemies, he is often depicted laughing, and in his
last moments he admits that he has become “the worst monster of all”,
but he does so with a smile; in his own way, he achieves peace and we
might perhaps add, in Aristotelian terms, even entelechy.


     24
       This ending is retconned in the aforementioned cross-over episode in
John Doe #59, where it is revealed that Dante did detonate the bomb, but,
thanks to a supernatural phenomenon involving John Doe, he has survived
the explosion. Nevertheless, since these events occur outside of the Detective
Dante series, they are not relevant for the purposes of this study.


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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



      In a loose sense, the progression of the three canticles is respected,
although in an unexpected and horrific way. In respect to the Divine
Comedy, Detective Dante is not a parody, but it is not exactly a subversion,
either (at least, not completely); it would perhaps be best described as a
profane rewriting.25
      Thus, it seems that Detective Dante can ultimately be considered as
an adaptation of the Divine Comedy, however unorthodox, at least
according to Lisa Hutcheon’s definition of “adaptation as a formal
entity”: “an announced and extensive transposition of a particular
work” (2006: 7). Moreover, Hutcheon’s theory of adaptation proposes “a
continuum of fluid relationships between prior works and later—and
lateral—revisitations of them [….]. A continuum model […] positions
adaptations specifically as (re-) interpretations and (re-) creations”
(2006: 171).
      It goes without saying that Bartoli and Recchioni position
themselves on the end of the spectrum which grants them the highest
degree of independence. Their adaptation is certainly eccentric and
rebellious, but as noted once again by Hutcheon, “the urge to consume
and erase the memory of the adapted text or to call it into question is as
likely as the desire to pay tribute by copying” (2006: 7). Detective Dante
displaces and renegotiates the Divine Comedy, taking full advantage of
the subversive potential of adaptations:

         Indeterminacy and de-hierarchization, then, are key features of
      this postmodern enterprise. As palimpsests, the originals may peek
      through, but they cannot control the freeplay of meaning of this
      bricolage or bring totalization of unity to multiplicitous texts. Thus,




       In other words, irreverent, but also irreligious. As a matter of fact, what
      25

separates Detective Dante from the Divine Comedy the most, in terms of the
overall narrative, is perhaps the complete absence of God, which is not
substituted by any stand-in. Therefore, while Dante Alighieri’s journey is
directed by a higher power, Henry Dante ultimately acts unguided and
according only to his unstable temperament.


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     they open up a play of indeterminate meaning or, as Derrida would
     have it, the freeplay of textuality. (Slethaug 2014: 28-29)

      On the other hand, qualifying Detective Dante as an adaptation does
by no means imply that Bartoli and Recchioni’s primary intention in
creating the series was to adapt Dante’s text. Other than the
aforementioned interview, the reference to the Divine Comedy is simply
not part of the discourse around the series: from the perspective of the
reception, readers seem to deem the Dantean reference negligible, since
it is not even mentioned once in the fan-mail section included in every
issue. Likewise, the authors’ and publisher’s marketing strategy
completely overlooks this component, emphasizing the ‘noir’ and, more
broadly, crime fiction features of the series26.
      Indeed, as previously mentioned, Bartoli and Recchioni are
interested in telling their own story. The Dantean subtext is not at the
core of the project, and it has value only as long as it enhances their
original narrative: rather than an adaptation, it is an appropriation. It is
for this reason that the authors include rather peripheral figures from
the Inferno, like the Harpies and the Erinyes (DD #3), while leaving out
memorable characters such as Farinata or Ulysses, who would perhaps
translate less successfully to Detective Dante’s setting; and it is for this
reason that the Dantean references are in large part abandoned in the
second half of the series.
      The various quotations from the Divine Comedy, thus, always have
purpose and are never mere homages to Dante Alighieri. Daniele
Barbieri, writing about Tiziano Sclavi, the creator of Dylan Dog ( another
famously postmodern comic book), declared: “[Sclavi] non cita,


     26
        Such a marketing strategy, as a matter of fact, was not without
foundation: as James Lyons remarks, around those same years some of the
leading comics’ publishing houses in the US (including Vertigo, Dark Horse
and Marvel) were embarking in initiatives aimed at seizing the profitable
‘crime-noir comics’ market (2013: 458-459).




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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



adopera” (1998: 89)27; the same could be said about Bartoli and
Recchioni28.
      Such an approach goes against the traditional subservience of
comics adaptations towards their literary sources: William B. Jones,
speaking of the American series Classics Illustrated, describes this
attitude with the expression “handmaid’s function” (2007: 215).
Although media and adaptation theorists have long confuted the value
of “binary oppositions” such as “literature versus cinema, high culture
versus mass culture, original versus copy” (Naramore 2000: 2), to this
day, “whether it be in the form of a videogame or a musical, an
adaptation is likely to be greeted as minor and subsidiary and certainly
never as good as the ‘original’” (Hutcheon 2006: xii); and all the more so
for comics, a medium against which the stigma is so strong that in Italy
even the word “fumetto” seems to arise suspicion and embarrassment
(Plazzi 2009: 331). This “handmaid” mentality, thus, is still very much
present, if not in the academia, certainly among the general public and
even among the artists themselves: I.N.J. Culbard, a comics artist,
defines his work in adaptation as “servicing a story” (Edginton –
Culbard – Means-Shannon 2013: 41 ); likewise, the website of Kleiner
Flug, a fairly successful Italian comics press specializing in non-fiction
and adaptations from literary works, explains that the publisher “[si]
propone, con le sue collane, di far conoscere città, vita e opere di
personaggi illustri attraverso il linguaggio del fumetto”, and looks for
“giovani talenti emergenti capaci, con le loro abilità, di raccontare la storia
e il genio dei grandissimi personaggi del passato” (Kleiner Flug; emphasis
mine).29



      27
         [“Sclavi does not quote [other works], he uses them” (my translation)]
      28 It is not coincidental that Roberto Recchioni would go on to be chosen

by Sclavi as the current curator of Dylan Dog.
      29 [“(Kleiner Flug’s) collections aim to divulge towns, works and lives of

illustrious figures, through the comics medium; (we look for) young talents
whose skill may do justice to the story and the genius of the impressive
characters from the past.” (my translation)].


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Figure 5. Henry Dante reading the Divine Comedy. Detective Dante #18: 14. Drawings by Stefano Landini.

       This complex of inferiority, of course, is all the more pervasive for
 such a foundational masterpiece as Dante’s Divine Comedy. Still, Italian
 comics have come a long way since the Disney parody L’Inferno di
 Topolino (1949-50), usually considered to be the first comics adaptation
 of the Comedy: a work which is imbued with such a reverence, in spite
 of its light-heartedness. This sense of guilt emerges in its metatextual
 ending: at the bottom of Hell, instead of Lucifer, the protagonists find
 the two creators of the comic book, tied to a stake, “e innanzi a lor sta
 ritto l’Alighieri / che li punzecchia con la penna in resta / in punizion dei
 lor peccati veri!” (Martina – Bioletto, 1971: 38)30; Topolino has to
 intercede for them, respectfully asking the Poet to forgive two humble
 cartoonists.
       In this respect, Bartoli and Recchioni could not be more different
 from Marina and Bioletto: one can only imagine that were Dante
 Alighieri to appear in their series, these authors would have rather had

       This self-description sounds oddly humble, especially considering that it
 comes from a well-established publisher, boasting a rich and commendable
 catalogue. And yet, despite emphatically praising the possibilities of comics as
 a medium, Kleiner Flug claims little more than an educational role: the
 spotlight is clearly on the adapted text rather than on the comic book per se.
       30 [“And Alighieri stands in front of them / pricking them with the pen

 he wields / as a punishment for their proven sins!” (my translation)]


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him shot up than made amends to him. As a matter of fact, in Detective
Dante, too, the characters overtly reference the Divine Comedy in several
occasions, poised between intertextuality and metatextuality: in the
second issue already, Chuck, being introduced to Henry Dante, remarks:
“Dante? Un nome adatto, visto che questo è l’Inferno” (DD #2: 23)31. The
most extensive metatextual commentary is DD #18, “Il girone dei
bugiardi”. In this episode, the protagonist infiltrates a prison; his
cellmate, Bobby, has studied Dante Aligheri’s works and owns a copy
of the Divine Comedy. After reading of his alter ego (fig. 5), Henry Dante
can declare: “Io ormai sono fuori dal Purgatorio…” (DD #18: 42); he
further reassures his cellmate: “Adesso sei in Paradiso” (DD #18: 46)32.
The most telling part of the episode, however, is Bobby’s story. He tells
Dante he was married with a woman he met in college, who was called
Pia and bore an uncanny resemblance with the Purgatorio’s Pia de’
Tolomei33 (Purg. 5). Although Bobby claims to have been unjustly
sentenced for her murder, during their escape Henry eventually
discovers that he did in fact kill her out of jealousy, just like Alighieri’s
Pia, and throws him out of a helicopter. Thus, the only character in the
series who is an enthusiastic reader of Dante, and furthermore one who
tried to relive an episode from the Divine Comedy, is a liar and a murderer
who gets unceremoniously defenestrated: a poignant metatextual
summary of Detective Dante’s stance as regards its relation with Dante’s
poem.



      31
         [“Dante? A fitting name, since this is Hell.” (my translation)]
      32 [“I am not in Purgatory anymore”; “You are now in Paradise” (my

translation)]
      33 Taken literally, this statement has no meaning, since in the Purgatorio

there is no description of Pia’s physical appearance whatsoever. Bobby refers,
of course, to Doré’s illustration (reproduced in the comic book, DD #18: 41),
which is thus effectively conflated with Dante’s text, confirming the
aforementioned importance of Doré’s work in the visual reception of Dante.
This is also the only clear graphical reference to the Divine Comedy found in
the series.


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      Even in the 2000s, Bartoli and Recchioni’s decision to put the Divine
Comedy at the service of their pulp comic book, instead of the other way
around, was certainly bold, albeit not outlandish; only in this regard, it
might be likened to the action videogame Dante’s Inferno (2010), which
reimagines Dante as a hulking crusader, armed with a massive scythe,
fighting his way through Hell to rescue Beatrice. Just like Detective Dante,
the creators of this videogame of course did not originally intend to
comment on the Divine Comedy, but they found it suited their concept34;
and yet, preposterous as it may seem to some, even this reinterpretation
(once again heavily influenced by Doré’s illustrations) does generate
new meaning as regards Dante’s text (Canova 2019).
      Detective Dante, while similar in spirit, is nonetheless a considerably
more complex exercise in intertextuality. Many aspects of this
revisitation, considered separately, are not unheard-of: repurposing the
Divine Comedy (like Dante’s Inferno); reinterpreting it in a noir scenery
(like Chwast’s Dante’s Divine Comedy); framing it in a separate story (like
so many contemporary crime movies). Nevertheless, what distinguishes
Detective Dante from these works – and countless other pop oeuvres
which reference the Divine Comedy, more or less extensively 35 – is that
Bartoli and Recchioni managed to condense these diverse approaches in
one comic book. And, with typically postmodern tongue-in-cheek-ness,
they revealed this intertextual game right from the title, which (nested



     34
          The executive producer, Jonathan Knight, stated in an interview:
“Originally I wanted to make a video game set in Hell, I thought it would be
a great location, so I started doing some research into various afterworld
mythologies. I’d known about The Divine Comedy from college, so I picked
up a copy and read it. It seemed like a perfect video game waiting to happen:
there are nine levels, bosses on each level, and there’s a hero obsessed with a
girl. I thought it would be challenging to adapt a piece of literature into an
action game, so I built a team and we tackled the challenge” (Knight in Iannella
2016: 29).
       35 See the thousands of entries listed on the web archive Dante Today.

Citings & Sightings of Dante’s Works in Contemporary Literature (2006-).



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Alessio Aletta, From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle



in an equally whimsical ‘pulp’ cover) underlines the antinomy/affinity
between the “Detective” repertoire and the “Dante” echoes.




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Abbott, Stacey, “Kicking Ass and Singing ‘Mandy’: A Vampire in L.A.”,
    Reading Angel: The TV Spin-Off with a Soul, Ed. Stacey Abbott,
    London, 1.B. Tauris, 2005: 1-13.
Amendola, Alfonso – Tirino, Mario, “Il filtro di Dante. L’impronta di
    Gustave Doré dal cinema muto al digitale”, Dante e l'Arte, 3 (2016):
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Barbieri, Daniele, “Racconti di racconti”, Dylan Dog. Indocili sentimenti,
    arcane paure, Ed. Alberto Ostini, Milano, Euresis, 1998: 87-98.
Bartoli, Lorenzo – Recchioni, Roberto, Detective Dante, Roma, Eura
    Editoriale, 2005-2007.
Bartoli, Lorenzo – Recchioni, Roberto, John Doe, Roma, Eura editoriale –
    Editoriale Aurea, 2002-2012.
Blin-Rolland, Armelle – Lecomte, Guillaume – Ripley, Marc,
    “Introduction: Comics and Adaptation”, European Comic Art, 10.1
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Bunker, Max (writer) – Magnus (artist), Kriminal, Milano, Editoriale
    Corno, 1964-1974.
Bunker, Max (writer) – Magnus (artist), Satanik, Milano, Editoriale
    Corno, 1964-1974.
Canova, Leonardo, “Old monsters and new masters: i mostri
    dell'Inferno dantesco nella cultura pop contemporanea”, Vecchi
    maestri e nuovi mostri: tendenze e prospettive della narrativa horror
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                                       The Author
Alessio Aletta

      Alessio Aletta is a Ph.D Candidate in Italian Studies at the
University of Toronto, where he is working on a digital map of Luigi
Pirandello’s works. His research interests include Italian Modernism,
Literary Geography and Comics Studies. He has contributed articles and
reviews to Pirandello Studies, Nuova corrente, La Revue des études italiennes
and O.b.l.i.o. Together with Andrea G.G. Parasiliti, he recently published
La plastica non è mai troppa. Dialoghi sopra un libro d’artista galleggiante
(Milan, C.R.E.L.E.B. – Università Cattolica, 2020).

        Email: alessio.aletta@mail.utoronto.ca




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                             The Article
Date sent: 15/07/2020
Date accepted: 15/10/2020
Date published: 30/11/2020



                     How to cite this article
Aletta, Alessio, “From the dark wood to the asphalt jungle: adaptation
and appropriation in Detective Dante”, Transmediality / Intermediality /
Crossmediality: Problems of Definition, Eds. H.-J. Backe, M. Fusillo, M.
Lino, with the focus section Intermedial Dante: Reception, Appropriation,
Metamorphosis, Eds. C. Fischer and M. Petricola, Between, X.20 (2020),
www.betweenjournal.it




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