24 Pages

How DC Comics Lost a Loyal Reader

2012-02-01T07:12:00.000-08:00

With a title like that, I bet you're expecting an angry comic book fan screed. Don't worry; that's not what this is. I'm not writing from a place of righteous fanboy rage. If there's any emotion involved, it's mild sadness or light disappointment. Considering my recent thoughts on comics as an addiction, there's some relief mixed in there as well. Mostly, I'm interested in documenting how my ardor for DC Comics went from barely casual one in an amazingly short amount of time. Here's that story.

* * *

In August 2011, the DC Comics universe was reset. Iconic characters like Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, the Flash, and Wonder Woman saw their titles go back to the beginning in number and in concept. Costumes were redesigned, origins tinkered with, major chunks of history erased.

Nothing like this had ever happened in the history of the big two superhero publishers. Sure, 1985's Crisis on Infinite Earths shook things up quite a bit, but it ultimately became less of a reset than a progression. The issue numbers kept going up, and many past stories stayed on as canon. The only true precedent for this kind of massive change was John Byrne's The Man of Steel mini-series in 1986. This completely reset Superman's origin, blowing off many years of accumulated complications and contradictions. On a smaller, related, scale, the Legion of Super-Heroes concept was reset in 1994, and built again from the ground up (only to be reset yet again, and then restored).

The "New 52" reset was larger and more drastic than any before it, and many fans hailed it as a bold, necessary move to attract elusive new readers to comic books, a hobby that is seemingly becoming more and more antiquated by the day. Others, predictably, balked. What about the history you're throwing away? Why are the new costumes so horrible? Where does Character X fit in?

Personally, I was excited by the news. I'd been feeling restless with an increasingly insular brand of storytelling DC had been peddling, largely at the hest of a writer I once greatly admired, Geoff Johns. Stories like Blackest Night and the follow-up Brightest Day, featured promising premises belied by head-scratching non-sequitur pay-offs. Both stories climaxed with the return of long-dead heroes (Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, and many others in the former, Swamp Thing in the latter), and led directly into the next big thing. The final moments of these stories had no emotional payoff because there was no in-story reason to expect these characters to return, no foreshadowing or logic. Even reading as a long time fan of the DC universe of characters - the intended audience for this sort of "shocker" - I found myself left cold. The stories seemed to be feeding on themselves. If for that reason only, I was happy to see something drastic happen.

But that wasn't the only reason. I returned to comics full-time in 2006, and I bought in fully to DC's line-wide approach. 2006's Infinite Crisis was a mess, though the resulting 52 made me feel like there was true coordination, planning, and direction in DC's universe. The publisher began releasing tantalizing teaser images that teased future storylines that made it feel like if you bought in on mass scale, you'd be rewarded. But that wasn't true, mostly because DC's editorial had no long-term vision, a fact they proved several times in the last 7 years. Here are a couple of lowlights (out of many):

Countown to Final Crisis, a bi-weekly follow-up to 52 wasn't a bad series necessarily, but one that did not come as advertised. It was supposed to move everything in the DCU toward Grant Morrison's definitive event, Final Crisis. But it didn't. They were creative ships passing in the night.
As an example of this lack of foresight and coordination, take a look at how the character line-up in the promo for Batman and the Outsiders changes, before the book has even published an issue. And then the team they finally settled on lasted 14 issues before it was overhauled again!

The complete and utter mismanagement of the Archie and Milestone heroes. Few comics hold as firm a spot in my heart as the DC-sponsored Impact! and Milestone lines of the mid-'90s. When DC announced that they were incorporating these characters into their main line, I was thrilled! And then, almost immediately, they bungled it. The Archie characters were given ugly redesigns and put in the hands of the notoriously unreliable writer J.Michael Straczynski. None of the series made it past issue 10, and the crossover with the actual DCU was minimal. The Milestone characters fared slightly better, with Static getting membership on the Teen Titans, a couple of Brave and the Bold try-out issues, and a Xombi series with top-notch talent. But Milestone creator Dwayne McDuffie was seemingly forced to write his charcters in and out of the universe in one Justice League of America storyline. The characters have languished since, save a stalled attempt to give Static his own title again in the New 52; it has been canceled already.
Justice League: Cry for Justice, a truly horrendous mini-series that was initially marketed as a launch for an alternate team of Leaguers but which instead morphed into a catalyst for one of the worst comic book mini-series in recent memory (The Rise and Fall of Arsenal). Oh, and it ended with a little girl being blown up.

All in all, it was clear that the company had good intentions, but no knowledge of how to carry them out and sustain them. They jumped from idea to idea with the attention span of a fish bobbing at the aquarium floor, never lingering long enough to make anything worthwhile. Part of my initial excitement about the New 52 was the possibility of that changing.

So, then, let's get to the reasons why I've given up on DC.

1) The Writer Carousel
That editorial clusterfuck problem of the Dan Didio adminstration clearly hasn't been smoothed out. From the issue of whether or not Wonder Woman's new costume has pants (it doesn't, though it used to before they decided that it doesn't) to massive creative upheaval, the new DC is the old DC (or the last-7-years DC). By my count, 12 books (Frankenstein, Justice League Dark, Stormwatch, Men of War, Hawk and Dove, Hawkman, Superman, Green Arrow, Static Shock, Voodoo, Grifter) have had their writers quit or dismissed. As a reader, I can handle artists moving on, but nothing destroys my faith in a book faster than a revolving door of writers. The beauty and power of comic book storytelling is very similar to that of episodic TV drama: Writers can weave long-form narratives with big and little rewards for long-term readers. This takes time and commitment. DC's case is not helped in any way by multiple interviews with these replaced writers talking about their long-term plans for their series.

Additionally, six titles (including 3 from the list above) have already been canceled. Showing that DC has no more stick-to-it-ness than before.

2) Continuity?!?
It was a mistake for DC to drop us in the middle of this new continuity rather than starting with origins across the board, because it creates all sort of questions about what parts of DC history are still relevant. When they first spoke about the New 52, DC brass described it as a "soft reboot", which turned out to mean "We're going to pick and choose what we want to carry over from before." Grant Morrison and Geoff Johns have been working on multi-year arcs on Batman and Green Lantern respectively, and their books sell well, so their characters' histories were left mostly intact (at least thus far and as far as we know).

Superman, however, is completely new again. New origin, no more marriage to Lois, he only appeared on the scene as Superman about 5 years ago (but, apparently, Doomsday still killed him at some point). Other characters have been given drastically different roles (Cyborg, Tim Drake) seemingly been wiped out of existence (Ted Kord, Wally West). Those conditions equal a massively confusing sum. We're left with a ton of questions, not only about which stories actually happened, but how they could have happened in such a short time period, and with major players missing.

Quick example: The "Death of Superman" story. I guess I can buy that the "Big 7" Justice League played the part of the story that the Booster Gold-Blue Beetle-Fire-Ice-Guy Gardner-Maxima-Bloodwynd team played in the original. I guess I can accept that the subsequent emergence of Superboy and Steel didn't happen, since they have brand new origins now. But that basically makes it the same story but completely different. Take this example now and apply it to any major story of the last 80 years. It's not really a fun game; the result is always the same.

I realize that comic book timelines have always been a "suspension of disbelief" prospect, but there has to be some internal logic to them. This doesn't have any. Okay, so maybe Geoff Johns sat down and mapped out everything that happened and when and it all makes perfect sense. Maybe the writers are all working in great concert to methodically unfold the brilliant construction of this new-yet-familiar universe. Or maybe this was really hastily thrown together, and there's no real coherent plan behind it, and writers are being shuffled around too much for anything real creative coherence. Could that happen at DC? Refer back to #1.

Bottom line: DC should have gone all out and reset everything. Cleaned the slate from day one and built a new world with some familiar and some new characters. Instead, by trying to please everyone, they alienate older fans who care about continuity, and confuse new fans who aren't "in the know" enough to make sense of the carry-overs.

3) Wherefore Legacies?

I can't fight the feeling that DC had to do this reset because they feel that they broke everything beyond repair in the last 7 years. This is not to say things have been universally bad for DC recently. Anything written by Grant Morrison has been sterling (I'm even an avowed Final Crisis apologist). Geoff Johns has done great things with Green Lantern. The Jamie Reyes Blue Beetle series was awesome. I liked the JSA right up until Willingham left.

But the misses far outweigh the hits. And it was less about the creative teams than it was about the creative decisions. Identity Crisis was well-written and well-drawn, but there's no way to get around the fact that it featured a super-villain raping a beloved character's wife. The shot-through-the-head death of Ted Kord was sadistic. Hawkman's origin was fixed and then broken again and then fixed, and then they killed Hawkwoman again for no apparent reason. Mary Marvel was taken beyond the pale, as was Captain Marvel, to the point that the villain Black Adam was the best character in that family, by far. Bringing back Barry Allen was a huge mistake, and should go down as a permanent black mark on Geoff Johns' record (more on this soon). I could go on, but I'll spare you.

The thing is, all of these things could have been addressed. In fact, Brightest Day seemed to be doing that very thing, before it veered way off course into let's-introduce-some-Vertigo-characters-in-here territory. The problem is that the current Didio / Johns / Lee administration created most of the problems it needed to fix, so direct reversals in current continuity would have lost them face. The New 52 was a tacit admission that they'd fucked things up, but also a clever way to avoid admitting it directly.

Before Didio got in the sandbox, the DCU was pretty strong. It drew a pretty sharp contrast to the Marvel Universe, where the status quo nearly always resets and change is only an illusion (except, notably, in the X-Men universe). Supes had gotten married to Lois, finally. Dick Grayson - the first Robin - had come into his own as Nightwing. The Justice Society was a place for the heroes of yesterday and tomorrow. Wally West had become a better and more interesting Flash than his predecessor. Barbara Gordon (formerly Batgirl) had accepted her paralysis, and was a better character for it. The core Teen Titans (Connor, Tim, Bart, and Cassie) all seemed like viable and worthy successors to their adult counterparts. Not that everything was perfect, but this was a universe that hadn't just given us the illusion of change, it had given us the real thing.

And then there was the return of Hal Jordan. Now Hal's return was great. It reenergized the Green Lantern franchise. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that it wasn't because of the character of Hal (he's still as uninteresting as ever). No, it was because of Geoff Johns and the way he expanded the Green Lantern universe exponentially. Bringing Hal back also felt like justice in a way, because he had gone out like such a chump. However, when Johns tried to do the same for Barry Allen, the reasoning failed. The Flash universe didn't need to be expanded out; Mark Waid and Johns himself had already done that to great effect. And Barry had already died the most noble death ever, so bringing him back just seemed cruel.

In the end, DC would have been better off putting its energy into bolstering Wonder Woman, the Justice League, and Superman, all major franchises that had languished. They've actually addressed all three in the New 52, but a complete reboot wasn't necessary for that. It turns out that all it took was putting all-star creators on the books and letting them run free.

* * *

I'm not an all-or-nothing person by nature. I gave the New 52 a good shot. I bought several of the early issues, but I quickly realized that the magic just wasn't there for me. There are a few exceptions. I'm still reading Johns' Green Lantern and Morrison's Batman Incorporated . I'm following Batwoman for sure, and Aquaman tentatively. And despite my feeling that Barry should have stayed dead, I'm reading The Flash out of love for artist Francis Manupul's work. But as far as being a line-wide devotee of DC? Like the DCU of the past, that's gone.

A Comic Book Addiction Manifesto

2012-01-28T14:30:00.000-08:00

I've decided that drastically dialing back my comic book buying habits will greatly benefit my love of comics. Here's why:

I've been thinking a lot lately about comic collecting as an addiction. With an addiction, you need a constant new supply, you spend a lot of money, energy, and time angling to get that supply, and you get cranky and out-of-sorts when you can't get it. An addiction to something that doesn't destroy your physical health or ruin your interpersonal relationships doesn't have to be a bad thing, but it does have to be called what it is.

Like drug dealers or tobacco companies, comic companies have become very reliant on their customers' addictions. They count on buyers need for a weekly fix of new comics. They rely on the loyalty of fans who have been following their favorite characters for 30 or 40 years. They bank on the small, strong community of their customers, and the peer pressure that comes along with that, i.e. "You've got to read the newest issue of Invincible! You won't believe what happened to Atom Eve!" The Internet, especially, has helped the comics companies along on this last one. SPOILERS!

Most of all, comic companies ask on their customers to abandon monetary logic. A couple of years back, I wrote about how collecting individual issues of comics doesn't make much sense, though I didn't really take my own advice. That has become even more true with Marvel's pioneering of the "more money for less pages" initiative that finds us paying $3.99 for 20 pages (of course it tends to be the best-selling books they're doing this on). Why in hell would I pay a total of $24 for a six issue story in floppies when I can get the whole thing in a hardcover collection for a discounted price of $16 on Amazon.com? Well, for the reasons mentioned above: My weekly fix; My need to keep up with the story and to avoid spoilers (most collections don't come out until 6 months after the first issue collected); My need to keep my collection intact.

I'm not done with this train of thought yet, but I want run it backwards a little bit before I come back.

I started reading comics in 1989. For the next 6 years they were what I lived and breathed. When I went away to college, interests (girls and music, namely) split my attention, I stayed with comics, mostly thanks to my amazing mom, who made a weekly trip to the local comic shop, picked up my subscription for the week, and mailed them to me at school. Often, especially in my homesick freshman year, those envelopes of comics were buoys in the middle of the ocean. They kept me afloat.

After I graduated college and moved out on my own, it wasn't long before I quit collecting comics. I don't really remember a specific reason why. I guess I wasn't super-excited about anything I was reading at the time. There was little joy in the weekly trip to the closest shop in my new city (it didn't help that the staff weren't friendly at all), money was tight, and I didn't have room in my small apartment for boxes and boxes of comics.

My love of comics went dormant, but it didn't truly go away. When I'd go back to my mom and step-dad's house for visits, I always devoted some time to getting lost in my vast collection that was housed in their basement. Eventually, I started taking comics back with me, bits at a time. I'd read them here and there, and stop in the comic shop once in awhile just to see what was going on. Four more years passed this way.

I didn't start collecting again right away. It was gradual. First I decided to finish up the stories I had abandoned halfway through, Bone and Cerebus mainly. Then I looked to fill in runs I'd loved, namely Byrne's Fantastic Four tenure. Those missions completed, I found myself wanting more.

Before long, I was back in the game, with a pull list at the local comic shop and a weekly trip on top of sporadic expeditions to search out things I'd missed during my lapsed collecting years. Catching up with five years of continuity-heavy superhero stories sounds daunting, but it was actually a blast. I had some advantages in my favor. For one, I could find runs or trades of recent comics at drastically reduced prices (Half Price Books, I can't thank you enough for your comics sections; eBay, Atomic Avenue, and Lone Star Comics, I love you), and for another, the benefit of hindsight allowed me to see what from those last 5 years had actually been worth reading.

I've realized gradually over the last couple of years that getting caught back up in the weekly comic-buying addiction ran in exact opposition to those benefits I so enjoyed after returning from exile. Buying comics individually on a weekly basis is expensive. And buying things the day they come out removes the benefit of backwards perspective. An example chosen from way too many: DC's recent Flashpoint. I love the Flash. I love the DC universe of characters. I love alternate reality stories. I've loved much of Geoff Johns' past work. I wanted to know what massive changes this story was going to bring to DC continuity. You can't fault my logic for thinking I'd like this mini-series. BUT, it kinda sucked. I didn't know that until I'd bought and read all 5 issues at $3.99 a pop. Bye bye $20. If I'd had the patience to wait it out, I could have avoided that dud.

This is why I've decided to dial it back and kick the addiction. I'm not going cold turkey though. I made a list of the comics I was buying every month, then I divided it into three sub-lists: Floppies, Trades, Gone. The individual issues I'm going to stick with are titles that I've collected that way for many years, namely Green Lantern, Flash, and Fantastic Four. The trades list includes titles that I was never buying individually (Invincible, Fables, Unwritten) and titles that I know will be worth waiting for (Batwoman). The final sub-list consists of titles that I realized I didn't care all that much about. If I don't want a paperback of a story sitting on my shelf, why do I want the individual issues in the first place?

The result is a dramatically lighter weekly haul and a noticeably heavier wallet. Sounds great, right? I hope it is.

In making this decision, my biggest obstacle was fear. Fear of missing out on stories I might love (or comics that become scarce right after release and might never be reprinted), fear of my love for my hobby diminishing, fear of ruining the comics industry. That last one sounds ridiculous, I know, but this is how comics fans think. The industry is ours. We need to keep it going. There's such a small number of us (even the very best-selling comics often barely make it to 100,000 shipped) that if even one person stops buying weekly titles and starts waiting for the trades, it takes money away from the creators and companies, and increases the likelihood of our favorite characters disappearing from our lives (at least in comics form). Waiting for the trade could mean the trade never comes.

Comic shop owner Brian Hibbs, who writes for Comic Book Resources, said as much in a recent column. He's not wrong, but he does have a horse in this race. If I wait for the trade, the least I could do is buy that trade from my local comic ship, right? Many comic fans are akin to those people who support local businesses. I could get my groceries cheaper at Walmart, but I'll pay more at my local co-op for the good of my community. Comics fans do this both in a larger comics industry sense and in a small local comic book shop sense. I see that mindset, and I feel a bit guilty, but, damn, Amazon.com and Half Price Books have good prices on things. I have a mortgage, car payment, school loans, and a toddler to feed.

And lets face it: Comics are never going to disappear. They might morph into something we don't currently recognize, but they'll be around. And 70 plus years of back issues and trades are going to be out there, often at discount prices. If they did stop making new comics today, I'd have enough older stuff to read or re-read well into old age. That's where comics are an addiction you can really love. When you recover from drug or alcohol addiction, you have to abstain forever. When you recover from a comic book addiction, you can still read them, and maybe enjoy them more than you ever did before.

Marvel vs. DC

2011-12-29T14:40:00.000-08:00

Some debates will rage on forever: Coke vs. Pepsi. Beatles vs. Rolling Stones. Liberals vs. Conservatives. Dogs vs. Cats.

In the superhero comics world the eternal question is: Marvel or DC? Most fans patronize both companies, but everyone seems to come down on one side of the dividing line or the other. Straddling is not allowed.

So which company is better? Let's break this baby down Dr. Jack style (with apologies to Bill Simmons and Dr. Jack Ramsey):
Note: Each category is worth one point, except for BAD MOVIES, IMAGIZATION IN THE '90s, and POOREST TREATMENT OF A SIGNATURE PROPERTY, which are each worth one negative point.

BEST HERO, Part 1

Obviously, "best" is a subjective term, but I'm looking at it from a recognition standpoint. Few would argue that DC's signature character is Superman and Marvel's is Spider-Man. But who's better? Wow, that's tough. I could probably write a whole essay on it.

But let's do this quick and dirty. Spider-Man is an everyman, or at least what every man perceives himself to be: smart and misunderstood, funny, and irresistible to the ladies. He adores his old Aunt May and he struggles to please everyone, pay the bills, and do the right thing. His powers and costume are as cool as they get. Kids love him. They connect to him in a way that almost no other superhero can match.

Maybe that's because his origin hinges on a mistake. He thought too much of himself, didn't stop a thief, and later that thief killed his Uncle Ben. Spidey learned then that "with great power comes great responsibility" and has worked to redeem that moment ever since. The actuality of his powers ("bitten by a radioactive spider!") are silly, but the reasons for his heroism are flawed and genuine.

Superman, on the other hand, is often held up as the epitome of perfection. There's no mistake in his origin, no regret or moral ambiguity. Nevertheless, his is perhaps the best origin in all of comics. Rocketed from a dying planet, adopted by a kindly old couple who raise him with an uncompromising sense of compassion and duty. Though he could dominate with his powers, instead he serves. Though Superman is ultra-powerful and ultra-good, he is not completely unrelatable. My best evidence of that is Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale's Superman For All Seasons story, where Superman felt vulnerable and, well, human. And like Peter Parker, he struggles with a steady job and juggling his secret identity with his hero persona.

But I've got to give Spider-Man the edge, if only because I think his appeal is greater, from his sense of humor to his costume to his personal life. I always liked Superman, but I never wanted to BE him. And that's the difference.

Edge: Marvel

BEST HERO, Part 2

Batman and Wolverine. They seem of a piece, these two. They're both cool but prone to violent fits, nearly impossible to subdue, and lacking in personal skills. Both claim to be loners, but subsequently surround themselves with as many people as possible (Batman joining the Outsiders and Justice League, Wolverine with X-Men and the Avengers).

But that's where the similarities end. Batman is rich and lives in a mansion built precariously on top of a cave. Wolverine is a drifter. Yes, both men are tough, but the one without powers must be tougher, right?

Whereas Batman has the most-easy-to-comprehend origin and motivation of any comics character anywhere, Wolverine's is mysterious, which was cool at first. Then it got too drawn out, and then when it was finally explained just felt like a convoluted mess.

As for villains, Batman's got the best set of rogues of any hero (Penguin, Catwoman, Mr.Freeze, Poison Ivy, Joker, Riddler, Ra's Al Ghul, Bane, Scarecrow, Clayface, King Tut, etc.), and a strong supporting cast. Wolverine's got Sabretooth, Lady Deathstryke, and some ninjas. Yawn.

Edge: DC

THE NEXT THREE

Okay, so we're even on the big two iconic heroes, but what about that second tier? There could be a huge discussion on this, but I'd say Marvel's next three are the Hulk, Iron Man, and Captain America. Those characters are absolute cornerstones. DC's are even harder to pinpoint, but I'd go with Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and the Flash.

But which trio is better? Marvel's are riding high. Iron Man has moved from B list to A list thanks to John Favreau and Robert Downey, Jr. The Hulk can't seem to get a good movie made, but he endures in our hearts nevertheless. And in terms of character, Captain America is Marvel's Superman. He's the one who makes everyone better. To boot, all three have strong comics storylines going on right now, proving their lasting appeal.

Wonder Woman (more on her later) is probably the most recognizable of the any of these six, and her comic is currently in the hands of the talented Gail Simone. Green Lantern has a deep mythology and nearly unlimited story potential. Writer Geoff Johns has recognizes that potential and has been having a blast with it. Speaking of Johns, his next rejuvenation target is Barry Allen, the second and most recognizable Flash. I have very high hopes for his take on my favorite comics character.

Maybe it's a cop-out, but I'm not willing to make a judgment here.

Edge: tie

BEST VILLAINS

It's often said that a hero is only as good as his villains, and it's pretty true.

Marvel has its fair share of morally complex despots: Dr.Doom, Magneto, and the Kingpin, namely. There's also Galactus, the world-devourer, who is cool despite the bucket on his head. The shape-shifting alien Skrulls are always good for some trouble, and then of course there're the thrilling Thunderbolts, villains posing as heroes initially, though later the concept became a warmed-over version of DC's Suicide Squad. And Spider-Man's rogues gallery is admirably twisted and weird.

However, many of Marvel's villains leave me cold: Modok, Ego the Living Planet, Apocalypse, Mr.Sinister, Thanos, even Ultron and the Red Skull lack real depth and motivation beyond boring old world domination. And that's weird, because Marvel's heroes are more relatable than DC's, so you'd think the villains would be the same.

Instead, DC almost has the market completely cornered on villains that are cool but also endearingly compelling. Of course there are the badasses like Darkseid, but there's also the frustratingly charming Lex Luthor. Of course Batman's got the Joker, and The Dark Knight proved that the villain can be your most interesting and compelling character.

Add in Superboy-Prime (the villain equivalent of an impossible-to-please comics fan), Black Adam, Bizarro, the rest of Batman's rogues, Flash's rogues (Zoom, Gorilla Grood , etc.), and DC is clearly the best at being bad.

Edge: DC

A-LIST TEAMS

Teams have been a hallmark of superhero books almost since their inception. When a team book is humming along, it's hard to beat the quality and the potential for good stories (plus, group shots are always awesome). The A-List are teams that even your mom might know.

Marvel's hard to beat on this one. First there's the Fantastic Four. Though members have shuffled in and out through the years, there's a consistency to F4, mostly because they're a family above all else. The Byzantine X-Men, in all their iterations, are a longstanding favorite. And the Avengers have always mixed big names with smaller ones to become the gold standard team of the Marvel Universe.

DC can't quite compare to that list. Of course there's the Justice League of America. It's hard to argue with that collection of heroes (and DC has done equally as well as Marvel with incorporating lesser-knowns with the big guns). And then there're the Titans (Teen, New Teen, New, adjectiveless, whatever), a collection of sidekicks and other young heroes. But beyond those two, can any non-comic fan name another DC team?

Edge: Marvel

B LIST TEAMS

Okay, here's where Marvel falters. After the Avengers, F4, and X-Men who do they have? The Defenders? Alpha Flight? Power Pack? The freaking Champions?

DC, on the other hand, powers through. Not only can they claim the first superhero team ever, the Justice Society of America (who are still relevant in the comics today), but they also have the best superhero team of the future, the Legion of Super-Heroes (more on them later). In between there's the Doom Patrol, the Outsiders, Birds of Prey, Metal Men, Captain Carrot and the Zoo Crew, and the Secret Six.

Edge: DC

RACIAL DIVERSITY

For the most part, superheroes are the Utah of the comics world. But both companies have made some attempt to diversify. In some cases, the attempts were and are cloying and racist (an American Indian superhero called Warpath...seriously?).

Marvel was, not surprisingly, ahead of the game in introducing black characters. There was Captain America's partner, the Falcon, plus the Black Panther, Luke Cage, Blade, Black Goliath, Jim Rhodes (War Machine), and Storm (of the X-Men, who are pretty darned white for a group that's supposedly an allegory for racial tolerance). Representing Asians are Sunfire, a Japanese X-Man who didn't stick around long, and the Chinese Shang-Chi, who reinforced sterotypes by being a "Master of Kung-Fu." For American Indians there was the X-Man Thunderbird (Warpath's older brother, by the way). He was killed during his second mission with the team. There's also Shaman, from Alpha Flight. Latinos are out of luck unless you care to seek out the few times the Living Lightning showed up in The Avengers. The current Marvel Universe is still pretty white, though Luke Cage and Black Panther have taken on larger roles. The Spider-Man of the Ultimate universe, Miles Morales, is half black, half Hispanic.

DC, though slower, eventually came around. In terms of black heroes there was John Stewart, who became Green Lantern in Hal Jordan's stead, and stayed one even after Hal came back. Joining him are Black Lightning, Cyborg, Steel, Vixen, and Mr. Terrific. As with Marvel, Asian heroes are rarer, and usually related to martial arts (see Katana from the Outsiders, Karate Kid from the Legion, or Samurai from the Super Friends). Ryan Choi, the new Atom, is an exception. Latinos fare slightly better at DC too, with El Diablo, Gangbuster and the new Blue Beetle and Question all holding it down. American Indians are again under-represented, though Black Condor and Dawn Star can both claim that heritage (and wings!). And who could forget Apache Chief, from the Super Friends?!

However DC wins this one mostly thanks to Milestone Comics, the diversity-minded imprint they ushered into existence in the mid-'90s, and whose heroes they are now incorporating into their proper universe. The latter is great news. Static, Hardware, Icon and Rocket, and the Blood Syndicate are all vibrant, rich characters who deserve more time in the spotlight.

Edge: DC

HEROINES

This is tough. Marvel has a lot of strong female characters: Invisible Girl, Wasp, Scarlet Witch, Emma Frost, Jean Gray, Rogue, Shadowcat, Ms.Marvel, Elektra. DC also has it's share: Power Girl, Black Canary, The Question, Zatanna, all the ladies of the Legion of Super-Heroes, and Catwoman.

DC loses points because so many of their heroines are analogues of heroes. Think about it Supergirl, Superwoman, Batgirl, Batwoman, Miss Martian, Mary Marvel, Hawkwoman, etc. Marvel has been slightly less guilty of this.

However, DC wins where it really counts, because they have Wonder Woman. Marvel has not managed to create an iconic female character who sustains her own solo title, pilots an invisible jet, and is recognized by the masses.

Edge: DC

ALTERNATE REALITIES

Both companies have had their share of stories set in alternate realities, but who has done it best?

Marvel's primary way of of introducing a multiverse is through their What If... comic (which looks at pivotal scenarios in Marvel history and lets them play out in a completely different way) and their Ultimate line of books, which is basically an alternate version of their regular universe. That's all in addition to the New Universe and whatever Earth the Squadron Supreme come from. There was also the classic X-Men story Age of Apocalypse and the reality-spanning Exiles series.

DC embraced the idea of a multiverse early on, and created multiple worlds where radically different versions of familiar characters roamed free. I'm guessing it was a way to keep things fresh for writers who had to create multiple tales of the same characters each month for years and years. Plus, it became an annual event to have the Justice League meet up with heroes from other worlds. DC eventually tried to simplify into one universe and continuity in Crisis On Infinite Earths. They still told alternate universe tales via the Elseworlds line, and then went full out and restored the multiverse during the Infinite Crisis and 52 miniseries. 2011's Flashpoint created an entirely new spin on DCs stable of heroes.

Which is better? While part of me prefers Marvel's simpler, compartmentalized approach, I think better ideas have come out of the DC multiverse.

Edge: tie

GOOD MOVIES

With both Marvel and DC ramping up their movie release schedules, what better time to discuss their cinematic successes?

DC hit first and best in the late '70s / early '80s with Superman and Superman II. Both are held fondly in the hearts of fans and the general public alike, and both define the character in the public consciousness. Batman has had similar film glory, with the 1966 Batman film providing kitsch delight, Tim Burton's 1989 version redefining the character for a generation, and 2008's The Dark Knight proving that a comic book movie can be taken seriously AND rake in a ton of cash.

Marvel doesn't have quite the same highs as DC does, though they've ramped it up lately, and have definitively made more films of their properties. The first and second Spider-Man films are beloved (though not necessarily by me). As are the first two X-Men movies. The Blade trilogy has proven popular (though I haven't seen any of them) as well. The second Fantastic Four movie (Rise of the Silver Surfer) was surprisingly entertaining. The 2009 Iron Man film, despite its lack of depth, was a great film adaptation. 2011's Captain America was the best superhero movie I'd seen in a very long time.

This is tough. Right now, I'm still going to give the edge to DC, on the strength of the first two Superman films and Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan's Batman movies. The Avengers, if done right, could tip the scale.

Edge: DC

BAD MOVIES

Now for the cautionary tales. Both companies have made their share of stinkers, but whose offenses have been the most egregious?

Marvel gave the world that famous rotten egg Howard the Duck, which despite its box office failure is still entertaining. I was not a fan of the first Fantastic Four movie, neither Hulk movie has managed to make the monster look convincing, and I couldn't sit through Daredevil or Ghost Rider. The third Spider-Man movie clearly belongs here. The second Iron Man looked dreadful, and Thor was full of wasted potential, especially in Loki's side of the story.

DC has its own list of stinkers, including the final two Superman films (Richard Pryor and a Soviet Superman, seriously?), Halle Berry's Catwoman, Shaquille O'Neal's Steel, and the limp Superman Returns. 2011's Green Lantern wasn't as bad as everyone made it out to be, but it clearly could have been better. And though Marvel may have more awful films under its belt, none is worse than Batman & Robin, a poorly-written, poorly-cast, poorly-acted, poorly-executed waste of time.

Edge: DC

MOST CONSISTENT LONG-RUNNING TITLE

The front cover proclaims boldly, "The World's Greatest Comic Magazine!" and it's pretty much true. The Fantastic Four have seen amazing runs by some of the most talented creators to ever work in comics. Of course you have to start with the amazing 100 + issue run of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, which spanned from 1961 to 1970. Since then the book has been written by Roy Thomas, Marv Wolfman, Gerry Conway, Tom DeFalco, Chris Claremont, J.Michael Straczynski, Mark Waid, Dwayne McDuffie, Mark Millar, and Johnathan Hickman. It's been drawn by the likes of John Buscema, John Romita Sr., George Perez, Bill Sienkiewicz, Paul Ryan, Art Adams, Alan Davis, Salvador Larocca, Mike Weiringo, Paul Pelliter, Bryan Hitch, and Steve Epting. Plus there were runs by writer/artists John Byrne, Walt Simonson, and Carlos Pacheco. No other book, Marvel or DC, can claim the talent AND the dedication that The Fantastic Four can. Many of these creators didn't just work on the book for an issue or two; they stayed for years!

Edge: Marvel

POOREST TREATMENT OF A SIGNATURE PROPERTY

As I often tell my English students, a story without a problem is not a story. Since superhero stories are pretty much neverending, our beloved characters are naturally going to experience lots of trouble. However, each company has one character that they have put thorough so much misery that it borders on sadism.

For Marvel, it's Spider-Man. Think about it. The poor guy, already orphaned, is an indirect cause of his beloved uncle's death. His best friend's father becomes his worst enemy, finds out his true identity, throws his girlfriend Gwen Stacey off the side of a bulding. When Spider-Man tries to save her with a web, her neck snaps, killing her. Later, he finds out he has been replaced by a clone, but not really. Finally, he is forced to give up his marriage through a deal with the devil. This is all in addition to the numerous buildings that have been dropped on him.

For DC, there's Batman. Tragedy is part of his origin, with his parents being shot down in front of him. He rallies from that, but then ends up with his worst enemy killing his partner, Jason Todd, and paralyizing another protege, Batgirl. Later, he has his back broken by a juiced-up monster named Bane. Then we find out that he has fathered a son, and the mother has taught the boy, Damien, to hate him. That's okay, because every woman Bruce Wayne has let himself trust has betrayed him. During Final Crisis, he was a victim of Darkseid's Omega Sanction, which sent him reeling through time. He was also drugged and made to believe that his father had faked his death.

So which is worse? Well, I think of it like this: Most of Batman's tragedies led to very good stories. Such is not the case with Spidey. The Clone Saga and One More Day were awful stories for the characters and readers alike.

Edge: Marvel

JACK KIRBY IN THE '70s

Following his '60s heyday at Marvel, co-creating and drawing books such as Thor, Fantastic Four, X-Men, and The Avengers, Jack Kirby made the big jump to DC. While there, he created, wrote and drew New Gods, Mister Miracle, Forever People, The Demon, OMAC, and Kamandi. Mid-decade he returned to Marvel, and gave the world The Eternals, Devil Dinosaur, 2001, and Machine Man.

All of these books are tsunamis of big ideas, ambitious storytelling, and highly stylized pop art. However, the choice is obvious. The number of enduring characters and concepts created by Kirby during his time at DC is staggering, and the books themselves are rollicking good fzed pop art. However, to any objective readerun. That's not the case with Kirby's '70s Marvel work, which was of variable quality and has produced very few lasting characters. Afterall, when was the last time you saw Moon-Boy?

Edge: DC

GRIM AND GRITTY IN THE '80s:

The '80s were all about bringing gravity and realism to the superhero genre, but which company was more successful?

Marvel actually got the ball rolling in the late '70s and early '80s with Frank Miller's work on Daredevil. Then came the X-Men graphic novel God Loves, Man Kills. Perennial Chris Claremont scribe wrote the story, which concerned an predjudicial attempt to wipe out all of the mutants on Earth. The overt social commentary and dark subject matter were a clear attempt to bring shades of gray to the colorful world of super-heroes. Claremont also wrote the Dark Phoenix Saga, which wasn't quite as grounded in reality, but nonetheless featured grim death and unspeakable evil.

DC once agian came to the game late, but played it better, thanks to Alan Moore and Frank Miller. The former not only gave us Watchmen in 1986 (have you heard of it?), but also took the Swamp Thing and made him all metaphysical, plus he put Batgirl into a wheelchair in The Killing Joke. Frank Miller, after having his way with Daredevil, took over Batman and produced the classic Dark Knight Returns and Batman: Year One. Throw in Robin Jason Todd's death, and Crisis on Infinite Earths (which saw Flash (Barry Allen) and Supergirl bite the dust), and DC clearly was grimmer and grittier, when it was still cool.

Edge: DC

IMAGIZATION IN THE '90s

The '90s were generally an awful time for superhero comics. Sales were booming, but the industry fell victim into a money-grubbing, lowest common denominator mindset. This was mostly due to the success of Image Comics, the aptly-named brain child company of a bunch of Marvel superstar artists who wanted to own their own creations. The books, as a whole, were long on style and gimmick and short on substance, but they sold at a record clip. Rather than provide a sensible alternative, both Marvel and DC went for cheap imitation of something that was already pretty cheap.

That meant that both companies started producing comics with multiple covers adorned by holograms, glitter, foil etc, and employing artists who ignored the fundamentals of anatomy and storytelling. But whereas Marvel's efforts focused on the superficial, DC was a bit more drastic.

Marvel's crimes were mostly against fashion. The Avengers and Fantastic Four both started wearing brown leather jackets. (and don't get me started on the Invisible Woman's disappearing costume), and half the X-Men suddenly wielded improbably large guns (Freud alert!). But the characters stayed the same at their core, and so did the status quo.

DC, however, tried to keep up with the Joneses through SHOCKING EVENTS. They kept the costumes mostly the same, but instead royally screwed with their iconic characters. They killed Superman and Green Arrow, broke Batman's back, turned Green Lantern Hal Jordan into an insane, shoulder-padded villain. It was all in the name of sales, and any strong storytelling or or concept that resulted was gravy. To be fair, a lot of good things did come out of these stories, including replacement characters who have become beloved and iconic in their own right. But status quo has ultimately prevailed, with many of the events above being reversed.

Edge: DC

CURRENT EVENTS
I'm not a big fan of cross-company events in general. I feel like most great stories can be contained to one or two parent titles.

Marvel has been on a seemingly never-ending cycle of events. Civil War led to The Initiative which led to Secret Invasion which led to Dark Reign which led to Seige which led to the Age of Heroes, which led to Fear Itself which leads to I'm not sure yet. I haven't read most of them. Though they seemed well-coordinated across the line, I don't have the energy or money to commit to never-ending line-wide events.

DC though, seems to overhype every event, mismanage it, and then reset everything to status quo anyway. Though Identity Crisis, 52, and Blackest Night were very satisfying, and Final Crisis was an interesting experiment, Infinite Crisis, One Year Later, Countdown, Brightest Day, and Flashpoint have all been uniquely disappointing. The complete reset of the universe in 2011 seems to preclude any major events for awhile. It'll be interesting to see how long that lasts.

Edge: tie

THE FUTUREBoth Marvel and DC have provided us with extended glimpses into their future, but who has done it most compellingly?

Marvel's vision of its own future has been interesting but not consistent. There was the M2 line, which featured an approximate 15 year jump and introduced the next generation of Avengers and May "Mayday" Parker, a.k.a. Spider-Girl. There were also the 2099 books, which introduced us to futurized versions of Ghost Rider, Punisher, the X-Men, Dr.Doom, and others. The best of the bunch was the future Spider-Man, who was featured in his own excellent series by Peter David and Rick Leonardi. The 2099 books only lasted 3 years, though the concept has returned a few times since. Finally, Marvel has the Guardians of the Galaxy, a ragtag group of space adventurers. Read more about them here.

DC, unlike Marvel, has a set future. We know that in 1,000 years there'll be a United Planets, and a group of young heroes from all over the universe who have banded together to fight evil. They are, of course, the Legion of Super-Heroes. While the "Lads" and "Lasses" names may be hokey, the Legion have, through many iterations, been a compelling group of characters. The genius of the Legion is how it connects to the present day DC universe in non-obvious ways. It grounds the concept while keeping it unique.

Edge: DC

* * *

WINNER:

Are you ready for the final score? This actually turned out to be somewhat of a beat-down. Marvel ended up with 5 total points. DC doubled them up with 10 points. It's like Superman took on Moon Boy in a straight-up fistfight.

RIP: Dwayne McDuffie

2011-03-17T11:33:00.000-07:00

Dwayne McDuffie died of complications from emergency heart surgery on February 21, the day before the excellent film he adapted, All-Star Superman, was released in stores.

He was one of my favorite comic book writers; I've never read anything by him that disappointed me. And now I never will.

I found this little profile in a 1989 issue of Captain America and thought it would serve as a fitting tribute. Note that his ambition was to write Fantastic Four. He accomplished that and so much more.

Click to see it full-size.

Whitewash

2010-04-25T02:40:00.000-07:00

In summer 2009, Marvel teased an upcoming Captain America storyline. They released secretive ads and hinted at something major, something that even the mainstream media might care about. It ended up being rather anticlimactic. The story was Reborn, featuring the resurrection of Steve Rogers (the original Cap), something everyone had expected to happen sooner than later.

This detail might be lost to time, but before the real story was revealed, there was a rumor that Captain America's mantle would be picked back up by Isaiah Bradley, a black soldier enhanced by the same Super Soldier Serum as Rogers (detailed in the 2003 miniseries Truth: Red, White, and Black). I, for one, hoped this would be the case. What better time than during the administration of the first black president for America's most patriotic hero be black as well?

It didn't happen, of course. Blond-haired blue-eyed Rogers came back. And Isiaiah Bradley remains on the sidelines, as does the idea of a mainstream superhero whose skin isn't white. It's a huge blind spot in comics that should have been rectified years ago.

"But wait," you say. What about Cap's partner, the Falcon? What about Luke Cage and War Machine and Storm and Blade and Black Panther and Living Lightning and Shaman and Patriot (Isaiah Bradley's grandson)? But how many of them would you consider A-listers? None, though Cage and War Machine have the best current potential. How many have their own book? Only one by my current count, Black Panther.

Why is this?

Back in September 2009, Marvel editor Tom Brevoort made the following statement: "Because we're an American company whose primary distribution is centered around America, the great majority of our existing audience seems to be white American males ... whenever your leads are white American males, you've got a better chance of reaching more people overall."

On the surface this sounds perfectly logical, but underneath it's rather insidious. Brevoort is basically saying, "We're victims of the system being the way it is. There's nothing we can do about it." What if the American Colonists had held that attitude back in the late 1700's? "Because Britain is more established and powerful than us, we might as well accept that." If they hadn't decided to revolt, there'd be no Captain America at all. Or what if we take it even farther: What if country clubs were to say: "Whites are the only ones who want to come here, so they're the only ones we'll ask to join." Oh wait, that actually happens? Is Brevoort okay with his logic applied in that way?

Furthermore, Brevoort's statement assumes that white comic book readers have made a conscious choice not to follow characters of color. He's insinuating that we white readers have such a narrow focus of interest and experience that if our heroes aren't white we won't be interested. There's no way to support this claim because it's never really been tested. Marvel hasn't exactly made a concerted effort to put out books with heroes of color. If they keep following the logic of fear, they never will.

And there's no excuse for that. It's a win-win. White readers would certainly benefit from reading about more non-white heroes, and more people of color might become fans if comic books were the one medium where they were actually reflected accurately and positively on a regular basis (it's not happening in TV or movies or video games, that's for sure). Expanding and diversifying your audience? Perish the thought.

For me, the worst part of all of this is that many fans celebrated Brevoort's comment for "refusing to be PC (politically correct)." Do you know what being anti-PC basically means these days? It means, "I want to be able to say and do racist (and sexist and classist and homophobic) things without being made to feel bad for it." I don't think Brevoort was coming from that place, but he wasn't far away.

The bottom line is this: We need more people of color writing and drawing comic books, starring in comic books, and reading comic books, not more white editors telling us why these things aren't happening. And we need a damn black Captain America.

In Review: Squadron Supreme #1 - 12

2010-04-12T14:40:00.000-07:00

Watchmen, a 12 issue miniseries from DC Comics that ran from September 1986 to October 1987, is almost universally hailed as a groundbreaking work. Sophisticated, literate, complex, and bleak, it's considered the first time we really saw superheroes behaving badly, and the debut of the costumed hero who lived in the moral gray areas of reality.

But it's not (excuse me while I sweep away the remnants of that straw man I just knocked down).

I submit to you Marvel's Squadron Supreme, a 12-issue miniseries that ran from September 1985 to August 1986. The run has some interesting parallels to Watchmen. Both starred analogues of existing heroes (the Watchmen characters were based on Charlton heroes Blue Beetle, Lady Phantom, Captain Atom, Thunderbolt, Peacemaker, and The Question; the Squadron Supreme were created as parodies of DC's Justice League of America). Both series ran for 12 issues and featured shocking moments and big ideas. And yes, both forced their heroes to make tough decisions. And though I'd never suggest Moore stole his ideas (Watchmen was likely in production long before Squadron Supreme appeared on the stands) it is a bit unfair that he gets all the credit as an innovator.

The Squadron Supreme characters debuted all the way back in 1971, in The Avengers #85. I haven't read their early appearances, but it seems to me they were little more than a cute idea, a way for Marvel to not-so-subtly dig at their rival comic company. The characters' powers, origins, and personalities were nearly identical to that of the JLA. Here's a list of analogues: Superman = Hyperion, Wonder Woman = Power Princess, Batman = Nighthawk, Green Lantern = Doctor Spectrum, Flash = Whizzer, Martian Manhunter = Skrullian Skymaster (he only appears briefly and his absence is never truly explained), Aquaman = Amphibian, Hawkman = Blue Eagle, Atom = Tom Thumb, Green Arrow = Golden Archer, Black Canary = Lady Lark, Zatanna = Arcanna, Firestorm = Nuke.

The characters continued to show up sporadically after their debut, teaming up with The Avengers again, Thor, and The Defenders between 1976 and 1982.

In 1985, writer Mark Gruenwald (best known for a 10 year, 100+ issue run on Captain America) took on the Squadron Supreme miniseries, and elevated the characters far beyond their initial conception. In no way did Gruenwald play it safe, either narratively or commercially. It helps that his stars were D-listers. One assumes Gruenwald had carte blanche to do with them what he wanted. This is a rarity in superhero comics, where the brand and trademark necessitates a constant return to status quo, and Gruenwald makes the most of it (much like Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons did with their own private universe).

As the story begins, the Squadron Supreme have just defeated the Overmind, who had mind-controlled them into taking over the United States and using their powers to do all sorts of bad things. To redeem themselves, the group vows to use their resources to eliminate society's problems. The catch is that to accomplish this, they must remain in power. Nighthawk, whose alter-ego Kyle Richmond is also the president of the U.S., vehemently disagrees with this plan, arguing that society can't be bettered by force. He quits the group, and resigns as president out of shame for his part in the Overmind debacle. He vows to stop the Squadron's plan. The series concurrently follows the Squadron's attempts to solve the world's problems and Nighthawk's effort to build an underground resistance force, all leading to a final showdown in the last issue.

For so long, the idea of heroes using their powers to improve the world has been the elephant in the superhero comic living room. If Superman can turn the make the world spin backwards on its axis, thus traveling backwards in time, why can't he stop wars, natural disasters, and world hunger? Why would he waste his time stopping random robberies and getting into squabbles with Lex Luthor? Squadron Supreme addresses that question directly.

Early on, resident genius Tom Thumb invents a Behavior Modification Machine, which basically allows for localized brainwashing. The plan is to use it to eliminate the urge for criminal behavior. This, in correlation with the confiscation and destruction of all guns, and the invention of a ray that stops aggressive behavior by stimulating the brain's pleasure center, virtually eliminates crime. In addition, Thumb creates the Hibernacle, a way to freeze dead bodies, which will then be stored until a cure for whatever killed them is invented. Of course, the Squadron meets resistance along the way, both to the seizure of arms (imagine that!) and to the idea of cheating death (Gruenwald brings in religion ever so briefly, in the form of protesters who feel it's playing God).

And though the group's efforts to make the world a better place go right more than they go wrong, the cost is terrible. Gruenwald puts his characters through hell, and it's a beauty to behold. This is a partial list of some of the crazy cuss that goes down:

A Squadron member discovers he has given his parents cancer with his radioactive body, goes crazy and is accidentally killed by another member.
A Squadron member uses the Behavior Modification Machine to make another Squadron member love him. The group eventually discovers this and exiles him.
The Squadron's enemies, The Institute of Evil (comprised of Quagmire, Foxfire, Lamprey, Doctor Decibel, Shape, and Ape X) become the subjects of the Behavior Modification Machine and all 7 of them join the Squadron.
An evil version of Hyperion immediately takes a liking to Power Princess, kills her husband (he makes it look like an accident), and successfully moves in on her.
A main character dies of cancer, which we're unconventionally told of as an epilogue to issue #9, in a final black panel with white text.
Quagmire is injured in an act of heroism, and ends up in a coma. When his powers go unconsciously out of control, Hyperion makes the difficult decision to pull Quagmire's life support.
In the final battle between the Squadron and Nighthawk's forces, 6 characters end up dead.

If it sounds brutal and bleak that's because it is. But it's never done in an exploitative or offhand way. Every gut-wrenching twist and turn is done in service of story, with big consequences every time. Like Watchmen, the story's central question - Can Utopia be achieved by force? - can be seen as an allegory for the Cold War, but it provides no easy answers. The "fascist" Squadron realizes the error of their ways in the end, but ends up doing a lot of good despite the death toll. In fact, three of the behavior-modified Institute of Evil villains (Quagmire, Foxfire, and Ape X) become the most likable and noble characters. The democratic idealist Nighthawk is supposed to be the good guy, but he sacrifices his ideals many times in the process of revolution (namely in teaming up with the one of the team's worst enemies), leading one to wonder what he was really fighting for in the first place. It's really a remarkable story.

Squadron Supreme doesn't get nearly the love and respect it deserves, certainly not as much as Watchmen. Maybe that's because it didn't have any literary pretensions, or maybe it's the fact that the art (Bob Hall on 6 issues, Paul Ryan on 5, and John Buscema on 1) was more serviceable than spectacular. But it deserves more than it gets.

Think of it this way. Had this mini-series been created for DC using the actual Justice League of America, it would easily be considered one of the top 5 best JLA stories of all time. People would still be talking about it.

Gruenwald died too early (in 1996 at the age of 43) but he was obviously and rightly proud of Squadron Supreme. In fact, his will stipulated he be cremated and his ashes be mixed in with the trade collection of the series. It was a move just as surprising and daring as the series itself.

In Review: Looking for Calvin and Hobbes

2009-11-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

When I was about 12 years old I told my grandpa that I was going to take over Calvin and Hobbes when Bill Watterson died. In an especially bitter moment, he gently chastised me, saying that it was likely that his family would take it over, and that Watterson probably wouldn't want anyone else to draw it anyway. Now I know for a fact my grandpa knew nothing about Bill Watterson, but damn if he wasn't right. Watterson HATED legacy strips, and felt he was the only one who could ever tell Calvin and Hobbes' story.

That's just one thing I learned in Nevin Martell's new book, Looking for Calvin and Hobbes. The book is subtitled "The Unconventional Story of Bill Watterson and His Revolutionary Comic Strip", and true to that it's part biography and part love letter. Anyone who fell under the trance of Watterson's comic strip will find lots of interesting tidbits about its origins and author.

That's the good part. Martell's research is above reproach. He interviews more people than anyone else would consider necessary and gets them to open up. He goes to Watterson's hometown of Chagrin Falls, Ohio. He visits Ohio State University's Cartoon Library and Musuem, to which the cartoonist donated ALL of his original Calvin and Hobbes strips. He even calls Watterson's mother on the phone.

Though the book isn't a strict biography, Martell does a good job of presenting the basic facts about Watterson's youth and development, the journey he took to create Calvin and Hobbes, his reaction to his success, and what he has been doing in the 14 years since the strip ended.

But the book is nonetheless problematic. Let's break it down:

1) Martell sets up his book as a quest for an interview with the notoriously press-shy Watterson, something that you know is not going to actually happen. If it had, the book would have been called Finding Calvin and Hobbes. It's a lame attempt to create drama. And though I think Martell's quest was a doomed proposition (by all accounts Watterson wants Calvin and Hobbes to speak for itself and is uninterested in rehashing the past any more than he already has), he didn't help himself with the way he went about his request. Included in the book is the text of his interview-request letter, and it's pretty lame and embarrassing, sounding like it was written by a gushing fanboy. I wonder if Martell would have had more success by asking Watterson if he'd talk about everything BUT Calvin and Hobbes.

In the absence of Watterson, we get Martell's rehashing many of his past interviews and speeches, and this is valuable. But Martell also chose to quote generously from Watterson's various introductions to Calvin and Hobbes collections. This feels unnecessary, and a little bit like cheating.

2) When doing anything other than presenting the results of his interviews and research, Martell's writing voice is awful. In a very curious move, he regularly interjects his own opinions and experiences into the story. That would be fine for an introduction, but Martell seems to believe that his own superfandom of the Calvin and Hobbes affords him a large place in the strip's story. It doesn't. I'm okay with when it's relevant, such as when he describes his experience looking at Watterson's original artwork at OSU. But when it comes to describing his desire for an eternal summer, or comparing his father to Calvin's father, or talking about his writing process, it's just distracting. Throughout, he peppers his writing with dorky, awkward references to things like "the trixster god Loki", Jessica Biel, and American Idol (ironically, this is something he praises Watterson for not doing). This type of writing has its place, but not in a biography.

3) Similarly, Martell constantly tries to philosophically analyze various Calvin and Hobbes characters, situations, and running gags. This would admittedly be less annoying had he actually had permission to print the strips in question, but even so, he rarely offers anything insightful. It's all cliched platitudes such as, "Of course, no young boy's life would be complete without a secret club." And really, I mean, I agree Calvin and Hobbes was a great comic strip, but do we need to elevate it to "Bill Watterson is the most brilliant pop artist of the late 20th century" levels?

You can also tell that Martell has worked as a rock critic, and is used to substituting laborious comparisons for actual descriptions. Check out his summary of Richard Thompson's comic strip: "Cul-De-Sac looks like Ralph Steadman and Charles Schulz fighting over a pen to draw The Yellow Kid crossed with FoxTrot, with a dollop of Watterson's wit thrown in for good measure."

One can't help but wish that Martell had worked with a stronger editor, someone who could have saved him from his self-indulgences and organizational challenges. I hate books like this, because you just know it could have been so much better, but you can't dismiss it outright because hiding in the mess a lot of good information.

So should you read it or not? If you want to know more about the story behind Calvin and Hobbes and its creator, Martell's book is basically the only resource you'll find. So I don't regret reading it. Even so, I can't shake the feeling that I probably would have gotten more out of taking all of my old Calvin and Hobbes collections off the shelf and rereading them from beginning to end.

In Review: Was Superman a Spy?

2009-06-23T02:40:00.000-07:00

For several years, the indefatigable Brian Cronin has been addressing comic book urban legends on his Comics Should Be Good blog. He has written over 200 entries, each one tackling 3 legends. That means he's researched and proved or disproved over 500 stories from comic book history. They're required reading for serious comic fan.

Now, Cronin has released Was Superman a Spy?, a collection of legends previously-covered and newly-revealed. Some minor quibbles aside, it's just as essential.

There are a couple of jarring things about the book for those who've followed Brian's work on the blog. For one, the book is not structured the same. The blog poses each legend as a question and then attempts to give a definitive true or false. It's a very effective structure. The book abandons this approach and tells the legends in a sequential, narrative form. This results in what feels almost like "the secret history of comic books."

However, the book is more organized than the blog (which, despite occasional theme weeks, is haphazard in subject matter). In the book, the "chapters" are arranged by company and character, making it very user-friendly. It's too bad these two approaches couldn't have been combined, with the "true or false" structure organized by company and character.

My only other complaint is Cronin's writing voice. For the most part, Cronin comes off as a believable authority, which is important for an informative book of facts such as this. However, there are places where he still sounds more like a fan (which he is at heart - aren't we all?). For example, in summarizing a legend about Martin Landau's brief career as a comic book artist, Cronin writes: "It's probably for the best, because if comic books gained Landau, the world of acting would have lost him, and he is far too good of an actor to lose." There are several moments like this peppered throughout the book, where Cronin's opinion intrudes, and feels out of place.

There are also a couple of places where Cronin's logic doesn't quite follow, like when he writes about Marv Wolfman's original intent to introduce a black Teen Titan called Jericho. Carmine Infantino, then publisher of DC, rejected the story as written. Much later, Wolfman did introduce Jericho into the Titans, but as a curly, blond-headed white guy. Cronin calls this a "measure of revenge". Wait, what? If the offense was not allowing a black character to be introduced, wouldn't the revenge be Wolfman's creation of Cyborg, a black Titan who became quite popular with fans?

Even so, Was Superman a Spy? does a lot to recommend itself. The book is generously illustrated with original covers, interior art, and photos. Many of the legends require (or are at least enhanced by) visual reference, so I'm glad the publisher ponied up for the rights to reprint these images. And Cronin is a great historian and researcher; he has uncovered some wonderful anecdotes. My favorites include the story of Ray Bradbury's clever response to EC Comics' unauthorized adaptation of two of his short stories, and Disney duck artist Carl Barks' insistence on the scientific accuracy of his stories leading to the discovery of a process to raise sunken ships and a previously-unknown chemical compound!

Those of us who love comic books have long been required to learn our historical information piecemeal and through unreliable sources. Brian Cronin has done some wonderful work in Was Superman a Spy? by cutting through the fiction in a medium where the stories that get printed often aren't the only works of fantasy.

Raw Deal

2009-05-29T02:40:00.000-07:00

News came through this week that Dwayne McDuffie has been fired from his post as writer of Justice League of America. Make no mistake, it's bad news.

McDuffie, co-creator of Ben 10 and the Milestone line of comics, is a talented guy who obviously isn't getting the respect he deserves. Consider that he put together a very good run on Fantastic Four a couple of years ago with artist Paul Pelliter, and then was shuffled aside in favor of the hit-or-miss Mark Millar. And now this.

McDuffie says he was fired, believe it or not, because for the last two years he has given fans truthful answers to their questions about the behind the scenes decisions that go into a high-profile book like Justice League of America. Maybe the higher-ups wouldn't have minded if they had made good decisions. Instead, after letting novelist Brad Metzler set the table perfectly with a stacked roster (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Black Canary, Red Tornado, Hawkgirl, Black Lightning, Vixen, Geo-Force, and Red Arrow), DC prevented McDuffie from getting any sort of rhythm in his nearly 20-issue run. How did they prevent it, you ask? Well, they forced McDuffie to use his JLA stories to set up events in the DC universe that had little organic connection to the Justice League, including Salvation Run, then Tangent: Superman's Reign, then Final Crisis.

McDuffie was also saddled with a rotating cast of artists, never getting into a good creative flow even when he was allowed to tell his own stories. Though he got one-off issues with talented pencillers Carlos Pacheco, Ethan Van Sciver, and Shane Davis, and a couple of issues with Rags Morales at the end, he was usually paired with Ed Benes, whose work is sporadically thrilling, but is more often frustratingly stiff.

And finally there's the issue of the team itself. That powerhouse line-up he inherited? Slowly, it got stripped away. McDuffie took Red Tornado himself, but everyone else got taken from him. Final Crisis took out Batman and Hawkgirl (Are they dead or alive? Who knows?). A new (ill-conceived, in my opinion) Titans book grabbed Red Arrow and Flash. Black Lightning and Geo-Force were called back from whence they came (the Outsiders). Superman was sent away by the New Krypton storyline and Hal Jordan (Green Lantern) left to start his own Justice League (in an upcoming limited series written by James Robinson). McDuffie has had to do his best with the leftovers.

Even before McDuffie's dismissal, rumors had been swirling that either Grant Morrison or Geoff Johns would be taking on JLA, possibly with ace artist Jim Lee. Likely, DC's "indignation" at McDuffie's behind-the-scenes revelations were merely a convenient excuse to clear the decks for the new creative team. And do you think that the new writer won't be given the green light to rebuild the roster with the big names, and get all the glory for it? It's likely that McDuffie is more a victim of timing and poor editorial planning than any sort of conspiracy, but that's nothing but cold comfort.

The larger problem is one of continuity and creative freedom. I'm of the mind that to be truly creatively successful a book like JLA has to be slightly out of touch with what's going on in the larger DC universe, and the writer needs to be given carte blanche to tell his or her stories (within limits of course; you can't have Superman get a sex change, at least without him getting it reversed before the storyline wraps up). I wish that courtesy had been afforded to Dwayne McDuffie.

In Brightest Day...

2009-05-28T14:40:00.000-07:00

Check this out:

I don't get that excited about comic book movies anymore, because it's just so hard to get them right. But if this was the actual trailer for the upcoming Green Lantern movie, I'd be in line already.

If nothing else this makes the case that Nathan Fillion would be a perfect Hal Jordan. In reality, they probably won't cast him because of his age. They'll want someone young enough to reprise the role over the next 10 years in potential sequels and a Justice League movie, and its potential sequels. This mindset has overtaken comic movie planning and, I think it's a misguided approach. All that energy should go into making the first film as good as possible, instead of taking success for granted.

Also, the guy who made this, Jaron Pitts, should get a job working on the actual film, or at least a chance to make the real trailer.

In Review: The Avengers (Free Comic Book Day)

2009-05-11T14:40:00.000-07:00

I was always a Marvel kid. The first comic books and characters I loved were Marvel books and characters.

But since returning to comics reading in the last few years, the love just hasn't been there. I still follow a couple of Marvel books and enjoy reading older issues, but overall, I don't like the current direction of the line.

The recent Avengers Free Comic Book Day offering is a perfect example of why.

I won't complain about the size (it's significantly smaller than a modern comic, which is already significantly smaller than golden age comic), as some have.

Nor will I complain about the art. Jim Chueng is a great draftsman (his work looks like Chris Bachalo and Oliver Coipel genetically spliced together) and a pretty good storyteller.

The problem lies with the script by Marvel it-writer Brian Michael Bendis. The basic story is good enough: The Avengers face a pissed-off Norse ice giant called Ymir who has just taken out Thor. The problem is in the execution.

Spider-Man narrates, which is all fine and dandy if you're behind the idea that Spider-Man should be a full-time Avenger. I'm not. I always liked the idea of him being a reserve called in for extra special occasions. It makes more sense with Peter Parker's lifestyle, too. I'm even more against Wolverine being an Avenger. It's not strictly because I dislike the character (which I do a little bit), but more because he's already ON THE X-MEN! It's a stretch to me that he would even be on one team, let alone two.

That aside, this is an interesting Avengers line up. With Ms.Marvel, Luke Cage, Iron Fist, Spider-Woman, Hawkeye (now Ronin) and Mockingbird, it's like a dream team circa 1977. Captain America (Bucky Barnes in shiny armor) rounds out the group.

But in actuality we only get four pages of the Avengers (some of them don't speak more than two words the whole issue) before a whole other team of Avengers shows up. It's the Dark Avengers, led by Harry Osborn, formerly the Green Goblin, currently the Iron Patriot. Having helped beat back the Skrull invasion, he is currently a hero in the public eye. Of course we all know he's bat-sh*t crazy. He has brought along his own team of analogue heroes who are actually villains going by the names of heroes. Confusing, yes, and Spider-Man even acknowledges this. Of this group, Ares emerges as the focus of the issue, while everyone else is relegated to background noise.

Ares aside, it seems like the inclusion of the Dark Avengers was unnecessary and took space away that could have been spent telling us more about the Avengers themselves, their powers, their personalities, etc. Look, I'm not one of those people who thinks every issue of a comic needs to be contain a primer for a new reader. I believe the average fan is savvy enough to pick up what they can and fill in the backstory as needed. But seeing that this was a Free Comic Book Day book, and it was a good opportunity for Marvel to try to lure me back into the fold, it's just a wasted opportunity.

There's also the matter of Bendis' trademark wordy dialogue. Comic dialogue has never been an especially subtle or realistic thing, and I'm all for elevating the art form, but this isn't how I'd go about it. Basicaly, everyone on the team cops the same sarcastic hipster voice. It works for Spider-Man, 'cause that's who he is, but does the whole team need to speak this way? It's like watching Dawson's Creek, or a Kevin Smith movie, where every character speaks in the voice of the writer. Witness the first exhange of dialogue between the Avengers:

Luke Cage: Damn.
Mockingbird: Well put.
Luke Cage: I am a wordsmith.
Captain America: What is that?
Ronin: You know what...I actually know what that is. It's a Norse ice giant.
Iron Fist: Great, okay, just tell us how your beat it the first time and we'll --
Ronin: Well, uh, a big giant fire god came and they beat each other out of this dimension.
Luke Cage: Do you know any fire gods?
Ronin: I do not.
Luke Cage: So nothing you said helps us at all.

Blech. There are "cute" exchanges like that all over the place. I'm all for a little levity, but it just doesn't work for me. And it doesn't seem to fit with the tone Bendis is trying to set in his stories. Anyway, superhero comedy has already been done. It was called Justice League, by Keith Giffen, J.M.DeMatteis, and Kevin Maguire.

The story wraps up with some mumbo jumbo about a "twilight sword" and an never-acutually-gets-going throwdown between the two Avengers teams. Like I said, promising premise, disappointing execution. Besides the art, the only thing I truly enjoyed was Thor's badassitude at the end. "You and I shall have words another day," he tells Osborn and it brings to mind the beat-down he gave Iron Man in issue 4 of his most recent series. I might be on board for a repeat of that.

But am I going to buy any new Avengers comics? Or anything that Bendis is in charge of? Not based on this issue. Marvel, keep trying. You'll get me back one day.

I Read Fantastic Four #300 and Now I'm Going To Tell You About It

2009-03-19T15:49:00.000-07:00

Welcome to a new ongoing feature on 24 Pages. The idea is simple: I read a comic book and tell you about it. The inspiration for the idea isn't as easily summarized.

Last fall my wife and I were on a weekend vacation to Two Harbors, Minnesota. In the hotel room, we came across an episode of the AMC TV show Mad Men. We had heard many good things about it, but both thought it would be ideal to get the first season on DVD and catch up on the second. However, there in the hotel room we made a daredevil decision: We would watch the episode despite a lack of knowledge of the characters or what had come before.

After watching (and enjoying) the episode, we talked about how it wasn't that long ago that if you wanted to watch a show, you just watched. You didn't worry about not having seen earlier episodes. If you missed an episode you just had to hope they'd repeat it soon. There was no DVR or DVD or Internet.

I bring this up because it kind of reminds me of being a comic book reader. Too often I fall into the mindset of feeling that I have to read everything in order from the beginning. Often reading large runs of issue in order is a satisfying experience, but sometimes it feels like more of a chore.

That gets me thinking about my when I first started collecting comics. I didn't know anything about companies, creators, or even the characters. My only access to comic books was the spinning racks in the local Jewel and Kroger grocery stores, or the drug store next to the place my mom got her hair done. I was limited to what was available and what caught my eye. I didn't worry if the issue I bought was part of a multi-issue story arc. If it was, I just tried to figure out what was going on.

Of course that's the first stage of the collecting bug. We all know the next step is to discover that there are shops that sell old issues, to start trying to put together consecutive runs. That's part of the fun of being a comic fan, but when it comes to actually reading the issues, sometimes I miss just picking a random issue up and enjoying it for what it is.

Thus, this feature. My initial idea was to write about every single issue of Fantastic Four, out of order, but I realized it might get kind of tedious. Instead, I'll keep true to the concept and write about whatever issues I happen across.

So, here we go:

Fantastic Four #300 has a cover date of March 1987. Unlike many milestone issue numbers (usually in intervals of 25 or 50) there's no extra pages or special cover or retrospective or self-congratulation or even any real acknowledgment of the significance. It's kind of refreshing until one realizes that, the title had already used up all of its anniversary tricks on issue #296.

Another interesting item of note is the fact that the cover notes Marvel's "25th Anniversary" in the upper left hand corner. This makes sense, if you count Marvel's beginnings as the 1961 debut of this very comic. Fast forward to 2009, and Marvel's covers are bragging about "70 Years of Marvel Comics." No, your math isn't wrong. It hasn't been 45 years since 1987. I believe, in order to respectfully compete with DC's 75 years, Marvel has started counting the 1939 debut of Marvel Comics (featuring Namor, the Sub-Mariner) as their starting point, even though the original 1961 date makes more sense.

Who's Responsible?

This issue was written by the venerable Roger Stern. He only wrote (or co-wrote) 8 issues of the title before giving way to Steve Englehart's run. John Buscema drew the issue with inks from his brother Sal. Both of them had runs on the titles in the '70s.

What Happens?

Even though there's no acknowledgement of the 300 milestone, the issue still features a big event in the lives of the F4. As you can see on the cover, this is the one where Johnny Storm (the Human Torch) marries Alicia Masters. Alicia was a blind sculptress who had previously been involved with Ben Grimm (the Thing). Johnny and Alicia got together during John Byrne's run (which had just ended with issue #293) so this is a continuation. The two eventually broke up during Tom DeFalco and Paul Ryan's time on the title when it was revealed that Alica had really been replaced by a shape-shifting Skrull imposter named Lyja.

Anyway, this being a comic book it isn't just a straight-ahead wedding. See Alicia's step-father is the villain called the Puppet Master (he's the eye-lift surgery recipient on the cover) and he's not happy about her marrying Johnny. So he allies with the b-listers Thinker and the Wizard to ruin the wedding. But once you think you know how the story is going to zig, it zags.

Plus, Ben and Alicia have a sweet peace-making conversation, and archnemesis Dr.Doom acknowledges the wedding in his own in idisynchratic way.

What Did You Think?

I thoroughly enjoyed this issue. It has the feel of an event issue with out the hullabaloo.

It's also the solid performance you'd expect from the creators involved. The writing has some great moments and pacing and never tries to overstep its bounds. Same thing for the art. It's nothing outstanding, but it's well-drafted and always in service of the story.

Willingham's Folly

2009-01-26T14:40:00.000-08:00

Bill Willingham is a comic book writer currently most noted for his fabulous series Fables, a modern-day look at characters from various folk, fairy, and tall tales. He has also been announced as the new co-writer of one of my favorite DC Comics team books, Justice Society of America.

Recently he wrote an editorial piece for the blog Big Hollywood with the unwieldy title: Superheroes: Still Plenty of Super, But Losing Some of the Hero. In short, Willingham's point is that he's going to start writing with a clear delineation of good and evil in his superhero comics. He claims that the heroes he writes will be courageous and patriotic and virtuous. He doesn't define what these words mean to him, nor does he acknowledge that they can have different interpretations, but he does offer some examples of the opposite tack.

Willingham first laments that Superman "no longer seems to be too proud of America," but he doesn't provide any specific incidences. Oh, he does point out that Supes' old motto of "truth, justice, and the American Way" has been shortened, but as far as I know this was never an official mandate. Anyway, I'm guessing that when Willingham thinks of the "American Way" nothing but good things come to mind. But depending on one's perspective the "American Way" could be interpreted as "closed-minded" or "imperialistic" or "willfully ignorant." Do you blame DC Comics for not wanting their flagship hero to be seen as representing those things? Or, to look at it from a positive standpoint, are the ideals Superman represents - honesty, selflessness, humility - solely American values? The answer is no, of course.

Willingham is more specific on Captain America, chastising the character because, in one issue, he apologized for American wrong-doings during the Cold War. Seriously?! Isn't this we-don't -make-mistakes-because-we're-America mindset the one that the U.S. just put up with for 8 agonizing years, to no positive end?! THEN, Willingham goes on to complain that Cap participates in a government cover-up. Well, which should it be? Support your government or not?

Strange politically-charged examples aside, let's give Willingham the benefit of the doubt and say he's simply calling for clearer lines of good and evil in his heroes. After all, he never says a word about violence or sex, the usual fodder for this kind of conservative pulpit-banging (maybe that's because Fables regularly deals in both). I guess my question, then, is one of storytelling. Does clear good and evil make for stories that are as interesting as the ones where the heroes face situations that require tough calls, scenarios where there is no clear moral high ground? Would you rather read about a villain that's pure evil or one that evokes some sense of twisted empathy? I suppose there's room for both kinds of stories, but by limiting yourself to only one, don't you cut your potential in half?

And consider how many stories tell a clear moral lesson with clearly immoral (or amoral) characters. The Sopranos, though obviously not a superhero series, comes immediately to mind. Who, save the pathological and the callow, could come away from that show and not see the terrible toll that lying, stealing, and killing takes on a psyche? Willingham says these kinds of stories have no place in the superhero genre.

By portraying heroes as purely virtuous or purely evil, who benefits? You have to admit that it's a very small number of children who are reading comics, and many of them would rather play Grand Theft Auto if given a choice. Anyway, I'm not at all convinced that sheltering children from the complexity of right and wrong is the correct way to prepare them for life. Of course I don't want all my heroes to be murderous, gloomy, conflicted, and cynical all the time, but I also don't want them to always be shiny, bright, and perfect either.

Maybe Willingham is simply doing this for the sake of his own conscience. He makes it clear that he's not trying to force this on other writers. Perhaps, in writing his manifesto, he was simply working out his own vision and ideal for his future work, especially as he prepares to take on DC's biggest superhero team. But even if it isn't stated, there's an implication of a judgment, that people who aren't writing their heroes this way are doing a disservice to the characters and stories (nevermind the fact that Willingham says he's proud of the '80s work he did on Elementals, a "more real, edgier, darker" superhero series).

There's also a paragraph that just makes me sad. While demonstrating reasons for hope, he equates John Wayne to courage ("he resurrects a shade of his former self (summons his inner John Wayne if you will)") and celebrates a xenophobic comment by Captain America ("You think this letter on my forehead stands for France?"). Nevermind that John Wayne never enlisted to serve in World War II, despite being healthy and able - I wonder how that jibes with Willingham's definition of patriotism? And nevermind that it seems totally out of character for Captain America to gleefully insult another country (even if the French Batroc is one of his recurring villains).

Listen, of course Willingham is welcome to write his superhero stories in any way he pleases, and I'm welcome to like or dislike them. The fault of his argument is that he equates America with moral clarity, and that leads to dangerous places. To whit, the Comments section of the piece. Granted, comments sections are one of the most toxic places on the Internet, but this one features a number of supportive cheers, some of which are blatantly racist, jingoistic, and sexist. Willingham, who writes female and multicultural characters perfectly well in Fables, should have immediately distanced himself from those people in one of his multiple responses, instead of spending it quibbling about how "editorial mandates" affected his Robin stories.

Despite Willingham's views, he seems like a genuinely decent guy, without much ego. I don't get the sense that he's just another white man clinging to his privilege. I don't think that's what's behind his superhero ideal. What I do suspect is that he's got a bad case of "back when I was a kid..." nostalgia. It seems to hit a certain kind of man at a certain age (Tom Petty, Garrison Keillor, and John Byrne have all been there), this sudden Romanticization of their youth, casting it as something it never was. There's a hardening of views, a lack of recognition of gray areas. It all fits with what Willingham is saying here.

Reactions to Willingham's treatise have ranged from complete support to complete outrage. Some on the latter end have claimed they can no longer read his work in clear conscience, knowing the conservative mind that produces it. I'm not that extreme. I'll continue to read Fables, and I'll give his Justice Society of America a fighting chance. Though on the latter, Willingham perhaps unwisely turned up the wattage on the spotlight that was already going to be shining on him. That series will be where Willingham's theory will sink or swim. Maybe he'll prove me wrong. Afterall, it does have America in the title...

In Review: John Byrne's Next Men # 0 - 30

2009-01-23T02:40:00.000-08:00

Writer/artist John Byrne was my favorite in my halcyon collecting days. I would buy anything with his name on it. I especially enjoyed his work on Namor, Superman: The Man of Steel, Fantastic Four, and the few X-Men issues I had (they were always expensive and hard-to-find).

In 1991 Byrne jumped into the "creator-owned" arena with Next Men, a multi-layered sci-fi superhero epic from Dark Horse comics. The draw, besides Byrne's usually excellent art and writing, was a "Mature Readers" tag that freed the book up from the Comics Code Authority constraints. So, if Byrne wanted to show two characters having sex or a bullet going through a brain, he did. If he wanted to throw a "shit" or "bitch" into the dialogue, he did.

The Next Men were Danny, Jack, Nathan, Jasmine, and Bethany, the subjects of a genetic engineering project. Nurtured since childbirth in a virtual dreamworld, the 5 are abruptly brought into the real world when the project is aborted. Of course they wake up with powers beyond those of mortal men (one astute reader pointed out in the letter column that they have the powers of Superman divided: Jack has his strength, Bethany his invulnerability, Danny his speed, and Nathan his vision; Jasmine's agility throws the theory off a bit). What would usually follow is that the five would put on costumes, form a team and fight evil, but Byrne takes the story in a completely different direction.

It's clear at the time that Byrne was interested in playing around in the superhero genre without fully committing to its tropes. But he did tease us now an again, like in issue 16, where the 5 offer themselves to Dollar Comics and get costumes that could have come right out of a million-selling Image book of the time (more on that later). Or witness the Power arc (issues 23 - 26) where Byrne really lets his freak flag fly via Sandy, a Dollar Comics employee who who has gained the power of mental creation. There are appearances by comic creators Art Adams and Mike Mignola, Hellboy, Concrete, Monkeyman and O'Brien, and Marv from Sin City. That's in addition to over-the-top Dollar Comics creations like Action Maxx and Dr. Trogg. Even Byrne himself shows up, being bullied by the latter.

But mostly this is a sci-fi story. The Next Men tend to wear real clothes, and in only one arc (Parallel) do they go on anything resembling a "mission." Mostly they're just running away or being captured, barely using their powers at all (Danny, Jasmine, and Nathan especially).

On re-reading it as one big chunk, some interesting things came to light. You see, John Byrne's Next Men came out of a 1991 graphic novel also published by Dark Horse, called 2112. That's the tale of a future world where a team of highly-trained soldiers take on an evil despot called Sathanus. At the end of the story Sathanus seemingly blows himself up. What we find out early on in JBNM is that Sathanus has in fact sent himself back to 1955 and befriended ambitious politician Aldus Hilltop. The pair in turn are the backers of the Next Men project.

Without giving too much away, issue #30 provides a sort of Mobius strip ending to the story started in 2112. Thus one could argue that these 32 comics are really Sathanus' story. It's just like how we found out after the fact that the Star Wars saga was really about Darth Vader.

One of the most enjoyable parts of re-reading the individual issues was reading the letter column. Byrne chose and responded to the letters himself, which gave a rare glimpse into his personality. You see, in the pre-Internet days what we knew about a comic book artist or writer was limited to very few sources, many of them second-hand. So to hear so much from the horse's mouth was rare. At the time I didn't I know that Byrne was somewhat of a controversial figure in the comics world.

In his choices of and responses to letters, he lived up to that reputation, sounding off about abortion, gay rights, his reputation, and many other topics. He's an intelligent and blunt fellow, and unafraid to state his opinion. He's got a persecution complex. He can be self-deprecating, but humility is not one of his strong points. For example, his elegy for Jack Kirby begins with a two paragraph anecdote wherein his art dealer tolk him "you're the King now." Byrne's ultimate point in the article is that Jack Kirby was one-of-a-kind and that there'll never be another King of Comics, but Byrne couldn't resist a little self-promotion along the way.

However, the most intriguing aspect of the letters page is how it documents the trends of the industry at the time. Byrne rails against gimmick covers (multiple cover images for the same book, trading card inclusion, holographic covers, etc), swiping, speculation, and Image Comics. While there was a lot to complain about there (books didn't come out on schedule, many of the characters were ridiculous, the stories were sub-par), Byrne's main complaint was a justifiable one. Namely, meet the new boss, same as the old boss. That pretty much came true.

Though Byrne repeatedly said that he had plans for the book up to issue #50, JBNM ended at #30. It was abrupt ending to the series, mainly because it happened without warning. Many times letter columns will reveal a few issues ahead of time that a series is coming to a close, but not this one. Maybe that's because it wasn't originally intended to be an ending point. In his letter column farewell, Byrne was unspecific, saying only that he had spent 3 years with the characters and needed a break. He guessed that the break would probably only be months long, yet here it is 14 years later, and we've not seen another new Next Men comic (though IDW has released The Compleat Next Men, two "phone book" volumes reprinting all the original comics in black and white).

Byrne has said he would like to bring back JBNM as long as it won't be a vanity project. To me that means he wants it to sell well enough to justify the time spent to create it and the money spent to market and publish it. But I think there's something more than that. Though issue #30 ended with Danny, Bethany, Nathan, and Jasmine being sent to the past (there's even a NEXT! cover image of an issue that doesn't exist), there's not much else we're left wondering about. Most lingering plot points from the series were wrapped up in issue #30. No doubt Byrne could have found many more interesting adventures for these characters, but I think looking back he realized that he'd already told the story he wanted to tell.

Sounds strange, but I enjoyed this series enough that I hope Byrne never goes back to it.

Delayed Response

2009-01-18T14:40:00.000-08:00

If you want to see something that's both disturbing and amusing all at once, go to a comics news website, find a story about a publishing delay, and read the comments section. There you'll find poor souls absolutely losing their minds about the fact that a comic will be released 2 weeks later than originally intended. They will rail against the editor-in-chief of the company in question. They'll blame the artist. They'll blame the writer. They'll blame the dark, cold unfairness of life itself.

The most recent of these incidents involves DC Comics and their big event Final Crisis. Months before the first issue was scheduled to come out, an interview with artist JG Jones revealed that he was about halfway through said first issue. The comments section of the interview was afire with doom and gloom prophecies about him being too slow and how he would never be able to complete the issues on time. Fast forward nearly a year later, and it turns out they were right. Jones only made it through 3 complete issues before needing Carlos Pacheco to spot him here and there. Issue #6 featured three artists in addition to Jones. The final issue, #7, will not feature Jones' artwork at all. Interestingly, the same thing happened on DC's previous big event, Infinite Crisis.

I understand that comics is a business. If a solicited / ordered book is late, it affects DC's bottom line and relationships with retailers and fans, especially the latter. Let me tell you, comics fans will hold a grudge! Just bring up Civil War or The Ultimates to some Marvel zombies and you are almost guaranteed a mention of the delays on those books. This inability to deal to be patient or deal with minor disappointment is immature at best, and perpetuates the stereotype of comic readers as arrested development cases.

Publishers cater to this childishness because they want to please their fans, and because they don't want to inconvenience the retailers, but is it really for the best, in the long run? Is instant gratification worth it if the work suffers?

I always think about the classics. If Dave Gibbons hadn't been able to keep pace while drawing Watchmen should DC have brought in another artist to bang out the pages? Would Watchmen still be such a revered classic if they had? I think most would answer no to both of those questions. I wish comic readers could take this long view. In 10 years, will it really matter if a single issue was 2 weeks (or even 2 months!) late? Who will even remember beyond the most bitter hearted fans? Personally, I'd rather wait for a cohesive work by the same artist and writer team all the way through.

So what contributes to lateness? Is it lack of professionalism, or is it the opposite? Certainly it's on the publishers to plan their schedules well, and allow artists and writers plenty of lead time. But if an artist falls behind, I'm guessing it's usually because they want to do the best work they possibly can. The single greatest comic creator ever - Jack Kirby - was freakishly fast, but he set a standard that can't be matched by most. So why not slow things down?

This is all part of a larger discussion about the business of comics. I recently wrote about the idea of digital comics, and I don't believe that they're the solution to anything. But continuing to operate off of a newsstand mentality isn't either.

In the last few years especially the trade paperback market (collected editions of story arcs) has blossomed and opened up a whole new way of doing business. Less and less is it sensible to buy an individual comic each month - especially at the next price point of $3.99 a pop - just to get one part of a larger story. I could buy six issues of a comic (a total of $23.94) and have to read the story in pieces, or I could wait for the paperback collection, priced at a maximum of $19.99 (but probably more like $17.99 or $14.99) and read it all at once.

Both Marvel and DC have tried to exploit this with hardcover editions priced at around $25 - $30. I don't have sales information, but I'm guessing they've found that fans are willing to pay a little more for a nice collected edition. Especially with the way Amazon.com and other big market retailers are able to discount these books, they still end up cheaper than buying individual issues!

So am I saying that publishers should abandon periodicals all together? Well, yeah. It makes sense more than just economically.

As I was pondering this, I came across an editorial in the February 1987 issue of Legion of Super-Heroes (#31). Written by Richard Bruning (then a design director for DC, now a senior vice-president), it's titled The End of the Never-Ending Story. His argument, in light of the success of the then-recent The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen mini-series, is that mini-series and graphic novels are the likely salvation of the industry. He looks at it from several angles, but none more convincingly than from the perspective of the creators.

As I mentioned above, the artists take the brunt of the deadline. Bruning agrees. As an artist, he says, "when you get on a monthly book, you're starting to run a race that has no end in sight." We see this play out when artists need to be spelled by other (usually less talented) artists for an issue (or worse, for half an uncompleted issue), or artists jump from book to book. And though many assume writers to be free of this sort of fatigue, Bruning points out that writers are under equal pressure to come up with story after story, with no real break. Providing anecdotal evidence, he asks "How many writers have been around more than 15 years?" Even 22 years after the editorial was written, it's still a pertinent question.

The final solution then, would seem to be to slow down the process, remove some of the pressure, and let creative teams work on self-contained story arcs. Whether these should be released in graphic novel or periodical form is debatable, but I'd prefer the former. This move would bring up larger questions of continuity between stories, but that's a topic for another day.

Who Watches...

2009-01-15T14:40:00.000-08:00

With the movie coming out soon, I thought I'd share these original Watchmen advertisements I came across recently in some 1986 issues of Legion of Super-Heroes. Enjoy! Click on each image for a bigger version.

iComics?

2009-01-10T02:40:00.000-08:00

In a recent feature on Newsarama.com, comic book creators were asked what they thought was the biggest opportunity for comics in 2009. More than one answer involved digital comics, and the comments section of the article struck up an interesting debate about the topic. So the question is, is it sensible or feasible to move comic books into the digital age?

We've already seen at least one industry balk at the notion of embracing technology and end up regretting it. Now that it's been proven that people are more than willing to pay for music downloads (and fancy devices to play them), there's no question that the record companies should have embraced the digital age much sooner than they did.

TV and movies have changed in their own ways, piggybacking onto iTunes, but also using websites and DVRs to keep pace with their consumers. Photography has also evolved quickly and efficiently into something we can all agree is infinitely easier, if less mysterious and lasting. Most newspapers and magazines have added online formats, and it's not really hard to imagine their physical counterparts completely disappearing (though when that happens what will we read on the plane and the toilet?). Maps will probably soon give way fully to GPS.

The last bastion of physical media would seem to be books. The idea of ebooks has been around at least since the late '90s, but failed to catch fire until the recent Amazon Kindle craze. Whether it's Kindle or some derivation, the doors have been opened on ebooks. They aren't closing.

That said, I pretty much hate the idea of digital comics.

Now I don't consider myself a stick in the mud, but I can be slightly resistant to change, especially when it comes to things I love. Though I have an iPod and am buying more and more whole albums via iTunes or Amazon.com, I'm not getting rid of my CDs or vinyl anytime soon. Thanks to too many Ray Bradbury short stories, I also have an inherent distrust of technology. I am never surprised when technology fails. So there's that.

But there's also the matter of comics being non-analogous to any of the other media I've mentioned. Unlike TV and movies they are meant to be read. Unlike books they are completely reliant on visuals (you can't have a comic book read to you, at least not satisfactorily). Like music and photography they are artforms, but unlike those two things, they appeal to a very specific and small group of people.

Though Marvel Comics especially has made strides in digitizing their back catalog (you can get a collection of every issue of The Amazing Spider-Man - 500+ comics - on a single DVD-ROM for about $40, which is, well, amazing), but it hasn't quite caught on yet. In the above-mentioned article, writer Greg Pak brings up the idea of comics on iPhones and other handheld devices, because of how much people (especially kids) love those things. I see his point, but this brings up lots of problems. For one, if a regular comic page was iPhone sized the captions would appear at about a 0.5 font size and be unreadable. I suppose it would have to be individual panels, which would likely ruin the flow of storytelling.

An idea that could really have legs is a sort of comics Kindle. It'd have to be big, at least 8" x 10" and you'd have to have some sort of download service where any issue you want is available for a nominal fee. I could see people really digging that.

But the problem with all three of these (DVD-ROMS, iPhone apps, comics Kindle) is that they all involve staring at a screen. I'm not an optometrist, but I'm pretty sure increasing the time our eyes spend bathed in electronic glow is not a good idea.

I also don't like removing the physical aspect of reading and collecting comics. It's easy to overlook this part of the hobby, but I actually enjoy sorting through my comics, putting them in bags, looking for that elusive issue at comic book shops across the cities, digging through the quarter boxes for hidden treasures. Being a music obsessive has the same tactile allure; just look at how the digital revolution in music has led to a resurgence in vinyl collecting.

And I don't even consider myself a collector, at least not in the sense of the word as someone who owns things just to own them. Any comic I have it's because I want to read it or read it again someday. I don't care about value at all.

But many comic fans are completists and fetishists. I've been selling some of my old issues online and accidentally listed that I had both a first and second printing of The Uncanny X-Men #303, when really I only had the first. Well, a guy tried to buy that second printing and I assumed he picked that one because it was priced lower. So I wrote him an e-mail and asked if he minded if I sent him the first printing instead, at the same price. I figured he would be thrilled. He wrote back that he was looking specifically for the second printing.

Out of curiosity I looked into it. The second printing of that issue was included as a free giveaway in an X-Men board game. It is no different from the first save that it features a gold background on the cover rather than white. There is no additional story or artwork. The only reason I can think that this buyer would want that issue is because he's attempting to get every single issue of X-Men in every iteration that exists. This is a goal I don't envy at all.

But people like him are the reason the collector's market will never go away. Amazing Fantasy #15 (the first appearance of Spider-Man) is not going to suddenly be in the giveaway box because you can download it for a dollar. There will always be people willing to pay for the actual thing.

And to a certain extent that applies to new comics as well. Many comics fans rely on their weekly fix of new product. When I was in high school I worked too many hours at K Mart and was of no interest to any girls, so new comics day was often the only thing I had to look forward to. Now you might point out that the logical extension of the argument for digital comics - the complete elimination of new printed material - would essentially allow new comic book day to be everyday, because publishers would no longer be limited by shipping schedules.

That might happen, but again, what about the physical act of going to the store? Of being there and seeing all the new stuff displayed? Of discovering something great because it caught your eye and you decided to flip through it? And what about the comic shops themselves that rely on that weekly influx of business? There's no doubt in my mind that the comic book industry business model (from publishing to distribution to sales) is long overdue for a reinvention. I have some ideas about that, and I'll be sharing them soon. But they certainly don't involve the end of comic shops, or the complete cessation of printed comics.

I rarely have a "this or that" type of mindset, so my hope is that digital comics can coexist with their printed brethren. It might bring some new readers into the club. And I'm sure some old schoolers will embrace the new medium and love it. But I won't be one of them. I'm all for technology improving our lives, but there are some things that just don't need to be compressed and sent along cable cords and stored on hard drives. Comics are one of those things.

In Review: Guardians of the Galaxy #1 - 27

2009-01-08T02:40:00.000-08:00

As a 13 year-old one of my favorite series was Jim Valentino's Guardians of the Galaxy. Turns out my 13 year-old self had good taste.

The Guardians of the Galaxy (Charlie 27, Yondu, Nikki, Vance Astro, Martinex, and Starhawk) were the heroes of the Marvel universe, 1,000 years in the future. They had appeared several times in the 1970s, mostly in the team-up book Marvel Two-In-One and several issues of The Avengers. They briefly had their own feature in Marvel Presents, as well. Marvel reintroduced them in 1990 as part of a spate of new books.

In re-reading the series I found numerous things to be impressed about, none more than the fact that Valentino wrote and drew 22 straight issues plus an annual on a monthly schedule! After a fill-in by Mark Texiera (not the baseball player), Valentino completed four more issues.

That consistency led to an enjoyable series of interconnected stories. Valentino obviously planned far ahead, and was thus able to drop hints about and lay groundwork for storylines far ahead of their fruition. He also clearly understood how to create a mystery without dragging it out. For example, in issue 17 we meet a mysterious character called Hollywood. By issue 20 we find out (if we haven't already guessed) that it's the Avenger Wonder Man.

There are touches like that all over the series, showing Valentino was exceedingly well-versed in Marvel lore. Not only is he appropriately reverent toward Guardians history (the first three issues feature a prose recap with bibliography and there are constant references by the characters to past events), he also builds upon the work of other Marvel masters like Jim Starlin (the Universal Church of Truth) and Stan Lee and Jack Kirby (Galactus, the Inhumans, mutants, Dr.Strange, etc.).

Speaking of Lee and Kirby, they are obviously Valentino's stylistic touchstones. While his prose is nowhere as purple or prodigious as Lee's, it does have that same sense of excitement and quick pacing. And of course few can match Kirby's dynamic pages and figures, but Valentino has that same grasp of action and storytelling.

The Guardians see a lot of changes as the series progresses. Martinex sheds his crystalline skin. Nikki goes through several types of weapons and hairstyles. Charlie starts toting a gun as nearly as big as him. Yondu loses a hand. Starhawk (a being actually made up of an estranged couple) is separated and then combined again, and turns halfway evil. Vance Astro finds Captain America's shield and eventually sheds his protective suit. New members show up, too. Replica is a young Skrull whose torn between her faith and her loyalty to the team. Talon is a cat-like Inhuman.

If the series has any fault it's the obvious grasp at sales by including popular characters of the time. Ghost Rider shows up. A female descendant of Wolverine, Rancor, also makes multiple appearances. But the worst offense is the gang that has arisen on Earth inspired by the 20th century exploits of Frank Castle, the Punishers. Yes, they all have black shirts with skulls on them. All three feel out of place in the Guardians' future world.

But Valentino does a lot more right than he does wrong. Despite the whiz-bang attitude, he doesn't skip on thoughtful themes like the limits of religious power and the rise of reality T.V. Diversity is not spotlighted, but instead taken for granted. For example, we eventually learn that Martinex (the last survivor of Earth's colonization of Pluto), is of African descent. There's also the clear-but-never-stated gay relationship between mutants Bat-Wing and Blaster.

Though the series never jumps the shark during Valentino's run, it clearly loses steam around issue #20, coincidentally when Vance Astro ditches his classic cool costume for a terrible one and an even worse name - Major Victory. Seriously.

Valentino stopped drawing at issue #28 and stopped writing at #30. He left to be one of the co-founders of Image, a group of creators who wanted to own their creations. His contribution was a "grim 'n gritty '90s style" hero called Shadowhawk, pretty much the opposite of what he'd been doing. It never did much for me. I stopped reading Guardians of the Galaxy,
which made it to issue 64 before being canceled.

In 2008, Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning, Marvel's current cosmic writers, brought back the Guardians of the Galaxy concept along with ace artist Paul Pelliter. The team is completely different and is set in the modern day, but thankfully Abnett and Lanning have not forgotten the roots of the name. Both Starhawk and Vance Astro have made appearances in the current storyline, and the series has been high-quality fun, just like its predecessor.

A Few Words on Spider-Man and Marriage

2009-01-06T14:40:00.000-08:00

Note: I wrote this about a year ago, but the latest news that the Spider-Man newspaper comic strip has followed the misguided lead of the comics has reopened fresh wounds. I also thought it would be appropriate to kick off a comics-obsessed blog, since it tells some of my history as a reader.

One of my most vivid childhood memories is of waking up Christmas morning at my grandparents house in Bowling Green, Kentucky to find 4 sets of Underoos displayed across the fireplace mantle. I was ecstatic. Green Lantern, Batman, Boba Fett, Spider-Man. The latter was, hands-down, my favorite. I would have liked nothing more than to BE Spider-Man. Underoos were the closest I could get.

Spider-Man had it all, cool powers, weird villains, a sense of humor, an everyman relatabilty, and after 1987, when he jumped the broom with childhood friend/supermodel Mary Jane Watson, a beautiful wife. He was completely enviable.

Not surprisingly, considering my childhood ardor for super heroes, I spent my teen years completely immersed in comic books. It was a hobby with a high price, and not only monetarily. Let's face it, reading comics is not cool. No matter how many literary geniuses endorse it, no matter how many blockbuster films get made, no matter how many TV shows legitimize the idea, no matter how complex and artful the comics themselves are, you will always be a loser if you like comic books. Even at the height of my obsession I would see these 30 or 40 something men in my local shop (Metropolis Comics in Bloomington, Illinois, long gone) and think, "God, I don't want to turn into them."

I could just picture myself, with a loser-ish hobby, an inability to appeal to women and a fear of many many things, easily sliding into that life.

I unceremoniously gave up comic collecting in 1999. Throughout college, my comics obsession had been competing with a similarly passionate affair with pop music. At age 22, music finally won decisively, and I didn't even mourn the passing of my other hobby. Afterall, my new interest was more acceptable, relatable and grown-up. I was in no danger of arrested development, only listening to Arrested Development.

A couple of years ago, I began to slowly revive my interest in comics. Like a newborn, it was small and fitful at first, but it has grown steadily. Almost simultaneously, I've found another love. Wendy and I are getting married in May. I've mused on the timing of it all. Is being in an established relationship in any way related to the sudden resurgence of my childhood hobby? Is the stigma gone now that I'm no longer in danger of being a single loser who reads comic books? I never consciously used such reasoning, but I wouldn't deny under oath that it was a factor.

Where am I going with this? It's strange to me that as I take the next steps in life, my once favorite hero is taking steps backwards. As of issue 545 of The Amazing Spider-Man, Peter Parker and Mary Jane are no longer married.

Some background: Marvel Editor-In-Chief Joe Quesada (a comic artist himself) is firm in his belief that Spider-Man should not be married. In various interviews he has stated that he believes the marriage prevents the comic from being a true soap opera, limits the writers, ages the character and makes him less marketable to kids. Similarly, he was adamant that Spider-Man should not get divorced, as it would create negative press and send the "wrong message" to kids.

His solution? In a story meeting, creators decided that Peter would, to save his beloved Aunt May (accidentally shot by a sniper aiming for Peter) make a deal with Mephisto, Marvel's version of the Devil. The deal? Peter and Mary-Jane give him their love and marriage and Mephisto saves 80-year-old Aunt May's life. How this lazy, ridiculous idea ever made it past the brainstorming stage, I'll never know.

No matter what you think of Quesada's rationales (I think they're crap: 1. Nothing hinders good stories except bad writers and over-controlling editors, 2. The character, while happily married, has gained a higher profile than ever before in his history, and 3. Don't even get me started on his divorce logic) and no matter how the deal went down, the big question is actually very much a real-life question. It's growth vs. arrested development. Do you let Spider-Man continue to mature and change as a character, or do you stall him forever at a certain point at his life?

Recent pop culture has been playing on this theme quite a bit. The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Knocked Up, Scott Baio Is 45 And Single all gave us man-child protagonists struggling to grow up and eventually realizing the futility of neverending adolescence. Now, of course, maturity is not a prerequisite for marriage. And getting married no more grants someone maturity than staying single grants someone an interesting life. But this is a case of a character who had ALREADY grown up regressing.

In the first issue after the magical dissolution of his marriage (which he no longer remembers, by the way), we see Peter Parker living in his aunt's house, riding his bike to work, mooching off of his rich friend Harry, and dealing awkwardly with affection from various ladies. It's arguable that this set-up creates more interesting stories, but there's no doubt that those who have followed Spider-Man from his beginnings as a high-school nerd to a married, confident science teacher should feel robbed.

Consider for a moment DC Comics' the Flash. There have been 4 men to hold the title, but the current version (and my favorite) is Wally West. He's the nephew of the second Flash, Barry Allen. Wally gained his super-speed powers as a young boy and took on the mantle of Kid Flash. He joined a team of fellow kid sidekicks (the Teen Titans) and grew up with them before taking over as the Flash after Barry Allen's death. Through the years we've seen his character change and grow. He continually bettered himself as a person and hero. He gained a deep understanding and mastery of his powers. And, yes, he got married! Besides being good storytelling, there's just something special about being able to witness that, about being able to follow the same character for so long and through so much.

Despite what Joe Quesada believes, good storytelling is not about standing still. He's right that comics are essentially soap opera, but he ignores that good soap operas have to allow for change. Otherwise there's no reason to care about anything that's happening. Otherwise, nothing that happens is ever of any consequence. Quesada and the creators who spear-headed Spider-Man's regression should know that this sort of move is the exact reason why comics have such a poor reputation, both as literature and as a hobby. If the creators don't respect their own characters or readers, why should anyone else?

Cooler heads have pointed out that things always seem to eventually return to status quo in comic books. Even death rarely sticks. There's a chance that Marvel has plans, or will eventually decide, to restore the marriage. Even if that does happen, it doesn't make this any less of a terrible idea.

Look at it this way: There was a time when I would have traded lives with Spider-Man in an nanosecond. No longer. With things the way they are now, he'd be getting the better end of the deal.

Reporting Live from Sector 2814

2009-01-04T14:40:00.000-08:00

I've loved super heroes since I was 4, when I faithfully watched David Banner get angry every Friday night. I've loved comic books since I was 12 and bought my first issue of What If.... That set off an obsession that burned brightly for 10 good years. At many points during this time I'm pretty sure I thought about nothing but comics. I followed almost everything (Marvel, DC, Image, independents) and became a student of the medium.

In college I lost some interest, but my mom faithfully sent me my subscriptions each week and I always looked forward to them.

I drifted away from comics somewhere in 1999. Part of it was what I perceived as growing up. I had just graduated college and moved away, and I left most of my comic book collection in my parents' basement. But I don't remember deciding to quit comics. I just had other things on my mind.

I found myself in a comic shop once and again, and I'd pick a book or two up. And I always enjoyed going through my collection on visits home, bringing a little more back with me every time. Eventually, around 2005, something snapped and I realized I could no longer deny my love of graphic storytelling. I tentatively restarted mania by seeking to fill in my runs of Jeff Smith's Bone, John Byrne's Fantastic Four, and Dave Sim's Cerebus. After accomplishing that, I realized I wanted more. So I set about catching up on what I'd missed in the previous 5 years.

Now, I'm back where I started: visiting the shop every Wednesday, patrolling the comics websites, and rifling through my back issues. With my music obsessions, I've found it helpful to have an outlet. That's what 24 Pages will be, a warehouse of the comics ideas and opinions rattling around in my addled brain. You can expect reviews of new comics and old runs that I'm re-reading, commentary on comics news, movies, and developments, as well as whatever else occurs to me. On the sidebar over there you'll find the ever-changing list of comics I currently read, and under the links section, a list of things I love about comics, appropriately titled, Things I Love About Comics.

Thanks for reading!