DC’s New 52 made the New York Times again. The title of the article is “So Far, Sales For New DC Comics Are Super,” by George Gene Gustines and Adam W. Kepler was published on Saturday, October 1, 2011 issue, and was featured on the front page of the Arts Section. According the article, the first five weeks of DC’s reboot of its universe has increased “the sales of DC Comics by leaps and bounds.” The first issue of the new Justice League – which the authors call DC’s flagship book. Really? I would have thought it was Superman, since the Son of Krypton is the flagship character. But what do I know? – anyway, the first issue sold “more than 200,000 copies, compared with the roughly 40,000 for each of the last few issues of the old book.” Well, I hope it keeps up, but these are the first issues. I think it’s a little early to call it a win – after all, the NY Giants just pulled out a win over the Arizona Cardinals in the last three minutes of the game.
I’ve been writing stuff for a while so it’s hard to take me by surprise. I can often spot where a story is going; I’ve been known, when watching a movie or TV show, to not only predict the next plot twist but sometimes the next line of dialog. Those around me, aside from shushing me, sometimes ask me if I’ve seen this particular movie or episode before. The answer in these cases is “no” but based on what I know of plot and character, you can predict where the story has to go or what a person has to say to get it there, especially when the writer(s) are going by the numbers.
On the other hand, I’m delighted when the writer surprises me. It’s not a matter of willy-nilly just writing any old damn thing but advancing the plot or the dialog in a way that completely makes sense within context of the story. The sort of thing that makes me go, “Of course! Why didn’t I see that?!” The fact that I didn’t see or hear that coming delights me. It makes sense yet is a surprise.
I first noticed Geoff Johns on the JSA title when he did that twice to me. He re-invented original Justice Society members Doctor Fate and Johnny Thunder in ways that surprised me but were completely true to the characters and the book. They didn’t come out of the blue but were what I call “fair extrapolation” of what was already given. Any chump writer can write a surprise or a “shock surprise;” the real difficulty is to make it work in context of the character or story. Geoff makes his surprises seem organic and inevitable – once you’ve seen the surprise. He’s a writing magician.
Another writer like that is Stephen Moffat, currently renowned for as the producer and lead writer of the current Doctor Who series. He started this season with an astronaut coming out of a lake and killing the Doctor, not giving him time to regenerate. Turns out this Doctor was slightly from the future so we still had the “current time” Doctor running around this season. (The Doctor, for those of you who don’t know, is a time traveler and Moffat makes very good use of time travel in this series.)
Next Saturday is the season finale and it looks as if they’re going to deal with all this. I have no idea how Moffat’s going to pull it off but I trust him. Not only has he done a sterling job on Doctor Who but he’s also done a modern update of Sherlock Holmes (simply called Sherlock) that totally works. He also ended the first three-episode season on a cliffhanger. I trust him to find a way out that will be cool.
Moffat’s also done a revised update of Jeykll and Hyde simply called Jekyll. I admire it a lot but the first couple of episodes creeped me out enough that I haven’t finished the rest. Remember, I’m the guy who wrote the real Wasteland.
The third on my list of writers who know how to pull off “logical surprises” is Jim Butcher and, in particular, his series of novels The Dresden Files.It features a “wizard for hire,” Harry Dresden, who works out of Chicago. Okay, that’s my hometown and so I’m already there and Dresden is a hard-boiled wizard – part private detective, part Doctor Strange. It was made into a short-lived TV series on SyFy and they completely screwed it up. If that’s your only encounter with the series, please ignore it.
The Dresden Files was good when it started and has just gotten better with each successive book. Terrific cast of supporting characters, well-developed mythology for the series, and each one leaves me panting for more. Whoever I think I know where Butcher is going, he throws me for a loop. Highly recommended.
While all these writers know how to do a twist, it’s never a twist just for the sake of doing a twist. It always involves pushing the story forward or reveals new levels of characterization. I don’t need a twist to love a book or story but I always appreciate it when I get blindsided by one and it works.
So after a few weeks of daydreaming and being all cutesy-wootsie, I figure it’s about time I stir the pot a little. Let me get behind this wire mesh wall, force field, and don some protective gear. There. Safe and secure. Ahem…
Marvel’s female superheroes suck.
Don’t believe me? OK. Name the first few Marvel superheroes that come to mind. I’ll give you a minute. Who did you say…Spider-Man? Thor? Captain America? How about Iron Man? Hmm. No double X chromosomes there. The last big event to revolve around a woman? Oh yeah! House of M. The one where Marvel showed that a chick who ain’t barefoot and preggers goes crazy and resets the universe at will. Now there’s a feather in a feminists’ cap.
When I say “important women of Marvel,” aren’t they are always the yin to the yang of a more powerful man? Pepper Potts. Sorry Matt Fraction, you can put a repulsor in her chest, you can give her a code name, but she’s still just Tony’s secretary. Mary Jane Watson-Parker-Watson-by-way-of-a-retcon? Face it tiger, she’s just there to fall off buildings. Maria Hill? Nick Fury’s assprint hadn’t even cooled off before she was ousted back down to who-cares-ville. And when we open the discussion to those ladies who carry the hero badge? It doesn’t get any better.
Sue Storm, the matriarch of the Future Foundation. The soul of the Fantastic Four. Completely boring and useless without her husband. The best writers of Sue have always pegged her as a strong and independent woman. But take her away from Reed, Ben, or the children and the only bullet point left on her resume is part-time booty call for Namor.
Black Widow: slut with guns. How about Ms. Marvel? I’ll be completely honest. I don’t know a thing about her. Best I could tell? She was brought in because Marvel has no Wonder Woman, so they threw her on the Avengers. Beyond that I assume they keep her around because cute girls can show off their butts by cosplaying as her. What of the X-Men? Well, Jean Grey has died only 17 times, and has changed names to various permutations of “Phoenix,” all to what effect? She’s Cyclop’s gal. She maybe did Wolvie in a closet while Slim was waxing his car. And in the Ultimate Universe, maybe she did Charles too.
Let’s not forget Storm. She was married off to Black Panther so they could make super-black-babies that will invariably land on some future iteration of the X-Avengers. Not because they’ll be well written mind you… but they will add that “affirmative action” flavor John Stewart was used for back in the JLA.
I say this obviously not just to be cranky. I openly yell to the heavens for someone to come in and make the women matter again. Joss Whedon put Kitty Pride and the White Queen front and center in his amazing run on Astonishing X-Men. More than that, he made them more than worthless eye-candy in butt floss. He gave them dimension, and class. They weren’t in peril for perils’ sake.
Given Whedon’s pedigree for good female characterization, it didn’t come as a surprise. Whedon aside, other Marvel writers certainly have the know-how. Matt Fraction, Brian Michael Bendis and Jonathon Hickman are all amazing writers who know the ins and out of nuance. They’ve each made the females in their books (yes that includes Pepper in the aforementioned Iron Man series) very potent. But my gripe remains the same.
It’s not enough to write a woman as powerful, smart, and put-together. It’s the act of writing them as such that they are more than decoration. Throughout Marvel’s recent history, it’s been a literal boys-club. Civil War? Captain America and Iron Man fighting in the sandbox. Secret War? An excuse to make Norman Osbourn king of the playground – until sales dipped, and people stopped caring. And now we have Fear Itself, which as far as I can tell is only an excuse to half-kill Thor, and dress everyone up in Tron-stripes.
I yearn just once to have a female character in any of these situations stand up and set the world straight. Not to say it’s happened in the DC ever… but I actually believe Marvel has the smarts to actually do it. In this day and age where the DCnU turns Starfire and Catwoman into sultry sluts with no character trait beyond their cup size… I look to the House of Ideas to set the industry right.
When DC was making up Kryptonite and the color yellow the ultimate weapons against its heroes, Marvel figured out that debt, responsibility, and a guilty conscience was far better. Let us hope that in the coming times, they take the next step and realize that women are more than tits and tiny costumes. They are the fairer sex, the stronger characters, and perhaps the last untouched resource for superior fiction.
My pal Heidi MacDonald, has done a great job of covering the critical discussion of DC’s depiction of female characters in The New 52. Thanks to her, I read this awesomely thoughtful analysis by Laura Hudson, and this terrific bit of snark.
So there’s not a lot I can add from a political perspective. Instead, let’s talk about the fashion.
By fashion, I don’t mean the clothes you see on the runways or in the magazines. I mean the choices humans (and, in this case, women) make every day before they leave their homes to go to work, run arounds, or hang with friends.
If you’re a woman with super-powers, and you have a public role fighting crime, or saving people from disasters, it stands to reason that you’d want to wear something eye-catching. That allows you to be seen by people who need your help. It also makes sense that you’d want to wear something form-fitting, because you don’t want a lot of extra fabric to get in the way of the work you’re trying to do. There are many who think the superhero costume was inspired by circus acrobats, and that is certainly an occupation that would require costumes that fit these criteria.
But then what?
Let’s consider Starfire, currently appearing in Red Hood and the Outlaws. I almost didn’t pick this up, because I’m not much of a fan of the current version of Jason Todd, but I looked at the first page, liked the art, and decided to be open-minded. By the time I got to page 7, I was okay.
But then there was page 8.
I’m supposed to believe that Starfire, an alien warrior, would go into battle with almost her entire body exposed, with only her calves truly protected. A woman who, for whatever reason, has enormous breasts, and who wears an outfit that offers them no support, just small metal bandaids over her nipples.
Two pages later, we see Kory again, this time in a bikini. She’s swimming, so the fact that she’s wearing a bikini isn’t surprising, but it doesn’t fit her properly. The ties that should go underneath her breasts instead circle them from the middle. Maybe they have to, because the patches of fabric attached to the ties are too small to cover her if the suit fit properly.
(Perhaps this inability to find something appropriate to wear is related to her new characterization. An alien who can’t tell one human male from another probably has trouble understanding American sizing, or fitting rooms. However, since she makes it clear that, like all her people, she’ll have sex with anyone at any time whenever she feels like it, I’d love to see what the appliance stores are like on Tamaran.)
A costume can be revealing and make sense. When Amanda Connor was drawing Power Girl, I completely believed that Kara was comfortable in her outfit. Sure, it showcased her ta-tas, but Amanda emphasized the seaming enough so that I believed she had the necessary support. There is no doubt in my mind that Amanda did this because she has worn a bra.
A lot of the problems with comic book costumes for women occur because they’re designed and drawn by men, most of whom have not worn a bra. They don’t know what it feels like to run in heels. They haven’t tried to do anything when their breasts might bounce around enough to hurt. And they haven’t heard the things that other men feel entitled to say to women who flaunt their assets (or just try to keep cool in the summer heat).
I used to spend a lot of time decrying that kind of male attention. I really hated being interrupted by strangers and their opinions when I was just outside, minding my own business. “You’ll miss it when they stop,” people told me.
They were wrong. I don’t miss it at all.
If the men who used to hassle me are now distracted reading comics like Red Hood, that’s fine. Let them annoy fictional characters, and there will be no harm, no foul. I only wish DC would market the book accordingly, so I don’t think they want my money.
Dominoes Daredoll Martha Thomases thinks Spandex is just great, especially when it’s part of jeans.
Yeah, that’s him, little Denny, aged six or seven (or maybe even five), dragging the kitchen chair across the linoleum and putting it next to the icebox. He climbs up on it and then he’s close to Mom’s radio. He knows which knobs to turn, he knows how to find what comes from the speaker, what is very important: his programs.
Every weekday afternoon, after school, from 3:30 to six – dinner time, Dad’s nightly return from Work (and work is also very important, though Denny doesn’t know why) – Denny listens to Tom Mix and Superman and Hop Harrigan and Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy (what other kind of boy could there be?) and what may be his very, very favorite, Captain Midnight. Mom has her programs, too – Ma Perkins and Young Doctor Malone and some others – but Denny thinks they’re no better than okay. But his programs…danger and excitement and air planes and fighting and now and then goofiness: a wonderful world coming from the top of the ice box into Mom’s kitchen and Denny’s mind.
Denny has other things he likes. On Friday night, Mom and Dad let him walk alone to The Pauline Theater to see a cartoon, some previews, and two pictures – usually but not always pictures about cowboys. And there are the comic books, the ones that Dad buys at the little store on Union Avenue along with milk and bread after Sunday Mass, and the ones he gets by trading Dad’s gifts with other kids who also have comics. Sometimes, the same people are in both comics and programs and its fun to hear what Superman sounds like and to see what Captain Midnight looks like.
But comics and picture shows are once-in-a-whiles, and not completely reliable: he didn’t know what comics would be on the Union Avenue rack, and maybe The Pauline would be showing one of his favorites – Tim Holt, Sunset Carson or the King of the Cowboys himself, Roy Rogers (and his golden palomino Trigger and, oh yeah, Dale Evans, the Queen of the West)–or maybe the pictures would be about cowboys or detectives Denny didn’t care for as much, picture-people he might forget about entirely in oh, say, 66 years if he were an old man writing about a child. But he knew when the radio programs would be on and how to find them and that was certainly good, did little Denny.
And that old man…might he be a mostly retired comic book writer, you think? And might he not wonder if the radio broadcasts influenced the work he stumbled into more than the comic books he consumed on the front room floor or the back porch? Because listening to the programs, he had to supply his own imagery, to imagine how the battles were being fought, the planes flown, the horses galloped. He had to puzzle over words and ideas he couldn’t quite understand. The world that came from the radio into Mom’s kitchen became his world.
Then, some 20 years later, in another city, he sat down to write a comic book script…
ADDENDUM: If you enjoy vintage radio drama, or are just curious about it, let me call your attention to the annual Friends of Old-Time Radio convention, to be held this year on October 20, 21, 22 and 23 at the Ramada Plaza in Newark, NY. Email: E-mail: JayHick@aol.com
This weekend includes at least three elements: the Jewish holy week between the New Year and the Day of Atonement, the weekend, and 24-Hour Comics Day.
I note that first part just in case somebody reads this to my mother. Hi, Mom!
24-Hour Comics Day was created by Scott McCloud and it is exactly what the name implies: comics creators get together in local conclaves (not autoclaves; that’s a completely different thing) “to create a 24-page comic book in 24 continuous hours.” It’s sort of a tribute to the days of yore when a creator would get an emergency over-the-weekend assignment and get a bunch of friends together to write, pencil, ink, letter and color the entire book over the weekend, deliver it on Monday, and hopefully get paid for their effort.
Of course, way back then comic books ran 64 pages – 48 pages after World War II hit speed. But today we’ve got to do all those poster shots and, you know, backgrounds and stuff so we’ll ignore the drop in pages.
It’s enormous fun for participants and observers, kibitzers (Hi, Mom!) and hecklers. Since the last thing these 24-hour comics creators need is the sabotage of an admittedly grossly talented editor, I’m going to drop by Challengers Comics and Conversation in Chicago (1845 N. Western Avenue, about a block south of the Blue Line Western Avenue L stop) to do what I do best: mooch food and annoy people. There will be about 25 creators creating, fulfilling the “Comics” part of Challengers’ name, and plenty of kibitzers to meet the “Conversation” part. It all starts at 11 AM Saturday; I’ll probably wander in around 1 or 2 PM after everybody gets down to the hard work. But enough about me.
The type of creativity and camaraderie shown at 24-Hour Comics Day is the lifeblood of this medium. It’s been there since day one when young fans of pulp writing, science fiction and newspaper strips got sought out employment in the new form. Everybody in the biz was a kid back then; Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster, Bob Kane, Jerry Robinson, Joe Kubert, Gil Kane and many, many others weren’t old enough to get their driver’s license when they started out in comics.
This sort of enthusiasm endures to this day. I love going to “independent comics” shows such as MoCCA in New York just to soak in all that energy and see where the young creative spirits are wandering. Plus, I’m working on that incubus thing.
It’s pretty busy, so you’re trying to break into the racket 24-Hour Comics Day probably isn’t the place to schlep (Hi, Mom!) your portfolio. Call ahead to see if your local venue is receptive to walk-in presentations. However, it’s a great place to see how it all happens, how it’s put together, what people use as their tools (yeah, I know, laptops and iPads) and network. Not the Howard Beale type; you know what I mean.
Many venues are doing 24-Hour Comics Day in association with a local or national non-profit group, and that’s great – particularly in these troubled times. But, really, giving young and new creators the opportunity is a great thing in and of itself. Helping out, even by simply attending and hanging out (although buying a few comics would be swell) is a great thing as well. As we Ashkenazi-Americans like to say, it’s a Mitzvah.
I’ve done some pretty interesting things in my career. Co-founded Milestone Media, created The Action Files, the only line of comics taught as a curriculum in the school system and created another universe, The Guardian Line, for African-American churches and Christian book stores.
When DC comics launched Piranha Press in 1987 I was the artist chosen to illustrate the first series for the line. The Black Panel, a comics and entertainment forum I started over a decade ago, is now in development as a TV show as is The Littlest Bitch (TLB) a book I co-wrote with David Quinn.
David and I first conceived TLB as a graphic novel on the New Jersey turnpike almost 20 years ago. We were driving home from The Kubert School where I was teaching a master illustration class and David was my guest speaker that day.
Speaking of TV, Static Shock, based on the character I co-created, can still be seen on a Disney channel, which cracks me up because Disney turned it down quick, fast and in a hurry when we pitched it there 10 years ago.
I’ve done some other pretty note worthy things (I think) in comics but I’m most proud of my mentor program. Some of the biggest names in comics have come through my program. I won’t bore you with the names but I will say that because of my self-funded mentor program I have four city proclamations and a school auditorium named in my honor.
I’ve also managed to carve out a bad boy type of reputation in the industry. That reputation has many origins, depending on whom you get the story from but that story is for another time. I will tell you this: when it comes to getting that bad boy rep, I have no one to blame but myself.
I don’t tell you some of what I’ve accomplished in comics to impress you but rather to impress upon you that is there is plenty of blame and help to go around and there lies within a tale, which just may help someone who’s trying to break in now. Sooo…
In 1987 I was offered and was right about to accept a position overseeing the art department at a very prestigious prep school. This was a dream job. They were going to pay me a fat salary, give me an on-campus apartment as part of my compensation package and all my meals were free. The only thing I had to pay for was my phone bill as there was also a clothing stipend.
That was a dream job, so why didn’t I take it? Those of you who hate me are thinking ‘Oh why, oh why, did that loud mouth mofo not take that job?’
In fact, I was going to take it. I had started packing my bags when Denys Cowan talked me into going to the Mid-Ohio con with him. As fate would have it I went to the Mid-Ohio Con to attend a very small but very cool comics convention.
It was clear when we got there, Denys knew everyone and everyone knew Denys. I did not know a soul there. Denys would often leave me alone to go and talk to some one, which left me to wander aimlessly around the convention. It was during one of these aimless walks that I met John Ostrander.
Wait a sec-before I go on I should let you know that I was (still am) a comic’s geek. Although I had a very good career going as an illustrator it was my dream to somehow work in comics.
John and I hit it off very well and before I knew it he was inviting me to Mike Grell’s room to watch the Sable pilot. I thought I had died and gone to Comic Book Heaven. I adored Mike Grell’s work. At the time he was my favorite artist on the planet! Later when Denys arrived I causally mention that I was going to Mike Grell’s room to watch the premier of his new TV show.
The look on Denys’ face was priceless. It said “how the hell did you manage that?” We still had some time (I told Denys he could come as my guest; you should have seen that look) so we decided to browse the convention floor.
If you know me, you are well aware I talk to everyone. I mean everyone. I’m just wired that way. Standing at an artist’s table looking at their work without uttering a sound is just freakin crazy to me.
Little did I know the two guys I was now chatting with would go on to change the industry in a huge way!
I came home from work on Friday to find a package had arrived from Amazon. It was Supergods, by Grant Morrison. I had first heard about the book while reading the Rolling Stone interview with Morrison, which I mentioned last week. Between that interview and all the hoo-hahabout Action Comics Vol. 2 #1, both my own reaction and those in the media, I had to read it.
(The debate continues, by the way. Today, Sunday, National Pubic Radio – NPR – devoted a segment of its “Studio 60” program to the reboot, with two interviews: the first with a comic book shop owner in Brooklyn, and the second with Jill Pantozzi, who herself is a redhead and in a wheelchair. Jill wrote an absolutely brilliant and terrific Op-Ed piece for Newsarama about the transformation of Oracle back into Batgirl, entitled Oracle Is Stronger Than Batgirl Will Ever Be. You should check it out.)
Anyway, back to Supergods. The subtitle is “What Masked Vigilantes, Miraculous Mutants, And A Sun God from Smallville Can Teach Us About Being Human.” I’ve only read the introduction, and browsed through it, and already I’m enthralled.
Now granted (no pun intended – or maybe it was), Morrison is not the first to write about the mythology, the übergeist – I think I just made up that one from a combination of Yiddish and German – the collective consciousness of humans creating heroes to reflect themselves, their darkness and their light, their trial and tribulations. If you didn’t have to read it in college, you learned about Joseph Campbell and The Hero With A Thousand Faces from George Lucas through a little thing called Star Wars. But as one of the preeminent contemporary writers of superheroes, I can’t wait to really sit down and read it.
I think about God a lot. When I was a little girl, I had this recurring dream. I was somewhere in the middle of a field. It looked like the field in “Christina’s World” by Andrew Wyeth, complete with the farmhouse at the top of the hill. Of course it was a dream, so it was a totally warped “Christina’s World.” I was standing there, and it was blue skies and sun. All of a sudden the sky was black with clouds. There was an absolutely huuuuge clap of thunder and a lightning bolt, and suddenly God was standing before me. Well, all I could see was the bottom of his long, black Supreme Court Justice robe. I craned my head up and back and up and back and the robe went up and up and up beyond the sky. Then God bent over, and I could see His face, and it wasn’t happy. His long white hair and beard mixed with the grasses of the field, and He looked at me with stern black eyes, and just shook his finger at me as if to say, “You’re a bad, bad girl, Mindy.”
I don’t know why I dreamed that dream. Probably got punished by my mother or my father for something I did that I don’t remember. Talk about Jewish guilt!
God and theology continued to fascinate me as I grew up. I didn’t go to Hebrew school, wasn’t bas-mitzvahed, and I got kicked out of Communion class for asking the rabbi how the Jews could be so sure that Jesus wasn’t the Son of God, and saying that maybe we just screwed it up. (I asked a lot of questions that the rabbi didn’t like, like the time I asked him if Jonathan and David were maybe more than “just friends.”) But I read all the stories from the Old Testament that my brother brought home, and I read bits and pieces of The New Testament. I devoured movies like The Robe and Quo Vadis, and brought the books home from the library. My favorite though was, and still is, Ben-Hur.
There’s a line in Ben-Hur towards the end, when Esther and Judah Ben-Hur are taking his mother and sister from the Valley of Lepers to see Jesus. Judah’s mother is afraid, and Esther says, “No need. The world is more than we know.”
I know it was only a line in a movie, but I think the writer got it right.
Like Grant Morrison’s Animal Man, maybe the world was created by God because he’s a writer, and that’s what writers do, create, and we’re just the four-color two-dimensional characters in his comic book. Like Alan Moore’s Promethea, maybe we create the world out of our collective consciousness. Like Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, the world is nothing but a dream set in motion by Morpheus.
Maybe there’s an obelisk on the Moon, just waiting to be discovered.
I love stories. I love reading stories, I love hearing stories, I love telling stories.
I’ve been like this as far back as I can remember.
The way my mind works is that I see stories everywhere. Back when I was going to Chicago’s Quigley Prep Seminary in my freshman year of high school, I had to take the elevated train down to school and back at least five days a week. In those days, the first seat in the first car was a single seat right by the front window. When I could get it, I’d watch the tracks as we went. I’d assign one person’s life to one of the rails and another person’s life to the parallel rail and, at junctions, where another set of rails could switch you to another set of tracks, I saw those parallel lives coming together but then another junction would come and those lives would no longer travel on together. I projected a story onto the rails.
Yeah, I was an odd kid.
Sometimes I would come home after dark, especially during the winter, and when I could I’d sit by the train window and watch the apartment buildings as we passed them with rows upon rows of windows. Most would be dark or have the shades drawn but, every so often, the window would be lit and the shade would be up and you’d see someone in the window, just for a few seconds. You’d catch a bit of their life and wonder what the rest of it was like.
Years later, I lived in an apartment that was a half block or less from the train tracks. I lived on the third floor and I knew, from my previous experience, that if the lights were lit and the shades were up, people from the passing trains could look into my life just as I glimpsed into others. That seemed fair.
What I learned from this is that we play many parts in our lives. We are the leads of our own stories (or should be) although, as Charles Dickens, in the opening of David Copperfield, wrote: ”Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.” We can be the hero or villain in our own life and sometimes are both. In the story of other peoples’ lives, we assume different plot functions – supporting character, antagonist, cameo, walk-on. We are part of so many different stories.
We are all stories; we are all storytellers. As my former rector, Revered Phillip Wilson, used to say, stories are the atoms of our social interactions. We use story constantly in our own lives, to convey experience, tell a joke, share an experience. Stories are how we understand the world into which we have been born. The stories we tell shape us both as a people and a nation.
The stories often get told and re-told just as DC Comics is now re-telling its stories. Events get altered because it makes a better story. When Del Close was telling portions of his life story in Wasteland, he was never concerned about the facts (although there were often some kernels of fact in the story) – he was concerned with what was true, what was good for the story.
A good story always reflects the storyteller and Del’s stories always did. Del lives in his stories just as Dickens lives in his stories just as Shakespeare does in his. As I do in mine. The stories aren’t real in that the events haven’t happened but they are hopefully true; lies told in service to the truth.
Welcome back to the Fishtopia, gentle readers. Once again, I’m refraining from dumping all over DC. I know, bold move. But boldness is what I’m known for. Boldness, being Jewish, and uhh… having a beard. I thought I’d tickle my fantasy bone today and open a door to a magic land. Come with me, won’t you? We open on a cool, crisp Chicago late afternoon. A chilly breeze blows through my thick beardly-locks. The lake air wafts past my nose, bringing with it the scents of a city. A hotdog dragged through the garden. Buttery deep dish pizza choked with cheese and sausage. Hipster-douchebags in knit caps, skinny jeans, and too much Old Spice. Ahhhh. I gaze longingly at the Lake. A lonely boat drifts in the distance. My iPhone rings. Oh! It’s Marvel calling.
Me: Hello?
Them: Marc-E-Marc! It’s Axel!
Me: The Axe-Man! What’s the happy haps?
Them: So we just have to get you on the payroll here. It’s been too long!
Me: I know, I know. What do you have in mind? Another Slingers mini? Maybe Matt and I can knock out that Darkhawk book we keep pitching to you?
Them: Oh no, bubbala. I got something better. Something you’ve been dying for.
Me: No.
Them: Oh… oh yes.
Me: Say it. I want to hear you say it.
Them: OK Fish. Malibu. It’s yours.
At this point my legs go a bit limp. I find a bench. All is right with the world.
It’s no secret. I loved Malibu Comics’ Ultraverse. I owned nearly every book they published. If a genie were to grant me three wishes… bringing them back is the first thing I’d ask for (after world peace and a carb and calorieless Mac and Cheese). For those who aren’t familiar, let me dial up the pop-tart sized Wikipedia entry for you to wolf down before we proceed.
In 1993, a small publisher, Malibu Comics, decided to put out a line of superhero books. Hey why not, everyone else was doing it! The “Ultraverse” as it were, was a fun romp not beleaguered by decades of history (like Marvel or DC), knee-deep in boobs and guns (Ahem, Image…), nor entrenched in wads of super-science and hyper-continuity (like Valiant). Malibu’s line was just about the fun. Characters with barely believable backstories fighting baddies with a wide array of appropriated super-powers. As a 12-year old, I ate it up like a church group at a Sunday buffet. Yeah, I went there.
Fast forward to the mid-nineties… and sales dropped. Turned out all those issues of the Death of Superman weren’t worth thousands, and people were getting tired of counting the flaps of Spawn’s cape in a book of 17 splash pages. Marvel picked up the ashes of the now unpopular Ultraverse, and laid them to rest after a failed crossover. Ever since, I’ve wanted to grab those dirty ashes and reanimate them to their former glory. Here’s how…
Keeping things to their own li’l separate universe would be key. Call me crazy, but usurping an entire universe and rewriting continuity just to force a few has-beens into a modern setting seems like the dumb kid trying to wedge the square into the circle hole. Sound like anyone you know? Nah, me neither. Anyone here reading Voodoo and Grifter yet? But I digress!
I would make a batch of four or five books, akin to Marvel’s successful (turned boring, turned Jeph Loeb nightmare, turned interesting again) Ultimate line. A solid solo adventure book. A sturdy team book. Something to explore the fantasy/sci-fi angle. Maybe a nice villain-centered book. And then? A book with Wolverine in it. Hey, even in my wildest dreams, I need to sell some books. Allow me to pontificate.
My solo book? Prime. Here’s a character that begs to brought back. Taking the original Captain Marvel concept (a boy who can transform into a 20/30 something super-man), but adding a pinch of angst… makes this a title to appeal to teens and not-teens alike. Billy Batson is gee-golly-gosh cool. Seriously. I loved Mike Kunkel’s Johnny DC title. But we ain’t talkin’ about Billy.
Prime’s alter-ego is (was) Kevin Green… troubled youth. With a chip on his shoulder and an attitude problem, he’s the quintessential anti-Batson. Where a Peter Parker or Clark Kent have that “boy next door” charm, and a happy demeanor in and out of costume… Kevin is at that perfect age where he knows all the answers, and still can’t get girls to dig him. But when danger is afoot, he activates his liquid flesh power, and becomes the hyper-muscular Prime. Unlike a Marvel or Captain America though… Prime is instinctively still a teenager. He’s quick to anger. Quick to fight. And he’s powerful enough that no one is going to tell him otherwise, by force or not. Add in some crazy scientist arch nemesis and robots to trash? Maybe a love triangle where Kevin has the hots for a teen girl in high school, and a seductive Super Heroine as Prime? The book practically writes itself! Will Kevin lose his virginity to the super-slut, or save himself for prom? And how can he fight the evil mutant army, when he still needs to clean his room!?
How about a team adventure? Well, look no further than The Strangers. When a group of seven random passengers aboard a San Francisco trolley get hit by sentient alien lightning, they are imbued with super powers. They must unite to fight a mysterious eighth citizen who’s bent on taking over the city! OK, simple pitch aside, what I loved about The Strangers back in the day still holds true now. The pure oddity of powers given matched with completely dissimilar character types makes a book that never stops being fun for fun’s sake. The team is led by an art school student with Firestorm level matter-altering powers (and he doesn’t have the restriction of needing to know how to convert matter a la Ronnie or Jason). His best friend, a hot-head with a Guy Gardner level chip on his shoulder, is constantly trying to steal the spotlight. There’s a street urchin who’s more interested in using his super speed to score and sell drugs. A fashion designer who could care less about her new powers… she’s got a business to run. And did I mention the team has a hooker-android with electrical powers that may be remotely controlled by a mad scientist? What wouldn’t this book have people?!
OK, one more before I go. Mantra. For the sword and sorcery set who dig a little gender bending to boot. A warrior cursed to live eternally is reborn once more, after a thousand years… but this time, in the body of a woman! Having to acclimate himself to a modern world he’s not ready for, in a body he can’t get used to! It’s a fish out of water, with boobs. Marvel at Mantra as she fights against evil modern-day warlocks and demons… while trying to get the hang of sports bras and depilatories. Sex and the City meets Dungeons and Dragons, folks. Come get some.
Of course, you can’t actually get some. Malibu’s contracts were coated in leagues of red tape and legal roadblocks. Marvel tried to unearth the Ultraverse in 2005, but it go no further than a wish on the wind. And while no one of importance cared… I cried that lone American-Indian-on-the-side-of-the-road tear. Normally, I’d figure out a nifty way to end my column. A nice summation told via a pun or a wicked barb aimed at a worthy foe.
But I’m too sad right now. So I’m just ending with a bitter plea. Someone out there give me a million dollars, so I can go make this happen. No? You’re a bunch of jerks!
