After their first announcement at San Diego four years ago that they had obtained the rights, Marvel Comics announced last weekend at New York Comic Con that reprints of the original Alan Moore / Neil GaimanMiracleman series would begin in January 2014. Gaiman will then continue the story with issue 25, which he said was completed, but never released, back when Eclipse was publishing the series.
Joe Quesada made the announcement at his “Cup O’ Joe” panel at the convention, to an appropriately appreciative audience. Marvel will be reprinting the entire series, starting with its first issue as seen in the UK magazine Warrior, reprinted in Eclipse’s Miracleman #1. The early issues were written by Alan Moore, but his name is not being used in any publicity for the series.
Originally named Marvelman, the character became “Miracleman” in America after Marvel Comics contacted its US publisher, Eclipse, and asked it be changed to avoid confusion in the marketplace. Marvel, who has been referring to the character as “Marvelman” since their first announcement of the acquisition, has decided to reprint the series under the US title of Miracleman after all. Tom Brevoort explains, “Gaiman and Buckingham worked on Miracleman, and that’s the name under which the series is best known in the States. So Miracleman it is.”
The series will be re-lettered and re-colored, but there no editing or alteration of the art is planned. Some of the violence was quite intense in the original series, and issue nine featured very graphic depictions of childbirth, so the plan not to censor the art is good news indeed.
Marvelman was created by Mick Anglo when the British comics publisher who was reprinting the popular Fawcett Captain Marvel needed material when the various Captain Marvel titles ended, pursuant to a DC lawsuit. Marvelman bore more than a slight thematic resemblance to Captain Marvel – young boys given a word of power to change into a powerful hero – a deliberate choice by the publisher.
Marvelman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
In the early eighties, Alan Moore wrote new adventures for the hero, the first of his “Everything you know is wrong” style of completely revamping a heroes origin while still paying respect and adherence to the stories that were told. He would do this again with great success on Swamp Thing when he came to the US to work for DC.
The issue of ownership of the character has been a rats’ nest of red tape, even during the original run in Warrior. To attempt to summarize the tale would not come close to getting across the complexity – The management suggests you seek out the exhaustive work of Irish comics journalist Pádraig Ó Méalóid, whose exhaustive history of the boondoggle puts all obsessive comics writers to shame.
Specific details of the schedule and format of the Miracleman reprints will arrive shortly with the January solicits. If the book is published monthly, with the same page count of the Eclipse issues, it would Neil’s new material would not be seen for two years. But considering the nigh-legendary status of the run, new readers will finally have a chance to read this seminal series, both in the careers of the creators involved and the exciting storytelling style.
We can recall a defining moment in our lives when we encounter something different for the first time, and it connects to us in a way that feels transformative. As a comic book reader in the 1960s, the arrival of Neal Adams at DC felt like that and again, when Frank Miller ran solo on Daredevil. Other generations got that feeling encountering Alan Moore’s words for the first time; it was writing unlike anything you’ve experienced before.
In music, before my time, Elvis Presley and then the Beatles did that for the world. In 1975, when WNEW-FM broadcast one of the Bottom line concerts featuring Bruce Springsteen, I had heard nothing like it before. There was energy to music, a blend of rock and brass that was fresh. And then when Born to Run came out, the lyrics told me stories and transported me. And with that confession, it is clear I am a long time, diehard Springsteen fan.
Since his debut in the early 1970s, Springsteen has been growing from charismatic rocker to the next coming of Bob Dylan to the future of rock and roll to conscience of America. He is an artist unafraid to explore where his muse takes him, deriving inspiration from his painful youth or from a passing sign. He has sung of love and loss, disillusionment, faded youth, the struggle to put food on the table, and the promise of better days. As a result, he has put together a catalogue of material that is wide and diverse so there’s something for everyone.
Musically, he created a unique sound fusing electric guitar, drums, keyboards and saxophone that is as equally versatile, allowing his live performances to energetically carry on for three-plus hours without sounding the same. And it’s here where he has shone, putting most touring acts to shame. Where choreography and set design triumphs over the performance elsewhere, Bruce and the E Street Band have, for decades, put on a show that can rock down a house or grow eerily silent as thousands commune at the altar of rock.
In some ways, Bruce Springsteen is a living Rorschach test as people from all ages and all countries connect with him in different ways. One summed it up best saying, “I felt like he was playing for me.” His lyrics make an instant connection with many as a song connects with where they are in life. One young graduate student has talent o driving a truck and his songs about work let her carry on. Some 2000 people shared those personal stories in a crowdsourced documentary, Springsteen and I, playing July 22 and July 30 in theaters across America. Executive producer Ridley Scott and director Baillie Walsh sifted through the tales, including one from ComiCONN producer Mitch Hallock, to assemble this 1:18 documentary.
Archival concert footage is liberally sprinkled in with fan videos and personal commentaries so it’s fun to watch Bruce and band mature, age, and still have the power to bring stadiums to their feet. Many tried to sum Springsteen up in three words, the most common being “passion”. One little girl talked about “lots of effort” going into his shows which is an understatement.
There is one curmudgeon in the mix who is not a fan and endures the concerts to be kind to his fanatical girlfriend. He notes, having his songs “rammed down my throat 24/7 tends to take the edge of it” which is counterpointed with the soccer mom who plays only Bruce when she drives the kids around town.
Many anecdotes are personal, backed up with captured video of the story made real, such as the Elvis impersonator who got to perform with the Boss on stage or the girl in the Courtney Cox t-shirt loving out the fantasy by dancing on stage. JoJo recounts how he was busking on the street and coaxed Bruce to play with him and the performer agreed doing several numbers as the crowd grew around them. “He’s still one of us,” JoJo said decades later.
If the documentary is to be faulted at all is that there are no dates to place the concert footage into context. Same with some of the fan footage. While a lot of the commentary is about Bruce the singer and performer, more could have been done with connecting his lyrics to the people’s lives rather than the more generic and surface comments. And while the E Street band is prominent in the footage, the fans have little say about them, despite their contribution to concert experience.
For those wondering what the Springsteen fuss is all about, you won’t come away with a better understanding. For that, I recommend you read the recent bio, Bruce. This is a love letter to Bruce, a Valentine from the fans to one another, a global chain letter that nicely unifies the global audience of all ages.
If you’ve ever read anything from Clifford Meth, you know he can be a ferocious writer, and ferociously talented. We like that sort of thing here, and that’s why we’ve published his stuff in the past. He’s compiling his columns and essays into a book, and you have a few hours left to pre-order it on Kickstarter:
Comic Book Babylon gathers icons HARLAN ELLISON, STAN LEE, ALAN MOORE, FRANK MILLER, JOE KUBERT, GENE COLAN, DAVE COCKRUM, WALTER SIMONSON and NEAL ADAMS into a conversation with CLIFFORD METH where anything goes. Among other stories, you’ll learn how & why X-Men co-creator Dave Cockrum became the first Marvel artist to receive a monetary settlement and lifetime royalties for his creations after years of suffering and virtual banishment… You’ll meet a well-known Hollywood film producer who doesn’t like to pay his writers (until someone squeezes his face)… You’ll read Harlan Ellison saying things no one else would publish…
This fascinating book collects Meth’s decades of comics columns and essays–some too outrageous to publish in their day–and adds never-before-revealed material. Everything is brought to life with sensational illustrations by the celebrated and beloved Marvel/DC artist MICHAEL NETZER.
What’s achieved is a startling look at the REAL villains and heroes of comics. Introduction by STAN LEE. Art by NETZER. Rants by METH. Join us!
Late to the Man of Steel party, but I am compelled to weigh in. Here are my thoughts, which I don’t think are spoilers, but be warned if you’re squeamish about such things.
When I worked at DC in the 1990s, I was known as the person who liked Superman. Which is odd, really, because without Superman, there would be no DC. In any case, the consensus was that Superman wasn’t cool because he wasn’t dark or broody. Over the next decade, Superman became cool, not only in the comics, but also on a top-rated television program. People stood on line at Macy’s anchor store for the chance to meet editor Mike Carlin.
And then Superman Returns bombed, and the conventional wisdom was that Superman, as a character, needed to be dark and brooding after all. He had to be made “modern.”
Anyone who was reading Superman before John Byrne’s 1986 reboot will remember a dark and brooding character. The late, pre-Crisis Superman was always thinking mournfully of his lost planet, his lost birth family, his lost adopted family, and his sense that he could never have a family of his own. Alan Moore captured this brilliantly in his 1985 story, “For the Man Who Has Everything.”
This film is certainly dark. In a recent interview, Bill Nye said, “Space brings out the best in us.” But not, apparently in our production design.
On all of Krypton, it seems, the only colors are blacks, grays and metallic. There do not seem to be any blondes. We don’t see any vegetation above ground, and the Kryptonians we see wear either armor with capes or robes that appear to be ceremonial. It’s beautiful, but it really took my out of the movie, as I wondered how any civilization could be so determinately dreary. I suppose it’s possible that an entire planet could have its own art director to show how Seriously Dark and Mature they are, but to me it just seemed like the everybody went Goth at the same time. When we have the big reveal of Kal-El’s Superman suit, I wondered when Jor-El had discovered blue and red.
Amy Adams is a delightful Lois Lane, maybe the best I’ve ever seen. Her performance is completely believable as a hard-charging, ambitious reporter. She never plays girly or helpless. I only wish she would give lessons to Maureen Dowd.
Laurence Fishburne is a terrific Perry White. If only he had more to do.
Which brings me to my biggest regret. The body count in this movie is ridiculously high. The final battle over Metropolis must kill hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of people. And it’s not just Zod and his minions who destroy. Superman topples his share of skyscrapers. My Superman would have moved the battle to an ocean. The ending, to my mind, is completely out of character. I know it’s been done in the comics, but there was immediate fall-out and regret, which we don’t see here.
It’s especially disturbing, given that Warner Bros. apparently went out of their way to market this movie as something traditionally religious families would enjoy. The script makes a big deal about Clark being 33 years old (which seems to me to be too old for Clark to be so naive, but I’m not in film marketing), Even if one can ignore the Jewish roots (which, before that, were Babylonian, Assyrian and Egyptian) of most of the Superman mythos, one would still notice the tug-of-war between Jonathan and Martha Kent over whether Clark should stay in or out of the closet about his differences.
Maybe this is the problem. Maybe trying to make a film that will appeal to those too self-conscious to be hopeful at the same time trying to appeal to evangelicals produces a mush.
Or maybe the creative team needs another film to find their legs. That’s what happened with Batman.
So Saturday, I’m sitting in the kitchen, my feet up on the table, sipping my morning tea, and flipping through the latest edition of Entertainment Weekly. It’s the one with Hugh Jackman on the cover as Wolverine, dated May 31/June 7 2013.
I’m on page 32, the “Monitor” section, and there’s nothing there really of interest for me, a headline splashing a “Bieber Backlash” – about time – and an announcement under “Splits” that Robert Pattison and Kristen Stewart of Twilight fame have broken up again – duh, I saw that one coming once the last fanfare of Breaking Dawn was done – and then I see a little inset on the bottom left that boldly reads “turn the page and open the flaps for EW’s pick of the 25 greatest superheroes ever” (with “plus the 5 worst” in a shaded grey, and a little arrow pointing to a big advertising spread for a TNT show called Hero.
Hmm. Didn’t see this listed on the “Contents” page. Must be like one of those Easter eggs that some videos have.
So nat’ch I open the flaps and there it is. Very cool, and a nice surprise.
The copy explains that when picking this list EW decided to “specifywhich version of the hero stands out above the rest,” so that “some icons appear here more than once.”
I like that, it’s a bit different, and with 75 years of superhero history muddying the waters (Superman first appeared in ActionComics #1, June 1938) along with who-can-count-the-number-of-reboots in that time, I think it shows respect for our beloved genre.
So here’s their list, in ascending order, of the greatest superheroes of all time, with a bit of EW’s reasons why:
1. Spider-Man: Lee and Ditko, Amazing Fantasy #15, August 1962. “…reinvented the muscle-bound superhero as young, funny, geeky, flawed, and struggling. ”
2. Batman Year One: Frank Miller, Batman #404 – 407, 1987. “…has cast its dark, sinister shadow over every Batman iteration since. ”
3. Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Joss Wheedon, 1977 – 2003. “…super and human, as quick with a quip as she was with a stake…Buffy was a teen first, her secret identity her heroism. ”
4. Iron Man: Robert Downey, Jr., 2008. “…tack on the aching wisdom that Downey’s age (and eyes) – oh, and may I add here his pure, unadulterated sexiness – brings to the role and you have the fully charged heart of the Marvel movie universe. ”
5. Superman: Christopher Reeve, 1978. “…most memorable was his playful take on alter ego Clark Kent, depicting him as the meek, benign bumbler” – well, they almost got this one right. Reeve simply was Superman.
Okay, this is getting into dangerous, possible plagiarism territory here (plus it could very possible piss off editor Mike), so let me quickly go down the list without the, uh, word-for-word copying.
7. Batman: Christopher Nolan, The Dark Knight Trilogy, 2005 – 2012. Made everyone forget everything that came after Michael Keaton. Hey, I thought Keaton was great, so stick in it your ear! Although, imho, Pfeiffer still beats out Hathaway as Catwoman.
8. X-Men: Chris Claremont and John Byrne, 1977 – 1981. The team that got me hooked on mutants.
9. Black Panther: Don McGregor, Rich Buckler, Gil Kane, Billy Graham, Klaus Janson and Bob McLeod, “Panther’s Rage,” Jungle Action #6 – #24, September 1973 – November 1976. Marvel’s first graphic novel, even if it did appear in serialized form. Dwayne McDuffie said of it on his website: “This overlooked and underrated classic is arguably the most tightly written multi-part superhero epic ever. If you can get your hands on it . . . sit down and read the whole thing. It’s damn near flawless, every issue, every scene, a functional, necessary part of the whole. Okay, now go back and read any individual issue. You’ll find seamlessly integrated words and pictures; clearly introduced characters and situations; a concise (sometimes even transparent) recap; beautifully developed character relationships; at least one cool new villain; a stunning action set piece to test our hero’s skills and resolve; and a story that is always moving forward towards a definite and satisfying conclusion…and [they] did it in only 17 pages per issue.” Okay, I’m copying again.
I’m going to tighten this up even further, because there’s a big surprise coming, and it’s something that mean a lot to me…and to someone else here at ComicMix.
10. Captain America: Ed Brubaker, 2004 – 2012.
11. Superman (Animated): Max and Dave Fleisher, 1941.
12. The Flash: Carmine Infantino, 1956 – seemingly forever
13. Phoenix: Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum, Uncanny X-Men, #101 – #108, 1976 – 1977
14. The Incredible Hulk: Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno, 1977 – 1982
17. Swamp Thing: Alan Moore, The Saga of the Swamp Thing #21, February 1984 – Swamp Thing #64, September 1987
18. Hellboy: Mike Mignola, 1993 – onwards in comics and other media
And here is the one that made me sit up, rush to my computer and send off an e-mail to John Ostrander, my dear friend and fellow columnist here at ComicMix.
19. Oracle: John Ostrander and Kim Yale, Suicide Squad #23, 1989
In 1988, Barbara Gordon, aka Batgirl, was shot and paralyzed by the Joker in Alan Moore and Brian Bolland’s Batman: The Killing Joke as he rampaged against everyone connected to the Dark Knight. Although the graphic novel was a brilliant take on the Joker (which, imho, vastly influenced the late Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the villain) and was critically acclaimed, the controversy of the victimization of Barbara Gordon really upset the fans – particularly the women.
Including Kim Yale, John’s late wife, a wonderful writer and editor, and the best friend this writer ever had.
Well, let me have John tell it, from an interview with Vaneta Rogers on Newsarama dated September 7, 2011:
“My late wife, Kimberly Yale, and I were not crazy about how Barbara was treated in The Killing Joke,” comic writer John Ostrander told Newsarama. “Since the Batman office had no further plans for her at the time, we got permission to use Barbara in Suicide Squa, [another DC title at the time]. We felt that the gunshot as seen in Killing Joke would leave her paralyzed. We felt such an act should have repercussions. So…we took some of her other talents, as with computers, and created what was essentially an Internet superhero – Oracle. “
It so perfectly made sense. Barbara had been established as a PhD. in library science, so Kim and John used that basis to make Barbara the ultimate computer hacker. As Oracle, she was the “go-to” person for any hero in the DC universe needing information; it was a natural progression for Denny O’Neil (yep, our Denny), who was the editor of Batman family editor at this time, to incorporate Oracle as the woman to whom the Dark Knight turned when he sought aid on the computer.
This is a nation that talks the talk about recognizing the value of everyone’s capabilities but rarely walks the walk. This is a country in which Senator Max Cleland, who lost both arms and a leg while serving in Vietnam, lost his seat to a man who got out of serving in Vietnam (“bad knee,” he said in one interview) by claiming Cleland did not support his country against Osama Bin Laden. This is a country in which the comic book industry is filled with muscle-bound men in spandex able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and sexualized women whose bubble boobs enable them to fly.
But this is also an industry that gave us Oracle, who was Batgirl, who was the target of madhouse clown, who was paralyzed, who forged on ahead and demanded our respect.
She got it.
Thanks to two writers named Kim Yale and John Ostrander.
*The rest of the list is: 20. Astonishing X-Men by Joss Wheedon; 21. TheIncredibles, by Brad Bird; 22. The Incredible Hulk, by Lee and Kirby; 23. Spider-Man, by Sam Raimi; 24. Daredevil, by Frank Miller; and 25. Fantastic Four, by Lee and Kirby.
**The 5 Worst Superheroes are: 1. Matter-Eater Lad; 2. The Punisher; 3. Halle Berry’s Catwoman; 4. Wonder Twins; and 5. David E. Kelley’s Wonder Woman.
(Mindy will be back in this space Wednesday afternoon.)
I don’t even remember the first time I met Bob Morales. We might have met when he was an intern at the Village Voice and I was a freelance writer, but I have no memory of that. When I was publicity manager at DC Comics, he was always around. As a writer and editor – for Reflex, for Publishers Weekly, for Vibe – he was an invaluable asset for me to exploit.
But he was so much more.
Bob was a world-class gossip. If you read Bleeding Cool over the last 20 years, you’ve read one of Bob’s stories. He would, occasionally, let me use him to snipe at someone who was annoying me, on the condition that Bob agreed the person in question deserved it (he always agreed).
Bob was a brilliant writer, of comics and of prose. Most comics fans know him from his work on Captain America, but he was a brilliant critic, and an hilarious comedian. He wanted to do an Elseworlds Batman story with Mark Twain as Batman, just so he could refer to “Twain Manor.”
Bob was connected. He was editor and literary executor for writer Samuel R. Delany, and he helped put together the graphic novel Delany wrote, illustrated by Mia Wolff. He helped me to get this interview with Harlan Ellison. He talked about working with Neil Gaiman on packaging a line of public-domain novels. He knew everyone in science fiction. He knew everyone in hip-hop.
Bob was vicious. If you ever crossed him (and didn’t try to correct your mistake), you were on the list. And if you were on the list, he would do everything he could to destroy you. Because he was so connected, that meant a lot. If he found out you were looking for a new job, he’d make sure the stories of your treachery reached human resources at your hoped-for employer.
And yet …
Bob was a pussycat. If you were his friend, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, as Heidi describes in this memory. He always called you on your birthday. He called all his friends who were moms on Mothers Day, and all his friends who were dads on Fathers Day. He called me on every Jewish holiday. He was thoughtful in ways that were unpredictable and touching.
Bob was my family. He babysat for my son, and told me stories about my son’s other life, when he was his own person and not just my kid. He introduced me to the woman who became not only one of my best friends, but also my son’s West Coast mom. He stayed in my apartment when we went out of town so the cats wouldn’t have to be alone. Quite often – almost always – some horrible mechanical event would occur in my building, and he would deal with it.
This is from Alan Moore (slightly edited), sent to be read at Bob’s funeral.
“I’m going to miss the savvy New York creak his conversation had as much as I will surely miss his writing; the commitment, insight and rare passion that he brought to every story, ever feature, every line. One of the comic field’s conspicuously rare voices of colour, he was also one of its most gifted and original contemporary writers. As a genuine creator of integrity, inevitably he came into conflict with an industry that much prefers a bland subservience in its employees to the fierce, ungovernable talent of an actual artist who has something deeply felt to say and does not care to compromise a work which he or she believes in…Moving with no apparent effort between his extraordinarily diverse realms of endeavour, Bob was like a human cultural adhesive that connected up a vast cobweb of people who, in every probability, would never have been introduced to one another save through him. One of the last authentic hipsters, he was sharp, astute, and very, very funny. If I’m honest it might be his anecdotes that I’ll miss most of all, the unexpected courtesy and deference extended to him by a crowd of strangers at a party whom, it transpired, had been informed Bob was a Puerto Rican mafia prince… Robert Morales had a fine and blazing life, a side or two of classic vinyl that I’m convinced will replay unendingly, just as I entirely expect to pick the ’phone up for an interview with Vibe, one day back in the hectic1980s, and commence a long, sweet friendship full of warmth and great ideas and lots of memorable laughs. So long for now, Bob, from me and Melinda, and I’m looking forward to enjoying that mafia anecdote again.
The last time I saw Bob was on Saturday, April 13. He’d been taking care of my cat while I was in Japan, and while I was gone he came down with a stomach flu. He swore he was over it, but he insisted on doing the laundry before he left. While we waited on the machines, we watched Rock of Ages on HBO, agreeing that Mary J. Blige should have been the main story, and that Catherine Zeta-Jones looked like Marie Osmond.
When he left, he said he was glad he could help me get away for a real vacation. I think – I hope – I told him I loved him. On Thursday, I got the call that he had died.
Bob was a talker. He’d call and say, “Hey, got a minute?” and you’d be on the phone for an hour, minimum. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this new free time, but it won’t be nearly as much fun, nor as valuable, as what I did with Bob.
I love psuedo-science. More than anything else, the “how” of super-heroes and science fiction is what initially draws me in. My first real memories of my impending nerd-dom stemmed from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; where I learned that radioactive interplanetary ooze, when liberally applied to animals, created anthropomorphic heroes and villains. And where most of my friends were just happy to have new action figures, I was always perplexed as to how a rhino and warthog, when exposed to said ooze, ended up a mutated state of similar weight and stature. But I digress.
When my attention made way towards comic books, the same curiosity drew me first towards the Marvel universe. Taken against the “crap fell outta the sky, and now you’re super-powered” methodology so many of the DC heroes, Marvel seemed to celebrate the polar opposite. Hulk, Spider-Man, Captain America, Iron Man… all products of science. And let us never forget those pesky mutants. Stan Lee, in the multitude of interviews he’s given over the years always laughed off his choices in the origins of his characters. I’d like to believe though, that there was a bit more to it than he’d let on. The majority of his heroes and villains share science as a passion, and profession. Their powers, results of experiments gone awry. Taken in context of the age in which they were born? It’s fairly easy to see the dots connecting; in the age of the atom, of course scientists would end up mutating themselves and the world at large!
After my recent converting toward Trekdom, I can now say without a shred of sarcasm that I hold Trek above Wars because of the technical bedrock beneath the naked green chicks. At their cores, both universes celebrate journeys. But only Trek dares to boldly go where no man has gone before. Not that Star Wars is without some awesome psuedo-science of its own… but in my mind, it came well after Lucas opened his universe to other collaborators. Men and women who sought to better the mythos with a little less Kurosawa, and a bit more Kelvin.
But what is it that appeals to me so? It’s that shred of plausibility that helps endear me towards creations that embrace it. In contrast, those worlds made of pure fantasy never caught my heart. Where my wife can’t wait for the next Hobbit or Harry Potter, I could honestly care less. Sure, I appreciate the characters themselves, and the plot and structure presented in their various forms. But at their core? They celebrate worlds without reason. Where a kid can ride a broom not because he’s found a way to displace gravity fields, but because his parents loved him a whole ton. Meh.
A cursory look at my bookshelf shows a plethora of writers whose work encompasses these similar feelings. Alan Moore, Grant Morrison, Jonathan Hickman, Warren Ellis, and the like all celebrate the art of technobabble. Their stories, as grand as they may become, still root themselves in panes of logic and reason. Their heroes and villains operate less on threads of sheer will, hope, or love. While their ultimate deus ex machinas may very well encompass those indefinable qualities in order to reach catharsis or conclusion… the worlds built around them all contain some form of believability that allows me to enjoy the work just a bit more than those who simply “wish hard”.
Remember when [[[The Matrix]]] first came about? Long before Neo was wearing his digital crown of thorns, the Wachowski brothers first tried to provide a foundation with which to build upon. And by the end of their first flick, I could enjoy Neo’s triumph over the machines not because of his amazing will to win the day, but because of his understanding of the laws of the program he was an avatar of. His triumph was one of science, not faith.
In Geoff Johns’s expansion of the Green Lantern universe, I celebrated the psuedo-science of the emotional spectrum. Certainly if we could believe that will was somehow a measurable source of energy, so too could be anger, avarice, love, compassion, hope, and fear.
But when Kronos, back with a vengeance, waged war on the Guardians who banished him so very long ago… what defeated him? A big Photoshopped beam from Hal Jordan. Sheer will. Used against a guy who had the weight of the entire emotional spectrum behind him. The scientist inside me screamed with righteous indignation. Based on even small amounts of actual logic, I was left aghast. One emotion, no matter how large (and Photoshoppy), should trump seven. Especially when the shooter of said super beam is merely a mortal man, and his opponent a crazy-assed demi-god. Johns failed to follow the laws of science he himself previously designed (so-to-speak). Simply put? Geoff wrote himself into a corner, and asked for a pass out of it. He flunked the exam. Of course given his captain of the football team status at DC, he slid right past the failing grade. Psuedo-science be damned.
In the universes we fictioneers build, there is an understanding between our words and our audience. To each creation comes a set of laws we play in and around. Those who do it best, gain my attention, respect, and money. Those who disregard it get my furrowed eyebrow and shaking fist. Consider this experiment open-ended. Where there is plausibility, there’s potential. And where there is potential… there’s the possibility of endless wonder. And where there is no need for that? Well, fuck it. Let it fall out of the sky. I mean, why not?
Greetings, past-dwellers. Tis I, Marc Alan Fishman, the sage of the future! I traveled here to the past, via my patented DC Direct TimeSphere. It was only $299.99 at my local comic retailer (which in the future is just Amazon Prime…)! I come to you, this random Saturday morning, on a mission from ComicMix 8.0. I’ve come to give you hope that in 2013, everything changes. Hold on to your bow ties, time lords. Let me give you the glimpse of what will become of your industry.
In 2013, the rumblings began. You see every time a creator got uppity in the past, they dropped those immortal words: “Creator-owned is the future, man.” And every time those creations (not of Marvel or DC, mind you) became one with the zeitgeist, the word revolution spread across the artist alleys of convention floors like a plague. Ah, I know. I know. You say “but that means nothing, FutureBeard… no one will ever take down the Man!” And, in a sense, you are right. The Man, thanks to lucrative movie franchises only made the big two stronger. Much like Coke and Pepsi, so too grew Disney and Warner Bros. until they were simply entertainment forces of nature. But therein lies the seeds of change.
It will all happen so slowly, you may not notice it. DC’s New52 and Marvel Now continued to polarize the ever-aging fanbase. The movies and TV series connected to them (both live action and cartoon) never lead to direct increases in comic book sales. They were, in essence, two distinct media with distinct audiences. It took a while to figure out ourselves… but our NerdVerse Historian, King Alan Kistler decried it, and it was written; while there will always be crossover, there wasn’t (and will never be) a movie or comic to unite them all.
And with that knowledge, spreading like primordial ooze across the vast lands of Nerdtopia, came with it the paradigm shift.
Through careful and meticulous planning and the support of the not-as-big-as-you’d-hope-but-still-pretty-big fan base… established creators turned towards indie-or-self-publishing outlets. Crowd-sourced, and then sold for profit directly towards their bottom line, these creators proved that even without a corporate overlord signing a check… a meager living could be made. And this is how the pebble begins to roll down the mountain.
When those small books became big hits, their creators soon became corporations unto themselves. And then, those same creators, backed by their cultivated fan base, combined into local studios to consolidate their power. No longer mere islands adrift in freelance work, these micro-states began dictating what they published on their own terms. And yes, even on the outskirts of these creator-states… smaller unknown (cough… cough… unshaven…) studios took to the same open road and formed bonds that could not be broken. And now, from the future where I come to you, I’m proud to say that the industry has never been stronger, where creators are no longer afraid to present their own ideas… and take home enough to support continuing doing it again.
Now, don’t cry for Marvel or DC. They still have a large foothold of the rack-space. But their talent pool is a wide berth of only the young unknowns, and the old guard who chose never to leave. The young, lured in by the shiny opportunity. The old, still fearing the unknown, and clinging to the terrible contracts that deny them anything more than pittance while their creations bring in countless millions in other mediums.
And yes, occasionally some of the Indie Nation takes on an old favorite. And they sell magnificently. But here in the future… after that tale has been told, they are reenergized to return to their own pocket universes. It’s a glorious time for sequential fiction. It happened in dribs and drabs over the aughts. Image’s old image (heh) of splashy pastiche universes gave way to intelligent, and brilliantly crafted mini-series. Dark Horse, IDW, Boom!, Avatar, Dynamite, and others began looking towards those self-sustaining garage bands in the artist alley and gave them a powerful ally to help build their brands.
The Internet, social media, and most important, peer-to-peer connections via conventions spread the word of the DIY-revolution. Indie comic creation became the new rock-and-roll. And 2013 my friends… was where those faint rumblings began to move the needle towards the utopia I live in now. Suffice to say: keep your eyes and ears open. More importantly: keep supporting your favorite creators when they make the leap away from the dark side.
I should also note, in case you’re curious:
Superman ditched the Nehru collar. Grant Morrison’s consciousness was transferred to a super-computer. Rob Liefeld eventually got his eyesight checked, and realized the error in his proportions. He redrew every ounce of work he produced up until 2015. Afterwards, his wrist looked like Cable’s, circa 1996. Unshaven Comics optioned the rights to the Samurnauts to Sony Pictures. Brad Bird directed the first of 17 successful films. Subsequently, Unshaven Comics erected a 75 foot golden beard in the heart of downtown Chicago.
And, finally, Alan Moore eventually forgave DC. Shortly after, he ascended to Snake Mountain and has since lived as the NecroLord of Fourth Realm. He still puts out books every year, and they are still amazing.
In last Monday’s New York Times Media Watch columns, they ran a list of the ten films released this year that had the highest box office ion their opening weekends. What’s amazing to me is that the top five (Marvel’s The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises, Hunger Games, Amazing Spider-Man and Twilight: Breaking Dawn: Part 2) can all be classified in the fantasy genre, or, as I like to call it, nerd stuff.
Of the next five (Skyfall, Brave, Ted, Madagascar 3 and Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax), three are aimed primarily at children, and one is a James Bond film, which has its own separate but overlapping geek audience. Only Ted could be considered a movie aimed at what was once the wide, mainstream audience, and even then, because it is an R-rated comedy, that limits the wideness.
When did our beloved nerd culture become so dominant? I was certainly the only girl in my high school (which was all girls) who read superhero comics, and if anyone else read science fiction or fantasy, they were in the closet about it.
Even in the 1980s, when Frank Miller and Alan Moore and Art Spiegelman were publishing work that attracted mainstream media attention, there wasn’t much spillover to the medium of graphic storytelling.
When I first went to work for DC, the most common reaction I encountered when people learned what I did was, “Do they still publish those?”
For that matter, even today, the success of the movies listed above doesn’t do much for comics. There’s a history of tie-in films boosting the sale of books (for example, Gone With the Wind), but that doesn’t always overlap to your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, or comic book store.
Still, I don’t think fans like us can claim to be outsiders anymore. We might not be the cool kids, but we aren’t unwanted loners, either. What are today’s nerds about?
Is it Steampunk? Is it libertarian politics? Are there still obscure rock bands to follow, or has everything been American Idol’d to a bland pap. What distinguishes the kids getting beat up and/or ostracized today?
Now available for pre-order from your local comic shop is Top Shelf Productions’ NEMO: HEART OF ICE, a new, standalone, thrill-ride By Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill from the world of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen! This one’s an absolute blast, so get your pre-orders in now and don’t miss it.
About Nemo: Heart of Ice– AN ALL-NEW LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN ADVENTURE! Co-Published by Top Shelf Productions & Knockabout.
In the grim cold of February surfaces a thrilling new League of Extraordinary Gentlemen book: NEMO: HEART OF ICE, a full-color 56-page adventure in the classic pulp tradition by the inestimable Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill.
It’s 1925, fifteen long years since Janni Dakkar first tried to escape the legacy of her dying science-pirate father, only to accept her destiny as the new Nemo, captain of the legendary Nautilus. Now, tired of her unending spree of plunder and destruction, Janni launches a grand expedition to surpass her father’s greatest failure: the exploration of Antarctica. Hot on her frozen trail are a trio of genius inventors, hired by an influential publishing tycoon to retrieve the plundered valuables of an African queen. It’s a deadly race to the bottom of the world — an uncharted land of wonder and horror where time is broken and the mountains bring madness. Jules Verne meets H.P. Lovecraft in the unforgettable final showdown, lost in the living, beating and appallingly inhuman HEART OF ICE.
After their first announcement at San Diego four years ago that they had obtained the rights, Marvel Comics announced last weekend at New York Comic Con that reprints of the original Alan Moore / Neil Gaiman Miracleman series would begin in January 2014. Gaiman will then continue the story with issue 25, which he said was completed, but never released, back when Eclipse was publishing the series.
If you’ve ever read anything from 
