Time in Comics -- it works differently

 

In fiction, time works differently than in real life. It has to, because very often the stories we read or watch or listen to take place over the course of many days, months, or years, while we experience them in a matter of hours or days. (Alan Moore's JERUSALEM took me months, but that's a whole different beast, that.) In no other medium, though, is the idea of time more malleable or more fluid than in comic books. It's part of what I love about them. 

As a story distribution vehicle, the comic book, in its most recognizable form -- roughly 20 pages of words and images combined to relate the most recent narrative chapter of a particular, brightly garbed hero's adventures on a monthly basis -- is, perhaps, the most compressed story distribution vehicle, as regards the geographical space with which writers and artists have to work. The page count has fluctuated over the past few decades, from 17 pages with a shorter backup feature in many late-70s DC comics, to 24 pages through the 80s and 90s, to around 20 pages today. An average page may have 6 panels on it, each a snapshot of a specific moment in time, but there are also splash pages -- a single image encompassing the entirety of a page to convey a moment of high drama or cool action. And although some artists may layout pages with more than 6 panels (George Pérez could do wonders in the tiny spaces necessitated by ten or twelve or fifteen panels to a page), many will often utilize fewer panels per page to tell their story. So, creators have somewhere fewer than 120 images -- and more likely fewer than 100 or 90, to be honest -- to get across what they want to say for that month, in that chapter. It's not a lot of room. 

With those limitations of space, comic creators had to figure out ways to infuse the most narrative punch in as economical a way as possible. Early in comics' history, that meant a whole lot of word balloons and thought bubbles stuffed with text that, in my opinion, dragged the narrative to a screeching halt, leaving it as limp as a pile of wet leaves. Blechh. These writers and artists, though, also figured out some tricks hidden within the mechanics of the comic page. A prime example would be the gutters, the empty spaces in between the panels. Depending on the transition between images from one panel to the next, a lot or a little could occur in the gutter. If the artist merely drew a succession of images that linked together like those flip books we used to have, then the reader had little to do in order to get what was going on. Nothing's in the gutters; it's all on the page. But, if the creators jumped from one image in one scene to a totally different image from another scene (probably set in the near future, possibly set in the past, maybe even running parallel . . . take your pick!), a connection could be made, subconsciously, between these two images. And maybe, as more context became evident as one continued reading, there would be a direct correlation between these seemingly disparate scenes. Perhaps some action in that first scene spurred what occurred in the following scene, even if it took place in a different locale at a different point in time. 

When this happens, the gutter becomes paramount in the narrative flow, because whatever happened in between these two images, which may sit side-by-side or possibly connect through a page-turn, happened within that empty space separating them, and now the reader gets to fill that in with their imagination. The gutter is the magic spark within comic books, and it makes the reader a participant within the narrative, allowing for the tapestry of a comic to expand to a (theoretically) limitless tableau. 

The publication schedule of comics -- for the most part series have run on a monthly basis, though it's common today for more popular series to run every two weeks -- is another aspect that injects time into a comic narrative. With a month between issues, readers have all that time to ponder the most recent chapter of a hero's story, to mull it over, consider the ramifications, hypothesize about what may come next or how the hero could possibly escape that issue's cliffhanger. In short, this 4-week hiatus between issues allows the story to build in the audience's mind while also expanding time within the narrative itself. From one issue to the next, as much time as a week or a month could pass, or as little as a minute. But in our brains, even if very little time passes in Batman's story from issue #546 to #547 (as a hypothetical example), readers have still experienced a month, and that added time can help with the storytelling, because things that may have happened "too quickly" in the previous issue now have the benefit of a whole month passing, tempering the coincidental nature of some of the previous actions.  

Which all sounds far too abstract. Let me try to illuminate this argument with a concrete example: 

In the wake of DC's mega-event, Crisis on Infinite Earths, time was reset and the history of the DC universe was re-arranged and streamlined. The comics published by DC afterward needed to reflect this change in status quo, and one of those titles was Batman: the New Adventures, retitled with issue #408, written by Max Allan Collins, with pencils by Chris Warner and Inks by Mike DeCarlo. In this issue -- following directly after Miller & Mazzucchelli's classic, Year One --  Batman decides to work solo again, with no Robin, after Dick Grayson is almost killed by the Joker (a phantom image of Dick as Nightwing reveals his future . . . which, playing along with the theme of this piece, has already occurred a few years in the past, as far as publication dates). As a solo crimefighter, Batman eventually meets Jason Todd, a young vagrant who stole two of the tires from the Batmobile while it was parked in Crime Alley. Impressed, Batman takes Jason to a local orphanage, promising to check up on him.

In the following issue, written again by Collins but drawn by Ross Andru & Dick Giordano, Batman discovers, through checking up on Jason, that the orphanage where he took the boy, Ma Gunn's Orphanage, is actually a headquarters for a juvenile gang run by the matriarch of the place. Thanks to Jason, Batman discovers their plan to steal a priceless diamond necklace and thwarts the pack of hoodlums and their elderly crime boss. In the end, Batman commends Jason for his work, calling him Robin, and resetting the cycle of the Dynamic Duo once more, a mere couple of dozen pages after his declaration to work alone. 

Reading these two issues today, that shift from working alone to again taking on a partner -- a child partner in Batman's war on crime -- may seem abrupt on the part of the Batman. That's because it is. But reading it back in 1987, as it was being published, there would have been a month in between those issues. Readers would have had almost thirty days to digest the reality that Batman was again fighting crime solo. If one considers that during the 80s the primary audience for comic books, specifically superhero comics, was children, those thirty days are a not insignificant amount of time. So, when the Batman does a one-eighty in the very next issue, they would not have been reading it as if it was only yesterday he'd declared his return to solo vigilantism (and, in fact, there's a bit of a montage aspect in that previous issue when the creators show Batman fighting crime on his own again, indicating a relatively lengthy amount of time). To them the time that had passed in between reading these two issues could have translated to the narrative within the comic itself, allowing for a less abrupt transition back to having a Robin at Batman's side. And it seems possible that comic book creators may have taken this passage of real time into account when crafting the monthly adventures of one's favorite superhero. It's certainly a trick that would allow writers and artists to compress events in order to move the narrative along more swiftly, while also hopefully avoiding complaints of coincidence or a straining of credibility (he wears a batsuit and swings through skyscrapers on his batrope when he isn't using his batwing or batplane . . . straining credulity?!!?). 

It's interesting to consider that older comics should not be read in quick succession. Many issues, even up to the 80s when I began collecting comic books, were crafted as single packets of entertainment to be digested on their own, with little, if any, connective tissue to the previous issues or those that followed (outside of the power sets of heroes and villains and characterizations of the main and supporting casts). Jim Shooter, editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics from 1978 to  1987, famously (apocryphally???) stated that creators needed to craft each issue as if it were the very first issue of a new reader. Which is a fair enough assumption. But I think adherence to such a rule wasn't necessary and could be detrimental to a creative team. My first Marvel Universe comic (as opposed to G.I. Joe or Star Wars) was Marvel Super Hero Secret Wars #4. Number Four!!!! The series was already a quarter of the way through it's twelve-issue run, starring dozens of heroes and villains with whom I had a limited experience, and I just dove in and read it. And I was hooked. 

But I digress. Apologies for the tangent. Where was I? ... time in comics works differently ...

There's also the idea of characters' ages in comics. Again, specifically superhero comics. When the first original superheroes were created for comic books, the medium was seen as a cheap, throwaway bit of entertainment. Poorly reproduced art on the cheapest newsprint -- all in color for a dime! -- with little to no continuity, because who was going to hang onto these comics? Kids folded them up and stuck them in their back pockets. Issues were traded and shuffled between friends with little thought to which one belonged to which kid, because they only wanted to be able to read more and more of these adventures. And if that meant gathering with the neighborhood kids, throwing this week's issues all into a pile, and pulling out one you hadn't read yet, then so be it. With this disposability also came a lack of forethought as to the longevity of these characters. I don't believe anyone involved with the publishing of those earliest comic books expected the medium to last as long as it has. So the idea of these heroes -- Captain Marvel, Wonder Woman, Hawkman, the Flash -- aging wasn't even a consideration. 

Sure, this too might strain credulity (Batman's still only 29, even though he fought against villains in 1939!), but what else would we fans of the medium want? Sure, the older Bruce Wayne in Batman Beyond is pretty damn cool, but allowing the original heroes to give up the ghost isn't something fans seem inclined to want. I mean, Barry Allen (the original, Silver Age Flash) sacrificed himself in Crisis on Infinite Earths and remained dead for a very long time, almost three decades. And Wally West ably took up the mantle, becoming, in many fans' opinions, a far better character than Barry ever was. But, even Barry was brought back, and is now, today, the primary Flash. It's too bad, because he did mean more as a character, in death, than he ever did in life. But, what're you gonna do? Time in comics doesn't work the same, and the hardest thing to do in these four-color worlds is kill off a character and have them remain dead. 

-chris

CRISIS COUNSELING: some personal background

 

Crisis on Infinite Earths may be the most consequential comic book event, ever. It's certainly the one that's had the most impact on me, as a reader and a fan. And it is, by far, my favorite of the event comics. Maybe that's because -- despite the fact that Marvel's Secret Wars came out the year before -- it's the first major company crossover. It was in the planning stages, and prematurely announced in Dick Giordano's "Meanwhile..." column, before Marvel's Jim Shooter conceived of his Secret War, and it can definitely lay claim to the fact that it had the most impact on its characters and titles, and, by extension, its fans. 

I didn't read Crisis when it was initially published in 1985. I lived in Calais, Maine, just about as far east as you can go in the United States, right on the border with Canada. Calais was a town of roughly 4,000. We had no comic book store -- heck, I'd never heard of comic book stores at this point -- but we had a bookstore that sold comics, which is where I got mine for the most part (you could also find them at the convenience store or the drugstore, as well as at a smaller bookstore in the strip mall across the river, in St. Stephen). I am certain that my local bookstore, Mr. Paperback, did not order Crisis. Because if I had seen that gorgeous George Perez artwork, I would have snatched it up without thinking, and been the happier for it. 

But I was a huge fan of the Flash (secret identity: Barry Allen). Still today, the Flash is my favorite superhero. It started with the Super Friends cartoons. When I started collecting comics in 1984, at age 12, the latest issue of his title was one of the first ones I bought at Mr. Paperback, number 336. Many more were added to the collection later. Many more. But, at some point in 1986 (by my best guess), I was poring through the latest Mile High Comics catalog, looking carefully at the notes next to the individual issues -- notes that would mark a significant character appearance or situation, as well as the names of popular creators who may have written or drawn said issues. As I perused the titles, I came across a note that stated: "Death of the Flash." 

What the what!?!
I had no idea Barry Allen had died. I needed to get this comic (it was issue #8 of Crisis on Infinite Earths). And since it was one chapter of a twelve-chapter series, I had to get them all. I can't remember which of the issues weren't available at that point -- I think #10 may have been one of them -- but I ordered all the back issues that were available and quickly managed to fill in the gaps. Then I read the story. 

Marv Wolfman & George Perez

I was blown away. No, I wasn't familiar with the vast majority of these characters, but I was intrigued. The story by Marv Wolfman propelled along at a blistering pace, and the art by Perez . . . what can I say, it was amazing. I immediately fell in love with his tight, detailed comic art, and he quickly became my favorite superhero artist. And Crisis became one of my all-time favorite stories. It's one that I re-read regularly, every year or two, and it never fails to entertain me. Wolfman & Perez were at the top of their game, when they wrote and drew Crisis, and the effects of this dimension and era-spanning tale were cataclysmic. 

And now, my buddies and I are doing a deep dive into Crisis, with all its crossovers. The first episode of our podcast should be hitting soon, and when it does, I'll let you know. Hope you'll join us for a look back at one of the most important superhero stories in comic history.

Thanks,

chris

Comic Book Making: Lettering & Art working together

With relatively few exceptions, the creation of a comic book is a collaborative effort, especially when discussing work from the larger publishers, Marvel and DC.  Much of their output consists of color comics, and much of it is published on a monthly basis.  For a standard 20-24 page comic, that's a lot of work to get done in a short amount of time.  Which is why a division of labor was formed:  writing, penciling, inking, coloring, lettering.  Parsing out these various aspects of a comic to different specialists allowed the schedules to remain intact, for the most part.  And, though all parts of the comic need to come together in order for it to work, there is an obvious hierarchy, with writing and art at the top and, more so now than ever, the writers even getting higher billing than the artists. 

Anyway, preamble aside, I've been reading some older comics recently and came across examples of "unorthodox" panel layouts in two different issues -- one that didn't work and one that did.  The former was from the Wally West era Flash series, issue #201, and the latter was in Saga of the Swamp Thing annual #2. 

  

Now, comparing anyone's work to that of Alan Moore and his collaborators is almost always a losing proposition and terribly unfair.  But if you want to learn how to do things well, you need to learn from the best, so let's get on with it.  

First, let's look at the page that didn't work.  The issue was published in 2003, written by Geoff Johns, drawn by Alberto Dose, with lettering from Kurt Hathaway.  

An important thing to remember, when dealing with a page layout that does not adhere to any recognizable grid (such as a 2 x 2 panel grid like Kirby would utilize or a 3 x 3 panel grid that epitomized Ditko's Spider-Man and Moore & Gibbons's Watchmen) is that there need to be some way for the reader's eye to smoothly follow the storytelling -- because our natural progression, in western comic and reading in general, is to go left to right, top to bottom; anything outside that norm will necessitate hard work on the part of the creators, to get it right.  That doesn't happen in the above page. 

Looking at that page from the Flash, we start in the upper left corner, obviously, as Wally steps from his car, which is hanging in midair (due to Wally's sped up perceptions as he goes into superspeed mode).  This follows to the tall rectangular panel just to the right, overlapping with the initial panel.  Now, this middle panel at the top also heavily overlaps with the larger panel in the upper right.  Our eyes naturally move in that direction, with nothing to hinder our reading progress . . . BUT this would be wrong.  That "third" panel has Wally already on the ground, looking into the vehicle beneath his own.  We only discover is it the wrong order, though, when we shift our eyes back to the left and find a panel that, in time, falls between that second panel and that large one in the upper right.  The caption box:  "My car's floating in midair." also indicates this panel comes before the one where he sees the driver in the neighboring car.   Nothing -- in the art or the lettering (since that caption box appeared not to be attached to that second panel) -- showed readers they needed to move downward rather than to the right.  So, in reading it out of order first, followed by a need to go back and re-read it correctly, the creators have taken the audience out of the story and any emotional response they may have been attempting to spur in the readership is lost. 

Now, let's look at a less hectic but still unorthodox panel layout in the Swamp Thing annual.   This comic was published in 1985, written by Alan Moore, with art from Stephen Bissette & John Totleben, and lettering by John Costanza. 

In this issue, and all the issues to date that I've re-read, the lettering and art come together in a near perfect harmony to bring these stories to life in a way that few comics, even today, are able to achieve.  There's a reason these comics are stone cold classics, part of that's the writing, part of that is the art, including coloring from Tatjana Wood, and part of that is the lettering. 

On this page, we start, as we always do, in the upper left corner.  Deadman is hovering above Swamp Thing as they talk.  This panel leads into the tall panel at the right, which overlaps the first and third.  Of course, our eye naturally moves this way, but just to emphasize the reading of this page, Deadman's hand leaks into that second panel.  There, we have a double-image, wherein we see Deadman and Swampy walking through the nether-realm as a ghost-image of Deadman's face looms above them, speaking.  His word balloons wrap through the image of the two characters, leading directly to the third panel, where Swamp Thing's speech balloons lead directly off from Deadman's in panel two.  Note that, in these first three panels, not only have the word balloons directed our eyes through the reading order of these panels, but the figures also snake through in the direction we should be reading.  Deadman's response in this panel falls outside that "arrow" but, again, we have the art to lead us into the next panel, which is the tall, rectangular one at the lower left.  Not only does Deadman's arm once again point us to the next panel to be read, but the slight overlap of that panel into the third one also pulls us toward it.  And then, once again, we have the characters turned around, facing toward the right, which leads us into the final panel. 

Certainly, this page wasn't as complex as the Flash panel, but it adhered to some fairly "unspoken rules" about comic art, which is to have the images in the panels leading readers in the correct reading order, and adding to this clarity of expression is the lettering from Costanza, who masterfully weaves the word balloons through this page, and other similarly expressive pages, to keep the audience engaged with the story and not having to pause and think about which panel they need to go to next. 

And if you're looking for another example of masterful art and lettering that provides a clarify of expression in an unorthodox panel layout, check out my earlier post on Sam Kieth's Aliens work, here.  It's pretty interesting (the page layout if not the explanation from me), in my opinion.

ADDENDUM for A Fistful of Comic Book Annuals – a new #2

Thirty-plus years of collecting comics, with 17 near-capacity longboxes and counting, means there are some holes in my memory as to what I own and what I’ve read (two different things).  As a result, a glaring omission was made in my recent post, A Fistful of Comic Book Annuals.  Not only did I leave off one of my top 5 comic book annuals, I actually left off the one I would put at number 2—Secret Origins Annual #2, from 1987 (no surprise there).

This second annual looks at the origins of the two most famous scarlet speedsters—Barry Allen and Wally West.  First, readers get to sit in on Wally West’s hour with his therapist, as he works to rediscover the speed he has lost since taking on the mantel of the Flash.  Over the course of the story, written by then-regular Flash scribe, William Messner-Loebs, with art from Mike Collins, Wally shares his origin along with many of the highlights of his superhero career.  His therapist laughs at much of it, at the ridiculousness of some of the scenarios, and then asks the most important question—does Wally feel as if he’s unable to live up to Barry’s ideal, made more overwhelming with his death?  In a telling scene, the therapist asks Wally to tally up the number of people he’s saved in the course of the past year, and Wally comes up with a total of hundreds.  And yet, he feels as if he’s not doing enough, that Barry would be disappointed.  Meanwhile, the therapist discusses the one time he saved someone from drowning, how the glow of that act stayed with him for weeks, and feels that, maybe, Wally should allow that the people he has saved might think differently about his ability as a superhero. 

This desire, on Wally’s part, to get back the speed he’s lost, to be better, to live up to Barry’s memory, something impossible for anyone to achieve, became the thematic spine of the main Flash series for years afterward, propelling the narratives, and Wally’s characterization, forward, and making him, in my (and many others’) opinion, the best Flash DC comics ever had.  And the idea that did the most to propagate that reality was born here. 

In the second half of this annual, we get the origin of Barry Allen, the second Flash and predecessor to Wally.  More vibrant in death—Barry’s sacrifice in issue 8 of Crisis on Infinite Earths, as he ran faster than he’d ever run, in order to destroy the Anti-Monitor’s cannon—this origin, from writer Robert Loren Fleming and classic Flash artist, Carmine Infantino, with inks by Murphy Anderson, offers little in the way of “secrets.”  Much of Flash’s life from his long-lived series was well-known, and there were relatively few nuggets for Fleming to unearth.  But the story hums along nicely, aided masterfully by Infantino’s elastic, flowing linework that epitomizes, for me, the Flash (no comic artist has ever done super-speed as well as Infantino).  Until the end, as readers watch Flash race against the Anti-Monitor’s cannon again, the combination of anti-matter and insane speeds reached by Barry sending him, or an astral image, back through time, touching, again, on many of the important scenes from his life.  And then, as he approaches that fateful day when lightning struck Barry and showered him in the chemicals that made him the Flash, he discovers that, all along, he was that lightning bolt, propelled back in time by his sacrifice.  And, once more, the Flash was off and running to battle the bad guys of Central City.  

A Fistful of Comic Book Annuals

NOTE: an addendum has been made to this post.  You can see above (if you're reading this soon after publication), or check here for the new #2 annual in my personal top 5.  

Conceived and used with the permission of Matthew Constantine and Brad Gullickson, the original dorks.  Everyone has a Top 5, but A Fistful just sounds way damn cooler.

Note:  This post fueled by Nostalgia ^TM 

Inspired by a recent Comic Geek Speak episode, in which the gang waxed rhapsodic about their own five favorite comic book annuals, here are my top five. 

 5 
 6. Psi-Force annual #1 (1987), written by Danny Fingeroth, art by Mark Texeira

Marvel’s New Universe was about the strangeness, and the heroes, right outside your door.  Unencumbered by a quarter-century (then) of continuity, with stories taking place in disparate American cities, it really felt that way.  Despite the bad rap the New Universe has gotten, in retrospect, I love Psi-Force, without reservation or irony, and this annual, at the end of its first year of publication, shook up the status quo in a dramatic way, with one of the regular team members choosing to leave, in order to allow the team’s former enemy, Thomas Boyd—now on the run from the clandestine organization hunting these kids, with which he worked to try and capture Psi-Force.  The writing is a bit rough, though not Claremontian-rough, but the story is solid with beautiful art from Mark Texeira, early in his career.  This story, upending the status quo in the manner it does, feels big and important, worthy of an oversized annual.

 4 
 5. The Flash Annual #1 (1987), written by Mike Baron, art by Jackson Guice & Larry Mahlstedt

The Flash is my favorite superhero, and when the title returned, albeit with Wally West rather than Barry Allen, on the heels of Legends, I was excited.  This annual, published after only four issues of the regular series, takes Wally to Hong Kong, where he looks to learn how to harness his chi, in order to control Dim Mak, the death touch he exhibited in the opening of the issue.  It’s a fun story that showcases Flash’s impatience (he’s got superspeed, get it?) as well as expanding on a major theme that runs through the bulk of the Wally West run—that of Wally learning how to be a hero, as well as a man, and coming to terms with the grave responsibility thrust upon him when his Uncle Barry died in the Crisis.  Though they would never return to this aspect of Wally’s powers, it helps lay the groundwork for much that followed…and it was damn cool to infuse the Scarlet Speedster with some zen mysticism and martial arts. 

 3 
 4. Justice League of America annual #2 (1984), written by Gerry Conway, art by Chuck Patton & Dave Hunt

“The End of the Justice League!”  Frustrated at members unwilling to give their all to the league, Aquaman, as acting chairman and the only founding member still active full-time, disbands the Justice League.  Many of the current roster protest, like Firestorm and Green Arrow, but very few of them are able to give themselves to the league full-time.  So, it is settled.  Except for Zatanna’s and Elongated Man’s desire to continue with the league coupled with the surprising return of J’onn J’onnz, the Martian Manhunter.  With this core, including Aquaman, a new league could be formed from the ashes, and they set about with that in mind.  Through the rest of this story, this rejuvenated JLA gets a new headquarters in Detroit and a number of new members, including Vixen, Steel, Vibe, and Gypsy.  It’s JLDetroit, baby!  Like the Psi-Force annual above, JLA annual #2 shook up the status quo and delivered a story that felt important and dramatic, worthy of an annual.  From here, Conway & Patton, with Luke McDonnell coming on later as artist, would chart a brand new course for the Justice League, sans the “big guns” of Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, et al., and take some chances.  There are many who look no this short era of the league with disdain, but after the Bwa-ha-ha version that would follow, this is “my Justice League.” 

 2 
 3. G.I. Joe Yearbook #3 (1987), written by Larry Hama, art by Ron Wagner, Mike Zeck, et al.

The first comic book I collected was G.I. Joe.  Loved it.  Still love it.  Larry Hama’s infusion of grand soap operatic plotting with complex political machinations and intertwined backstories, combined with over-the-top villains, similarly colorful heroes, super-secret bases and weapons, and all-out action made, and makes, for some great comics.  This story, “Hush Job,” is another important one worthy of an annual.  Snake-Eyes, having infiltrated Cobra disguised as Flint, was discovered and subdued, and is now being held in Cobra’s consulate building in New York City.  Scarlet and Storm Shadow decide to go in and rescue him.  There are ninjas, Dr. Mindbender, Baroness, bullets, bombs, and action, all told without dialogue, as in issue #21.  Ron Wagner’s art is wonderful, detailed and uncluttered, with some great choreography for the fight scenes.  There’s drama and emotion, as Storm Shadow battles to free his friend while Scarlett is discovered by the Baroness in the lower levels of the building, and the final twist, though questionable from a plot standpoint, still works—it’s G.I. Joe, come on.  Add a bunch of extras, including lengthy summaries of the past year’s cartoon and comic book adventures, pin-ups from Mike Zeck, and a short story in the back drawn by Zeck that recounts how a Roman praetor utilized the invention of pizza to defeat the Gauls, and you have a full comic that was well worth the cover price. 


NEW #2. 

see here for the full post on this issue.

1. Superman annual #11 (1984), written by Alan Moore, art by Dave Gibbons. 

“For the Man Who Has Everything.”  The best single-issue Superman story ever told, in my opinion.  Mongul has come to Earth to defeat Superman, on the day he celebrates his birthday, bringing an alien plant, the Black Mercy, as his weapon.  Attaching itself to its victim, the Black Mercy puts the victim into a catatonic state by offering up an alternate reality where the victim’s greatest wishes come true, offering a virtual reality the victim does not wish to leave.  Batman, Wonder Woman, and Robin, come to the Fortress of Solitude to celebrate Kal-El’s birthday, happen upon this and work to save their friend.  It does not go well, as Wonder Woman battles Mongul while Batman & Robin attempt to free Superman from the Black Mercy’s clutches. 

Superman is lost in a world where Krypton did not blow up, where he had the chance for a family, a wife and children, and where everything was perfect…almost.  It’s an idyllic setting, until rifts start to show, rifts in the political realities of this Krypton that are revealed due to Superman’s psyche fighting the alien plant.  He knows this isn’t right, knows he must return to Earth to be the hero he was born to be.  And, in the end, Kal-El gives up this life, gives up his home, his wife, his kids, and leaves them to return to his true reality.  But, when he comes to—as the plant jumps to Batman, plunging him into a reality where his parents were not killed in that dark alley—Superman is left with all the memories of the family he never had, and the pain he felt at leaving them behind.  He is mad.  And he takes it out on Mongul. 

Their battle is mean and destructive and all too human.  And that is what Moore, and Gibbons, brought to this tale, the truest sense of humanity, and the pain concomitant his parents’ sacrifice, that I’ve ever seen in a Superman story.  Dave Gibbons, a master comic artist, brings it all to life in a way that accentuates this humanity, grounding it all with his precise linework.  “For the Man Who Has Everything” is a master class in doing a poignant, engaging, and entertaining, done-in-one comic story that will make you think and illuminate the characters on the page.  This is a great comic that you must read, if you want to call yourself a real comic fan. 

-chris

FLASH LEVELS UP [Why The Flash part 6 of 5]

  

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I’m not one to watch things in a timely fashion.  Family (being a father and a husband) and writing come first.  And reading, that’s ahead of watching TV and movies.  This means I am rarely “in the loop” with what’s happening.  But the launch of Daredevil on Netflix spurred me to go back and catch up on some recent Flash episodes. 

Okay, let’s backtrack.  [apologies: wordy bitch ahead]

The rush of adulation for Daredevil on Netflix, at least in my little corner of the internet, has been overwhelming.  Marvel does it again!  That hallway fight scene is the best in a decade!  I can’t wait for more!  Got the character right!  And, according to some (okay, one person), Daredevil is the best show since “The Wire.”  Yes, I heard that on a podcast I enjoy listening to.  I watched the first episode.  It took me four nights.  And I was not engaged to watch anymore after that.  Nothing against the creators—I think they did a fine job translating the grim ‘n gritty Daredevil to television, though there were some campy-feeling moments, particularly with the brooooaaaaadddd villains.  These are not nuanced characters, ala The Wire.  But it’s a comic book adaptation, we don’t need nuance.  Anyway.  I’m not here to hate on the thing.  It is well done, and it is “real.”  But it’s not what I want in my superheroes right now.  Grim ‘n gritty is fine, but remember, there are other tones and palettes available to you as a creator. 

Which brings me to the CW’s Flash. 

I watched the first four episodes and enjoyed them, but as I state above, my time is limited and I fell off that train.  [full disclosure time, if you didn’t know this, the Flash is my favorite all-time  superhero].  But I read about the Flash’s recent travails and travels through time, and that piqued my interest.  Then all of this gushing over DD, and my lack of interest in it, got me to casting my eye back across the spectrum to the Flash.  So, I dove back in with those time travel episodes:  “Out of Time” and “Rogue Time.” 

Wow!  They leveled up with these two episodes.  I’m impressed with how much of the comic book mythology the creators and the network have been willing to include in this series.  We have the rogues, with their crazy costumes and powers, a villain from the future secretly hiding in their midst, the promise (possibly) of other lesser-known superheroes like Firestorm and Vibe, and now we finally see the Flash manage to go back in time.  This is some fun stuff ß emphasis on “FUN.” 

“Out of Time”
I loved this episode.  The way things played out did not feel forced at all.  The threat of Mark Mardon [the Weather Wizard “been waitin’ to use that since week one”], the investigation into Harrison Wells at Iris’s newspaper, the devastation wreaked by Mardon, the death of Cisco at Wells’s hand, it all held my interest, and the pain suffered by Joe West and Captain Singh felt real.  Then, when we got to the end and Barry had to stop the tidal wave by running back and forth so fast that he would create a wind that would dissipate the wave’s energy and he ended up rushing through a wormhole to twenty-four hours in the past—that was pretty great.  But the best moment of the entire episode, for me, was when he revealed his heroic identity to Iris. That moment hit me right in the gut.  His line [paraphrased] “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this,” and the reaction shot as Barry quick-changed and rushed to save the city…beautiful. 

“Rogue Time”

So, now that Barry has rushed back, a day into the past, he feels he must try to head off all the destruction he knows is coming.  He throws Mark Mardon into the “prison” they’ve set up at S.T.A.R. Labs and figures all is good.  Dr. Wells warns him that time will find a way to set things right.  And he is correct.  Heat Wave and Captain Cold return, bringing along Leonard Snart’s little sister, who becomes the Golden Glider—or a replica thereof as she’s not properly named in this episode and does not come with ice skates as her counterpart did in the comics.  And things do not go well.  Barry manages to save many from the physical harm they encountered the last time he ran through this day, but he is not safe from the emotional fallout of restating his affection for Iris—who admitted her own love for him when her father’s life and the lives of all of Central City were at stake the “previous day” but did not feel similarly in this renewed day.  It’s an interesting look at the consequences of mucking with the timeline, in this reality, as well as a fix for the death of Cisco and other bits of collateral damage from the previous episode that works perfectly in this context.  Oh, and we get Captain Cold and Heat Wave with new guns, thanks to their kidnapping of Cisco, along with the Golden Glider’s gun as well.  And the Rogues Gallery gets named.  Yeah, I’m geeking out.  But this show is so damn fun. 

The difference between Flash and Daredevil comes down to the tone of the show, really.  And right now, I’m looking for something other than what has become the default for many, many superhero comics of the past couple decades.  I love how bright this show is, how ebullient a character Barry Allen is.  There are still serious things happening, but it’s all coated with the wonder and excitement of a superhero comic book.  And that, to me, makes all the difference in the world.

WHY THE FLASH [final part] – Wally West

Within a year-and-a-half of discovering comic books, my favorite superhero, the Flash, was gone from the spinner racks.  Barry Allen had slogged through the lengthy “Trial of the Flash” storyline – by many accounts a story that was far too grim and went on for far too long – and sales were poor.  So, with the 350^th issue, the powers that be axed the title.  The progenitor of the Silver Age of comics was now cast adrift.  A year later, the Flash was accorded a proper send-off with the eighth issue of Crisis on Infinite Earths, wherein Barry Allen gave the ultimate sacrifice for the good of humankind.  And with the final issue of that senses shattering maxi-series, the mantle was passed to the Flash’s sidekick, Wally West, who, as Kid Flash, had proved his mettle alongside his teammates in the Teen Titans.  But Wally had a huge legacy to live up to.

The new Flash series was launched out of the Legends mini-series, with Mike Baron and Jackson Guice as guiding hands.  Though uncommon, this passing of the torch was not unheard of.  In fact, Barry Allen, once imbued with the power of superspeed, patterned himself off the original Flash, Jay Garrick, whom Allen believed to be merely a comic book character from his own youth, until circumstances brought these two fleet heroes together – a newfound ability to traverse parallel dimensions through extreme speed the catalyst for this historic team-up.  The idea of heroic legacy is (or was) a linchpin in the DC universe, something that differentiated these heroes from Marvel’s, and it was this that spurred Wally to take up the gold and scarlet costume of his mentor, and uncle. 

Immediately, Baron & Guice worked to make this new Flash distinct from those who came before.  Wally was young, brash, and, at times, unthinking – decidedly different from Uncle Barry, who was a criminologist with the Central City police, a job necessitating meticulous care, a trait inherent in Barry.  Wally also had limitations to his speed, unable to slip between dimensions or circle the globe multiple times in the blink of an eye, unlike the seemingly limitless nature of his predecessor’s velocity.  Perhaps most importantly, Wally found himself weighed down by the example Barry set as the Flash.  It was a heroic standard that many would find daunting and unable to live up to.  Wally pushed himself, but always, in the back of his mind, he imagined Barry looking down on him with disappointment.  Though this yoke of responsibility spurred Wally to work harder as the Flash, it also was something he found unable to shake off. 

This weight of responsibility came to a head in Secret Origins Annual #2, in a story written by Baron’s successor on the title, William Messner-Loebs.  In this tale, Wally is speaking with his therapist, relating not only his origin but also many of the turning points in his life as a superspeedster.  Through the anecdotes, readers, and Wally’s therapist, learn about many of the heroic deeds he has accomplished during his young life.  It’s an amazing tale of an amazing life, one to be greatly admired.  However, Wally doesn’t see it in these terms.  His focus is on all of the lives he could not save, in spite of his extraordinary powers.  When the therapist asks Wally to write down how many people he’s saved in the past ten years – excepting intergalactic conflagrations or universe-shattering threats – and his patient treats the number, 172, as routine, he is left dumbfounded.  The therapist shares a thought – that maybe Wally isn’t able to achieve the speeds he once could (the reason Wally is seeing this therapist) because he has wrongly burdened himself with the belief that Barry would not be proud of him.  He tells Wally he needs to give himself a break and accept that 172 lives saved is an important achievement. 

As the series evolved, a family of speedsters, including Max Mercury, Johnny Quick, and others, grew around Wally to help him become a better hero and a better person.  And, in keeping with the youthful exuberance of Wally’s character, there was often a lighter tone to many of the stories.  It’s a fun series that sees a young hero grow into his own through experience and the natural process of maturing.  At its core, it is this personal struggle, and the evolution of the character of Wally West, that makes this run of books such a standout and the character of Wally West so great. 

With a string of extraordinary writers who each put their stamp on the character – from Baron and Messner-Loebs to Mark Waid, Grant Morrison, and Geoff Johns – and strong work from artists such as Guice, Greg Larocque, Mike Wieringo, and Scott Kolins, there are a number of highlights in the nearly 250 issues of this series.  Those highlights and the intriguing character dynamic of Wally West, along with the foundation created by the wholesome and unselfish character of Barry Allen, are the core of what made the Flash my favorite superhero.  Hands down.  And it is why I still have a great affinity for the scarlet speedster.  Go try out some of those back issues.  If you enjoy fun, energetic superhero comics, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

-chris

WHY THE FLASH [part 3.5] – The Rogues

 

Abra Kadabra

 

Weather Wizard

A hero is only as good as his or her greatest villain – Sherlock & Moriarty, Superman & Lex Luthor, Ripley & the Alien.  And for my money, with perhaps the exceptions of Batman and Spider-Man, the Flash has the best rogues gallery in superhero comics. 

Heat Wave

Captain Cold

I am more than willing to concede that my love of Flash’s cadre of villainy can easily be traced to my affinity for this heroic speedster, but that’s what this series of posts is about.  So, objection overruled.  What can’t be argued is that Flash’s classic rogues gallery is the one group of super-villains identified, collectively, as “The Rogues.”  Batman’s iconic rogues are not accorded that honorific, nor are Superman’s or Spidey’s, despite similarly well-known villains.  This is significant, because it puts them in a rarefied class of comic book supervillainy.

Captain Boomerang

 

Gorilla Grodd

Most, if not all, of the notable rogues are silver age creations.  This means they are colorful and flamboyant, with a hint of whimsy bubbling just under their villainous facades.  This is part of what I love about them – the pseudo-science involved, the Rube Goldbergian complexity of their plans, the flashy costumes (pun intended), and the inventive ways in which they would try to slow down their speedy nemesis.  Maybe they weren’t as deadly as other villains, though they sometimes tried to be, but they were always a challenge, a challenge that could captivate and engage the minds of the readership.

 

The Trickster

The Pied Piper

In the Wally West Flash series, writers Bill Messner-Loebs and Mark Waid appropriated and rehabilitated some of these classic rogues to battle, or aid, Barry’s nephew.  Later, Geoff Johns would take many of these characters and craft stories infusing them with a darker side intended to enhance their relevance, a feat he seems to have achieved – in the too few stories of his I’ve read –without losing what makes them cool. 

Mirror Master

Reverse Flash

It has been far too long since I’ve read a bunch of Flash comics, so going into much more detail than the pitifully thin bits I’ve scattered above is beyond me.  I would just say that you should seek out some of the classic Flash issues with these characters battling our crimson and gold hero – whether the Barry Allen run or the Wally West run – because they are some damn fun comics.  Then, I would argue, you’ll better understand the draw of these four-color villains.

-chris