Leather Fetish

I’m currently in the process on working on a fairly epic series with Marvel.com video whiz Rich “The Dragon” Herrera that should hopefully be up in the next couple weeks on the site in time for the 600th issue of Fantastic Four. Without giving away the game, we’ve got about three hours or so of footage interviewing Tom Brevoort about the history of the FF from start to finish with plenty of anecdotes and neat facts along the way. It was basically like taking a master class in Marvel from a gent very qualified teach it and one of the cooler experiences I’ve had in a very cool career.

One of my favorite bits from the whole thing, oddly enough, was when we got to the 90’s and Tom spent a substantial spot of time talking about the period where the Fantastic Four got leather jackets and specifically that The Human Torch had a leather jacket (“Was he cold? He’s on fire!”). Tom of course acknowledged that the folks working on the book at the time, Tom DeFalco and Paul Ryan, were just going with the general trend in the industry at the time, but as those were the comics coming out when I was a kid and I was part of the audience who more or less said “we would like to see The Human Torch in a leather jacket,” it got me thinking (again).

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again (right now, in fact): If you wanted your comic book character to look cool in the 90’s, you gave them a leather jacket with option of earring, ponytail and possible razor stubble. But did “looking cool” actually translate to “being cool”? Heck, did it even look cool? Let’s examine…

FANTASTIC FOUR
Y’know, from a functional standpoint (if not a fashion one), leather jackets really aren’t that out of place on the Fantastic Four. After all, they’re more explorers than super heroes at heart, so it does make a degree of sense they’d want plenty of pockets to carry around gear for wherever they’re headed and whatever they’ll encounter so they can always be prepared (and also stay warm, I suppose). Although Tom is right that a jacket offers very little use to the Torch, since he’s got built in weaponry and it would take excess time to treat anything he’s going to be carrying around or picking up in asbestos or whatever. And The Thing would never actually use anything but his fists so long as those are handy, plus he’ll tear through those suckers frequently enough to make the Hulk’s purple pants budget look frugal. And a jacket would actually hinder The Invisible Woman since at least part of her power hinges on not being noticed, which becomes more difficult with something making noise, causing wind resistance, etc. Ok, so maybe Mister Fantastic could wear a leather jacket from a functional standpoint.

WONDER WOMAN
Covered this recently, but the answer is no, Wonder Woman should not wear a leather jacket (in my opinion). Her gear is more than just a costume, it’s a uniform; the honor guard of a proud people symbolizing their greatest champion yada yada yada. You can alter it slightly (as has been done currently), but in story there’s a certain level of prestige and heritage that’s integral to Diana’s character, while on a real world level Wonder Woman has one the most recognizable costumes in comics and you shouldn’t be covering that up with a leather jacket (or bike shorts). To be fair, there was a very valid story reason why she wore what she wore—she wasn’t Wonder Woman anymore so keeping the garb would be disrespectful to her mother and her people—plus it was only ever designed to be a short term gig, but Diana should never be a slave to fashion trends.

THE X-MEN
X-Men and leather go together like peanut butter and jelly; it’s a beautiful and symbiotic relationship. In the 80’s, you had Mohawk Storm’s gear, in the 90’s you had the brown jackets that carried over from the comics to the animated series, and this century you had the black and yellow (and white) gear Frank Quitely introduced. It’s my belief that the reason the X-Men floundered commercially in the 60’s and early 70’s was not due to lack of Wolverine, but because they were hung up on spandex. Also, Gambit would probably curl up in the fetal position and weep if you took his duster away from him, and that’s a story nobody wants to see (unless Mike Carey has a really good angle on it, maybe).

SUPERBOY
A thousand times yes. That Superboy to this day is not sporting a leather jacket, an earring, John Lennon sunglasses and a fade cut is a crime against fashion. And since he was supposed to be not that much older than me when he was introduced, it made total sense he would emulate the same looks I did (particularly when his genetic role model had a mullet). I only wish his aesthetic dynamic had stopped aging along with his physical body.

THE AVENGERS
No.

THE LEGION OF SUPER-HEROES
There are aspects of the Five Years Later run of Legion of Super-Heroes that I enjoy, but on the whole, making the best bright and shiny future in comics into the typical dystopian fare was a misstep. It felt wrong all the way to the way the characters dressed, since colorful attire with potent symbolism was central to the “carrying on for the greatest heroes ever” Legion conceit while the drab gear the FYL crew wore signaled how out of place they were. Only Ultra Boy and Timber Wolf are street enough to rock leather jackets (Karate Kid could if he wanted to, but he would never want to).

CAPTAIN AMERICA
What I said about Wonder Woman, probably magnified. Cap is literally draped in the American flag; play that all out, or don’t play it at all. Covering up the symbol he’s proud/brazen enough to wear in that manner is not Steve Rogers at all. He’s also all about grace and agility, so all that extra weight is no good (again, there was a reasonable story reason, and the character was actually against the change, but it was still not so hot).

NIGHTWING
Actually never wore a leather jacket, but he made a disco collar and mullet reasonably cool well past their respective expiration dates, so if anybody is gonna bring it back, Dick Grayson is the man. Also: pixie boots.

The Definitives: The Silver Surfer

The Silver Surfer occupies an interesting place in the broad spectrum of classic characters created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby during their landmark run on Fantastic Four. Like the Inhumans, he’s an exotic character who makes for an impactful guest star. However, like The Black Panther, he’s also a figure with depth and an intriguing background who can sustain his own mythology to a degree. It’s tempting to write him off as somebody who works better weaving in and out of series starring other folks and existing on the fringe of the Marvel Universe—and he’s not in lousy company in this regard when it comes to many of the Lee/Kirby inventions from said FF stint—but he’s got quite a few quality stories centered around him as the protagonist.

I met the Surfer during his 90’s solo series, so for me, he was a cosmic hero first and foremost and I wouldn’t learn about his earthbound years or even the sacrificial first appearance that defined him until much later. It speaks to his versatility that he can succeed in either environment; however, it’s also perhaps a commentary on his limitations that he gets shuffled back and forth between Earth and space, between opposing Galactus and serving him, as he gets into a rut if his dynamic doesn’t get changed up every now and again.

At his best, the Surfer is a hero, an enigma, a warrior, a philosopher, a savior, a harbinger of doom and more. Here are some stories that showcase his various sides.

The Galactus Trilogy (FANTASTIC FOUR v1 #48-50)
Few characters whose first appearance is not also their origin are so vitally linked to that story as The Silver Surfer. The Galactus Trilogy is a classic for many reasons, but setting up the Surfer as a different kind of Marvel hero with a compelling mystique about him is one of the chief among those. He makes his debut as a menacing alien heavy that embodies the idea of “the other” and ends the story as a hugely sympathetic underdog we wish we could be more like. The Surfer’s discovery of humanity, his empathy, and his transformation underscore the big action and amazing art, tying a “when we’re at our best, we’re worth saving” moral to the story.

SILVER SURFER v1
Not to cross brands here, but the Surfer’s initial 18-issue series from the 70’s, written by Stan Lee and illustrated largely by John Buscema, really is the character’s most essential tales. Out the gate, we get the origin of our hero, how Norrin Radd became The Silver Surfer, sacrificing love and a big chunk of his own morality in order to serve the greater good; that the character went years with this motivation for his actions in his first appearance as a question mark is pretty wild. That opening salvo is followed up by an exploration of both the Surfer’s exile on Earth as well as his past on Zenn-La, including the introduction of Shalla Bal to create one of Marvel’s most unsung (literally) star-crossed romances. You also get the genesis of Mephisto, that legendary first Surfer-Thor brawl with stellar Buscema art, and other classic stuff. Sometimes Lee hits the angle of the Surfer not understanding humanity’s violent ways a little too hard and too often, but when it scores it scores big.

SILVER SURFER v2 by Steve Englehart
The Surfer series that ran through the late 80’s and into the 90’s had him off of Earth and back soaring through the spaceways. I started reading regularly during Ron Marz’s tenure as writer, which had some cool stuff, and I just missed a Jim Starlin run I’ve always wanted to get around to, but the stuff that sticks with me is Steve Englehart’s work at the start. I definitely recall distinctly the period where the Surfer was entering into an awkward romance with Nova (the chick, not the real one), trying to quell intergalactic wars between the Kree and Skrulls, and dressing up as a pirate to go undercover among a crew of lizard people. It was weird, it was wild and it was ambitious—it was everything stories about a shiny demigod riding through space on a surfboard needed to be and presented a nice counterpoint to the claustrophobic 70’s stories where the Surfer couldn’t venture outside his earthly prison. Slick art from the late Marshall Rogers didn’t hurt either.

SILVER SURFER: REQUIEM
I’ve got a whole entry on this underrated beauty.

“On the Last Day” (NOVA v4 #13-15)
During the first Annihilation, Keith Giffen made the bold move to put the Surfer back as Galactus’ herald for the first time since his introduction (I think, please correct me if I’m wrong) and this was, to my opinion, the story that best played off that change in status quo. The premise is pretty simple: The Surfer leads Galactus to an inhabited planet and warns the folks living there to evacuate, Nova wants to save said planet from being eaten, Nova and the Surfer fight. There’s another plot about a body-possessing serial killer, but for me that good stuff is writers Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning digging into the psyche of the Surfer when he is not turning on Galactus to save the little people. They do a nice job showing the nuances of the character in part not caring because his value system has again been dulled, but also retaining a shred of that compassion and wavering the slightest bit in his duty. The Nova vs Surfer battle is great as the kind of underdog story I dig—Nova is nowhere near Surfer’s league—and because Wellinton Alves does wonderful work depicting it, but the moral debate and contemplation over the greatest good is the meaty stuff, really showing how complex The Silver Surfer is.

Fantastic Four: The Animated Series
The FF side of the Marvel Action Hour from the mid-90’s had very little going for it aside from a hilarious theme song and Brian Austin Green rapping as The Human Torch, but a pretty spot-on adaptation of the Galactus Trilogy is one of the series’ few treats. The animation is not pretty, but the folks responsible for the show do a very nice job with the story, and this was in fact the first place I experienced it in any fashion, so that’s certainly something worth noting.

First Impressions: Fantastic Four

My first memory of the Fantastic Four is The Human Torch; not Johnny Storm, mind you, but The Human Torch; and to be fair, not really of the Fantastic Four.

The same way I knew The Flash and Iron Man without actually knowing who they were as a kid, I knew The Human Torch. I had no concept of who was under those flames and certainly no idea that he was part of something called the Fantastic Four, but I recognized—and dug—that a guy colored red with little black lines running up and down him and underwear you could still see underneath meant he was on fire and a super hero (even though just about every artist since the late 90’s has gone over to depicting a slightly more “realistic” version of the Torch’s flamed on form, in my mind the black lines and yellow eyes ala Kirby will always be what I default to).

Truth be told, I’m even less sure than usual how I came to know The Human Torch. Usually my gut goes with thinking I must have watched a cartoon and picked it up, but the Torch was infamously left out of the late 70’s animated series because the powers that be thought young viewers might light themselves on fire and was replaced by H.E.R.B.I.E. I know I watched the 90’s FF portion of the Marvel Action Hour, but I definitely was drawing the Torch before I was 12. Maybe I saw a toy or a t-shirt? Not sure, but regardless, I knew who The Human Torch was before I knew who or what the Fantastic Four were.

Sometime later, still before I read my first FF comic but also definitely aware I became aware of The Human Torch, The Thing came on my radar. Again, I’m not quite sure how it happened, but certainly Marvel characters were licensed all over the place dating back to when I was a kid, so it’s not unlikely I saw a lunchbox or whatever and the two most visually striking characters jumped out at me while the others receded into the background; honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my established childhood fascination with the colors red and yellow—it wasn’t a coincidence Flash and Iron Man were my earlier examples—drew my eye first to the Torch, but surely the big dude with the dinosaur head made of rocks proved an irresistible lure to my young eyes.

I got my first Fantastic Four comic in a grab bag from the grocery store in 1988. I was six years old and it was issue #314, written by Steve Englehart, drawn by Keith Pollard, sporting a cover from Ron Frenz and edited by my recently-retired former co-worker Ralph Macchio. Belasco was the bad guy and the blurb next to him on front reading “From the pages of the X-Men” no doubt increased my excitement to read the book. I don’t remember much about the story other than that the FF were fighting demons, the sky was on fire at some point and a blind lady who was married to The Human Torch was really worried about him.

Oh, and the roster of the Fantastic Four was The Thing, The Human Torch, Ms. Marvel in her “She-Thing” incarnation and, of course…Crystal.

Again, recall that The Thing and The Human Torch were the only FF characters I knew; I had some vague idea that there was supposed to be a stretchy guy and a girl on the team, but I assumed Crystal was the girl and maybe I made the stretchy guy up or he was actually on the Justice League. It seemed odd to me that there was a female Thing, but I didn’t know any better so I assumed she had always been there; likewise, The Thing being extra mutated didn’t faze me because I was at least familiar with the concept of new costumes.

As far as I knew, The Thing, The Human Torch, Ms. Marvel and Crystal had been the Fantastic Four for over 300 issues.

Like some sort of crazy therapy hypnosis session, I do believe writing this blog entry has helped me recall exactly when my hatred for Crystal began. Like I said, there’s a scene in this issue where Alicia Masters—Johnny’s blind wife whose name I did not know at the time—is freaking out with the rest of the world’s population because the sky is on fire and she’s worried about her husband. On the flipside, the Torch keeps saying how worried he is about his wife since they’re underground fighting demons and he doesn’t know what’s happened to her. In the midst of this, Crystal keeps hitting on Johnny and wanting to talk about why he won’t get with her despite him repeatedly telling her to knock it off.

At six years old, with no knowledge of continuity or that Crystal had a husband of her own she was mistreating or a kid she had ditched to chase after her old boyfriend, I understood enough about the basic dynamics of marriage to know that this bimbo was bad news. I was a really smart kid.

Looking back, while I would gradually track down further issues of comics my dad would randomly bring me home in grab bags like X-Men and Spider-Man, it would be years before I ever got into reading Fantastic Four, and I think I now know why. While I’m sure there were merits to this particular version of the book, to a kid, all I saw was a super hero team with nothing to set it apart other than a reduced roster. Why would I want to read about only four characters when I could instead pick up Avengers or Justice League and see many more? Besides, two strong ugly characters seemed redundant and I didn’t understand Crystal’s powers.

It really goes to show how intrinsic to the value of the Fantastic Four that family dynamic is. I’ve since gone back and read the really good FF stuff—Lee/Kirby, Byrne, Waid/Wieringo, etc.—and gained a whole new appreciation for it as an adult because it’s so different. The banter, heightened emotions and genuine affection the core characters trade or feel for one another puts the FF on a level apart from all those other teams. Even now, while the Torch may be gone and the Four have become the Future Foundation with Spider-Man and a half dozen kids in tow, that feeling of family and casual closeness as opposed to the professionalism of the Justice League or office politics of the Avengers gives FF its own identity I couldn’t see from my first Fantastic Four experience.

As a bit of a postscript, I finally gave Fantastic four another shot around 1994 when the new cartoon was rapping its way into my heart thanks to Brian Austin Green. The Thing was sporting a mask, The Invisible Woman wore a bathing suit, and Mr. Fantastic was dead, replaced alternately by Namor and the Scot Lang version of Ant-Man. So while I considered myself a pretty hardcore Marvel fan by the mid 90’s, I still had no idea who Reed Richards was.

Underrated/Overlooked: 1602: Fantastick Four

Neil Gaiman’s 1602 and the sequels it spawned are stories that involve incredible occurrences and unearthly shows of power taking place in a time ill-equipped to explain them as anything other than witchcraft, but when you got down to it, they were really about seeing which enduring Marvel figures could swim rather than sink on the strength of character alone.

1602 focuses on the Marvel pantheon of the Silver Age, a group whose collective origins generally came from atomic experimentation gone awry and other radioactive catastrophes we’d probably dismiss as hokey were they used as start points today, but at the time both fit into the tropes of popular science fiction and reacted to the general populace’s fears when it came to nuclear Armageddon and the like. In 1963, getting bit by an irradiated spider or caught in a gamma blast played on real world anxiety while also fitting into a fictional tapestry that somehow projected reason into the most unlikely of places.

Take those same origins and try to apply them in 2003 to a 17th century setting and you start to strain. However—and this is my take, as there is no deeper evidence so far as I know—Gaiman wasn’t trying to validate the timelessness of Marvel origins, but rather that that personas created alongside the super powers could stand any test even when relocated across the decades one way and centuries the other.

My prime example would be that Daredevil’s genesis does not travel well into the world of 1602—rather than being blinded by radioactive isotopes, he touches strange green goop in a cave to get his super senses—but the swashbuckling spirit of the character tempered by tragedy and laughing in the face of danger made the sightless Irish troubadour Matt Murdock maybe my favorite character in the series.

While Gaiman only just got to the Fantastic Four in his first story, Peter David would dig in three years later with Marvel 1602: Fantastick Four and show the First Family to be perhaps the most adaptable of all the Marvels.

The Fantastic Four are one of the best examples of character over powers in comic book history. By the time the FF was born in 1961, their abilities—super strength, flame, invisibility, stretching—had all been done and even their explorers of the fantastic deal had been done to an extent by the Challengers of the Unknown, but the personalities and rapport Stan and Jack bestowed upon Reed, Sue, Johnny and Ben was the heart of what made them great, helped revolutionize comics and propelled their adventures to dizzying heights of awesome.

In Fantastick Four, David zigs where Gaiman zagged as far as exaggerating the bold and heroic qualities of 1602 over the dour skullduggery of Nicholas Fury and his lot. Where 1602 was a period drama, FF is in many ways equal parts comedy and adventure, both of which PAD is expert in. Gaiman had the Four trapped in a dungeon for most of his series and foreshadowed their arrival on the scene to perfect effect; David has them out in the world and enjoying what it has to offer.

Each individual has their persona tweaked just enough to puff them up to fit the stage: Reed is even more oblivious to anything save discovery, Susan is reflectively more dogged in her pursuit of his attention, Johnny’s romantic nature bubbles over to recklessness and Ben’s propensity for drama takes him down a different and interesting path as a performer in the troupe of William Shakespeare—who figures prominently in this tale, by the way. In a time where bizarre and outrageous occurrences have sprung up like wildfire seemingly overnight, there’s no better way to explore the altered landscape than alongside the Fantastick Four.

And of course if ever a character was suited to take his rightful place in a 17th century pumped full of pomp and pageantry on the super level, it’s Doctor Doom. The not-so-good Doctor was handsome—that was even his nickname—throughout Gaiman’s 1602, taunting the captive quartet and cavorting with The Black Widow, but here he’s wearing the iron mask and speaking in all his third person glory. I’m always entertained by reading a good Doom-as-pompous-royal story regardless of the chronal backdrop, but in an age where kings and queens really did rule, David’s take shines the perfect storm of regality, arrogance, and absurd overconfidence.

I could talk about the characters all day—I haven’t even gotten to the clever weaving in of the Frightful Four (the Four Who Are Frightful) and their powers or why an even more detached than usual Namor (Numenor) fits the period nearly as well as Doom—but the story is a hoot as well.

Doom captures Ben’s buddy Shakespeare, so the Four take off in hot pursuit of the villain’s flying pirate ship in their own flying pirate ship. The Doctor has hired the Frightful Four to take him to the edge of the world and wants the Bard along to tell tale of his triumph. Johnny absconds with Doris Evans—yes, there’s a 1602 analogue of Dorrie Evans and she’s awesome—pulling her along on the journey against her will so she doesn’t marry Wyatt Wingfoot. I thought the ultimate destination was Attilan—and I daresay PAD makes a game of playing it that way—but it’s actually Atlantis—or what passes for 1602 Atlantis—where fights with sea monsters, palace intrigue and much more ensue.

Pascal Alixe’s art is as beautiful as it has ever been on this book. He’s a master of capturing facial expressions, portraying texture and setting scenes that need to be larger than life, such as the aforementioned flying pirate ship vs sea monster kerfuffle. I love his Thing and his Human Torch, but c’mon, those are the easy ones; that I love his Sandman and Medusa speaks more to how much work he puts in.

Again, I could go on, but I’d just spoil the whole book. I could mention the Shakespeare-Doris Evans dynamic; I could expound more on how the Four Who Are Frightful’s “powers” work and how Peter David really gets The Wizard; I could tease the Black Widow’s fate; I could mention that amidst the fun, the jokes and the wonder, there’s a genuinely heart-wrenching storyline for Johnny that winds up ending the story.

I could, but instead I’ll just say 1602: Fantastick Four is a wonderfully buoyant little tale with smart flourishes, dynamite art and the wit you’d expect from something written by Peter David.

I’ll also note that while I’ve observed 1602 to be an acquired taste—I’ve obviously acquired it—you should really not stop with just the original, as you’re missing out on truly underrated and overlooked work by Greg Pak, Jeff Parker and a host of brilliant artists.