Hulk in Space

I’d wager when asked to picture The Hulk—a bizarre request in everyday life, but totally par for the course if you’re reading this blog, I imagine—most of you flash to a desert or shattered cityscape as your setting, the big guy having either leapt into scene or just finished demolishing an opponent and probably lots of property. Cinematic and television portrayals of the character tend to point him towards either heavily urban areas rife for destruction or the calm of nature for moments of reflection that play against the beast’s violent existence.

It’s interesting to note then that while the default locale for The Hulk would be against concrete or sand, many of the best—and my favorite—stories starring him take place in the far reaches of outer space.

In its way, Planet Hulk is more of a gladiator story, at home on the same shelf as Conan or, well, Gladiator, but science fiction trappings play a pivotal role. Even if Hulk and his Warbound are swinging axes or maces at one another in a sparse arena, technology drives the story, beyond just the explanation of enslavement or means for the villain’s power, but also as bookends that drive the story to and from Sakaar. That The Hulk is an alien unbalances the setting and sets up revolution, but the notions he introduces coupled with the very technology that accompanied him literally and figuratively blow up this exotic setting.

The presence of a diverse cast that varies not just in character but their very species, from the familiar Brood to the races dreamt up by Greg Pak and his conspirators, sits at the core of Planet Hulk. As Pak has said many times, Planet Hulk—and his indeed his entire run with The Hulk—is largely about a monster finding his place and that there’s somewhere for everybody to belong; that Bruce Banner needs to travel light years and associate with bugs who walk like men to find his was a great tale to tell, and the gaining and losing of this enriched the overall lore.

It also doesn’t hurt that when you move The Hulk out of the desert and away from the familiar tanks and soldiers out into the galaxy where he’s got giant space monsters and elaborate robots to smash, it’s a lot of fun; there is an inner depth to the character, certainly, but an outward joy in his appeal as active protagonist as well.

One of my personal favorite Hulk yarns from my beloved Peter David era was “The Troyjan War,” a mid-90’s mini-epic illustrated by Gary Frank that had Banner and the Pantheon journey to the heart of an interstellar empire to save one of their own from a forced marriage. It was during the “Smart Hulk” era and as such while it shared a setting—albeit a vast and multifaceted one—with Planet Hulk, it was a very different kind of space saga.

Among the many beauties of PAD’s “Professor Hulk” was that he could recognize the absurdity of certain situations, even if that didn’t necessarily mean he would do much to combat said absurdity (like when he had the giant gun and the bunny slippers during “War and Pieces”). When it came to “Troyjan War,” Banner felt out of his element as a guy who solved most problems via punching when he got stuck floating through the cosmos or on the verge of that situation when in space stations he could not cut loose in lest he risk losing gravity’s sweet embrace. PAD and Frank made the most of this for laughs and sight gags, as they so often expertly did, whether it was Hulk sitting on the Silver Surfer’s board to hitch a ride or the goofy visual of him in a giant space suit. There were hard-hitting emotional elements to “Troyjan War” that I would delve deeper into were this post solely about that story, but as with all the crème de la crème of the PAD run, that didn’t stop it from being funny as well.

Speaking of The Silver Surfer, he’s a guest star in both Planet Hulk and “Troyjan War,” as well of course as a recurring ally of the Hulk’s in the Defenders. The Surfer and The Hulk make for an interesting pair as both are displaced “others,” generally separated from the ones they love and lost in exile, though one represents extreme introspection and the other impotent rage at their respective imprisonments. The Surfer’s most noteworthy estrangements from happiness place him physically far from home, whereas the Hulk’s don’t always put literal distance between him and what he wants so much as emotional degrees, making it interesting when the latter does experience the former’s dilemmas in stories like the ones mentioned. They’re similar in some respects, opposite in others and good foils for one another.

I’m not as familiar with the classic Hulk stories set in Jarella’s world or the Bill Mantlo “Crossroads” stuff, but while I know they take place in other dimensions rather than outer space, there’s certainly a common ground there. From what I’ve gathered, in both cases and a lot of others, it’s the Hulk’s durability as a character that can move between genres and landscapes with relative ease given how his demeanor and language is fairly adaptable, that makes him ideal for stories like the ones Harlan Ellison liked to dabble in. You move Spider-Man to the Microverse, there’s a certain amount of incompatibility that demands to be played for laughs just with the quips, but Hulk can grunt and punch his way through a fantasy setting or be darkly clever in sci-fi; green and purple seems to blend.

Outer space and inter-dimensional adventure has become as much a part of the Hulk mythos over the years as strength-based slugfests and psychological examination, and it makes sense to me. For one, The Hulk is at his gamma-irradiated heart a science fiction concept, set apart from the street level Daredevil or mythological Thor by his origin ripped from 60’s atomic nightmares; the stars are the logical extension of his genre. The Hulk is also a force that demands sufficient challenges and for which the stakes must consistently be raised; we can believe Spider-Man would be preoccupied by an old guy with wings, but the Green Goliath needs the caliber or competition sometimes only an interstellar armada or hostile planet can provide.

However, it’s also about breaking beyond the brilliant Jekyll/Hyde dynamic the Hulk’s existence centers around and flipping it on its axis. In stories like Planet Hulk or in the journeys to Jarella’s, we get to see our hero take a break from being the outcast and affirm or question his own values when he’s on the same setting as those around him rather than consumed with being hunted and hounded.

You can tell Hulk stories that are just him beating up The Rhino, you can ruminate on the origins of his dark side for psychological fodder and you can use him as the pivot for great comedy. But you can also drop him into strange settings, post him up against the craziest aliens you can come up with, and do your ode to whatever space opera floats your starship with an undercurrent commentary on the human condition.

For a character still best known as a guy who likes to smash stuff, The Hulk has incredible depth.

Back to the Future: Marvel 2099

We’ve still got 88 years to see if “Shock” catches on as a curse word or a religion gets organized around Thor, but already Marvel’s 2099 line of comics—despite only lasting six years—has proven groundbreaking in its own way.



The 2099 imprint kicked off in 1992 as a look at the possible future of the Marvel Universe with four core titles centered around three new versions of familiar characters and one all-new creation: Spider-Man 2099, Punisher 2099, Doom 2099 and Ravage 2099. It was an interesting mix with Marvel’s most recognizable figure, one of the most popular stars of the 90’s, a classic villains featured as a protagonist for the first time ever and a wild card co-created by none other than Stan Lee.



All four pillars of 2099 were a mixture of familiarity and experimentation. Miguel O’Hara, aka Spider-Man, was a scientist and a wisecracker like his predecessor, but notably older and with a darker edge, his humor coming in the form of cynicism rather than quips and his motivation having as much to do with revenge and survival as responsibility. The new Punisher, Jake Gallows, emerged from virtually the same circumstances as Frank Castle—his family being killed by criminals—but lived in a world where corruption generally trumped law and thus coming off far more sympathetic in his violent approach to justice than his counterpart. Doom’s origins were tinged in mystery, as he claimed to be the original bearer of the name, but in this time he acted more as a hero than a tyrant. Paul-Phillip Ravage—showing that Stan Lee had weaned somewhat off his alliteration addiction by the 90’s but not completely—was a corporate CEO forced into a life of fugitive vigilantism when he questioned his corporate masters and was framed for murder.



As far as my personal experience, I sampled Spider-Man 2099 and would check in occasionally, but wasn’t a regular reader. I bought the first issue of Punisher 2099—the first Punisher comic of any kind I ever purchased, I believe—and was intrigued, but for whatever reason did not get #2. I didn’t pick up any of the early issues of Doom 2099 or Ravage 2099, despite the concept of Doom as a hero and a new Stan Lee creation grabbing my attention at least in passing.



X-Men 2099 was the book that brought me into the imprint—as detailed here—as I was buying anything X-Men at the time and also loved the work of artist Ron Lim. When the five titles crossed over in “Fall of the Hammer” I got every chapter, which prompted me to buy a few more issues of Spider-Man 2099 as well as at least one non-Stan Lee-written Ravage 2099, but I disengaged quickly and then stuck with X-Men until Lim left before departing myself.



There were many additional points I contemplated checking out more 2099—when Doom took over America or when he got deposed and half the original characters got killed—but I never took that leap. It’s only now, having read a bit more of the imprint in trade and random issues as well as having the whole of its span to step back and look at, that I can see how prescient 2099 was in many ways.



Building the world of 2099 was not that unlike building the original Marvel Universe in the Silver Age must have been, with distinct and disparate characters linked together by their shared world. Where Stan Lee and his collaborators used the familiarity of New York City and little touches like newspaper headlines and cameos, the founding fathers of 2099 created an elaborate and thought out landscape where corporations became king and the comfortable heroes we knew were elevated to mythic proportions as avatars of an idyllic age. Big business as the ultimate villain and embodied by Alchemax, the company where Miguel O’Hara worked and came into his abilities, took central root in Spider-Man 2099, but played a major part in Ravage, influenced the creation of the Punisher, and would eventually show up in Doom, X-Men, Hulk, Ghost Rider and the rest. The Thorite religion was first touched upon by Jake Gallows, but would again spread across 2099 and serve as the core of its first crossover.



By 1992, the idea of an editorial office coordinating multiple titles was not a new one, as the X-Men fielded a minimum of four books at any given time and regularly crossed stories from one to the other. A fledgling imprint where characters shared aspects was not groundbreaking either, given the New Universe a few years earlier, Valiant hitting its stride and Milestone around the corner. Yet the cohesive future world imagined by 2099 and the ways in which the series within seemed to mesh so naturally and remain able to still stand on their own certainly merits some kudos.



It’s also interesting to look at the range of creative voices when it comes to the writers responsible for the 2099 books and impressive how in step such a varied group was. You had the already veteran Peter David on Spider-Man, relative rookie John Francis Moore on Doom—and later X-Men—the British duo of Pat Mills and Tony Skinner on Punisher, and of course Stan Lee on Ravage. Chuck Dixon and Len Kaminski would be among the others to dip their toes in the 2099 pool, and Warren Ellis made some of his first major contributions to American comics with a run on Doom 2099 that would revamp the entire line. It’s a testament to editor Joey Cavalieri that he was able to mesh these disparate voices into a comics symphony.



Speaking of the Ellis-helmed Doom 2099, it led to the kind of line-wide overhaul we see frequently today, but was not common practice in the mid-90’s. Ellis revealed Doom to conclusively be the original and then had him take over the United States, sending ramifications through every 2099 title—the whole imprints was renamed “2099 A.D.” standing for “2099 After Doom”—from the Punisher becoming his enforcer as leader of a reconstituted S.H.I.E.L.D. to the X-Men receiving their own West coast “Utopia” nearly two decades before it was trendy. Major characters like The Punisher, Ravage and The Hulk met their end when Doom got ousted from office and every title again underwent seismic changes (this is about the time I jumped off, as I was getting out of comics for a bit altogether).



Looking back, while Doom conquering America is the type of thing that would never fly in the Marvel Universe circa 1994 or so, it made for a great story 15 years later with Norman Osborn in a similar—albeit fairly different—position. I’m not saying Dark Reign was a retread of After Doom—beyond the surface similarities there’s far more different than the same, and the basic trope is a pretty well-worn one—but 2099 was in some ways Marvel’s testing ground of the early-to-mid 90’s; the place you could try stuff out and go wild with familiar but not identical toys, not totally unlike the Ultimate Universe of today.



2099 would only really have a four-year golden age, then two years of false restarts and final epilogues—after a tidal wave destroyed most of the world, Miguel O’Hara eventually found a frozen Captain America, restarted the Avengers, then became a figurehead who secretly had Thor’s hammer while the formerly dark corporate future became a paradise—but it left an indelible mark. Alternate reality storylines nearly always make a detour to 2099. Events by Robert Kirkman and Brian Reed have put new spins on the line. Miguel O’Hara frequently makes appearances in toy and video game form, including the upcoming Spider-Man: Edge of Time. And Jesse Thompson sent me this Jason Young cover of an old issue of Ravage 2099 that got me thinking about all this in the first place.



Despite a limited amount of time in the proverbial sun, 2099 made its mark and lingers as an influential and trendsetting imprint more than we likely even realize. There were also some darn good comics in the bunch that are probably not too hard to get your hands on.

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.