The Greatest Super-hero Story Ever Told, Part 1

I am not a Marvel Comics reader. In my tender youth in the early nineties, I enjoyed Spider-man, and even Ghost Rider, but I liked Batman better than either of them. In fact, just about the only Marvel creations I can stand these days are the Great Lakes Avengers/X-Men/Champions, an admission that will surely result in the revocation of my geek license.

Part of the reason for my Marvel antipathy has to do with Civil War, and how it made villains of heroes, while suggesting that there are only two courses in life: anarchy or government control. But since I was never a Marvel reader before Civil War, I can't blame the story-line alone for my avoidance of the Marvel Method. No, I am a DC man, through and through - Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Batman, Metal Men, and even the detritus at the bottom of the DCU lake, Crime Bible, are my literature of choice when I head on down to the trusty neighbourhoode comick shoppe. And I think that's because DC has adopted the editorial philosophy of asking the big questions about what the consequences of super-heroes would be in real life, with titles like Watchmen. Although Marvel was the first to put their heroes into the "real world," their method was to give them problems and angst - to make them people. DC took the characters and made them into gods. DC asked "what would be the impact of super-heroes on the world at large? What would need to be different to make super-heroes a possibility?" I don't know how much of this paragraph makes sense, but my point is that DC made super-heroes philosophically fascinating, rather than topically relevant.

I must concede, however, and honor Marvel Comics with the award for the Greatest Super-hero Story Ever Published. That story is the second tale in December 2007's What If: Civil War.

If you're unfamiliar with the mechanics of the What If series, let me break it down for you: What If is published approximately "whenever the hell Joe Quesada needs to reassert his power to make his whims reality," and revisits crucial, and often cataclysmic, events in the history of the Marvel Universe. These events are re-imagined with different initial circumstances, occurrences, or outcomes, and the result is usually explored. Some of them don't turn out so well. This one turned out half-well.

What If: Civil War contains two stories, as shown to Tony Stark by the mysterious Stranger. The first is rather inconsequential, and includes artwork of this caliber:

So you'll understand why I think it's best if we just skipped ahead to the good bits: the aforementioned Greatest Super-hero Story Ever Told.

Written by Christos Gage (who, in an unpublished post for this blog, concerning Union Jack: London Falling, I mistakenly berated for being the creative genius behind the script for Teenage Caveman), and featuring art by Harvey "thank-god-it's-not-the-same-guy-who-did-the-first-story" Talibao, "What If Iron Man Lost the Civil War?" doesn't really deal with Iron Man losing so much as it... well, you'll see.

Our story begins at a critical impasse - Captain America faces a choice: does he attack Tony Stark as his enemy, or does he listen to what Stark has to say? In this possible future, Tony Stark sincerely asks Cap for his help, and that's enough to convince Steve Rogers to call a temporary truce.

And then some trigger-happy bureaucrat notices the concealed weapon that Captain America's packing, and prematurely releases the Thor clone.



In the ensuing battle, Tony Stark proves his sincerity by coming between Faux-Thor and a lightning bolt meant for Goliath. Captain America and Iron Man realize that they're both fighting the same thing - not just a giant, blond-haired, dreamy he-man, but also the universe's many threats to humanity's safety.

Iron Man knows that superheroes need to be held responsible for the damage that they inadvertently cause. In this universe, he's able to articulate this reasonable, and clearly - not like the dick that exists in our current universe. And Captain America understands where he's coming from - after all, it was this collateral damage that motivated Captain America to surrender in the real Marvel Universe. Super-humans are motivated to go around fighting criminals, but the power to do something doesn't make one qualified to do something. And it is here that history is forever changed - or, er, it would be if this was the real universe.

Iron Man and Captain America join forces to create the Avengers' equivalent of the ESRB! An industry standard for superheroes, overseen by Captain America!



Iron Man is a hero again! Captain America isn't dead!

But the best line? This one:

Young superhumans were trained by their elders; taught both tactics and responsibility; serving only by choice, their identities protected.

The government is not a quasi-fascistic slave-driver, drafting the extraordinary to fight against their will! Free will and individual rights are once again championed within the pages of a comic book! I'm so excited, I've worn out my exclamation-mark key!

So, why is this the best super-hero story ever written? Well, that's a question I'm going to have to answer tomorrow night, because things may get heady. Things may get philosophical. And things need to be mulled over to make sure they're clear. Stay tuned, true believers!

Oooh! And I almost forgot: BUY THIS BOOK, EVERYBODY. Show the Mighty Marvel Bean-Counters that this is how super-heroes settle their disagreements; show Mr. Quesada that super-heroes don't have to be stupid louts punching each other to get the job done, but that freedom, and the individual spirit, and the qualities of Captain America can be present in all heroes. Show them that you want Cap and Iron Man to be buddies again - and alive, too, I guess.
And tell them to give Christos Gage a raise. And an assistant.

Cap's Got a Gun

Apparently, a lot of folks were a little perturbed that old Cap'n America would be packing heat when he makes his return in January of 2008 (not the original Captain, but his replacement). I don't have any problem with a gun-wielding superhero, but then again, I don't have any deep nostalgic connection to Captain America like some comic-readers might.

I do, however, have just such a connection to my main man Mario, of the Mario Bros. And seeing him with a heater is just a little too much for me to handle.

(image from http://yellow.ribbon.to/~lajosjancsi/en/Koopalings/cartoon.html)
(I'd also like to point out how much that cover looks like the one for First Blood, right down to the bandana. 'course, Rambo wasn't nearly so fond of peaches.)

This wonderful bit of nightmare-fuel was provided to us from the ever-enigmatic nation of Japan, just as Mario's popularity was at its height. In 1989, on the crest of buzz following the release of Super Mario Bros. 3, some bright spark figured that what Japanese children would enjoy more than anything else would be to see Mario, the Princess, and big-bad Bowser re-enact their own versions of fairy tales.

The resulting animated masterpieces took several liberties on the original stories, but we aren't talking "the Little Mermaid doesn't die," Disney-type liberties here. We're talking about such changes that not only include everyone's favorite plumber going postal, but also such scintillating concepts as Bowser in drag.

One of these videos is based on a Japanese tale called "Momotaro," or "Peach Boy." In the original story, an old Japanese couple find a giant peach floating down the river. Wasting no time in devouring every bit of questionable food that comes their way, they crack open the peach only to discover a boy inside, who explains that his fruit-vessel is a gift from heaven, and that he is to be their son. He grows up, and as teenagers are wont to do, heads to the lair of a demon-king with his talking animal friends and defeats the evil horde pretty handedly.

So, when put into the role of alien peach-boy (which shines new and very comfortable light on his relationship towards Princess Peach), how does our boy Mario come to exercise his god-given right to bear arms? Turns out that before the magical peach fell into their laps, the old couple had a grand-daughter, Princess Peach. Princess Peach is kidnapped by the demon king, played wonderfully here by the King of the Koopas, Bowser. This provides the motivation for Mario, who is less a Peach-Boy and more a Peach-Guy-With-a-Mustache, to abandon his new home with the old folks and throw down with the giant, fire-breathing dinosaur.

Before he can set off on his grand five-minute adventure, though, the old woman gives him what is sure to be handy: lunch. Also helpful: the enchanted family heirloom, that just happens to be an assault rifle. One would think that the ancient geezers (who, for the record, appear courtesy of performances by the slender Sledge Bros.) shouldn't have had any problems with kidnappings if they had a freakin' Uzi stored away in their cottage. See? Gun-locks do cause more harm than they prevent.

Somehow, epic journeys and little Italian heroes seem less interesting when their problems are solved by pointing a gun at the bad guy. When Mario finally makes it to Bowser's lair, he just points the gun at him, and that's it: game over.

I can finally see why people are upset when they learned that Captain America would be returning armed with a pistol. Fights just aren't as interesting with a gun as they are when the combatants are armed with swords, or only the ability to jump on the other guy's head.

The good guy's not supposed to have the power of a gun - he doesn't need it. Mario should inspire you based on his courage and pluck alone. Dude doesn't even wear a cup under his overalls. A gun is a far more sensible weapon, especially given that is opponents can breath fire and whatnot, but this is fiction; good is supposed to triumph over evil regardless of the power differential. Any idiot villain can use the brute force of a gun to get what he wants - a real hero uses his brains.

Ya'll know what settles on badness don't ya?

"Pumpkinhead."

(images from The Comic Book Database)

Comics That Have Pissed Me Off: Issue #1 - Fantastic Four #244

We've all seen 'em - those little bits of comics that make us say "What?" immediately followed by "That's bullshit!" Whether it's something that's completely out of character (all of Marvel's Civil War); a revelation that made little sense and had little, if any, emotional impact (DC's Armageddon 2001, DC's Identity Crisis); an "event" that turned out to be a cynical ploy to boost sales ( DC's Death of Superman, DC's World War III, DC's Amazons Attack! hey, pick up a DC book and there's a 50/50 chance it'll disappoint you - stick with Marvel, their disappointment is guaranteed), or just overall giganta-levels of bad, it's a guarantee in life that a comic will one day piss you off. Gentlemen, today is that day for me.

Actually, a lot of comics piss me off, so I've decided to make this a running feature for the ol' blog. I find that I'm most motivated to write when I'm pissed off at something, so the category is a natural for me.

The inspiration for the feature came while I was reading the book Super Heroes and Philosophy (and boy, was there a lot of shit in there that pissed me off, right good!), and came across Charles Taliaferro and Craig Lindahl-Urben's essay, "The Power and the Glory." The whole thing is about Galactus and Doctor Doom, and, not giving a shit about the Fantastic Four as more than material for lame jokes, I skimmed it as Rob Liefeld once skimmed "Anatomy for Beginners." I did, however, find myself re-reading a bit of dialogue describing the so-called "personalist ethics" of The Avengers when it came to dealing with giant, pink-colored space eaters. From Fantastic Four #244,

Captain America: "... but Galactus is a living, sentient being and he does not act out of evil intent. He does what he must, simply to survive, just as we would."

Reed Richards: "We are bound to help Galactus."

Whoa, whoa, whoa... hold up der, Reed - you're not "bound" to help anyone, least of all the giant, skirt-wearing, cosmic being who already promised not to eat you back in the sixties. The only thing you're "bound" to do is kick his ass off the planet and call it a night. But Galactus gotta eat, I guess?

Oh, and Cap? Quick question: you and Hawkeye are trapped on a deserted island with no source of food and no means of escape. Who's gonna devour whom? Whose "survival" is considered paramount here, Cap? You could skin and eat Hawkeye before he even knew you'd moved - and it's all right, because you didn't have any evil intent, you were just trying to survive, like any of us would have done. Sucks to be Hawkeye.

Sure, saving Galactus might work out for a few years now that you've earned his "respect," but how long will it be before "he does what he must" again, and comes a'knockin'? You've excused his actions (the devouring of other "sentient beings") as necessary to his survival - but that survival comes at the cost of others', as well as your own. As such, you've demonstrated to Galactus what is clearly more important here: his survival, not before others, but at the expense of others.

To put things more succinctly: the motherfucker tried to eat you and your entire planet. After promising not to do it again, he came back to do it again. He, presumably, still eats other civilizations who don't have the mighty Reed Richards to watch out for them. You don't help this thing when it starts to die, you let it die.

No wonder Richards supported Iron Man's "super human registration act:" some people have to be under constant threat if the more important "sentient beings" are to be comfortable. Super-humans are to be sacrificed for regular humans, humans and other civilizations are to be sacrificed for Galactus - it really depends on who's bigger in the end, doesn't it?

Addendum: If you want to read Fantastic Four #244 for yourself, it's available in The Trial of Galactus paperback. This trade also includes "The Trial of Reed Richards," which sounds just intriguing enough for me to track down and find something within that pisses me off.