Tuesday, 29 April 2014

SO ARE ATLANTEANS MAMMALS OR NOT?


Greetings friends and fiends. Let me take you by your unkempt woolly paws and lead you into the fetid confines of the Bargain Basement of Dooooom – an exploration of the backwaters of comics history, uncovering the glittering shitters to be found for scraps and pennies in the discount bins. This week it’s an unsung treasure from 2005–6: DEFENDERS. 




This five-issue mini-series reunited (more or less) the classic line-up of Marvel’s original loose gathering of loners: Doctor Strange, Namor, Hulk and Silver Surfer. So far, so blaaah. Despite the big-name cast, even in its heyday, the original Defenders title was often a workmanlike but uninspiring read. What differentiates this latterday take is its unusual creative team – writers J.M. DeMatteis and Keith Giffen (a multi-talented type, who even drew Defenders back in the ’70s) and penciller extraordinaire Kevin Maguire. In keeping with the reunion theme, this trio were the brains and digits behind the groundbreaking 1980s Justice League run. And you know how good that is, right? Right.

Those familiar with their work will surmise correctly that Defenders is not an entirely serious and reverent book. The non-team’s non-members were never exactly bosom buddies, and here their antipathy is pretty much the star of the show. Many of the plentiful acres of dialogue are given over to bickering, insults, snips, snipes and jibes between the protagonists. These writers have always favoured characters, gags and idle banter over plot – and with Maguire’s uncanny skill at rendering facial expressions at their disposal, who could blame them? And yet, like the best of the JL era, the silliness is offset by strong, pacy and surprisingly high-stakes storytelling.

The dastardly plot: By means of various mystical contrivances, Strange’s feckless arch-nemesis, the Dread Dormammu, accompanied by his libidinous, Machiavellian sister Umar, manages to kick the crap out of Eternity, the living embodiment of the Universe and goes on to reshape all creation in his depraved, pitiless image, complete with warped S&M versions of the Marvel roster. It falls to Strange, Namor and Banner to take down a self-appointed god and restore everything that is.   



Must admit, I’ve never been overly fond of yon Sorcerer Supreme, but he’s a delight here – an appealing combination of absurdly pompous, charmingly manipulative and desperately pragmatic, all wrapped up in vintage Clark Gable chic. And the Doc can make with some serious vintage Ditko-esque psychedelic hoodoo when he needs to. As for the Hulk, well… suffice to say that this series will satisfy the curiosity of those who’ve ever wondered what he’d look like basking in post-coital afterglow. All three of you.

And then there’s Namor. Those who share my affinity for the Avenging Son will devour every moment of his generous panel time he gets here. Even haughtier and more arrogant than usual, this version of the Sub-Mariner is an intolerable scene-stealing amphibious arsehole par excellence. And this is, for me, his definitive visual realisation – superhumanly confident, visibly slippery, supremely arched of eyebrow, and ostentatiously lacking in nipples, which both raises and answers several questions about Atlantean childrearing.


On the downside, devotees of Norrin Radd won’t be best pleased. Barely in the book at all, played entirely for (weak) laughs and thoroughly out of character, the Surfer gets a really raw deal, his negligible presence something of a pustulent blemish on an otherwise great little run. It’s easy to ignore his scenes, so let’s do just that. Whose scenes? Exactly.  

Finally, Giffen and DeMatteis’s writing is as fun and snappy and exciting and gleefully stupid as you’d expect, but it’s Maguire’s art that really makes this book a must-read. Take the best of his outstanding and characterful 1980s JL work, add two decades of improvement and the throbbingly vibrant 21st-century colour work of Chris Sotomayor, and you’ve got something that fair bounds from the page and into your eyeball.

’Til next time… happy rummaging, cheapskates.

(originally published on The Big Glasgow Comic Page)

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