HOW THE JLI CURED A CHRONIC CASE OF MARVEL ZOMBIFICATION

The fog of memory has somewhat obscured my first exposure to American comics, but I know that Marvel was my first love – it was either a handful of Avengers, Iron Man and Ghost Rider issues from a jumble sale; the first issue of Mighty World of Marvel (a UK reprint title, the first issue of which began X-Men’s Days of Future Past storyline); or #2 of the UK Secret Wars reprints.

[insert wibbly-wobbly flashback effect here]

Back then, mid-to-late ’80s, pre-internet, there was an insular tribalism to comics fans (totally unlike today’s open-minded fans, of course). I was Marvel. All my comic-reading friends were Marvel. The only people who liked DC were… well, a complete mystery to us. Marvel was inherently and self-evidently cool. Marvel was misunderstood loners, outcasts, outlaws, boozing, brawling demigods and haughty, ankle-winged fish-men. To us, DC was a combination of both dull and silly – stoic, barrel-chested, moralising paragons of virtue, who could lift planets or had magic rings and lassos or could run faster than light, engaged in childishly simple battles of good vs. evil. It was a whole ’nother world, one that in our youthful ignorance we mocked from afar without knowing a bloody thing about it. We were well into comics when Crisis happened. When Byrne’s Man of Steel dropped. When Perez launched Wonder Woman. When Vertigo began. But we never even noticed. Who could be enticed to cross the ultramenstruum when there were Claremont’s X-Men, Byrne’s FF and Stern’s Avengers to read? The only DC title to sneak under our radar was The Dark Knight Returns – one copy passed around the school, almost illicitly, like erotica found stashed in a thicket. Apart from that, it was all Marvel, all the time.

Until the ’90s. While not as comprehensively disastrous as their reputation would have you believe, these years were as unkind to Marvel comics as the ’80s were to jazz. My beloved X-Men in particular were badly hit. Things started to unravel around Inferno, but following the departure of Chris Claremont, after 17 years on the title, three issues into the new adjectiveless series, the title went into a horrible, disastrous tailspin of poor writing, macho posturing, godawful XTREME art and charmless crap. I stopped buying X-Men. I stopped buying Marvel. I stopped buying comics completely.

Unglaublich. 

But the urge never quite leaves, does it? And one day I found myself in our small-town comic shop. Well, not even a comic shop. Largely a roleplaying/wargaming shop with two or three longboxes of back issues tucked away in a corner. But you take what you can get. The owner was a lovely guy, a good friend, but the downside of being on first-name terms with a shop owner is that popping in for an idle browse to pass the time also entails a certain pressure to buy something. And so it was that, pretty much solely motivated by the desire to avoid embarrassment, I picked up two DC comics: Justice League #3 and #4, which came out approx. six years earlier (1987). I’d done a nice thing, but at what cost? I had crossed the Rubicon. Turned to the dark side. May Galactus have mercy on my traitorous soul.

The seeds of my downfall.

So why pick up these issues, as opposed to anything else in that box? For starters, two great covers, with beautifully clear, uncluttered and distinct artwork. They were physical and expressive, full of realistic proportions and relatable gestures – a far cry from the exaggerated Liefeld/Macfarlane-isms that had come to dominate ’90s Marvel comics. The colour palette was also appealing, bold but subdued, a version of reality only slightly enhanced. This art lives and breathes. Both covers outline a story, too. One shows a team in peril, surrounded by Soviet robots, or maybe men in armoured suits, backed up against a wire fence on which hang warnings of nuclear radiation. The other shows a team defeated, a lone figure left to fight an unseen, towering opponent. But in both cases – who was this team? I knew Batman, of course. And was vaguely aware of Captain Marvel and Green Lantern – though not this ginger-haired guy in the flashy jacket. But who were the others? The Justice League, at least as I was vaguely aware of it, was Superman, Wonder Woman, the Flash… Who the hell is Booster Gold? Or Blue Beetle? And what kind of vainglorious fool would call himself Mister Miracle? Danger, intrigue, a combination of the familiar and the mysterious, and gorgeous art… who could possibly resist that, even if it was *shudder* the dreaded DC?

Who are you people?

The interiors were no less revelatory. The tone of these issues was quite unlike anything I’d ever read at Marvel – an instantly compelling combination of warm human foible and upfront superhuman action. This series is renowned for its humorous approach, but in these early issues at least, it’s not silly. The humour stems from interaction and friction between a disparate group of characters, but the situations they find themselves in here are actually pretty grave – #3 revolves around the Cold War arms race, mutually assured destruction and nuclear meltdown. But nevertheless, these characters seemed like people first, superheroes second, even though they only appeared in costume. I’d get to know their names later, but right from the beginning these characters were Scott and J’onn and Ted and Dinah, rather than their own colourful alter-egos. The combination of J.M. DeMatteis’s snappy conversational dialogue and Kevin Maguire’s astounding knack for naturalistic facial expressions and communicative body language brought them to unprecedentedly vivid life. Take the scene where Blue Beetle and Black Canary, despite the present danger, forget themselves for a moment and discuss the work of Dostoevsky. It’s from this collision between the everyday and the extranormal that the best Justice League stories emerge.

While the humanity is bold and upfront in these two issues, they also excel when it comes to action. The sequence in #3 where the League try and fight off the Rocket Reds using minimal force (mostly) is a fantastic showcase of the Leaguers’ capabilities and personalities – from jingoistic arsehole Guy Gardner’s unbridled joy at the opportunity to beat up Russians; to the Martian Manhunter’s swift retrieval of the rogue Green Lantern; to Black Canary’s brutally efficient rooftop takedown; and Mister Miracle’s attempt at détente, following his barely concealed delight at completing another miraculous escape. #4 is even more action-packed, consisting of a long fight between Booster Gold (being foisted on the League against their will by then-mysterious corporate interloper Maxwell Lord) and the Royal Flush Gang. Some great moments here, as the cocky show-off Gold takes down the gang with only minimal difficulty (and a couple of blows to the head). However, he is defeated by the gang’s literal Ace in the hole (a giant adaptive robot), and the League charge ineffectively into the fray, with powerhouses J’onn J’onzz, Captain Marvel and Guy Gardner despatched with alarming ease, while Mister Miracle’s technological hubris takes a beating of its own. It eventually falls to Blue Beetle and Booster Gold to defeat the awesome android in a historic first team-up that foreshadows their future friendship.

Two hugely enjoyable issues in their own right, then, but their impact on me personally was enormous. Firstly, they brought to my attention some characters that would become very close to my heart – like Beetle and Booster, naturally, Black Canary, Captain Marvel. And Mister Miracle was a particularly fascinating character… despite the stupid name and possibly one of the worst costumes I’ve ever seen, somewhat reminiscent of throwaway Fantastic Four character Captain Ultra in its obscene gaudiness. His abilities were vague, potentially rooted in tech and weaponry, but there were hints that he’s far more than just a mere gadget man (as Miracle attempts to fly into a reactor in the midst of meltdown, Batman stops him, saying ‘Not even you could get out of there alive’). He spoke of things like the fire pits of Apokolips and a place called New Genesis, but the lack of explanation suggested that this stuff was assumed common knowledge. Scott Free, as presented on these pages, hinted at a rich, broad mythology, and would eventually lead to my discovery of and infatuation with all things Fourth World and Kirbyesque. 

But it was J’onn J’onzz who completely stole the show, despite (or because of) the fact that he did next to nothing in either issue. His appeal for me was summed up by a parody in Marvel’s humour comic What The…?!, where the Marshmallow Manhunter was depicted ‘reading the latest Just-A-League to  find out what my powers are – if any!’ In amongst all these quippy, bantering, brightly costumed humans stood a stoic, eloquent, imposing and clearly well-respected seven-foot green dude who exuded quiet dignity and a commanding presence. The lack of substantial information about this curious background figure planted a maddening seed in my brain, and over the next decade and more, as I attempted to track down all of his modern appearances, he gradually became my favourite comics character of all time. I may be a Marvel kid at heart, but my true allegiance is to Mars.

More broadly, these two issues showed me that I’d been completely wrong about DC. It was far from staid and boring, far from silly and simplistic. It was a universe that was just as rich and colourful and complex and multi-faceted as Marvel – maybe more so. If, after Marvel had gone downhill, #3 and #4 had not found their way into my hands out of sheer social awkwardness, I might never have crossed that line in the sand to DC. I might never have read all-time great series like Suicide Squad or Flash or the Five-Year Legion or L.E.G.I.O.N or JSA or Crisis or Animal Man or countless others. I might still dismiss DC as a lesser counterpart to Marvel, rather than a complementary entity. In fact, I might never have returned to comics at all. The longboxes in the wardrobe, the piles of comics by the bed, the sagging bookshelves of graphic novels – they’re all the fault of Giffen, DeMatteis, Maguire and a big green bloke wearing a mankini. 

(originally published on the Big Glasgow Comic Page)

FKA 'DEFINITELY GOING TO SURVIVE SQUAD', PRE LAWSUIT

Good day, bawlers and brawlers. Welcome once again to my BARGAIN BASEMENT OF DOOOOOM. There hasn’t been a visit to this greasy locale for quite some time, as while looking for some tasty back issues to showcase, I clambered up a stack of yellowing longboxes, triggered an avalanche and found myself trapped helplessly beneath several thousand copies of NFL SuperPro #1. I lay interned in a heap of low-grade gimmick comics, the hours turning to days, the days to weeks. I had to eat my own delicious flesh to survive. Soon, only my lips and teeth remained. But then, with one herculean Ditko-esque effort straight out of Amazing Spider Man #33, I was free. Free! Free to end this ill-conceived meandering digression and present this instalment’s cheapie-bin classic: SUICIDE SQUAD.

  

Well, perhaps not so cheap now. Their appearances on Arrow and in the (fairly dismal) animated film Batman: Assault on Arkham have already considerably raised the Squad’s stock – and with the just-released trailer for the upcoming 2016 movie, they seem set to go stratospheric and mainstream. It is therefore all the more galling that my entire run of Suicide Squad didn’t survive one of several brutal collection purges. This has led to no small amount of regret and a torrent of geeky tears that, despite their abundance and high saline content, inspire no sympathy from my wife and child, who apparently ‘need the space’ for their ‘things’.

My daughter's bedroom.

There have been several incarnations of the Suicide Squad, starting way back in 1959, but the one I’m talking about here first appeared in the 1987 Legends miniseries before graduating to its own title for a 66-issue run between 1987 and 1992.

Mostly written by John Ostrander and drawn by a number of artists – but most notably Luke McDonnell and Karl Kesel – Suicide Squad is one of the highlights of what I consider to be a particularly fertile period in DC Comics history. The concept is a pretty simple one: the Squad (known more formally as Task Force X - because the name 'Suicide Squad' was deemed off-putting to potential recruits during the annual quality-assurance evaluation of the recruitment process) is a group of extra-normal operatives, mostly super-villains, cajoled, coerced or threatened (by means of exploding bracelet) to take part in dangerous and dirty covert missions. As the Squad’s name implies, survival is very much not guaranteed, and quite a body count is racked up as the series progresses. Many, many wild and wonderful characters come and go, but the core team consists of Colonel Rick Flag Jr, Vixen, Bronze Tiger, Enchantress, Nightshade, Captain Boomerang and Deadshot. This motley bunch are brought together and (mostly) kept in line by the one-woman force of nature known as Amanda ‘The Wall’ Waller. A far cry from her tediously sexy New 52/Arrow revamp, the original Wall was a superb character – short, heavy-set and extremely domineering, gifted with no powers save for an acid tongue, a talent for subterfuge and an indomitable will. In #10, Batman decides to investigate this covert organisation. He takes down the entire team and finally confronts the Wall – who threatens him enough to make him scurry back to his cave with his pointy ears a’ droopin’. Yup, she beats Batman with words alone.

As an aside for Bat-fans, the series is also notable for featuring the first appearance of a post-Killing Joke Barbara Gordon, reborn (at first anonymously) in #23 as the information broker Oracle. She reappears throughout the rest of the series, and is the star of arguably the best cover of the entire run (#49).

The team’s first mission finds them going up against the Jihad – a pretty crassly named super-powered terrorist organisation that would return, in various forms, throughout the series. This conflict illustrates the advantages of working with villains, who take down the Jihad with no nonsense and little difficulty – even a cowardly fifth-rate crook like Captain Boomerang despatches his opponent with ruthless efficiency and a cold-blooded quip. In subsequent issues, the Squad become embroiled in political intrigue, mired in international incidents and deal with gangsters, terrorists and conspiracies. Although largely based in a super-powered spy/espionage milieu, the Squad’s adventures also took them off-world and into strange mystical realms – from Apokolips to Nightshade’s home dimension to the weirdly, wondrously psychedelic world of Steve Ditko’s Shade the Changing Man (who ended up joining the team).

Aside from the Wall, the standout character for me is Deadshot. With his complete lack of concern for his own mortality, Floyd Lawton most fully embodies the title of the series – be it gleefully attempting a blue suicide or an incredible scene from #54 where he enters into a Mexican standoff with the latest unwilling recruit, Russian super soldier Stalnoivolk (the Steel Wolf… a favourite character of mine), while plummeting, sans parachute, from a plane. The greatest and most celebrated Deadshot moment comes in issue #22, when Rick Flag decides to assassinate a corrupt senator who is threatening to expose the Squad. Waller orders Deadshot to stop Flag killing the senator – ‘by any means possible’. Deadshot’s overly literal solution? To shoot the senator himself.

 

Suicide Squad really stood out from the other titles on the shelf at the time, particularly those being put out by DC. Mainstream comics often operated in a clearly delineated binary of good and evil, whereas the Squad operated in a far murkier world of lies and manipulation and murder, of ends barely justifying means. Even its most sympathetic, honourable and quote-unquote moral character, Bronze Tiger, is a jaded former assassin, only too aware of the many shades of grey that ethics can encompass. It was also a remarkably violent title for the time, in the wake of the post-Watchmen/Dark Knight Returns darkening of comics, but before such things became gratuitous, overblown and absurd in the 1990s. However, it’s no empty, amoral splatterfest – there’s a really strong emphasis on character here, with great interplay between the main protagonists, and the team’s in-house chaplain, support staff and psychiatrists serving as tools with which to explore their warped heads.

In short, a fantastic series, much missed around these parts. I’m both excited and anxious to see the Squad transferred to cinema. Excited because of my love for the characters and the concept, and it looks like a pretty solid action flick. However, as soon as Joker turns up (and to some extent, cosplay mainstay Harley Quinn), I must admit… I just sigh.

Following severe dental trauma, former Coal Chamber drummer embarks upon lamentable career in cartoon mayhem.

One of the things I like about the Squad is that it consists of D-list villains and lesser characters, who form a fascinating group in their own right. The presence of such a huge pop-cultural icon as Joker, be it as a antagonist, supporting player or whatever, seems too blatantly obvious and cynical. It’s not even an aversion to Jared Leto’s nu-metal-style version of the character – I'm just bored of Joker being the go-to villain. I want a Suicide Squad film, not a movie where everyone's waiting with bated breath for a figure already familiar from a million T-shirts and tattoos. I don’t want Deadshot and Enchantress playing second fiddle to this overrated green-haired goon. With any luck, he'll just be there in flashback. But I wouldn’t count on it.

P.S. To whoever ended up buying my back issues – you’d better treat them well, lest I unleash my inner Waller.

P.P.S. Not Rik Waller.

(modified and extended version of post originally published on The Big Glasgow Comic Page)