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)            

AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON – A spoiler-free review

Given the name of this blog, you may not be surprised to hear that I was somewhat excited about Age of Ultron. My all-time favourite villain, the Adamantium Jesus himself (or vibranium, in this case – damn you, Marvel/Fox legal wranglings), a character that has intrigued me for more than 30 years, appearing on cinema screens, voiced by an expert at playing creeps and sociopaths – and a sequel to one of my favourite comic-book movies of all time. There’s no way this could disappoint, right?

Right?

The most honest answer I could give is: I don’t *think* it did. It’s a little difficult to tell. It’s just so relentless. The opening moments of the film hurl you straight into a massive – and impressive – action set piece that leads, more or less directly, to the creation of Ultron himself. And once the Big Shiny Sexyboy arrives on the scene, surprisingly early on, we’re off. There are few opportunities to pause for breath as the peril mounts, the action spirals out of control, and things just become exceedingly, unashamedly comic-booky. There are several points that are not jump-the-shark moments per se, but which may push suspension of disbelief a little far for casual audiences. If you’re willing to go with it (and hell yes, I am), it’s a wild and wonderful ride.

However, this unbelievable sensory bombardment, over a prolonged period, leaves you reeling, and makes it difficult to determine exactly how well the film holds together. My instinct is to say ‘Really bloody well’, but then again I’m easily impressed by lots of bright colours and loud noises. It’s a long film, but never feels like it – Whedon packs in a hell of a lot of, well, everything. Quieter conversational moments may be few and far between, but that’s not to say that he skimps on character. Far from it. Rather, the team’s and their antagonists’ personalities are at the fore and drive the story.

The cast are outstanding, with no weak links in the core team (Renner gets much more to do this time), and a big impact made by Paul Bettany as the Vision and, of course, Spader as the bad bad robot. It doesn’t give anything away to say Spader’s interpretation was not quite what I expected, but he inhabits the role with much devilish glee.

A second viewing will be essential to unpack exactly how successful a film Age of Ultron is, but suffice to say that as a cinematic experience it’s massive, beautiful, funny and dangerously exciting. I’m not sure that it has quite the individual ‘Wow!’ moments that stood out from the original, but a) some of that may have been shock of the new; and b) maybe there are, but the pace, scale and scope of Age of Ultron doesn’t quite give you the space to appreciate them, as six more come along a second later. There are several shots and sequences straight out of George Perez’s wildest, most fat-packed dreams, which it’s impossible to unpack or even fully comprehend without a pause button. Essentially, it adds the unfettered, way-out comic-bookiness of Guardians of the Galaxy to the central Avengers concept, turns the dial way into the red zone. It makes the first film look as still and contemplative as a Jim Jarmusch joint.

THE LETTER ON HIS HEAD STANDS FOR 'ASS KICKED BY BATROC'

Good morning starshine… the Earth says hello. And it also bids you welcome to the cheap but chafing environs of the BARGAIN BASEMENT OF DOOOOOM. Inspired by the eye-scorching splendiferousness of last year’s best comic-book movie without a Yondu, The Winter Soldier, I’m keen to revisit a relatively unsung (and crucially, most bargainous) period of CAPTAIN AMERICA.

Must admit, Cap is a character I’ve often struggled with. As a brightly coloured, morally upright paragon of virtue, he seems too virtuous to be interesting, too confident to allow for drama, too sanctimonious to be sympathetic. And as a patriotic character draped in a flag, he rankles me intensely on a political, symbolic level too. Yet there’s something about this guy that I find fascinating… Maybe it’s precisely because on the surface he’s the most whitebread, tedious, mom-and-apple-pie North American superheroic power-fantasy cliché imaginable, that he inspires writers to excavate further and deeper, to explore what makes this flag-wearing relic tick. Not only is Captain America a man out of time, he’s also a fictional character out of time – this two-fisted patriotic icon was created in the 1940s, and arguably that’s where he belongs. On the other hand, as a living anachronism, he’s both a useful tool with which to reflect on our era and a periscope to the past.

In recent years, Brubaker and Millar and Hickman and Remender have done fantastic things with this character. And with the release of Avengers and his two solo films, he’s been elevated to an A-list cinematic protagonist too. But prior to his current super-cool espionage/sci-fi-based renaissance, he spent many years being pretty square. One of my personal favourite Cap runs sits squarely in this era, from #332–#350 (1987–1989). Here, Steve Rogers is forced by the US government to give up his alter-ego and is replaced by John Walker – who turns out to be a stronger, meaner, murderier Captain America. Penned by Mark Gruenwald, this storyline emerged in response to fans asking why Captain America couldn’t kill (a precursor to a similar exercise in Batman).

Walker was at first arguably even more patriotic and morally resolute than Rogers, but less psychologically stable. Over his 18-month stint behind the shield, he increasingly went off the rails, his trail of bodies dotted with members of the Watchdogs, Ultimatum and the Resistants, as well as Professor Power, and his old colleagues Left-Winger and Right-Winger (no, really). 

At the same time, Rogers established a new, red-white-and-black identity (simply ‘The Captain’) and assembled a small band of allies, exploring ways of fulfilling and defining his purpose without the backing of official status or nationalist symbolism.

As celebrated as this arc is, with some issues fetching quite a few pennies, the less lauded period preceding it is equally enjoyable. Mostly penned by Mark Gruenwald, with a few early issues by Mike Carlin, the run from #302 to #331 is full of gems. Here we get Cap entering into a then-final, most-definitely-ultimate-and-no-backsies showdown with the Red Skull; taking on my favourite pesky but ultimately honourable foot-fighting Frenchman Batroc, as well as his partners Zaran and Machete, as they succeed in stealing his shield; going up against the monstrous but tragic Armadillo; teaming up with Captain Britain to fight Mordru the Mystic; encountering the mischievous Madcap; and a undergoing a four-issue showdown with the super-soldier-creating Power Broker. Throughout this period, Cap is a slightly lost figure, often itinerant and struggling to hold down a job as artist for the Captain America comic – an awkwardly circular concept that has quite staggering potential for establishing a regrettable trajectory towards a storytelling dead-end.

There are four particularly notable highlights of this run. The first is the introduction and ongoing development of the Serpent Society as viable foes for Captain America. These snake-themed villains may be a little hokey in a post-Brubaker milieu, but I always dug ’em – they were a motley assortment, ranging from avaricious but basically benign thieves to merciless killers, united only by their belly-crawlin’ inspiration and a leader whose teleportation powers promised that they need never again fear incarceration. They bickered, they squabbled, gained and lost members, butchered MODOK, tried to turn Reagan into more of a reptile than he actually was, and remained a slithery, venomous thorn in Cap’s side for years. And when Kevin Feige recently announced that the third Cap film would focus on these slithering snakes, I was thrilled – after that, the real announcement, Civil War, was frankly anticlimatic. 

Secondly, the Scourge storyline, which had been threading through the Marvel universe for a while, came to a head in #319 and #320. Scourge of the Underworld, a nameless, faceless assassin, had been popping up in a whole range of titles, executing minor criminals deemed surplus to Marvel requirements and/or hugely embarrassing. In #319 he thins the herd by a dozen-and-a-half in the space of a couple of panels – and lo, the universe did weep for the unimaginable loss of Commander Kraken, Rapier, Megatak and Turner D. Century. 

Third, in #321 and #322, Cap comes into conflict with his polar opposite – the fairly self-explanatorily-named Flag-Smasher. This is a man who believes in the dissolution of all nations and is sworn to destroy their symbols – so guess who’s no. 1 on his list (after Captain Canuck, Shamrock and Ursa Major)? What’s interesting about this tale is that it leads to Cap being forced to kill for the first time in his history (although considering he was a soldier who fought Nazis in WWII, this always seemed like a faintly ludicrous conceit), and the ramifications would haunt him for years.

Fourthly, issues #323 and #327 introduce us to the Super-Patriot, a more reactionary, less nuanced take on the flag-draped hero concept, a younger, more powerful upstart keen to take over Cap’s place as the USA’s foremost star-spangled icon. And this is exactly what he does, though not in the way he anticipates – eventually taking over from Rogers after he’s forced to step down, kicking off the excellent Cap No More! arc alluded to above.

So what’s the point of all this? There was once a time when Cap wasn’t a cool, bad-ass violence-vendor tailor-made for high-octane action and deep espionage, but a somewhat stuffy and wholesome figure, slightly lost and bewildered in a world not his own, trying to maintain his firm, old-timey grasp of right and wrong in a more complex era. They’re compelling and entertaining, well written and solidly drawn (courtesy of Paul Neary, mostly), embodying a curious mix of the philosophical musings and encroaching grimness of the modern age with old-fashioned four-colour hokum. For every political metaphor, moral dilemma or massacre, there’s a lady with snakes for arms. Or a man who looks like an armadillo. Or a human pinball bouncing across a giant typewriter. Or, most importantly, a Batroc.

And everything with a Batroc is good.

(originally published on The Big Glasgow Comic Page)