Category: Columns

Marc Alan Fishman: The Superior Spider-Ploy

fishman-art-121222-1272828SPOILER ALERT: To be fair… if you’ve not read Amazing Spider-Man #700, and care about the ending, and haven’t scoured the interwebs for spoilers previously? Please don’t read this week. Go read Dennis O’Neil’s article instead. It’s better than mine anyway.

Awhile back Michael Davis and I got into a heated argument over balls. Not kickballs. Not softballs. Not soccer balls. Balls. Juevos. Or Huevos, depending on how you look at it. We bickered a bit on whether DC’s New52 was a move made with testicular fortitude. Well, I’d like to think ultimately I won. I said they didn’t use enough man-juice. They got the bump in sales they wanted, but I don’t believe for a second they “changed the industry,” “changed the game,” or did anything more than what they did after the first Crisis on Infinite Earths – but in a significantly more watered down way. But I digress. This week, I’m not here to chastise DC. This week. I’m here to celebrate a bold and ballsy move by none other than Dan Slott. His Superior Spider-Man is a gutsy concept that deserves recognition.

Slott started in on his run on Amazing Spider-Man way back at issue #546. One-two-skip-a-few-ninety-nine-six-hundred. At issue #600 Dan started what would lead to a hundred issue long game wherein he would eventually do the (mostly) unthinkable: he would kill Peter Parker, and in true comic fashion mind-swap Otto Octavious into the titular hero’s body. And he’d keep it that way. Thus, when Marvel launches Superior Spider-Man with Doc Ock as Peter Parker… we have a new(ish) Spider-Man in the 616. Balls, kiddos.

The ideology here is simple. Thwarted time and again, Octavious decided to play one of the longest cons in comic history. In bits and pieces and dribs and drabs, Doc Ock found ways into Peter Parker’s head. And after his nefarious plan succeeds, in very a Ozymandias’ way, we are left with Spider-Ock. But instead of proclaiming potential world domination, instead Slott aims Octavious towards a goal that makes him more a shade of gray than previously thought. To paraphrase: all Otto’s ever wanted (aside from a dead nemesis for years and years, and maybe a better haircut) was to improve the world. Now, with this newfound great power will come great solutions. He has proclaimed that he will be the superior Spider-Man. Natch.

Now, the whole body swap thing has been done before. As has the “replace the title character with character X.” Bucky-Cap. Dick Grayson-Bats. Frog-Thor. And yes, we know that Spidey-Classic will no doubt be back in his own body safe and sound. And let’s even be so bold as to suggest somehow Otto will get himself a new body too. Younger. Stronger. Designed with 100% more lines and angst. It’s just the nature of this business. Don’t believe me? Go look at Frank Castle. Bloodstone my Jewish ass. But that’s a whole ‘nother show, as Alton Brown might say. The key here, and the reason I’m so excited about this, is because of the sheer novelty.

It’s widely known my favorite book of 2011 was Scott Snyder’s Detective Comics, starring Dick Grayson under the cape and cowl. I had not purchased a Batman book for eight years prior. Thank you, Hush. Why did I return? Especially when I didn’t know Scott from a hole in the wall? Because of the opportunity to give me something new. And whereas seemingly all other Marvel titles being brought into the “NOW,” here Slott decided to end his pre-now run with a big bang. Everyone else put the toys neatly back on the shelf. Balls. Of course, it may be a bit unfair to say that. Slott leaves Amazing Spider-Man to go to… Superior Spider-Man. So, perhaps he’s only semi-ballsy? Nay. To start a new number one with such a concept – for however long it goes on for – is a calculated risk.

Most of us in comic land know that a shiny new #1 on the shelf is an invitation to hop on board the bandwagon before it’s too late. I missed the boat (er… wagon) already on Daredevil, Hawkeye, and a few others outside the big two. To start a book by throwing out the previously known characteristics of your lead hero is something even more refreshing that Bucky-Cap and the like. Octo-Spidey has a cold and calculating mind behind the bright spandex. He has knowledge of the underworld other heroes would not be privy to. And he has all of Peter’s knowledge on top of his own. That’s two super-scientists for the price of one, for those counting. All of these things contribute to an amazing (superior? Nah, too easy) amount of potential energy. So long as Slott can convert that to kinetic energy he has an opportunity to redefine a hero with decades of backstory (and a ton of it truly despised). Goodbye clone saga. Goodbye “One More Day.” Hello new stories. For however long they last.

Speaking of that length, I cite Señor Miguel Oro. “…It’s not merely a matter of execution: eventually, the readers’ patience will wear out. The trick it to make the arc so compelling you don’t want it to revert. That’s some trick. But even then, you’re racing against the reader’s expectations.”

And therein lies the ultimate question. How long can Dan Slott keep the ball in the air. The longer he does it, the more attention will gather around the book. I mean, with a major motion picture looming not too far off in the distance, can Slott successfully maintain a Spider-Man that isn’t? Only one way to tell. And while I only read “Ends of the Earth” on his Amazing Spider-Man run before being lured elsewhere… I for one will jump on board as long as he delivers.

Dan Slott, the balls are in your court. Now (heh), use them.

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Martha Thomases: The Wonderful Party

thomases-art-121214-2629242The responsible thing to do this week would be to write about The State of Women in Comics. With Gail Simone booted off Batgirl, coupled with Karen Berger’s departure from Vertigo, one can conjure all sorts of misogynist conspiracy theories, and one would have more than a 50% chance of being right.

But I don’t want to write about that. For one thing, I don’t have any inside knowledge, so I would only be speculating.

Here’s the thing. Comics is such a small world that I know both of these women. I worked with Karen for the better part of a decade, threw the launch party for Vertigo in my apartment when I couldn’t get DC to pay for it, and enjoyed her work a great deal. I don’t know Gail as well, but I’ve met her a few times, I love her writing, admire her work for the Hero Initiative, and think she’s a really classy person.

These are big names in the business. I am not. But comics is still low-profile enough that we are, more or less, peers. Or at least colleagues.

I was reminded of this last week, when I hosted our annual Hanukah party, the first one since my husband died. It was a bittersweet occasion, an event he loved very much. I thought it was an outrage that he wasn’t here for it, but I also thought it was important to continue the tradition. Life goes on, despite my best efforts.

My friends came out to support my son and myself, and that’s what friends do. The guest list isn’t just my friends from comics. It’s my friends from different aspects of my life, including my son and his friends. My apartment isn’t so large that the comics people can avoid the knitters, or the anti-war people can be in a room separate from my high school pals.

One of our guests is an aspiring comics creator whom I introduced to a few pros at New York Comic-Con last year. He happily told me about the other people in the business he’d met since then, and how great each of them had been to him.

That’s comics.

This is not to go all rose-colored-glasses on you. There are people in the business I don’t like. There are people in the business who don’t like me. There are people I don’t know, and more of them all the time. There isn’t any one of them I’d be intimidated to talk to.

And there isn’t anybody I wouldn’t defend against the attacks of the broader culture, the sneers of elitists who look down on the medium (fewer every day).

We’re in this together, and we have each other’s back. It reminds me of this lyric:

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Will be near to us once more

– “<a href=”

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”

And that brings me to my wish for you this season.

Someday soon, we all will be together

If the Fates allow

Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Or, of course, the solstice holiday of your choice.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Dennis O’Neil: Movies, Comics, and Heroes

oneil-art-121129-2964854Okay, first another bow toward my friend and colleague, John Ostrander. No sense in reviewing Skyfall, the new James Bond flick, since, in his November 18th column, John already wrote virtually everything I might have written about the entertainment. Let us agree: best Bond ever, for the reasons John cited.

It’s been a banner year for this kind of show, hasn’t it? We had two of the best superheroes – no, let’s not be mealy mouthed, Marvel’s Avengers and The Dark Knight Rises were, though quite different, the best superhero movies yet. (You want to disagree? Fine. This is only my opinion and, doggone it, I’ve misplaced my cloak of infallibility. Wonder if I could borrow the pope’s…) I think there’s been, among media types, a discernible learning curve. They have learned how to do this kind of material really well. Not that all such material is really good, but now there is the possibility of it being as good as anything out there. And, maybe more important, there has arisen the consensus that it ought to be good; no need to phone it in just because it’s that comic book stuff.

Reasons? Hey, do I look like a savant? Let’s just make one guess and hurry on.  The guess: for the past couple of decades, many (if not most?) of the bright, creative kids have been comics readers. The form is familiar to them and they’re friendly to it. “Of course the movies can be good,” they might say. “Why wouldn’t they be good?”

The first Hollywood guys who tried adapting comics to the screen were on unfamiliar turf; to the current guys it’s home territory.

That was the guess, plus addenda. Now, the moving on, in the form of a confession: When I was a drifting, quasi-beatnik/peacenik, still on the south side of the dreaded 30, Bond was a Guilty Pleasure. A peacenik buddy (who was not as quasi as I was) and I saw the movies, first run, and enjoyed the action and adventure and romance and pretty females – all the Bondian delights – but! There was what I thought was an unhealthy glorification of consumerism – no, whoever has the most toys when he dies doesn’t always wins – and this aspect is, blessedly, almost absent from Skyfall. The other guilt-inducer was a bit thornier: wasn’t James Bond a fascist?

Sure, the word “fascist” has been tossed around and in the process lost some precision, but it usually involves unquestioning obedience to some authority figure, presumably for the common good. (Has any leader ever claimed to act for the common bad?) Strongly implicit in this conduct is that the authority figure gets to decide what the good is. So enter Bond: His friendly neighborhood authority figure, M, tells him to go commit bloody mayhem and he does. No questioning of right or wrong–just do the mayhem, often merrily. Recent history has demonstrated the inadvisability of blind obedience to the boss.

Again, we can pretty much find Skyfall innocent. The authoritarianism is muted, and neither Bond nor M seem to be happy about the mayhem. And they both seem fallible.

Maybe this kind of analysis is bringing too much baggage to what is, after all, just show-biz. But I’m glad I did it 50 years ago, and I don’t think it’s unhealthy to do it now.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Michael Davis: Egg Sandwiches And a Moo

davis-art-121127-7129962When I started dating seriously, and by seriously I mean dating women with a goal of a relationship, I tried to get every girlfriend to read comics.

Before relationships, my goal was obvious. After achieving that, my secondary goal was getting up and leaving in the middle of the night. That’s if I had a car. If I was taking the subway or bus I’d stay until the morning with hopes of my date making me an egg sandwich.

OK, that’s not true. I didn’t hope for anything. I knew I was getting my egg sandwich. There is nothing a woman finds sexier than a man who makes her moo like a cow and if you can get a women to moo like a cow you can get her to do anything.

I’d say, “Make me a egg sandwich.”

She would respond, “How do you want your eggs?”

Yeah, that’s how I roll.

When I finally grew up and opened my mind to the possibility of something more than a meaningless sexual romp and a egg sandwich, I realized the woman I was with had something to say. When I was in my non-relationship stage all I wanted to hear was “yes.” I would tune out anything else being said until I heard “yes” after I heard it I’d tune out again until I heard mooing.

I remember this girl I fell for – hard. I was really into her and felt that I could share with her like she was sharing with me. One fateful night after she made me moo I told her I wanted her to read some comics I thought she would like.

That was the day the mooing stopped.

Long story short, every woman and I mean every woman I have ever really wanted to know me I’ve tried to get to read comics. All of them except for one declined. Some were nice about it some were down right insulted that I would think they would read some kid shit like comics.

One woman I met and fell in love with tried the books I gave her. She fell in love with Love and Rockets, Watchmen and quite a few other titles.

What happened to that woman?

I married her.

Every woman except her I tried to get into comics said no. Eventually that relationship ended. The one woman who embraced the medium became my wife.

I often wonder why comics are still considered childish among many women today, especially in a world where comics are responsible for some of the biggest films on the planet as well as being accepted as art more and more.

I took to heart being married to a woman who realized that comics are also a viable adult entertainment medium. She knew a good thing when she saw or in this case read it. She was hesitant but agreed to try reading some and was glad she did, all the others didn’t even try.

Yep. I got her into comics and you know what she did?

She left me.

Coincidence? Most likely, but after my divorce I noticed I was spending less time trying to get women into comics and more time writing egg sandwich recipes.

Moo.

WEDNESDAY: The Mike Gold Who Walks!

 

Mike Gold: Why I Didn’t Cold-Cock Walter Simonson

gold-art-121107-7949877There’s been a lot of high-quality books lately that reprint classic stories straight from the original. My friends at IDW do a lot of those, so they’ll be deeply depressed that I’m not going to be talking about one of theirs. And of course there’s no reason to believe a comp list wouldn’t change my attitude.

Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear; in this case, about two months ago. We’re at the vaunted Baltimore Comic-Con – in specific, the Harvey Awards dinner. Walter Simonson had an advance copy of Titan Books’ hardcover collection of the Alien movie adaptation, as done by Walter and the late and much, much missed Archie Goodwin. This book was the exception that proved my point that doing an absolutely first-rate adaptation of a movie is a near-impossibility.

The needs and treasures of the comic book medium are different from those of the movie medium: we have total control of time and space and we’ve got a special effects budget that is limited only by the collective minds of the producing talent. Movies, on the other hand, have going for them music, motion and the benefit of the shared-experience. Apples and oranges.

The Goodwin-Simonson Alien was one of those rare exceptions; perhaps the best of those exceptions. Either way, it was and is worthy of this new high-quality format.

So when Walter was showing off his advance copy like a proud papa before an audience of some of the most talented people in the artform (Mark Wheatley snuck me in), I thought about doing what every other red-blooded comic book fan would think of doing: cold-cocking the son of a bitch, stealing his book, jumping into my Ford Focus and driving back to Connecticut, laughing hysterically while leaving my daughter to fend for herself.

I maneuvered into position in the darkened room, avoiding Louise Simonson. While I’d take Walter on, I do not have what it takes to take on any person who could be so gifted and so nice after working for James Warren. Then, and only then, did I have an epiphany.

I’ve known Walter for decades and decades. We lived near each other on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, we played on the same volleyball team. We’ve dined hither and yon – he once drew a massive prehistoric landscape on the linen tablecloth at a Skokie Illinois restaurant in order to “illustrate” a point. I respect and admire Walter as one of the nicest human beings on the planet… with the exception of the volleyball courts.

But that’s not why I didn’t cold-cock Walter Simonson. Clearly I’ve gotten old, an aging lion gumming his dinner in the corner of the cage while the younguns are preening themselves for pussy.

No, I didn’t cold-cock him because I remembered I already ordered the book. So stealing his simply wasn’t worth the energy.

But it was worth the wait. Buy it before it sells out.

Alien : The Illustrated Story (Original Art Edition) by Archie Goodwin and Walter Simonson • Titan Books • 96 oversized pages • $75.00 retail

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil, who’s also a very nice guy

 

 

Mindy Newell: Sandy’s Back In Jersey, Without Springsteen

newell-art-121105-3621014Ms. Newell lives, works and writes from New Jersey. Sadly, as of this typing she’s only living in New Jersey, and she’s doing so without power. Ergo, no computer. Ergo, no column.

It looks like Mindy wins the race. Gold, Hauman, and Ostrander got their power back fairly early; Thomases got hers back Saturday morning. We haven’t heard from O’Neil or Whitten, but we’re assuming they’re electrically viable. Fishman didn’t lose power but he did get 20 foot waves off of Lake Michigan, which, actually, is amazing. Davis didn’t lose power but he doesn’t know that right now.

Hope you’re doing swell. And the creek don’t rise.

Mike Gold: Little Ole New York Comic Con

ComicMix associate editor Adriane Nash and I knew we were in for it when, on Thursday morning last, there were nine other people waiting for the same commuter train who clearly were headed not to work but to the New York Comic Con. Trains run every half-hour, and ours is but one of a great, great many such stations. Do the math.

In total… one hundred thousand people. Some of whom bathed.

Sure, San Diegoans might smirk at a mere 100,000, but there are major differences between the two shows. First, it only took NYCC six years to reach the 100,000 mark. Second, the Javits Center is smaller and much more out of the way than the San Diego Convention Center. Third, the NYCC has a lot more to do with comic books than the SDCC. Actually, the SDCC barely has anything to do with comic books, despite its title and its not-for-profit mission statement. And finally, NYCC has more European artists and writers while SDCC has more Asian. Of course, this is neither better nor worse, but it is an interesting difference.

For me, there’s another important difference: I don’t have to fly from sea to shining sea to get there.

I’ll gleefully admit six years ago NYCC really, truly and totally sucked. I said so right here in this space. It was the worst planned, worst programmed, worst run major show I’d ever been to, and I started going to New York conventions back in 1968 (I cosplayed Swee’pea). It improved, slowly, and achieved adequacy in its third or fourth year.

This time around the show was very well run – although I agree with Emily’s comments about their panel programming decisions being less than knowledgeable. They should endeavor to overcome this problem.

My biggest complaint – they’re called “issues” now, aren’t they? – was rectified mid-way through the show. They had the exits blocked off, forcing the mass of humanity through narrow corridors back to the small entrance way, making it dangerously difficult to leave, particularly for those who were mobility-challenged. This policy was enforced by a part-time minimum wage crew and, while I sympathize with their difficult job, there was no reason for them to lie to us – they weren’t upholding fire laws; quite the contrary – and there was no reason to act like Cartman without his truncheon. On Thursday and Friday some acted as though it was their job to put the oink in “rent-a-pig,” but on Saturday the rules were changed and you could actually exit through some of the doors marked “exit.”

The New York Comic Con was totally and completely sold out well before the show started. While there was some confusion about the changes in registration procedures (particularly for pros, but we’re an easily confused lot), most of us who followed the rules received our badges in the mail several weeks before the show and therefore were saved from the agony of lines long enough to cause a riot at LaGuardia Airport. I don’t know how you legitimately limit the audience size and 100,000 people can barely fix into the venue; there’s some construction going on at the Javits right now so I hope they procure more floor space next year.

Personally, I had a great time. Sure, most of it was work (ComicMix had nine people there, a third focused on cosplay coverage for our Facebook and Twitter feeds) and because of the nature of my work I spent most of my time in and about Artists’ Alley, the only room that routinely had sufficient oxygen. But I saw a lot of friends – a lot – and, when all is said and done, we could take whatever energy we had left and wade into the bowels of Manhattan, which is always an entertaining and unusual experience.

A rough estimate reveals the New York Comic Con contributed over a quarter billion dollars to the local economy. We’re not just legitimate. We’re big business.

 (Our columnist would like to thank Ed Sullivan for the loan of the head.)

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

 

Michael Davis: Air Sickness, Bagged

Once again, Mr. Davis is not with us due to his hilarious misadventures in France. It is our understanding that he was involved in a long discussion regarding the effectiveness of the “no-fly” list under the belief that it restricts Jeff Goldblum’s employment opportunities.

We have it on good authority that Mr. Davis is now back in the United States, evidently returning bags of dog shit. This, of course, would be another story. We are simply grateful that the Wi-Fi connection at Gitmo remains as strong as Mr. Davis’s sense of indignation.

John Ostrander: Dueling Capes

ostrander-art-121014-5946860There are the Great Eternal Fanboy Questions. (The Eternal Fanboys sounds like a comic itself or a geek Goth band.) One of them is “Who is stronger, the Hulk or the Thing?” Or the variation “Thor or the Hulk?” You can even ask who is stronger – the Hulk, the Thing, or Thor, but that gets complicated and a little metaphysical.

The Classic Eternal Fanboy question, though, predating the others is “who would you rather be, Superman or Batman?” Supes can fly and has all those powers; he’s become sort of the Swiss Army Knife of superheroes as more and more abilities were added over the years, like super-breath. There are mornings when I’ve had super-breath. Not quite like Superman’s but still pretty potent. It had me grabbing the Kryptonite mouthwash.

Batman, on the other hand, is all dark and moody and mysterious and he has all those wonderful toys! And, underneath that cowl and cape, he’s human. One of the prevailing arguments in the debate is that we could never be Superman because he’s an alien from another planet but if we really worked at it, if we were as dedicated as Bruce Wayne, we could become the Batman.

In your dreams, pal. Never going to happen. All us Eternal Fanboys also have second lives as the Eternal Couch Potatoes. Maybe we could be Herbie the Fat Fury, who got his powers from special lollypops, but not The Batman.

As a comic book writer, I’ve been asked the question more than once (and have pondered the answer a few times) which character would I prefer to write – Superman or Batman? Most of you who know my work would probably guess Batman and, for much of my early career, it was true. My forte are dark, moody, violent characters and Batman certainly fit into that. Superman was this big blue Boy Scout with an annoying girlfriend and a personality almost as thin as the paper on which he was printed.

Over the years, however, that’s changed and these days I find I’m drawn more to the Man of Steel. I suppose it started with Christopher Reeve’s portrayal in the 1978 Superman movie. It was Superman’s humanity that struck me. That also came out in Grant Morrison’s superb All-Star Superman run, simply one of the best incarnations of Superman that I’ve seen.

For me, the heart of Superman, the basis of who he is, is not the powers that he has. It’s that he was raised on a farm in Kansas and those are the values that were instilled in him. At heart, he is Clark Kent. Not Kal-El of Krypton and not Superman. Not even the Clark Kent as perceived at the Daily Planet. At heart, at his core, he’s that Kansas farm boy. There is a humility in him; his upbringing is what defines him as a character and not his powers and that, I think, is how it should be. It’s who he is and not what he can do.

Batman has become a much darker and less human character over the years. It’s his way or the highway. He no longer tries to intimidate just the bad guys but his friends and co-workers as well. Batman is the central personality; Bruce Wayne barely appears and then only to serve Batman’s needs. He’s a compelling character, no question – but not one I feel drawn to as much anymore.

Maybe it’s just that I’m growing older but I value Superman – Clark Kent – for that humility, that humanity, and find that it speaks more to me. For all his being an alien, I think Superman is more human than Batman. So, for me, the answer to the Eternal Fanboy question is – I’d rather be Superman.

Your mileage may vary.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

 

Michael Davis: Visible Only To The French

davis-art-1210023-3915740Hi, there. I’m not Michael Davis. I’m his editor. Yeah, that’s not a good sign, is it?

Here’s the deal. Michael wrote the first part of his latest life-shattering saga Why Does Michael Davis Still Read Comics? We ran that last week; if you doubt me, click on the link. Then, according to Michael, he wrote the second part, scooped up his wife, and caught an airplane to France. That’s pretty cool, if you happen to like France. Evidently, Michael doesn’t. He doesn’t like flying even more. He likes his wife, and I suspect he likes the work he’s doing out there, and he probably changed his mind — in part — about France after some good old-fashioned American tourism. 

Please note, I did not say “Michael sent me the second part of his series and then caught an airplane to France.”  This is because he didn’t do that. Michael said apologetically he was in such a rush he forgot. This is entirely possible. It’s a human thing. We all do it. Unfortunately, one of the things I do is mock my friends given any opportunity, which is why I will no doubt be found floating face down in that dirty ol’ river next to Patches some day. But, to quote Michael when he rips off Peter David, I digress.

(By the way, did you know that Peter David’s last name is really Davis and he is Michael’s father? There’s a reason that story doesn’t get out much.)

Here’s the thing. The last line of Michael’s column reads “End of part one!” It does not say “continued next week.” Hmmmm… Makes me wonder. 

Anyway, Michael told me he’s having a lousy time, possibly so I wouldn’t get jealous. He says the bacon sucks, and I believe that part. Did you know that in France, French bacon is called liberté de bacon? Go know!

Since Michael is over there and not over here and evidently there’s a law against him contacting his assistant and having her e-mail me the missing column (it’s amazing what technology can do these days), Michael says he will probably go to a French comic book store and write up his experience there for next week. We’ll see. Personally, I’m doing a Kickstarter to raise his bail. 

Love you, pal. Enjoy your trip.

In spite of yourself.

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold Gets Serious

 

Categories

Archives

Everything you need to make great comics!

comicmix-pro-300x69-2

Nucleus X

Bookshop Zaks