Find your way out of Spider-Woman’s hair! Help the Hulk solve a simple word puzzle! – Super Heroes Puzzles and Games
Poor Hulk. Look at him. Hand in hair, tongue sticking out. It’s the pose of a thoroughly befuddled Green Goliath.
This comic, provided free when one ingested enough sugary cereal to give an entire Marine battalion diabetes, is chock-full of activities and games centered around the four heroes on the cover. There are also brief two-page rehashings of their origins, in much the same vein as the quick bits from the Batman rogues gallery Blue Ribbon Digest. But the real meat here is the side-content. Even my thirtysomething self can find a little bit of joy in the inventive snippets within, and I had to restrain the six-year-old inside me from grabbing a ball-point pen and going wild.
Here’s a sampling.
First, we have a Spider-Man connect-the-dots:
Next, try to pick out the identical Captain America shields. I know you can do it!:
Now we come to that word puzzle that so confounded the Hulk. Give him a hand:
Finally, we have to find our way out of Spider-Woman’s Rapunzel-like hair:
There’s a whole lot more, including a tiny Hulk board game. Really. This whole thing is very much a childish blast. It’s like a treasury of the best back-of-the-cereal-box junk in the world.
Here’s a final puzzle: Which of the cereal mascots featured in the cover inset (the Trix rabbit, Lucky the Leprechaun, Boo Berry, Count Chocula, Franken Berry, and Sonny the Cuckoo Bird) is the most terrifying? I’m going with the Trix rabbit. He has a crazed axe murderer look in his eyes, and I’ve no doubt that there are a few “silly rabbit…” kids in his crawl space, with a sprinkling of lime over their decaying bodies to keep the neighbors from asking too many questions. Just a guess.
Stand back! Let the Batman Bike Horn clear a path!
I’m undecided as to whether this variant makes the ordinary, run of the mill bike horn (or — heaven help us — the bike siren) more or less obnoxious. If a Pants Armstrong wannabe used one of these on me while I’m jogging on a local bike/run trail, I might have to clothesline them.
There’s a certain joie de vivre in the Atom’s Silver Age adventures, a synergy that comes when his miniature crime-fighting crosses with the customary goofiness of the era. They were made for each other. And all that is only heightened whenever Gil Kane is on the job. There’s a fun quality that shines through his artwork. Perhaps art at some point became drudgery for him. Maybe he woke up mornings, scratched his balls and thought “Jesus, I have to do that shit again today?” Maybe. But looking at his output, I find that hard to believe.
Case in point: “Plight of the Pin-Up Atom,” scripted by Gardner Fox and inked by Sid Greene. I was tempted to yack about the other half of this pint-sized twin bill, which featured the Atom travelling back in time to the France of chevaliers and Louis XIV, but there’s just too much in the first part to revel in. Brace yourselves. And sorry, Mr. Quatorze. Maybe next time.
The primary villain in this one has a lust for acquisition that many reading this might empathize with:
I swear, I think this guy has tried to elbow me out of the way while I’m looking through a longbox…
Smarts masterminds heists for goons in return for them purloining assorted collectibles for him (and I have to admit, his cluttered house looks a lot like the home office). His new kick is old bottles, and one of the best local collections belongs to an older couple. Their precious antiques are soon pilfered, but Smarts isn’t satisfied with this haul. It turns out that the couple also has a marvelous collection of American Primitive artwork. So back the gang goes to steal that.
The old fogies also have a boarder who’s a research assistant for none other than Ray Palmer. When she relays their misfortune to him, that puts the Atom on the case. He goes to the house to investigate the bottle caper and stumbles upon the thieves in the midst of hacking the paintings out of the walls:
Get the flyswatter!
The Atom has some bad luck and is knocked out by a vacuum cleaner set on reverse(!). He gets splatted on one of the paintings, and he’s only discovered later when the artwork is taken back the Smarts’ place. Smarts has the bright idea to maybe steal the Atom’s shrinking device to reduce the space taken up by his many collections (he’s really starting to make some sense to me), but after he adds the little guy to his bug display, our hero makes his move:
He then deals with these scumbags in his own unique way, first with model trains (and puns):
And then a tiny catapult:
If some Three Stooges sound effects were thrown in here, my head just might explode with rapturous ecstasy.
The collections are finally returned to their rightful owners, and Ray Palmer gives us the ol’ Silver Age wink to end the story:
Kane’s 1960s work always shines, whether he’s illustrating one of the larger (green) heroes or one of the smallest. I can’t say that I’ve ever loved the aesthetic quality of his art, but I’m more than willing to go gaga over the way he frames a story and positions the characters in each panel. It’s like a basketball player who’s not the best shooter, but more than makes up for that with deft ball-handling, aggressive rebounding and scrappy defense. Kane makes things more than interesting. He makes them fun.
Kane. Atom. Silver Age. A formidable trio indeed.
Mood Rings in the Mighty Marvel Manner!
The puzzles look fun and the binders have been mentioned before, but the fantabulous items in the lower left corner are the eye-catchers. How will I be able to tell if I’m groovy, cheesed or mellow without a Marvel mood ring?
I’m a bit ashamed to say it, but it took me a minute to figure out why the Mandarin would be “hawkin'” said merchandise. I then made the ring connection. Even dulled synapses fire eventually.
Moon Knight as bumbler – Power Man and Iron Fist #87
You have to love Luke Cage and his masked pal Iron Fist. They’re the great “we can all get along” tag-team in comics history, setting aside racial barriers to kick ass and take names. On this blog we’ve seen them battle hapless vampires and Marvel’s softball team, and there are no characters that better embody 1970’s comics than they do. Why, it’s all enough to make Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder croon some platitudes.
And they’re even kind enough to bail out their fellow heroes when they’re in tight spots. For the right price, of course.
Enter Moon Knight. Marc Spector always struck me as a reasonably resourceful individual. Rescued from death by Egyptian deity Knonshu, with mutable moon-based powers, multiple aliases, a mercenary past and great wealth, he’s one of the more visually appealing members of Marvel’s third tier. That’s meant as a compliment. It doesn’t sound like one, but it is. I’ve always had a favorable impression of Moon Knight.
Until now.
“Heatwave” (Denny O’Neil, Denys Cowan & Carl Potts) opens with Moon Knight doing his thing, chasing a low rent thug who’s connected to a larger terrorist/smuggling operation. The chase ends, as so many do, on a NYC rooftop, and one with a water tower:
One would expect Mr. Spector to de-gun the goon and go on his merry crime-fighting way. But no. The thug gets a shot off and clips him as they both tumble into the depths of the empty tower. There they lay, as our titular duo engages in their normal witty repartee:
They’re interrupted by Moon Knight’s civvie compatriots, who explain their need for assistance as well as discretion:
Oh, Luke. You charmer.
Meanwhile, Moon Knight wakes up and has a genuine super-hero freak-out:
I might suggest removing the cape to help cool down, but that’s just me.
It doesn’t take long for the boys to track down the honchos of the gang, including a Kingpin-y sailor called Commodore Planet. They do their thing, to wit:
They get a good workout, but no info, and head back to the ranch. All the while, Moon Knight is making a series of hapless attempts to bust out, each one to no avail. It looks grim, but then a vital clue falls right into the laps of the Heroes for Hire:
Off to the tower they go, and just in time too, because it’s rapidly filling with rainwater. Moon Knight is pulled from the deluge, and our left-standing heroes are left to ponder his “fortitude”:
I’m a bit conflicted about Moon Knight’s portrayal here. On the one hand, I welcome the portrayal of a hero as a human being. He finds himself (literally) in over his head, and that can be a welcome alternative to the “always on top” framework that these things can easily fall into. But his ineffectiveness is so over the top, it comes across as Aquaman-esque. Remember that episode of The Office where Michael Scott goes out into the woods to get in touch with himself? Where his imbecility is fully on display, as he turns his suit into “a crude hut,” gets hopelessly lost and decides to snack on some mushrooms, all in the span of a couple of hours? Well, Moon Knight’s plight reminded me of that. Inept. The Limpwrist of Knonshu, as it were.
I’m having a hard time making up my mind on this one. I’m pretty sure I’m being too hard on poor Marc Spector. Even heroes need heroes now and again. Maybe we should just leave it at that.
It’s okay, boys. Go ahead and play with your Batman dollhouse.
What kid wouldn’t want his own GIANT WAYNE FOUNDATION PLAYSET?
This ad seems to be directed at boys, but there’s a definite girl-toy vibe at play (when seen through the eyes of my generation), despite the TNT and exploding bridge. Removable clothes. A dollhouse. They might as well have included a comb so you could run it through your favorite hero’s hair, My Little Pony-style.
“Kal, you’re so pretty…”
Alexander was Great. His movie(s)? Not so much. How about the comic? – Alexander the Great (Four Color #688)
Alexander of Macedon has had a rather bleak history on the silver screen, not quite befitting the man who conquered most of his known world by the age of 33 (my current age — there’s a humbling thought, though he never wrote a blog, now did he…) and inspired Watchmen‘s Ozymandias to cut the Gordian Knot by killing millions of New Yorkers. Oliver Stone tried to argue that his Alexander failed because 2004 America wasn’t ready for its depiction of Alexander’s gay side. I think that’s called “denial.” The gay relationship was alluded to but never consummated, and no one wants to admit that they crafted an exercise in cinematic drudgery. You made a lead balloon, Ollie.
It followed in a not so proud tradition. If you’re ever having trouble getting to sleep, try popping 1956’s Alexander the Great into your DVD player. It’s like taking a tranquilizer dart in your backside, and one that was intended for a rampaging bull elephant. It’s Ambien in motion. And that means that, unlike the adaptation of Lawrence of Arabia, the comic associated with that production starts from a quality deficit. It’s one that it never overcomes.
It tries, mainly through Alberto Giolitti’s art. All the expected biographical beats are within, including Alexander as a child single-handedly killing one of nature’s great beasts:
But the many battles, while nicely detailed, just don’t have the required energy:
The story rampages along like a boulder clunking downhill, without ever pausing or changing the pace to make it, you know, interesting. It’s a worthy successor to its celluloid source material, I suppose.
I still find this a better read than the old Classics Illustrated version of Cleopatra. Perhaps that’s my chauvinism speaking. And on a related note, Richard Burton, the star of this older Alexander film, also featured as Mark Anthony in the Elizabeth Taylor Cleopatra, one of the benchmark bombs in Hollywood history. It was on the set of that picture that Burton’s and Taylor’s well-chronicled romance began, and I’ve sometimes wondered if Liz turned to her new man at some point and said “You think you made a bad movie about one of the great names in history? Darling, just watch me sink this bitch!” Or something along those lines.
Anyway. I guess the lesson here is that real conquerors can make poor story subjects. Just wait till I get my hands on the comic for the John Wayne Genghis Kahn flick…
Tick tock. Tick tock.
It seems that watches are losing steam as a fashion accessory as their necessity as a time-piece is fading. One might think that super-hero watches could reverse that trend, though it’s unforgivable that these don’t have the characters’ arms as the watches’ hands. Fie!
Could we maybe reverse the names and swap “kills” for “meets”? – Archie Meets the Punisher #1
There are times when I want to wrap my arms around comic books in a rugged, manly embrace. This is one of those moments.
I’ve made my general distaste for the Punisher clear before. Not my cup of tea. That aversion, though, is dwarfed by my apathy towards Archie and his Riverdale posse. My knowledge of that universe is spotty at best. I didn’t know his last name was Andrews until I read this book. I sometimes have trouble remembering which is the brunette and which is the blonde (by the way, Veronica every day and twice on Sunday). I have the mildest bit of admiration for Jughead and his gumption, which allows him to walk around 24/7 with a Burger King crown perched atop his dim skull, but that’s about as far as any affinity goes.
And that brings us to this bit of stupendousness, which I’ve long known of but only recently added to the archives.
Is it wrong of me to want Mr. Castle to rough up Archie and his cheerful gang? No, right? I hope not, BECAUSE I WANT THE PUNISHER TO SLAP THAT FRECKLED PUSS SILLY. I want him to give them the same treatment his movie self gave those douchey Parkour dudes.
Don’t let me down, Frank.
Batton Walsh wrote this little ditty and Tom Palmer inked, while John Buscema and Stan Goldberg split pencilling the respective Punisher and Archie halves. The excuse for this collision of worlds comes when an Archie look-alike gangster that the Punisher is stalking heads to the whitest town in America — there’s a real Clint Howard/Ron Howard dynamic between “Red” Fever and Arch (and please note the other fictional potential destinations):
It’s not long before the Punisher finds out where he went, and he and the brainy Micro make the typical fish out of water when they walk down Riverdale’s tree-lined streets:
In the meantime, Red has inserted himself into the town’s social scene in his quest to take it over. He’s made friends with Veronica’s father and he’s agreed to take her to the school’s sock hop, all this after she and Archie had their 1,958,394th argument. Speaking of Mr. Andrews, some rival gangsters are also on Red’s trail, and they kidnap Archie by mistake. They in turn are taken out by the Punisher, who’s also confused Archie for Red, and this gives us a stare-down for the ages:
Even the coldest soul has to chuckle when they see that.
Archie slips away when the other gangsters fight back and he eventually works his way to the dance (Josie and the Pussycats are the featured performers, of course). Frank goes there too, and I was a bit surprised by the genuine poignancy of these panels, as he walks through the quiet halls:
The Punisher affects a disguise to “blend in” with the scene, and manages to activate Miss Grundy’s primal yearnings in the process:
It’s not long before Archie, Red, the gangsters and the Punisher all collide. Automatic weapons make their first ever appearance at a Riverdale sock hop, most secondary characters get a moment in the sun (no Big Ethel, though), and the Punisher wields a cake while forging the most unlikely alliance in Earth’s history:
Red escapes with Veronica as his hostage. Time for our newly formed duo to regroup and muse:
Yes, the words “Archie’s,” “War” and “Journal” were just used consecutively.
Red is tracked to a building that houses comic character parade balloons(?!), and in the final confrontation it’s Archie that strikes the felling blow, revealing that Red is wearing a Gene Hackman/Lex Luthor wig:
Poor Red gets his foot caught in one of the balloon loops, and off he goes:
“FORWARD MY MAAAAAAAAAiiiiiiiiiillllllllll……..”
Okay. The day is saved. Veronica is rescued. Riverdale is safe. But the Punisher is going to at least give Archie a good slap, right? Right?!:
Gah! He’s one of them now!
At least the story ends with some hope for the future:
There you go.
Having Archie and the Punisher cross paths is an irresistably stupid idea. It’s one of those combinations that’s so odd it’s almost impossible for it not to work. And, in line with that, this comic is as good as it could possible be. All the notes are hit with aplomb, and one has to give credit to the artistic crew for meshing (or not meshing, as the case may be) the wildly divergent aesthetics of the Punisher and Riverdale. I don’t know if I’ve smiled this much while reading a comic book since the “Conan in the Present Day” story.
You know what? It’s even enough to make me soften up on poor Archie.
The Disturbing Image of the Day
Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe the memories of the toy uzi I had as a kid — the one with the delightful rat-tat-tat sound when its trigger was pulled — maybe those memories are dimming a tad. But I find this ad disturbing, and this is coming from someone who’s no ardent gun control advocate. It definitely surpasses the living room shooting range and the backyard nuclear sub in the “sheesh” factor.
If you’re looking for more about the little admiring old guy on the cover who’s hiding his boner with an Uncle Scrooge money bag, there’s none of that in She-Hulk’s umpteenth final issue. Sorry. There is, however, an odd reprise of one of the goofiest characters ever conceived.
Yes. The Man-Elephant. Let us rejoice and make merry.
Peter David scripted, Steve Scott pencilled and Vicente Cifuentes inked this blow-off effort, and the rematch in question comes as She-Hulk storms a hidden laboratory to rescue Skrull gal-pal Jazinda from torture and death. Green-skinned women of the world, unite, and all that jazz. S-H breaks in and all is going well, that is until an old foe steps to the fore:
It was “Haller” before, not “Heller.” And his skull was a bit weirder-looking. And he had noticeable ear-hair. But it’s the same guy.
His armor, with its tusk grappling hooks, is (tragically) gone. Thanks to a trip to the East and a fateful encounter with a Hindu wise man with a special gem, he can transform into a living incarnation of Ganesha. Hence:
It’s Doomsday meets Babar.
Now he goes by the name Behemoth, and he’s the one that captured the Skrull babe and put her in this predicament. He looks more fearsome, but is he any better at fighting now that he has mystically-derived powers?
Not really.
He’s a bit more intimidating and successful this time as he tangles with She-Hulk and her femme posse of Thundra, Invisible Woman and Valkyrie, but the more things change, the more they stay the same:
And that, friends, marks the not-so-triumphant return of the Man-Elephant/Behemoth. I know the chances of a She-Hulk live-action film are slim (we’ll have to continue tiding ourselves over with the Benny Hill version), but if there is one in the pipe someday, I pray to Ganesha that Haller/Heller is the villain. With tusk grappling hooks.
One last thing. I have no beef with Peter David. I read many of his books as a kid, and one can’t help but admire his workhorse prodigiousness. And he resurrected the Man-Elephant, for Pete’s sake. At times, though, his winks to the reading public can get a bit too cute. Much of the dialogue in this issue is unspeakably smarmy, but the last page threatens to collapse upon itself and suck us into a black hole of pretension:
I know having a book cancelled out from under you has to be a traumatic experience, but don’t drag me into your private hell.
You sunk my Avalanche.
My grandparents’ house had a stash of old board games and toys that were left over from a cousin that was about 15 years older than me. They were like little time capsules of yesteryear’s childhood diversions — a yesteryear that wasn’t all that far away, but a yesteryear nonetheless. I never saw Avalanche in the pile, but it certainly would have fit the pattern.
Thank God for video games. Even Pole Position.
He’s outdone himself in uselessness – Aquaman #37
Before I start pummeling the ever-loving crap out of Aquaman, I have to once again admire a Nick Cardy cover. His interior art is solid, but the stuff he did for the outside was always nothing short of eye-catching. This certainly ranks as one of his better efforts. The undersea landscape bereft of water, a helpless Mera, the exposed underwater landscape and hapless sea-creatures (check out the forlorn octopus next to Mera’s noggin) all fuse together to make this a doozy. It seems that Cardy’s Aquaman covers always seem to work better when Mera is involved. Perhaps her deep red hair sets off the color palette.
Enough praise. Time for the semi-regular kicking of Aquaman’s ass.
Just to reiterate my general stance on the character — I want so badly for Aquaman for work. My harsh criticisms are tough love. He’s an underdog, the butt of everyone’s jokes. We should pull for him for that reason alone.
The last time we checked in for an Arthur-centric tale, we saw our champion bailed out by the spritely Quisp and only belatedly doing anything remotely heroic. How about this time? Has he made any improvements to his game in the 30 issues since that previous installment?
Let’s check.
We really get off on the wrong fin in this Bob Haney-scripted story, as Aquaman attempts to give life-lessons to Aquababy:
Okay, I’ll be the one to say it. Aquaman should be the LAST person to ever look down on anything “sissy.” Incidentally, can you still say sissy? Is it now synonymous with — and therefore as clearly unacceptable as — “fag” and “queer”? Can we still say “wuss?”?
An inauspicious beginning, to say the least.
The horseplay gets a tad dangerous when Aquababy spins away and starts heading for a mean looking rock. Aqualad goes to rescue him, but is beaten to the punch by an unlikely savior:
*Gasp* The Ocean Master!
Aquaman steps in and there’s much bellowing and thumping of chests as these two unwitting half-brothers (they’re like Speed and Racer X in some ways, I guess) act like underwater apes. Yes, they try to solve their dispute in that manliest (non-sissy) of ways, a brawl:
They’re interrupted before this can turn into an underwater Quiet Man by goo and pockets of air that are invading the sea:
Who’s behind this? Some dude called the Scavenger, who’s after an alien device called the Time Decelerator, which will make him immortal:
Aquaman does not take kindly to being bossed around and threatened, so he acts as any great hero would — he has others do his dirty work for him. Whales batter the Scavenger’s ship and rays zap its hull:
All these efforts are laughed off, and the Scavenger gives Aquaman an ultimatum — cough up the Time Decelerator or the entire ocean will be destroyed. All well and good, but Aquaman has no idea where this bit of tech is. So much for the master of the seas bit.
When the Scavenger heads off to let Aquaman stew, the Ocean Master tails this new villain (it’s implied that they’ve worked together before). He gets bested as well (runs in the family), and Aquaman proposes an alliance when he finds his prone enemy:
“Rotting gigantically”? Was anyone proof-reading these things?
They form a (reluctant) team and split up to pursue different avenues of attack. The Scavenger has taken refuge in one of the air pockets (and taken Mera and Aquababy hostage in the meantime), so Aquaman summons some creatures that can crawl to help in the attack:
Aquaman, once again, fails miserably, despite the cheering of his family:
Thank God for the Ocean Master, because at least he has a plan. He’s found the Time Decelerator, which he uses to goad the Scavenger out of his impregnable ship, and he’s also rigged it with a bomb. It’ll also kill Aquaman’s wife and child (hey, you can’t win ’em all) and this does not sit well:
The Scavenger uses the Decelerator, but it backfires on him (big surprise), first regressing him to a child and then into nothingness:
Aquaman has (not at all) saved the day!:
Let’s recap. Aquaman doesn’t want his son to grow up to be a sissy/gay. His fish telepathy is useless in the water. It’s also useless outside of the water. He has to form a partnership with a mortal enemy. His heightened strength can’t pry open a metal ship. He doesn’t check this issue’s big bad AT ALL, and said villain is only done in by his own actions. But hey, at least he didn’t kill the Ocean Master when he was unconscious and helpless.
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. Our hero, ladies and gentlemen.
Maybe from now on I should just admire the cover and never take the damn thing out of the sleeve. Yeah. That sounds good.
Just in time for the end of the summer
Personally, I’d like to put myself on Wonder Woman’s chest, but that’s neither here nor there.
Quick story. Years ago — when I was still in the early single digit age range — I had a Hulk beach towel. I loved that thing like Linus loved his blanket, even if it had become a bit tattered. Then one day, as I was walking through the garage, I passed my father’s workbench and saw some rags with pieces of a familiar drawing on them. I think you grasp where this is going. My father, seeing the beaten old thing on a shelf, had turned my towel into handy-dandy rags. I promptly raised a teary, unholy ruckus, and somehow, someway, my parents in short order tracked down a brand spanking new duplicate. I was placated.
God forbid if my father had shredded a Superman towel. I might have run away and joined the circus or something.
The carnage! – Boris the Bear #1
We comic book aficionados all need to vent on occasion, whether it’s over price hikes, artistic fads, storyline directions or cover variants. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to vent vicariously through fictional characters. Enter the anthropomorphic Boris the Bear, one of the earliest Dark Horse Comics names, who skewered industry icons, trends and pretensions (sometimes literally). It turned out later that he was actually a robot, which I guess makes him a more violent but less terrifying version of Teddy Ruxpin.
This first issue (Story: Mike Richardson, Script: Randy Stradley & James Dean Smith, Art: James Dean Smith) starts things off with a bang, as Boris goes on a murderous rampage and slices and blows away every 1980s trendy character you could shake a stick at. It’s somewhat reminiscent of Thanos’ gleeful dismantling of Marvel icons during the Infinity Gauntlet saga. But bloodier.
It all begins when Boris gets miffed while reading the latest knock-off book:
It sends him into a Falling Down tailspin, and he takes a costuming cue from the Rambo flicks:
Warrior rabbit Usagi Yojimbo is the first character to have a proxy killed execution style, and Boris is even keen to add insult to mortal injury:
Next up is a certain aardvark with a finite run:
The next characters are “Tampa Mice,” a take-off on Hamster Vice, which was a send-up of Miami Vice. I’m getting dizzy. After that come the real big targets, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I think this full-page shellacking (so to speak) just about says it all:
This slaughter is worthy of some Jim Ross “Good God Almighty!” hyperbole.
Boris, his lust for blood nowhere near sated, then lures every remaining furry critter character to one place for a little “fish in a barrel” fun:
He kills every last goddamn one of them. Some I don’t mind seeing splatted. I’m looking at you, Smurfs. But Opus from Bloom County? What the hell did he ever do to hurt anybody?
Boris’ human pal Dave shows up to chide him, but our bear lacks any remorse, and has one last target:
Bear on bear crime is so sad.
The Rambo outfit is quite fitting seeing as how I haven’t seen bloodshed so reveled in since that character’s 2008 film return. I’d almost say it’s a little much, but it’s all in an editorial vein. We’ll let it pass.
What comic book character would you want to have offed in a savage manner? I’m tempted to say Jerry Lewis, but he’s a real person. I’ll go with Zook.
Jared
blog into mystery 
