Party like it’s 2099 – Spider-Man 2099 #25
Remember the 2099 line? Begun the early ’90s boom, it brought us far-future derivative titles like Doom 2099, Punisher 2099, Ghost Rider 2099, and less-derivative works like Ravage 2099. It was as if the Marvel braintrust was tossing around ideas one day and came to the collective conclusion that the New Universe experiment failed because there was no connection to the mainstream lines, and thus decided to go with the most tenuous of all bonds to link the old with the new, i.e. names. The endeavor didn’t fall like a lead balloon, and (to my everlasting surprise) some of the titles actually sold. A number of the series lived to see their 40th issues, but most fizzled out by 1996. There were subsequent weak attempts to keep the line going, none of which went anywhere at all.
I can’t say that I read very much of the 2099 stuff. I can recall picking up an issue or two at the newsstand and deciding within seconds that the art was terrible, that the cross-title leitmotif of blahblahblahevilcorprorationsblahblahblah was lame, and that they therefore wouldn’t get my precious lawn-mowing money. I might have been hasty with my dismissal, but I doubt I missed much. Spider-Man 2099 is the only part of that half-assed pantheon that I can even clearly remember. The brief intro story that they crammed into to the 30th anniversary issue #365 of The Amazing Spider-Man (a good idea) made for a prime launching pad, but despite that I remained decidedly blase about the whole thing. I will grant this: I do like the costume design (conjured by character co-creator Rick Leonardi) for Miguel O’Hara’s alter ego. It had an actual arachnid feel to it, which can’t be said for Peter Parker’s normal red and blue togs. And at least future-Spidey lasted long enough to get the nifty anniversary issue that we’re dealing with here (didn’t quite make it to 365), complete with a cover boasting heavy card-stock, reflective foil and raised artwork. You know, the rims and gold teeth of ’90s comics.
I didn’t scan much from this. The villain that SM2099 scraps with in this Peter David-scripted affair (he’s the other co-creator) is unknown to me, and the stakes of their fight are a mystery. I’m admittedly way out of my element. I can, however, offer this two-page action spread, which proves that the more things change, the more they (especially action poses) stay the same:
This comic really made me wallow in my ignorance. I honestly had no idea what was going on. Take this scene for instance, where our eavesdropping hero learns something (I guess) of significance (I suppose) about his origin (maybe):
I’ll take your word for it.
You can tell that the 2099 titles were floundering a bit, because over half of this book is devoted to other characters with nary a mention of future-Spidey. Both Hulk 2099 and Ravage 2099 get chunks of story advertising. It’s kind of rough when you get shunted aside on your big metaphorical day.
Future-Spidey lived to see issue #46, has subsequently met our current incarnation, and he’s made a few appearances here and there in more recent times (most notably in the big-tent Exiles). The “future” he lived (lives? will live?) in, once the “actual” future of the Marvel U., has since been retconned to be an alternative Earth. And by “alternative” I mean “one that no one gives a crap about.”
Still, I offer my belated congratulations to the Spider-Man of the future for making it to the #25 milestone. It’s a point I never would have imagined he’d get to when I was first exposed to that world, and it’s a marker that many titles never have a chance to reach.
Mazel mazel. Good things.
Coming Soon: Malibu Knievel!
Last fall I posted an amusing little ad for Evel Knievel toy accessories. This one is a bit more appropriate, as I’m not sure “Arctic Explorer Knievel” ever entered into a child’s playtime imagination. Still, with these additions it seem that Evel’s arsenal of accoutrements rivals even Barbie’s.
Really, you have to love a guy whose claim to fame is/was colossal, spectacular failure.
Not Paducah. Pellucidar. – Weird Worlds #4
The “Tarzan Presents” is the full extent of the rubber band swinging monkey man’s appearance in this comic. With that disappointment out of the way, on to the actual content.
John Carter and David Innes are the stars of the two tales in this Edgar Rice Burroughs-infused book. Full disclosure: I know more about John Carter, Intern of ER than I do about John Carter, Warlord of Mars, and I’m mostly familiar with Innes through the delightfully awful Peter Cushing/Doug McClure(!) At the Earth’s Core. Perhaps someone more qualified should be looking at this particular comic, but we’re stuck with me. So on we go.
The Carter half (Script: Marv Wolfman, Pencils: Sal Amendola, Inks: Joe Orlando) is packed with the expected Banths, Therns, scantily-clad alien femmes fatales and double-torsoed creatures:
Double-torsoed dudes give me a nasty Human Centipede feeling, not the best association to have. You?:
Now, a word about the art here. It’s a bit bipolar in this first bit. I find a one page panorama like this one to be quite appealing:
But this panel, from the final page of the story, looks ugly and amateurish, as if it’s from whipping-boy Rob Liefeld’s junior high sketchbook:
Perhaps I’m being harsh. Perhaps not.
Anyway.
The David Innes story (Script: Dennis O’Neil, Art: Michael Kaluta) has our hero and his companion, Professor Abner Perry, escaping from saurian Mahar captors and Innes rescuing a hot broad from a pterodactyl, as seen on the cover. The art is a bit more steady, and one can’t help but admire a panel that shows a pterodactyl being brought down with the distressed damsel in silhouette:
The title of this short is “Jubal the Ugly One.” That’s rather odd since Jubal only shows up in the last panel, but, to be fair, he lives up to the description:
As I said, I’m not the biggest Burroughs aficionado. I have, however, read my share of pulps in my day, and these bits of adaptation lack the pulpy elan that should pervade an effort such as this. There’s something missing, something more than coverings for our heroes (it’s as if they’re competing to see who can look the most like he’s going to accidentally expose his junk at any moment). I’m not sure what’s lacking. Weird Worlds and the Burroughs stuff didn’t last long, so maybe I’m not way off base.
We should just be thankful that Doug McClure — with his steadily decreasing wardrobe, huge head and sweaty arms — didn’t make an appearance.
How great would these be? You could stretch your favorite heroes just like they’re so often wont to do themselves!
Oh. Wait…
To be fair, you could always look at the Superman as having been exposed to red kryptonite, and Batman, well, just imagine it’s the ’50s and he’s on the Moon or some other bullshit. And looking back on my own toy experiences as a kid, I think my Stretch Armstrong figure was the only one that didn’t get ripped or crushed or shattered (the old Darth Vader figure sits in a closet somewhere with my long-dead first dog’s teeth marks still in him). Maybe Mego was onto something with these.
Most of the Classics Illustrated efforts are stilted, and the Junior variety are no exception. They are, however, a bit more tolerable in that you’re mostly dealing with venerable fairy tales, not listless retellings of seminal moments in Western literature. The former I can roll with, but the latter I find tepidly underwhelming.
In skimming through this, I was struck but either how much I’ve forgotten Jack and the Beanstalk or how little I knew of it in the first place — read here if you want more on its origins. I think my only exposure to it growing up may have been this classic (and still funny) Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck cartoon:
This adaptation (Art: Alex A. Blum) covers all the storytelling bases that you’d expect it to, despite switching the (I guess) original motivation of Jack stealing back from the giant what was stolen from his father to Jack stealing back what was stolen from a knight. You have the (at first blush) worst bargain in history:
You have the surprise of the next morning:
And you have one of the greatest catchphrases ever:
I’d also like to thank the anonymous original (probably a kid) owner of this book for not taking his Crayolas to this image on the inside of the back cover:
There’s not much one can say about these, and I mean that in a neutral sort of way. And that about says it all.
I’ll leave you with this, perhaps the best use of “fee fi fo fum” in any context anywhere anytime, one that somehow weds it to Hulkamania, fault lines, ocean floors, Donald Trump and the dog-paddle — it really gets cooking about halfway through:
I beheld in breathless wonder…
I just got back from seeing Thor. For a while I’ve been kicking around whether or not to give brief thoughts of comic book movies on this blog. I usually see every superhero flick when it comes out (“support the team” and all that), so it wouldn’t exactly call for any extra effort on my part to do so. It seems a natural fit, and I can think of no better comic-to-film property to get things started than the character whose original book gave the title to this little spot in the web.
Thor is better than it has any right to be, and I mean that in the best way possible.
I’m sort of tired and have my customary post-3D headache, so let me just go through this thing in bullet fashion to give you the highs and hmms:
- I was concerned about the casting of Thor. I was worried that Chris Hemsworth wouldn’t be able to pull off the big brick of meat that is the God of Thunder. My fears have been allayed. He is Thor. He fills the hero role in the proud tradition of Hugh Jackman, Robert Downey, Jr. and, dare I say it, Christopher Reeve. In fact, no one in this thing seems out of place, from the earnest Natalie Portman as Jane Foster to Tom Hiddleston in a memorable turn as Loki. And folks, Loki’s horns don’t for a moment feel stupid, and he is the scheming, wounded prince that we all know and loathe. He really channels some Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator here.
- Asgard is magnificent. It makes sense and seems natural — even the Rainbow Bridge.
- Wasn’t Rene Russo a star at one time? She’s barely in this. They must have been paying her by the word.
- When Thor is whipping Mjolnir about like a propeller blade, I saw Jack Kirby. When he’s flying around, I saw Walt Simonson.
- A certian Marvel character soon to be in The Avengers makes a not-so-secret cameo in this. It’s very forced and sticks out like a sore thumb, which isn’t surprising since he was cast in his role after they finished principal photography on this puppy. But there’s a very brief allusion to a gamma-irradiated scientist that made me smile. So those two things cancel each other out.
- Towards the end, I thought to myself I am watching Thor fight Loki. On the Rainbow Bridge. And it doesn’t look silly. I feel like I should pat Kenneth Branagh on the back for that. Or, more fittingly, buy him a flagon of mead. (Though his tendency to tilt the camera in half his shots can grow a bit old.)
- They really have to stop forcing this 3D crap down our throats. It’s a stupid gimmick. At no point is it necessary for this film. Except to make me pay more to see it.
- The “fish out of water” stuff in Mew Mexico is genuinely funny. When Thor walks heedlessly into traffic, much to the dismay of local motorists, I half expected him to pull a Jim Kirk and fire back a “Double dumbass on you!”
- The Warriors Three and Sif’s roles were fairly thin, and though I picked up on smaller bits of characterization with them I’m wondering if moviegoers unfamiliar with the source material would have the same impressions.
- Sam Jackson’s de rigueur post-credits appearance introduces a classic Marvel WMD to the film universe. Just put me in a coma now and wake me up next year for The Avengers.
There. That wasn’t so hard.
Thor gets four out of five Mjolnirs, making it a Blog into Mystery must-see.
Yeah, I’m sure Mom would love to have a bunch of those stickers on the family car. And kids, don’t ask her before you put them there, either. Surprise her. That’ll be even better. Hell, slap Aquaman right on the hood.
Ah. Herb Trimpe. The Hulk. What a marriage.
This one was back in the most one-notey of the Hulkster’s one-note days. The Hulk wanders around, lashes out, comes into contact with people, and in a roundabout way plays the hero — the E = mc2 of comics. This wasn’t relativistic theory, but one can’t deny its success.
In “The Shocking Return of the Living Dynamo!” by Len Wein and Trimpe, this formula is followed with pinpoint precision. The story opens with ol’ Greenskin wandering around as is his wont, right up until he comes across a train. I’ll give you one guess as to what his reaction is to a noisy, mechanized behemoth. And I bet your guess is along these lines:
Hulk then does his usual make-up routine, where he saves the innocent souls that he’s just needlessly imperiled. Thanks, Hulk. Thanks a lot.
He next hops his way to Chicago, where he catches some Zs and shrinks into puny Banner. Poor Bruce wakes up in his usual dire straits, i.e. half-naked and broke. A quick scan of a discarded newspaper gives him an idea for some quick dough:
Yes. Irony.
Banner soon accidentally interrupts the scientists working at the institute:
I have to pause here and note how stiff and one-dimensional Trimpe’s characters are here. I mean, the American Gothic couple had more vim. This stuff looks a lot like the work of alternative newspaper cartoonist Derf — not a putdown by any means, but odd for a superhero mag.
Anyway, Banner just can’t keep his mouth shut as he listens to these fumblenuts scientists at work, and betrays his real identity:
He puts on a jumpsuit and pitches in, but some ill-timed power surges and horrible luck spoil the experiment and summon our issue’s villain:
Zzzax lives up to his bad-guy rep by immediately zapping (zzzapping?) one of the scientists into oblivion and kidnapping the babe. Cue the blatant King Kong rip-off:
Banner gets pissed and turns into the Hulk, who gives chase to Zzzexy Zzzaxy:
Water-from-sky… It’s fucking rain, Hulk! Rain! R-A-I-N. Say it! SAY IT! Also, memo to Hulk: When you’re raging against raindrops, it’s time to work on your deep breathing exercises. Refocus that energy, big fella!
On the rooftop, Hulk and Zzzax trade blows and garbled-syntax insults, but it’s the remaining free scientist that saves the day. He pilots a helicopter into a dangerous but opportune position, and Wein’s script beats us over the head one last time with a Kong allusion:
Hulk still has to do his hero thing to save this brave soul — somewhat reluctantly, as usual:
That done, he walks away, grumpy and forlorn. So endeth the comic.
This one’s about as A-B-C-D as they come, but it’s a formula that I quite enjoy. Puny Banner. Hulk smash. Rinse. Repeat. No worries on that front. But Trimpe’s art… I usually love his Hulk stuff, and here there’s some fine work centered around the Green Goliath on display. No one could make him look troll-y and square-headed quite like old Herb. But much of the artistic content here is flat. Lifeless. It’s as if Zzzax drained the energy from the very panels that contained him, you know? It’s not bad, it’s just not as arresting as some other Trimpe work that I’ve seen.
And “water-from-sky.” Sheesh.
Pornstache not included
I’ve posted one of the CIE ads before. This version definitely makes the romantic potentialities of commercial electronics more explicit. One wonders if Pete raised the spectre of wife-swapping off-panel. He looks like the type.
I know so very little about Dynamo and his T.H.U.N.D.E.R. cohorts, but feel duty bound to give the old Tower titles some love. And while I won’t look at all the stories contained in this meaty, square-bound spin-off premier, I do think the one I will examine is a fine effort. What makes me say that?
Steve Ditko meets Wally Wood. ‘Nuff sa– wait, I can’t use that here.
I confess that, for the longest time, I knew more about Rob Liefeld’s oeuvre than I did Wood’s. I know, that’s like saying you’re intimate with Britney Spears’ catalogue but wondering aloud “Who’s that Janis Joplin broad?” Nevertheless, that was the case. Wood’s prime and his sad Hemingway death both antedated my comics consciousness, but I’ve since remedied that deficiency in my knowledge. His clean, serious but expressive style is one that artists of today would do well to emulate.
Wood was one of the co-creators of the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, a super-powered group whose name (The Higher United Nations Defense Enforcement Reserves) was spawned in the Man from U.N.C.L.E. acronym madness. They didn’t have the longest run, but occasional revivals in subsequent decades from a variety of publishers (now DC) have kept them at the corner of the comics world’s eye. Dynamo and his powers-granting championship belt were apparently popular enough (at least someone thought so) to get a spin-off series, so here we are.
There are several stories of quality in this issue that I could have picked, including an entry with Dynamo on the Moon in which Wood’s talents are on full display. But, being a bit of a Ditko nut, the pairing of the in-his-prime Steve with Wally was too tempting.
In “Dynamo Meets the Amazing Andor,” what do you know, Dynamo meets the amazing Andor. But first we have to get to know the Andor fella, who’s an innocent pawn in the Subterraneans’ (foes of the Agents) Mole Man-like plans to conquer humanity:
I think this is what hardcore birthers imagine Obama’s early days to be like.
Andor’s whole origin reminds me of that Doomsday miniseries, where it was revealed that Superman’s one-note killer was the product of a Kryptonian experiment to create the ultimate survivor. It’s not an exact match, I’ll grant you. Andor’s training? Thousands of pounds, the boob tube and dolls:
Lest we think physical prowess and hate is enough, his mind-powers are also honed:
“That’s telekinesis, Kyle.” I wonder if that’s an ACME brand anvil he brain-smashes?
The day finally comes when this long-term plan can finally be put in motion. Andor is released into the surface world and told to quietly infiltrate human society and the T.H.U.N.D.E.R. bunch. His big chance arrives accidentally, when he saves agent “Kitten” Kane from a car-wielding assassin:
Kane is grateful that this stranger has rescued her, and he escorts her back to the HQ, where her superiors voice a concern that you’d think a highly-trained operative would have had in the field:
Nah, I’m sure there’s nothing odd about the trenchcoat wearing, super-powered guy…
When Dynamo turns up, Andor’s conditioning really kicks in:
That first panel looks like it was colored in the Skateman manner.
Cue fisticuffs. The tide turns in six brief panels, all of which show the mastery mid-1960s Ditko’s had of his craft:
Our hero, ladies and gentlemen — bested in seconds.
Kitten’s purring is the only thing that saves Dynamo from more of a shellacking from Andor and his Molten Man-like state of undress:
A confused Andor (now reshirted) returns to his subterranean masters, who are disgusted with his sudden ambivalence. He pulls down the subterranean base like an enraged Samson and slinks off into the lonely night:
Am I the only one who feels like there should be a spectral Spider-Man looming above Andor in that last panel?
No one could do good old-fashioned teeth-gnashing anguish like Ditko, and Andor, bred in hate, confused in action and abandoned by his masters, registers a 9.8 on the anguish Richter scale. As far as the melding of talents, Wood’s more square-jawed, macho inks blend nicely with the elegant work that Ditko is so known for. Those action panels remind one of Ditko’s Amazing Spider-Man work, and that’s one of the highest compliments I can give to any 60s super-hero mag. The T.H.U.N.D.E.R. (god I hate typing long acronyms) clowns aren’t the type of characters to grab my attention, but they had A-list talent working on them. That’s enough to always keep them on anyone’s radar.
Finally, perhaps the title of this story should have been “Dynamo Gets His Ass Handed to Him by the Amazing Andor.” A bit more accurate, no?
Just a thought.
The Nuclear Man had a bit of a push when I was little. He was featured quite prominently in the Super Friends/Powers cartoon and the accompanying Jack Kirby comic mini-series, and I recall liking him quite a bit. I think there’s something about him that appeals to youth, beyond the usual run of teen heroes that are always being shoved in front of the more youthful comic-reading demographics. I think a lot of it has to do with his bifurcated nature, with the young hero (Ronnie Raymond) and old mentor (Professor Martin Stein) fused into one. It’s as if Luke Skywalker carried Ben Kenobi around in his skull all the time.
Plus his look is kind of neat, with the Olympic torch hairdo and the day-glo color scheme. He’s like a walking, talking Starburst candy. It’s kind of cool, even though I always got the impression that he and Katana had their costumes done at the same tailor.
But more on all that in a moment.
This issue makes for a prime example of the tool used countless times to give a fresh character (or group of characters) a proper launch — having an established superstar offer them the endorsement of a cold shoulder. It provides the new face the benefit of rubbing elbows with one of the big guns without having that same big gun carry all the water. You can get some of the same effect with a conventional team-up, but it really seems that this method — by letting the fledgling hero fly (mostly) solo — is the way to go.
Even if this instance gives readers the opportunity to make their own word ballons to stuff in Superman’s mouth, like the one in this post’s title. Or:
“Tell it to Aquaman, kid. Maybe he’ll give a shit.”
Make up your own — it’s fun for the whole family!
As we’ll see, Supes isn’t quite as dismissive and uncaring on the inside (he never is) as on that alliteration-laden cover. And as for the content, this issue’s a bit heavy on the origin regurgitation, which seems terribly unnecessary in light of said origin happening IN THE PREVIOUS ISSUE (you find yourself wishing they’d just use a big Ibid. and move on), but there is some actual forward progress made in the the saga of Firestorm.
So let’s check out that forward progress.
The story (from Gerry Conway/Al Milgrom/Bob McLeod) starts out with Firestorm busting up some two bit loan sharks:
Once the hero is done with his do-goodery and splits up into his component parts, the Professor Stein half gets threatened by a Mr. Black, who was also caught in the nuclear accident that produced our hero:
Hey, I’ve seen Captain Scarlet episodes — never trust a man that goes by the name of Black, no matter if he’s a Captain or a Mister. Especially if he has some ominous “splitting” (nyuk nyuk, as we’ll see) headaches.
Anyway, here we have WGBS talking head Clark Kent filling us all in on this new face:
Now we come to the meat of the issue’s action. Stein is attacked by Multiplex (Black’s Firestorm-like alter-ego), and we learn that the Professor and Robbie have an E.T./Elliot connection:
Ronnie fuses himself with Stein despite being miles away, and he and Multiplex (the Multiplexes?) start to duke it out. Superman shows up, and we can only hope that he won’t crush this new guy’s confidence by vocalizing his reservations:
When Multiplex blasts Firestorm into the air with water, we find out that even nuclear men can get starstruck:
No rest for the wicked, though — thank goodness Professor Stein is there to goad Ronald into getting the job done:
Mission accomplished:
“BALAMMO!” indeed.
And, finally, Superman gives Firestorm a modest seal of approval:
I guess we can call that Firestorm’s “She said I’m cuuuuuuuuuute!” moment:
I can’t say that I’m overly fond of the art or the story in this particular issue — Conway and Milgrom are talented individuals with more credits to their names than I’ll certainly ever have , but this one (for me) is a rather limp affair. Superman’s dialogue is especially stiff, and he comes across as the sort of smug, aloof prick that his detractors (a group which I am not a part of) always paint him to be. This tale definitely wasn’t the sort of pot-boiler that would help the title to escape the publishing holocaust that was the DC Implosion, which nuked this series prematurely at issue #5. Then again, I doubt anything could have rescued it, and certainly not a (pointless, you have to admit) Superman appearance/endorsement.
Some final thoughts on the character… I think I connected with Firestorm as a kid because half of him was close to my age and, though Robin was closer and had the benefit of being so intimately tied to Batman, at least Firestorm had the benefit of covered legs to go with his bitchin’ palette. Plus there were his powers of transmutation, where he could do funky Green Lantern-y type things and foil villains in somewhat comical ways. Hard to go wrong with that.
And maybe there was some deeper reason. It could be that Stein’s voice of authority inside Ronnie’s Firestorm skull was sort of like the consience inside my head (and the heads of others). He echoed those little voices of our parents that all us kids could hear whenever we were up to no good. Maybe he seemed a little like one of us (kids, I mean) because of that.
Whatever the case, I was sympatico with him, and I always had a soft spot for the guy because of that, even when I’d long since moved on to other characters and other things.
And then Brad Meltzer blew him up. Thanks, Brad.
I’ll take one Batman toothbrush, please.
Not only would the mechanized Caped Crusader toothbrush be great, but I could team it with a Superman squirt gun, use the latter as an improvised Waterpik, and have the world’s finest teeth.
The New DC Dental Plan: There’s No Stopping Us Now!
The Defenders are living in a material world, and the Valkyrie is a material girl. – The Defenders #5
I’m always a bit amazed by how long The Defenders lasted as a series. For an admitted secondary team, though one with compositional characters that had a bit more gravitas than the Champions roster, they really had some legs.
And, speaking of legs, perhaps we can credit said longevity to the Valkyrie and her pointy Madonna-esque bra:
Yeah. Why not?
Let’s jump right into this Steve Englehart/Sal Buscema/Frank McLaughlin effort, in which the Defenders are still farting around about forming, you know, THE DEFENDERS. As you can see above, Valk is busy strutting absent-mindedly through the streets of New York, stopping men dead in their tracks as she slinks along, including this poor sap:
What, the pissed wife didn’t have an umbrella to whack poor Melvin over the head with?
As is so often the case when a hero(ine) is out minding their own business, Valkyrie is soon beset by masked, knife-wielding assassins whom she rapidly neutralizes:
Doctor Strange shows up to lend a hand, and after they triumph he takes her back to his pad to counsel her and make Clea insanely jealous. He recommends that she find Namor and the Hulk to help out her mental state, and gives her a couple of ruby bullets to aid her in her quest:
Those two guys don’t seem like they’d be the best balms to soothe a woman’s soul, but hey, the man’s a doctor.
Namor is within the New York city limits, so he’s first up:
But he vanishes into thin air before he can level her with a bellowed “IMPUDENT WENCH!”
Valkyrie, now accompanied by Namorita, seeks out the Hulk, who evinces his usual delight at unexpected company:
Before you know it the Hulk disappears too. But Valk still has those handy dandy pointer rubies, and they lead her to the spot where her two one-day teammates are located — an old lighthouse surrounded by invisible walls. And inside those invisible walls?:
The Omegatron is a doomsday device (or something) that awaits the day it will say its god’s name (Yandroth) and therefore usher in the apocalypse. I think. Anyway, he’s almost ready, and now he has some help to hold off these two blonde interlopers — mind-controlled heroes and their duplicates:
That’s whole lotta surly.
Valkyrie, Namorita and trusty winged equine Aragorn fend them off, but the Omegatron takes physical form:
Somewhere the Living Colossus is yelling “You stole my look! Right down to the briefs, you son of a bitch!”
He manages to get the Yandr- out, but (literally) gets cut off by Valk:
Add “SLURGE!” to the earlier “SLUD!” in the list of this issue’s delightful sound effects.
Surely the bonding afforded by offing this foe will grease the formation of the team. Right?:
And that’s the end of that.
I can’t say that I’ve ever been much of a Defenders fan. Though the eclectic blending of personalities could spark some fireworks, like every other non-Avengers book it comes off as lesser, watered down version of that (usually) higher-caliber roster. Things were a little better in my eyes when the Silver Surfer joined the Defenders line-up later on, but the tale in this issue is typical of the “meh” vibe that pervades so many of the title’s earliest days. There were later arcs that had quality, but I’m a bit amazed that the title lasted long enough to reach that point.
Perhaps the Valkyrie and her simultaneous satisfaction of multiple fetishes had something to do with the staying power. Maybe.
No! Not that! Anything but that!
I sometimes cringe when I see old comic book supplies. They have the feel of outdated gym equipment in that they often look incredibly dangerous to the very things they’re supposed to be helping.
Maggie Thompson wrote an interesting article in the Comic Buyer’s Guide a few years ago in which she recounted the saga of evolving supplies which collectors could use to better protect their comics. It was a good read, and heartwarming in a geeky way to hear her recount the joys of improved tape and getting actual plastic bags that were made specifically for comics. The wonders of modernity! Granted, many of the plastics used were volatile and bad long-term solutions for preserving paper products, and early backing boards, which I still encounter, were acid-laden paper killers, but they were a step up from the “leave them out in the open and spill Kool-Aid on them” method of preservation. If I can track an online version of that article, I’ll try and post it here.
Did anyone out there use these 1970s-era Marvel binders? Were they bad? Good? The comic book version of a medieval torture rack? My first thought was that (*gasp*) you might have had to punch holes in your comics to insert them. Closer inspection would indicate that that wasn’t the case, but I’m still curious.
Bind your comics in the Mighty Marvel Manner!
SHUT UP!!! – Donald Duck #55
Some of the LOUDEST BIRDS I HAVE EVER HEARD have taken up residence just outside my bedroom window. Not only do they have the biggest bellowing voices you’ve ever heard, but they’re also nocturnal. Yes, they’re up all night, like the worst neighbors you could possibly imagine. They were charming for about five minutes. Now I’m weighing what kind of birdicide to dump on them.
I bought this comics a week ago just for the cover. Never have I felt a greater kinship for Donald Duck and his short fuse. Though, to be fair, my birds haven’t taken up residence in my sailor hat.
Jared
blog into mystery 