Dr. Strange

Dr. Stephen Strange is the “other” Marvel mainstay created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko (after Spider-Man, of course), and first appears as the back-up story in Strange Tales #110, in 1963. He has a typical Stan Lee fairy-tale, there’s-a-lesson-here origin: he’s a world-renowned surgeon, arrogant and uncaring, but then gets in a drunken car wreck that damages his hands, and makes it impossible for him to do surgery any more. Bitter and depressed, he schleps around the globe, eventually ending up at one of those hidden-temple Shangri-La Far East outposts, where he encounters the Ancient One, a magician/guru, and his disciple, Baron Mordo. Strange accidentally discovers that Mordo is really a villain, who’s learning the Ancient One’s arts for evil, and, revealing his buried heroism, risks his life to warn everyone about it and stop Mordo’s plans; Mordo ends up banished, and Strange becomes the Ancient One’s new disciple. All of this is rendered with imagination and grace by Ditko, whose ability to draw weird other dimensions, and make mystical powers like “bolts of bedevilment” seem both realistic and trippy/cool, turns the origin, and the tales that follow it, into ’60s hippy classics. Ditko leaves the book in 1966, with issue #146, but Strange soldiers on — drawn by, among others, Bill Everett, Marie Severin, Dan Adkins and Jim Steranko — and eventually takes over the comic, as Strange Tales becomes Dr. Strange with issue #169, in 1968. In issue #172, he receives his second great artist, Gene Colan, who draws him through the end of the book’s run, with issue #183, in 1969.

Strange is relegated to guest-star status for a while after that, but returns to his own stories in 1972, in the try-out title Marvel Premiere. His first appearance there, in issue #3, is written by Lee and drawn by Barry Windsor-Smith, and is a small masterpiece of mood and cool art (Strange, with his mystical and fantasy elements, has always attracted good artists). Lee only writes the first issue, and Smith only stays around for the next one, #4; there’s some flailing around after that, but in issue #9 the team of Steve Englehart and Frank Brunner takes over, and quickly makes the book a cult favorite, by doing things like killing the Ancient One, and having Dr. Strange travel to the beginning of the universe and meet God; after Marvel Premier #14, in fact, the book proves popular enough to get its own title again, and Dr. Strange #1 appears in June, 1974, still by Englehart and Brunner. That artist leaves after issue #5, but his replacement is Gene Colan, and he and Englehart, during the next year, deliver one of the best sustained Marvel runs of the ’70s: Dr. Strange #s 6-18, among other things, destroy the world and remake it, have Dr. Strange fight Dracula (in a two-parter that crosses over with Colan’s second title, Tomb of Dracula), and send Dr. Strange to Hell. Only a few of these issues are on the discount racks, but they’re surprisingly cheap, and available in the regular back-issue boxes for $5 or less each; if you’ve never read them, you’re missing some wonderful, influential work.

Unfortunately, just when the book is at its peak Englehart gets into a dispute with Marvel’s new editor-in-chief, Gerry Conway, and leaves the company; that leaves the book to try to pick up the pieces, and it goes into musical-creator mode for awhile. Part of the problem is that not all writers are compatible with the Doctor — Marv Wolfman and Chris Clarement, among others, try and mostly fail — but there are some interesting moments: Jim Starlin writing issues #24-26; Roger Stern and Tom Sutton on #s 27-30; Claremont and Colan on #s 38-45 (Claremont doesn’t add much, but the Colan art is worth a look). The next really decent run, though, starts with issue #47, as Roger Stern (who does prove to be a great Doc writer) teams with Colan for that issue, and then with Marshall Rogers from #48-53,  Michael Golden in #55, and Paul Smith in #56. Stern stays on with some lesser artists (although there’s another battle with Dracula in #s 60-62 that banishes all vampires from the Marvel Universe for awhile that’s pretty good), but then Smith returns in issue #65, and he and Stern have a nice little set of stories through issue #73. Both leave at that point, though, and the book only lasts a few more months, ending with issue #81 in February, 1987.

Strange’s third volume begins about a year and a half later, in November, 1988, and is titled Doctor Strange, Sorcerer Supreme; the initial writer is Peter Gillis (who’d been the scripter for the last few issues of the previous series), with art chores by Richard Case (who’d eventually go on to DC Vertigo titles like Doom Patrol); that team only stays for the first four issues, though, and then is replaced by Roy Thomas (with, as co-writer, his wife Dann) and Jackson Guice, an association that proves fruitful enough to last for two years, through issue #24 (although there are a few fill-in artists: Richard Valentino in #17, and Gene Colan in #19). The most notorious issue of this run comes, not from any plot or character development, but from a cover: on issue #15, Guice swiped an image from one of Christian singer Amy Grant’s albums, and Grant, upset at both the theft and the fact that it was used on a “demonic” character’s cover, sued Marvel, who eventually settled out of court. The Thomases stay on after that, but with a series of undistinguished artists (Geof Isherwood being the most long-lived); even the plots become less memorable, because this is a period – the early ’90s — when Marvel is heavily into cosmic crossovers — Infinity Gauntlet, etc. — and Dr. Strange keeps tying into them, sacrificing any individual story for the larger mega-event. Thomas leaves with issue #47, and when scripter Len Kaminski replaces him the descent into mediocrity is complete. There are a couple of glimmers — in issue #60, a big crossover with the other Marvel occult titles like Morbius and Spirits of Vengeance (they’re all part of the group of books that Marvel marketed as the “Midnight Sons”) takes place, and Dr. Strange gets broken into three different beings; this story, by David Quinn and Melvin Rubi (at first), starts promisingly but then lasts through what seems forever, and sends Strange through so many makeovers and changes that the reader gets exhausted trying to keep it all straight. Points of note are issues #70-73, with art by Peter Gross; #75, by Mark Buckingham; #76, introducing a long-haired version of Strange by Gross that looks eerily like the older Tim from his Books of Magic series at DC Vertigo; #s 78 and 79, by Marie Severin; #80, featuring another new look for the character, this one written by Warren Ellis and drawn by Buckingham; #82, half by Buckingham and half by Gary Frank; and #s 84-90, drawn by Buckingham and with a story by J.M. DeMatteis — and that ends the series, in January 1996, and is the last time that Dr. Strange has had his own ongoing title.

That’s not to say that the character hasn’t been around, of course. There’ve been the occasional mini-series (J. Michael Straczynski and Brandon Peterson did the six-issue origin reboot Strange in 2004, while Mark Waid and Emma Rios contributed the four-issue Strange in 2010), and the Doctor has been a member of the Avengers (well, the New Avengers) during most of Brian Michael Bendis’s tenure on that book, as well as appearing in the current revival of The Defenders. Will audiences ever warm to him again? Sure: if comics history has proven anything, it’s that, with the right writer and the right artist, any character can rise from the comics graveyard. Given his past, the Master of the Mystic Arts is a better candidate than most.

Question for the Professor:

I have Marvel comics from the late ’70s thru the mid ’80s.  There are variations in the top left symbols and UPC (when UPCs were introduced). In my youthful exuberance I had both a subscription (brown wrapped comic) and went to the news stand, so I have two of the same in a number of cases, with different top left corner and UPC (UPC or, say, Spidey face) that seems to be the diff possibly. Could you shed some light? Is there really any diff regarding pricing/collectibility?

Well, Greg, there are actually a couple of things going on with cover variations: first, and earliest, in the mid-’70s Marvel test-marketed price increases (from 25 to 30 cents in 1976, and from 30 to 35 cents in 1977) in a few cities before instituting them nationwide, and so a couple of issues of the Marvel books have price variants; the rarer, “higher” prices go for about 2.5 times the “regular” prices. Those variants, though, apply only to the price; the rest of the cover, including the UPC box, remains the same.

Another variant comes from the “Whitman three-packs”: the Whitman company, which distributed Gold Key comics (that’s an oversimplification of a tangled corporate relationship I’m not going to get into here), contracted with Marvel in the late ’70s to market bagged sets of Marvel comics in places like K-Mart. Those came three to a bag, and can be distinguished by an altered upper-left box and a blank UPC code. Note the picture here of two copies of Thor #275, from September 1978: one issue is the “normal” copy, and the other is the so-called “Whitman variant.” The Whitman variants, when out of the bag, are usually the same price as the “normal” books, although unopened three-packs can go for more — roughly twice what the three books inside the bag would go for in their “regular” incarnations.

The biggest and most long-lived cover variant, though, came about because of the rise of comic book stores in the late ’70s. This “direct market” for comics developed a different wholesale arrangement with Marvel than the regular newsstand distributors did: the comic book stores got a bigger discount on the comics, but, unlike newsstand books, they weren’t “returnable”: owners couldn’t tear off the covers of unsold books and send them back in for credit. What sometimes happened, though, was that an unscrupulous comic store owner could sell his unsold books to a newsstand owner, who then could send the covers in for credit. To prevent this, Marvel, in the summer of 1979, starting putting slightly different covers on books sold to comic book stores. Look at Thor #285, from July 1979: the newsstand comic has the “regular” cover, while the comic book store issue has a slash through the UPC code, plus a partially-darkened upper-left price box. Copies of this cover were not returnable, while the “regular” covers were.

Over time, Marvel changed the ways the covers differed: by Thor #296 (June, 1980) the familiar Spidey logo appears in the comic store copies, while the newsstand copies have the UPC code. Other variations followed: for a while, each series had individualized icons (so Thor’s hammer was in the box on his books instead of the UPC code), and special issues sometimes played around with the box, too. Over time, however, as comics stores got bigger and wanted to track their inventory better, they wanted to be able to scan those UPC codes just like the newsstands. By the ’90s, Marvel had standardized the difference (and made it a lot more boring) by just using a “direct market” designation in the comic store copies, along with the same UPC code as in the newsstand variations.

Is there any difference in price? The Overstreet Price Guide has never noted one (arguing that the insides are identical, both covers are printed at the same time, and the differences are minor); in the 23 years I’ve worked at AABC, only two collectors have ever indicated a preference: one wanted only newsstand copies of his ’70s and ’80s books, and the other wanted only the direct-market copies. In terms of scarcity, at the beginning, in 1979, the direct market editions numbered a lot less than the newsstand copies, but by the ’90s that ratio had reversed: the direct market had practically taken over, and it was the newsstand books that were scarce; today, of course, those sales on most titles are almost nonexistent. AABC’s backstock tends to have a lot more of the direct copies (because that’s how we bought the books originally) than the newsstand ones (which have only come in through our buying collections from other people) — but, again, since no one seems to care, the prices have never been any different either.

Excalibur

This begins as an X-Men spinoff in the late ’80s, and is part of the Chris Claremont Traveling Mutant Show: written by him and set in England, it features Captain Britain, plus Kitty Pryde, Nightcrawler and the Rachel Summers Phoenix of the regular X-Men team, plus the character Meggan (who, true to comic-book soap-opera conventions, develops a romance with Captain Britain that culminates in their marriage in the last issue of this first volume, #125). Claremont’s clearly having fun here; the stories are lighthearted, tongue-in-cheek romps (although the normal mutant angst and dangling subplots are sprinkled in too), and he’s helped considerable by the art team of Alan Davis and Paul Neary, at least for the first seven issues; Ron Lim does a fill-in for #8, while Marshall Rogers and Terry Austin, another high-octane team, contribute issues #10 and 11. The Davis/Neary team then returns for most of a long, involved multi-dimensional journey, “The Cross-Time Caper,” in issues #12-17 (and, a little later, and #23-24); various, and lesser, other artists contribute to the other issues, although Claremont continues as writer through #27, which features art by Barry Smith and Bill Sienkiewicz. After that, pickings are slim for a while, with occasional bright spots (Colleen Doran art in #28; a Claremont three-parter in #s 32-34 that sees Kitty in an English girls’ boarding school; Alan Davis contributing both art and story in #s 42-50, 54-56 and 61-67; Joe Madureira art in #s 57 and 58; Amanda Connor in #80).

The next actual era (only the third, counting the Claremont and Davis ones) comes with issue #83, courtesy of new writer Warren Ellis. At that point, in late 1994, he was an unknown quantity, but he quickly put his stamp on the title: deft characterization, weird black-ops and occult storylines, and more energy than the book had seen in years. Much of the black-ops stuff came courtesy of new character Pete Wisdom, a cynical, chain-smoking British Intelligence agent who, against all odds, developed a romance with Kitty Pryde that quickly became the centerpiece of the book. Ellis stays through issue #103, with a variety of artists (Terry Dodson in #83 and Carlos Pacheco in #s 95, 96, 98 and 103 being the most distinguished); probably the best issue of the lot, and the most accessible, is #91, one of those take-a-breath issues where the whole team goes out to a local pub, and in the course of the evening we find out more about the characters (and develop more affection for them) than in a whole year’s worth of most other comics.

After Ellis leaves, the rest of the run has only a few high points (Bryan Hitch art in issues # 104 and 105 are it, in fact). Then, in 2004, Excalibur Volume II begins: Claremont is back on the scripts, with art by Aaron Lopresti; this version of the title is set in the ruins of Genosha, and features Professor X and Magneto shepherding a crew of young-uns, with Unus the Untouchable thrown in for variety. This version only lasts 14 issues, and is followed by New Excalibur in 2006, also by Claremont, but with a lineup consisting of Captain Britain, Juggernaut, Pete Wisdom, Nocturne (the alternate-dimension daughter of Nightcrawler), and Dazzler (and, later, Sage); Michael Ryan supplies most of the art through issue #8, after which both he and Claremont leave; the new scripter is Frank Tieri (of whom the less said, the better), but Scott Kolins is the artist on issue #9, so that’s something. Claremont returns with issue #16, and stays through the end of the run, with issue #24, at the end of 2007  – and it’s typical Claremont stuff, which is to say smart, well-grounded in the characters, a trifle predictable in its dialogue quirks, worth reading, and, after a few years, forgettable.  So far, four years later, that’s been it for Excalibur.

Exiles

Exiles is around for most of the aughts — it begins in 2001 and the most recent series ends in 2009 — and it plays with some of the same alternate-world concepts that the early Claremont Excaliburs do (as do the DC Elseworlds books and Marvel’s own What If?). The hook is that the team members are all “other” versions of the regular Marvel heroes, from other versions of Marvel Earth — so there’s “a” Blink, “a” Mimic, etc. Morph, the shape-changing, Plastic Man-like hero who was “Slapstick” for a short while in “our” Marvel universe, is the breakout character, while Nocturne, the daughter of “a” Nightcrawler, isn’t far behind. Given missions by a “Timekeeper,” the group hops from dimension to dimension, “fixing” worlds whose histories have spiraled into disaster; when a member has accomplished enough missions, they get to return to their own dimension, and are replaced by someone else (although, in practice, that seldom happens). Writer Judd Winick shows off a vast knowledge of obscure alleys and backwashes of Marvel history here, and, in the book’s drama, scope and sense of fun, this is his longest sustained good work: issues #1-37. Mike McKone is the initial artist, but Jim Calafiore draws the most issues; after Winnick, Chuck Austen and Tony Bedard are the other writers, with Bedard supplying more scripts than anyone else, even Winnick. Toward the end (issue #90) Chris Claremont comes on board, and writes the series through to its conclusion with issue #100 (and for another 19 issues after that, as New Exiles). Whoever the writers and artists are, this is in intriguing and briskly-entertaining comic; the concept is strong enough to inspire everyone to do their best work, and fans of alternate-history superheroics, whether of Marvel or DC, should take a look at these books.

The Stern/Englehart Runs

The first Byrne replacement team is writer Roger Stern and penciller Jerry Ordway; Stern’s a good choice, a smart, nimble scripter who at this point had already revitalized Spider-Man; Ordway, a chameleonlike artist, only stays for a few issues (doing his best Byrne imitation), and then leaves. After a big 25th-anniversary issue in #296, with a 64-page script by Stan Lee and art by, among others, Barry Smith, John Buscema and Mark Silvestri, Stern comes back partnered with two Buscemas — John on layouts/pencils, and brother Sal on pencils/inks —  for issues #297 – 302; Sal leaves at that point, but John sticks around (joined by longtime FF inker Joe Sinnott), and new scripter Steve Englehart arrives with issue #304, to settle in for a two-year run.

Englehart, who had left Marvel years before after acclaimed runs on Captain America, the Avengers and Dr. Strange, and, after a stint at DC, had spent the past few years writing novels, proves something of a disappointment: his scripts are solid enough, but lack the spark and crackle of his earlier tenure at Marvel, and sometimes seem wrongheaded (his first FF move is to send Reed and Sue away, and bring in Crystal and the female super-wrestler version of Ms. Marvel as replacements). After #309, Buscema is replaced by Keith Pollard, and things get… strange; the Thing mutates into an even more extreme, rocky-pointed version of himself, while Ms. Marvel gets a dose of cosmic radiation and becomes (wait for it) She-Thing (no, actually they keep calling her Ms. Marvel, but she now resembles the early, leathery-skinned Ben Grimm from the first year or two of FF). After a few issues of trying to kill herself (a development that comes off as more comic than tragic), she settles down, develops a relationship with Ben, and then Crystal and Johnny break up, Crystal leaves, and its the Fantastic Three who embark on an adventure that starts with the Mole Man, picks up Dr. Doom along the way, and ends with a Doom/Beyonder rematch in #319, and a Thing/Grey Hulk battle in #320. Eventually, Reed and Sue come back, the Thing reverts to Ben Grimm, and the entire team get captured by a rogue Watcher and stuck in suspended animation while evil clone versions of themselves menace New York City (Rich Buckler takes over the art from Pollard somewhere in there too, but in the confusion no one notices). This not-that-good (but, at least, never dull) circus ends with issue #333, setting up a relatively brief but much-appreciated era in the team’s history:

Walt Simonson

Simonson, who’s best known to Marvelites for his earlier run on Thor (especially after this summer’s movie, and the gorgeous-looking Omnibus edition of his work on that title that it generated) starts as FF scripter with issue #334 ; Rich Buckler and Ron Lim do the pencils in that issue, #335 and #336, but Simonson himself takes over as writer and artist with #337, and that leads to a lot of fun: cosmic tales involving time travel and battles with Kang and Galactus (including a Kirbyesque Thor/Guardian fight), Celestials, alternate universes, dinosaurs, and, ultimately, a three-part story in issues #347-349 (guest-penciled by Art Adams), wherein the FF get knocked out of commission and replaced by a “new” FF: Spider-Man, Wolverine, Ghost Rider and the Hulk (this was a hot comic in its day, and still a hoot, given the creative team). That’s topped by issue #350, a 38-page epic in which Dr. Doom returns (revealing that all of “his” appearances over the last few years were by robots), the Thing and Ms. Marvel finally revert to their default settings, and Doom and Reed begin a duel that, after jumping past a fill-in issue in #351, leads to FF #352, one of my favorite ’90s Marvel books. Doom has portable time-travel devices that allow him and Reed to flit back and forth over about a 30-minute span, and Simonson’s very brainy script has them jumping across all the pages of the comic (wherein the rest of the FF are fighting Doom’s troops in “real” time), like some demented find-your-own-adventure book; even the cover gets into the act. Seriously: it’s a clever idea, the kind of thing that no medium but comics could pull off, and a tribute to Simonson’s imagination and storytelling skills. Simonson’s last issue is #354, and, after another fill-in, the FF’s next long tenure begins with #356:

Defalco/Ryan

Tom Defalco and Paul Ryan have one of the longer tenures on FF, almost through to the end of the first series, as Ryan stays through issue #414, and Defalco leaves with the final issue, #316 — a total of five years, almost as long as Byrne’s. In some ways, it’s a lot like the current Jonathan Hickman FF: lots of cosmic ideas thrown against the wall to see what sticks, lots of  time-traveling/alternate universe versions of the characters, a major death (Defalco and Ryan “killed” Reed in FF #381, and didn’t bring him back for two years), and a conscious attempt to generate a buzz and a sense of wonder. That’s never quite worked for me in the Hickman stories, and it didn’t with Defalco/Ryan either: while they aren’t bad, they never resonate, and come off as competent-but-standard superhero stuff. Looking back, that might have been an age thing: Defalco’s broad moral themes and extra-emphatic dialogue, which looked like faux Stan Lee to me, would have seemed perfectly acceptable to younger readers; I’ll bet there are fans who grew up reading comics during the mid-’90s who have fond memories of those books. Next to a lot of Marvel’s other output of the period — scratchy attempts to ape Image comics, and barely-literate scripting with one-dimensional villains — the clear, heroic soap operas of Defalco and Ryan look like War and Peace.

Heroes Reborn

In 1996, Marvel outsourced production of four of their books (Iron Man, Captain America, Avengers and FF) to creators associated with Image comics, in a stunt not that far from DC’s current New 52. The result was FF Volume 2, leading off with a 40-page first issue with plot and pencils by Jim Lee (See? A lot like DC’s New 52…). Lee continued as penciller (with Brandon Choi scripts) for the first six issues of the 13-issue run, bowing out to Brett Booth (with some assist from Ron Lim) in issues 7-12. This version of the FF, a combination Elseworlds story and reboot, has a damp-fireworks arc — flashy start, quick descent, wet fizzle at the end — although the 13th issue, a crossover with the others that leads back to the “real”Marvel universe — is by James Robinson and later FF artist Mike Wieringo, and is worth a look.

Heroes Return

Volume 3 of the FF starts immediately after the end of Heroes Reborn, and touts a back-to-basics approach; the initial issue has art by Alan Davis, and a script by Scott Lobdell — another connection to DC’s 52, albeit one that readers of his titles like Red Hood and the Outlaws or Teen Titans might not find particularly positive. By issue #4, though, Chris Claremont has taken over the scripting, and Davis has been replaced by Salvador Larroca. That team stays on the book for a while — through issue #32 — but, truth be told, it’s hard to remember, solid but unspectacular. There’s the introduction of the adult Valeria, Reed and Sue’s second child from an alternate universe, and a long arc where Reed ends up in Doom’s armor somehow, but that’s all that remains in my memory.

The next FF era sees Carlos Pacheco coming onboard as writer/artist with issues #35 – 41; he stays on after that as writer/plotter, sometimes with different artists and sometimes with himself, through issue #49, while issues #50-54 feature Mark Bagley pencils. Issues #57-59 have a story by one of my favorite comics people, the woefully underappreciated Adam Warren, with Keron Grant on pencils; it plays with the idea that all the skin cells the Thing sheds can grow to become independent zombie-like clones, and it’s both creepy and fun.

Waid/Wieringo

Speaking of fun, a major high point in FF history starts with issue #60: the Mark Waid/Mike Wieringo era, one that’s comparable to the Byrne and Simonson runs. That first issue is a special promotional deal — the cover price is 9 cents, although it’s a full regular comic — and it’s a good introduction to the charms of its creators: a story that nails the FF’s reason for existing, emphasizes their deep family connections and affection, and gives a reason for Reed’s formation of the team that’s simultaneously surprising, poignant and dead-on reasonable. Similar pleasures abound in the rest of the run: Wieringo’s charming, clean-lined, expressive art; Waid’s remarkable instinct for what makes the characters tick, leading to lots of fun and dramatic interaction between Ben and Johnny, between Johnny and Sue, etc.; a memorable and epic battle with a revitalized and deadly Dr. Doom (that’s in issues #67-71, except that #71 reverts back to the original numbering for #500); the FF taking over Latveria in Doom’s absence; the death of Ben Grimm, and a trip to the outskirts of heaven to revive him, culminating in a meeting with God, who turns out to look exactly like… well, it’s in issue #511, the conclusion of the storyline started back in #67/496, and it’s just about perfect. It reads like a swan song, and might have been (then-publisherBill Jemas had, somehow, decided that the FF should be a suburban family engaged in wacky hijinks, with Reed played like Rick Moranis in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, and when Waid balked at this clever plan, Jemas canned him; however, reaction to the move ended up, in a rare victory for a creator over a corporate suit, getting Jemas ejected, while Waid stayed on), but Waid and Wieringo continue through issue #524, the end of an unusual, interesting take on Galactus, and another perfect ending. As such, it’s the perfect place to end this post,, too; next time, we’ll try to finish the FF, and see what looms ahead in the letter “E….”

Fantastic Four — Volume One

The FF was Marvel’s first Silver Age superhero book, of course, and for quite a while was their flagship title.  Spider-Man took over that slot in the late ’60s, and the X-Men took it in the late ’70s, but there’s no denying that the Stan Lee/Jack Kirby team from, oh, FF #39-40 (Daredevil guest-starring against Doctor Doom, as a blind FF “Battle for the Baxter Building”) through #65-66 (the origin of Him/Warlock) offer one of the great runs in comic history, a burst of creativity that births the Inhumans, the Silver Surfer, Galactus, the Negative Zone and the Black Panther… and that’s just during nine issues in the middle of the run.

Unfortunately, none of those comics are being offered on the discount racks, so let’s pass over that part of the FF’s oevre, and concentrate on their somewhat-later years, after Kirby has left with issue #102 (replaced by John Buscema) and Lee leaves for good with issue #125. Roy Thomas takes over through issue #133, and then Gerry Conway settles in for almost two years, through #152; Buscema leaves around issue #141, and Rich Buckler takes his place for most of the rest of Conway’s tenure. Thomas comes back as scripter with issue #156, with (mostly) Buckler on art through #164, when a young George Perez takes over from there through #172, is replaced by Buscema for three issues, and then comes back from #176-178; these Thomas/Perez/Buscema efforts are decent romps involving the Impossible Man, Counter-Earth (and its own version of Reed Richards), Galactus, and a Thing who’s been turned into Ben Grimm, gets replaced in the FF by Luke Cage, and then ends up in a Thing exoskeleton for a while before inevitably turning back into his rocky self. After #179, it’s musical-chairs creators for awhile, with Perez art in 184-188 and 192-193. Finally, with issue #195, Marv Wolfman as scripter and Keith Pollard as artist settle in for an 11-issue term; with issue #209, Pollard is replaced by another new artist, but one who’ll end up having deep ties to the FF: John Byrne.

Byrne might not be the most obvious choice as a Jack Kirby acolyte; his sleek, controlled style seems far from the King’s energy-bursting primitivism. Underneath, though, Kirby’s nowhere near as primitive as he might seem at first, with a surprisingly fine line that helps to contain all that power. The more you look, the more it’s clear that Kirby is one of Byrne’s major influences; he and Byrne share a penchant for both the small, telling human moments and the big cosmic reveal, and they always know precisely where to place a line for the greatest effect. In FF #209-214, Wolfman gives his new artist a lot to play with: a galaxy-spanning epic involving a rapidly-aging FF (thanks to a Skrull ray) involved with Galactus, Terrax, the Sphinx and various cosmic remnants from Wolfman’s recently-cancelled Nova series. The conclusion, with a determined Human Torch in over his head and fighting to figure out a way to save his teammates, is a fondly-remembered and note-perfect finish. The Wolfman/Byrne team stays on for another three issues, plus a Bill Mantlo/Byrne collaboration in #218 and a Byrne solo two-parter (originally done as a soft-drink promo comic, but shelved after the deal was cancelled) in #220 and 221. Issues #219 and 222-231 are an interesting but failed experiment: Doug Moench and Bill Sienkiewicz, fresh off an acclaimed run on Moon Knight, try their hand at the FF but mostly fall flat, their moody style not a good fit for the FF’s bright and shiny world.

That sets the stage for a new era, though: FF #232, the first with Byrne as both writer and artist. He’ll go on to stay through issue #293, a 61-issue run that’s the second-best in FF history. This first effort is a good example: in 22 pages, Byrne introduces all of the team, establishes their powers, characters and relationships, pits them against interesting adversaries (courtesy of a familiar but not overused bad guy), and shows how their teamwork and sense of family let them win the day. It’s a compressed tour de force that, today, would cover six issues (Yeah, Justice League #1, I’m looking at you), and it’s just the start: subsequent issues prove just as skillful. Issue #236, a 20th-anniversary tribute, is a high point: a 40-issue story that hits every high point a reader could ask for — two major villains, an origin recap, a what-if-it-had-never-happened scenario, a clever trap, and numerous character beats, especially with Reed and Ben — and does it with grace and pizzazz. It’s one of the very few non-Lee/Kirby issues that can stand with them, unashamed.

The rest of the run never quite hits that sustained high again, but there are frequent great moments: a battle with Galactus that drags in many of the New York-based heroes; a fight with Gladiator wherein Byrne gets to try out a few Superman theories that he’ll use on his move to DC years later; a long trip to the Negative Zone (including the all-sideways #252) that lets Byrne show off his love for Star Trek; the machinations of Dr. Doom and his ward, Kristoff;  Reed’s galactic trial for saving Galactus’s life; Sue’s pregnancy (and her, and later the Thing’s, replacement by She-Hulk); She-Hulk’s unauthorized centerfold; the frequent focus on just how powerful Sue is, culminating in her transformation into the badass Malice… it’s a five-year, high-quality cavalcade of comics storytelling that any fan should have in their collection.

And, for you? A buck each, on the discount racks at the west end of the store. Trust us: these are some of the best deals we’ve ever offered, in terms of sheer entertainment for the dollar. If you don’t already own the books, here’s your chance: just in time for Hallowe’en, you’re in for a treat.

The Incredible Hulk

The Hulk, a Stan Lee/Jack Kirby riff on the Jekyll and Hyde archetype, is one of the earliest Silver Age Marvel characters, first appearing in his own series in the May 1962-dated Hulk #1. In this earliest incarnation, Bruce Banner’s monstrous alter-ego is reasonably intelligent — he talks in complete sentences and everything — but mean. There’s a lot of flailing around to find a tone, and it apparently doesn’t work well with fans, because, despite Kirby art in the first five issues (and Steve Ditko in the sixth), that’s all there are; the series is cancelled after that, with the March 1963 book.

Banner doesn’t stay down for long, though — there are Hulk guest appearances in Spider-Man, Avengers and the Fantastic Four — and within a year and a half the Hulk has taken over half of Tales to Astonish, starting with issue #60. Now, the outlines of the “classic” Hulk are clear: Banner changes under stress, and his emerald counterpart is more tragic than mean, with much-more-childlike behavior, reduced intelligence, and a desire to be left alone. It’s still Lee and Ditko on these shorter stories at first, until Kirby comes back with issue #68, and stays until #83; after that, artists include John Buscema, Gil Kane and Marie Severin, until the Hulk, his popularity now established, takes over the entire book, and the title, with issue #102 in 1968.

Severin stays on as penciller for the first few issues of this version, but the artist most associated with the late Silver/early-Bronze age Hulk — Herb Trimpe — comes on with issue #107 (and he’ll stay through #193), while Lee gives up scripting chores to Roy Thomas with #121. Other writers during this period include Archie Goodwin and Steve Englehart, although it’s Len Wein, arriving with issue #179, who’s probably most remembered, since he almost immediately introduces the character Wolverine in issue #181, in November 1974 — the key Bronze Age comic.

Wein stays through issue #222, while Sal Buscema takes over art chores from Trimpe with issue #194 and begins an even-longer run (he’s got the record for most issues drawn of the character, staying all the way to issue #309, almost ten years). Roger Stern becomes the new writer with issue #223, in 1978, and lasts through #243, in 1980. He’s replaced by Bill Mantlo, in issue #245, and the Mantlo-Buscema team begins a long, productive run that pretty much defines the ’80s incarnation of the Hulk. This is where we begin to have discount issues available, too (although more key issues are available here, here, here and here), and it’s a solid, well-remembered period in Greenskin’s history. Mantlo and Buscema are both very good at nailing the Marvel house style for both scripting and art, with its mix of colorful villains, big fights, soap-opera subplots, humor and pathos, and both are crystal-clear storytellers and careful craftsmen. After a couple of years of this standard formula, they’re even confident enough to offer the first change in the character’s status quo since the early ’60s: the Hulk with Banner’s brain.

Oh, that had been done in single issues before, but had always reverted back to the normal “Hulk smash!” by the end of the story. In issue #271, though, the Hulk’s 20th anniversary issue, he ends up on another planet and encounters Rocket Raccoon (don’t ask), who, in teleporting him back to Earth, bathes him in enough gamma rays to alter his body chemistry, and give Banner control. He stays that way for almost three years, earning acceptance in the Marvel universe and no longer having to hide as a monster, until the events in the Secret Wars mini-series (with an assist from the Dr. Strange bad-guy Nightmare) make him revert to a raging, mindless engine of destruction again, just in time for his 300th issue in late 1984; at that point the Doc, to protect Earth, exiles him to a “dimensional crossroads,” where he’ll spend the next year trying to find his way home.

That year sees the departure of first Buscema (he’s replaced by, of all artists, Mike Mignola in issues #311-313) and then Mantlo, who cuts a creative deal with John Byrne: he’ll take over Byrne’s Alpha Flight book, while Byrne will bring his dual writer/artist abilities to the Hulk, starting with issue #314. The Byrne run is, typically, both high-quality and short: it ends with issue #319, due to “creative differences” (reportedly, Byrne had drawn a Hulk story with all splash pages, which led to a dust-up that caused him to leave the book; that story was eventually printed in Marvel Fanfare #29). Al Milgrom, longtime Hulk inker, takes over as both writer and artist for a few issues; his biggest contribution is in issue #324, where he reintroduces the grey, mean version of Banner’s monster for the first time since Hulk #1. Not much comes of that at first, but two other important changes occur soon after:  the introduction of artist Todd McFarlane with issue #330, and the introduction of Peter David as writer with #331. Their collaboration kicks off a critically-acclaimed run that’s relatively brief (McFarlane leaves with issue #345), but very satisfying: the grey-skinned Hulk under David is amoral, crafty and cranky, and McFarlane’s art is a leap forward from his previous work for DC’s Infinity, Inc.: detailed, electric and fun. The team creates buzz around the character, and kicks up sales considerably.

David, unlike McFarlane, will stick around for a while: he writes the title through issue #467, over 11 years (making him the premier Hulk scripter by far), and his tenure is marked by solid writing, with humor and drama mixed almost equally, and startling changes in the book’s status quo every few years. For example: after McFarlane leaves, the grey Hulk ends up as a casino enforcer in Las Vegas (calling himself “Joe Fixit”), a development that lasts a little over a year, and introduces the zaftig, appealingly-grounded escort, Marlo, to the supporting cast; Jeff Perves supplies the art during this period. Issue #367 sees Dale Keown come aboard as artist; his run is marked by the return of the green Hulk in #372, and a reintegration of all of Banner’s gamma-powered alter egos into a new green Hulk with (mostly) Banner’s personality in #377. Issue #379 sees the introduction of the Pantheon, a group of immortals who try to help the world; they’ll stick around for years, with Banner eventually becoming their leader. Gary Frank takes over art chores with issue #403 (the David run, between McFarlane, Keown and Frank, is notable for the quality artists it features), and stays on the title through the end of the Pantheon storyline, in issue #425. Various artists then provide runs through the end of the David era with issue #467, including Liam Sharp, Angel Medina, Mike Deodato, Jr. and Adam Kubert; after David leaves, Joe Casey takes over, but the title only lasts another seven issues, to #474 (March, 1999). Don’t mourn for it, though — the next month sees the debut of Hulk Volume II, issue #1 — but this is a good place to end our discussion. As always, many of the issues discussed here (especially from #250 or so up) are available at 99 cents each — through issue #389 — and at cover price after that; they’re on the discount rack at the west end of the store, near the back cash register and near my workspace, so check them out over the next few weeks.

Hawkman #5 from 1964

So I completely don’t understand the Shadow Thief.  He’s a guy who steals stuff, but is basically like Kitty Pryde, unable to be touched.  But how does he steal things if he’s only a shadow?  It’s logic like this that makes me smarter than the 60s!  Hawkman is using his bow and arrow to try to shoot the Shadow Thief, and this story is all about finding a way to stop the untouchable villain.  It’s very old school, being a Gardner Fox/ Murphy Anderson joint, so it’s definitely outdated in its writing.  They have an entirely separate section devoted to explaining Shadow Thief’s origin, which is just completely off the wall. He manages to hypnotize both Hawkman and Hawkgirl into thinking they are shadows, and then there’s a really confusing ending, and everything’s back to the way it started.  Gotta love the Silver Age folks.  More info can be found HERE

Hawkman has been rebooted roughly one-bajillion times.  As part of the DC reboot there will be a new series coming in September written by Tony Daniel with art by Philip Tan.  If that’s up your alley, then there you go.  There’s also some back issues written by the like of Geoff Johns, James Robinson, Howard Chaykin and more.

Metamorpho #4 from 1966

The entire concept of Metamorpho is a strange beast.  It’s drawn really cartoony, but the story tries to be heavy in its “no one will ever love me cause I’m a freak” sort of way.  It also acts like a soap opera, but with comedy.  The Metamorpho comic is just like the character; a little bit of everything.  In this story a random Mexican dude starts trying to win the heart of Sapphire (Metamorpho’s true love, of course). The guy puts her face on Mount Rushmore (no joke).  This guy’s name is legitimately Cha-Cha.  There’s no real bad guy her per se, but Metamorpho’s trip to Mexico with the entire gang leads to bullfighting and discovering Cha-Cha isn’t quite what he seems.  It’s the kind of no real consequence story that’s completely accessible to anyone, and a lot of fun.  More info can be found HERE

Metamorpho has been all over the place, but never really caught on.  There was a “year one” min-series from a couple years ago, and he also appeared in the latest version of the Outsiders.  If that gets rebooted, he may show up again, or I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in one of the anthologies. My Greatest Adventure maybe?

Sea Devils #31 from 1966

Let’s start from the top.  A title like Sea Devils made it 31 issues.  Actually 35!  Gotta love the old school commitment to a concept.  My only problem is, I’m not entirely sure what this concept is.  Is it just a group of deep-sea divers who have their missions?  Is it a group that just like working with sea life?  I don’t exactly get the point.  But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad comic.  In fact, for it’s age, it’s pretty well drawn,  and the whole “fish are flooding into the streets” storyline that it runs with is actually just ludicrous enough to make me laugh.  It’s bizarre, it’s kinda fun, and it’s basically like a poor man’s underwater Challengers of the Unknown.  So if that works for ya’, there ya’ go.  More info can be found HERE

The Sea Devils are literally nowhere.  I can’t think of a single way to find out about them other than buying these actual issues.  There are 35 of them, and that still blows my mind!  I’m sure they’ve probably made random cameos like Cave Carson did in Final Crisis, but nothing I can think of off the top of my head.  Just ask us for back issues, we’ll gladly supply!

And that’s it!  Hope you enjoyed this trip down silver age DC memory lane.  See you folks in two weeks!

“The” Dan Jacka

Identity Crisis

This was one of DC’s first attempts to make its mainstream superhero comics more “adult,” almost seven years ago now, and they got a lot of flack for taking fondly-remembered characters and doing terrible things to them — most notably, Sue Dibney, the wife of the Elongated Man, who gets killed in the first issue, while subsequent issues reveal that, years before, she’d been raped by bad guy Dr. Light. Melding adult storylines with superheroes had been covered before, of course, in books like The Watchmen, and very well, but those weren’t established characters (who were the subject of children’s cartoons, to boot), and the combination here made the series controversial. It doesn’t quite come off — the whole discussion of whether to mindwipe villains, for example, seems forced and even silly, given the context — but writer/creator Brad Meltzer, an established novelist, knows how to tell a story, and the mystery itself is paced and revealed well – although most current readers have the disadvantage of already knowing whodunnit, and without that mystery propelling it, there isn’t the sheer what-happens-next energy that drove the comic in serialized form. The art, by Rags Morales, is sometimes very good — especially when he’s doing a posed set piece or when he’s called upon to show emotion through the characters’ body language and facial expressions — but then in other places devolves into standard superhero tropes. Purely as a story, it works, and if you haven’t read it, it’s definitely worth a look — especially with the issues at cover price.

Infinite Crisis

This event followed Identity Crisis by about a year and a half, building on some of the aftereffects of that series, and was also a 20th-anniversary tribute to the 1985 Crisis on Infinite Earths. Like the original, it’s a sprawling superhero epic, with a cast of hundreds, and whether you like it depends quite a bit on whether you like Geoff Johns and his continuity-driven, big-bang brand of storytelling (I like it just fine, but readers unversed in DC history — and, especially, in the original Crisis — risk a headache from all the plot points, callouts and Easter eggs). The art is mainly by Phil Jimenez, George Perez and Jerry Ordway, all of whom have a knack for being able to draw very large casts capably, and with styles that mesh well enough to keep the transitions between artists from being jarring; as a big crossover mini-series, this delivers the expected action and pyrotechnics, and is one of the better ones.

Infinity Gauntlet/War/Crusade

This is one of the better ones, too, at least for Gauntlet. Comics editors have an affinity for “infinity,” a word both flashy and vague enough to cover almost any kind of book — but it mostly signifies “cosmic,” and no one does cosmic better than Jim Starlin, who practically invented the genre with his Captain Marvel/Thanos/Warlock books in the ’70s. Even now, the concept of the Infinity Gauntlet has legs (er, arms? fingers?), as witness its recent appearances both in a Bendis Avengers storyline and as a cameo in the Thor movie. Gauntlet offers the original of these ’90s cosmic crossovers, and the best, especially with the George Perez art in the first few issues (after which Ron Lim takes over: a clear step down, but competent and efficient enough — he draws all those characters on model and on time, a rare combination — to get to draw the subsequent two series, too). The law of diminishing returns threatens both War and Crusade, although the Starlin traveling soap opera (with not only Warlock and his variations, like the Magus and the Goddess, but also Pip, Gamora, Death and the increasingly complicated and sympathetic Thanos) keeps everything fizzing enough to be readable to the end.

Indiana Jones

This was originally a Marvel book, although it was cancelled after 34 issues, and Dark Horse eventually picked up the franchise, and published a number of mini-series utilizing Professor Jones. The first two issues of the Marvel run are by John Byrne and Terry Austin; that quality doesn’t last, but later issues, mostly one- and two-part stories written by David Michelenie, are by a revolving smorgasbord of artists, and offer some interesting stuff: Gene Day art in #3, Howard Chaykin/Austin in #6, David Mazzucchelli in #14, and Steve Ditko (!) in #21 and #s 25-28. The Dark Horse titles don’t have anyone as startling as Ditko (although the always-solid and underappreciated Dan Barry draws quite a few of them), but being four to six issues each offers the luxury of more worked-out plots and stronger characterization.

Invaders

Roy Thomas’s tribute to the Timely Comics Golden Age, with Captain America, the Human Torch and the Sub-Mariner (along with Bucky, Toro and others) fighting Nazis, Nips and other antagonists in the early days of World War II. Artist Frank Robbins, whose impressionistic, fluid style proves a perfect balance to Thomas’s erudite, sometimes-too-continuity-heavy scripts, helps to make this series a classic; once he and Thomas leave, with issue #28, the quality drops considerably, but everything up until then is a fun, four-colored fever dream.

Infinity, Inc.

After Roy Thomas left Marvel for DC, sometime in the very early ’80s, he created All-Star Squadron, a WWII book that did for Golden Age DC characters what Invaders had done for Marvel’s. Infinity, Inc., from around 1984, is a spinoff of sorts of that book — it’s set in the modern-day DC Universe, but features the super-powered sons and daughters of the original members of the Justice Society of America (and their various hanger-on, antagonists and associates). Jerry Ordway did the art for the first ten or so issues, but the interest in the title today is primarily because of the brand-new artist who took over with issue #14 — Todd McFarlane, who then stays on the book all the way through issue #37. Thomas stays through to the end of the series with #53; fans of the current-day JSA would be interested in this title, since it features Jade, Obsidian, Power Girl and other current members of that book and the JLA.

Inhumans

This Jack Kirby/Stan Lee creation of a shadowy, super-powered hidden society, led by the supremely powerful but silent Black Bolt (whose vocal-based powers mean that even a whisper from him can destroy a city block), has been kicking around since the mid-’60s. The mid-’70s first volume of their own title, written by Doug Moench, only goes 12 issues but offers art from people like Gil Kane and a young George Perez; later attempts, like the late-’90s mini-series from Paul Jenkins and Jae Lee, or the Nu-Marvel 2003 run from Sean McKeever and Matthew Clark, have been interesting but never managed to get much traction. Most recently, the Inhumans have been considered one of the “cosmic” groups, and so appear a lot in books associated with the genre: Annihilation, Reign of Kings, Guardians of the Galaxy, etc.