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THE LAW IS A ASS for 06/27/2000
DOCKET ENTRY
"The Law is a Ass" Installment # 49
Originally written as installment # 39 and published in Comics Buyer's Guide issue # 570, October 19, 1984 issue
Batman: the Dark Knight has been blamed for sparking the "grim and gritty" phase of super-hero comics, which we've been enduring for the past decade or so. Dark Knight caught fire and sold well, so the companies thought, "gee 'grim and gritty' must be what the fans want;" never considering the possibility that what made Dark Knight a success is what it was well-written and well-drawn. So, the companies--forgetting that, while grit can produce the occasional pearl, mostly it's just an irritant--began a seemingly endless stream of similarly-themed comics that have just gotten worse and worse. Comics that weren't well-written or well-drawn were considered contenders, because they were dark and depressing.
Well, I'm here to say it wasn't Dark Knight's fault. As this column from 1984 shows, there was "grim and gritty" in the comics long before Dark Knight. We didn't call it that, but it was there.
******
"The Law is a Ass"
Installment # 49
by
Bob Ingersoll
It's all Neal Adams's fault.
He was the artist who seemed to popularize clenched fists and gritted teeth. He started it. Now every artist around draws clenched fists and gritted teeth. Okay, not all artists, there are some who seem incapable of drawing a closed mouth. Instead they give us cavernous openings in the middle of the face. But even there, they're mouths that are, somehow, open in a clench, as if the owner got lockjaw while screaming.
So, now that everyone draws these really powerful men with really angry expressions who look like they're ready to snap at any second, where has it led us? To the point where the hero is frequently as guilty of crime as the villain, that's where.
But, perhaps I should start at the beginning.
In the beginning--or close to it, anyway--there was Slam Bradley, a clean-cut, all-around good guy. Slam begat Superman, who begat Batman, who begat Adam West and Burt Ward. (But that's another story, and one we don't want to discuss here.) And DC begat Timely, which begat MLJ, which begat Fiction House. And once the begatting had begun, we soon had a four-color world populated by a plethora of comic publishers and heroes.
In those early days the stories, for the most part, had one thing in common: length. They didn't have any. The average comic-book story ran between six to thirteen pages. Even the longer stories, such as the JSA stories which ran in All-Star Comics, were usually divided into short eight-or-so-page chapters. What did that leave? Less room to tell a story in, that's what.
In order to tell stories within the limited length requirements forced on them, early comic-book creators made certain concessions. The first was several panels per page. Eight or nine was not unusual; ten or more not uncommon. This concession, of course, meant that the artist couldn't be as detailed in his work as he might otherwise have been. No elaborate Perez backgrounds, in which every building, every window and every car on the island of Manhattan are not at all uncommon. No Kirbyesque armor, which is just as well as those things may have looked great, but they couldn't have been worn without causing every bone in the wearer's to shatter from the sheer weight of the armor. We got lots of head shots against monochromatic backgrounds.
Another concession was that the stories tended to be simple. They were long on plot and short on character development. And even those plots weren't all that long. (This, of course, is contrasted to today's comics, which are long on fight scenes and even shorter on character development.) No one had detailed or complex reactions to anything. Villains did villainous things, because they were greedy, evil, insane, or suffered from bad potty training. Heroes did heroic things because they were pure and good and, usually, of suspect intelligence. (Yes, suspect. If you were in a life-and-death struggle with Dr. Doom, would you willingly fight while handicapped by some noble, self-imposed prohibition against killing? Paste-Pot Pete, maybe, but not against any of the major super-villains.)
The hero never really got angry at the villain's villainy, there wasn't room in the story. The hero simply defeated the villain out of some sense of civic pride. After all, it doesn't do a city's public image any good to have a plethora of uncaptured super-villains running around the streets. It tends to ruin the tourist trade.
(Now, before all you Golden Age purists jump down my throat and remind me that I forgot Lou Fine or Will Eisner or Carl Barks or whomever your particular Golden Age favorite might be, remember I was talking about the typical story, not the classics produced by those craftsmen. If you're honest, you'll have to admit that the average story was pretty much as I described it.)
Today, however, things have changed. As I said, Neal Adams came along and showed everyone how neat super-heroes and villains look with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Don't believe me? Just look at the cover of Superman # 317. See how spiffy that cover is? (That's better. Never doubt me again!
(Well, okay, you can doubt me. Just don't tell me about it, my ego is so fragile!)
The result, as I said earlier, is heroes you can't tell from the villains. At least not without a scorecard. And sometimes not even then. Look, for example, at issue # 1 of the Surge mini-series. In this book, Surge is angry. You can tell he's angry, he has a clenched fist on page 3 and gritted teeth on page 4, panel 4. Why is Surge angry? Because Luger, a professional assassin who should really think about changing his name so as not to advertise himself, killed Angela Krell. Angela just happened to be the woman that Surge loved.
Now, I happen to think that's a pretty reasonable reaction. If some professional assassin killed my wife, I imagine I would probably be a more than a little honked at him. (Mind you, I have no desire to find out. I would much rather live this experience vicariously through Surge, thank you.) Now what, you ask, does Surge do about his anger? In fact, what do any of the current super-heroes do about their anger? Therein lies the problem. They go after the villain for revenge, that's what they do. And what they do while going after said villain causes me great concern.
Look at Surge's action in Surge # 1. In his quest to kill Luger and get his revenge, he sends threatening letters through the mail. That's a federal offense. Then Surge traces Luger to an abandoned house, which Surge blows up, because he thinks Luger is inside. That's vandalism, at the very least--even abandoned houses belong to someone--more probably, some form of arson and, most definitely, attempted murder. Later Surge threatens to beat up (menacing) or beats up (assault) various stoolies in the city hoping to get information on Luger's whereabouts, he smashes into an airplane as it is taking off (back to vandalism) and invades a South American country (I don't even know where to begin to catalog this one) all in failed attempts to kill Luger. (But they have to be failed, don't they? If Surge killed Luger in the first issue of the mini-series, what do we do for the next three issues: Surge's Pals 'n' Gals?) At one point Surge even torches someone's VCR. Now that's going too far.
Do you begin to see a pattern here?
It's called crime. As in the hero committing major felonies. As in the hero not acting any better than the villain he's supposed to be opposing. As in, hey, what the hell ever happened to role models?
It's a pattern we've seen before in the past decade or so: The hero gets on a vengeance kick and commits felonies in his pursuit of the villain. It's a pattern we will see again. I happen to know of an up-coming story line with the exact same pattern, the exact same plot. So get used to it, it's here to stay. Kind of like taxes or Montezuma's Revenge, only less pleasant.
I have a problem with the pattern. While I like having heroes who are have more complex reactions to the various problems they face than Greg Brady on a bad-hair day, I tire very quickly of seeing my heroes commit multiple crimes in a single-minded quest for vengeance. Long-time readers of my column will remember this was one of my major complaints against early issues of The Vigilante.
I'm looking for some sort of compromise here. I'm looking for complex heroes, who can react to adversity with more than stolid heroics. But I'd also like to see them stay within the boundaries of the law. These are heroes, after all, they should stand for something.
Moreover, what is done with these vengeance-crazed super-heroes, after they've come to their senses. Godzilla hasn't broken as many Tokyo skyscrapers as the number of laws broken by these guys. Not in all of his movies combined. Look at the illegal acts committed by Surge in Surge # 1. Go ahead, look! They were all listed for easy reference only five and one-half paragraphs ago. Do you think the police or local DA simply look the other way afer these crime sprees? Do you think they said, "Well, Surge was a little miffed at the time, and, after all, boys will be boys?" Do you think for even one second that they didn't prosecute?
If you do, kindly forward me your name and mailing address. I'll fill out an application to the Flat Earth Society on your behalf.
Actually, the real reason that I am so vehement in my complaints about felonious super-heroes on a vengeance kick, is that said kicks always end the same way. The hero gets the villain by the throat and prepares to rip it out. There is nothing the villain can do except die. Then what happens? The hero, after many issue of violence, mayhem and rampant destruction, suddenly gets all noble and realizes he can't kill the villain after all. For that would make our hero--all together how, you've all read the line so many times, you know it by heart--"no better than he is."
If I had a nickel for every time I've read that line, I could play and beat every slot machine in Vegas and still have enough to buy my wife a Big Gulp. Of Dom Perignon.
Consider this a plea. Let's not have any more murdering super-heroes on a vengeance-kick. It's bad for the image. And it doesn't do my reading pleasure any good either. It would also consign the above-quoted, odious line to the same comic-book oblivion that has claimed Ka-Zar. Hmmm. Maybe you should make that the oblivion that claimed Prez, Ka-Zar keeps coming back.
BOB INGERSOLL
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