Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles initially began as a stand alone comic that was, at least in part, a satire of then-current trends in comic books. It accomplished this by pumping up these trends with steroids and playing them out using Hanna Barbera-esque cartoon characters that have no business in stories like this. The parody involved is pretty broad, but if we were to settle on one thing that the Ninja Turtles were directly making fun of, it would almost certainty be Frank Miller's run on Daredevil.
Frank Miller came from the same generation as Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird, and much like them began his career with little interest in doing superhero comics in a time when comic books were refocusing almost exclusively on superheroes. One story of his early career has coming into a publisher's office with a portfolio of "guys in trench coats and old cars" and being asked "where are the guys in tights?" His earliest credits as an artist including Gold Key Comics' Twilight Zone series and DC's Weird War Tales, before joining Marvel on their John Carter, Warlord of Mars series. Eventually, being a comic book artist meant drawing the guys in tights, and so Miller found himself doing a few issues of Spectacular Spider-Man and eventually becoming the main artist for Daredevil in 1979.
At this point, Daredevil was doing very poorly in sales largely due to the terribly uninspired writing of Roger McKenzie. His writing wasn't exactly bad, but he kept things pretty straight-laced and uneventful, and with a character as limited in ability and personality as Matt Murdock, you can't afford to play it safe. The worst you could say about McKenzie's run was that all the secondary characters revolve around Murdock despite the character being too boring to justify it. This included a large cast of attractive white women all madly in love with Murdock, rather shockingly resembling a harem anime.
This extended to the villains as well, resulting in repetitive plots. When Frank Miller came on board as artist, the first two story lines he worked on involved older villains, Death-Stalker and Bullseye, hiring minor criminals to stage a trap for Daredevil for revenge for a past defeat. Alright, but if you want to want to keep readers interested, you probably don't want to run the same story twice in a row. Speaking of reruns, this was also a period in which McKenzie was retelling Daredevil's origins through the character of reporter Ben Urich, who spends half a dozen issues uncovering what led Matt Murdock to become Daredevil, with no changes to the original origin story all the way back in 1964. McKenzie brought nothing new to the table.
Frank Miller, on the other hand, infused the pages he was given with darkness and detail. It's often been refereed to as a film noir style, with characters obscured in deep shadow and sharp contrasts. He also added a level of detail to the New York City that set it apart from the New York City seen in other Marvel titles, giving the oft-traveled rooftops water towers, piping and cracked stonework that ground the setting with its real-life counterpart. He also had a tendency towards long vertical panels, emphasizing the dizzying heights of buildings rather than flat cityscapes. Visually, Daredevil was about rising and falling, fitting for one of Marvel's more acrobatic characters.
Miller disliked McKenzie's scripts and asked to be taken off the title, but after a change in editor, McKenzie was canned and Miller took over as writer. One of the first things he did was take advantage of McKenzie's "origin story rerun" by following it up with Daredevil's "secret history," new details about Murdock's life between being blinded and actually becoming Daredevil. The first of these was the introduction of Elektra, an old college flame who, after her father was killed after a hostage situation gone bad, became a ninja assassin. In many ways, this was a redo of McKenzie's Black Widow arch, who just before Miller took over was part of Daredevil's "harem." Both were independent heroines struggling to reconcile their chosen career paths with their feelings towards Murdock. Where Elektra differed was that she wasn't defined by her longing for Murdock, but rather that her feelings for him were getting in the way of her being a professional killer. She was a career woman first, a love interest second.
The other secret history was the introduction of Stick, Daredevil's old mentor who trained him in using his other senses. Not the first elderly blind Asian mentor/martial arts teacher in comics, that would go to I Ching in Wonder Woman, though Stick is far less of a stereotype. Elektra and Stick were just two of several Japanese elements Frank Miller brought into the comic, ranging from small details like Bullseye using shurikens to new enemies like the Hand, a ninja clan moving into the city. There is a concern about how much Miller actually understood these elements (Elektra murders a lot of people with sais, even though they are traditionally a blunt weapon or a tool for disarming), but never goes so far as to turn things into a nasty 1980s "yellow peril."
These are the elements that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1 is often cited to be parodying. The Hand wound up becoming the Foot Clan, and Stick became Splinter. That's pretty much it, the names are the extent of the jokes. Stick and Splinter have very little in common, and the Foot Clan actually has more detail and character than the Hand ever had. In reality, Daredevil's influence on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles runs a lot deeper than the initial parody. Frank Miller's focus on street-level crime set the stage for much of the conflicts in the Mirage-era of the Turtles, include his "Gangwar" arc which would serve as one of the building blocks for Eastman and Laird's "City at War" arc. Meanwhile, on the Archie Comics side of things, a lot of Elektra would wind up going into the secondary character Ninjara.
But Frank Miller's influence on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the 1980s independent comic book scene run even deeper. Miller is often associated as one of the leading mouth pieces for creator rights in comic books, though importantly not on of the leading movers and shakers. By the time Miller made his keynote speech for the 1994 Diamond Comic Distributors Retailers Seminar (in which he ripped up a copy of Comics Code publication Americana in Four Colors), we already had Jack Kirby and Neal Adams starting the practice of reclaiming original artwork from publishers, the Comic Creators Guild, the rise of independent publishers, the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, Dave Sims bypassing Diamond Comics' distribution model, the Northampton Summit and the signing of the Creator's Bill of Rights, the creation of Image Comics and the publication of Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics, events that Miller at best gave some comment on but mostly had little to nothing to do with.
(In fairness, most of the people involved with all that have largely tapped out, and with the exception of McCloud, Miller remains the most vocal of them today.)
Miller's actual impact for comic book creators and creator rights was through a heightened lionization of comic celebrity. There had been popular comic creators before, but no one that had gotten this big this fast. The reason for this was two-fold. First, Miller saving Daredevil was seen as nothing short of a Christmas miracle by Marvel, making him the first must-have of his generation. Second, Miller came in when major publishers began to sell shorter-form comics. The rise of the limited series and graphic novel started in 1979, when the major publishers began to realize that running dozens of titles non-stop forever might not be the easiest thing to manage. At one point, DC Comics was juggling sixty monthly ongoing titles, which became too financially unsound and resulted in what has become known as the DC Implosion, which saw over half of those titles suddenly taken off the market over a six-month period.
With a lot of freed resources, DC Comics began to experiment with shorter four-to-six issues series. These proved to be both profitable and pretty low-risk, since there was no obligation to expand any characters or ideas into a years long soap opera. This opened the door for more experimental, artist-driven works in DC, and one of the first people to be swept up in it was Frank Miller and his 1983 six-issue series, Ronin. What was most important about Ronin was that it was made by Frank Miller. His name was in big letters above the title on the cover, it was always the first thing you read on every issue, much like Eastman and Laird would wind up doing. The back cover included quotes from other big names in comics, like Will Eisner and Harlan Ellison, praising the work and Miller as something new and revolutionary.
It was a scale of creator promotion that had only been seen in Hollywood. It was a level of self-branding that many young creators might strive for, and here's one of their own doing just that. For Frank Miller, that led to The Dark Knight Returns, which led to the "grimdark" period for comic books, which led the Image Comics stable of creators, which led to the rise and fall of the early 1990s comic book bubble. It's funny what a strong declaration of "HEY EVERYBODY, PAY ATTENTION TO ME" can do.
Ronin also happens to be of the four comics credited as influence on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and out of the four, it's certainly the one the series most visually resembles. Both share an over-abundance of line shading to give a sense of heavy grit and constant shadow. There isn't a single human face that isn't subtly grotesque, and both series are in love with their sewers and large establishing shots of New York City.
Ronin also cranked up Miller's interest in reappropriation of Eastern imagery that started with Daredevil. The story involved a ronin, a masterless samurai, whose ancient battle with a demon spills into a half post-apocalyptic/half cyberpunk future New York City. Miller spent a lot of time looking into martial arts movies, samurai stories and untranslated volumes of Lone Wolf and Cub, and from that drew what how he assumed a stoic samurai character would act in a mess of American genre excess. There's a lot of surface coolness to it, but reading Ronin over something like Lone Wolf and Cub is like listening to Carl Douglas' "Kung-Fu Fighting" over watching an actual kung-fu action film, you only end up with a very surface understanding of things.
Frank Miller played a major role in changing the comic book landscape in the early 1980s, but he, along with everything else we've covered to the point, is part of the mainstream, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles most certainly did not start that way. To better understand it, we'll have to look at some of its neighbors...
[Yes, I know, I said January 6th, but things in my life keep getting out of hand. For the time being, the blog will be updated whenever I can get it, and hopefully will settle into the original Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule when my personal schedule settles down]
Showing posts with label Dimension X. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dimension X. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Dimension I - "Kamandi, Weird War Tales and The New Mutants"
It is often a fool's game to map out the exact boundaries of a certain era. All eras bleed into each other and all eras either comment on or are commented on by every other era. For our purposes, the "era" of comic books that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were born in is seen as one of cheap independent production, fringe comics in black and white. Unlike mainstream comics, this fringe scene didn't often bother with superheroes, instead opting for more violent and pulpy genres.
But it would be remiss to suggest that this "era" is an isolated entity. Rather, it might be more accurate to describe it as "filling the vacuum." The 1980s marked when superheroes became the only significantly selling genre in comics, thanks in part to the rise of the "comic book geek" culture, but even today, that was not true of the majority of the history of comic books. They were as much comic westerns, science fiction adventures, romance stories, kiddy kartoons, war stories, mysteries and anything else that might grab the eye of a casual reader. The publication of superhero comics rose and dipped fairly regularly in this period. Really popular during World War II, all but vanished through the 1950s, back in the spotlight in the 1960s. All that time, alternative genre comics were being published like clockwork.
One example is Kamandi: The Last Boy on Earth, which ran between 1972 and 1978. The titular character, Kamandi, finds he is one of the last intellectual humans in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, the rest of the human race having been devolved into dumb animals while tigers, cheetahs, dogs, gorillas and several other species have evolved into intelligent, imperialistic cultures. This was one of many contributions Jack Kirby made to DC, a period in which Kirby was mostly interested in taking comic books into more cosmic places with titles like New Gods and Forever People.
Kirby always seemed more at home with Star Trek-esque science fiction than with superheroes. In more ways than one, Kamandi is Kirby's take on Planet of the Apes. DC failed to the comic book rights to the series, and so asked Kirby to take some of the popular images from the films and weave his own story from it. We've got anthropomorphic intelligent apes (though not exclusively apes), wild humans being treated as cattle, the last intelligent man, the sympathetic animal scientist, a culture worshiping an active nuclear weapon and the iconic image of a ruined Statue of Liberty (the letters page in the third issue is packed with people pointing out the obvious). This was not the last time Kirby would reinterpret famous science fiction films, he eventually did a ten-issue series adapting 2001: A Space Odyssey that took the original premise and led it into a whole new, very Jack Kirby direction. Somewhere, there's an alternate universe where Jack Kirby made an entire career out of remaking major science fiction films.
Kevin Eastman named Kamandi as one of his favorite titles as a child, and while there's no obvious direct connection between it and the first issues of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as there is with Daredevil (which I'll get to next time), there is a lot to be said for for its tone and structure. For one, both are shockingly fatalistic. While at one point Kirby stated that Kamandi was supposed to leave a feeling of hope, I can't but feel that's either a lie or a misunderstanding of his work. Kirby seemed to love to get poetic about the rise and fall of civilizations throughout history, the second issue concluding with an entire page of text about anticipating the next fall. Kamandi thrives on imaginative horrors of the apocalypse and the titular character's stubborn inability to adapt to them. Kamandi as symbol of modern man shows us as stubborn, xenophobic and prone to reactionary violence.
That more or less fits the description of the human beings in virtually all incarnations of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, only now the ratio of modern man to anthropomorphic beings are reversed. The Mirage series shows a New York City polluted with violent criminals and petty capitalists, where even the acts of "cleaning up the streets" are just covers for more violent crime. The Turtles' lair is almost an oasis of culture, and even then it's an equally-violent, appropriated culture, much in the same way the animals in Kamandi repurpose the trappings of the Roman empire.
That stories like Kamandi were once a viable option for comic books and then were not resulted in this vacuum of alternative genre comics for creators like Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird to fill. This "era" of fringe comics have much more in common with these titles than, say, the underground comix of R. Crumb, Kim Deitch and Spain Rodriguez. A clearer example of filling a vacuum from around the same time as Kamandi was the DC's publication of Weird War Tales after revisions of the Comics Code Authority in the early 1970s.
The Comics Code Authority was created in 1954 in response to gory, horror-themed comics being published at the time, especially those made by EC Comics, the leader in "comic books that aren't about superheroes" with titles like Tales From the Crypt, The Vault of Horror and Crime SuspenStories. The code banned vampires, werewolves, ghouls, zombies, negative portrayals of police officers and authority figures, seduction, rape, sadism, masochism, kidnapping, concealed weapons, the bad guys winning every once and a while and even just the word "crime." As Scott McCloud put it, "the list of requirements a film needs to receive a G rating was doubled, and there were no other acceptable ratings!"
It was natural to push against these imposed boundaries, and as time went on the Code kept revising itself for the sake of sales or common sense, and by 1971 things had lifted enough to allow full-on horror comics again. Weird War Tales filled the vacuum, leading a massive rebound towards horror comics. It started innocuous enough, the first issue consisting mostly of sad, but hardly horrifying, World War II stories, the worst that could be said was that is was portrayed a slightly sympathetic Nazi officer in one story. Each story ended with a little button reading "MAKE WAR NO MORE," which is frankly a bit patronizing after presenting some rather romantic images, like an abandoned bomber plain flying off out to the ocean as if ascending to an afterlife.
This kept on for a while, but the eighth issue saw a dramatic change. The buttons disappeared. Supernatural elements began to take center stage. Two of the three stories in this issue have Nazis being attacked by supernatural threats, first by an army of zombie French soldiers from World War I, and then a golem protecting a Jewish village. We've gone from "sympathetic Nazi officer" to "supernatural revenge fantasy" overnight. Most importantly, each story is introduced by a skeletal Death roaming different battlefields, much in the same vain as the EC Comics horror hosts like the Crypt Keeper. After this, the focus turned towards shocking imagery. Corpses in various states of decay became common place. The stories spread out to other wars, from Viking and Egyptian conflicts to space battles in the far future.
And the floodgate for horror comics opened again. After Weird War Tales, DC gave us Ghosts, Secrets of Sinister House, Weird Mystery Tales, Forbidden Tales of Dark Mansion, Secrets of Haunted House, Weird Western Tales, Tales of Ghost Castle and Doorway to Nightmare, not to mention darker versions of existing titles such as House of Mystery, House of Secrets, The Unexpected and The Witching Hour. It presents a second narrative for "filling the vacuum." While independent fringe comics came about through a natural, gradual change in trends, the 1970s horror comic explosion came from withholding something from people for a certain amount of time and suddenly returning it. One depressing example of this is how excited people got when the McRib returned to the McDonald's menu. The first narrative fills the vacuum like sand in an hour glass, the second narrative fills the vacuum with a landslide.
(Around the time Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was first being published, Saturday morning cartoons were going through their own little second narrative, but that's an issue for a later post.)
Kevin Eastman stated for Heavy Metal that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was a parody of four different comic books, one of which was Marvel Comic's The New Mutants. Of the four comics he named, this one is perhaps the most "normal," the most reflective of trends in mainstream comics in 1984. Around this period, superhero comics began to eat their own tail in terms of continuity and shared universes. Crisis on Infinite Earths and Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars were right around the corner.
The New Mutants was something of a soft reboot of the X-Men franchise. After a conflict with the Skrull, the majority of the X-Men found themselves trapped in space. While their adventures continued out there, Charles Xavier treats the situation as if they were dead and decides to start his mutant academy afresh with a whole new class of students. This brings back a lot of the old images and ideas of the original comics twenty years prior. The inexperienced teenage heroes, the yellow and black costumes, actual lesson plans, the hormone-driven in-fighting, it's all a throwback to the 1960s. It's certainty a more sound idea than Earth-2, but no less driven by nostalgia.
It didn't stick. Only a handful of issues came out before the original X-Men made their way back to Earth and returned to the mansion, meaning both groups of mutants had to acknowledge but somehow keep their stories separate from each other. Keeping both series in sync became an issue when it really shouldn't have been. The idea of setting a story within a school seems to naturally suggest a constantly rotating cast of students, letting characters like Cyclops and Angel and whoever graduate and go off on their own adventures, but the same nostalgia that brought back classic X-Men tropes also made it difficult to actually change the status quo.It was a curse of appealing to to comic book geek culture.
But it was this obsessive culture that allowed for independent fringe comics to find a home in the first place. Up until the late 1970s, comic books were typically bought in small shops, grocery stores or gas stations. The rise of comic culture necessitated the invention of comic book specialty shops, which is a lot of shelf space to fill. Yes, you guessed it, there was a vacuum to fill, mainstream superhero comics couldn't take up all the room in a shop, so cheap alternative titles were needed. It was a narrative of supply and demand, a lot less poetic than the first two narratives presented here, but a functional tool in getting things done.
Every incarnation of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles can be seen as filling a different vacuum, even if sometimes that vacuum is "there's a shocking lack of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." In that sense, its mutable characteristics make it ideal for this, like a liquid able to fit the shape of any container. For now, though, it'll settle for "not a superhero comic."
[Mutagen will begin properly on January 6th, to be updated every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.]
But it would be remiss to suggest that this "era" is an isolated entity. Rather, it might be more accurate to describe it as "filling the vacuum." The 1980s marked when superheroes became the only significantly selling genre in comics, thanks in part to the rise of the "comic book geek" culture, but even today, that was not true of the majority of the history of comic books. They were as much comic westerns, science fiction adventures, romance stories, kiddy kartoons, war stories, mysteries and anything else that might grab the eye of a casual reader. The publication of superhero comics rose and dipped fairly regularly in this period. Really popular during World War II, all but vanished through the 1950s, back in the spotlight in the 1960s. All that time, alternative genre comics were being published like clockwork.
One example is Kamandi: The Last Boy on Earth, which ran between 1972 and 1978. The titular character, Kamandi, finds he is one of the last intellectual humans in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, the rest of the human race having been devolved into dumb animals while tigers, cheetahs, dogs, gorillas and several other species have evolved into intelligent, imperialistic cultures. This was one of many contributions Jack Kirby made to DC, a period in which Kirby was mostly interested in taking comic books into more cosmic places with titles like New Gods and Forever People.
Kirby always seemed more at home with Star Trek-esque science fiction than with superheroes. In more ways than one, Kamandi is Kirby's take on Planet of the Apes. DC failed to the comic book rights to the series, and so asked Kirby to take some of the popular images from the films and weave his own story from it. We've got anthropomorphic intelligent apes (though not exclusively apes), wild humans being treated as cattle, the last intelligent man, the sympathetic animal scientist, a culture worshiping an active nuclear weapon and the iconic image of a ruined Statue of Liberty (the letters page in the third issue is packed with people pointing out the obvious). This was not the last time Kirby would reinterpret famous science fiction films, he eventually did a ten-issue series adapting 2001: A Space Odyssey that took the original premise and led it into a whole new, very Jack Kirby direction. Somewhere, there's an alternate universe where Jack Kirby made an entire career out of remaking major science fiction films.
Kevin Eastman named Kamandi as one of his favorite titles as a child, and while there's no obvious direct connection between it and the first issues of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as there is with Daredevil (which I'll get to next time), there is a lot to be said for for its tone and structure. For one, both are shockingly fatalistic. While at one point Kirby stated that Kamandi was supposed to leave a feeling of hope, I can't but feel that's either a lie or a misunderstanding of his work. Kirby seemed to love to get poetic about the rise and fall of civilizations throughout history, the second issue concluding with an entire page of text about anticipating the next fall. Kamandi thrives on imaginative horrors of the apocalypse and the titular character's stubborn inability to adapt to them. Kamandi as symbol of modern man shows us as stubborn, xenophobic and prone to reactionary violence.
That more or less fits the description of the human beings in virtually all incarnations of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, only now the ratio of modern man to anthropomorphic beings are reversed. The Mirage series shows a New York City polluted with violent criminals and petty capitalists, where even the acts of "cleaning up the streets" are just covers for more violent crime. The Turtles' lair is almost an oasis of culture, and even then it's an equally-violent, appropriated culture, much in the same way the animals in Kamandi repurpose the trappings of the Roman empire.
That stories like Kamandi were once a viable option for comic books and then were not resulted in this vacuum of alternative genre comics for creators like Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird to fill. This "era" of fringe comics have much more in common with these titles than, say, the underground comix of R. Crumb, Kim Deitch and Spain Rodriguez. A clearer example of filling a vacuum from around the same time as Kamandi was the DC's publication of Weird War Tales after revisions of the Comics Code Authority in the early 1970s.
The Comics Code Authority was created in 1954 in response to gory, horror-themed comics being published at the time, especially those made by EC Comics, the leader in "comic books that aren't about superheroes" with titles like Tales From the Crypt, The Vault of Horror and Crime SuspenStories. The code banned vampires, werewolves, ghouls, zombies, negative portrayals of police officers and authority figures, seduction, rape, sadism, masochism, kidnapping, concealed weapons, the bad guys winning every once and a while and even just the word "crime." As Scott McCloud put it, "the list of requirements a film needs to receive a G rating was doubled, and there were no other acceptable ratings!"
It was natural to push against these imposed boundaries, and as time went on the Code kept revising itself for the sake of sales or common sense, and by 1971 things had lifted enough to allow full-on horror comics again. Weird War Tales filled the vacuum, leading a massive rebound towards horror comics. It started innocuous enough, the first issue consisting mostly of sad, but hardly horrifying, World War II stories, the worst that could be said was that is was portrayed a slightly sympathetic Nazi officer in one story. Each story ended with a little button reading "MAKE WAR NO MORE," which is frankly a bit patronizing after presenting some rather romantic images, like an abandoned bomber plain flying off out to the ocean as if ascending to an afterlife.
This kept on for a while, but the eighth issue saw a dramatic change. The buttons disappeared. Supernatural elements began to take center stage. Two of the three stories in this issue have Nazis being attacked by supernatural threats, first by an army of zombie French soldiers from World War I, and then a golem protecting a Jewish village. We've gone from "sympathetic Nazi officer" to "supernatural revenge fantasy" overnight. Most importantly, each story is introduced by a skeletal Death roaming different battlefields, much in the same vain as the EC Comics horror hosts like the Crypt Keeper. After this, the focus turned towards shocking imagery. Corpses in various states of decay became common place. The stories spread out to other wars, from Viking and Egyptian conflicts to space battles in the far future.
And the floodgate for horror comics opened again. After Weird War Tales, DC gave us Ghosts, Secrets of Sinister House, Weird Mystery Tales, Forbidden Tales of Dark Mansion, Secrets of Haunted House, Weird Western Tales, Tales of Ghost Castle and Doorway to Nightmare, not to mention darker versions of existing titles such as House of Mystery, House of Secrets, The Unexpected and The Witching Hour. It presents a second narrative for "filling the vacuum." While independent fringe comics came about through a natural, gradual change in trends, the 1970s horror comic explosion came from withholding something from people for a certain amount of time and suddenly returning it. One depressing example of this is how excited people got when the McRib returned to the McDonald's menu. The first narrative fills the vacuum like sand in an hour glass, the second narrative fills the vacuum with a landslide.
(Around the time Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was first being published, Saturday morning cartoons were going through their own little second narrative, but that's an issue for a later post.)
Kevin Eastman stated for Heavy Metal that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was a parody of four different comic books, one of which was Marvel Comic's The New Mutants. Of the four comics he named, this one is perhaps the most "normal," the most reflective of trends in mainstream comics in 1984. Around this period, superhero comics began to eat their own tail in terms of continuity and shared universes. Crisis on Infinite Earths and Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars were right around the corner.
The New Mutants was something of a soft reboot of the X-Men franchise. After a conflict with the Skrull, the majority of the X-Men found themselves trapped in space. While their adventures continued out there, Charles Xavier treats the situation as if they were dead and decides to start his mutant academy afresh with a whole new class of students. This brings back a lot of the old images and ideas of the original comics twenty years prior. The inexperienced teenage heroes, the yellow and black costumes, actual lesson plans, the hormone-driven in-fighting, it's all a throwback to the 1960s. It's certainty a more sound idea than Earth-2, but no less driven by nostalgia.
It didn't stick. Only a handful of issues came out before the original X-Men made their way back to Earth and returned to the mansion, meaning both groups of mutants had to acknowledge but somehow keep their stories separate from each other. Keeping both series in sync became an issue when it really shouldn't have been. The idea of setting a story within a school seems to naturally suggest a constantly rotating cast of students, letting characters like Cyclops and Angel and whoever graduate and go off on their own adventures, but the same nostalgia that brought back classic X-Men tropes also made it difficult to actually change the status quo.It was a curse of appealing to to comic book geek culture.
But it was this obsessive culture that allowed for independent fringe comics to find a home in the first place. Up until the late 1970s, comic books were typically bought in small shops, grocery stores or gas stations. The rise of comic culture necessitated the invention of comic book specialty shops, which is a lot of shelf space to fill. Yes, you guessed it, there was a vacuum to fill, mainstream superhero comics couldn't take up all the room in a shop, so cheap alternative titles were needed. It was a narrative of supply and demand, a lot less poetic than the first two narratives presented here, but a functional tool in getting things done.
Every incarnation of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles can be seen as filling a different vacuum, even if sometimes that vacuum is "there's a shocking lack of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." In that sense, its mutable characteristics make it ideal for this, like a liquid able to fit the shape of any container. For now, though, it'll settle for "not a superhero comic."
[Mutagen will begin properly on January 6th, to be updated every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)