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Monthly Archives: March 2012

Flashback 1956!

Longbox Graveyard #41

Reviewing comics over half a century old doesn’t qualify as breaking news.

But here’s a news Flash, anyways.

The modern incarnation of the Flash burst to life in Showcase #4, with a cover date of October 1956.

Let’s think about 1956 for a minute.

Doris Day was singing Que Sera Sera, and Elvis Presley released his first gold album. Ike was in the White House, the Soviets were in Hungary, the Dodgers were in Brooklyn, and playwright Arthur Miller was in Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn must have found brains REALLY sexy

Frank Miller hadn’t been born yet. Humphrey Bogart hadn’t died yet. It’s was a year before Sputnik, three years before the Barbie doll, and maybe most important, five years before Reed, Sue, Ben, and Johnny rode that rocket into space and changed everything about comic books.

There wasn’t a lot going on in comic books at the time (the smart guys were doing newspaper comic strips). Will Eisner had already wrapped up the Spirit, EC Comics was a smoking crater in the ground, and the superheroes of the day were golden age relics like Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman, with the Last Son of Krypton more familiar as a paunchy black & white TV star than a comic book hero. The cool kids were more interested in science fiction anyway — Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Forbidden Planet, and B-movie classic Earth vs. The Flying Saucers all bowed in 1956.

It was to reach these saucer-watching, Elvis-listening, distracted youths of 1956 that DC Comics reimagined the Flash. They ditched the old Golden Age geezer in the air raid helmet and introduced a sleek new character design — The Scarlet Speedster! — and made their hero a chemist and “police scientist” who was a thoroughly modern man. With hindsight our beloved Barry Allen seems remote, square, and worse than your dad, but if you’re a kid in 1956, he was a vision of carefree adult freedom. Respectable, single, doing something cool for a living … yeah, sure, you wear a tie all the time and you’re whipped by your nagging girlfriend for arriving late for one tedious dinner date after another but it’s 1956, man! Beatlemania is still eight years away.

More to the point, your correspondent is still six years away. I was born in 1962, and came of comic book age in 1974, which makes me … really old. But not old enough to remember 1956. Not even old enough to imagine what 1956 might have been like. And because of that I can’t really review Flash. This “new” kind of superhero is half a century old and there’s no real way for me to appreciate what a fresh take Flash must have seemed smack dab in the middle of the button-down 1950s. If I’m reviewing a later Silver Age Marvel book like the Silver Surfer or the Avengers I can kind of get in the neighborhood — those books and those times weren’t so terribly far removed from my own youth. I feel like I can give them a fair shake from a then-and-now perspective. But the 1950s might as well be another planet, culturally, from the times I really knew and understood.

1956 also brought us Flash-Matic tuning (absolutely harmless to humans!)

So this review is a little different.

Reviewing the hero. As a superhero, the Flash is in the Hall of Fame, comfortably at the bottom of the top tier, or the top of the second tier, depending on your point of view. The story of the scientist bathed with chemicals and gifted with super-speed is part of our popular culture. He’s been in print forever, he’s had his cartoons, you could find him on pajamas and a lunch box (at least once upon a time), and your mom could probably pick him out of a lineup. He’ll get a movie when Warners shakes off their Green Lantern hangover. Yeah, DC has screwed up his comic a bunch of times (most notably sacrificing Barry Allen to the Moloch of Continuity in 1985’s Crisis on Infinite Earths), but the modern Flash mythos is pretty strong and the character is nothing if not resilient. The Flash is going to be fine. He’s plenty of people’s favorite hero. I like him well enough but haven’t read a new Flash book in twenty years.

I have no idea who most of these guys are

Reviewing the comics for their own day. Well, see above, as regards my inability to truly understand the 1950s. About the best I can do is infer the impact of the comic by looking at the world around it — like detecting the presence of a black hole by looking for wobbles or distortion elsewhere in space. And to judge by the romance books, sanitized horror books, war books, westerns, and funny animals on the rack those days, then, heck yeah! The Flash must have been like someone spiked the lemonade.

Reviewing the comics for our day. Showcase #4 is a museum piece and a precious cultural artifact. The price guides say you could ask six figures for a top graded copy (good luck getting that, though!). As the herald of the Silver Age of comics and the introduction of a classic character, this is an Important Comic.

It is also a goofy comic. A very goofy comic.

The stories will melt your mind, so I won’t bother to summarize them. Suffice to say they are from that blissful pre-continuity era when the creators were clearly making things up as they went along. Aliens who grow every second! Ancient conquering robots buried beneath the earth! Spring-heeled supervillains who leave birthday presents all around town. And super-intelligent gorillas hailing from a secret African city.

(yes, that’s Gorilla Grodd)

That same sense of wonder is harnessed to create the modern world of comic books. You can see the story conventions of later books take root on seemingly every page. I was particularly struck by how “Science!” (exclamation point is mandatory) is invoked to justify everything. It’s like some bizarre inversion of Clarke’s Law, where any magic, however outrageous, will be accepted as science if sold as such to 1950s tweeners.

For instance, because heat causes mirages, then the same must be true of cold. Science!

And of course the Flash’s uniform expands on contact with air. It’s just like one of those Navy life rafts. SCIENCE!

In this last bit we see another common storytelling trick from this series that has lasted into the present age — using multiple panels in a kind of slow-motion to show us Barry’s various speed tricks. This triptych storytelling style is additionally notable because it is possibly unique to the comic book form.

It is first seen when Barry is discovering he’s received the gift of super-speed …

(and this was half a century before Toby Maguire pulled the same stunt in the cafeteria scene from Sam Raimi’s delightful 2002 movie, Spider-Man, by the way)

… then the technique is used to show how Barry thinks faster than the rest of us …

… and finally as a means for the audience to keep up with Barry as races through the sound barrier and beyond.

As well as emerging storytelling conventions, all the assumptions of old time comics are on display in The Flash, such as when Barry gets his obligatory teen sidekick in Flash #110.

Yep, that’s Wally West in the miniature Flash costume. In our current century, where all the subtext is on the outside, you can read all sorts of improprieties into Barry’s interest in young Wally, but for 1950s readers it was innocent, wish-fulfilling fun.

It really is treacherous to read too much into these Silver Age comics, but the relationship between Barry Allen and Iris West deserves special consideration. I understand the tropes. Lois Lane was an oblivious pain-in-the-butt for Clark Kent, so they went to the same playbook for Barry and Iris. But Iris is a genuine harpy. The way she picks on Barry … well, I’m tempted to believe there’s some kind of sadistic power exchange going on here. Barry is so whipped in this relationship that the only explanation is that he likes it this way.

Being “the fastest man alive,” the series wrings a lot of irony out of Barry being late all the time, and having Barry arrive late for another dinner or lunch with Iris is the go-to, wink-at-the-camera formula for concluding several stories in this series. But the hectoring Barry absorbs from Iris goes beyond an adolescent sense of dating (it must be like dressing up and going out with your mom!) and into a realm where it’s genuinely hard to understand why Barry puts up with it. Carmine Infantino draws elegant and fashionable women (and no one fills an evening gown like Iris West), but there’s a limit.

Consider this sequence from Flash #111, where Barry first puts up with Iris complaining that she’s being dragged to a lecture …

… then gets blasted by Iris becase she was bored, and thinks the lecturer was a crackpot (and to be fair, who could believe those lame-ass cloud monsters?) …

… but then, abruptly, Iris throws Barry over for this doctor she wouldn’t have known existed if Barry hadn’t introduced her to him. Mee-OW!

It’s probably nothing. Or maybe writer John Broome was working through issues. Or maybe this is just another example of the weird sexuality (identified by Grant Morrison in Supergods) that characterized the Mort Weisinger era at DC.

I prefer to believe that Barry put up with it because he was a playa. The Fastest Man Alive usually plays it right down mainstreet, but in Showcase #13 he flirts with the continental rule, getting a kiss on behalf of the ladies of Paris …

… before racing across the Mediterranean for an Egyptian booty call.

Look, when your only weapon is super-speed and about the best you can do is race Superman to a tie, then you’ve got to strike a blow whenever you can. And if that means that the Flash is the Fastest Man Alive in more ways than one, then who am I to deny him?

But that’s another one of those modern reinterpretations of an innocent adventure strip from a lost age. There’s a certain charm to an era where a kiss was a grateful North African princess was just a kiss from a princess.

I’m not convinced we’re better off today, for all of our sophistication and more worldly entertainments. This is a fun and nostalgic run of Flash comics, full of character first introductions and history. It’s worth slowing down to enjoy the Flash.

NEXT WEDNESDAY: #42 Panel Gallery: Jack Kirby’s Gadgets of S.H.I.E.L.D. (And HYDRA Too!)

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WonderCon Wrap-Up!

Longbox Graveyard #40

“I’m coming back every year!”

That’s what my pal (and sometimes Longbox Graveyard collaborator) Chris Ulm said when he and I walked through the doors of the Anaheim Convention Center last Friday, the first day of this year’s WonderCon. It was like we’d been transported back in time twenty years, to when you could enjoy the San Diego Comic-Con without calling in the Scoops.

With WonderCon displaced from San Francisco for a year, my hope was that it would be Comic-Con Junior — the same content and professional organization as Comic-Con, but with a fraction of the crowds. And that’s pretty much exactly what I got. The aisles were wide, the crowds were manageable, the dealers’ floor was full of geeky swag, you could walk into any panel you liked, and you could actually run into friends old and new and just hang out and talk comics.

You know … pretty much everything San Diego Comic-Con is not these days …

the line-up just to get IN to Hall H at San Diego Comic-Con … practically larger than WonderCon attendance all by itself

Complaining about geek convention attendance ranks right up there with whinging about John Carter in the “first world problems” department, but hear me out. The iconic San Diego Comic-Con is facing crowing issues that in the past threatened to drive the show out of San Diego for Las Vegas or (ahem) Anaheim. Last year, San Diego programming space was expanded to include several area hotels, but line-ups for Hall H were still an all-night affair, and the dealer area was packed so tightly that I feared for a fire, an earthquake, or just a stampede if someone dropped a box of Twinkies.

How we can (or should) fix Comic-Con is a separate column, but WonderCon this weekend did provide a glimpse of what a better version of Comic-Con might be — most of the nerd with just a fraction of the herd. On Friday, especially, it was a breeze to get around the venue, and even at its most crowded Saturday peak, the dealer floor was nothing like the frantic scrum San Diego experiences on an “exclusive” preview night.

something you never see at San Diego Comic-Con — a largely EMPTY aisle!

Unfortunately, this Geek Utopia is only for a single year, as there is every reason to suppose WonderCon will return to its San Francisco venue in 2013. I have no desire to rob Northern California of their signature show, but if this weekend proves profitable for the con committee and merchants (who may not view lower foot traffic as such a wonderful thing), then we might see a move to get a second show going here in Southern California on a permanent basis. Given the choice between San Diego Comic-Con and another WonderCon in Anaheim, I’d take Anaheim in a heartbeat, even though it’s fifty miles further from my house and requires that I get a hotel room.

The kids in our clan had a fine time, which was most of the reason for going.

geeks — the next generation!

I do think the show was more lightly-attended than the committee would have liked. The Quick Draw panel — which has cartoonists improvising in real time — was billed as a “standing room only” event, but we breezed right in.

great seats for Quick Draw

On Friday, poor Michael Golden gave his workshop to about a dozen people in a room designed to hold five hundred (but soldiered on like a pro). Meanwhile across the hall, I was moderating my own “Triumph of the Small Screen” panel with my pals and partners from Appy Entertainment.

Hosting a con panel is even less glamorous than I’ve made it look here, but the guys did all right.

panelists Chris Ulm, Farzad Varahramyan, and Emmanuel Valdez of Appy Entertainment

Our audience started off as a friends-and-family affair but more folks trickled in as we went along, and by the end we had an energetic room shouting out questions about the future of apps as a platform for launching new intellectual properties.

For me, the highlight of the panel was meeting frequent Longbox Graveyard commentator Horace Austin …

Horace and your humble narrator!

I also got to briefly meet “Superherologist” Dr. Travis Langley, and reconnect with old comics pals like Jim Chadwick and Dave Olbrich, who promised me that he’d write at least one new column over at Funny Book Fanatic this year!

The dealers’ floor was the usual mix of trash and treasure, and I do admit to a certain “seen-it-all-before” weariness at this point (I know, more “first world problems.”) Most of the back issue dealers priced their wares as if they’d never heard of this thing called “the internet,” and even crappy books like the 1970s Marvel Godzilla series were priced in the double digits. I confined myself to picking up a couple half-priced Super-Villain Team-Ups, filling in holes in this legendarily good “bad” comic series.

I continued my fruitless search for superhero shirts. Sure, there are plenty of T-shirts, but I don’t do T-shirts. Would it kill them to put collars and buttons on these things?

Fortunately the lovely wife of the Longbox Graveyard is just fine with tees.

Batgirl has never looked better!

And there were some nifty geek robes, too … I was tempted by a Star Trek robe, and my little guy Jack scored a Tardis robe.

Mid-way through Saturday, my lads decided they’d had enough — the geek blood has run thin — and so we hit the road an hour or two early and bid WonderCon goodbye, but not before our nerd itch had been well and deeply scratched. Just the same, I’m probably still on the hook to take the kids to Comic-Con in July … unless there’s an announcement that WonderCon will return to Anaheim next year!

Please?

NEXT WEDNESDAY: #41 Flashback 1956!

Barsoomian Beat-Down!

Longbox Graveyard #39

I wasn’t going to write this column.

I intended last week’s John Carter, Warlord of Mars column to be my first and last word on the subject. Acknowledge my love of the property, excoriate the Marvel Comics run for being so crappy, express my anxiety over the movie, and finish things off with a one paragraph review of the film.

Done!

But today I got into one of those protracted geekfights that makes you think about things, and reevaluate, and get worked up all over again. So what the heck … one more John Carter column isn’t going to kill anyone. This subject does matter to me and I am seething with nerd rage.

I stand naked before you, beneath the hurtling moons of Mars!

Hear my cry!

Disney’s John Carter pierced me through my fanboy heart!

(all art in this blog by the immortal Frank Frazetta!)

As I noted in my update to last week’s column, John Carter gets more things right than wrong … but the things it gets wrong are so wrong that it torpedoes the whole enterprise. Even worse — barring some miraculous international box office — the movie is going to perform so poorly that it will turn the entire property into a toxic tire fire. There won’t be a sequel, there won’t be a John Carter movie franchise — just this single, flawed, oh-so-promising misfire.

And that’s a cosmic shame.

I am severely conflicted about this movie. My personal grade of C+ puts me a little ahead of the the critical consensus on Rotten Tomatoes, and only one letter grade behind John Carter’s CinemaScore rating by audiences exiting the theater. Put a radium pistol to my head and I will admit that the movie was … good.

(Some of the time.)

(When you look at it just right.)

The problem is that with all the money, talent, and ambition that went into John Carter, “good” isn’t good enough. This picture deserved to be GREAT! Anything less is the cinematic equivalent of a Barsoomian airship captain leaping from the prow of his doomed flyer — a symbolic act of surrender.

I do love John Carter. Not as much as I love Conan, or The Lord of the Rings, but I do love the series. It’s probably not top ten for me, but it is comfortably in my top twenty. When the Conan movie tanked last August I reached back to the books and offered up a fist-full of suggestions about how the Cimmerian might be better treated on film, but I have no such prescription for John Carter. The books frankly aren’t that good — and I say this as a fan! Edgar Rice Burroughs‘ novels are full of wonderful ideas and imagery, but as fiction they are a tough read. In the run-up to this movie, when I read that director Andrew Stanton was picking and choosing from the books, and throwing out what didn’t work … I felt great! That’s exactly what this series required! Mine the books for ideas, find the heart of the series, and make a movie for 21st century audiences!

I had faith that Andrew Stanton — the flat-out genius behind Wall-E — would do justice to the sentimentality and the heart that is at the core of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Martian romances.

John Carter was never deterred by long odds

But I knew.

I knew the moment I saw that first brown, tepid, dirge of a teaser trailer last year that this picture was in trouble. That trailer was all about loss, and mourning, and dust. There was no adventure. There was no romance. There was no attempt to connect this movie to contemporary audiences. From the creator of Wall-E and Finding Nemo! From the writer of Tarzan! Pixar’s first live-action movie!

None of that was on display in this first lifeless trailer:

And it is not too much of an exaggeration to report that it was all down hill from there, with an increasingly off-kilter marketing blitz just muddying the issue right up until the movie was delivered, dead on arrival, at theaters this past weekend.

I was one of the few Americans who turned out for this picture on opening day, watching the film in IMAX 3D, and my militant optimism turned to dismay almost from the opening curtain. The film opens in a strident rush of yelling and explosions and over-amped action that left me lost — and I’m a guy that’s read all the books, and blogs about this nonsense. Incoherent action, sky ships blasting anything and everything, characters we don’t know snarling at each other … then McNulty is confronted by three flying dudes who give him some kind of nanotech wonderweapon and I am supposed to care because …?

The Wire’s own Jimmy McNulty — Dominic West — played the heavy in John Carter, and I put him here because it is probably the last chance I’ll get to reference my favorite TV show at Longbox Graveyard

Look, opening the picture with a bang and introducing the audience to Barsoom is a great idea. But is this the best Stanton could do? My pal and sometimes Longbox Graveyard contributor Chris Ulm pulled a better opening out of his backside. Why not go with a Lord of the Rings opening? Show how distant Barsoom is a dying planet, with less water and less air each passing year. Show legions of Red and Green Men savagely battling over these precious and dwindling resources. Juxtapose the Martian civil wars with the American Civil War here on earth, show John Carter as the peerless Virginia cavalryman, fighting for his doomed lost cause. Have Carter unhorsed by some underhanded Yankee treachery, have him take a bullet in the gut, have him crawl off to die in the night and reach out to the glowing red planet Mars — then, boom, take us there and get on with the tale!

None of this protracted origin story that didn’t make sense in the book, and works even worse on film. None of this Edgar Rice Burroughs framing sequence nonsense. Just introduce the world, raise the stakes, tell us why we should care, and get on with a fast-paced, action-packed, fish-out-of-water adventure on a fantastic world with the homespun, Southern gentleman Carter our anchor against the unreality of it all.

those odds are looking worse

When the picture does get around to John Carter on Mars, things improve a bit. For awhile. But it is here that my greatest disappointment with the movie comes to the fore — Stanton opts for spectacle over character development.

The Green Men are wonderfully realized, and the strongest part of the film. But rather than following the book, and richly developing John Carter’s relationship with the Tharks (and I can’t believe I am defending a book I don’t like all that much!), the film throws characters and situations at us in a rush. John Carter’s slow-developing friendship with Tars Tarkas is central to the series. The Tharks are savages who laugh only when someone is in pain, but through John Carter, Tars Tarkas learns the value of friendship, develops the courage to acknowledge his daughter, Sola, and bravely charts a new path for his people. The friendship between John Carter and Tars Tarkas is one of the greatest in fantasy fiction (and George Lucas pretty much stole it for Han Solo and Chewie), but Stanton gives us no chance to enjoy watching these two characters come together, testing each others’ strengths, challenging each others’ most deeply-held convictions, and emerging better for the experience. Instead we get a kind of rough sketch of Tars Tarkas’ wonder at encountering John Carter, and a couple scenes where Tars tells us how Carter affected him, rather than showing us through action, dialogue, and character development.

ace character actor Willem Dafoe is larely wasted in his role as Tars Tarkas

Sola fares a bit better — and the bit with her body being branded for each crime she has committed is a nice way to externalize her outlier nature — but we aren’t shown enough about Thark society to really understand how special she is for feeling kindness and maternal instincts. And likewise we have little chance to appreciate the unbreakable bond of loyalty between John Carter and Woola — the poor beast set to “guard” him — because the movie is moving at such a breakneck pace that there is no time for the relationship to simmer, to transform from prisoner and jailer to man and man’s best friend in a fashion that could have illuminated character and bound the audience to the story.

Dejah Thoris and Woola (I think)

These oversights are critical because more than flyers, radium rifles, beasts, and aliens, Burroughs’ Mars books are about friendship, love, loyalty, and honor. What makes John Carter special is his compassion — that he wins over an entire planet through his courage, but also his mercy. The kindness Carter offers his foes blows Barsoomian society apart. It turns Sola into a mother, and Woola into a faithful and loving companion. It transforms the Tharks from savage raiders to eternal allies of Helium. And it wins the heart of the “incomparable Dejah Thoris,” in the central romance of this sword & planet romance series.

Dejah Thoris fares a bit better than the other characters in the film. I thought her reinvention as a scientist and woman of action was clever and appropriate. But her romance with John Carter is almost entirely truncated in service of a silly plot contrivance based around Carter wanting to return to his home planet, and playing the world-weary warrior. John Carter is a one-dimensional character in the books, but if he is about anything, it is two things — that he is a fighting man through-and-through, and that he falls in love with Dejah Thoris at first sight.

Why did the movie turn Carter into a reluctant warrior who thinks Dejah Thoris is a spoiled little snot? Again, I never thought I’d be defending the book — where the romance is melodramatic, overwrought, and juvenile — but, sheesh, I would have rather seen Burroughs’ turgid romance brought to the screen word-for-word than the expository partnership we got in this movie. The male/female adventuring almost-lovers dynamic is one of cinema’s most basic archetypes — how did Stanton get this part wrong? Has he never seen Speed, Romancing the Stone, The Princess Bride, or a Thin Man movie? Raiders of the Lost Ark? Star Wars? Bonnie and Clyde? Ferris Bueller? Anyone, anyone?

Why on two worlds did the movie devote screen time to the deadly-dull interplanetary Thern conspiracy when there was so much basic character work that went undone?

That’s the kind of nonsense I’d expect from Zack Snyder or Michael Bay. From Andrew Stanton — it was a shock. And a bitter disappointment.

Andrew Stanton should be thrown to the banths for messing this up!

In my naive, fanboy way I came away from the film constructing a best-case scenario. After all, there was so much to like! I thought the Tharks were terrific. I loved the look of the film — the architecture, the technology, the costumes, jewelry, and makeup. I even mostly liked the cast. And there was a part of me that still had faith in Andrew Stanton, cleaving to the notion that his vision of the film had been subverted by interference from meddling producers, and undone by criminal marketing.

But then came this long story in Vulture magazine about how this film is 100% Andrew Stanton’s vision — including the marketing campaign — and all hope evaporated. Because even if by some miracle this film does well enough overseas to justify a sequel … that sequel is going to be the vision of the guy who so missed the center of the target this first time around. And if the movie doesn’t pull off a box office miracle, then it is going to be so toxic that John Carter will never see the screen again … and it will likely drive the final stake through the heart of a steampunk fantasy genre already savaged by movies like Wild Wild West, Cowboys & Aliens, and Jonah Hex.

So in John Carter we have a film that kills not only a franchise, but an entire genre, and sullies the esteem with which I held the director for his work on Wall-E. As a movie, John Carter is just mediocre — but as a missed opportunity, this movie ranks among some of the most disappointing genre films I’ve ever seen, right alongside pictures like The Phantom Menace, Watchmen, and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Like all of those movies, it is disappointing enough to make me reassess why I liked the original vintage so much in the first place.

fortunately, there is still SO MUCH to love about the original vintage

My advice to Disney — have faith in the franchise, get Jon Favreau for the sequel, and slash $100M from the budget of the next picture.

My advice to Andrew Stanton — get back to Pixar and make movies with bugs and fish and robots … you know, things with heart.

My advice to Longbox Graveyard readers — go see John Carter! Ack, I can’t help myself! This moment may never come again, the chance to see John Carter — however flawed — on the big screen. Go see the film, and with your wallets keep the flickering hope of a sequel alive. And let me know what you think of the movie in the comments section.

In the name of the Ninth Ray, that we have come to this! Chris Ulm’s daughter decided she hated the movie, sight unseen, and reports that the kids are calling it, “John Farter.” A century in the making and instead of taking a victory lap, John Carter needs mercy tickets to get a second time at bat. And here I am still holding out hope for this hopeless mess of a movie. I guess I really do love John Carter, after all.

“A warrior may change his metal, but not his heart.”

Sigh.

Thank you for indulging my rant. Next week I will get back to comics with my WonderCon report (and if you will be at the show, come see the panel I am moderating Friday at 4:30 — “Triumph of the Small Screen!”).

Until then … Kaor, my Barsoomian brothers, and blessed be the shell of thy first ancestor!

NEXT WEDNESDAY: #40 WonderCon Wrap-Up!

 

John Carter, Warlord of Mars

Longbox Graveyard #38

John Carter comes to the movies this week, completing an odyssey stretching back one hundred years, beginning with publication of A Princess of Mars in 1912.

Created by Edgar Rice Burroughs — and vastly less successful than that author’s Tarzan of the Apes — the John Carter series has nonetheless fascinated geeks like me for a century, giving birth to the “sword and planet” genre, and having its bones mined by dozens of science fiction books and films to follow, most notably Return of the Jedi, where the whole first act owes more than a little to the airships and savage desert races of Burroughs’ Barsoom.

John Carter has remained in print these past hundred years, first as a serial, and later reprinted as a series of eleven novels. It was in the Science Fiction Book Club editions from the 1970s that I first encountered John Carter, and I still have those battered low rent hardbacks on my shelf today, mostly because of the classic Frank Frazetta covers …

… and some pretty special black & white interior art, too.

Those covers and (especially) those interior drawings set the look and feel of John Carter for me, the tale of an ex-Confederate adventurer from Virgina who is mysteriously transported to Mars, where he is caught up in a whirlwind of swords, radium pistols, flyers, princesses, wild beasts, and the savage Green Men roaming the dead sea bottoms of Barsoom. It’s not great fiction — unlike Robert E. Howard’s Conan series, I find little joy in Burroughs stiff, neo-Victorian approach to storytelling — but it is great world-building, right up there with the creations of J.R.R. Tolkien and Frank Herbert.

On the eve of the movie’s release, it’s fruitless to speculate on it’s success — the tale will be told at the box office this weekend. But it doesn’t look good. Tracking numbers are weak and the knives are out for the film and the studio that greenlit the $250 million dollar production. For my part, I expect to like the picture (and I did — sort of — see the end of this post for my brief movie review). I respect director Andrew Stanton — I thought Wall-E was brilliant — and the footage released onto the web by an increasingly nervous studio adequately satisfies my fanboy expectations.

The marketing has been tepid, with the studio distancing themselves from the term “Mars” for crazy reasons; likewise they have steered clear of the story’s post-Civil War period roots, probably spooked by the failure of last summer’s Cowboys & Aliens. John Carter seems doomed to be another Scott Pilgrim Versus The World — a genre film that audiences like, but for which the audience was too small to sustain a franchise, which is a real shame, because Burroughs’ Martian saga is broad and rich enough to sustain several feature films.

But I’ll take what I can get.

In 1977 the notion that I would some day get a John Carter movie — in a summer that will also bring me a Batman, Spider-Man, and Avengers movie — was more fantastic than John Carter slicing up a whole legion of the synthetic men of Mars. Three decades ago, the closest I could get to a John Carter movie was Marvel’s John Carter, Warlord of Mars comic series, and I bought every issue (and three annuals, too).

And boy oh boy did they stink!

I stayed with the book to the bitter end out of some misguided loyalty to the property but this run was terrible — terrible art, terrible storytelling, terrible design. Even the colors were terrible. And that the book was so poor despite the heartfelt efforts of some quite talented pros — like Marv Wolfman, Gil Kane, and Chris Claremont — points out how hard it is to get this story right (and simultaneously increases my respect for Frank Frazetta, even as it makes me that much more nervous for the movie).

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Marv Wolfman was one of the finest comic book writers of his day, and in the letter page editorial introducing the first issue, Wolfman says all the right things — how he’s loved the series since he was a boy, how he’s always wanted to do John Carter at Marvel, how Gil Kane was his perfect pick for penciller. He knew the books well enough to spot a multi-year gap buried between paragraphs at the end of A Princess of Mars in which to set his series, and he launched the book with an ambitious, twelve-part epic called “The Air Pirates of Mars” that showcased all the many weird races, landscapes, and creatures of Burroughs’ Mars.

But sometimes the whole is less than the sum of its parts. Wolfman never really made Barsoom his own — the humorless, first-person narration Burroughs uses is tiresome in the original books, and when Wolfman brings that style to the comic page it is positively deadly, offering little insight to the stoic John Carter while encumbering each page with a wall of words.

So, too, do Gil Kane’s pencils fail to impress. I’m massively indifferent to Kane, but even his most ardent supporters will find little to like here, in page after page that seem a tangle of red bodies and snarling faces. A John Carter artist must be a designer as much as a storyteller, and Kane was either incapable or totally disinterested in developing the look of John Carter’s world — his panels are almost entirely bereft of memorable architecture, costume design, or technology. There’s practically nothing about these pages that tells us we’re on Barsoom aside from a few extra limbs on the fauna.

all the parts are here, but I’m not feeling it

I re-read the series for this review and was appalled at how bland, dull, and lifeless were Burroughs’ creatures and characters when transferred to the comics page. In being so faithful to Burroughs, the series did Edgar a disservice, who even in 1977 was in need of an updating, but instead of cutting to the heart of Burroughs’ Barsoom — and giving us stories of romance, friendship, and loyalty — we get a kind of joyless Burroughs pastiche that fails by leagues to compare with the images that the novels conjured in my imagination.

Wolfman departs after a dozen issues, and Chris Claremont does a bit better job as scripter. In Claremont’s first issue, John Carter is poisoned, and presumably killed, so Claremont dismisses the first-person narrative form, and the series is better for it … for all of half an issue, then Carter is back telling us nothing and the book is all grinding gears again. Like Wolfman’s tale, Claremont’s “Master Assassin of Mars” story arc is too long, and not helped at all by a second-rate effort from artist Rudy Nebres as the book runs out the string.

I scoured the series for pages worth scanning, but couldn’t find much, aside from the splash page of a Dave Cockrum single-issue story, when Deja Thoris finally looks at least a little bit “incomparable” …

… and a dynamic page from a young Frank Miller, just finding his way as an artist at Marvel.

You also can find a few more decent pages over at the always-cosmic Mars Will Send No More … it’s too bad Alex Nino didn’t score a full-time gig on this book!

But really, this series is better left forgotten. For lifeless scripting, uninspired pencils, anachronistic storytelling, and utterly failing to deliver on the promise of Burroughs’ rich Barsoomian mythos, Marvel’s John Carter, Warlord of Mars earns the first failing grade on the idiosyncratic Longbox Graveyard report card. I’ve loaded my copies aboard a barge, set it aflame, and floated it down the River Iss … and am crossing the fingers on all four hands of my Tars Tarkas action figure that the great John Carter fares better in his feature film debut!

UPDATE: I’ve seen the movie now (in IMAX 3D no less) and while John Carter gets more things right than wrong, the things it does wrong pretty much kill it. I am stunned that Andrew Stanton (director of Wall-E) would get the heart and sentimentality of this story wrong, and it is deadly. Instead of focusing on the warm emotional relationships between John Carter, Tars Tarkas, Sola, Woola, and Dejah Thoris, we get a complicated story where a Thern conspiracy and a well-intentioned but boring Edgar Rice Burroughs framing sequence crowds out screen time that would have been better devoted to core character development. The movie looks good, the Green Men are great, and I was fine with most of the casting (I thought the smart and resourceful Deja Thoris was an especially welcome revision). But the movie races along at a breakneck pace, too strident, too shrill, too eager to please, and ultimately a confused muddle of names and places and pointless details that just distance us from the heart of the story. The film looked like it needed another month in the editing bay (and maybe there will be a better cut on home video some day), but the damage is done. This film was doomed out of the gate by Disney’s catastrophic marketing campaign and with the movie underdelivering in it’s opening weekend (pending only some massive international box office), poor John Carter is going to be one-and-done. I’m disappointed and not a little depressed that this franchise has been smothered in the crib. It could have been great … but now it goes on the shelf with other promising misfires like Firefly, Rocketeer, and Scott Pilgrim. Pixar got the story wrong! Who’d a thunk it? So sad.

  • Title: John Carter, Warlord of Mars
  • Published By: Marvel Comics, 1977-1979
  • Issues EXILED From The Longbox Graveyard: #1-28, June 1977-October 1979
  • LBG Letter Grade For This Run: F
  • Read The Reprints: Amazon

NEXT WEDNESDAY: #39 Barsoomian Beat-Down!

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