Broken Frontier

After his mother had a heart attack, Robert Farrell turned to a life of crime in order to pay the exorbitant bills incurred during her lengthy hospital stay. Like most young black men in 1978, Robert created a cybernetically-controlled, rocket-powered skateboard that could go up walls and race sixty miles per hour. Dressed in a red and gold jumpsuit stolen from Cher’s backstage dressing room, he became the devious mastermind of evil know as Rocket Racer, sworn enemy of Spider-Man.

Eric Gillette has created an astonishingly thorough compendium of Spider-Man facts and lore on his samruby.com web site. With just a couple of clicks, you can find out in what issue of “Marvel Team-Up” Howard the Duck appeared, the name of Black Cat’s mother, and everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Robert “Rocket Racer” Farrell. On his site, you’ll learn that “Amazing Spider-Man” 182 was a 17-page story written by Marv Wolfman (his first for the series). You can see the kick-ass Ross Andru cover, and find out the issue was appropriately titled “The Rocket Racer’s Back In Town!”

What Eric’s incredible site won’t tell you, however, is that that particular issue remains one of the main reasons why almost three decades later I still buy and enjoy comic books. I’m sure it wasn’t a deliberate omission. Mr. Gillette just didn’t know.

When I was young, my mother paid for a two-year subscription to “Amazing Spider-Man”. After tearing through stories about Gwen Stacy’s clone and the resurrection of the Green Goblin, you’d think I’d be disappointed by a story featuring the Racer dude. After all, the man wore goggles Elton John would have been embarrassed to put on, and in case you missed it the first time, he rode a cybernetically-controlled, rocket-powered skateboard.

But I loved that damn issue. On the last page, Peter Parker proposed to his girlfriend by slipping a diamond ring into her Cracker Jacks box. Mary Jane would end up turning him down and dropping out of the series for a few years, but I didn’t know that at the time. I had just finished reading a fun, action-packed Spider-Man story that ended with a great romantic cliff-hanger. What wasn’t to like?

Two recent books have me thinking about issue 182 a lot lately. One is “Countdown to Infinite Crisis”, the best-selling comic book for March. The other is “Madrox: Multiple Choices”, which barely made it into the list of top fifty trade paperbacks for the month. (In case you’re wondering, even “Little Lulu 2: Lulu Takes A Trip” sold more copies.)

Sometimes comic books teach us things about ourselves and others. Sometimes they challenge our belief systems, make us question things, move us to tears or to action. Sometimes they make us feel heroic or remind us that we haven’t done enough. Sometimes they transcend all definition, becoming timeless classics that will resonate with readers for generations to come. And sometimes they’re just damn good stories that people remember thirty years later.

Every now and then I’m lucky enough to read a book that reminds me what it’s like to be twelve years old, tearing through newsprint pages to find out how a battle between a man with the powers of a radiated arachnid and another man with a cybernetically-controlled, rocket-powered skateboard will end. Last week I read “Madrox: Multiple Choices”. And I was twelve years old again.

The artwork is simply gorgeous. Pablo Raimondi is incredible talented. His version of Jamie Madrox looks like sex on a stick, and the women are hot enough to make a gay man consider calling Exodus International. When we first see Sheila Desoto, she’s swimming topless. Arms and towels are conveniently posed to avoid any breast shots, but that doesn’t stop Raimondi from making your heart race with his gorgeous artwork. When Carol Campbell pops into Jamie’s detective agency for help, she’s so beautiful it literally takes your breath away for a moment. Yes, Pablo knows how to draw average people. But he also knows how to draw characters so sizzling hot you’ll feel like it’s two months after you hit puberty and your best friend just told you he stole a porn magazine from his dad’s nightstand.

Brian Reber is the colorist, and he wisely chooses to concentrate on a pallet of earth tones, since this is a film noir type of story. Raimondi, with the help of Drew Hennessy inking his work, never lets the darker tones prevent him from delivering clear sequential art that flows smoothly, though. The action is crisp and easy to follow, and the backgrounds are nicely detailed. Sure, there’s a little room for improvement. Occasionally Sheila and Carol look like twin sisters. And there’s one panel where Stringer, a newspaper reporter, suddenly loses a huge chunk of his hair (about the size of a large pizza slice, oddly enough).  But those are minor quibbles at best.

It’s also nice to see Wolfsbane and Strong Guy again. Wolfsbane has been one of my favorites since the days when she appeared in Chris Claremont’s soporific “New Mutants” series. Her presence isn’t exactly necessary here, but there’s one sequence early on that is priceless. “How long was I out?” Madrox asks Strong Guy. “Seventeen years, “ he answers without looking up from his newspaper. “The U.S. was bought by the Swiss. The national bird is now the cuckoo, but the chocolate’s better.” “How long was I out?” Madrox asks Wolfsbane. “Twenty minutes.”

How could anyone not enjoy dialogue like that?

For those who aren’t familiar with Jamie Madrox, he’s a mutant. Any strong blow, whether it’s him hitting something else or something else hitting him, produces a duplicate clone. If he bangs against a brick wall five times, you’re looking at six Jamies. That would be impressive, but his duplicates aren’t exact duplicates. They’re portions of his psyche. So if, for instance, he wanted to scale the aforementioned brick wall, it might present a problem if one of his duplicates questioned the morality of trespassing, another pondered the perpetuation of an endless cycle of violence, and a third one wondered if there was anything good on TV that night.

Jamie is operating a detective agency in Mutant Town, a small corner of New York City. Unsure of what he wants to do with his life (“if everything’s possible, then what’s the point of anything?”), he’s sent duplicates of himself to the furthest corners of the globe to learn what they can and then report back for absorption. It’s a brilliant idea, but with Peter David writing the miniseries, it’s not surprising. You can always count on two things when you pick up a book by David. Brilliant ideas will be involved, and the results will always be entertaining, provocative, and hilarious.

On the first page of his latest masterpiece, Jamie Madrox stumbles to a cab, blood pouring from a chest wound. It turns out to be one of the duplicates, a clone that dies in the process of being absorbed by the original. Before you can say “second issue”, Jamie has flown to Chicago and is investigating his own murder. I’m not about to tell anyone the various machinations of the plot; suffice it to say there are enough twists and turns to make any comic book reader or mystery fan happy, and the ending isn’t contrived or disappointing in any way.

I will tell you that this is one of the darkest and funniest books I’ve read in a while. It’s amazing how well Peter David infuses humor into a world of betrayal, murder, and the search for a purpose. This is the type of book you read and, once you’re finished, realize your entire face is aching from smiling so much. You breeze through it knowing that in a couple of weeks, or days, or even hours, you’ll be reading it again from start to finish.

People like Peter David remember the days when writing a good, entertaining story was enough, when cheap gimmicks and desperate hype weren’t a monthly occurrence, when comic books could appeal equally to thirty-nine-year-old men and twelve-year-old boys. “Madrox: Multiple Choices” is a gift to anyone who opened a comic book and fell into a world of magic and wonder without questioning why grown men would be riding rocket-powered skateboards.

At this point I could be extremely cynical and suggest “Madrox” would have sold more copies if a minor character had been raped, tortured, or murdered in the first few pages. But I actually enjoyed the “Identity Crisis” miniseries, at least until the incredibly lame ending that Encyclopedia Brown would have been ashamed of.

“How did you know there was a note?”  That was the solution? The killer knew the secret identities of every superhero that ever lived, she knew the names of their lovers, their families, their friends, the people who rang up their orders at Burger King, but her ex-husband didn’t tell her there was a note? After someone explains to me how that is even remotely a satisfying ending, could they also explain why the killer liked to carry flame throwers in her purse?

On the other hand, the “Countdown to Infinite Crisis” follow-up offended me a lot. Wonder Woman tells Blue Beetle she believes he’s in danger after his best friend is blown up, his business is bankrupted, and he’s almost killed. Then she says, “I have to return to the Embassy.  Please keep me posted on what you find.” This isn’t an exaggeration. It’s word for word what a so-called superhero tells another superhero in need. I couldn’t imagine Jamie Madrox saying that to a friend. Hell, I couldn’t imagine Rocket Racer saying that.

The entire issue is like that. A warehouse is broken into and a hundred pounds of kryptonite are stolen. Several heroes have to be coerced into helping, then leave in disgust thirty minutes later when the crime isn’t immediately solved. Black Canary actually apologizes to Doctor Fate “for wasting his time”. This is the world of superheroes?

I would have been fine with that (at least to a point), but then the Martian Manhunter enters the story. Moments after his ship blows up in his face, Blue Beetle wakes up in the Justice League of America’s watchtower. Before Beetle can even catch his breath, Manhunter tells him to leave. When told about the numerous attempts on his life, Manhunter dismisses his close friend by saying, “People try to kill us all the time, Ted. It comes with the job.”

“Countdown to Infinite Crisis” offers 70 pages of story for a dollar. I don’t think it’s worth it. The cover shows Batman holding the body of a fallen hero. This is the same Batman that said, “You know the way out,” to a former team member who needs help. Making the DC Universe a place where superheroes ignore friends in desperate need and get petulant when asked to investigate a crime scene isn’t my idea of entertainment.

“Countdown” has sold hundreds of thousands of copies, and DC is using it to push a legion of miniseries, tie-ins, and special events for the summer ahead. I wish them all the luck in the world. But with all due apologies, I think I’ll resist the temptation to read any of it. Instead, I’m going to sit out in the sun and read “Madrox” again. I want to remember the days when superheroes were fun and magical and good. I want to visit a world where people help each other, where they care about their friends, where readers don’t feel manipulated or cheated or just plain disgusted.

Maybe later I’ll drive to the comic book store and pick up a second copy of “Madrox” for a friend of mine. That feeling you get when you’re twelve years old and the world is filled with wonder? That’s a nice feeling to share with friends. It’s a nice feeling to have, period.

- Tommy Marx