Broken Frontier

In the mid-eighties, two of the greatest stories in superhero history were released.

Frank Miller’s “Dark Knight” miniseries changed the way DC heroes could be portrayed. Although his exaggerated and highly-stylistic artwork turned off some readers, Miller’s words and drawings were often breathtaking, powerful and raw, the comic book equivalent of punk rock. Each panel contributed to the smoldering rage and passion that threatened to explode at any moment. I still shiver when I remember Superman’s warning. “They’ll kill us if they can, Bruce. Every year they grow smaller. Every year they hate us more. We must not remind them that giants walk the earth.”

Alan Moore and Dave Gibbon’s “Watchmen” miniseries dealt with similar themes, but “Watchmen” was the Beatles to Miller’s Rolling Stones. Every action was precise and carefully choreographed, every phrase resonating with hidden meanings and depth, every detail designed to enhance and refine other details. If “Dark Knight” was a violent blast of primal power, “Watchmen” was an intricate orchestral piece, destroying forever the idea that comic books and literature couldn’t be synonymous. While it could be criticized for being a little too controlled, the power of “Watchmen” derived not from angry explosions but from quiet devastation, dark and astonishingly humane glimpses into its tortured characters that haunted readers long after the story itself ended.

In an age when comic books were breaking boundaries left and right, these twin miracles, opposite sides of the same coin, shone the brightest. Unfortunately, it would be twenty more years before superhero stories would display such brilliance again.

At one point it looked like Jeph Loeb’s “Batman: The Long Halloween” would once again redefine Bruce Wayne’s legend. A thirteen-issue miniseries buoyed by Tim Sale’s evocative art, “Halloween” was a noirish detective story that featured a parade of Batman’s most intriguing and deadly enemies. But the end result was somewhat anticlimactical, and after Loeb recycled the formula for both “Dark Victory” and “Hush” with increasingly diminished results, “Halloween” was left all but toothless.

“Kingdom Come” should have been a masterpiece, and some might argue that it is. But even the phenomenal art, an astonishing tour de force that marked the last time Alex Ross displayed such an overwhelming emotional investment in his paintings, wasn’t enough to distract most readers from the oddly sterile script by Mark Waid. “Kingdom Come” left you breathless the first time through, amazed at how transcendent comic books could be. A second glance unfortunately made you realize the series was all pomp and very little circumstance. The failure of the story is all the more puzzling knowing what a great writer Waid usually is.

Kurt Busiek was more than up to the challenge when he wrote the script for Alex Ross’s other masterpiece, “Marvels”. A look back at pivotal moments in Marvel history through the eyes of an average man, “Marvels” could have rivaled “Dark Knight” and “Watchmen” in impact but for one simple fact.

DC heroes can be constantly reinterpreted for new generations because they tend to be two-dimensional caricatures, able to be placed into any story or situation with little effort. Superman is an icon, not an identifiable person. Put a pair of glasses on the man and no one even recognizes him. Batman has long been a neutered vigilante, dangerous yet harmless at the same time. His refusal to stop the increasingly ludicrous mass murders by the Joker and other serial killers has left him less threatening than Paris Hilton on a bad hair day. Wonder Woman fights crime in a bathing suit.

When a talented sculptor is handed a four-pack of Play-Do, the end result can’t help but be amazing.  On the other hand, it’s much harder to impress when you’re asked to put the finishing touches on a Michealangelo statue.

The Marvel universe has always been diverse and strongly characterized, obsessed with its focus on the humanity of heroes. What the protagonists do is often less important then the reasons why they do it. Superman stories might entertain, but Spider-Man stories are experiences in courage and hope filtered through a lifetime of loss and pain. X-Men stories resonate with anyone who has ever felt the sting of prejudice, bigotry, or rejection. The Incredible Hulk is the tragic tale of a man trapped in the body of a monster and vice versa.

So even when a fantastic writer like Kurt Busiek teamed up with an extraordinary artist like Alex Ross, the result wasn’t that big of a difference from Marvel’s regular output. Obviously it was gorgeous, and the script was top-notch. But it lived up to the high standards set by previous writers and artists in the Marvel universe instead of shattering them, not so much adding unexplored depth to superheroes as honoring that depth.

It’s the same reason why Neil Gaiman’s 1602 ultimately failed to leave much of an impression. Gaiman is arguably the most talented author ever to write in the comic book medium. But his major strengths - humanity, compassion, insight, forgiveness - are already in abundant supply in the Marvel universe. How do you add dimension to characters that are already beautifully realized creations? How do you create something memorable when the mythology has already been established, not through events but through emotional victories and losses?

That’s why it’s surprising that Marvel has finally published something that can rival “Dark Knight” and “Watchmen” as a modern-day masterpiece. What’s not surprising is that Marvel and J. Michael Straczynski had to revise a classic DC property to accomplish that feat.

Throughout its history, the Justice League has been a Wonder Twin away from being the comic book version of Velveeta. There’s nothing wrong with that, but there’s nothing particularly intriguing about it either. The classic Justice League line-up is blindingly white (an amazing accomplishment when you realize that Superman, Hawkman, and Martian Manhunter are all aliens who just happen to be white or like to disguise themselves as such). Even in the hands of someone as talented as Grant Morrison, it’s been an uphill battle to make the team anything more than an exciting cartoon, cotton candy that tastes great when you’re eating it and forgotten when you’ve finished.

“Supreme Power” changes that with the first issue.

A spaceship hurtles to Earth while a married couple drives through the heartland of America in their pickup truck. Nick Lowe’s “Cruel to be Kind” is playing on the radio when the couple witnesses an explosion of light and fire. We all know they’ll find a baby, because the Superman mythos is as well-known as Mickey Mouse’s ears and the Coca-Cola logo. But when the woman holds the child in her hands, she tells her husband, “It’s a sign that... that things will be okay between us again.” Her husband’s silent sorrow convinces us that we’re definitely not in Kansas this time around. Ma and Pa Kent were a caring, middle-aged rural couple, one of the only elements of the DC origin that rang true. But Straczynski turns things around by having the baby found by a young couple with definite problems. Immediately your mind is flooded with the possibilities this new origin holds.

But before you can digest the ramifications of an alien superpower raised by parents infinitely more vulnerable and less mature than the Kents, heavily-armored troops arrive to take possession of the alien child. With a barely suppressed grin, Straczynski makes it resoundingly clear that the initial setup was a ruse and all bets are officially off.

Unlike Warren Ellis, who fried the infant Superman with a flame-thrower in “Planetary” and gave us a Superman in “Authority” who’s defining characteristic was being Batman’s boy toy; Straczynski doesn’t need to indulge in cheap shock tactics. He’s confident enough in his story and his talent to resist reducing the legend of Superman to ridiculous theatrics. In Straczynski’s world, Mark Milton is an alien boy raised by government agents pretending to be his adoptive parents. There are occasional moments of quiet horror, including the Hiroshima outline left on the kitchen cabinets from a puppy dog that scared a young Mark and the ominous conversation between a teenage Mark and his father which concludes with Mark telling the covert agent, “I love you just as much as you love me.”

This isn’t the sugar-coated Superman that’s more of a Ronald McDonald corporate mascot than an empathetic inspiration. Everything DC made bland Straczynski makes brilliant. Still, the true strength of “Supreme Power” is not in its chilling interpretation of DC’s Justice League. If that was all there was, this book would still kick major ass, but it wouldn’t measure up to the phenomenal legacy of “Watchmen” and “Dark Knight”.

Straczynski makes a shocking decision in this series, one that probably wouldn’t work in almost any other circumstance but immeasurably adds to the richness of the “Supreme” series. He refuses to give us thought balloons or narrative captions so we can know what the different characters are thinking. As a result, we have to judge every person almost entirely by what they say and do. Since most of the characters are morally ambiguous at best, this approach creates a sense of dread and suspense that until now has never been successfully captured in the comic book medium. I am simply in awe of what Straczynski has accomplished.

The book revolves around Mark Milton, the Clark Kent of this dimension. We see his relentless need to learn the truth about who and what he is and we sympathize with him just as much as we fear him. But we’re never quite sure if he’s a pawn in the power struggle between humans and superhumans or if he knows exactly what he’s doing and is biding his time before he destroys everyone.

In one amazingly effective scene, we are given nine panels of a young Mark sitting outside the President’s office while he’s being discussed. We can read what’s being said about him, but we don’t know if Mark can hear them. My friend Steve remarked that, other than a small flinch, it was spooky how Mark Milton didn’t react. What’s even spookier is that Steve imagined that flinch. All nine panels are exactly the same, without one change. Straczynski has created a book where we can literally immerse ourselves into a world that’s terrifying and amazing, the ultimate comic book adventure for fans who have outgrown their childhood fantasies. We go far beyond the usual constraints, imagining flinches, inventing meanings that might or might not be true.

“Supreme Power” ostensibly refers to the group of superheroes themselves. But one could be forgiven for thinking it also refers to the strength of the script and the amazing work of Gary Frank (pencils), John Sibal (inks), and Chris Sotomayor (colors). Any amount of praise I could give them would be insufficient. They are equal or better than any current drawing team in comic books. “Supreme Power” is the best written series currently published, and it’s a wonderful coincidence that the artwork lives up to the scripts.

Superman is not the only Justice League member to be re-imagined. In the last few years Batman has become more angry and bitter than ever before, perhaps as a direct result of his remarkably ineffectual battle against crime. It could be argued that his interventions have made Gotham City more ugly and dangerous than if he had not existed at all.

Like Bruce Wayne, Kyle Richmond is a young man obsessed by the death of his parents. As Nighthawk, he becomes a hero to the innocent. But since his parents were murdered by white supremacists, Nighthawk only comes to the aid of black people.  And suddenly a tired cliché roars to life with a complexity even Frank Miller couldn’t have imagined.

It doesn’t hurt that Nighthawk kills (although a little too indiscriminately for my tastes).  I don’t want to see Batman devolve into the DC version of the Punisher. But the idea that he will never kill has long since reached a point where it can’t be logically or morally defended.

 His reasons for choosing not to use a gun are somewhat understandable. He doesn’t want to rely on guns because they can be taken away. But when someone is personally responsible for the murders of thousands of people (and make no mistake, by allowing the Joker and his ilk to survive time and time again, Batman has become more of a criminal than anyone he’s ever fought), the idea of calling him a hero leaves a taste like dried vomit in my mouth.

Why should the heroes be penalized and limited by their refusal to take responsibility for their actions? If they are truly the guardians of those less powerful, shouldn’t they protect us before the shit hits the fan, instead of waiting until afterwards to help mop up the blood?

These are the kind of questions “Supreme Power” inevitably raises. DC has never been able to understand that the world isn’t black and white. They create adventures for children. But most comic book readers have long since passed the age when they believe the world can be reduced to good and bad.

This brings us to the “Supreme” version of Wonder Woman. She’s an alien goddess that sucks the life out of the woman who’s spent a lifetime worshiping her because it’s the only way to control those pesky gray hairs. She embraces her sexuality because she’s beautiful and because she knows there isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t end up dead if he ever tried to make her do anything she wouldn’t want to do. So she spends most of the series naked, she takes whatever she wants, and it’s obvious she’s not going to settle for a secondary role in the rapidly approaching domination of the world.

As for Aquaman, easily the most ridiculous excuse for a superhero this side of Speedball? Give him a sex change, an inability to understand English, a look more alien than Star Trek’s relentless parade of cartoons, and a tendency to kill the ones she tries to connect with, and you’ve got Amphibian, one of the most frightening and sympathetic characters to ever appear in superhero lore.

Even two of the better-developed DC mainstays, the Wally West version of Flash and the Kyle Rayner Green Lantern, are given much-appreciated makeovers.

For Stanley Stewart, the world is a series of snapshots. His phenomenal speed has inspired him to be a hero, but his fierce love for his mother leads him to become a celebrity endorser. Not surprisingly, his decision to sell his soul for corporate sponsorship blinds him to the fact that he never actually does anything heroic.

And Joe Ledger, the weary soldier with a moral code that only he understands, is manipulated by his power more than he controls it. He doesn’t realize that his mind has split itself into two separate personalities because it was the only way his mind could protect itself. Joe’s the victim of an alien force that has made him into something other than what he was. The seeds are being sown.

The hardcover collection of the first year of “Supreme Power” is little more than an introduction to the cast, and yet it easily transcends anything DC or Marvel has released in years. With the exception of his brilliant Spider-Man story revolving around the events of September 11th, I would never have guessed that J. Michael Straczynski would become the most talented writer in comic books since Neil Gaiman wrote his first “Sandman” book. But “Supreme Power” is an astonishing accomplishment that hopefully will inspire others to write at this level.

“Dark Knight” still has a special place in my heart because of its brilliant scripts, but it’s hard to recommend the book because the artwork is an acquired taste at best. “Watchmen” will always be the standard by which all superhero literature will be judged, but for all its power, it’s not the easiest book to read and absorb (it’s a Peter Straub novel when you just want to curl up with a Stephen King paperback). But I have no reservations about recommending “Supreme Power”. This is a damn good book.

I only hope this is a sign of things to come, not just a momentary flash of brilliance that won’t be repeated for twenty more years.

- Tommy Marx