June of 1998 was the first appearance of a fan favourite book called Young Justice which followed the adventures of the teen heroes of the DC comic universe. The entirety of its regular series, issues 1-56 (plus various special issues), was written by Peter David, a prolific comic book and novel writer, with a special twist. It was funny.

Instead of nonstop drama, we were given wordplay denouncing such expectations, goofy villains, and often times equally goofy heroes at a time when there was very little else like that around. It worked, and it was popular - not every comic can last to 56 issues. In fact, most don’t.

As the comic series was winding down in 2003 a couple of things happened. First was the creation of the Teen Titans cartoon show, again featuring teen heroes of the DC comic universe (though none were the same characters used in Young Justice) in a fun and usually kid-centric show. Its series finale aired in 2006 after 5 seasons and 65 episodes, which isn’t any length of time to sneeze at. While Teen Titans could certainly get very dark and serious (“The Prophecy” was an episode about how one of the heroes was destined to end the world, it’s a downer), my favourite episode is about a guy saving the world via driving around on a moped and capturing sentient tofu. Pretty crazy.

^{Young Justice | Courtesy of Dark Horse Comics}

And the second thing to start at the end of Young Justice was a new Teen Titans comic book. Was this an example of the clever utilization of synergy between a new cartoon show and new comic book? Not at all. Half of the characters appearing had the same name and appearance as those in the cartoon and, while still being wildly different characters, the other half were leftover members of the Young Justice cast, with a very different tone.

One could almost say that the narrative was rebelling against ever having been subjugated to the role of “being funny” as expertly demonstrated when one character Kid Flash (formerly called Impulse), far and away the most fun guy in Young Justice, the only character trying to hold on to that lighter atmosphere in this new Teen Titans book, has his kneecap shot in the first story arc.

Fast forward to the present and the only thing still on the market is that Teen Titans comic, for some reason. I don’t know who’s buying it, I can assure you I stopped a long time ago. But I don’t know, maybe people like it, the book has managed to stick around for 80+ issues, and it doesn’t sound like they have any intention of canceling it.

However after all this time there will be something else new on the horizon: it has been revealed that come this fall there will be a new cartoon starring, you guessed it, the teen heroes of the DC universe. There’s a teaser poster readily available online, and the designs look pretty good, though a little serious. Why should looking serious make a difference, you ask, when the last man standing among all the merchandise I’ve talked about is the serious Teen Titans comic? Well, I’ll tell you. It makes a difference because this upcoming cartoon will be called Young Justice. You know, after that series that hasn’t been around for seven years.

Obviously I’m nonplussed by the timing of the guys in charge - where was the Young Justice cartoon seven years ago? Maybe it takes seven years for a fanboy to ascend to the position of a corporate bigwig that gets to approve comic based projects they enjoyed in years past. I should mark my calendar now.

Although I’m wary of this new show, it seems to have a pretty impressive pedigree: produced by Sam Register, who did the Teen Titans cartoon I enjoyed so much, as well as Greg Weisman, who did the recent Spectacular Spider-Man cartoon. Between the two of them, there has to be a fair balance between humour and the more serious stories, as well as a lot of respect for the source material. As a result I am, like many other Saturday morning kid-at-heart show lovers (in spirit if nothing else), cautiously optimistic. It’s still a weird move as far as I’m concerned.

The premise behind Civil War by writer Mark Millar and artist Steve McNiven: after a tragedy in small town America involving some super hero types, an exploding man, and a schoolyard full of kids (here’s a hint: the exploding man was fine afterward), the government wanted to register all the super guys (a big part of which meant revealing secret identities) to try to stop that sort of tragic craziness from happening again. Some super heroes were for this idea, or at least “OK, whatever” about it, and others were dead set against it.

For years, issues of comic books have been devoted to “good guy X meets good guy Y… and fight!” This trope has long since been relegated to the status of cliché, but Civil War was a valiant attempt at re-imagining said cliché with substance behind the in-fighting. The biggest problem from the creator’s standpoint was how to convincingly divide the characters up equally, and then how to keep these various long time allies at each others' throats. Neither problem got a satisfactory answer.

Filling up the ranks of the against side was easy: some fighting for civil liberty/personal freedom and others against “Big Government” seems to appeal to either end of the political spectrum. This is the side of the status quo, as with any long running serial story, the status is always quo.

The “for registration” side was tougher to fill. Despite the fact that Millar wanted both sides to be legitimate options for characters, the “for registration” side invariably came across as the bad guys. The side that creates crazy clones of old friends, takes the dirtiest of shots, and recruits super-villains for their team, as a rule, will be the bad guys.

The characters whose loyalties were the most important for the story were Captain America and Iron Man. If you knew nothing about Civil War and had to guess which side each character was on, I’m pretty sure you’d try Captain America as the for registration/pro-government representative, with Iron Man opposing him on the “good” side. That Captain America, of course he’s a stooge to the man, right?

Well, nope, good guess reader, but that’s not how it went down. You may be surprised to hear that the exact opposite affiliation was the case.

Captain America is, turns out, pretty awesome. Not one to blindly listen to authority, but instead is devoted to the ideals of the mythic America, when Cap is approached to be the figurehead of the “for registration” forces (or else) he busts angrily out of the room and surfs away on a jet fighter. That last part isn’t me trying to sound cool, that’s what happened. The only way it could be better is if the comic could start playing “Free Bird” while Cap soared off into the distance.

What sucks is that the way it all played out, it probably would have been better to make Captain America the “for registration” bad guy, because that would have at least made sense to readers. Instead that role fell to Iron Man, a character who historically subverts authority on all fronts, thinking he knows what’s best despite what he’s told, and does whatever HE wants. A vigilante.

I’m trying to figure out the thought process behind making Iron Man the “for registration” front piece, aka the bad guy, and the best I can come up with is some nebulous idea that because he’s rich, he’s bad? That because he’s a wealthy business man he’d support the government for the sweet contacts and contracts? That ties too much with cynical real world perceptions, forcing Iron Man to fit the mold of a Dick Cheney and Halliburton scenario isn’t fair to the decades of character we’ve been given before. (As a quick aside: sorry, Dick Cheney, but when you shoot a guy in the face and make him apologize for it, the reality becomes Cheney=bad guy. Do I really have to explain this?)

But see, it could have worked. Instead of making it sound like Iron Man was a fan of registration for everyone, like this was a philosophy that he would gladly have agreed to join up himself when he was just starting with the hero thing - let him admit that he’s a big hypocrite. Let him say “listen, I don’t trust you to be able to put on matching socks in the morning, much less go out and try to save the world, but that’s okay. I just need you to go through all these licensing and training programs I’ve deemed sufficient, and then maybe you can be useful. At least you’ll be insured.”

In that scenario, the story could have boiled down to stopping a bad guy, Iron Man, who couldn’t be appealed to using the intellectual argument that you can’t know all the variables and be right all the time, that someone else can know better and help you, who couldn’t be appealed to because he couldn’t get past his innate arrogance and self-righteousness.

The result of that story would have been a reversal: Iron Man would have represented many of the ideals espoused by the anti-registration forces, personal freedom, but hoarded wholly unto himself, while the actual community of anti-registration forces, in joining together against Iron Man, provide the accountability and experience to each other that the common man felt was lacking and started the whole Civil War crisis off in the first place.

This is in contrast to the actual ending: the anti-registration side gives up. Except for the members who don’t. Compelling.

Whenever I’d ask about Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon’s Preacher I was greeted with a tilted head and a searching gaze. “Uh, well… I’m not sure you’d like it.” Okay, but what does that mean exactly? The clearest answer I got was that there was a lot of swearing. Not really the craziest thing out there.

There are several reasons why people have a hard time describing this book. There’s a natural reluctance to pin down and describe this kind of material to someone when you don’t know how they’ll react, and Preacher, with its rampant gore, gross-out moments and not-so-old-fashioned blasphemy is certainly that kind of material. I’m sure at least subconsciously these guys are worried I’ll judge them harshly for enjoying Preacher. Thankfully, I’m a bit more open minded than that. And alright, maybe it isn’t always easy to nail down this book.

In the broadest sense it could be described as a modern day western, fitting in honour, a self-sufficient spirit and the willingness to just beat down the bad guys into the mix.

I’d like to relate to you a few of the things that struck me as I read the series:

Tulip O’Hare is the girlfriend of the protagonist Jesse Custer, and I was really impressed by the fact that with her, the reader gets a leading female character that wasn’t a stereotypical comic book beauty - she was really tired-looking when she first arrived in the story, and I thought it added some dimension to her. It wasn’t until much later that I realized she was written as though she was that stereotyped vision - the artist Steve Dillon just didn’t manage to get the look right.

While I’m on the subject of Tulip, I may as well bring up something that really bothered me: each time Jesse left her behind to go save the day she got really offended. Irritatingly offended. For whatever reason, after Jesse would explain that he was just scared to death of her getting hurt - in what were immensely dangerous situations no matter how good with a pistol you are - it would somehow equate in Tulip’s mind with Jesse not trusting her, and Jesse would quickly agree that he has no excuses for what he did. Being scared for someone does not equate to a lack of trust. But the characters act as though that is the case because if they didn’t, Jesse and Tulip wouldn’t have been manoeuvred into the proper situations to facilitate the plot.

Unfortunately this is an example of really forced writing that can be found throughout the run of Preacher. But hold on, if that’s the case, why is Preacher so popular?

Well, there’s the shock value for one. Graphic violence is appealing for the wish fulfillment of those with darker appetites, and Preacher certainly delivers on that score. But it would mean nothing if we didn’t want to see some violence, see some retribution done. It’s necessary then that the Preacher Jesse Custer be really good and the bad guys really bad.

In fact the differentiation between the good guys and the bad guys is so stark, so black and white, as to render the characterization as unduly simplistic.

Jesse always knows the right thing to do. He may not want to do it, but he knows what he needs to do. Even when that action is convincing an old man to kill himself for the crimes he committed in his youth. Whether or not death was the suitable punishment for his crime isn’t important, but that Jesse could just decide right away that someone was beyond redemption. That takes either the greatest arrogance or the good fortune of being a cartoon character whose every action is scripted to get the best result. Luckily Jesse is a cartoon.

The bad guy comes off even worse. Starting off as an impressive, intimidating foe with lofty goals, he degenerates to the point that everything about him is stripped away (the guy even loses an ear, leg, and genitals through the course of the story) and he becomes the poster child for the Saturday morning television villain, devolving to the point where all he cares about is revenge. He will happily shout from the rooftops that he is the villain of the piece.

So what is Preacher? It’s anti-intellectual pop entertainment. Maybe that sounds pretty bad to you, but you know there’s something to be said for a nice break from a heavy read. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, root for the good guys, and remember to relax: it’s just another story. I’ll try and do the same.

Comments

• April 16, 2010, Erika Szabo writes: Nice article! Preacher has to be one of my favourite graphic novel series. I think it was the cover art that initially captured me, but once I dipped into the story I was hooked. Vertigo never seizes to amaze me with its wonderful selection of comics.

Cover | Amazing Spiderman #601 | Marvel Comics

In Amazing Spider-Man #601 Peter Parker gets drunk and has sex with his roommate, whom he doesn't even particularly like. To boil down the responses to that event on the letters page, which the Amazing Spider-Man editors have printed, it sounds like there are basically two responses here: those that think Spider-Man should be an example to people (and therefore should not have done those things), and those that want Pete to be a regular guy, who makes mistakes.

To be a bit more specific I've read it said that Peter Parker is an “everyman,” not a saint, and can make these kinds of mistakes. That particular point I take objection to.

See, Peter Parker is an everyman in a more psychological sense, constantly battling with his own self-absorption, sense of responsibility, and very often a sense of worthlessness (to counter that self-absorption a bit I guess). But as far as Peter Parker's actions and abilities go - nope, not really an everyman. Unless we can all go by the description "orphaned boy grows up with cash-strapped elderly relatives, has a completely alienating personality and therefore no friends in high school, is an absolute genius, and takes a job as a photographer before finishing high school to help pay the bills." Granted, that photography job probably wouldn't have kicked in without the super powers, but who can say for sure, right? Hopefully my point still stands that this isn't really a "normal" guy.

To contrast, a more normal guy is Matt Murdock when he's not Daredevil. Oh, he's smart, no question, but it's pretty clearly part of his narrative that Matt spent years working and studying hard to become the top in his profession as a defense attorney. So to my way of thinking, if I want to see a character make the kind of poor choice that Spidey displayed (and everyone will freely admit to it being a poor choice, even if they're in favour of having it portrayed) in Amazing Spider-Man #601, and it’s an “everyman” mistake, well, I'd turn to Daredevil as the real "everyman" character.

But more to the point, I'd turn to Daredevil because that is actually the kind of mistake Daredevil has made in the past. He’s kind of a cad - it would be an action well within his established character as far as I'm concerned. I don't think we need two supposedly different characters published by the same company (Marvel Comics) to make the exact same kinds of mistakes, otherwise we don't need the other character! Let Spider-Man be Spidey, and Daredevil be ol' Hornhead!

The mistake in Amazing Spider-Man #624, the latest issue, is a far more believable one, that Peter Parker would fabricate photographic evidence to re-create a scene he knew existed at one point, and would help his old frienemy Jonah Jameson get out of a pickle. It's a mistake tied into the mythos of Spider-Man's world, specifically his photography, and raises a very valid concern regarding Peter's career (and by extension all news-people-by-day, superhero-by-night types), and the question of how much leeway does he have with his reporting to safeguard his identity?

In Amazing Spider-Man #33 there is a bit of dialogue to the extent of "and now I will exit this door with my camera snapping so it looks like Peter Parker is taking my photo." Spidey was fiddling with the pictorial truth as far back as 1966! And seeing as how we haven’t heard his conscience bugging him for the past forty years, I’d say Pete is morally good with that action. Whether you personally think it’s right or not, well that’s a different matter, but down through the years it has certainly been a simple and consistent form of chicanery.

Returning to the example in Amazing Spider-Man #624 however, he is actually cutting and pasting (computer-wise) his photo together, a completely premeditated action. The result is he makes a visual anachronism that makes it clear that Peter is peddling phony photos and he’s called on it in front of a huge crowd by Jameson himself, who urges all news media sources to stay away from that untrustworthy photographer!

That sucks! But it’s a risk you take when you fake the news.

And that’s another thing that’s out of character for Peter Parker, for there have been plenty of times when a doctored photo could have done as much good as a well placed web-line, but it’s never come up before because that isn’t how Parker thinks and operates. For whatever reason, he’s conditioned himself to believe that the only good he can really accomplish is in the persona of Spider-Man (for better or worse). In times past, Spidey would have said “Nuts, I wish I got that photo when it was, you know, real.” Then he would have gone out to catch the bad guys and find the real evidence.

What if there was no real evidence you ask? Then that’s one of the Spidey stories that ends in a “can’t win them all” lesson.

The point is, these breaks from established character as I’ve pointed out don’t strike me as the writers making an honest mistake. I’ve got the impression that we’re being fed plot points to get to the next type of story the editors want to tell, regardless of natural character development. “Okay, for the next story Peter’s going to be dealing with losing his job and all of his friends. And you have to get him to that place in a single issue.”

I don’t need to tell you this, but that is sloppy storytelling.

Comments

• March 17, 2010, Paul writes: Saw this reposted (with credit) on noscans-daily.livejournal.com. It's well said. I should point out, though, that there's even greater precedent for Peter's faking a news photograph. There was a time, way back in the beginning (I believe ASM #4), when Sandman attacked Peter's school. After, Peter locked himself in the janitor's closet, grabbed a bucket of sand, set his camera's auto-timer, tossed the sand in the air, and punched the cloud. He justifies the fakery by telling himself that it did happen and he was there. He's just "reenacting" it. He then sells those photos to the Bugle. That's original run, first year, by Stan Lee. Peter's made a lot of mistakes. The writers lately have made even more. But you're right - this one is in character.
• March 21, 2010, Isaac writes: What? I was reposted somewhere? That's awesome

Both are deconstructions of the superhero comic, picking through conventions to try and paint a “real” world setting while illuminating certain quirks and abolishing others. Neither story relies on the conceit that the bad guy will escape from prison every other issue to wreak havoc, nor will that story takes place in some limbo time where no character ever ages and the status quo is eternal.

Dark Knight Returns has an advantage in being about a character who is truly world renowned, and especially in having the campy 60’s Batman show in the public consciousness which perpetuated an image of Batman as a boy scout, a duly deputized guy who’s wholly adherent to traffic laws and whatever the guys in charge says. It was a show played for laughs (although to be honest I took it as completely serious while growing up) and as such Dark Knight Returns is all the more striking for its ugly, brutal action.

The motivation behind throwing on a costume and fighting crime is something that had been only sparsely explored in the past, and is a key element of these two stories. In Dark Knight Returns it’s implied that dressing up as a violent bat is a compulsion which goes beyond a simple altruistic spirit. Watchmen takes the idea much further, exploring characters who love the violence of it, the publicity, the eroticism, or they simply require an alternate persona to hide away from the ills of the world.

Whatever the reason, it’s a valid one as far as Watchmen is concerned - it helps that no single character is the focus (or “the one we readers are supposed to agree with”) and the complexities and contradictions of each character create a situation where we as readers are never comfortable saying “that guy’s the villain.” Each character is so beautifully constructed that any one in a starring role would be a triumph of creativity, but to have each character exist and interact, each giving their own views that bounce and mutate in relation to each other characters viewpoint, it’s like the difference between a single melody and a symphony.

An essential comic technique is the juxtaposition of images: say one panel has a guy carrying a ball, and the second has the same guy with his arm extended and the ball hanging in the air beyond his reach, the reader would decode those images as being “a man throws a ball.” Obviously different effects can be created depending on the contexts and images, and I’m particularly struck by the juxtaposition used in Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen.

Dark Knight Returns takes the panels and gives them to us out of order - we’re given a single panel that can stand on its own as a poetic testament, but then a page later we’ll find another panel that expands on the previous idea, fleshing out what’s going on and threading everything together. The effect is a re-creation of the real world perspective, of getting one part of the story on a single channel before getting more information on another channel. Who needs an omniscient narrator, right?

Watchmen takes an opposite tack where the images may differ one from the other and jump to other characters or subplots but with an overwhelming adherence to a particular theme which reinforces everything being expressed. Not only is this interweaving incredibly complex, but it comes together in such a way that the story could only end the way it does. Though you never see it coming, it makes perfect sense, and that kind of tight creation is what the best stories are all about.

I haven’t told you anything specific about what happens in these books, which is especially important for Watchmen seeing as it’s a murder mystery. I have to make sure you read these at some point, which means warning you that these aren’t easy books to read! I remember that the first time I read Watchmen, the prose backups to each issue felt like they take forever to get through. They aren’t really that long, probably the same as four pages of a scholarly magazine, but I know a lot of people that can’t deal with them. It sounds like they’d rather skip that section or stop reading the whole book. Don’t do that! If you’re tired, quit for now and pick it up later, rather than just skip over to the more fast paced images of the comic book proper (though even those are pretty packed with text - Watchmen is a dense read, no doubt about it).

Dark Knight Returns is comparatively a much easier read, it helps that it stars a single mega-star protagonist Batman, and is much shorter. If you want to jump into one of these books, start with Dark Knight Returns.

And now that I’ve piqued your interest in these two famous books, I’ve got to hold you back. Both of these texts engage thoroughly with established comic language and history. If you’re going to get the most out of these books you’re going to have to warm up a bit first. Read a couple of Archie comics, some old school Justice League of America, or something… and then dive on in and impress your friends.

Comments

• February 19, 2010, Jen M writes: Isaac.. I would like to read both. I have heard the same about the Watchmen and how difficult it can be to get through. I will take your word and start with the dark knight returns