Don't Call Us, Cap--We'll Call You

If you were to open a comic book and see the story begin with a space ship, a farmer, an alien, and Captain America all in the same room in the middle of a firefight, chances are you'd only think of one person in comics who would try to pull that off:

Yes, of course--Jack Kirby, whose work here came about during his return to Marvel in the late 1970s. And given that this particular work was produced at the time of Kirby handling both the writing and artwork on the regular Captain America book, if you were reading that title you'd already be used to Kirby's habit of injecting Cap into all sorts of unbelievable scenarios which had little to do with--well, Captain America. Or at least the Captain America which had been steadily built upon in character since his rebirth.

In addition to the regular Cap title, Kirby also produced two Cap annuals which, like his other work with the character, were pure escapism--which seems to be the state of mind you must adopt if you want to get through a wholly Kirby-produced Marvel comic, since the character(s) you've become familiar with will have little in common with Kirby's interpretation of them from a characterization standpoint.

That said, I was still curious to take a look at these two annuals, if simply to factor them into the sheer amount of work which Kirby was producing during this time and see if they measured up to the massive creativity he was channeling into his projects at Marvel. And while they may have fallen short of contemporary readership standards, Kirby spared no effort with this work, packing into each annual nearly forty pages of new story and art. Given that the first two Captain America annuals contained nothing but reprinted material--the first two, mind you--Kirby arguably showed the good Captain's readers a lot more respect and dedication than those who were calling the shots with the publication of those earlier annuals.

The first story, in Captain America Annual #3, opens with the usual Kirby teaser--and if you leave Cap out of the picture for a moment, it's actually not a half-bad premise:

Now how can you pass up that kind of reading experience?

Fortunately, you don't have to.

The Right Man For The Right Job

In honor of inauguration festivities, it seems like a good time to revisit a story that explored the viability of a presidential candidate who was right under our noses:

(I know--I winced at those awful cross-title Toys "R" Us ads, too. They defaced many a cover, but must have brought in a pretty penny for Marvel.)

Roger Stern, writer of Captain America at the time, sums up for us here the intriguing premise for this issue, in a conversation with artist John Byrne, Ralph Macchio, and Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter:

"Don" and "Mac" in this case being Don Perlin and Roger MacKenzie, who once approached Stern (then Editor of Cap) with a similar idea--with the difference that in Perlin and MacKenzie's version, Cap would win the election, and the book would spend the next four years telling stories centered in and around Washington, D.C. An idea which Stern passed on, at the time.

But for Cap's 250th issue, which was just five issues before Cap's 40th anniversary issue, Stern and Byrne (good lord, that can't just be coincidence) decided to green-light the idea with the new angle mentioned above. To set the ball in motion, an independent political party approaches Cap and pitches the idea to him, with a predictable lack of enthusiasm on Cap's part. But when a surprised friend shows him the front-page story from the next day's newspaper, Cap gets a first-hand lesson in the nature of politics, and handlers:

(And look at the fun way this issue's writing and art credits are presented.)

It doesn't take long for Cap to get feedback on the idea. From his friends:

From the other political parties:

From his fellow Avengers:

And how about the man (and woman) on the street?

But Cap finds his most valuable opinion in the past, when jaunting over the rooftops brings him to a condemned building where he went to school in the 1930s. Entering the building, he remembers one classroom in particular--a room presided over by his former civics teacher, Mrs. Crosley:

And so the issue is settled for Cap. But settled which way? Like everybody else, we'll have to catch Cap's speech a few hours later at his party's convention gathering in order to find out:

I don't know why Cap doesn't feel he'll make a good politician--because if I come away from a speech like that, where the speaker has apparently said something profound and meaningful but I still have difficulty nailing down the point he's trying to make, then this guy's going to fit right in in Washington. The gist of Cap's message seems to be that he has an aversion to the way politics work, and that adapting his forthright style of problem-solving to deal-making would dilute his effectiveness as an advocate. Or--he's simply saying he feels he wouldn't get as much done for the country behind a desk. Either of which he could have said more directly, without the American flags waving in his eyeballs.

Given the more serious tone that writer Ed Brubaker set for his run on Captain America, it's interesting to hold Stern's/Byrne's Cap up to the light and see his contrast. You'll notice in this story that Cap seems to think in a much more idealistic fashion, where his optimism and easy-going manner lace almost his every page--and in combat, he's reasonably engaged in the circumstances he's involved in, yet not terribly efficient in dealing with them. It's a Captain America in slow motion--a state which Byrne's style for the character matches, reminding me somewhat of Gene Colan's Cap work.

This Captain America has less of an edge, and a more contemplative way of dealing with a crisis--and it's a character well-suited to the straight-up, awe-inspiring hero that Stern and Byrne wish to present, far less conflicted and more humble than the Englehart Cap. And while the public may think of Captain America as the perfect, most trustworthy candidate for the job of U.S. President, it seems a different type of battle that Cap himself feels uncomfortable about girding himself for. Perhaps another time we'll explore the What If? story that handled things differently, where Cap is indeed elected President.  Though you know the ballot box is rigged if the Watcher is involved.

Holy Crushed Sofa, Batman

Have a look at what sold for a cool $4.6 million

at the annual Barrett-Jackson collector car auction:

George Barris's Batmobile from the 1966-68 TV series

(customized from a 1955 Ford Lincoln Futura Concept)

The Batmobile was successfully bid on by buyer Rick Champagne, who said that the car would go in his living room. Though how he plans to get it in his living room is probably something only the Bat-Computer could figure out.

Heaven Help Me

While it's true that the Hulk's original "stomping grounds" were in the southwest desert, I never really understood why Marvel would have any reason to keep him there--particularly when it became clear how mobile he was, with his miles-spanning leaping ability. My general impression was that the military detachment where Bruce Banner was on staff was only in the desert in order to coordinate Banner's work on the gamma bomb, where the isolation of a desert environment would be ideally suited for testing it. But when the bomb project was abandoned, General Ross's unit became based there, with Banner even staying on in an official capacity and working on other projects (which I'm assuming were classified):

Yet then the question becomes: why is the Hulk "based" in the desert? Maybe Banner had a reason to stay there, at least as long as his connection to the Hulk remained unknown--but since the desert has proven to be a hostile environment for the Hulk, especially with the military dogging his every step, why would the Hulk be content lumbering among the lizards and scorpions? I mean, a picture is worth a thousand words:

Ross even later lobbies for funding to build a permanent base there, assuming that the Hulk is going to remain in the general area. There's also the problem of how to explain why the foes he comes up against are so keen to make the desert their base of operations, with its near-nonexistent resources.

So while the Hulk occasionally globe-trots and meets up with the likes of Ka-Zar, the Gremlin, SHIELD, Dr. Doom, and the Mandarin, and even adventures in outer space, he'd usually find his way back to the desert, where the military was waiting for him with open arms and "Open fire!" for much of his publication history in the 1970s and '80s. I mostly mention this observation because the desert itself happens to be the focus of another of those tucked-away stories that seemed to pop up in a few Marvel titles in the wake of the large format/new pricing experiment that Marvel quickly abandoned in late 1971. And the tale's writer, Roy Thomas, gives us his own interpretation of why the Hulk considers the desert peaceful:

And if you're thinking that a "small place" is perhaps incompatible with a being called the Hulk, you've caught this story's drift.

My Mind To Your Mind

Can YOU

Name This Marvel Villain??

Enter: Cyclops

As most readers of The Avengers know, the group's resident synthezoid, the Vision, receives his solar power from a jewel in his forehead. But over time, this jewel has had its function tinkered with so that it now doubles as an emitter of a powerful solar energy force beam. In essence, it went from this:

to this:

Which seems almost redundant where the Vision is concerned, since he has other offensive capabilities which are more visually interesting than just picking off your foe(s) from a distance with another ray-beaming device. Even his "thermo-optic" heat rays which discharge from emitters in his eyes add more to the story, since they seem to be in the form of concentrated heat as opposed to his jewel's force ray. Look at the difference in effect between the two in an attack on Wonder Man:

The Vision could have just belted Wonder Man through that wall, for all the good his solar beam did--but a searing heat blast in the face is nothing to sneeze at.  I'll take a "GAA-AA!" over an "UFFF!" any day.

Although, honestly, artist Jack Kirby can make even the most ineffective attack look interesting:

But in the beginning, the Vision's jewel had a basic function: to absorb solar energy in order to supply him with power. I don't have the Vision's schematics on me, but from a design viewpoint it would seem to be optimally suited for that single purpose. I can't imagine the thing being large enough to have emitters that discharge anything more than a momentary flare-up--certainly nothing on the scale of a battering force beam. I'm reasonably sure his builder had the good sense not to have his primary power source double as something that would act to deplete the very energy he'd built up. And it seems too fragile to function as a weapon:

Though maybe Henry Pym and Tony Stark should compare notes, because they obviously have different approaches as far as how much energy the Vision can be given at a time:

Yet while it arguably wasn't meant to emit solar energy as a force beam, the jewel could still act as a conduit to allow the Vision's energy to be drained--that is, when the plot dictates:

If I'm remembering correctly, it wasn't until writer Steve Englehart began writing The Avengers that the Vision began using his solar jewel as a weapon (though it's entirely possible that artist Bob Brown got that ball rolling, and Englehart just picked it up and ran with it):

(Join the club if you, too, raised an eyebrow at the Swordsman's preposterous statement that the Vision's jewel beam is his "only trick" in a fight. Of course, I never expected the Vision to be beaten by a sword, no matter how "gimmicked" it is, so what do I know.)

But once the cat was out of this particular bag, it seemed that this dual feature of the Vision's absorption jewel was now the reality as far as future stories were concerned. And other artists, such as veteran Avengers penciller George Perez, were on board with it:

I'll have to take a look sometime at my solar-powered calculator, since this theoretically opens up a few doors as to its weaponry potential.

What.

The Real Reason Everyone Looks Shocked

Can you spot this cover's goof?

(Aside from Kang having designs on becoming the next Giant-Man, that is.)

The Lion of Asgard--And Earth

When you think of Thor's comrades-in-arms, the illustrious "Warriors Three" who often join the Thunder God on perilous quests as well as well-deserved carousing, there's one member of that group who literally stands out from the others. And this excellent scene from his creators, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, should give you a fair idea why the name of Volstagg, the Lion of Asgard, is well known in every corner of the realm:

With the right writer, I just become a pile of giddiness whenever Volstagg makes an appearance. The Asgardians can often be a grim lot--I mean, how can they not be, as obsessed as they are with their own approaching doom in the form of Ragnarok? So scenes with Volstagg offer a nice change of pace from Thor's more deadly and perilous lifestyle, as well as a look at Asgard and the interaction of its people when they're not girding for war.

Take, for instance, this Asgardian tournament, where everyone looks forward to competing in battle with their peers. Even Volstagg, who normally chooses the better part of valor but can spot an opening for a quick path to laurels when he sees one:

Volstagg hasn't had the best of luck in this tournament, but he finally squares off with the diminutive Drom--and, would you believe, the Destroyer?

Fortunately, Volstagg survived his encounter with the armored behemoth and lived to brag another day. Though if you recall when I mentioned having the "right writer" for the character, that bragging and boasting became drastically curtailed when writer Gerry Conway took over the book. Conway apparently felt that it was high time to peel back what he saw as the mask of Volstagg's joviality and boasting and reveal instead a simple coward, resulting in disappointing scenes like these:

We never really saw the overly gregarious and blustering side of Volstagg during Conway's time on the book (nor, actually, did you see much smiling at all, from anyone--Thor was a pretty depressing read with Conway at the helm). When Walt Simonson took over the title, we began to see Volstagg return to his self of old, and become much more engaged both as an Asgardian and as a member of Thor's inner circle.

But Volstagg's "golden age," so to speak, really kicked into high gear when J. Michael Straczynski began writing Thor's 2007 series--a limited run for Straczynski, but which produced many scenes where Volstagg basked in the spotlight in which he flourished. Take a look at this segment where our "lion" is being tended to by his close friends, as he rails in a near-theatrical state of absolute, magnificent drunkenness:

Not Volstagg at his most heroic, agreed. But Straczynski gives him ample opportunities to shine in that respect. In this scene, for example, in a small Oklahoma town on Earth where the mad clone of Thor, named "Ragnarok," has been sent to enact Norman Osborn's brand of justice against him, Volstagg is the town's sole defense, and he doesn't shirk his responsibility. On the contrary, he feistily engages this foe even knowing the odds against him. It's a battle his comrades will no doubt hear recounted often:

The battle is interrupted because of further developments which Osborn is also responsible for--but I think it's more than clear that Conway's direction for Volstagg was as ill-conceived as the creation of "Ragnarok," given how Volstagg distinguished himself here. There's also this memorable scene where Volstagg protects both the town and his comrades from a deadly attack by Doombots:

Though as amazed at Volstagg's triumph against such powerful foes as his friends may be, let's just say that the lady Sif finds a little more to be amazed at concerning Volstagg. You might even say a lot more:

Straczynski found an ideal middle ground for the character--taking the Lee/Kirby Volstagg who was played strictly for comic relief and treated his time with the Warriors Three as a mixture of lark and adventure while Fandral and Hogun ran interference for him, and blending all of that with a warrior's disposition which didn't hesitate to advance to the forefront when it was called for. In so doing, Volstagg became a more vital and desirable companion, a more capable fellow warrior, and a more cherished friend. And as such, our giddiness at seeing him hurl himself into battle can only thrive.