Mr Sausage wrote: Thu Oct 24, 2019 10:25 am
zedz wrote: Thu Oct 24, 2019 4:02 am
What you're referring to was more of a Beanie Babies fad that was aimed at speculators rather than actual comics fans. In many cases, the comics were sold sealed and needed to stay sealed in order to preserve their 'value.' They weren't intended to be read. Once those people realized that their 'treasures' were basically worthless unless other speculators were prepared to buy them, the market for these gimmicks collapsed. The people at the top of the pyramid, like Todd McFarlane, made a killing in the short term, which was the entire point.
Hmm. Hadn't realized just how much of a fad that boom was. Thanks.
Do you agree with mfunk's claim that few people ever read comic books and Marvel studios basically invented the comic book nerd through marketing? I've always had the sense that, tho' it went through boom and bust cycles, the industry was pretty robust and there was a significant group of people who were comic book fans as kids.
I've only seen a few of the movies. They were fine, but I didn't see anything that made me want to seek out more, and I'm really not in tune with modern Marvel Movie fandom (because -shudder- ), but it seems to me that the movie franchise is really following the model that first made Marvel comics such a big success in the 60s and 70s.
In the 1940s and 50s, superhero comics (please, let's remember that these are just a not-especially-artistically-significant category of comic books / comic strips) were aimed at very young children, and were almost exclusively self-contained. DC was pretty much the only game in town at that point (having sued their biggest competitor into submission). There was an assumption that the readership for comic books was wholly casual, and that readers needed to be able to enjoy a comic book with no prior knowledge of the characters or ongoing story. In fact, there was no ongoing story. There were situations (e.g. Lois Lane loves Superman), but they were static or eternally resetting themselves at the end of each issue. There was no real characterization, psychology or emotions, either, just feints at them (e.g. Lois Lane loves Superman, is jealous of Lana Lang). Nothing changed. Some writers and artists were so stultified by this perpetual status quo that they came up with narrative tropes that allowed them to have fun with the impossible idea of change, such as Red Kryptonite (which had wildly unpredictable, but safely temporary, effects on Superman, such as making him obese, or blind, or sarcastic for a few hours) or the Imaginary Story (an update of the "but it was all a dream" escape clause - e.g. What if Superman married Lois Lane? What if Superman married Lana Lang? What if Superman married [his cousin] Supergirl and became a Superhillbilly?).
Most of these heroes had tragic backstories, but none of that tragedy impinged on their adventures. Most of the interest came from a wide range of colourful supervillains, enjoyably bonkers plotting and, if you were lucky, lovely artwork from the likes of Kurt Schaffenburger or Joe Kubert. The best of these were great kids' literature.
Marvel's rival superhero comics came along in the early 60s (before that they published other genres, like monster comics and romance), and they immediately rejected several of the previously accepted 'truths' of the industry. Half of the Fantastic Four had sketchy personalities (the Human Torch was impetuous; the Thing was a self-pitying wisecracker), and these personalities evolved (or randomly changed) over time. Spiderman had your standard issue tragic origin story, but he continued to be angst-ridden long after. This was often referred to (not least by the writer Stan Lee) as adding a 'soap opera' element, and that's actually a pretty fair summation in terms of the function and depth of these emotional hooks.
One of the key hooks Marvel introduced was the illusion of change. Over the long haul, nothing fundamental ever really changed - or not so much that it couldn't be reversed by a cosmic handwave - but it looked like things did. Mr Fantasic and Invisible Girl got married, and had a child (with her leaving the group while she was pregnant). Spiderman graduated from high school, and was doomed to spend the rest of eternity at university (oh, and one of the serial loves of his life was murdered by the Green Goblin). Characters' circumstances could change; characters could even die - sometimes permanently! There was actually a long-form narrative to follow and a mythos to discover, and this in turn created a new kind of comics fandom and comics collecting, where picking up every issue of a favourite title was not just tidy completism, but necessary to know what was going on.
A good example of how Marvel differed from DC is
The Avengers. This comic initially followed the template of DC's Justice League of America, in which the company's biggest stars at the time (Thor, Iron Man, the Hulk, Ant Man and the Wasp) teamed up to fight evil. But the group was unstable. The Hulk quit in a huff after two issues. Captain America (one of the company's heroes from the 1940s - another one, the Sub-Mariner, had previously been resurrected as a villain) was thawed out and joined the group, and a year later everybody except Captain America quit, leaving him to recruit and reform three former villains from other magazines as the first of many, many "New Avengers".
This exemplifies another of Marvel's innovations: their mythos was much less static that DCs had been. New characters - even new worlds - proliferated. This was largely down to the extraordinarily fertile imagination of the primary creator, Jack Kirby, who created probably 90% of the characters in the ten years he was with the company, and these are the ones that have formed the IP backbone of the company ever since. Of the Marvel films released to date, the only characters not created by Kirby are the Guardians of the Galaxy (who debuted after he left the company) and Dr. Strange (created by Steve Ditko, who's best known as the first artist of Spiderman, though that was also a Kirby creation). The characters were promiscuous as well, appearing in one another's comics, and often carrying ongoing plot business from one title to another - another encouragement for the new, ravenous fandom.
A further big innovation was long-form plotting, with major events dragging on and on for years across various titles (e.g. the (yawn) Kree-Skrull War), and slow-burn sub-plots teasing future cataclysms. My all-time favourite example of this comes from Steve Gerber's 1970s run on
The Defenders. They were a goofy Avengers knock-off that started out a supergroup of the company's unclubbable leftovers (Dr. Strange, The Hulk and the Submariner - a group of characters with a daunting absence of chemistry!) and evolved into the only supergroup with no official membership, just a random agglomeration of comings-and-goings. In its early issues there was a long-running subplot involving a homicidal gnome. It ran for years, with the character randomly killing people every so often, slowly making his way towards the group's headquarters. When he finally reached his target - the first time he'd been so close to the main plot - he was run over by a truck and nothing was ever heard of him again (until, I'm sure, some doofus from a subsequent generation felt the need to 'resolve' the loose thread).
The end result of all of these innovations was a new kind of comics fandom: more engaged, more obsessed (often with trivia), slightly older (although Marvel had a 'hip' factor in the 1960s, and some high-profile 'serious' enthusiasts like Alain Resnais, it was primarily a shift from pre-adolescent to adolescent, and has never really gone beyond that, despite a lot of media hoopla).
That's all a long-winded way of pointing out that most of the 'innovations' of the film series (the soap opera, the illusion of change, the proliferating mythos, the inter-connectedness of individual films and series, the long-form plotting and sub-plotting) are just a super-charged version of the innovations that made Marvel such a success in the 1960s and 70s, and they've created a super-charged version of the new form of fandom that the comics created on a much smaller scale back then. I find it quite interesting as a sociological phenomenon, but stultifying in terms of what it's doing film culture. Even here, people want to talk about these films more than anything else.