Failing to Save the Day: Mediocrity and the
Superhero Narrative
Jason Frank
I like superhero comics. I want to stand up for superhero comics and defend the genre
against people who claim that it is not a valid art form. Honestly, I don’t fully
understand my affinity for the larger than life adventures and drama. I must have a
penchant for brightly colored spandex, or appreciate the clear delineation of right and
wrong. Unfortunately, no matter how much I may be moved by nostalgia when I see a new
superhero comic, I can’t deny the fact that ninety nine percent of the genre
disappoints and frustrates me. The last decade of superhero comics has only innovated in
areas of the female anatomy. It’s as if comics have grown up, and the only thing
people could think to do with their newfound maturity was subscribe to Playboy. When one
considers the significant strides made by people like Miller and Moore in the Mid-Eighties
you would think that people would be trying to build on that momentum rather than pretend
it didn’t happen.
When I was a kid, I collected every superhero title I could afford
on my part time job. And for every inspired issue of Grant Morrison’s Doom Patrol there
were a dozen McFarlane ripoffs featuring mutants of some kind or another. I gave up
collecting comics when I had to start paying for college. Needless to say and realized
that my multiple copies of a McFarlane Spider-man number one wouldn’t cover the cost
of a biology textbook. However, I still like to keep my finger on the pulse of the
mainstream comics. I caught Kevin Smith’s stint on Daredevil and read every issue of
Sandman. I’ve even picked up a few Batman comics over the past few years (only to be
disappointed by everything from his broken back to that Gotham Quake). I am no longer the
authority that I once was, but I still have a pretty good idea of how poor most of the
stuff out there is.
I honestly believe that the superhero genre is fertile ground for
storytelling, but with all of the recycled plots, the market seems as original as a
Hollywood script factory. Sure the villains change, but only marginally. They all want the
same thing—power. And all of the superheroes are obliged to fight anyone who hurts,
steals, or threatens to compromise democracy. Every now and again we get a work that rises
above the monthly mediocrity peddled, but innovation and compelling narratives are rare
things in the market. It seemed like everyone was collecting comics in the mid-eighties
(maybe that was because I was working in a comic store at the time) but the market
eventually bottomed out. It didn’t happen because comic collecting was a passing fad.
It happened because people couldn’t tell the difference from one X-men title to the
next. I have spent a long time pondering why Superhero comics don’t work and I
believe I can attribute it to three factors: the writers’ reading habits, the
problems inherent in overly complex continuities, and expectations of the readership.
Most comic writers (and artists) seem to read anything but comics. So their work
becomes derivative of people like Stan Lee and Chris Claremont. If we had a group of
writers who had actually read a few novels (not of the Star Trek variety) and watched some
movies (30 consecutive viewings of Star Wars doesn’t count) then we might see the
genre rise above Saturday morning fare. As long as superhero comics get the
"mature" rating for sex and violence instead of serious issues or complex
relationships the genre will not be taken seriously. If writers had a little more exposure
to complex and interesting narratives like Catch 22, they might be able to see some
of the possibilities of superhero storytelling rather than the limitations.
Neil Gaiman’s Sandman was so successful because he was able to flout so
many of the conventions of mainstream superhero comics. He was also free to build his
character from the ground up rather than building on the continuity of previous, lesser
writers. He created his own world where he was able to live by his own standard. One of
the factors in The Watchmen’s success lies in
Moore’s freedom to control everything about each of the characters. When approaching
a Spider-Man comic, the writer has to be aware of the death of his uncle, Gwen Stacey,
Mary Jane and that whole clone episode. There’s only so much a writer can do with
such constraints and expectations.
Crisis on Infinite Earths was a reaction to comics and the problems of
maintaining a reasonable continuity. Unfortunately it was only a temporary solution. DC
comics wiped the slate clean in the mid-eighties, but over the past fifteen years that
slate has become even more crowded. Marvel is trying to create outside the box of
continuity, but they too will soon succumb to continuity constraints as they replace one
continuity for another. The future of superhero comics lies in projects like DC’s
Elseworlds. Instead of making them a prestige format What If (what if Batman lived
in a Gotham plagued by Jack the Ripper), comic creators need to take advantage of the fact
that they can write the stories that they always wanted to write without having to worry
whether or not the protagonist lives to see the next month.
Because most Comic creators attend conferences on a regular basis (it is, after all,
how they make a good portion of their living) they have regular contact with the
stereotypical comic fan. This is who they see as their audience and this is who they write
their scantily clad adventures for. Titillation (with emphasis on the first syllable)
reigns supreme for the fanboy audience. How would writing for a mainstream audience change
the content. If the animated Batman series is any indication, it would be responsible for
some of the strongest narratives in the genre.
McCloud suggests that there needs to be greater diversity in comics and I agree. But we
also need to make our superhero comics better. We need writers who haven’t read
superhero comics and aren’t confined to elaborate histories and continuities. We need
a group of creators who don’t go to conventions and who are completely disassociated
from the myopic perspective of the comic book shop lifestyle. The superhero comic should
be our equivalent of Arthurian legend or Greek myth, but the hackneyed approach to the
genre and the mediocre expectations of its readership works squarely against the creation
of memorable and interesting works. Just because Superman is iconic doesn’t mean
everything about him has to be cliche.
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