Which means I found piles of quadruple and quintuple copies of many, MANY comics. I even somehow bought doubles of random issues in the midst of runs–like I have two copies of stray issues of Detective Comics, out of nowhere. Did Wizard tip me off that these would be “hawt” comics, or did I just buy them on accident? Who knows?<\/p>\n
Spider-Man 1 was published in 1990 with something like fifty thousand slightly different covers, all of which I purchased, and some of them multiple times. As of this writing, I own three different versions; I’m keeping one, and consigning the rest to the dustbin of history.<\/p>\n
The early issues of that Spider-Man title define the nineties’ EVENT COMIC. Written and drawn by Todd McFarlane, the debut issue of what was at the time the FIFTH Spider-Man book quickly became the highest-selling single issue of all time. As I understand it, X-Men 1 would come along just a year later and shatter that record.<\/p>\n
I decided to sit down and re-read Spider-Man 1-5<\/b>, or “Torment,” McFarlane’s first arc as writer-artist on the book, mostly because these comics exist in my mind more as EVENTS than artistic product. It’s one of those things where everyone somehow collectively decides, “Okay, we don’t give a shit if this is any good; we just all LIKE IT A LOT, and we will BUY A LOT OF IT. Hooray.” (Or more accurately, some shadow council of old white men sit in a semi-lit room and determine what we will like, and then commit massive resources of money and manpower at MAKING us like those things.)<\/p>\n
But really now, are these comics truly the nadir of the speculator era’s emphasis on style and outrageousness over substance?<\/p>\n
Probably. Damn, though, if they weren’t kinda fun to read. I’m having a hard time figuring out WHY I enjoyed reading them, so let’s talk first about why they’re shitty, which is an easier conversation to have.<\/p>\n Comic book artwork of the 1990s is sorta like bell bottoms, or pet rocks, or keyboard ties–you know it was considered Really Popular and Totally Awesome back in the day, but now, it just looks like a horrifying mistake.<\/p>\n McFarlane’s work on these issues is no exception. There’s some decent artistic concepts here–McFarlane reimagines Spider-Man visually as very spider-esque, complete with wild body contorsions and webbing all over the place, which is a neat idea.<\/p>\n It’s just that there’s so much damn…DETAIL. For an era of comic books remembered best for its grim ‘n gritty “realism,” it’s more than a little ironic, cause there’s absolutely NOTHING even remotely realistic about the way anything looks in this book. In fact, there’s plenty of pages where there’s absolutely NOTHING even remotely clear about the action and who’s doing what; many was the time I’d flip to a spread and spend a few minutes just staring at the art, hoping it would coalesce into something I might recognize, before hastily skimming the meager word balloons and narration boxes and turning the page.<\/p>\n I gotta confess–I bought so many of these comics, and I read them, and I must have found them KEWL as a wee lad. Today, at least from a strictly visual perspective, I cannot imagine what I saw in them. There’s not even THAT much boobage in them, at least, compared to today–I’ve read modern issues of Superman that have more gratuitous near-nudity than Spider-Man 1-5.<\/p>\n From a storytelling perspective, this is McFarlane’s first go at writing, and man, it’s rough. Talk about decompression–everyone blames that shit on Warren Ellis and Brian Bendis, but this story is SERIOUSLY dragged out over five issues. There’s barely a half-issue worth of story in the whole damn thing.<\/p>\n The “superhero” part of that story involves, if I recall correctly, Spider-Man spending a lot of time in agony being tortured by the Lizard and some busty lass who I think is…Kraven’s daughter? Lover? Sister’s cousin’s hairdresser once removed? Then there’s a “subplot” which involves Mary Jane going out dancing alone. This portion of the story might be the most aimless bit of business ever committed to paper; MJ goes out dancing, gets hit on by a guy, has a good time, misses her husband, takes a cab home…and that’s about it.<\/p>\n If it’s meant to contrast MJ’s relatively “normal” evening with the nightmare her husband goes through, well…that could have been done in a couple pages. Instead, it seems to go on FOREVER. And it’s not even like this is McFarlane’s excuse to draw MJ with bodacious ta-tas and a rockin’ ass; she’s just sorta…THERE. It’s weird, and unaffecting, and weirdly unaffecting, all at once.<\/p>\n
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