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HERO FOR HIRE: "The Life and ( Very Hard ) Times of Marvel Comics' LUKE CAGE " (Part Two)
There are plenty
of worse ways to start out your first few years of four-color existence than
having the likes of Archie Goodwin; Steve Englehart; Tony Isabella;
Len Wein; and Steve Gerber providing the storytelling honors.
The LUKE CAGE series occupies a special "niche" in the progression of the
mainstream comics super-hero from Perfect and Incorruptible Avatar to Fully
Realized, Foible-Laden Human Being, resting midpoint on the chronological graph
between the neurotic Ditko-era SPIDER- MAN
and Alan Moore's no-better- than-you-or-I WATCHMEN. In an era which
(simultaneously) gave rise to the shocking and unexpected death of Gwen Stacy,
in SPIDER-MAN; the "Nomad" period of political and spiritual disillusionment,
in CAPTAIN AMERICA; and the radicalization
of both Oliver Queen and Hal Jordan, in DC's own GREEN
LANTERN/GREEN ARROW...
... the character of Luke Cage was, ultimately, as pivotal a storytelling bellwether as any of these.
It wasn't just the studiedly "street-level" flavor and approach of the stories themselves (which were -- in all honesty -- heavily indebted to the urban noir-ish "feel" of the concurrent spate of Shaft/Superfly/Coffy/ Trouble Man films of the same period) which lent these early issues their undeniable excitement and cachet. (LUKE CAGE creator [and noted film buff] Archie Goodwin had always evinced a decided willingness to mix'n'match the respective storytelling strengths of cinema and comics in his work, from the amiably derivative BLAZING COMBAT to the Roger Corman-on-peyote Manhunter.)
It was, in the main, the very real (and -- at the time -- wholly unique) air of dissipation and moral ambiguity suffusing the storytelling proceedings entire which made the earliest issues of this series the minor meta-fictive miracle they most assuredly were (and remain).
Case in point: the initial, sharply-defined parameters of the relationship between Luke Cage and combination foil/father figure Noah Bernstein, re: the latter's insistence on the putative "Hero For Hire" stressing the "hero" aspect of his chosen nom de guerre over the "for hire" one.
" [...] it's made you a mercenary," Noah objects, during one of their more heated exchanges on the subject. "... selling your power to any bidder."
[CHEEKS' ASIDE: This is entirely true, so far as it goes. Luke, early on in his career, was of the mind-set that if you had the dime, he had the time, availability-wise. Good guy; bad guy... just so long as the check clears, sugar.
[It should also be noted, however, that -- with the sole exception of one "hire" in particular -- which we'll be getting to in just another moment or two, don't you worry -- Luke's oft-bellowed insistence that he could/would sell his super- powered services to anydamnbody he pleased was, ultimately, more noisy fiction than fact.
[Whether due to Doc Bernstein's early omnipresence as a countervailing moral "nudge," or else simply Luke's own nascent moral underpinnings... Marvel's surly urban gumshoe ended up treading the straight and narrow path, ultimately.]
Those same early issues also boasted of an easy, altogether winning sense of smart-alecky fun, as well; this, too, lifted (by and large) from the low-budget "blaxploitation" films of the day, without so much as a by- your-leave.
(Incidentally: that same wry, cynical sense of humor was by no means limited to little "character bits" such as the one referenced alongside. The artistic team of journeyman penciler George Tuska and tyro inker Bill Graham -- both clearly having themselves a high old time on this most idiocyncratic of '70's Marvel series' -- intelligently juggled understated realism and [when necessary and/or desirable] cartoonish caricature throughout their joint tenure thereon. Theirs was a collaborative contribution which, manifestly, should not be sold short in criticial retrospect. I'm just sayin', is all.)
Now: as to that "sole exception" alluded to earlier, re: Luke's (normally) hiring himself out only to either the truly desperate or the undeniably deserving...
... well: take a deeeeep breath, and check out the cover reproduction directly below, if you will.
Okay... so: this probably requires a bit of backstory,
by way of explanation.
Luke is approached by representatives of infamous Latverian monarch Doctor Doom (yeah, yeah; that Doctor Doom), who makes it known he'd certainly like to cough up a little something-or-another from the royal coffers in exchange for Brother Luke's willingness to serve as a sort of combination P.I. and "stalking horse," if you will.(It seems that Latveria's historically ineffectual anti-monarch "underground" has thrown its political lot in with an assemblage of anti-social automatons; the latter taking their marching orders, in turn, from a mystery-shrouded figure known only as The Faceless One.
(Said mechanical men having taken the none-too-shabby step of disguising themselves as Persons of Color -- "Latveria is European, Mr. Cage," an imperious Doom placidly explains. "I have no black subjects, and -- sad to say -- no one ever emigrates to my land." [Boy; hard to figure, huh...?]
"Thus, in order to pursue them unobtrusively -- for I am not welcome in the United States -- I needed a black, and I needed to hire him." -- Doom elects to effect Luke's hiring on his despotic behalf.
("Well, I don't dig it," a sullen and suspicious Luke mutters, by way
of response. "But you got a right to hire me like anybody else."
Which -- taken to its logical and inevitable extreme -- could just as easily
lead to Luke attempting to cash a city bus-sized check signed "Galactus."
Point: Doc Bernstein, I'd say.)
Well: Luke (as has always been his wont) gives darned good value for
the dollar; not only tracking down the faux African-American automatons,
but thwarting the theft of much-needed American technology by said robot rebels,
to boot. (Heck... about the only thing Luke doesn't provide for
Doom, service-wise, is a nice TurtleWax buffing of that funky armor.)
However: it turns out that, along with all his other numerous and well-documented personal foibles (ruthless tyrant; slayer of men; despoiler of women; founder and president of the Latverian chapter of The Peter Tork Fan Club; etc., etc.), Victor Von Doom is -- I hope you're all sitting down for this -- a freakin' cheapskate.
"[...] Doctor Doom pays no money when he can avoid it," the Latverian embassy's doorman snootily informs a furious and disbeliving Luke, upon completion of the latter's contracted services. "He closed this embassy and departed for our homeland not five minutes ago... sir."
Now, your relentlessly fair-minded Unca Cheeks would never, no never go 'round spreading unfounded rumors concerning venerable and much- beloved super-villain mainstays of the Marvel Comics universe; but: Victor Von Doom is soooooo cheap that [pick one]:
A.) ... he once attacked and conquered a local Burger King. For the cute li'l paper crowns.
B.) ... he keeps stealing the morning newspaper off the lawn of the despot next door.
C.) ... he uses the advanced micro-circuitry in his armor to pull in free basic cable.
D.) ... forces Latverian political prisoners to torture themselves.
E.) ... serves CheezDoodles and fried Spam to visiting dignitaries during state banquets.
F.) ... underneath that armor? Has been wearing the same pair
of shorts for years.
Hitting up The Fantastic Four for the loan of a spare rocket ship, a seriously torqued-off Luke thunders his way into Latveria, in order to dun the despotic Doom. Said inter-continental joyride resulted in one of my all-time favorite comics dialogue exchanges, as follows:
DOOM: "When my men reported a crazy black man in the Fantastic Four's craft, I knew it had to be you!"
LUKE: "Where's my money, honey?"
Admit it, now: that. is. just.
so. blamed. COOL.
Well, sir: ain't nobody on the face of the planet gets to call
the reigning monarch of all of Latveria "honey" without some muy serious
consequences and repercussions bouncin' right backatem... so: Luke and
Vic both promptly roll up their respective sleeves; spit on their palms; and
commence to beating the holy living crap right out of each other.
(... and this serves as an excellent opportunity to bring up the nagging "question" -- hotly debated, in certain fannish cirrcles -- of Luke's inconsistently demonstrated levels of "super-strength." Noted Astro City and Marvels savant Kurt Busiek illuminated the common sense of the matter best, in the course of a recent message board posting, when he stated thusly:
("I think
Luke works best when he fits well into street-level stories; I remember
one issue when he's almost flattened by a speeding Caddy; it doesn't play
if he can juggle the damn things.
("So I don't
think Luke should be Class 75, or even close to it. If that becomes
canon, I'll just never write him again, since I think it ruins the character
to make him a superhero among superheroes instead of a crimefighter with
enough power to make him impressive but not enough to make him unbeatable
by the mob.
("At the start, he had no super-strength whatsoever -- just the steel-hard skin, which made his fists 'hit like sledgehammers.' Not because of his strength, but because if you hit someone with something steel-hard, it's going to hit like a sledgehammer.
("He was inconsistently portrayed, however, and eventually it became standard that he had some level of super-strength -- enough to tangle with Spider-Man (another character who shouldn't be able to juggle Cadillacs, I think, and has been made way too strong over the years) and even the Thing. Now he's punching out characters who once knocked five or six Avengers cold with one blow."
(As usual: the estimable Mr. Busiek is a veritable fount of good, hard common sense... and nowhere is this demonstrated more tellingly or efficaciously than in the course of this very set-to with the staggeringly powerful Doctor freaking Doom, f'chrissakes! Luke doesn't triumph over his steel-shod sparring partner by dint of [yaaawwwwnnn] incalculable brute strength; rather, he perseveres and punishes Doom through applied intelligence and gritty, determined persistence.
("I forged my armor to withstand anything... except repeated stress on a solitary point!" a staggered and reeling Doom confesses. "You are the first to try such a tactic!"
(Plain and simple, folks: Luke Cage doesn't need to be morphed [by writer's retroactive fiat] into simply another Thing- or Hulk-level basher or bruiser.
(Luke Cage has never needed any such "charity," quite frankly...
(... and, if you don't wanna take my word for it: just ask a
battered and limping Latverian fellah by the name of Doom.)
After an hour or so of Luke's hammering his rhetorical points home for the good Doctor's benefit, the latter (wisely) agrees to pony up the promised payola... and pays Luke a compliment the likes of which your long- memoried Unca Cheeks cannot recall his ever having proffered to any other opponent, either before or since. ("[...] you have amply earned my respect this day, and it is more difficult to obtain than my funds... which are not easy to obtain!")
Immediately after that, we cut to a scene of a dented and dispirited Doom, combing the corridors of his castle for stray empty soda bottles and muttering to himself, a la Ebeneezer Scrooge.
Cheap, boy. We're talkin' tight, here.
With all of the foregoing (on both this page and the previous one) to serve as interpretive polestar... it would be both easy and perfectly understandable for the unitiated to conclude (however erroneously) that Our Man Luke -- ex-convict; surly iconoclast; and flinty-eyed "business man" -- would "fit in" within the dynamics of the standard super-hero team roughly about as naturally and readily as he might those of (say) the Campfire Girls.
As the big man himself might readily phrase it, in
dry, measured response: "Guess again, honey."
Turn your attentions, if you will, to the third and final page of "... Nor Iron Bars a Cage"... and see what I mean.
Boom-shakka-wakka-wakka.
LUKE CAGE: Hero For Hire: PAGE ONE
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