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The Charismatic Life and Tyrannical Times of Victor Von Doom, Esq. (Part TWO)
Okay... so: just what is it, precisely, which bestows upon the estimable (in a loathsome -- albeit endlessly fascinating -- sort of way) Doctor Victor Von Doom the hard won (and much contested) status of Waycool Mack Daddy Super-Baddie Numero Uno of the Marvel Comics universe...?
For this psycho-fixated li'l plush toy, at any rate... it's an effective working combination of no fewer than three clearly defined character traits:
1.) Doctor Doom is Marvel Comics' most tragic and tormented super-
villain.
2.) Doctor Doom is (within the confines of his own peculiarly idiosyncratic "code of honor") Marvel Comics' most rigidly ethical super-
villain.
3.) Doctor Doom is Marvel Comics' most coolly calculating and dangerous super-villain.
Let's examine each of these particulars a bit more closely, then; on this, and the following pages.
"This Man... This Demon!" [MARVEL SUPER-HEROES #20; May, 1969; Roy Thomas and Larry Lieber, co-writers; Larry Lieber and Frank Giacoia, artists] details for us the circumstances of a young Von Doom's first (and only) fleeting experience with romantic love, in the person of the gentle and giving Gypsy girl Valeria.
Back when a pre-adolescent and embittered Von Doom first stumbled across the secrets and artifacts of his mother's sorceress legacy, it was a doe-eyed Valeria who struggled (unsuccessfully, alas) to keep him from delving ever deeper into the soul-destroying shadows of "my true heritage!"
"I've gleaned all that I can from the mystic arts!" the coarsened adolescent
Von Doom informs her, several years later. "Now I must augment that with
science... science such as is taught in the great universities of the
West!" (Boy... a fellah gets a partial scholarship to Brooklyn
College, and his head swells up like a friggin' beach ball...)
"Then... you're leaving Latveria!" an anguished Valeria exclaims. "But... what of us? What of our dream of a life together? Is that never to be?"
"That dream died with my childhood, Valeria," Von Doom replies, icily; recalling, doubtless, the awful circumstances of his parents' terrible and untimely demises. "I have no love... no compassion... not a tender feeling to share with anyone [...] for those maudlin sentiments have been replaced by a thirst for power... more power than any mortal has ever envisioned!"
Von Doom is blackmailed, years later, into reluctant alliance with crazed uberalchemist Diablo when the latter shows up with an ensorcled Valeria in mystic tow ; allowing the reader a rare glimpse of the private, hag-ridden aspect of the Latverian regent's personality.
"What would she think of me now," the metallic monarch moans, slumped and trembling before an ornate mirror; "... the man behind the mask of metal? Would she turn away in horror [...] if I loosed the mask which has shielded me so long from prying eyes... including my own? Could she bear to look on a face disfigured [...] look on it without revulsion... without sheer, shameless loathing?"
Talks raht purty, tho'... don't he just? My laws,
yes!
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: there's long been a certain stripe of fannish speculation, to the effect that Victor Von Doom's never-seen facial features aren't really hideously malformed ones; that his cast-iron countenance, in actual point of fact, masks some minuscule, post- concussive mar or blemish, which -- to a man of such towering ego as the megalomaniacal Von Doom -- stands out no less monstrously and (ultimately) intolerably than would the most blistered ruin.
[While your devil-may-care Unca Cheeks certainly appreciates the fine irony inherent in such a possible storytelling "twist": this tale -- along with yet one other, which we'll be getting to in just another moment or three -- makes it manifest and plain that such is decidedly not the case; and that the man known as "Doctor Doom" is well and truly the Stridex Oxy-10 poster child of the Marvel Comics universe.
[In other words: sorry to burst the ol' conjectural bubble, troops...
[... but: the actual published canon says "nuh-uh."]
In any event: the appallingly-clad Diablo -- who, incidentally, I always
thought was a grade-"A" doofasaurus-on-the-hoof to begin with -- soon
learns the hard way that a cornered Doom is an implacable and unforgiving
Doom. (He ends up being handed a special one-way kaBAMF to "...
an Earth decimated by eons of warfare... an Earth on which nothing
exists... nothing lives... save Diablo!") (In other
words: downtown Detroit.)
The story ends on a tragic note, however, as the newly-liberated Valeria -- horrified by her old beau's gloating over his foeman's hellish misfortune (other than that idiotic "Droopy Dawg" moustache, I mean) -- renounces her stunned (former) lover.
"... or am I wrong, Victor Von Doom?" she entreats him, plaintively. "Tell me you would renounce your towering ambition... for the girl you once loved!" To which Our Latverian Lad responds, in turn [Pick One]:
A.) "Five bucks says the Red Skull's woman never busts his balls over crap like this."
B.) "All right, then: if it was 'love'... then gimme back the twenty."
C.) "Valeria... my dearest love: I think there's a wee malfunction of some sort in your sweetums' silly ol' teleportation device. Stand right here for a moment, would you, angel? Thaaaaaat's a good girl... !"
D.) "Oh, bite me. It's fun!"
The blasted, pitted ruin of Von Doom's facial features -- and his single-minded obsession over same -- figures even more prominently in the terrific "The Prisoner... the Power... and Doctor Doom!" [THE MIGHTY THOR #182; November, 1970; John Buscema, artist; Stan Lee, scripter]. [See cover reproduction, below]
Whilst attempting to break up a violent melee between protesters and counter-demonstrators outside Latveria's New York embassy, the God of Thunder encounters a young French miss by the name of Cosette LaFarge, whose scientist father was dragooned into the hateful service of Von Doom, some years earlier.
"You cannot do this to a citizen of France!" the fearful (yet still indignant) genius protests, upon being chivvied and harassed into the presence royal.
"But I have done nothing, mon ami," a suave and relaxed Von Doom counters, idly. "You have come to visit me... of your own free will [...] Have you not offered to serve me... to construct new missle silos for my use?"
"Never!" the horrified Frenchman heatedly retorts. "Never will I put my talents to the use of the world's most dangerous monarch!"
"I thank you for the compliment," a languid Von Doom responds; "... but, alas, you speak too quickly.
"Bring in the child."
Okay... so: granted, this pretty much rings the gong on the ol' Super-
StinkerMeter, inexcusable actions-wise. (I mean: "Bring in the
child"...? Ye cats!)
Vowing to extricate Cosette's aged papa from his Latverian durance vile, the Thunder God (in his mortal [then-]identity of renowned surgeon Doctor Donald Blake) elects to float the rumor -- obligingly carried, it seems, by every newspaper with a paid circulation greater than that of AMERICAN BEET FARMER'S MONTHLY -- that he has developed a startling and innovative procedure, re: facial reconstruction via plastic surgery.
("SENSATIONAL BREAKTHROUGH!" one paper breathlessly announces, in a "doomsday
print"-sized headline above the fold (!!). "Any face, no matter how
disfigured, can be made normal again, says Dr. Donald Blake!"
I'll tell ya: if that's your "headline" of choice on any
given newsday, campers... then the second-place story is probably the
latest installment of FUNKY WINKERBEAN. I'm just sayin' is all,
here.)
Von Doom (along with
one of his legion of nameless super-scientific henchmen) kidnaps "Doctor Blake"
-- which is exactly what the Good Doctor wants the Bad Doctor to do,
natch; all part of the secret "getting-into-Latveria-without-initiating-an-international-incident"
thang, right? (Norse warrior deities traditionally being highly circumspect
in their dealings with NATO codicils and suchlike) -- and kerPLOP his
unconscious carcass aboard the first red-eye shuttle to scenic Latveria.
(Air Latveria's motto: "Our Stewardesses All Have Ion Blasters
Secreted On Their Persons. Sit Down. Shut Up. Enjoy
the Complimentary Bag of Peanuts.")
"I have learned of your sensational claim," an imperious Von Doom later informs the captive Doctor Blake, upon the latter's regaining consciousness; "... that you can make any face normal again... no matter how disfigured it may be. If that is so... I shall reward you beyond your wildest dreams." To which the still-incognito Thunder God eagerly responds [Pick One]:
A.) "Bring in the child."
B.) "White Castle burgers. With double onions. And keep 'em coming."
C.) "Sarah Michelle-Gellar. Stripped and shaven."
D.) "Bea Arthur. Stripped and shaven."
E.) "Captain America. Stripped and shaven."
One quick, horrified gander at Von Doom's molten mug later, however, has a plainly appalled Doctor Blake shrieking (at the very tip-top of his runty lungs, no less):
"Oh, no! NO! In the name of Heaven... I never dreamt it would be... like that! There's nothing medical science can do! NOTHING!"
This brief (albeit fascinating) glimpse at what passes for the fabled Asgardian "bedside manner" notwithstanding: the imperturbable Von Doom reacts to this crushing disappointment with his usual quiet dignity and grace, cheerily lobbing a frantically squealing Doctor Blake headfirst into the nearest unoccupied dungeon and stalking off to console himself with some much needed "quiet time," re: his elephantine collection of stuffed Beanie Baby dolls. Blake promptly transforms himself into the massive, mightily-thewed You-Know-Who...
... and we segue our collective way, seamlessly, into the pages of THE MIGHTY THOR #183 ["Trapped In Doomsland!"; December, 1970; John Buscema, artist; Stan Lee, scripter]
Realizing that there's a seriously cheesed-off Thunder God loose and romaing the skies over his native Latveria, Von Doom slings A Really Big Missle in the Son Of Odin's general direction; causing the latter to plummet groundsward quicker'n the television ratings for HAPPILY EVER AFTER...
... and separating Thor from his mystic ubermallet: the mighty Mjolnir.
"What shabby insolence is this?" a furious Von Doom snarls, frustrated in his inability to pluck the fallen dingus from its resting place on the royal pavement. "Try as I may... I cannot move the hammer!"
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: for those readers not in-the-know, Marvel Canon-wise: the magickal energies fuel-injecting Thor's hammer render it incapable of being
hefted by any save those who "be truly worthy of the power of Thor."
Betcha the ol' Von Doomster's regretting all of that waykinky "bring in the
child" stuff now, by golly.]
Never underestimate, however, the intractability and general crankiness overall of a man who can utter phrases such as "shabby insolence" with a perfectly straight poker face. "Give me your hammer," a snarling Von Doom demands of his implacable Norse foeman; "... or I release [this lever]... thereby unleashing a thousand missles... which will vaporize every major city on Earth!"
This particularly revealing bit of dialogue on the part of Our Irascible Von Doomsy leads your goggle-eyed and staring Unca Cheeks to make note of the following pair of observations, in turn:
1.) This whole "worthy of the power of Thor" thingie: he's just not "getting" it, is he...?
2.) You know: if I had the weaponry and wherewithal to
blithely "vaporize every major city on Earth"... you could keep
the frickin' hammer, all right?
I'm just sayin', here.
(Not that the God of Thunder is exactly displaying his readiness to
serve as a JEOPARDY! contestant any time in the forseeable future, either.
In response to Von Doom's querulous query: "Were you witless enough
to think you could catch Dr. Doom unprepared? I -- who have
met and vanquished the mightiest foes on Earth?", the Son of Odin
shoots back with: "But Thor is not of Earth!" So: now you see why it's Captain America
who gets to lead the Avengers, then.)
The story ends with Thor liberating the long-vanished Professor LaFarge... only to discover that the ungrateful little so-and-so doesn't really want to be "rescued" all that gosh-darned badly, in all honesty.
"I don't care about Cosette!" the avarice-driven
egghead shrills, ineffectually firing a fusillade of bullets the Thunder God's
way. "I don't care about mankind! You must not rob
me of my money! [...] There is no such thing as 'evil'...
or love! Nothing matters but me!" (Boy howdy...
that Stan Lee feller sure was a past master at the lost art of auctorial
subtlety, wasn't he...?)
In any event, however -- all "gimme the hammer" this and "bring in the child" that aside -- these two examples, as cited, clearly demonstrate the chiefest of the numerous inner demons giggling behind the wheel of Victor Von Doom's emotional funnycar: namely, the ever-present awareness of (and bitterness towards) his own (self-inflicted) physical deformity.
We'll be examing the second of our three stated positings, re: the characterization of Latveria's citizen Numero Uno (i.e., "Doctor Doom is [within the confines of his own peculiarly idiosyncratic 'code of honor'] Marvel Comics' most rigidly ethical super-villain") on the very next page of this article; right here, next week.
First, however...
... send in the child.
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