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The Charismatic Life and Tyrannical Times of Victor Von Doom, Esq. (Part FIVE)
"Doctor Doom is Marvel Comics' most coolly calculating and dangerous super-villain."
That's what I said, way back when we began this long, leisurely stroll down Latveria's equivalent of Lover's Lane.
Some of you out there -- oh, you all know who you are, all right; so just save those oh-so-guileless, who-me-Unca-Cheeks? expressions for the next rube in line, whydon'cha -- e-mailed to the effect that you actually (oh, shame! Shame!) doubted that your wise and wizened Unca Cheeks knew what he was talking about, in this particular.
I'll be expecting some plain and fancy groveling from the whole sorry,
nay-saying lot of you, then, by the time this is all over and done with.
"A World For the Winning!" [SUPER-VILLAIN TEAM-UP #14; October, 1977; Bill Mantlo, writer; Bob Hall; artist] opens up with a shot of X-MEN uberbaddie Magneto bulling his way through throngs of cheering, reveling Latverians.
All the jubilation and whoop-de-doo, you see, is in honor of reigning monarch Doctor Doom's having only just recently emptied several jumbo-sized cans o' Grade-"A" whupass all over the crimson cranium of fellow megalomaniac, the Red Skull; thereby safeguarding the isolated, postage stamp-sized duchy from the latter's pernicious predations.
(Either that, or else it's a Thursday. Thursday's are Kastle Kegger
Days, in Latveria. Toga! Toga! TOGA! WHOOOOOOO
-- !)
Marvel's Master of Magnetism -- as is (sadly) his post-Chris Claremont
wont -- spends a page or two blustering and spluttering in the silly, self-important
way that has long since made him -- easily -- one of the two or three most relentlessly
annoying characters in all of mainstream comics history. ("Doom!
So this is his power manifested! I have succeeded in making
men tremble... while he has made them serve!" And
yaddayaddayadda, blahblahblah. Go to bed, old man!
Go to BED -- !)
(... and, besides: that idiotic helmet of his makes him look
like Darth Vader's hairdresser brother, f'chrissakes.)
After being asked politely by the locals to please, please, pretty please knock it off with the "They-Call-Me-Mister-Tibbs" crapola for five minutes or so (the band kids from Latveria High have their special parade float coming up next; they spent simply weeks working on it), Magneto responds with the trademark civility and good humor for which he's so justly renowned, by sending a multi-ton giant metal statue of Von Doom crashing into the innocent, helpless crowd.
Meanwhile, In the Castle (where the class act of this super-villain saga happens to be chillin' with a nice fruit cooler, and some CheezDoodles)...
... The Man They Call Doom is musing pensively over his way nifty Franklin
Mint collection of super-hero chess pieces.
(... and, by the way: check out the blue figurine in the upper-hand portion of the second panel, there. Ka-Zar? He's manipulating from afar certifiable powerhouses the likes of the Mighty Thor; the Silver Surfer; and the Incredible Hulk... and he's even bothering to factor KA- FRIGGIN'-ZAR into his Machiavellian equations --?!?
(Now: that, by God, is a Master Planner!)
"For though Doom has accomplished what lesser men dare not even dream of," the metal-clad monarch snarls, suddenly; " -- my greatest triumph remains... unknown! My conquest has a bitter taste! My victory remains hollow... and Doom is bored!"
Now -- for the matching Tourister luggage; the year's supply of Rice-A-
Roni; and the home version of our game -- select Von Doom's "greatest triumph" from the following list of possibilities:
A.) He's already conquered the entire known world -- lock, stock and polar ice caps -- and nobody even knows about it.
B.) He finally managed to get those two little BBs into the eyes of that @#$%ing plastic bear.
C.) "Johnson's Baby Powder! Of course! All those miserable, wretched years of chaffing and heat rash, inside this fershlugginer armor! God, I've been such a fool -- !"
D.) One hundred and fifty different POKEMON... and he caught 'em all,
dammit! ALL of 'em!
The doors suddenly crash inward... and One Heck of a Major Goobersaurus stands before the absolute ruler of all Latveria.
"I could slay you in an instant," Von Doom growls; "... for entering my presence unannounced!"
"I think not," a severely delusional Magneto responds; "... but no matter! I came not to battle, Doctor, but to... talk!"
As it turns out: what the Master of Magnetism has on his mind is something
more on the order of marriage, rather than the simple pitching of conversational
woo.
"Why, then, have you come to Doom, Magneto?" the Bad Doctor inquires.
"I possess power enough to crush this planet, Doom," Magneto offers; "... but not to subjugate it! We are true homo superior! Together, we could -- !"
"... rule a world?" Doom finishes for him, in uncanny imitation of "The Brain" (re: the WB cartoon PINKY AND -- ). "Magneto, you are a fool! I am Victor Von Doom, man... and this world is already... MINE!"
No. Seriously. He's not kidding,
here.
It seems that the brilliant Von Doom has (clandestinely) been releasing a potent (yet wholly undetectable) "neuro-mist" of his own invention into the atmosphere, world-wide, for some time now; with the long-range effects of said vapors, apparently, being nothing less impressive or all-encompassing than "[...] making every living thing an unconscious servant of Doctor Doom! Including you, my dear Magneto!"
This is -- so far as Marvel's preening "Master oof Magnetism" is concerned -- just about the funniest thing since the classic "Why a Duck?" sequence in the Marx Brothers' film, THE COCOANUTS.
He still chuckling, in fact, right up until the very moment a coolly
imperturbable Von Doom forces him to kneel with but a single, languid
gesture.
"I am bored, Magneto," Von Doom offers, simply. "I rule a world... yet none know of it! My triumph came too easily...
"... and I crave... a challenge!"
Are you all still... y'know... "with" your kindly ol' Unca Cheeks here, campers...?
Victor Von Doom actually.
Conquered.
THE. ENTIRE. FREAKIN'. PLANET.
... and: he bloody got away with it (!!).
The Red Skull...? A cranky ex-hotel bellhop pissant, with delusions of grandeur.
Fu Manchu...? A prissy, eternally constipated old fart who couldn't even decently get the hang of that whole "Tough Love" business where his own kids were concerned.
Dracula...? Amateur Night in Dixie, bay-bee.
In short: when it comes to mind-boggling super-villainy within the confines of the Marvel Universe, there's Victor Von Doom...
... and then there's everybody else.
Von Doom slips Magneto a li'l alchemical cocktail, freeing the notorious mutant buttinski from the subliminal effects of the former's neuro-mists...
... and (as the victorious metal monarch confidently exclaims): "Your mind is now your own, Magneto... and the board is set... the battle BEGUN!"
Magneto -- once having regained consciousness, ssomewhere in a wheat field on the outskirts of Latveria -- promptly makes the one, sole intelligent decision you'll see him make throughout the entirety of this way neat-o meta-fictive exercise:
He hies his aging hinder, straightaway, to New York City... and the Central Park West mansion of the Mighty Avengers.
He also does something incalculably stupid, however:
He hies his aging hinder, straightaway, to New York City... and the Central
Park West mansion of the Mighty Avengers.
After working off some of his frustrations by swapping licks with the noble, granite-jawed likes of Captain America; Iron Man; the Vision; and the Mighty Thor, Magneto is finally subdued by the tag-team combo of Wonder Man and the Beast; and (comparative) order and sanity are restored, once more.
An imperious Magneto's terse explanation as to the whys and the wherefores of his visit to Avengers Mansion, however, are met with something decidedly less than a complete and total open-minded willingness to Hear Out the Guy With the Unremittingly Lousy Taste In Headgear.
"Doom controlling us all," a muy skeptical Iron Man muses; "... and we're unaware of it...?"
"It is highly... improbable, Iron Man," the synthezoid Vision smoothly concurs.
A cruelly disdainful Von Doom appears before Magneto at this juncture, via holographic image; demonstrating his tactical superiority, once more, by forcing the assembled Avengers to kneel in eerie, robotic obeisance at his spectral command.
"So you see, Magneto," Von Doom crows, in cold and condescending conclusion; "... the game has more facets than you had foreseen... but I will allow you an ally! if you can release one Avenger from the control of my neuro-gas... I will permit his mind to remain free!"
So: Magneto -- not being completely cretinous, certainly -- promptly taps the Norse god of thunder, Thor... right?
Nope.
So: Magneto -- not actually having been lobotomized at any point in the weeks prior to this episode -- selects that indomitable warrior Captain America to play on his team... right?
Uh-uh.
So: Magneto -- whose parents may not even have been first cousins; who knows, really? -- wisely recruits the sorcerous Scarlet Witch, reasoning that a little surreptitious High Magick is what's called for, in this particular... right?
Nyet.
Grabbing the (still) glassy-eyed Beast and hauling him outta there by the scruff of his shaggy neck, a grim-visaged Magneto snarls: "Come, Beast! Witless, willing or no... there is a world to be won... and you will aid Magneto in the winning!"
The Beast, mind, now.
Uh-huh.
Jeepers... hard to see why this guy hasn't conquered the planet entire fifteen
or twenty times over by this point, isn't it...?
Lobbing the hirsute hero into a hastily-commandeered Avengers Quinjet, Magneto hauls mutant heinie the holy heck outta Dodge City; and turns his attentions towards the mental reclamation of his latest (if still blissfully unaware) comrade-in-arms.
"It is long since I utilized my own ability to control minds,"
a clearly desperate Magneto mutters; "... by regulating the flow of iron-laden
blood to the brain!" (Probably because most working
writers worth the electrical current it takes to activate their word processors
have always realized -- instinctively, mind -- how absolutely stone bloody
stupid that particular gimmick is, is what I'm thinkin', here.
I mean: "... by regulating the flow of iron-laden blood to the
brain"-- ?!? Oh, bite me.)
Well: Shamelessly Idiotic Plot Contrivance or no, the "blood to the brain" business has its desired effect, freeing the Beast from the phantom grip of Von Doom's mental domination.
"[...] I'm with ya, Maggie," the flippant furball assures the Master of Magnetism, once the details of the situation have been made manifest to him. "We need help from people who'd blast you... but who just might listen to me!" Because Christ alone knows that no one else in the Marvel super-hero community ever ever EVER listens to the sorry likes of Captain America or Thor.
I mean: c'mon, now.
Attempts to track down and recruit both the Fantastic Four and the X-Men, however, avail this odd, spandexed Hope/Crosby pairing a grand total of zip-a-dee-doo-dah in the way of foot soldiers (the usual, footnoted references to "check out issue XXX of So-and-So's own title, True Believers!"); leading the increasingly desperate duo to swing the nose of their stolen Quinjet to: "[...] Los Angeles, Magneto... where the Angel and Iceman are part of a new super-group [...] called the Champions!"
This would have made for a far cannier strategic maneuver, certainly, had the Avengers not already contacted their West Coast counterparts; falsely informing them (in the words of a furious Angel) that the Beast "[...] had joined Magneto... [and] turned traitor!"
(From left to right, for the uninitiated: the high-flying the Angel; Russian mistress of "the Darkforce," Darkstar; daemonically-possessed stunt motorcyclist the Ghost Rider; bone-headed and bad-tempered Greek demi-god Hercules; beautiful (and lethal) team leader, the Black Widow; and fast-frozen fellow mutant the Iceman.)
Oh, yeah. Deep, deeeeep doo-doo, is what Magneto and the Beast
have just stepped into, here.
The thrilling conclusion to our mammoth, weeks-long DOCTOR
DOOM retrospective... comin' right up,
on the following page!
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