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THE WORLD(S) ACCORDING TO
DOCTOR STRANGE
[Part Two]
The early '70's, for Stephen Strange -- ex-drunken reprobate; now self-appointed bulwark against malign sorcerers and shibboleths of all stripes -- started out with the high promise of a white-hot "fan favorite" artist (Barry Windsor-Smith) taking over the creative reins.
Six months later: the series was in Storytelling Hell, once again.
Mr. Windsor-Smith's tenure on the (then-)latest DOCTOR STRANGE series was but a fleeting, quicksilver two-issue tease; just enough, in other words, to allow the Sorcerer Supreme's despairing fans a tortuous glimpse of just how compelling the character could be, under the right circumstances (i.e., competent, caring craftspeople listed monthly on the masthead). [See pictures, accompanying]
Hinting at a vast, all-encompassing thaumaturgical conspiracy linking practically every aspect and acolyte of things magical within the Marvel universe, the Windsor-Smith overture was continued -- ineptly, by and large; all within the space of a single year -- by talents ranging from the otherwise worthy (Gardner Fox; Jim Starlin; Mike Ploog) to the wholly inadequate and/or miscast (Roger Slifer; Mike Friedrich; Don Perlin). Good, bad or bogus: none were given more than two issues in succession in order to build up storytelling "momentum," and -- as a result -- the series shambled and lurched like a wall-eyed, one-legged sailor on shore leave.
By the time writer Steve Englehart (AVENGERS; DEFENDERS; CAPTAIN AMERICA) walked into the series' rhetorical "batting cage"... the storytelling "count" was already 0-and-2 in the bottom of the ninth, with two men out. Sales on the DOCTOR STRANGE title were scarcely robust enough to justify even its (then) bulimic bi-monthly publication; he'd been left a year-long, unresolved hodge-podge of wildly mutually- contradictory plots threads with which to contend, before he could decently start afresh with his own storytelling ideas; and he would be yoked in creative tandem with a (largely) inexperienced young artist (a fledgling Frank Brunner). The odds were long ones, at best,that he'd have to worry about the situation for more than an issue or three, at best; the series would, doubtless, be canceled within a year, in any event.
Eighteen months later -- now working alongside returning STRANGE veteran Gene Colan -- Steve Englehart had alchemized the tiitle into a monthly sakes (and critical) success.
The introspective, Carlos Castenada-ish Englehart was -- quite simply -- The Right Man For the Job, in the right place (the DOCTOR STRANGE series) at the most fortuitous time (the wildly experimental Marvel Comics of the mid-'70's). Granted (by default) the freedom to indulge his storytelling muse howsoever he pleased -- the Marvel Comics of the period being all but unedited in those "like, go ahead, dude... give it, y'know, your best shot" days of post-Stan Lee creative anarchy -- Englehart had Doctor Strange engaging in such increasingly outré pursuits as:
-- indulgingin an open, frankly sexual relationship with his own chosen acolyte (the other-dimensional, sylph-like "Clea");
-- die, at the hands of a crazed ex-Catholic priest;
-- (self-)resurrect;
-- meet God, and stand witness to The Creation;
-- become (briefly) one of the undead, whilst contending with the vampire lord Dracula [see cover reproduction, accompanying];
-- become an active (albeit unwilling) instrument in the thoroughgoing, for real, no foolin' destruction of the planet Earth [see "Shadowplay" page reproduction, above];
-- single-handedly re-create the planet Earth, once more;
-- journey through time, and engage in a deadly game of sorcerous cat-and-mouse versus the Illuminati... with Benjamin Franklin (that's right... I said: Benjamin Franklin) as his spell-wielding "sidekick";
-- being sentenced to Hell Eternal, at the personal behest of Satan his own infernal self ...
It was -- all things considered -- one heck of a busy little social
calendar. Even for a self-styled "Master of the Mystic Arts" whopreferred
poncing about in blue "footie" 'jamas and a red opera cape to anything more
readily available from the Brooks Brothers catalogue. I'm just sayin',
is all. 
The good doctor's previous series' had never -- even in the earliest days
of Stan Lee and Steve Ditko -- enjoyed such a period of creative fecundity,
scripting-wise. Englehart was (seemingly) engaged in a private
little game of "Can You Top This...?" with himself, raising the storytelling
stakes higher and ever higher in a desperate, high-wire attempt to ensure that
the DOCTOR STRANGE comic became one of Marvel Comics' monthly "must-read" titles.
That the character has never again known such lunatic courage, story-wise, surely
goes without saying. I mean: Benjamin freakin' FRANKLIN --
?!?
However: over in the pages, concurrently, of Marvel's "off-center" super-team, THE DEFENDERS... Certifiable Comics Nutjob Steve Gerber wasproviding an equally idiosyncratic "take" on the character of Stephen Strange: "The Sorcerer Supreme as (Reluctant) Super-Hero." [See pictures, accompanying]
Working alongside such equally unlikely "hero" types as the
Incredible Hulk; the savage Sub-Mariner; the accurately-titled
Son of Satan; and irascible mercenary adventurer Luke
Cage... Steve Gerber's rendition of Doctor Strange was a perpetually bemused
(if not sardonic, outright) semi-cynic, wryly resigned to the notion that his
lot in life (apparently) included the inevitability of the occasional knock-down,
drag-out with such traditional comic book super-baddies as "Egghead" and "The
Wrecking Crew."
Rather than working
against what the more metaphysically-inclined Englehart was doing, over
in the doctor's own solo title
Gerber's
more (semi-)jaded, with-a- wink-and-a-smirk approach to the character actually
served as an elegant "counter-balance," allowing him to seem (in the final analysis)
a more fully-nuanced and real personality, in toto.
After reading of the character's full-bore exploits in the war-gardens of
Ultimate Reality and whatnot, over in his own ongoing monthly... watching Doctor
Strange being forced to contend with (say) the more comfortably pedestrian likes
of "the Eel" and "the Procupine" was very nearly (in storytelling terms) the
equivalent of undergoing comic book "decompression" for the reader; too much
unrelieved Major Heaviness, after all, can easily lead to a bad case of the
intellectual "bends," if one hasn't exercised the requisite amounts of due caution.
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