Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
CONTESTANT #1: the 1960's CAPTAIN MARVEL
This site needs an official, kids-tested, Mom-approved f-e-e-b.
Other than Unca Cheeks,
I mean. You big sillies. 
To that essential end,
then: I kinda sorta thought I'd maybe let you scruffy lot pick
the lucky winner for me, from an abbreviated (of necessity) "short-short"
list of nominees.
Quick'n'dirty, then... here are the rules:
1.) Unca Cheeks -- and ONLY Unca Cheeks -- is lining up the four-
color horseflesh for this particular deconstructionist derby. (You all
can come up with appropriate suggestions next time out, should the snide
spirit move you.)
2.) Every one gets one vote, and one vote only...
... so: don't cast your ballots until ALL the nominees have received their due portion of public humiliation and opprobrium.
(Just imagine how crestfallen you'd be, having made the online Sign of the Cross in the face of one four-color vampiri, in especial...
(... only to find yourself confronted, two weeks later, with an even more hideous
beastie.)
3.) The meta-fictive "winner" of said bow-wow bake-off will provide the
auctorial "voice" for the occasional column or entry, for the year immediate
following his/her/its contemptible coronation; something to bear in mind, perhaps,
when deciding which way you'd prefer the roulette ball of shame to fall.
[e.g.: if (say) Beppo, the Super-Monkey (not a nominee; just as a f'rinstance, is all) were to "win"... then "Beppo" would do the trash-
talking -- every so often; every now and again -- for this site. Just
to keep things interesting, is all. You get the idea.]
Get it? Got it? GOOD.
"Introducing the All-New Captain Marvel!" [CAPTAIN MARVEL #1; M.F. Enterprises, Inc.; April, 1966; Roger Elwood, scripter; "Francho," penciler; created by Carl Burgos] opens up with... with...
... waaaaaaaaiiiiiit a second, here.
Time, maybe, for a mite closer look at the line-up for this particular
creative Rogues Gallery, methinks.
ROGER ELWOOD: later became infamous for (effectively) throttling all but the very life out of the market for paperback science fiction anthologies (original and reprint) during the mid-1970s, by flooding same with up to (literally) eighteen or twenty hastily cobbled together titles per month. Name now pretty much synonymous with the term "schlockmeister," in science fiction publishing circles.
CARL BURGOS: best known and regarded as the creator of the Golden Age Human Torch; later penciled some Giant-Man stories for Marvel Comics, in the pages of TALES TO ASTONISH. Deserved far better than this in the twilight of his career, God alone knows.
"FRANCHO": Based upon the four-color evidence presented: the first man to successfully train guide dogs to maneuver pencils with their
teeth.
... opens up with an amnesiac, blandly put-together gentleman wandering from room to room in an anonymous suburban home, clutching his head and making moan to the Unseen Fates.
"What am I doing here?" the nameless schlemiel mumbles, staggering his unsteady way from hallway to stairwell to foyer mirror. "Who am I? [...] This house is empty... but it has a clinical look! Is this a hospital?"
The murmured word hospital seems to spark some vestigial ember of memory in the abandoned campsite of Mister Nobody's intellect, however; and he flashes back to an image of himself, stretched out on an operating theatre table, with a crowd of curious scientists rubbernecking and gawking.
"In a moment, we will know!" the Bald Scientist husks, staring down at The Nameless Guy in rapt adoration.
"This will be a great day for science!" the Mustachioed Scientist concurs, head bobbing excitedly.
"All hope for the generations to come," Bald Scientist enthuses, worshipfully, "is tied up in him... there is no time for failure... ah! He stirs! That is good!"
Having thundered all the way down court with the conversational ball, Baldie sets himself up for the decisive dialoguing slam dunk, as the blank- visaged Captain Marvel suddenly sits bolt upright in his bed of creation.
"Success!" he rhapsodizes. "It worked! Even to the puzzled expression on his face! Marvelous!"
That's setting the bar of competition dauntingly high, certainly... but Mustachioed Scientist is nothing if not a game competitor, as the brave attempt immediately following makes abundantly manifest.
"That's it," he triumphantly exclaims, in quick-witted reference to Baldy's own locutional bull's-eye. "We'll call him Captain Marvel, the Human Robot!"
(No, no, no: it only seems as if Unca Cheeks translated
this particular comic from the Portuguese, or the Urdu. Check out the
accompanying page reproductions, throughout the article. That's
Grade-"A", 110% USDA Certified American comic book bibble-babble, buddy
boy -- !)
Staggered by the onrushing tsunami of cheesy four-color memories pound-pound-pounding at whatever passes for his brain, "Captain Marvel" (and, oh, how it pains your gentle Unca Cheeks, having to call him that!) bumbles his way into a cheerily appointed home library, muttering: "Robot! Sounds way-out to me!"
"That book Astro-Physics, by Marvel," the asinine automaton muses, scanning the shelves for a little cheery light reading; "... it's too high... can't reach it! Got to get it! SPLIT!"
Whereas the already goggle-eyed and incredulous reader might very well be forgiven for hoping against hope that final exclamation was merely a peculiarly weak-kneed attempt on author Elwood's part to circumvent the Comics Code Authority's well-known injunction versus the untoward reproduction of four-letter epithets in children's literature...
... the stomach-wrenching sight of Our Hero's hand FLYING OFF AT THE WRIST, and lunging its hideous, disembodied way towards said tome --
("MY HAND! IT FLEW FROM MY ARM! IT'S GRABBING THE BOOK!")
-- is (sadly) jussssssst enough to disabuse them of such desperate notions.
"XAM!" the disassembling 'droid wails, all of a sudden, like. (Unca Cheeks -- in similar situ -- might well have opted for a different four letter exclamation, altogether.)
The errant appendage wends its obedient way back to the end of its appointed arm; causing its baffled and befuddled owner to... ummmm... "marvel," in turn: "Why did I say that?"
As blind circumstance (not to mention oh-what-the-hell attitude on the part of the story's author) would have it: both involuntary ululations were ones programmed into the mechanized myrmidon, courtesy of his alien assemblers.
"Now, Captain Marvel," Bald Scientist stertorously intones. "Send your
head on a tour of our fair city! It may be the last time
you do!" (Oh, merciful Jesus; please, please let it be so
-- !)
One quick head trip later -- during which time, the Captain's separated skull casing takes a quick whOOOOSH around the proverbial block; noting such minor, niggling imperfections as (say) colossal shattered domes and smouldering, toppled towers -- a grim-visaged Bald Scientist tips him to the unpleasant 4-1-1, as follows:
"We are the victims of war! That is why you were created... for the good of Man! Because of war, our planet will be destroyed... but, we'll discuss that another time! Now... back to the exercises!"
"Remember," Bald Scientist counsels, in sorry summation; " your source of energy must be rejuvenated each day! Or else your powers will be useless!"
"And how is this accomplished?" The Man Who Would Be Inspector Gadget queries; to which Bald Scientist responds, in turn [Pick One]:
A.) "The medallion on your chest contains a material we call X! Each day, you will rub your hand over it, and thereby retain the powers at maximum!"
B.) "The medallion on your chest contains a material we call... The Material! Each day, you will rub your hand over it, and hope to Christ we're appreciably better at this whole 'building-halfway-decent-robots' thing than we are at constructing an enduring and viable civilization!"
C.) "That prominent bulge in your shorts contains a material we call The Naughty! Each day, you will rub your hand over it, and thereby end up going blind!"
D.) BALD SCIENTIST [reaching out one quivering hand in the Captain's general direction]: "Take my hand... and chant the words: "WonderTwin powers... ACTIVATE!"
CAPTAIN MARVEL [taking Bald Scientist's hand in a firm, masculine grip]: "WonderTwin powers... ACTIVATE!"
[There is a long, uncomfortable silence, during which the gazes of the two men are locked and unwavering. Nothing else happens.]
BALD SCIENTIST [licking his lips, and sweating]: "... now... d-d-do it againnnnnnn..."
[The theme to A SUMMER PLACE begins to play, softly, in
the background. Captain Marvel... smiles.]
At that precise moment, however -- speaking of Enduring and Viable Civilizations, and whatnot -- a series of big-ass atomic explosions commences to reducing whatever's left of said society into several very large and untidy piles of carbonized ash.
"There is no time to explain!" a panicked and terrified Bald Scientist bleats; anxiously thrusting this really awful pair of purple "swashbuckler" booties towards him. "We're at war! Here... take these astro-boots! They will enable you to fly through space! HURRY!"
"In seconds," the Captain explicates, by way of conveniently placed caption; "... I was airborne... then, from 1000 miles up, I watched the planet I was born upon disintegrate into a million pieces!"
"Now I'll have to find a new home," the big, sentimental softy muses, in flashback summation.
The strain of channeling so much brain dead and inept Plot Exposition finally taking its inevitable toll: the Captain slumps bonelessly into a chair, face pressed into open palms.
"I feel so weak," the melancholy mandroid moans; "... tired... the medallion... must rub it for energy!"
(Author Elwood, apparently, had already settled upon the distinct and unique
meta-fictive notion of "rubbing" things, as his peculiar literary leitmotif.
A lonely, lonely man, I'm thinkin', was Author Elwood.)
Whilst frantically running hot, desperate hands, then, over the length of his eagerly-twitching body: the Captain espies a young (and somewhat satanic-looking, in all painful honesty) suburban wastrel, a-trudging with dogged purpose towards his very front door.
[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: for those of you out there, reading this, who may be somewhat less than perfectly skilled or lucid in '60s comics "kidspeak"... Unca will be providing helpful translations of same, wherever prudent or appropriate.]
"Hi!" the cherub chirrups, upon the Captain's opening said door in response to the former's persistent knock-knock-knocking. "Golly, you sure got up early this morning!"
[Translation: "Geez, fellah! After watching you stagger your blind, drunken way out of that transvestite strip club, late last night... I pretty much expected to find you nekkid and unconscious, in a pool of your own blood and vomit!"]
"... errrr... couldn't sleep," a (manifestly) confused Captain fumbles. "... is there something you want here?"
" ... WHAT?!" the little hell-thing exclaims, incredulous. "... say, you do look sort of funny! Have you forgotten your friend Billy, from the U.S.A. ...?"
[Translation: ... ummmmmmm... ahhhhhh... pass.]
It seems that -- upon his arrival on the planet Earth, after his own homeworld's unfortunate detonation -- a barely conscious Captain Marvel managed to flag the limited attentions of the aforementioned "Billy," during the latter's morning constitutional.
"Later," the Captain summarizes, "you explained all you knew about the planet Earth, and the people in it! [sic] Matter of fact, you even helped me get my first suit of clothes [...] after which, I landed a job as a writer for an important press service! Then I purchased this house... right, Billy?"
Lookit: all I have to freakin' work with is the actual,
published pages themselves, all right...?
Let's skip ahead to the third story in this issue (bypassing, blessedly, the breathtakingly miserable "The Invisible Aliens." Because Unca Cheeks loves all of you. Because Unca Cheeks cares about you. Because Unca Cheeks suffers a mortal, all-consuming dread of litigation.): a tawdry, turgid little meta-fictive number entitled "The Blue Men of Venus!"
Whilst merrily buggering about in The Great American Outdoors, one bright and sunshine-y afternoon: Captain Marvel and the relentless Billy witness the firey and spectacular (it says here) crash-landing of an alien U.F.O. into the nearby Colorado River.
Within said alien craft: blue men.
From VENUS, no less.
Boy howdy.
"This, sire," one of the aforementioned azure aliens asides, to his Fearless Leader; "... is the world which threatens us... I'll send a search party to investigate these beings!"
(Why the aliens in question feel the pressing need to "investigate"
us -- when they've already reached the conclusion that we (in their own
words) "threaten" them -- is just another one of those eternal and enduring
comic book-type mysteries, one supposes; much like [say] "Who Was Paying
Alfred To Take Care Of An Orphaned and Beardless Bruce Wayne, the Duration Of
the Latter's Childhood"; and "If Benjammin J. Grimm Ever Passed a Kidney Stone...
How Would He Know?")
Stumbling across a pair of the local weekend huntsmen in the nearby woods, upon arising from the froth of the river: one of the alien manages to get himself A Major Boo-Boo, right in the ol' pitching arm; leading the alien commander, in turn, to throw himself a good, old-fashioned hissy on his fallen comrade's behalf.
"We come only to talk," he snarls, nasty alien spittle a-flyin'; "... and to help... yet they dare to attack us! Now I'll show these creatures the fury of our revenge!"
Ordering his helmeted henchmen to scurry, henceforth, and lay waste to the local dam, nearby: Ol' Space Ghengis, here, manages to give away his ship's watery location to the still-scouting and eagle-eyed Captain Marvel...
... scant seconds, alas, before the both of them are promptly inundated
and swept away by the sudden, roaring fury of several thousand metric tons
of onrushing water, liberated from the (now) exploded dam.
Our pinheaded protagonists are separated from one another, at this juncture; with Captain Marvel effecting low-level damage control (not much a disembodied leg or torso can actually do in situations such as these, is there...?), and the hapless Billy captured by Ray Walston's inbred and profoundly retarded first cousins.
A waterlogged Billy is dragged into the august presence (I'm reasonably certain this story takes place sometime in August) of The Really Cranky Alien Commander; the latter of whom is finally accorded an actual, for real, no foolin' name (such as it is).
The scene immediately following said abduction is -- Unca Cheeks assures you, one and all -- as close as mainstream Americaan comics have ever come (intentionally or otherwise) to approximating the stylish dialogue and piercing wit of famed playwright Harold Pinter.
Assuming Pinter had ever been lobotomized with a spoon, I mean.
"The prisoner is a mere boy, Gurk!" Billy's appointed jailer sneers,
lobbing the soaked and shivering sidekick in the general direction of the floor.
(Hell... I'd cop a 'tude, too, if I actually had to "yessir" a
guy named Gurk, f'chrissakes.)
"You're our prisoner," Gurk helpfully explains (while making a mental "note" to speak to his parents, re: this whole "Gurk" business, ASAP). "A specimen to observe and dispose of, when we so decide!"
"But, Gurk," another of the aliens simpers, in objection; "... Section Leader told us to be gentle with any of the inhabitants! He -- !"
"I'm in charge, here," a coolly dangerous Gurk seethes; unaware of the GURK IS A JERK sign taped to the back of his uniform, moments earlier, by the still-sniggering guardsman. "Not you!"
( ... and when Unca Cheeks pauses to consider that the confessed
author of this drivel made himself one damned fine dollar throughout
the greater portion of the '70s, passing judgment on stories penned by the likes
of Barry Malzberg; Ursula K. LeGuin; and Harlan freakin'
ELLISON, for the love of all that's holy -- !)
Well... be that as it may, however: it's only a matter of time before Captain Marvel comes zipping to Billy's moist rescue; leading to this verbal exchange, between him and The Gurkster:
GURK (eyebrows waggling in lascivious inference): "You must love the lad very much, to face danger for him!"
MARVEL (stolidly): "I, too, come from another world! My creators endowed me with certain powers! Danger is meaningless to me!"
As one of Unca Cheeks' gay comic-reading friends is wont to say, in similar
situ: "Beard. Beard beard beard beard beard."
Gurk thumbs a nearby switch, and a flat-footed Captain Marvel is sent plummeting into a suddenly-revealed dropshaft; at the bottom of which he is forced to do furious battle with the aliens' sentient, Top Secret super-weapon...
... Plastic Man.
Admit it, now: you all thought Unca Cheeks was b.s.ing
like a stone mutha with that last one, didn't you...?
Billed (via the auctorial agency of Elwood's accompanying captions) as "Plastic
Man -- the most dangerous man from the planet of the Blue
Men," the rubberized rotter lunges towards his startled foemen with all the
leering eagerness of Richard Gere run amok in the "Small Fuzzzies" section
of a PassPets store.
"Welcome to the prison of Plastic Man," the shameless and shoddy four-color knock-off chortles, over the distinctive whrrrrring sound of Jack Cole revolving like a teetotum in his grave. "I haven't had exercise like this in a long time!"
Effecting one of his typically courageous retreats from Imminent Danger by means of the ol' breaking-into-his-component-parts ploy, Marvel manages to escape from the pit; where he is confronted, once again, by the man... the myth... the LEGEND --
... GURK!
... and, now: we return you, once again, to yet another thrilling installment of --
... LAME-ASS ALIEN DIALOGUE THEEEEEAAAAATRRRRRE -- !
"Your experiments with atomic energy and bombs," one of Gurk's pet scientists explains to a patient and expressionless Marvel; "... were polluting the atmosphere! Shock tremors vibrated through the entire galaxy!"
"... and because of this," a coldly furious Gurk interjects, blue finger waggling accusingly; "... my friend was shot down like an animal... but he wasn't the only one... Senior Officer forgot to mention the others! Without reason, they were slaughtered... just because we are physically different!"
(Geez-o-pete... what issue of which comic book did all of THIS
business take place in, anyway...?)
"Gurk is bitter because he lost his parents when a gronk attacked them, back home!" Pet Scientist offers sotto voce, as Herr Gurkster storms off, Stage Right.
"What's a gronk?" a head-scratching Billy inquires (... and not altogether unreasonably, I might add.)
"Ask Captain Marvel," Pet Scientist responds, cuffing the pesky pre-
adolescent a good'un for daring to speak out of turn. "He fought one of them!"
"You mean Plastic Man!" the Captain quickly intuits. "Billy, he is tough... stretches into any shape... and is ruthless!"
(You know... the robots on MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000 are a good eighteen
or twenty times smarter than this FRANKENSTEIN, JR. wannabe. I'm
just sayin', here, is all.)
Well, sir: Roger Elwood didn't go to all the fuss and bother of blatantly stealing the name "Plastic Man" only to use the silly schlemeil for a page or two; and, so, we're treated to yet another dust-up between Mr. Some-
Assembly-Required and the aliens' pet (*snicker*) "gronk."
So plainly terrified by the sight of the Captain's torso and genital area moving
about independently of the rest of his body that he starts sweating rubber
bullets: "Plastic Man" (Unca Cheeks simply flat-out refuses to
type that, sans exculpatory quotation marks) hightails it the holy heck
outta there quicker'n Joyce Carol Oates confronted by a taped episode
of FELICITY.
"... ahhhh... a clothing shop," the pliable pantywaist observes, whilst engaged in headlong flight. "... just what I need...!"
Managing (the Good Lord alone only knows how) to abscond, all but unnoticed, with an entire freaking clothing dummy; the (now) nattily attired "gronk" -- looking, for all the world, like a cast "extra" from a junior high school production of THE MAN IN THE GREY FLANNEL SUIT -- muses:
"I'm not a thief! It's wrong to steal! Somehow, I shall pay for these clothes!" An altogether admirable sentiment, that...
... marred only slightly, unfortunately, by the following caption, a scant two panels afterwards:
"Now he enters the society of Earth men, walks the streets and occupies
his mind with ways and means of destroying the amazing Captain Marvel!"
(So... like... stealing is waybad... but premeditated manslaughter
gets the big, cheery okey-dokey...?)
Captain Marvel goes back for Billy. (There is no God.) Captain Marvel allows the aliens to live long enough to return to their goofy, goobery homeworld. (There IS no GOD.) Captain Marvel and Billy appeared in a whole 'nother four more issues of this title, throughout the remainder of 1966. (THERE. IS. NO. GOD.)
Unca Cheeks is -- suddenly; all of a sudden; with a crushing and terrible
suddenness, like -- so very, very existentially depressed.
Be on the lookout for the next horrifying, soul-chilling installment of THE FIRST ANNUAL UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF... with extra-special guest reviewers CAPTAIN MARVEL and BILLY!
... because: you always hurt the ones you love.
The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS
FOUR-COLOR
FEEB-OFF
(PAGE TWO)
The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE
THREE)
The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE FOUR)
The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE FIVE)
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