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ON GRANT MORRISON'S JLA . . . AND THE SENSE OF WONDER [1]
Let's inaugurate this section with what is, as of this writing -- hands down; case closed; no arguments allowed -- quite simply the finest, truest evocation of the manifold joys and virtues inherent in the Silver Age approach to mainstream comics storytelling currently available: Grant Morrison's JLA.
We'll be accomplishing two eminently worthwhile objectives, in so doing.
First off: we'll be able to better understand just how, precisely, it is that the good Mr. Morrison has been able to utilize some of the most time-honored elements of cogent and compelling storytelling to effect the first runaway mainstream sales success enjoyed by DC Comics, Inc. since The Good Lord alone knows when (while, simultaneously, confounding the most egregiously blinkered and bone-headed storytelling shibboleths of the modern-day fanboy hoi poloi) ; and --
... secondly: establish the basic ground rules and grammar for future appraisals of other series' and/or creators, as well.
Oh, yes. Mud will be flung tonight. ;'-))
To fully understand the Whys and Wherefores of the now, however... it is vitally important that one should start off with a clear-eyed and unsentimental comprehension of the then.
THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA #1 hit the newsstands and the spinner racks in 1960. The baseline premise was as straightforward and elegant as this: "The World's Greatest Super-Heroes."
For approximately twenty-five years -- one-quarter of a century -- DC Comics managed to keep at least one careful weather eye on this simple premise, at all times. The team's roster might (and did) ebb and flow, as newer characters would achieve the sort of status meriting inclusion within the hallowed ranks of same [see cover reproduction, accompanying]...
... but: that baseline premise was scrupulously adhered to, as a sort of "promise" to the comics readership of the day. It was as if DC had (in effect) pledged: "We understand that this series is NOT The Avengers; NOT The Teen Titans; NOT The X-Men. Membership within the JLA is a privilege accorded solely to the most primal and iconic of our characters; and the canvas on which their adventures are drawn, each and every month, is too vast a one to accommodate silly, self-indulgent faux soap operatic snivelings, or fifth-rate spandexed wannabes meandering their respective ways through painfully earnest 'A Day In the Life...' stories."
As previously noted: this hardy (yet elegant) notion endured and endured and endured. For TWENTY-FIVE YEARS.
Just long enough (in other words) for the next generation of fanboys-
turned-"writers" to take it into their silly heads that THE JUSTICE LEAGUE OF AMERICA was all about something else altogether.
(Then-)series scripter Gerry Conway attempted, briefly, to transmogrify the series' conceit into something along the order of "The World's Lamest and Stunningly Ineffectual Heroes" with the culling from the League's ranks of such "must- have" heroes and heroines as Superman; the Batman; and Wonder Woman in favor of such dismal character fare as Gypsy; Vixen; and Vibe. This ill-considered move was greeted (both critically and commercially) with the stunned incredulity it deserved, and -- thankfully -- endured for but a brief year or two. [See cover reproduction, accompanying]
Demonstrating an almost astonishing inability to profit or learn from previous disasters, DC then managed to screw up their flagship team title in an altogether new and unexpected fashion: by treating their much-revered spandexed cash cows (both greater and lesser) as little more than a gaggle of hopelessly inept costumed stumblebums; incapable of performing even the simplest, least demanding of tasks (whether "super" in nature, or otherwise) without pratfalling artlessly about in a manner which (we were repeatedly assured) was intended as "side-splitting." [See panel reproduction, below]
This particularly pitiable incarnation of the once-proud Justice League -- due chiefly, in clear-eyed retrospect, to the sheer "shock value" inherent in watching a (formerly) intelligently conceived and executed series being ham-fistedly manhandled like some drunken, none-too-attractive college fraternity "pig date" -- enjoyed a few years of (comparative) sales success, until the one sole "joke" (i.e., "Aren't these characters just stoooooopid?") finally wore out its elongated welcome; and the readership wearied of the plotless, "sight gag"-driven non-adventures of such worthless comics non-entities as Fire; Ice; Captain Atom and Bluejay.
Two years ago, as of this writing: the sales on DC's formerly formidable JUSTICE LEAGUE franchise had plummeted to an all-time series sales low; the title regularly being out-sold by the none-too-robust likes of GREEN ARROW and Marvel's DAREDEVIL. It was the inevitable end-result of DC Comics willfully ignoring one bone-simple, bedrock fact regarding their once-venerable franchise:
The JLA is not the Avengers (where career second-raters may actually thrive alongside the more vital and storied likes of, say, a Captain America); the JLA is not the X-Men (where maudlin soap opera histrionics and teeth-gnashing are the accepted order of the day); and the JLA is not the Teen Titans (with its accompanying requisite of "Day In the Life"-driven soul-searchings and suchlike).
What the JLA is, is: "The World's Greatest Super-Heroes." With adventures so wild and cosmic in pitch and measure, they function as the four-color equivalent of one of those big-budget, special effects-laden cinematic "thrill rides" released by the major film studios every summer.
Thankfully: this is something which the aforementioned Mr. Morrison
(remember him...?) understands with perfect, crystalline clarity.
In The Year of Our Lord, 1997... Grant Morrison officially served notice to a wide-eyed and awe-struck comics fandom:
The storytelling precepts and verities of the Silver Age were -- at
long, long last -- coming back.
Grant Morrison's initial four-issue story arc -- involving the coup covert "stealth invasion" of Earth by a team of alien shape-shifters, posing as amiable and photogenic "super- heroes" -- swept away pretty much all of the slipshod storytelling detritus which had accumulated within the pages of JUSTICE LEAGUE over the years since Gerry Conway's first fateful (if not fatal) missteps into conceptual folly. The team's roster was restored to some semblance of sanity (Superman; the Batman; Wonder Woman; Green Lantern; the Flash; Aquaman; and J'onn J'onzz). And -- if the inclusion of a "Green Lantern" meant that the (otherwise) execrable "Kyle Rayner" was the only option open and available to him -- then Morrison was canny enough a writer to make intelligent and entertaining usage of the character's (comparative) dullness of wit and wide-eyed naiveté, nonetheless.
Very nearly as impressive, however, was (and remains) Morrison's seemingly instinctive understanding of the frequently mischaracterized Batman.[See panel reproduction, accompanying]
Historically either: a.) downplayed to virtual team insignificance, or else: b.) retroactively re-posited as (and reduced to the status of) an upbeat, hail-fellows- well-met sort of combination detective-cum-cheerleader, the Batman has long been one of the more problematic pieces within the greater League gestalt. Interpreted in accordance with the essential dark, vengeance-driven roots of the character, as first explicated by creators Bob Kane and Bill Finger (and later perfected by such writers as Dennis O'Neil and Steve Englehart)... the Dark Knight seems -- at first blush -- a poor conceptual "match" for the more relentlessly upbeat and optimistic likes of, say, a Superman or a Wonder Woman. Shorn of his baseline essentials as a character, on the other hand, in order to render him more of a "team player"... the character becomes little more than a Daredevil, or a Moon Knight.
In other words: decidedly unworthy of being accorded thenecessary "status" to Hang With the Big Dogs of the DC Universe.
Morrison's solution was a wise (and dramatically efficacious) one: leave
the character precisely as he should be -- i.e., brusque; hag-ridden;
and continually operating on a mental plane eight or ten levels above
and beyond any and every other individual around him -- and "force"
the rest of the League to conform with his pace and agenda.
Operating as a sort of "shadow leader" for the League -- Superman may
be the team's acknowledged "big boss," perhaps; but go back
and see just how often it is the Batman whom Morrison has dictating
How the League Is Gong To Do Things, and To Whom They're Going To Do
Them -- Morrison's Batman is not only a necessary component within
the League; he is -- ultimately -- perhaps the team's only truly essential
one.
Yet another sagacious decision on Morrison's part was to deep-six the Elongated Man's traditional role as the team's Resident Super-Stretchy Guy in favor of the more charismatic; versatile; and appealing (both visually and characterization-wise) Plastic Man.
Given the (often) dark and apocalyptic tenor of Morrison's cleverly- constructed JUSTICE LEAGUE tales, the inclusion of the cheerily demented former gunsel known as "Eel O'Brien" counts as nothing less than a conceptual masterstroke. The character serves admirably and well as a sort of storytelling "safety valve"; injecting a much-welcomed dollop of the madcap into what would otherwise seem an almost unrelievedly grim and oppressive "five-minutes-'til-Armageddon" atmosphere.
Grant Morrison was once quoted in an interview as stating:
"I suppose I come from a specific period, where what I think's good about super-heroes isn't around anymore. And the thing I like about super-heroes is the fact that they wear ridiculous costumes; do absurd things; turn into ants. That sort of thing just doesn't happen anymore [...] I just love the absurdity of them. I don't think [they] need any more rationale than that.
"... I'm more interested in the sheer, ludicrous, garish wonder of them, and I really despise the kind of reductive approach that's been taken in the past few years. Even things that seemed good at the time, like WATCHMEN. So much of it's just been reductive and miserable, and it's tried to reduce this splendid concept to drab, human terms."
"And it's not, you know. It's for children; it's outlandish, it's bright, and it should be done that way, with fantastic imagination, and it should be fuel for the minds of children and teenagers."
Ladies and gents... I give it to you: if these are not the words of an uncommonly perspicacious and perceptive observer of the present-day comics scene -- with a keen and intuitive understanding of just what and how much was tragically lost, during said industry's willful, decades-long denial of the Silver Age storytelling verities...
... then this medium has no sages worthy of the title; and we
might as well all of us -- wide-eyed readers and jaded professionals alike
-- fold our respective tents, and call it a night.
It should be noted, however, that -- even with the phenomenal sales and critical success enjoyed (and well merited) by the good Mr. Morrison's revitalized JLA -- set-backs and stumbling blocks along the way there most assuredly have been.
The most intriguing aspect of said storytelling impediments, however, is this: they were -- one and all -- the result of blind fanboy intrasigence, rather than random idiocies of the more common editorial nature (!!).
We'll be taking a closer look at some of the more egregious and wrong-headed
of these -- as well as examining how Mr. Morrison managed not only to
overcome such obstacles, but actually use them to further the New
Silver Age agenda -- on the page immediately following.
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