In many ways, Robert Kanigher -- for all of his eyebrow-cocking excesses and, ummmm, unique worldview, re: the male/female dynamic -- was the quintessential Silver Age comics scripter.

"True 'plot'," he once opined, in the course of an interview, "is determined by characterization... a character who acts and reacts makes a story."

Kanigher was scarcely alone in his adherence to this storytelling certitude, of course; legendary DC scribes such as Gardner Fox; John Broome and Arnold Drake also hewed with admirable steadfastness to this same polestar (although many of today's younger and -- it must be said -- less knowledgeable fans would have it otherwise).

(As to whether this legacy-eschewing, "history-is-bunk" mindset on their collective part is founded upon an innate need to rationalize the overblown histrionics passing as "characterization" in today's four-color fare as being less absurd than they patently are, or else simple ignorance of the material under discussion: I suspect the answer is, ultimately, a little of both. The latter -- in the absence of reasonably-priced reprintings of these wonderful tales -- is excusable, of course; the former, however, is intellectual tommyrot... a commodity seldom in short supply, alas, in today's fannish circles. "Just keepin' it real," as the kiddies are wont to put it.)

(Incidentally: the reader unfamiliar with the many contortions of the METAL MEN canon may well be scratching his [or her] head as to the identity of the seventh robot, pictured in the reproduction above. Said creature was an individual known only as "Nameless"; a female equivalent of "Tin," cobbled up by the lonely latter for the sake of quasi-connubial companionship. She was an extremely silly character, and will not be mentioned again.)

No fan possessing even a passing familiarity of the Silver AgeDC titles would hesitate to nominate any number of METAL MEN offerings to refute such a mutton-headed charge as: "the Silver Age comics suffered from shallow characterizations." My own leanings, in this matter, would be towards issue #28's "You Can't Trust a Robot" [see cover reproduction, accompanying], in which the intrepid 'bots -- after one exasperated comment too many on the part of creator Will Magnus, to the effect that "I'm sorry I ever invented you troublesome things in the first place" -- elect to suicide, rather than bring their inventor any more grief (!!).

(A nicely effective scene, in particular, would be the one detailing Magnus' frenzied, guilt-wracked efforts to re-create his ferrous familiars... if only long enough for him to be able to offer up something as simple as a sotto voce: "I'm sorry.")

... or: I might just as readily offer up as evidence issue #30's affecting "Terrors of the Forbidden Dimension" [see cover reproduction, below], with the 'bots attempting to come to terms with their own place in The Great, Cosmic Scheme of Things, upon the (apparent) demise of their father/lover (in Tina's case)/God-figure. Another exemplary example of the subtle and nuanced c-h-a-r-a-c-t-e-r-i-z-a-t-i-o-n so... well, characteristic, really, of the stories of the day.

It merits mention, at this juncture, that the robots were -- one and all -- almost slavishly devoted to Magnus, treating his every off-handed utterance as they might a pronouncement from the Oracle of Delphi. As a result: whenever the (somewhat callous) Man of Science would absent-mindedly mutter some anti-automaton imprecation, during some passing fit of pique, or ill-humor... the grief-stricken robots, in turn, would act precisely as one might expect (say) a half-dozen pre-adolescent siblings to respond, had their own father ventured: "Daddy doesn't love you any more." An apoplectic Mercury would blame everyone but himself for the situation; Tin would stammer himself into horrified silence; Tina would collapse into anguished sobbings; and so on, and so forth.

They were a "family," to be sure... but: an appallingly dysfunctional one, often as not.

In the 1970's -- some years after the original series had already ended its run -- DC attempted a revival of the METAL MEN franchise, with (generally) excellent results. Written throughout by Gerry Conway, the "Mark II" METAL MEN comic featured standout penciling by both Walt Simonson [see pictures, accompanying] and -- later on -- Joe Staton [see cover reproduction, below].

The respective personalities of the 'bots were, if anything, even more fractious than before (although the stories were not, as a rule, as tightly [or deliriously] plotted as had been Kanigher's own).

Sadly, however: the comics readership of the day -- its collective "tastes" already veering disastrously towards faux "high drama" and jejune, third generation-style Stan Lee teeth-clenching, and away from anything so "childish" (or enjoyable) as a little light-hearted (*gasp*) whimsy -- greeted the high-caliber offerings in much the same fashion as you or I might similarly regard a cockroach in the consume, and the series lasted no longer than a year.

Yet another attempted "revival" of the characters, just a year or two ago (as of this writing) proved even more spectacularly ill-advised (and poorly received), as the creators in question "retconned" the robots as -- believe it or not -- having once been literal human beings, prior to having their sharply-limned personalities transferred into ambulatory metal shell casings. It was, perhaps, the single most egregious and glaring example of a writer Missing the Bloody Point of a series concept as has ever been witnessed by even these jaundiced eyes, and has already been (mercifully) all but forgotten by the readership of today.

If there are any would-be comics scripters out there in the audience who fancy themselves the literary equivalent(s) of a Will Magnus: the Metal Men could certainly stand the assistance of someone with a dab hand at painting and reconstructive work.

God knows, the characters deserve better than they've been been granted, of late.

The Metal Men: PAGE ONE

Wonder Woman: PAGE ONE