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The MISFIT CHARACTERS of Marvel
(... and Why I Love Them: Part 5)
You know: normally, I really, truly hate hate hate "jungle adventure" -type comics.
Lee Falk's (deservedly) immortal PHANTOM aside... there's just something so bloody wrong (in my humble opinion) with an Africa-based series wherein the title protagonist takes the form (however unintentionally, on the part of the writer) of "The Great White Savior."
Maybe it's because the native peoples of the continent are (invariably) portrayed in the course of these things as real bones-through-the-nose, "great juju, bwana" losers, who couldn't differentiate between an elephant and an aardvark without the aid of a child's picture book. Or maybe it's simply an in-built antipathy towards the entire Frank Buck-ish "we came from a land immeasurably more advanced than your own, in the belly of a Great Metal Bird" trip. Either way, the point remains: I am anything but a fan of the loincloths-and-lions set, comics-wise.
Nonetheless... confession must be made, in this particular: I flat-out adored the ridiculously brief (only five issues -- !) run of Marvel's SHANNA, THE SHE-DEVIL.
(Of course... I did once marry a statuesque redhead, years
later, come to think. Hmmm. Wonder how the missus woulda felt
about slipping into something suitably, umm, "abbreviated." And
leopard-spotted. I'm only askin', here.) 
Personal fetishes aside, however: the fabulous Shanna made her first issue debut behind one of the legendary Jim Steranko's all-too- infrequent knockout cover jobs [see accompanying, above], which -- right then and there -- should have (and would have, in a more well-ordered society) guaranteed the lady a rocket's boost, sales-wise, from the git-go.
Now: given that this title came out during the early 1970's -- i.e.,
the height of the then-burgeoning "Women's Liberation" movement -- there's
more than a little of the (perhaps) inevitable "I Am Woman; Hear Me Roar"
stuff going on in the dialogue and suchlike to make for the unintentionally
hysterical passage or two, along the way. Just want you all to bear
that decently to mind, before we delve into the lady's origin, proper.
Perky Chicago lady vet "Shanna O'Hara" -- having spent those all-important
"Wonder Bread" years growing up with (and enjoying an extremely,
ummmm, "ripe" [and mutually idolatrous] relationship with Big, Blonde,
Strapping Game Warden Daddy) in the heart of the African Sudan
land -- experiences one crisis of faith (re: big city "civilization) after
another, as the zoo animals under her care are routinely brutalized by
patrons and co-workers, alike.
Eventually: the lady simply... snaps.
Doffing the rainments of Saks Fifth Avenue for a modified leopard skin
bikini, Shanna drops the "O'Hara" quicker'n you can say "Bomba the Jungle
Boy"; absconds with two of the Chicago Zoo's "big cats" (a panther and
a leopard, named -- respectively -- "Ina" and "Biri"; and flouncing her
way through the underbrush half a world away, as a self-appointed admixture
of Nancy Drew and Tarzan. ("Far-fetched," you say? Ohhhh,
now; you're just being mean.)
As I said: it was the era of the ERA. Along with two simultaneous releases (the not-too-terrible CLAWS OF THE CAT, and the gawdawful NIGHT NURSE), Marvel was attempting to reach out the (ostensibly) vast and disenfranchised female component of the comics readership of the day (or at least, the wallets of same). The simple fact that none of the trio endured for more than five issues is testimonial eloquent that said distaff readership was either chimerical, outright... or else: they just didn't care for the odor of these particular canapés.
In the instance of the SHANNA strip, however: this was, certainly,
a case of throwing out the babe-ola with the bath water.
The series featured energetic artwork from the likes of long-time WONDER WOMAN penciler Ross Andru , as well as scripts written either singly or (in some instances) collaboratively by HOWARD THE DUCK wunderkind Steve Gerber; and was an easy half-league or three the superior of anything else being published for such a readership, at the time.
The only real "fly" in the storytelling ointment (you should only pardon the expression) was the inclusion of the laughably weak-kneed male "romantic interest": in this case, an exaggeratedly chauvinistic jungle game warden by the name of "Patrick McShane" : a strutting ass saddled with one of the most ludicrously bogus "catch-me-Lucky Charms" brogues in all of recorded comics history, and a decided penchant for getting himself kidnapped or coldcocked just in time for Shanna, in turn, to come vine-swinging to his humiliating rescue.
(Y'know, ladies... if something is "sexist" when one gender
does it...)
That one cavil aside, however: SHANNA THE SHE-DEVIL was an interesting and worthwhile series.
The lady has been given, of late, to loitering about the savannah with the decidedly less charismatic "Ka-Zar, the Savage," in the latter's own (rather tiresome, I'm afraid) title.
Some suitably courageous Marvel Comics scribe ought to see about having
the latter lout eaten by a gazelle, or something; then the lady could
headline her own feature again. I'm just sayin'.
Another intriguing character conception of the period was actually a
radical re-working of an earlier character from the 1960's: the
former X-MEN member known as "Henry McCoy"...
a.k.a., the Beast.
As originally explicated by writer Gerry Conway (and continued, to
immeasurably better effect, by Steve Englehart, immediately thereafter):
the once rather-silly-looking super-hero -- he used to ran around barefoot,
you see, because his tootsies were, like, Size Eleventy-Seven or so --
had graduated from his team training alongside his fellow mutants within
the X-Man, and (ostensibly retired from superhero-dom) taken up the pursuit
of genetic research.
Whilst so engaged, Mr. McCoy stumbled upon your standard comic book
Shadowy Conspiracy To Ruuuuuuuuule the World, in the personage of a fellow
research scientist by the name of "Professor Maddicks," and -- one thing
leading to another -- decided to quaff the results of his own research,
to date: "the chemical extraction of all physical mutation!" (This
will all go down a good deal easier, believe me, if you just sit there
and nod politely.)
In downing said elixir, then: Henry McCoy was, in effect (and in his
own words) "mutating a mutant," which -- even on paper -- just
plain old looks like a bad idea, doesn't it...?
It does, and it was: Our Boy McCoy ended up sprouting five o'clock
shadow all over his body; fangs; and an infinitely more surly and
aggressive attitude (although this last one, come to think, may well have
been a direct result of the first two).
Now truly a "beast," in appearance as well as appellation, the
Hirsute Hero, went out and decked the requisite compliment of bad guys...
only to discover, ultimately, that the radical changes in his physiognomy
were, alas, permanent. (Oh, well... so much for academic
tenure, then...)
The short-lived series (a scant six issues of AMAZING ADVENTURES, all told) was among the first regular scripting chores for the aforementioned Mr. Englehart, and was -- all easy Wild Kingdom jokes aside -- an engaging and inventive affair. The stories were both clever and literate, with just enough in the way of cute storytelling conceits (such as, for instance, the reader's knowledge -- not shared by the title character, himself -- that his own girlfriend was, in fact, a "double agent" in the employ of the previously referenced cabal) to keep both protagonist and readership nicely "off-balance," throughout.
Several factors worked in tandem, however, to undercut the series'
salabity within the marketplace of the day.
One: it looked like yet another Big, Shaggy Man-Monster title,
and Marvel had -- over the previous several years -- all but inundated
the spinner racks with a virtual tsunami of (mostly) ill-conceived
"horror" titles, most of which were (deservedly, I'm afraid) dying quick
and well-deserved deaths as they were rejected, en masse, by the
target readership.
Two: the series was never able to settle upon one consistent "look," as no two issues were handled by the same artistic team in succession. (A quick run-down of some of the diverse talents to be found within the half-dozen issues to see print: Tom Sutton; Mike Ploog; Frank Giacoia; Jim Mooney; Bob Brown... look, maybe you'd better get a pencil.) Even the most understanding of readers craves a little consistency in such matters, after all... and this book's visuals were, quite frankly, all over the storytelling map. That couldn't have helped matters, either.
The character has persevered, however, as a durable (and well-utilized, overall) perennial "second banana" within the ranks of various and sundry "hero team" titles (AVENGERS; X-MEN; DEFENDERS; and -- as of this writing -- the X-MEN, yet again). The comics industry being as inherently recidivist as it is... I dare say the Beast will be bounding his way into yet another solo series, sometime before the onset of Armageddon.
Hmmmmm... maybe they could team him up with a curvaceous, red-headed Jungle Goddess-type "beauty"; and the two of them could, like, fall in love; and.. and...
... naaaaaaahhhhhhh.
Black Panther
Black Panther: PAGE ONE
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