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Life, the Universe and Everything. . . a la KIRBY
(This page is dedicated to my daughter, Meggan: a.k.a., "Daddy's 'Little Orion'. ")
These are the facts, and -- being facts -- are not subject to dispute.
Fact: Jack "King" Kirby was the single most innovative creative force ever to grace the comics medium.
Fact: THE NEW GODS was the single greatest comics series ever created by Jack Kirby.
Fact: any comics reader, therefore, who does not -- after
reading the Kirby issues of THE NEW GODS for the first time -- sink to his or
her knees and thrice bow in the general direction of Mecca (or whatever) is
A Major Weiner Head. 
)
THE NEW GODS was the storytelling centerpiece of what is most commonly referred to as "Kirby's 'Fourth World' ": a quartet of comics titles (MISTER MIRACLE; THE FOREVER PEOPLE; and JIMMY OLSEN being the other three) which served as canvas and backdrop for the King's most audacious and considered artistic "mission statement": that of explicating -- in quantifiable, concrete terms, mind -- the precise natures of Good; Evil; Freedom; and Duty.
The hell of it is: I'm not altogether certain
that the wily old cuss didn't actually succeed, either.
The unifying thread of these four titles (as originally conceived by The Illustrious Sir) was a time-and-space spanning conflict -- far too gross and subtle a thing, in turns, for us to regard it simply as a "war" -- between two races of beings as far removed from you or I (evolution-wise) as are we from, say, anyone in any way connected with the weekly production of BAYWATCH NIGHTS.
Said pair of races -- one hailing from the halcyonic "New Genesis"; the other, from the despotic "Apokolips" -- played out their aeons-old games of blood and fire through a select number of "foot soldiers" (for lack of any more able expression), on both sides. Chiefest among these in the New Genesis camp were the battle-hardened and fatalistic Orion [see pictures, above and below], whose scarred countenance reflected the blasted terrain that was his inner landscape, as well; and the sprightly and affable Lightray [see picture, below], who played the cheery gamin to Orion's hardened grostesquerie.
These two, then -- The Warrior and His Bard, if you will -- were the central chessmen moving in service of (and safeguarding the existence of) New Genesis' prime mover: the elderly and leonine "HighFather," who -- in turn -- obeyed the dictates of an even higgher power, which he referred to simply as "The Source."
His opposite number -- "the player on the other side," as Huxley might have had it -- was the saturnine and implacable Darkseid: tyrant over all of Apokolips, whose very existence was dedicated to the seeking out of something called"the Anti-Life Equation" -- an anodyne to The Source.
(That's him, by the way, at the very top of this page: the craggy, purplish gent with the Hell's furnace eyes. Darkseid. The most mythic and awe-inspiring villain in the history of the comics medium. And, also: Orion's daddy.)
Okay... you're all probably waiting for me to explain
that last part, aren't you...? )
Here's the skinny, re: matters familial. It seems that the rulers of the warring factions -- HighFather and Darkseid -- attempted, at some point in the past, to establish a formal sort of détente, in hopes of avoiding the apocalyptic sort of mutually destructive Major Blow-Out that would have proven inevitable, otherwise.
To that end, the villainous Darkseid sent his son (Orion) over to New Genesis, there to live and (ostensibly, anyway) grow to full adulthood as a wolf among (putative) sheep... and HighFather, in turn, handed over his son to Darkseid [see pictures, below], there to be raised amongst the smoke and din of the Apokolips war machine.
HighFather made his reluctant sacrifice in the pursuit of a lasting peace between Apokolips and New Genesis; Darkseid's machinations, on the other hand, were long-range and duplicitous. The only thing he desired, at this point, was time enough to rebuild his ruined megalopolis; replenish his remorseless "para-demon" troops; and phlegmatically bide his time awaiting the perfect, predestined opportunity catch the more straightforward and trusting denizens of New Genesis "napping."
The story of HighFather's son, at this point in the narrative, is the more commanding one. Raised as anything but a child of privilege as a foundling in the "orphanage" (read: "combination boot camp and torture chamber") of the ironically-named "Granny Goodness," the child grew to young manhood and re-christened himself "Scott Free" after falling in with the mysterious Apokolipsian rogue known only as "Himon" -- a master escape artist and trickster nonpareil.
Himon taught Scott Free everything he knew regarding such arcane arts and minutia as sleight-of-hand; the misdirection of crowds; and always making certain that you have at least one escape route arranged in advance before attempting to tweak the noses of the local gendarmes.
More importantly,
however... he inculcated in the impressionable young Scott a burning, insatiable
need to fulfill the promise of his (self-)chosen name: to be free.
When the
opportunity to achieve that nigh-impossible status finally presented itself
-- in the form of an aided-and-abetted eescape attempt, courtesy of the
elderly Himon and "rogue" New Genesis godling "Metron"... Scott Free (almost
literally) belly-crawled through the fires of Hell itself in order to grasp
it, in one of the most powerful and moving chapters of the "Fourth World"
saga entire.
Once free of Darkseid's clutches, Scott Free took up residence on Earth, and -- assuming the costumed identity of MISTER MIRACLE ("Super-Escape Artist!") -- became one of the central figures in the "anti-Darkseid" counter-insurgency. In the years which followed -- absent the since-departed Kirby's guiding intelligence -- he later morphed into something more along the lines of a traditional "super-hero"... even joining the Justice League, for a time (with -- it must be granted, by even the staunchest Mister Miracle partisan -- rather "mixed" results, artistically-speaking).
Meanwhile: over in the aforementioned JIMMY OLSEN (bet you were all hoping that was just a typographical error on my part earlier, weren't you...?), Kirby (re-)introduced a classic Golden Age character -- one of his own prior invention, as a matter of fact -- into the increasingly eclectic "mix" with the revitalization of "the Guardian" .
Originally an ordinary "beat" cop back during the 1940's, who'd chosen to don (for motivations which were no sillier, really, than those of pretty much every other comics character of the day) spandex leggings and lug about a large, oddly-shaped golden shield at the same time, the Guardian was precisely what his name implied to a rag-tag assembly of parentless "street" newspaper vendors given to referring to themselves -- for no particularly compelling reason, really -- as "the Newsboy Legion." He served as their self-appointed protector versus a seemingly inexhaustible supply of gangsters, racketeers and gunsels (migawd... who knew that hawking newspapers for a living could be so dangerous? Now I feel all the more fortunate for having survived that paper route, back when I was but a wee shaver).
Kirby worked the character into the constantly roiling du jour that was his "Fourth World" soup as a clone of the original Guardian, to the considerable acclaim of the comics readership. The Guardian has survived and thrived anent the later cancelation of the "Fourth World" titles, having fashioned a comfortable niche for himself in the present-day SUPERMAN line.
Finally: some mention simply must be made of one of the oddest character conceptualizations ever to bear the Kirby imprimatur: the decidedly... ummmmm... different "Black Racer."
See if this makes any sense to you guys: a paralyzed Vietnam War vet finds himself able to move and speak, once more... but only while serving as the (literal) embodiment of Death Personified for beings of an idisputably Apokolipsian (or New Genesian) pedigree. To this end, he would seek out various Earth-dwelling New Gods whilst soaring about the nighttime skies on... well... a big, bright red pair of skis.
No, no... you only think that's the stupidest @#$%ing thing you've ever heard. It's a tough call, I'll grant you... but Bee-Man juuusssst barely edges this guy out in the Biggest Goober In All of Comic Book History soapbox racer derby.
Just barely, mind. )
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