While riding the subway home after school, Virgil and his friends debate what will happen in the final showdown between Static and Tarmack. “I think the high ‘n’ mighty Static is gonna get his ass handed to him,” argues Larry. “Tarmack has all the Terminator 2 moves! Hammerhands, spike hands whatever! He can melt whatever he touches!” “Well, I think Static’s gonna kick butt!” Virgil argues back, a little defensive, a little nervous. “I think you’re both wrong,” interrupts Frieda, the only one of Virgil’s friends who knows his secret identity. “Static’s too smart to fall for such an obvious trap.”
“That guy’s too dumb to set such an obvious trap, or any trap. Static’ll fade ‘im,” Virgil counters good naturedly. “You think ol’ stinky goo head is out of Static’s league?” “He’s older! And Bigger! Static should leave him to Icon!” Frieda warns. “Listen,” Virgil confides to Frieda under his breath. “I know it’s dangerous. I’m not buying into this anymore than you. But I’ve got two things he doesn’t. A brain … and a plan.”
Later that night, in the Avalon Mall parking lot, a lone and angry Tarmack bellows, “Static! It’s ten after midnight! If you’re hidin’, you best come out now!” Tarmack spins around just in time to see a trench coat-clad figure surf to the ground on electrical currents. “That’s better! Turn around! I want to see your face when you die!” Tarmack screams as he winds up a massive hammerhand punch. “Have it your way toyboy … wha!?” As Tarmack delivers his blow the body bursts in a spray of water. Tarmack is left soaked and clutching a deflated plastic clown. “What the @#&* is this?”
“Kawarim!!!” the real Static replies from the shadows as he shoots a powerful charge of electricity through Tarmack. “Ancient Ninja art of misdirection. All you need is something some idiot could mistake for you and … some idiot. Guess which one you are.” Angrier than ever, Tarmack chases Static across the parking lot. Suddenly, Static turns and uses his electromagnetic powers to wrap a wire fence around Tarmack. “How do you do it, you may ask. How do I stay one jump ahead of you?” Static taunts. “How you want to die, is all I’m askin’!” Tarmack yells, as his body begins to liquefy and escape through the links in the fence. “It’s easy. You’re a moron.” Static continues in a fake British accent. “Also, I was here early. Several hours, in fact. Been shoppin.’”
“What’re you dumping into meee!?” screams Tarmack as Static throws several canisters into the now completely liquid villain. “Old aerosol cans,” Static explains. “Got ’em on sale. Freon, don’t you know. Amazing what you can find in a bargain bin, huh. Wanna see what else I got?” All Tarmack can do is howl in pain and frustration as Static hurls flashbulbs and dry ice onto the quickly solidifying form lying on the ground. “Sheesh! I gotta get a better class of supervillain,” Static scoffs as he spells out his plan for Tarmack. “See, I figured your liquid body and all that heat went hand in hand. So if you went through some changes, you’d burn up.”
“Sslowwinn’ downnn … brrr,” Tarmack gasps. “Brr? You actually say brrr? I don’t be-lie-ve it!” Static jokes as he pours a canister of freezing liquid oxygen over the now-defeated Tarmack. And as a final insult, Static climbs aboard a steamroller from a nearly construction site and proceeds to literally flatten Tarmack. “You are solely in need of a name change, dude. That ‘Mack’ thing is so 70s … I know what … how about I paint a stripe down your middle and … Presto! Ta-da! ‘I-75, the Living Interstate!’“
Static #3 ends with the humiliating defeat of Tarmack and the arrival of Holocaust, a bigger and badder villain for Static to deal with in the next issue. On one level it is tempting to develop the case that this issue of Static critiques an outdated model of black masculinity. But for the Milestone fans who pointed to this specific book as a favorite, it is the story’s difference from the current hypermasculine and “brainless” Image comics that makes it important. The message of “Pounding the Pavement” is clear: brains win out over brawn. Nor is this message an isolated incident. Static storylines have repeatedly portrayed the teenage hero as victorious because of his quick thinking. Numerous bragging and swaggering supervillains have faced Static, most of whom are clearly more powerful than him and boastfully macho about their intentions to beat him up. Yet time and again Static outthinks the baddies.
Other examples cited by readers include Static’s capture of a superpowered car thief, Joyride, by pretending to lose a drag race, thus playing on the villain’s ego and tricking him into stepping out of his car, whereby he loses all his powers; or Static’s continual outsmarting of the recurring villain Hotstreak, who is too stupid to realize that the new hammer he wields so proudly is made of metal and thus can be controlled by Static’s electrical currents. Static’s form of intelligent victories is clearly read by some Milestone readers as a positive alternative to the standard formula found in the market-dominating Image-type books. “You’d never really see an Image hero winning a fight by being funny and smart enough to know dry ice and aerosol cans could knock out a serious bad guy,” a thirteen-year-old Static fan explained. “In other comic books they’re much more likely to just keep on pounding each other until the good guy rips the villain’s head off, or something crazy like that.”
By emphasizing the brains-over-brawn as a fundamental problem-solving technique in many of their stories, Milestone comic books suggest acceptable variations of the masculine ideal for their readers. Rather than espousing the reductionist hypermasculine might-makes-right norm of the Image books, Milestone’s series continually depict heroism as a matter of intelligence first and power second, showing that, in fact, intelligence is the greatest power of them all. For black readers, and for nonblack readers sensitive to minority concerns, the alternative depiction of black masculinity bearing the attributes of both mind and body is, as one fan declared, “progressive, realistic, radical, and a much needed reworking of the African American image in the media.” Although it is clear how the Static tale recounted here stresses the reincorporation of “a brain … and a plan” as more significant than muscles and brute force, its typical comic book superhero ish narrative might seem to undercut any claims made about it representing new forms of masculine ideals. It is, after all, still a relatively straightforward comic book story about two superpowered, costumed characters fighting it out. But when carried to its furthest extreme, Milestone’s narrative style, which is interpreted by many readers as antithetical to the dominant hypermasculine Image style, offers alternative models.
The most apparent revisionist models are usually presented within the pages of Milestone’s flagship title Icon. Unfairly derided by several other African American publishers as nothing more than a chocolate-dip Superman, this popular series follows the adventures of Icon (aka Augustus Freeman IV), an alien with enormous powers (yes, much like Superman’s) who has lived in the form of a black man since crashing on a slave plantation over 150 years ago, and his teenage sidekick, Rocket (aka Raquel Irvin), who can fly and redirect vast amounts of energy thanks to the alien technology of her power belt. With Icon’s enormous powers and incredibly straight-arrow persona, and Rocket’s passion and social conscience, the series is Milestone’s most emblematic affirmation of black heroism.
“They can be a little preachy sometimes,” a fourteen-year-old told me when I noticed him reading an issue of Icon in a shopping mall’s food court, “but it’s really my favorite book right now. The characters are well done, and the art is usually first rate. And,” he looked around a little sheepishly, “I like the stories where they show how Icon has affected normal people in Dakota, you know, inspired them.” In his hands was a particularly clear example of Icon’s inspiration as a promotion of how readers might pursue masculine ideals built on well-rounded self-improvement rather than the one-dimensional pursuit of hypermasculine power fantasies. Icon #32, “Learning to Fly,” written by Greg Middleton and illustrated by Elim Mak, is really the story of Lenny, a black youth from the same projects as Icon’s partner, Raquel (Rocket) Ervin. Lenny was with Raq
uel and the others on the night they tried to rob the house of Augustus Freeman, who, under pressure from Raquel, would later become Icon. Years after that first incident, Raquel arranges for Icon to meet and counsel Lenny, who has had trouble staying on the “straight and narrow” since that fateful night.
“I told you, you changed my outlook,” Lenny tells Icon as they stroll along the city’s waterfront. “But now the funds ain’t what they used to be, so me and my girl Susan has been fighting. I found out she’s seeing Caesar, down the block. He’s not ‘on-the-straight-and-narrow.’ Of course we broke up, but … I don’t know, man. The so-called right thing ain’t so easy.”
Icon tells Lenny a little about his own past experiences—opportunities lost, loves lost. “Uh-huh. What’s your point?” Lenny asks. “Life on Earth is too brief to let us lick our wounds,” Icon explains. “Only by confronting this sort of problem will you overcome it.” “Ha! You can say that … you got everything going for you. I’ll bet life never sneaks up on you. You told us to have faith in our abilities, but one rich man who can fly don’t mean I can fly too,” replies Lenny. “You know better than that,” Icon responds. “There are enough hardships for each of us. I’ve had first hand experience. But we were discussing your abilities, and what you make of them. I can only encourage you to live up to your own potential.” “Hey, I’m not going back to my old habits, if that’s what you mean,” a dejected Lenny says. “It’s just … not easy … ya know.”
A couple of pages later we see Lenny trying to live up to his own potential. A collage superimposed over Icon’s masked face shows Lenny being all he can be—a virtual one-page self-help manual for readers. We see Lenny resisting the lures of gang life, excelling in school, caring for younger children, developing his body in the gym, playing wholesome sports, and even helping a little old lady with her groceries. “It ain’t easy,” Lenny narrates over the following pages. “Here I am, an upstanding, Icon inspired, strong black man … but staying on the right track helps keep my mind off my problems.” Eventually, Lenny is applauded as a hero when he helps Icon and Rocket save a little girl trapped in a burning building.
Back along the waterfront, Icon tells Lenny. “I’m proud of the way you’ve been handling yourself. Your community is looking up to you … for all the right reasons. I wouldn’t hesitate to say that you are something of an ‘Icon’ yourself.” “Listen, I got a date with a new lady,” Lenny says. “So all I wanted to say was … thanks for being there.” “You deserve all the credit,” Icon smiles as he shakes Lenny’s hand. Lenny smiles proudly. “Be good brother.”
Despite the Milestone founders discussed for avoiding the ABC Wednesday after School Special type of preachiness in their comic books, Icon stories such as the one recounted above veer dangerously close to this pattern. Other issues of Icon have dealt just as directly with issues of social responsibility, from a child’s hero worship to teenage pregnancy. That these stories can be recognized by many fans as “a little preachy sometimes” but still enjoyed is the strength of the Milestone books. I do not want to suggest here that the Milestone message is incredibly well-concealed propaganda that serves a specific agenda, rather I believe that it forthrightly admits—and is recurringly interpreted as—an alternative to the traditional patriarchal masculine norm that has recently, in other comics and other media, become increasingly skewed toward absurd heights of masculinity. That these books also so consciously use black heroes as simultaneously masculine and thoughtful characters further emphasizes the novel reconstruction of masculinity and ethnic identity based on less traditional notions of gender roles and limiting racist stereotypes.
Although the Milestone line of comic books is read by many fans as an alternative depiction of masculinity in comparison to the Image books and by others (particularly those from minority backgrounds) as “a thinking black man’s heroes,” they are by no means the sole voices of change present in contemporary culture. Outside the superhero genre, several other comic book series, including The Sandman, The Books of Magic, American Splendor, and Maus, have offered much less hyperbolic models of masculinity. Unfortunately, unlike the Milestone books, most of the other revisionist types of comic books are classified as “Mature Reader” titles and are clearly not geared toward the traditional preadolescent consumer. Likewise, less hypermasculine, less “cool pose”-informed images of black men occasionally emerge through the cracks of popular culture. As bell hooks concludes in her chapter on reconstructing black masculinity, “Changing representations of black men must be a collective task” (Black Looks: Race and Representation, Toronto: Between the Lines Press, 1992: 113). For true change to take place, for stereotypes (both imposed and internalized) to be broken, alternative representations of blackness in relation to masculine ideals must come from not only comic books but also the realms of music, film, literature, education, and politics.
One of the most often cited alternative visions of black masculinity is put forth by Mitchell Duneier in Slim’s Table: Race, Respectability, and Masculinity (1992), his acclaimed ethnography about the elderly black men who frequent Valois, a Chicago diner. The men of Valois have constructed for themselves what Duneier describes as a “community of caring.” A world apart from the conventional understanding of black men caught up in masculine protests of violence, misogyny, and social alienation, these elderly men are unconcerned with—indeed, outrightly scornful of—displays of masculine posturing. Instead, the men profiled in Slim’s Table spend their days offering support, respect, and love for each other in social and personal matters ranging from finances to sexual relationships. Susan Bordo accurately sums up the vision of masculinity revealed in Duneier’s work when she writes,
the oppositions soft/hard, masculine/feminine have no purchase on their sense of manhood, which is tied to other qualities: sincerity, loyalty, honesty. Their world is not divided into the men and the wimps, but between those who live according to certain personal standards of decency and caring and those who try to “perform” and impress others. They are scornful of and somewhat embarrassed by the “cool pose” that has been adopted by many younger black men (“Reading the Male Body,” The Michigan Quarterly Review 32.4: 696–737).
But whereas Duneier, Bordo, and hooks see gentle, caring men of an older generation, like those who bide their time at Valois, as an ideal that might transform a younger, disillusioned generation, today’s youth are likely to find little purchase in this ideal. Although these older men have certainly lived their lives in resistance to racism and other social pressures, young men today—young black men—live in an environment where the standards of hard versus soft and masculine versus feminine are an intricate and unavoidable fact that they must come to terms with. It is here that I think Milestone’s reworked image of heroic black masculinity might prove uniquely helpful.
Unlike the communal response documented in Slim’s Table, the Milestone books do not reject the properties of the cool pose and the dominant binary logic of our culture’s key masculine-feminine gender distinction. Rather, it is a reworking that allows pervasive and popular conceptions of gender and race to be expanded by incorporating previously disassociated concepts of softness with hardness, of mind with body. Instead of merely championing the Clark Kent side of masculine duality as a legitimate role in and of itself, the Milestone books work to infuse gentler, more responsible, and more cerebral qualities within the codes of dominant masculinity. As the Milestone principals are well aware, images of cool black characters (“cool” as measured against existing definitions of what it means to be both black and a man in Western culture) and preadolescent fantasies of superhuman abilities are undeniably ingrained in anyone who might pick up a comic book and are powerful forms through which individuals must learn to negotiate their own lives.
Rather than trying to ignore or eradicate the influential reality of existing norms of gender and race-informed patterns of behavior, the Milestone books seem to work most effectively for many of their readers by provid
ing alternatives from within the dominant modes of discourse, by maintaining many of the fundamental conventions of comic book heroism at the same time that they expand the traditional definitions of the medium. “They’re still great superhero stories,” a young boy explained while his older brother waited for him at the cash register. “But they’re different, ya know, and not just because of the color of their skin.”
The Punisher as Revisionist Superhero Western
LORRIE PALMER
Reprinted by permission from Terrence R. Wandtke, ed. The Amazing Transforming Superhero! Essays on the Revision of Characters in Comic Books, Film and Television (McFarland, 2007), 192–208.
THE MAN IN BLACK WITH VENGEANCE IN HIS HEART HAS COME ROARING ONTO our movie screens in many guises, across eras and vastly different pop-culture landscapes. Whether he is a cowboy, a Jedi knight, or a comic book character, he answers some urge in us to see both darkness and light in our heroes. With two film adaptations, the Punisher, in his evolution, and with his genre roots buried deep in our collective cinematic myths, is worth a closer look. As a character, the Punisher first appeared in The Amazing Spider-Man #129 in 1974. Starting out as a foil for Spider-Man, he gradually evolved into a post-Vietnam anti-hero in the vein of cinematic vigilantes like the ones in Dirty Harry (1971) and Death Wish (1974). He had no superpowers or hi-tech gadgets, just his specialized Marine Corps training and his own implacable determination to right society’s wrongs by eliminating the villains who perpetrated them.
The director of the 2004 film version of The Punisher, Jonathan Hensleigh, is mindful of a plotline “straight out of Othello” (Hutchins) which partially aligns the film’s protagonist, Frank Castle, with Iago because he shrewdly plays on the jealousies of his enemy, instigating the action of the story. Both the comic and film versions revise Shakespeare’s villainous prototype as an anti-hero, leaving his dark impulses intact. The film’s producer talks about the character as one who has to pick up the mantle of justice when regular law enforcement fails: “It has to do with this whole system in which he has been a willing soldier not giving him the justice that he feels is deserved when killers walk free” (Comics2Film). Therefore, the filmmakers looked at not just action films but “crime sagas and westerns made between 1960 and 1978” (Cinema Review), an indication of the intricate ancestry that can be claimed by The Punisher. Hensleigh was inspired by the dark action films of the 60s and 70s made by directors such as Sergio Leone, Clint Eastwood, and Sam Peckinpah. Likewise, comic book writer Garth Ennis, born in Belfast and raised on John Wayne westerns, further expands the character’s genre influences in his graphic novel through violent shoot-outs enacted by an increasingly tortured, solitary hero. This author’s work (along with that of the other Punisher comic book writers and artists) shapes a character arc in the Punisher that mirrors the iconography and evolution of the Western’s complex protagonist.
The Superhero Reader Page 41
