Weblines: THE J. MICHAEL STRACZYSNKI RUN – Part XIII.

Stories have a purpose: to experience something that we have not experienced (and neither will) in our lifetime. Contemplate how fictional (or real) people dealing with their internal conflicts in order to reassess our condition as human beings or just feel something different. Depending on our immersion and interest in the lives of characters, their stories help us to deal with things in us that aren’t easily approachable: people we love, memories that can cause pain, dealing with a problematic situation at hand; ultimately, they make us think. We can impart those lessons and make them sync with our reality. Sometimes they can even teach us something about ourselves if we’re emotionally engaged. If none of the above, sheer escapism is also fun and worthwhile.
Undergoing a story in any format/media is a personal experience. Books and movies do that; TV series evolved to the same if not a higher standard. And the same earnestness should be given to comic books – furthermore, to the superheroes genre.

Original ideas in storytelling are the main columns in which popular culture was built upon. The superhero genre in comics is one of them.

Some might say otherwise, cannot they have little or nothing to do with reality, therefore, not to be taken seriously. Damn right in both accounts; after all, superhero comics are supposed to be just a form of entertainment – they just exist within a visual media with limitless graphic styles and narrative elements, whose sole purpose is to provide recreation through fiction. So why would anyone read them in order to articulate a serious critique on the real world and all the strain we, as superpowerless human beings, have to go through in our lives?
The irony is, for the last two decades, other media formats have come to realize not only its potential for adaptations but also its unlimited possibilities – comics have evolved a lot. From that single factor alone, they offer the possibility to extrapolate the human condition with the super-power concept, thus enhancing the amplitude of imagination. And therein lies the unavoidable truth of it: imagination can often shape reality itself and offer the opportunity to contemplate on it; to ponder about personal situations and themes in which people deal with it every single day.
Conclusion: fiction and reality share a relationship. Thus, being an element intricate in our very human nature.

One of its finest examples:

Nearly sixty years ago, the kid from Queens bestowed with amazing spider-like abilities changed the storytelling pattern in the comic book form; not visually, but thematically – it brought reality closer to its readers without ever leaving the four edges of their two-dimensional habitat. From that point onwards, each reader could read about a small piece of their own lives being shared by the four-color character in a strange costume (or uniform). They had even started to speak like real people. Hence the second renaissance of superhero comics. It can be a safe assumption that Spider-Man and the rest of the Marvel Universe – though still in their infancy back then -, brought superheroes somehow closer to readers. How? By letting them do and behave as real people would – and that made the whole difference.
As a consequence, the rest of the comic book industry was forced to evolve to this new standard of chronicle in order to keep up; the times were a-changing. Storytelling in different media formats was also developing in overall (and yet-to-be-named as) popular culture, being built in cinema, TV, sci-fi novels, etc. To a certain degree, sequential art was not only imitating life but conveying a more meaningful existence to its cultural course. Just like that, rules had been broken and a new era began.

Then as time went by, the kid from Queens grew up and became a man as his self-given namesake, learned the hardest lessons life had to give, endured impossible challenges, and to this day still continues to come out from the other side stronger. It just cannot be stressed enough the fact that Spider-Man’s origin is built upon one of the harshest aspects of mankind: crime. Being a superhero character enables him to shift between different narrative arenas, such as super-powered-villainy; drama; comedy; crime thriller; and more. When he’s not fighting super-villains for the common good in impossible situations, he often ventures in our reality. Not many characters in superhero comic comics are flexible enough for can afford such endeavor.

So what happens when superheroes intervene in our reality? Certainly a deserving question. One should look no further than Miracleman by Alan Moore and Garry Leach, first published in 1982. It is the defining blueprint to that question; everything else that succeeded has been inspired by it.
In the same year, a singular comic book issue was also published by Marvel Comics: Peter Parker, The Spectacular Spider-Man #71 didn’t garner Miracleman’s ever-standing acclaim, but it became an issue worthy of attention, even by today’s storytelling standards. Scripted by Bill Mantlo, with additional dialogue by Tom DeFalco and visually crafted by Rick Leonardi, the comic delivers an examination of gun violence.

At the Spanish Harlem, two young burglars are breaking and entering a grocery store in the middle of the night; Spidey sets up his camera by a post and jumps into action. They try to shoot him. The shop owner hears the ruckus and intervenes with his gun; Spider-Man tries to tell him that he’s got the situation under control, but he shoots one of the kids dead. The camera registers the fallen in the friendly neighborhood’s arms.
What follows the next day at the Daily Bugle, is a two-and-a-half-page discussion between Peter Parker, Joe Robertson, and Lance Bannon about gun violence, armed kids, illegal ownership, the second amendment (the right to bear arms), defense of property, and criminality. For a Spider-Man monthly comic, those can be delicate subjects – but nonetheless highly relatable to readers. In its end, despite Spider-man’s best efforts in trying to stop a shipment of illegal weapons, a police officer is killed in the line of duty. He even manages to take some pictures of the action, but it’s a bittersweet victory because he realizes that in the greater scheme of things, nothing has changed. The conflict remains in his mind, along with questions that might never be answered. Here, the theme itself became the story and overlapped the main character; with that, Peter became affected by it. Within a theme, any writer can use it as a platform to convey an idea, state an opinion. In such a case, Mantlo’s story became a statement. All these things considered, the issue opens the debating arena: Is the weapon that kills or the person who wields it? Can’t any tool be made into a weapon? So which one does the killing? Who pulls the trigger? The gun itself or the person holding it? And what is the intention of the person holding the gun? What is the purpose of possessing a gun? Self-defense or attack?

In the next issues, the letter section named Spectacular Spider-Mail and edited by DeFalco received more letters than usual with different opinions (and experiences) on the nature of the subject and its controversy: pros and cons in gun control, statistics on criminality, and gun killings in the U.S. (accidental and intentional), politics, and freedom, the constitution, testimonies from policemen, how and why a superhero comic should bother itself with the theme, the unilaterality of the tale from Mantlo’s side by taking an antigun stand and more. Regardless, it provided food for thought.
Just like in ASM #96 (Vol. 1, May 1971 – written by Stan Lee and drawn by Gil Kane), in which in its subplot, Peter – and Spider-Man – has to deal with the drug problem; not to mention Harry Osborn‘s slow descent into hell from its abuse, and to make matters worse, the return of the Green Goblin – Harry’s own Father, Norman Osborn. The issue was published without the Comics Code Authority seal of approval, being the first comic that inspired other publishers to take more risks in their storytelling evolution; a small but significant act of defiance.

That’s how Spider-Man started to break boundaries ever since its inception – both in concept and comics. From him, the creators, artists, and editors realized that the superhero genre (and others) could be more daring in themes dealing with reality.

VIBES – ASM #505 (vol.1 – May 2004):
(Cover by John Romita Jr.)

Scripted once more by Fiona Avery and plotted by her with J. Michael Straczynski, this is a tale designed to focus in a chapter of MJ’s life – a stand-alone issue with repercussions only to herself in the future. After all, she’s the most important person in Peter’s life, a fact JMS knows by heart, and here, masterfully crafted by John Romita Jr. with Scott Hanna. Praise once more to his great camerawork in placement, movement, and facial expressions.

In a taxi, on the way to the airport, Peter Parker is nervous. Just like when fighting villains mid-air and saving lives at the same time, he cannot stop talking to Mary Jane about a scientific phenomenon on how beings such as insects, cats, dogs, and humans are capable of perceiving their own through an extra-sensorial level – the possibility of feeling each other’s “vibes”. She wants to speak but Peter is unable to keep his mouth shut (a psychological device developed in the years behind the mask to hide the fear). She’s traveling to Los Angeles with the intention to re-establish her career as an actress; she had an offer of a role too important to pass up. Peter is just scared to say goodbyes. Though at the same time, he knows it’s his wife’s choosing and won’t stand in the way in her pursuit of happiness. But it’s not what she finds in the city of angels: the producer who made her the offer was fired, the promised role had already been cast and the producer’s replacement refused to see “a model with delusions of talent”; insult after the injury. All that without anyone telling her and/or her agent beforehand.

Disappointed is too short of a word to describe how she feels. Also ashamed by the idea of telling Peter. Welcome to Hollywood. Her vindication only came in 2019 in the format of a short-lived ongoing series named The Amazing Mary Jane – which couldn’t grab the attention of fans, depicting MJ as a successful movie star combating super-villains at movie sets. ‘Nuff said.

Back in NY at night, Peter immerses into work under the mask and tries really hard not to call MJ and ask how things went. The city is calm. By happenstance, he comes across a police car in a stakeout and offers himself to help; the officers say they’re waiting for a bicycle stealer. The outlaw turns out to be a kid; he goes for the nearest bike set up as a trap. Spider-sense tingles. The boy is armed with a gun and he’s scared. Then the cops move in his direction to catch him in the act; the kid reacts in fear and pulls the gun out. Spider-Man notices how things might escalate and intervenes by shooting a web at the kid’s gun, then telling the cops not to interfere. The little criminal escapes and sits by the edge on the top of a building, forcing Spider-Man to approach him from the wall below, making himself visible to the kid for the purpose of using one of his best abilities: talking.

Ever since Peter decided to take responsibility for his actions, he has learned about the many forms of evil. He’s looked at it in the eye in all shapes and forms; he’s lost by and won over it. He knows how it can come to be through distinct reasons, sources, and what is capable of doing. In the superhero business, one must understand how it functions. Fighting evil is not enough; saving lives is the goal. And this story presents another way on how to do it. This is a dangerous situation that could end up in tragedy. The boy has his father’s gun; he’s scared and angry because he wants to prove himself by displaying toughness, tired of being ganged up by others, being told he was nothing – the same psychological profile fueled by anger presented back in Straczynski’s second issue in the series (ASM #31, Vol.2), entitled “Coming Home” when an armed kid invaded the school to take revenge back on his daily bullying by other kids. This time, under the mask, Peter has the opportunity to face the antagonist face-to-face; to do something proactive instead of reacting when the situation escalates out of control. He tells the kid that he knows exactly what it feels like to get beat up at the school. Straczynski, once through the character of William Lamont, once said that a child can be very dangerous for being unaware of the power s/he possesses when holding a gun. Spider-Man tells the kid that he holds all the cards, that he’s in charge. That it’s all his decision.
Cuts back to MJ, when she remembers to call Peter back and tell him how it went, she chooses to say a certain side of the truth, since the result would remain unaltered: the payment was bad and she felt the part wasn’t right for her. As she asks him how his day was, all he says is that it couldn’t be better, observing from above the same kid, now in his father’s arms being watched by the police officers.

Two distinct narratives from two unrelated characters in one single story, connected by the main one: Spider-Man. Not an easy feat for a 22-page comic – a “stand-alone episode” in the same vein of a TV series: a self-contained tale with planted seeds for a future plot. This is Straczynski’s arena: before writing comics, he wrote for television and harnessed his writing skills to delve and explore characters in single episodes within a long-serialized chronicle. He understands the craft of storytelling and how a narrative functions. When a theme is in charge, the characters can only react to it; when all the characters involved move the plot forward are driving the story, the possibilities expand.
It’s what also made Chris Claremont‘s seventeen year-run run on The Uncanny X-Men so unique and unforgettable. Because that’s what matters – the audience will eventually forget about the plot, but will always remember the characters.

For those accustomed to the usual superhero stories, this single issue might not be what is usually expected from a comic of its genre. Most of them are focused on (if not driven by) the plot or a theme: the usual super-villain scheme, crime spree, espionage intrigues, mutant prejudice, Asgardian wars, mystical warfare in the astral plane, shield helicarriers, and so on. In this heartfelt tale, Spider-Man doesn’t bring a supervillain down, neither saves the city. But he saves a father’s world – a son whose heart was hurt and the mind very confused -, by taking the fight straight to the kid’s soul.
We as readers immediately relate to it not only because it involves a child, but also due to the nature of relationships, and how we deal with daily losses and victories of our everyday lives. Mary Jane’s rejection was a tough punch; but the same hero, even by the phone, was there to catch her when she fell. There’s a comfort in it. The importance of stories such as this lies in depicting how Spider-Man can fight both evil and chaos in various forms: like a conscious adult approaching a scared child would and defusing by a dangerous situation with a talk; and as a devoting husband, who would do anything to make his wife feel better. Even distant from one another, they’re together. With Mary Jane, Peter is allowed to grow and evolve. He has better and more concise emotional responses. Guilt gives way to Love into his equation of power and responsibility.
In the end, who did he fight? Physically, no one – just a boy’s choices. Here, the hero won by showing an otherwise view in his life, instead of being defeated by the motif of gun violence in PPSM #71. The knockout factor of some of the best Spider-Man comics lies in the victories and losses that can offer an analogy about life lessons, but without being preachy. Not to mention the number of tales in which he interacted with youngsters and made a positive difference in their lives. One out of the many reasons why they deserve distinction. After all, the character started out as one of them. “Vibes” is a fine answer as to questioning what could superheroes do in real-life situations – engaging in both psychological and emotional territory, propelling the reading experience to a personal level, instead of just being part of the audience. Of course, not every comic should be about the simplicity and complexity of human nature, existence, and its symbolism – there are plenty of philosophy books (and comic books) around to enrich the discussion. Superhero comics are, ultimately, a visual spectacle; a medium designed to entertain. That’s what they’re supposed to do when their characters are pushed into extraordinary situations; the only required mental exercise is enjoying the fun of it.

Peter Parker is not an out-of-reach character. Readers want to spend time with him and his alter-ego because beyond the amazing powers and dramatic origin, he’s also fun. Stepping into his superhero’s shoes is not tricky; it’s high-likey we would behave just the same. And though not being an overpowered character, he can be equally effective in high-scale events, just as he is in his usual turf. He deals with it all in the best possible way just because he can. Because he’s us. Mythologically, we’re under his shadow and we’re part of him.

He’s a hero. A symbol. An icon. Myth. Friendly neighborhood. Fully-Formed Spider-Man.

This essay is dedicated to the genius of Bill Mantlo.