The Glass Walking-Stick

Simon B

Simon B

My own personal Year Zero, that is... comics themselves have been around a little bit longer. Looking at my collection of beaten-up, torn, often coverless comics from my formative years it seems that 1971 was the year I really got into comics. ( American ones specifically for the purposes of this post. ) I had a few before from 1969/70 ( like Thor no. 181 ) but 1971 was the year my habit really started.

Fantastic Four no. 106 was my first ever glimpse of the FF, predating their appearances in Marvel UK's Mighty World Of Marvel. This was part of John Romita's short-lived tenure on the mag when he had the unenviable task of following Kirby's ground-breaking, 102-issue run. Of course, I didn't know any of this stuff back then. All I knew was I loved the comic! Three superheroes were battling an energy-blasting "monster" ( actually a scientist's son trapped in an out-of-control, experimental suit ) which was rampaging through New York. Meanwhile, another "monster" ( The Thing ) was similarly enduring the effects of a dangerous experiment, midway through one of Reed Richards' periodic attempts to cure him.

Being one of my first ever comics, FF 106 left a lifetime-lasting effect on my eager imagination. While not a "classic" by most people's reckoning it still contains some great Stan Lee dialogue

( "As a scientist you're the tops, Rambow! But as a liar... you're a washout, hear? I can see right thru you!" ) as well as some indelible images: the Invisible Girl desperately trying to contain the "monster" in her force field; the Human Torch absorbing all the heat from the Baxter Building then blazing through the sky to release it in a Nova burst; the Thing in cryogenic suspension, unable to help his team-mates. All good, melodramatic fun.

Meanwhile, Marvel were also publishing double-sized 25 cent "Specials", showcasing classic reprints from the beginning of the Silver Age.

The Avengers were battling Baron Zemo's Masters Of Evil, who really didn't seem capable of holding their own against our heroes, as well as the bizarre threat of the subterranean Lava Men, who were intent on pushing a deadly, sonic-wave-creating "living stone" up through the Earth's crust and somehow destroying humanity. Hmmm. Like a lot of Silver Age stories it didn't make much sense but it was exciting, goofy and dynamically illustrated by King Kirby.

Marvel's Prince Namor of Atlantis was also hitting the reprint trail in Sub-Mariner Special no. 1.

This was a re-presenting of Namor's first solo tales ( fish tails? ) from Tales To Astonish. The permanently pissed-off, arrogant undersea monarch returns to Atlantis from one of his frequent adventures in the surface world, only to find his people have deposed him in his absence and replaced him with Warlord Krang. Honestly, would you appoint a military commander with a name like "Krang"? He's sure to be trouble.

Namor sets out on a quest to find Neptune's Trident which will ensure his royal credentials, encountering en route a giant squid, the dreaded Faceless Ones, a Seaweed Man and many more sub-aquatic menaces. Oh, and the lovely Lady Dorma who looks absolutely gorgeous as depicted by Gene Colan and the much-maligned Vince Coletta.

Over at DC, we find more reprints in the shape, or shapes, of Plastic Man. And if Silver Age Marvel can seem goofy at times, then Golden Age DC is positively mental. The stretcheable sleuth tangles with gangsters, admen and soothsayers, all the while contorting himself into the most ludicrous shapes thrown up by the crazed imagination of Jack Cole. Even though it's all very light-hearted I found some of Plas's shape-changing disturbing as a kid

( I was only about 4 or 5! ), especially the origin scenes where he's splashed by acid and then finds he can stretch his face into any shape. ( That image actually popped up in a very vivid childhood nightmare. Maybe Dr. Wertham was right after all! )

Of course, you can't visit the DC universe without stopping off for some sight-seeing in Metropolis. Unfortunately for Superman, that's exactly what the "Electronic Ghost" does in Superman no. 244, causing chaos at Clark Kent's workplace, Galaxy Broadcasting. ( Yep, that's GBS not CBS... )

Again, this story is no classic but is a perfect example of that era's premier Super-art team, Curt Swan and Murphy Anderson, or "Swanderson" as they were sometimes known. There have been countless different iterations of Supes over the decades but, personally, when I think of the Man Of Tomorrow, it's their version I see.

While the glory days of Carmine Infantino's Flash artwork were over by this point, The Flash no. 204 is still a fine DC Silver Age comic... and check out those groovy fashions on the cover, baby!

World's Finest no. 201 kicks off with one of my favourite covers of the period which is typical of DC's "high concept" approach to grabbing the reader. Upon first glance the astute comic reader is asking him/herself questions: why are our two heroes fighting? Why is Doctor Fate playing referee? Why has this story been kept secret until now?

Naturally, the story doesn't quite deliver on the promise of the cover. The art by Dick Dillin is functional and clear as you'd expect from an old pro, but hardly sensational. The story heads down some vaguely psychedelic pathways as each hero has his mind messed with by the villain( Felix Faust masquerading as Doc Fate ) but the resolution is dull. However, you do get to see Superman being spanked (!) by a giant, imaginary projection of his long-lost father, Jor-El.

Which is nice...

I'll leave you with some Kosmic Kirby Kreations from the pages of Superman's Best Friend, Jimmy Olsen. After jumping ship from Marvel, The King took over this ailing title and injected his own brand of mad concepts, nostalgia and action. Although short-lived it was a hell of a ride, and the concepts and characters such as The ( Cadmus ) Project, the DNAliens and the revamped Newsboy Legion still crop up in the DCU today.

( I am cheating slightly here, as these Jimmy Olsen pages, like the Superman page above, are actually nicked from obscure corners of t'internet. All others in this post - the tatty-looking ones - are scans from my collection. )

Simon B

Incredibly, it's 48 years since the first sighting of that strange old man and his blue box, in the junkyard at Totters' Lane. Here are the first three incarnations of the Doc, striking an iconic pose for the Radio Times 10th Anniversary Special back in 1973, the year I began to watch the show.

Unsurprisingly, there's tons of Doctor Who stuff hitting t'internet today, including the following goodies:

A trailer and synopsis for the 2011 Christmas episode at Planet Gallifrey

A brief history of the show's origins at the Doctor Who News Page

A very knackered looking First Doctor and friends at Hello, I'm The Doctor

And a lovely Fourth Doctor sketch by the wonderful Dan McDaid

All good, wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff ;-)

Personally, I've been celebrating Doctor Who Day by watching an irate William Hartnell getting tetchy with the latest bunch of fresh-faced recruits to his adventures - yep, I've been watching

Carry On Sergeant...

Simon B

No, not that kind...

I'm talking about the book-burning, totalitarian kind as seen in Ray Bradbury's famous dystopian novel, Fahrenheit 451.

Firemen in the world of this seminal SF novel are not concerned with putting out fires, but setting fire to books... and sometimes the people who read them. The main character, Guy Montag, is a loyal fireman who is seemingly content in his work of destroying any kind of information or entertainment which doesn't spew out of a TV screen. Until, one day, he begins to question his role in society...

I wrote a mini-review of the book for the SFX website and was pleased to see an edited version published in this month's issue of "The World's #1 Sci-Fi mag."

Here's the full ( less negative-seeming ) version:

Re: SFX BOOK CLUB 69: Fahrenheit 451

It's been probably 20 years since I last read Fahrenheit 451 and, to be honest, I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would. Apart from the fireman, Montag, the characters are cyphers and there is little sense of the rest of the world beyond the immediate drama. Saying that, Bradbury's poetic style shines through, especially during the breathless scenes of Montag's desperate escape from the authorities, and the implications of this book-burning society are chilling. The scariest thought is that Montag's society is self-censoring: "It didn't come from the Government down," explains his fire-chief, "There was no dictum, no declaration, no censorship, to start with..."

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And here are Oskar Werner and the gorgeous Julie Christie in a still from Francois Truffaut's 1966 adaptation of the book. It's a strange, cold little film and I'm not sure if Truffaut really related to the subject matter... but it does star Julie Christie. Who is, as I said, gorgeous...