I recently started re-reading Marvel comics from the early 60s on, primarily due to an acute nostalgia for silver age Spider-Man. I've read Spider-Man from the beginning until the late 90s covering everything that was available on Marvel Unlimited at the time, and as much as I was initially looking forward to reaching the mid-90s in publication history which would coincide with the period in time when I first got into comics (ASM #403 was my first issue -- what a jumping-on point, right?), I ended up learning that the really good stuff was, in fact, back in the 60s and 70s just like all the comics gatekeepers always said.
While I'm working my way through the publication of Spider-Man again, I wanted to read some additional titles to keep up with some other characters I've either liked or been curious about over the years; I've never been that into reading the stories of non-Spidey characters, but I found myself motivated to read through the catalogue of The Hulk, Iron Man, Daredevil, and eventually Ghost Rider, just to name a few. I enjoy trying to uncover the context and circumstances of these old issues, and also dismantling why stories or characters ended up being popular or not landing like the creative team might have hoped, and I felt motivated to also write down some of the thoughts emerging from these considerations -- so here we are.
The two issues I'm covering here were both published in the spring of 1963, and I found them to display an illuminating contrast between two kinds of Marvel stories: one a standard anthology tale, the other a now-iconic issue of what would be one of Marvel's biggest brands ever. While not necessarily the best pairing for a thorough academic comparison, there's enough substance here to point to some meaningful differences between the stories themselves and the characters they featured, which explain surprisingly well why one of these characters took off like they did, and the other stalled on the launchpad for years to come.
While I'm listing the entire issue of Tales of Suspense here, I haven't read the other stories besides the one featuring Iron Man, and going forward I have no plans to do so with the other issues.
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| Art by Don Heck, Jack Kirby, Stan Goldberg and Artie Simek. © Marvel Comics. |
Tales of Suspense #42: Trapped by the Red Barbarian
- Writers: Stan Lee & Robert Bernstein
- Pencils & inks: Don Heck
- Editor: Stan Lee
- Release date: March 12, 1963
- Cover date: June, 1963
Iron Man wasn't Marvel's biggest seller in the early 60s, and in the early days there wasn't much to say about the character that set him apart from other heroes in any meaningful way. The popular story about him is that Stan Lee created him as a sort of challenge to turn an unlikable archetype (a weapons manufacturer) into a hero that readers would root for; that he might have done, but besides that, Tony Stark didn't have much going on in terms of characterization, supporting cast or interesting villains, and even his power set was sort of forgettable and vague. If nothing else, the quality of these early Iron Man stories matches that vibe: they're not bad, they're just sort of mediocre, thin, and interchangeable with a variety of other B-list comic stories.
The story opens with Iron Man tangling with Soviet spies, whose dialogue establishes the Red Barbarian is a Soviet general looking to acquire American military technology for his own country. The main plot is further set up with a disintegration ray developed and demonstrated by Tony Stark. The military personnel watching this presentation are all smiles about the undeniable utility and power of what is honestly kind of a terrifying weapon in a flashlight-sized compact form. The Red Barbarian, apparently so called because of his cruel treatment of those around him, seeks to steal the ray by enlisting the help of the Actor, a master of disguise who can assume the appearance of anyone he sees by using an undefined makeup technique.
The Actor infiltrates Tony Stark's high-security lab complex by masquerading as the man himself, bringing along some thugs posing as Pentagon officials. Within, he finds not just the technology he was looking for, but also some golden components that lead him to deduce that Tony Stark is Iron Man, who wore a golden suit at this time as a response to reader reaction to the original drab grey armor; this was diegetically embedded into the story by having Stark realize the people he was protecting were afraid of the brutish iron outfit. The Actor leaves his thugs behind to ambush Stark as he returns, and flees to take his prize to the Red Barbarian, opting to hold on to the newly discovered secret.
Stark arrives and handily dispatches the evil-doers. They readily confess the whole plot and give away the Actor. Using a launching rocket of all things to speed him along, he intercepts the villain, and for whatever reason proceeds to meet the Red Barbarian while pretending to be the Actor pretending to be Iron Man. He hands the Red Barbarian a fake briefcase and convinces him that it has a timed lock on it.
He then releases the Actor, who returns to the Red Barbarian with the intent of revealing Tony Stark's secret. The Barbarian, however, concludes that the Actor is trying to steal the credit for retrieving the weapon, beats him, and has him executed, all in a matter of seconds -- too quickly for the Actor to announce Stark's secret, which dies with him.
To the story's credit, Iron Man only appeared in an anthology publication at this time -- he didn't get a whole book's worth of pages to tell a story like Fantastic Four or Spider-Man. You'd have to squeeze the plot into about three quarters of the space, with not much of an expectation of reader commitment, 60s comic culture being what it was.
The Red Barbarian story isn't the worst Iron Man story so far either -- in fact, it's probably the best one out of the handful of the character's appearances up until this point. It's an awkwardly plotted tale with one twist too many, but it beats the ever-forgettable appearance of the "other" Doctor Strange from the previous story, and it's more engaging than the caper with the alien neanderthal robot (if I had a nickel) from before that. If it wasn't for the nonsensical conclusion of Iron Man posing as the Actor for no reason and the unjustified secret identity bit, I'd even say it's a perfectly competent little cold war pulp yarn.
You often hear the joke about how comic book characters fail to realize the true identity of a hero despite obvious clues. What you don't hear quite as often is how sometimes in these old stories a character deduces the secret based on the flimsiest of premises. Here, the Actor concludes that Tony Stark is Iron Man based on some golden components he finds in the man's lab, ignoring not only the multitude of purposes a high-tech weapons manufacturer might have for those components, but also the already established fact that Iron Man supposedly works for Tony Stark, making it make complete sense that Stark would be involved with his suit's technology.
When you add the detail that there's not really any meaningful reason why Stark needs a secret identity at this point anyway, the stakes with this thread of the Actor knowing about it evaporate almost entirely. Other characters like Spider-Man did always have a reason -- it's established early on that Peter's concern for Aunt May's reaction is reason enough, but he also had the baggage of Uncle Ben's death contribute to his willingness to keep everything a secret. The Iron Man stories so far never provided any explanation for why Tony needed to pretend not to be Iron Man.
Something else that's entirely missing in this early period of Iron Man is the critical perspective to his role as a weapons manufacturer. Even after the horrifying disintegration ray is almost stolen, there's not a single line of acknowledgement that just the weapon existing in the first place is kind of awful, and that it's probably just a matter of time until someone tries to steal it again (even if we ignore the outrageous perspective that the United States government using that kind of weapon isn't actually any better than the Soviet government doing so). For someone with as intense an origin story as his, Tony Stark is ultimately pretty nonchalant about his new means of killing countless people.
This is definitely one of those elements that shows not just how disposable the non-flagship stories were considered to be by the creative team, but also how different the general socio-political environment was in the early 60s. The concept of a character dealing with trauma from a near-death experience wasn't really a hot subject for any medium, let alone comic books. That kind of unreadiness made Iron Man's origin a wasted opportunity, until later writers picked it back up and turned into a thematic bombshell, pun intended.
When it comes to the actual creative process, Tales of Suspense #42 is an example of Stan Lee (or at least someone on the creative team) recycling an idea from a different story that just came out: The Actor is literally just the Chameleon from The Amazing Spider-Man #1, which came out a few short months before. They're so much the same character that there was no need to change the name -- both were shapeshifting Russian spies looking to acquire military secrets for the Motherland.
That's an indication of the times, too: an early 60s American reader could wrap their head around the concept, and there was no need for a complex explanation on their motivations or why they were considered the enemy. The only other archetype at the time that compared in efficiency and convenience of storytelling was aliens; there's so many flying saucers in the early 60s comics across the different characters that it's sort of hilarious.
In this early stage, Iron Man was still lacking a distinct creative direction -- and more importantly, stakes or narrative hooks to really care about. There were essentially no recurring supporting characters, no drama, and no memorable villains, and with the tragedy of the character's origin story going to waste for a while still, it's no wonder that Iron Man didn't catch on until much later. But with this most recent issue being an improvement in my view over the previous stories, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all develops, with the first issue of the Avengers looming on the horizon (and I already have some things to say about that).
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Art by Steve Ditko.
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The Amazing Spider-Man #3: Spider-Man Versus Doctor Octopus
- Writers: Stan Lee & Steve Ditko
- Pencils & inks: Steve Ditko
- Editor: Stan Lee
- Release date: April 9, 1963
- Cover date: July, 1963
Aside from the obvious historical significance of Amazing Spider-Man #3 as the debut of one of the most iconic villains in comics, it's fascinating to set it next to Tales of Suspense #42 and note how that, a completely serviceable but ultimately forgettable run-of-the-mill comic story, actually doesn't compare to how good the story in ASM #3 is. Reading only Spider-Man in isolation before, it was easy for me to miss the details that made this series stand out from the others, but in the context of everything else that was out there, it becomes clear that Spider-Man's breakout success wasn't an accident -- there really was something here.
As mentioned above, Iron Man was operating at a reduced page count compared to Spidey, and it's also worth noting that this is the first full-length Spider-Man story -- both ASM issues that preceded it contained two separate stories. That gave the creative team freedom to stretch out Doctor Octopus's origin story to multiple pages. But while generally Spider-Man's supporting cast and the human drama element is an important part of what makes the series special, this issue is actually pretty light on Peter's adventures as just Peter; we get a passing appearance from his schoolmates, barely an interaction with Aunt May, and the rest of the time it's either Spider-Man doing his thing or Peter thinking about Spider-Man. Even just as a Spider-Man centric tale, this issue is distinct in its quality.
There's a lot of understated yet powerful storytelling in this issue, particularly regarding the character of Doc Ock himself. He doesn't bother killing people (not that he probably could with comics content regulations of the time, without some artistic restraint), not for compassion but just because he considers people simply beneath him. He beats the living daylights out of Spider-Man, and just tosses him out the window like garbage. In a lot of cases this would feel like convenient plot-armor, but here it doesn't -- it feels reasonable, somehow, to believe that Ock actually just doesn't care if Spider-Man is still out there. And after the way he just steamrolled over the young hero, why would he?
Something I need to point out is that I'm a staunch believer in Doctor Octopus being the natural and best arch nemesis for Spider-Man, and that if it wasn't for Marvel editorial constantly and fervently putting all their efforts into forcing Norman Osborn into that position, it would by undeniably obvious too. Not only is Ock a more interesting physical foil to Spider-Man, selling the premise that Spidey can't just best him in a slugging match head-on, and not only is he set up from the start as an exceptionally intelligent person whom Spidey can't just outwit, the character is built around the inverse of the thematic tagline that defines Spider-Man: Doc Ock is essentially what Peter would be if he never internalized the concept that power comes with responsibility. In his first appearance, Doc Ock all but says it flat-out: he has the right to do what he wants because he has the power. Ock is both the match and the reversal of who Spider-Man is, and that makes this match-up more thematically satisfying, in my opinion, than anything Norman Osborn or any other Goblin has measured up to.
The first fight of the issue is set up across the first part of the story with some skill, with Peter handily taking out some thugs and lamenting how nobody seems to give him a challenge these days. He's simply too powerful, he considers. He's a young kid with unimaginable strength, so it tracks that it wouldn't take him long to lose all perspective and throw caution to the wind. Yet, here's Doctor Octopus, who sweeps the floor with him, and that fragile arrogance shatters instantly.
The reason it works is because the fight is very convincing -- the art is dynamic and engaging, in a way that Steve Ditko was particularly talented at, but there's also a logic to it that makes it grounded and believable: unlike previous cases where Spidey just gets careless or inexplicably under-utilizes his abilities, the action sells the narrative that Peter is simply overwhelmed by Doc Ock, the strength of his tentacles, the tactical awareness of their master, and just having so many moving things around him trying to kill him.
Peter losing his confidence after the fight is also a natural consequence of his defeat, and the way the narrative presents it -- while a little heavy handed in how Peter spells out how he's feeling -- makes the moment hit. Never having been in a situation where his power just wasn't enough, Peter simply doesn't know how to deal with it. Even though it might look melodramatic that he's considering quitting after that one failed attempt to take out Doc Ock, it does make sense when you remember this is a high school kid who never lost a fight before since becoming superpowered. This was long before getting beaten down and always getting back up became a Spider-Man brand, and keeping that in mind makes the internal conflict make a lot more sense -- this was just his first steps in learning to take as many blows as he needs to in order to do what he feels is right.
The solution to Peter's crisis coming from Johnny Storm who just happened to be around to make a whole speech about not giving up is a little too convenient to be really clever, but at least we get a thematic turn that's not just Peter spontaneously realizing he should just keep trying. Convenient is also the Human Torch being currently unable to help with Doc Ock directly because he needs to let his flame recharge (or because he's sick, as we learn at the end of the story in what seems to be a continuity fumble from Stan), but I personally didn't need him mixed up in the fight anyway.
The vague "science" solution that Peter cooks up from undetermined components leading up to the second encounter is a little flimsy because we never really know what he did or how he knew how to do it, but it's an improvement over the magnetic inverter he conjured up to take out the Vulture based on a "hunch" regarding the technology the old man was using to stay afloat.
The second fight is as good if not better than the first one, and the most significant thing about it is how the dynamic of the battle shifts between the participants: it's never a clear situation of one or the other winning, and each hit one gets on the other is followed by a reversal: Peter fuses two of Ock's tentacles together, only to be pushed against a wall by the mad scientist using the deformed limbs as a club, and so on. The choreography here almost feels like a modern action movie -- it's kinetic and tangible, and it has motion and force behind its movements, all portrayed in a sequence laid out in an impressively designed illustration. Even the conclusion, which looks on the surface like just a stiff punch to end the fight, feels like a satisfying release at the peak of tension.
It's hardly an interesting take to say that ASM #3 is a great comic book, but I've only really found out why it is so now during this revisitation. With the knowledge of the past, future, and contemporary history of these now-classic issues, the details that made Spider-Man special become apparent, and his elevation into the face of Marvel as a whole begins to make sense. I'll be fascinated to keep going and reading the rest of this classic era with the benefit of familiarity with the following decades of Spider-Man's publication, but perhaps more importantly learning the context of the other books published at the same time, and becoming familiar with the successes and failures happening elsewhere in the Marvel universe.







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