INFINITY GERMS: How Superheroes Infected Everything

Soon Avengers: Endgame will be released and all of the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s cliffhangers and secrets will be resolved. Who among the victims of the Mad Titan Thanos will make their triumphant return from the ash heap? Disregard the fact that Black Panther 2 and Dr. Strange 2 have already been shoved into production. Politely ignore the trailer for Spider-Man: Far From Home and by the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth do not mention the current Dr. Pepper cans decorated with images of Spidey and his nemesis Mysterio. Don’t worry about the upcoming Disney+ streaming shows featuring many characters that Thanos supposedly wiped from existence.

Part of being a superhero fan is to be in denial about the inconsequential nature of literally everything that happens. I am not sure if I got the bug from a VHS of the 1966 Batman movie or a copy of Superman #4 from 1987 or the Gretna, Virginia public library’s tattered copy of Marvel’s Bring on the Bad Guys collection. I’ve had the super virus as long as I can remember so I know that part of being a fan, the part that millions are exercising in anticipation for Endgame, is pretending that any of this stuff has an ending. The beauty and the ugliness of super heroes is that they never end. There’s always a new cast announcement. There’s always a new creative team. There’s always a Crisis on Infinite Earths to wipe the slate clean after decades of minutiae and preposterous plot twists have rendered the comic books nigh unreadable. On paper and in film, the heroes’ victories over Lex Luthor, Doctor Doom, Magneto, the Joker, and the rest are always ephemeral. The villains’ rare victories over their heroic rivals are similarly short-lived. Over the past 80 years, the two big American comic book publishing houses and their corporate owners have created two self-sustaining, self-replicating pop culture organisms. The Marvel and DC Universes have become powerful monstrosities borne of technology, media consolidation, and our collective nostalgia.

The disappointing commercial and critical performances of Solo: A Star Wars Story and the Harry Potter derived Fantastic Beasts films show that hundreds of millions in marketing and total media saturation cannot guarantee a smash. While the Star Wars and Harry Potter franchises struggle, the Marvel and DC films continue their dominance. An Aquaman movie made over $1,00,000,000 worldwide. A film featuring Marvel’s fourth iteration of the Captain Marvel character had similar success. The successes of Marvel and DC (read: Time Warner and Disney) are due in part because the movies are fun and breezy and they are chocked full of likable characters continuously zipping around in a world of computer generated fantasy landscapes in a Lisa Frank color palette. Solo and the Fantastic Beasts films, by contrast, are literally and figuratively grey. The action and story-lines are muddled by comparison. The Marvel and DC films are a continuation of a never ending story while Solo and the Fantastic Beasts films, both prequels, are two and half hour slogs toward a known destination. We can at least “pretend” that Black Panther and Spider-Man may be gone forever while we know for a fact that an elderly Han Solo will be murdered by his brooding son and that Harry and his allies will decisively defeat Voldemort and his coven of Death Eaters.

Superheroes always give us conclusions but never endings. It’s one of their best super powers. It’s possible that some of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes may not survive the latest battle with Thanos. This may be especially true for those Avengers whose contracts with Disney are up. It’s a safe bet, however, that a reboot of the Marvel Cinematic Universe will happen in the near future and we will fall in love with a new Iron Man, a new Captain America, and a new Thor. The same goes for the DC Extended Universe. Reports would indicate that a new Batman is already on his way. For the past thirty years, American superhero comics have worked on a system of reboot and restart. DC has done several hard continuity resets while Marvel has traditionally used a softer approach with story-line based explanations for big changes to specific characters. This is done to tidy up the decades of accumulated continuity but it is also a desperate cash grab. Hollywood, which is is no stranger to franchise reboots, is surely to follow the examples of its source material. After the disastrous performance of WB’s Justice League, rumors swirled regarding a DCEU reboot. It’s difficult to imagine audiences accepting a total reboot of Star Wars or Harry Potter, but it is part of the culture and history of the super heroes. The great sagas of the two superhero universes are filled with infinity gems, mother boxes, angels, demons, and all manner of macguffins that allow for the big reset. This is incredibly appealing for Time Warner and Disney. Their two biggest properties are in a constant state of rebirth and rebranding — a new franchise every decade but made up from existing intellectual property. There’s no need to give creatives money or freedom in a vain quest to discover the new fad. When Time Warner and Disney have a nearly bottomless pit of intellectual property, actors and filmmakers can be replaced with the same ease with which Mephisto erased Spider-Man’s marriage to Mary Jane from the Earth 616 timeline.

Harry Potter and Star Wars are, for the most part, the product of singular (albeit derivative) creative visions. In contrast, superheroes are the result of dozens of artists and writers. Even though Joe Simon and Jack Kirby are the original creators of Captain America, it is their original 1940s comics in conjunction with the later work of Jim Steranko, Stan Lee, Ed Brubaker, Steve Epting, Mark Gruenwald, Mark Waid, Steve Englehart, Sal Buscema, and others that give us the contemporary Captain America character who serves as the emotional core of a billion dollar entertainment empire. The fact that every major superhero is the product of decades of differing (and in some cases contrasting) words and pictures is one of the most appealing things about the Marvel and DC libraries. Unfortunately, these creators have not been able to share in the billions that Time Warner and Disney have made from their creations.

On their wonderfully entertaining and insightful Cartoonist Kayfabe YouTube channel, professional comic artists Ed Piskor and Jim Rugg often refer to Marvel and DC writers and artists as “jobbers” — a term from the professional wrestling lexicon. Jobbers are the wrestlers who excel at the task of losing. Their job is to let their opponent beat them. By losing, jobbers help establish wrestlers as dashing heroes or dastardly villains and therefore help the promotion sell tickets. In comic book terms, these were writers and artists given ignoble tasks such as making sure Marvel Two-In-One was never late or that the Legion of Super-Heroes had a bevy of 30th century villains to battle. In wrestling and comics, the “jobbers” are the nondescript workers who make the entire enterprise possible. Without losers there can be no winners. Piskor and Rugg use the term with an equal mix of derision and affection when referring to comic book creators — affection for the childhood memories they created and derision for the willingness to be exploited by the big two.

For most of American superhero comics 80 years of existence, it has been this rabble of artists and writers who have maintained the industry. They have created a massive collection of intellectual property worth billions that can be picked through as needed by Time Warner and the House of Mouse. In 1992, Bill Mantlo, a journeyman comic writer known for his stints on The Incredible Hulk and The Micronauts, was permanently disabled by a hit and run driver. Last week his brother, started a GoFundMe to help with the cost of Mantlo’s medical care. The timing served as a grim reminder of the role of the creator in the era of superhero domination. In 1976’s Marvel Preview #7, Mantlo and artist Keith Giffen debuted a Beatles-inspired space opera pastiche starring a wiseacre, trigger happy raccoon known as “Rocky.” In 1982’s The Incredible Hulk #271, Mantlo re-dubbed the character “Rocket Raccoon.” After years of obscurity, the 2013 Guardians of the Galaxy film made Rocket one of Marvel and Disney’s most popular heroes. Posters for Avengers: Endgame put Rocket front and center with Captain America. The conservative estimates place Avengers: Endgame weekend gross at $260 million. As of this writing, Michael Mantlo has raised $51,203 out of a needed $100,000 for his brother’s care. To break the numbers down further, the medical care of Bill Mantlo, creator of one of Endgame’s main attractions, requires about 0.04% of the film’s projected opening weekend gross. An Amazon search for “Rocket Raccoon” reveals over 2,000 matches.

On Twitter and other online spaces, obsession with the MCU is coupled with its mutant clone, a much smaller but equally passionate disdain for all things Marvel. Even though I risk of being accused of “bothsidesism,” I understand both impulses. As a fan of the Marvel Universe and all of its incarnations, I cannot pretend to be anything less than excited for Avengers: Endgame. I pre-ordered my ticket. I have a Thor t-shirt to wear on opening night. In contrast to the excitement regarding Endgame, the MCU’s critics decry the infantilized nerd “culture” promoted by Disney’s marketing team. They correctly point out the many stylistic and aesthetic shortcomings of the films. They offer damning proof of contemporary film critics either falling prey to Disney’s influence or fan pressure. Most of their problems with the MCU are inarguably true, yet I remain a True Believer. Unlike most of the millions of Marvel movie adherents, however, my main dedication is not to the films themselves but to the source material. If Disney decides to shelve Doctor Strange 2 or The Vision and Scarlet Witch streaming show, I would be disappointed but not despondent. If, under some strange enchantment from the Dread Dormammu, copies of Steve Ditko and Stan Lee’s Dr. Strange or John Byrne’s Alpha Flight vanished, I would be devastated. Superhero comics are my true love and the movie fandom is an extension of that.

Despite environments hostile to creativity and despite the abuse of its creators, Marvel and DC Comics have sporadically produced massively entertaining and occasionally innovative bits of pop culture. Simplistic comic book histories seem to imply that every twenty years the industry is revitalized. In the 1960s, Stan Lee’s Marvel age of comics saved superheroes from being World War II era oddities. Frank Miller and Alan Moore’s “dark and gritty” DC Comics of the mid-80s brought a hitherto absent sense of sophistication and depth to the cape and mask set. Joe Quesada and Bill Jemas’s Marvel renaissance of the early 00’s laid the foundation for the century’s biggest media juggernaut. This is an incredibly simplified history of what actually happened, but it contains elements of truth. Those eras were special. They produced a majority of the best Marvel and DC material. The horrible truth about American comic books is that those rare eras of creativity in an inherently un-creative medium will become even rarer and may never happen again. Superheroes are victims of their own success. All innovation in their movies and comics is most likely doomed. When Marvel and DC were the bastard children of their corporate owners, occasionally something like Jim Starlin’s Warlock or Alan Moore, Steve Bissette, and John Totelben’s Swamp Thing or Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’s New X-Men would slip through the cracks. Now that the Marvel and DC character vaults are the most valuable entertainment properties in the world, Disney and Time Warner are taking a very keen interest in their comic book publishing wings. One of the most troubling developments in the new era of corporate synergy was Marvel President (and Donald Trump ally) Ike Perlmutter’s 2017 edict that Marvel would no longer publish comics featuring the Fantastic Four, the cosmically enhanced family who formed the bedrock of the Marvel Universe, due to a conflict between 20th Century Fox and Disney. Another example was a long term plan to transform Jack Kirby’s Inhumans into a sort of ersatz X-Men. It was Disney’s acquisition of 20th Century Fox which stopped these plans. The merging of the two entertainment conglomerates gives the fans the tantalizing possibility of the X-Men, Fantastic Four, and Avengers battling one another on the big screen. If you are a fan of the comics, the purest expression of the superhero, then this is no cause for celebration. This means that all of the Marvel stable are now in the cross-hairs of Mickey and the gang. If you are a fan of the super hero film, the outlook is still grim. Fox was willing to produce X-Men projects which differed from the standard fair released by Disney and Warner Brothers. It is hard to imagine Disney taking a chance on genre bending X-projects like Deadpool, Logan, and the Legion cable series.

Soon the public will get their answers and the fates of the Avengers and the Guardians of the Galaxy will be known. Tears will be shed and memes will be shared. One wonders if Dr. Strange himself could use the sacred, all-seeing Eye of Agamotto to look into the theaters of 2029. Might the Sorcerer Supreme peer through the mists of time and see an audience crying over the fate of Moon Knight, She-Hulk, or perhaps even Woodgod? I would say there’s a fair chance this prophecy comes to pass. As we approach the twenty year anniversary of Bryan Singer’s X-Men, the superhero film has evolved from being a fad and has turned into a full blown genre. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of it slowing down. Superheroes, the perfect delivery systems for spectacle and wish fulfillment, take root in the psyches of casual film fans and nerdy obsessives alike. We love them, but their infection of all forms of entertainment and media is not completely our doing. Through Marvel and DC, AT&T (Time Warner’s new owner) and Disney have an inexhaustible supply of stories and characters free from any troubling concerns such as creators rights or licensing fees. These stories and characters can be reused and re-formatted to fit any demand that the entertainment market may impose. The Crisis will never be final. The game will never truly End. The magic and mystery so many craftsmen created over so many years will be used and abused, rendered warped and shapeless — the joy and fun from the past 80 years banished to the Dark Dimension, reduced to ashes from the snap of Thanos.