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Editor's Note: The following piece is part of an expanded version of Pierre's article "The Four Fantastic Phases of Silver Age Marvel" which featured in the Sept 2000 issue of that excellent publication Comic Book Marketplace, also known as CBM. Without the constraints of the printed medium, we're able to present this fuller version. You might like to compare the two! - Nick
Author's Note: Regular visitors to this site will be familiar with the four phases of Silver Age Marvel's development described here, as they continue to serve as the theoretical basis of this writer's collaboration with Gregorio Montejo in our In-depth Reviews column. I first dreamed up the idea of dividing Silver Age Marvel's development into four phases in the early '90s, just before the completion of the original of this article around 1994. - Pierre
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Part IV: The Twilight Years
Although three distinct periods in the development of Silver Age Marvel have already been identified, the Early, Formative Years, the Years of Consolidation and the Grandiose Years, a fourth still remains: the Twilight Years. Characterized by a combination of a growing lethargy among the company's established titles and the rise of imaginative new features produced by young creators who'd been fans before they became professionals, the Twilight Years was the longest and most drawn out of the four phases. Those looking for a clear line of demarcation between the Grandiose Years and the Twilight Years however, will be disappointed. Like the previous phases, the change from one era to the next wasn't obvious, coming gradually, almost imperceptibly and unlike those earlier phases, the period of overlap between the Grandiose Years and the Twilight Years is a lengthy one. And despite the temptation to use Jack Kirby's departure from the company as marking the end of the Grandiose Years, the fact is, no era can be demarcated by a single event. In fact, it's the contention here that Marvel's exit from the Silver Age began almost two full years before Kirby left.
Begun in the triumphant glow of the Grandiose Years, this final era in Silver Age Marvel's development wound down slowly as the once vibrant dynamism of Lee, Kirby, Ditko and Heck became spent, the visual skills of their successors Romita, Buscema and Colan for a time held their ground and new writers like Roy Thomas, Gerry Conway and Doug Moench steered their most creative energies away from the books that had become the bedrock of the line. As the changeover from the old guard to the new was completed and the company entered fully into its final phase (a phase whose elements and style of storytelling became as different in their sensibilities from those of the three earlier phases as those phases had been different from comics produced before Marvel's revolution), the Twilight Years became a kind of epilogue to what had gone before as the long night of mediocrity slowly settled over the company.
Gradually, as the Twilight Years progressed, a kind of atrophy set in on the older titles that had once led the Marvel revolution. Elements such as characterization and realism began to fade and humor became stale; formula trumped originality. Ironically however, it was these very strips that continued to outsell the oddball books and new features that were showing the sometimes daring creativity that had originally set Marvel apart from its competitors. And so, as the Twilight Years faded out, and memory of the glorious triumphs of the earlier phases dimmed, an air of somnambulism crept into Marvel, only to be jarred into wakefulness when, at intervals, rising creative stars occasionally shook it from its slumber. The years would stretch into decades and reach beyond the scope of this work as flashes of creativity, the last echoes of Marvel's fabled Silver Age (such as that of John Byrne's stint on the X-Men and Fantastic Four, Frank Miller's work on Daredevil and the Roger Stern, John Buscema, Tom Palmer team up on the Avengers), became more and more infrequent until petering out completely. |
1) To fans reading Marvel Comics in 1968, it probably wasn't immediately apparent that an era was passing. Not just from the Grandiose Years to the Twilight period, but all of Silver Age Marvel itself was slowly winding to a stop. On the surface, it might've seemed as if nothing had changed: Lee and Kirby were still producing monthly wonderment on such books as Thor and the FF, and Lee, in partnership with others, was still writing most of the rest of the features including the Silver Surfer, Spider-Man and Daredevil. Roy Thomas was still very dependably scripting some of the more dynamic of the company's books including the Avengers and Dr. Strange, and the art styles of such professionals as Romita, Colan and John Buscema continued to evolve in exciting directions. As a phenomenon, Marvel Comics continued to ride high in other media and it remained chic for celebrities from European film directors to rock stars to visit its Madison Avenue offices. Still seen as a kind of guru to his youthful admirers, Lee's popularity peaked with "An Evening with Marvel" at New York's Carnegie Hall in 1972. Complicating things from a reader's viewpoint was the fact that the end of the Silver Age (the larger, overarching period in the history of comics within which Marvel's four phases developed), didn't necessarily coincide with the end of the company's Grandiose phase and blurring things still further, there was no such thing as a clean break between the Grandiose and Twilight years. For almost the first two years of the Twilight phase, from 1968 to 1970, there was overlap with the concluding Grandiose phase. Even as books such as the X-Men, Avengers and Spider-Man were reaching their respective crescendos, new features were starting up and the first wave of fan creators began making an impact. But for those who bothered to look, there were definitely signs of the approaching end. Ditko had long since gone from the company, Heck's once great powers of illustration had withered and even Romita wasn't doing full pencils on Spider-Man anymore. But most of all, Kirby himself, the 'King', was clearly past his most exciting years. After the Psycho Man story in FF # 77, the strip began to suffer the beginnings of a drawn out decline that would end only with Kirby's departure after # 102. Following # 77, a few ill conceived stories of living Indian totems and another foiled plot by Maximus to take over the Inhumans was interrupted by the strip's last extended story of the Silver Age as Dr. Doom returns in Fantastic Four # 84 (Mar 1969) for another go at our heroes. No one knew it at the time but, as weak an entry as it was, it would be Kirby's last worthy contribution to the Grandiose Years.
2) By Fantastic Four # 85 (Apr 1969), Lee had long since loosened his hold on the books with which he was a partner with Kirby. The two men's relationship had evolved from the early days when Lee had supplied a fully developed plot synopsis and concepts for each issue of the FF and assigned writing chores on other features to brother Larry Leiber. Gradually, the tight plot synopses were dropped in favor of working the 'Marvel Method' in which the two men would discuss an upcoming issue's plot, Kirby would draw the book and when he turned in the completed pages, Lee would add the script. Lee however, retained the crucial role of editor and so, the final word on any particular subject. As time passed and Lee's workload and commitments outside the Marvel offices increased (and perhaps sensing dissatisfaction from Kirby with his position in the company), he relinquished more and more of the decision-making power to Kirby until, sometime in 1968, he seems to have given the artist virtual carte blanche to direct the strips as he wished. Now, as Kirby assumed full plotting chores, the familiar credits located on the splash pages of the books gave equal kudos to both men. This change in status became painfully obvious in the last twenty issues of the FF as Kirby apparently followed the path of least resistance. Taking his cue from the popular media around him, Kirby simply began turning his plots into unofficial adaptations of popular television shows or movies of the time (a source of inspiration he'd take with him to DC when he finally left Marvel in 1970). There was the old Star Trek plot involving alien worlds mimicking the American gangster era and pilferings from films such as The Creature From the Black Lagoon and Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Another such borrowing is also obvious in this issue's story (begun in # 84) in which the FF are captured by Dr. Doom and held captive in a quaint Latverian town where their every need is taken care of: wined and dined, they can never leave. This is precisely the premise of The Prisoner, a British television program then being shown on American TV. Here however, the FF are lured to Latveria (the tiny nation-state of which Doom is absolute monarch) to investigate reports of the development of robots more deadly than any yet devised. But despite its origins in another medium, Kirby yet manages to inject into this four-part epic much of the majesty of the grand style, setting up the plot with some wonderfully executed scenes including a kind of 'pre-credit' sequence in which a hapless prisoner attempts to escape from Latveria only to be stopped by Doom himself (shown in a full-page portrait oozing with patented Kirby menace). Next, the FF themselves are seen in plainclothes at a border checkpoint trying to sneak into Latveria. Communist troops warn them that to go any further is "most unwise", but of course they proceed anyway and are immediately attacked, captured and hypnotized into not using their powers. Throughout, Kirby's pencils (with the dependable Joe Sinnott on the inks) still pack the wallop they always did, but around the edges, slack is definitely beginning to show. The same lines, poses and layout were appearing over and over again, a fault that would become increasingly unfortunate as the years passed. Lee's scripting meanwhile, continued as smoothly and efficiently as ever with just the right words coming from each of the characters' mouths. |
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3) Words became increasingly important to strips under Kirby's control as he had a tendency to give scenes that developed characterization short shrift. Thus, it usually fell to Lee to add the words that not only moved the plot forward but helped reveal nuances in characters' personalities. In the fast-forward action of this four-part Doom epic, Kirby leaves little opportunity even for that as in Fantastic Four # 86 (May 1969), Doom unleashes his horde of deadly robots onto the village where the FF are held captive. But on the way to some senses-staggering action, a funny thing happens, although the FF themselves get very little attention, other members of the cast manage to catch a lot of it. For the first time, readers are treated to prolonged exposure to the ordinary people who must live under the heel of Dr. Doom. Glimpsed briefly in past stories and here more extensively, they were always depicted as colorful eastern-European types, terrorized by Doom but more or less unconcerned about him. But in a single scene in # 85, Lee brings their plight into focus. "Despite the banners and the bands, the people move around like sleepwalkers!" observes Johnny of the village "whose inhabitants go about their daily tasks in grim and fearful resignation!" "The mood of fear, and oppression is so thick and heavy, you can almost touch it!" agrees Reed. Later, as the villagers realize that their monarch has chosen to sacrifice them all in his attempt to kill the FF, they side with his enemies and participate in a heroic last stand. On the other hand there's Dr. Doom himself. Always one of the most fully-rounded, complex and realistically motivated villains in the Marvel universe, with this series, his character is honed to its sharpest degree as the contradictions inherent in his hate for all mankind and the responsibilities he inadvertently assumed when he seized control of Latveria clash in the dramatic climax of this story. It begins with the timely arrival of Sue Richards and the FF's attack on Doom's hilltop fortress. The heroes become separated with Sue and Crystal finding their way into the castle's dining room where Doom awaits them with a multi-course meal. In a scene somewhat reminiscent of the cultured villains from the James Bond films (but in a tradition that goes back at least as far as Hollywood's depiction of ruthless, aristocratic Nazi officers), Doom disarms the two women with a question: "Have you chosen a name for your son, yet, Mrs. Richards?" With the meal concluded, Doom next treats the women to a piano recital, playing "his own composition" even as the rest of the FF move cautiously through endless halls crammed with some of the world's most valuable art treasures. "I wish only to live with beauty, with culture, to enjoy the simple pleasures that life has to offer", professes Doom, just before he kills an aide who threatened to damage the art collection. Eventually, the battle is ended, not because the FF win, but because Doom decides victory is not worth the price his kingdom must suffer for it.
4) The Dr. Doom epic that ends in Fantastic Four # 87 (Jun 1969) was in every way a product of the Grandiose Years, from its pumped up, heroic figure work to its
larger-than-life characterizations of such personalities as Doom himself to its
extended multi-part format. Transcending its roots in a contemporary television
program, it became a towering monument to the gargantuan nature of Doom's
personality and his long standing rivalry with Reed Richards. Unfortunately,
the story also suffered from a formularization of the grand style. There was
characterization, but not the kind of in-depth characterization that writers
like Thomas were using to actually drive many of their own plots. There was
some internal consistency with past events, but little reference to the wider
Marvel Universe, a sense of continuity whose increasing sophistication would
become a hallmark of the Twilight Years. Even Kirby's sense of panel layout was
becoming almost too familiar. But despite the artist's creative slow-down, the
grand style he'd developed over the eight years of Marvel's Silver Age was still
powerful enough, in association with a sympathetic inker, to still move even the
most jaded of readers. And even if Sinnott too was slowing down on his figure
work, Kirby's backgrounds could hardly be better served than with the fine
detail provided for his Latverian village scenes. And at least once in each
part of the series, Kirby renders a full-page shot of Doom that somehow, even
through expressionless armor, manages to endow the villain with menace, anger or
benevolence. It was a shame then, that this heroic effort would be Kirby's last
inspiring work for Marvel. Already, the seeds of banality were being planted
with a sub-plot involving the purchase of a new house by the Richards, which
turns out to be another world threatening gizmo constructed by the Mole Man.
Riddled with more inconsistencies than readers this late in the silver age could
be expected to swallow without abandoning their suspension of disbelief, it
would fail as a good FF story and lead into a string of even more embarrassing
stories. Some might say that Kirby, still dissatisfied with his position at
Marvel, was holding out on his good ideas until he left, but when he finally
jumped to rival DC, the good ideas still failed to turn up. The reality was,
without a level headed decision maker and writing partner, Kirby was like a ship
without a rudder. Never again would he experience the success he'd had in
partnership first with Joe Simon in the 1940s and 50s and then with Stan Lee in
the 1960s.
5) By contrast, Lee and Colan were doing everything right in Daredevil # 49 (Feb 1969).
Where the FF lacked characterization, Lee supplied it in plenty; where Kirby
ignored continuity, Lee followed in Thomas' footsteps by reaching back to
previous stories and wrote new ones by extrapolating from events of the old, and
where Kirby was mired in the six-panel grid, Colan's layouts were all over the
map including even the cover! If proof were ever needed to verify Lee's retreat
from active involvement with the plotting of the FF, or of Kirby's need for his
skills, no more would be required than this issue of Daredevil! In stark
contrast with the almost arid quality of the books dominated by Kirby, titles
such as DD, Spider-Man and Captain America in which Lee had complete control,
were driven by characterization in which protagonists suffered constantly from
fear, doubt and the pangs of love. The first four pages of this issue of
Daredevil for instance begins with a soliloquy by Matt Murdock on the
complications in his life engendered by his role as a costumed crime fighter.
"I wasn't satisfied to live out my life as Matt Murdock," muses DD. "I wanted
the excitement, the glamour, the adventure of a superhero's life!" "I spent
years making a legend out of Daredevil, making my costume a symbol of courage
and skill!" but "It can't put its arms around me, or kiss me goodnight!"
Meanwhile, consequences of past actions catch up with DD when Biggy Benson, the
man he sent to prison after events in # 47, hires a deadly robot to kill
Murdock. Defeated, DD is only saved by the timely arrival of Willie Lincoln,
now an employee of the Urban League. Throughout, Lee's script is beautifully
served by the fluid art of Gene Colan who opens the story with a three panel
cover that sets the story's tone of fast moving action. Page one continues the
theme of constant movement with an all black splash page punctuated by a series
of three panels showing a door slowly opening to reveal the sombre visage of
Matt Murdock. Inside, Murdock wanders through an empty, shadowed apartment
until attacked by the robot in a visually stunning full page scene. Next, Colan
(assisted by inker George Klein), presents a furious sequence of overlapping
panels that conveys to the reader the same confusion suffered by DD as the
attack leaves him no time to think. After an interlude with Willie Lincoln and
Biggy Benson, the action follows DD as he returns to his apartment to wait for
the robot's return. As might've been predicted, the creature shows up again and
Colan winds up his first, uninterrupted run on the title with an exciting fight
scene involving big, half page panels with figures twisting and contorting in
furious action. Coupled with Lee's bare as bones dialogue (narrative blocks
were practically non-existent in DD by this time, significantly increasing the
rhythm of the story), the pace of this issue made Kirby's concurrent FF work
seem like it was standing still!
6) Readers were perhaps understandably shocked when they opened Daredevil # 50 (Mar 1969) since there could hardly be any more contrasting styles than that between the superbly cool Gene Colan who'd practically turned the title into a personal fiefdom since taking it over with # 20 and newcomer Barry Smith fresh off of some unimpressive issues of the X-Men! The change would prove only temporary, but readers didn't know that; for all intents and purposes, it looked as though
Smith would be staying on as the new regular artist for DD. And although by the
evidence of this first issue, readers could've been forgiven for having little
faith in the Britisher, by even the next issue and especially his last with # 52,
Smith's style had begun to evolve in such a manner that he was actually becoming
exciting to look at! By the end, he had readers convinced that if push came to
shove, he wouldn't be a bad permanent replacement for Colan after all. But for
this issue anyway, Smith was still obviously feeling his way through the
thickets of neophytism that had led him to choose Kirby as his prime influence
(not a bad place for any beginning comic book artist to start). But since his
work on the X-Men, a new influence had crept into his work. Sure, his figure
work was still in the bulky, Kirby style, but a loosening of his layouts
definitely indicated that the more visually innovative Steranko was becoming his
new pole star. Suddenly, he was using multi-frame shots to indicate movement
over a period of time and creating strobe effects by depicting a tumbling figure
in different positions in the same panel. He abandoned Kirby's strict adherence
to the six panel grid and began varying the sizes of his panels, overlapping
them and using different camera angles to heighten effect. All tricks first
introduced by Steranko. But through it all, there was still an underlying feel
of individuality. A low angle shot of the robot crossing a field of long,
waving grass and another of the heat blurred figure of Starr Saxon as seen
through a wall of flame were early precursors of layouts Smith would use to good
effect on Conan. With all of that, the fact that this would also be Lee's last
script for Daredevil almost goes unnoticed. But it shouldn't. Marking another
milestone in Marvel's transition from the grandiose to the twilight years, it
comes at a time when Lee was at the top of his form on the Daredevil book. It'd
taken him a while to work out just the right tone for the feature and when he
finally found it, he ran with it. Matched with Colan, the two men made up one
of the all time greatest writer/artist teams in comics history and with
Daredevil, parted company at the very peak of their partnership. Roy Thomas
would take over the scripting chores with the next issue and later Gerry Conway
would take it to its one hundredth issue, but for most of that time, despite
Colan's continued involvement, the strip would never quite reach the heights of
perfection it had under the sure guidance of Stan Lee.
7) Marking a sea change for the strip, Daredevil # 51 (Apr 1969) featured a completely new creative team with Roy Thomas writing and Barry Smith on the art. It was the first time that fans-turned-professionals formed the primary creative team on a Silver Age book (not counting Lee's editorial input). Picking up where Lee left off, Thomas had the "plastoid" robot follow Matt Murdock's trail to the prison where Biggy Benson is being held and in the ensuing battle, the former crime boss suffers the fate he'd intended for the blind lawyer. Meanwhile, the incident galvanizes Murdock into giving up his identity of Daredevil just as the robot's inventor, the somewhat effeminate Starr Saxon, discovers his secret ID!
"And now, I'd better say it out loud, before the proverbial house falls on me! Matthew Murdock is Daredevil!" Bugging Matt's apartment, Saxon begins plotting his revenge. But more fighting is the last thing on Daredevil's mind as, making up with girlfriend Karen Page and former law partner Foggy Nelson, he decides to hang up his cowl for good. "We've got things, like futures, to discuss!" he tells Karen. "Also, I have something to tell you, a secret. " But that particular revelation would have to wait a few more issues as Saxon makes his move, harassing DD and wheedling his way into Karen's confidence. It was a serviceable first effort for Thomas whose script was made harder to follow than it should've been due to Smith's continued use of Steranko style layouts which, instead of helping the story, only made it more confusing. Overlapping of panels (many hardly bigger than the size of a postage stamp!) and multiple points of view within the same frame made it difficult to judge the proper placement of text blocks and word balloons and when finished, the final product still left room for doubt as to how the story was to be read (from left to right or up or down?) But the important thing was that he was trying. Artists like Steranko, Gene Colan and Neal Adams had shown beyond doubt that comics stories need not be confined to grids of square and rectangular panels; now the picture frame could be molded in accordance with the needs of the story whose pace could then be controlled by the shape, angle and direction of panel borders. But the effect could be abused as it was this issue. An artist needed to master (and more importantly, to understand), the storytelling function of the traditional grid format before experimenting with more complex arrangements. Smith needed a little more experience under his belt for that, but before he could get it, he'd be given a strip (again in partnership with Thomas) for which unusual layouts would prove unfit.
8) If Roy Thomas had one failing as a writer in these years it was his tendency to overuse a particular pop cultural angle when he stumbled across one. Excited with the discovery, he'd weave it into his script, frequently going overboard in his enthusiasm. When he expanded on Lee's use of familiar literary phrases, it was to come up with not one, but two phrases, spreading titles across two and even four pages of a book (Avengers #s 61 and 64) or even complete poems around which he'd arrange a whole page. Later, he'd use the titles of science fiction films and books for his Kree/Skrull War saga and drop the names of rock bands for an Ant-Man story. Here, in Daredevil # 52 (May 1969), it's movies. In the 1960s (long before the invention of video tape for convenient home viewing), classic films were only to be seen on late night television or small movie houses catering to film fans. New York City was filled with them and they were frequently the destination of choice when they became the scene of a local revival of the work of Alfred Hitchcock, Humphrey Bogart or Orson Welles. Consequently, it's not surprising if Thomas may have fallen temporarily under the spell of this cornucopia of classic films (perhaps as a recent native of Missouri, he'd had little opportunity to indulge his taste for classic movies) and in his exuberance, lace his scripts with references to them. Thus, with as little prodding from Karen Page as "Don't just sit there, smirking like the villain in a bad 'B' movie!" Starr Saxon (who'd shown no hint of such inclinations in his previous appearances) spends the rest of the issue making references to the movies: "Does he think I can't see him out there, skulking about like Lon Chaney, listening, lurking?" "He'll race in like Errol Flynn, if he thinks you endangered!" "Don't you recognize standard movie villain procedure when you see it?" Even DD gets into the act: "You were expecting the Keystone Cops?" But at the last minute, Thomas manages to salvage what was fast becoming tedious schtick with an insightful final scene as Saxon tells Daredevil "Got to play it like a winner, even in defeat, eh, DD? Coming on like the matinee idol, who'll conquer all odds in next week's chapter, kiddies! Well, I've got my own movie going for me, and in my screenplay, it's I who am the hero, while you, Murdock, are the villain!" Aiding and abetting Thomas for his third and final appearance on the strip (Colan would be back in the next issue!) was Barry Smith who arranges here a story much easier to follow than the over-rendered # 51. Right off the bat, Smith presents the reader with an exciting splash page of a brightly-lit New York City street then, in a remarkable double-page spread, introduces guest star the Black Panther as he leaps among the rooftops only to be stopped in his tracks by a police spotlight in the final panel. When the two heroes finally team up, they conveniently pose for an eye catching full-page shot (where Smith wears his Kirby influences on his sleeve!) before catching up with Saxon for his final exit lines. All in all, Smith's three issues made for an interesting interlude before the return of 'Gene the Dean' and presented him with an opportunity to further refine his style. A style whose evolution could be observed taking a more radical, and personalized, direction in a series of anthology books Marvel would release in a few more months. All in all, it was a peek into the future of comic books. For good or ill, Lee, Kirby and Ditko, through the Years of Consolidation and especially the Grandiose Years, had launched the comics world into uncharted waters of subject matter, visual style and even of breaching the Comics Code. The movement would continue into the Twilight Years and eventually infect even Marvel's strongest competitors (they'd have to adapt or go under). But was it responsible for the sorry state comics would find itself in beyond the 1970s? It was a difficult question to answer but such elements as the eventual loss of the institutional memory of the industry's older professionals would be a blow from which the comics business would never recover. |
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