I love superheroes. But I generally don’t like the big two superhero comics.
The movies (which are of course, the real deal with superheroes today), I have only polite neglect of. It’s not considering them bad, just not interested. The comics, on the other hand, are inherently limited by their very nature. As talented as individual authors can be, it’s just a Sisyphean task when you’re dealing with a never-ending soap opera with no closure and no limitations. Made worse by the constant super-events where they promise everything will change. Uh-huh.
The economics of it are also pretty interesting-the movies have to be smooth-edged to as big a target audience as possible, while the actual comics are niche and thus disproportionately vulnerable to fringe pressure. There are of course exceptions to both sides, but it leads to the ‘barbel effect’ of pushing to both extremes.
My family is a big superhero family (and a Marvel one, I might add), and I have bought and read comics pretty extensively, so it’s not like I absolutely hate them beyond reason. It’s just-there’s inherent structural problems.
Which is why I’ll admit to liking the stories that embrace the inherent silliness and don’t try to be more than 60s Batman-level fun more than the ones that try to make a silk purse out of the limited, constrained mess.
So, I’m finally ridding myself of the “Punisher Syndrome.”
See, an awful lot of my envisioned superheroes were basically variations on the theme of that skull-chested vigilante. Which is to say, they’re walking arsenals that achieve their superhuman qualities simply through ridiculous amounts of training.
Not all of them have gotten changed. But I’m very thankful that enough have-and that I’ve had the imagination to make them different. After all, I don’t want the walking arsenals to overlap too much.
Arcade, one of the Marvel villains ideal for one story, yet utterly unable to work in anything beyond it.
Arcade, for most of his existence, was/is a normal human in a bad 70s suit and giant bow tie who builds deathtrap amusement parks called Murderworlds and has an inexplicable ability to capture superheroes and plop them in there. Appearing in the second-rate title Marvel Team-Up, by all means he should have been a one-issue wonder who would be “lucky” to be a victim of the Scourge, a character created to eliminate “embarrassing” villains.
Instead, the legendary Chris Claremont liked the character and used him as an X-Men villain, and he became a B/C-list supervillain, even earning a place in Marvel Ultimate Alliance.
There have been multiple attempts to make Arcade a “serious” threat, the largest and most recent being the Hunger Games/Battle Royale ripoff Avengers Arena. None have worked. How could they work? It takes so much effort to force a character whose gimmick is ridiculous even by comic-book standards that one might as well make a new character or use someone more appropriate.
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Thankfully, the version that I call “Classic Arcade” is an ideal ‘filler’ villain that almost any low-mid level superhero can face. The amusement park gimmick can make for some interesting visuals, and Arcade rarely facing the heroes directly means his reappearances aren’t quite as contrived as-well, everything else about him.
The Ultimate Alliance appearance uses Arcade well, with his presence being an excuse to have a carnival level and some extra-hammy voice acting.
Even crossovers can work-there is nary a Marvel crossover I’ve come up with that doesn’t involve the other crossover characters being tossed into Murderworld.
So, I was considering a concept that was on the level of Operation Eagle Claw in terms of absolute failure. A special forces raid that goes horribly wrong.(This is no doubt inspired by me reading about special forces slip-ups, because even the best are still human and still make plenty of mistakes)
Only problem is, it has to be a mistake on the planning level, and the background organization has had enough experience in both conventional and low-intensity war that it should have a pretty good idea what its forces can and can’t do.
Solution: Have it be masterminded by their new superhero department, who brush off any criticism of the plan, because hey, these are literal superheroes!
I have a strange liking of supervillains wearing bad 1970s suits. I think it’s a combination of two characters. The first was the Marvel supervillain Arcade, who was (note the past tense) a ridiculous filler villain who threw superheroes into ridiculous dangerous amusement parks.
(Sadly, he turned into a bloodthirsty long-haired figure who gained plot-induced superpowers of his own and presided over a ridiculously blatant Hunger Games/Battle Royale ripoff. That story is one of the few that I’ve removed from my personal continuity-I like the classic villain too much)
The other was Gene Hackman’s portrayal of Lex Luthor in the 1978 Superman movie. Hackman refused to go bald for the film (save for one scene), so he had to wear ridiculous “wigs” on top of his bad 70s suit. Both characters were made in 1978, and I doubt their styling was a coincidence.
I go through superhero phases, and am in one right now. So far my characters range from a superheroine who can “pause” time to a supervillain with no powers except his maniacal training and sharp intellect.
I institute a rough basic chart of comparison, with “Punisher-equivalents” at the bottom (skilled normal humans) to “Superman-equivalents” (cosmic level characters) at the top. The problem with that is in between, and not just because some superpowers are apples and oranges. Given the inconsistency of comics, where is a “Spider-Man equivalent” compared to a “Wolverine equivalent”?
Then I realized that I’d run into the same problem GM did with its array of brands between Chevy at the bottom and Cadillac at the top. The middle is more inherently blurry. The problem was amplified when you had internal competition-as was the case with comics as well.