[Lorendiac]

This was written to be posted on a few other comic book forums where I am a regular. As an afterthought, it occurred to me that the subject matter might make it a good fit for this board as well (where I've only spoken up a few times before), and so I decided to inflict it upon -- er, I meant to say "share it with" -- you guys!



Some of you will recall that two years ago today I took a critical look at the first adventure of the costumed show-off known as "Superman." What I found wasn't pretty. (See When Superman's Stories Got Dark)

A year later, I gave the same treatment to an obscure little character called "The Bat-Man," and the results were more encouraging. (See Golden Age Batman: Trailblazer for a Kinder, Gentler Type of Superhero?)

This year it's time to look at the debut story of Captain Marvel -- as seen in Whiz Comics #2, cover-dated February 1940. The lead story was written by Bill Parker and penciled and inked by C.C. Beck.

The first panel of the story modestly assures us that this new hero is "The World's Mightiest Man -- Powerful Champion of Justice -- Relentless Enemy of Evil."

I seem to recall similar rhetoric being used in the early Superman material by Siegel and Shuster, and we all remember how badly that turned out. Their "Superman" came across more as an incredibly gullible fascist bully than as a champion of "justice." Let's see if this Captain Marvel character manages to do any better. First I'll give the plot a quick run-through, then I'll analyze where it went wrong.

After we get past that introductory panel, a caption in the first piece of actual storytelling tells us it is: "Night in the city." We can already see that the sky in the background is dark, and that there are some big buildings in the background and a subway station entrance in the foreground, all of which rules out the possibility of a rural setting, so this caption isn't telling us anything we wouldn't have figured out on our own. If it mentioned which city we are seeing, then it would serve a useful purpose! (Or am I just expecting too much of the writer?)

A young boy (maybe 10 or 12?) in blue trousers and bright red sweater is selling papers outside the entrance to a subway station. A man in a dark hat and coat (we never see his face) comes up to the kid and asks: "Why aren't you home in bed, son?"

The newsboy says: "I have no home, sir. I sleep in the subway station. It's warm there."

The stranger says: "Follow me!"

(There's something weird about this stranger. For one thing, "follow me" is in big red letters, which you don't see every day in a word balloon. Have you ever tried to speak aloud in big red letters? If you succeeded, you're a better orator than I am!)

They head down into the station. All of a sudden a subway engine -- no other cars hooked on behind it -- pulls up. It has weird symbols in various colors painted on the exterior, and we soon learn that the interior is similarly decorated. The newsboy and the stranger seem to travel in silence after getting into the car (which, we are assured, drives itself without requiring any kind of crew).

At the bottom of Page 2, the narrative caption says: "The car has stopped at the end of the line. The boy and his phantom companion step out onto a platform resembling the mouth of a weird, subterranean cavern."

Some odd phrasing there. I don't quite see how you could construct a platform to "resemble" the mouth of a weird, subterranean cavern. If the writer means that the platform is at the mouth of such a cavern, why not just say so, instead of pretending that there is not actually any such "mouth of a cavern" in sight? (Incidentally, just how many caverns have you ever seen which did not qualify as "subterranean"?)

I think there really was a cavern mouth here -- not just a platform which oddly resembled one -- because Billy and the stranger now walk down an "ancient underground hall" (the caption says so!) and past a line-up of seven ugly statues which are conveniently labeled (with huge letters overhead) as "the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man." Smaller letters, set on the front side of a long ledge atop which each statue stands, indicate that these seven enemies are Pride, Envy, Greed, Hatred, Selfishness, Laziness . . . and I think the last is Injustice. (I get the strong feeling that the writer rejected the idea of making it the classic "Seven Deadly Sins" from Medieval Catholic theology, because if he did, he would have had to concede that "Lust" was one of them, and comic books released in 1940 and meant to be family-friendly were not supposed to admit, in so many words, that sexual lust is a major factor in human society.)

At first glance, a neutral observer might be forgiven for wondering if these "Seven Deadly Enemies" are represented by huge statues as a way of honoring them. (However, this unsavory possibility does not seem to occur to the newsboy.)

At any rate, down at the far end of this long hall, there's an old guy with a long white beard, wearing a white gown or toga or whatever, and sitting on a throne that seems to have been carved out of a block of white stone. He says, "Welcome, Billy Batson," which is how we finally learn what the newsboy's name is.

The old guy introduces himself as "Shazam!" and suddenly there's a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning coming down from a dark cloud which has suddenly materialized directly above his head. I admit that's an impressive trick.

A moment later (next panel), there are just a few bits of fluffy white clouds above Shazam's head, and even those soon dissipate.

We now learn that Shazam claims to be three thousand years old and to know everything.

To demonstrate how he knows so much, Shazam brings up imagery (probably the magical equivalent of video footage, although it isn't clearly stated that these are "moving pictures") showing how, after Billy's parents died, both their son and their estate were left in the care of Billy's "evil uncle." The uncle kept the financial assets but drove Billy out into the cold to fend for himself. (Which explains what was established back on Page One about his sleeping in the subway station every night.)

The wizard has Billy say the name "Shazam!" twice. The first time turns Billy into a big strong man in a colorful costume; mostly a red suit with a golden lightning-logo on his chest and some other touches, such as a mostly white cape hanging over one shoulder. We are assured that he has superpowers, although this is not proven right away. This man is called "Captain Marvel."

The second time Billy says the word, the vibrations of the resulting lightning and thunder apparently cause the thread suspending a block of granite above the wizard's seat to break, with the wizard promptly being killed as several tons of dead weight falls onto him. Although it is not stated in so many words, the overwhelming presumption is that the wizard had wanted and expected this to happen at the proper dramatic moment; he was quite ready to die after hand-picking a successor. Why else would he have been sitting under a precariously-suspended huge block of granite in the first place? (Incidentally, Billy doesn't seem to have been fazed by watching a man get crushed. That kid has a strong stomach!)

Billy's second use of the word "Shazam!" also causes him to suddenly be teleported right back to where our story began -- the sidewalk outside the entrance to the subway station. That wraps up what I'd call the "origin story" portion of this tale -- we know exactly why Billy will now have access to a super-powered alter ego whenever he speaks his magic word to summon the lightning. The remaining pages deal with Billy's first real adventure as the newest crimefighter on the block.

Suddenly it's the following morning, and the big headline is:
MANIAC SCIENTIST THREATENS U.S RADIO SYSTEM; DEMANDS $50,000,000

Please note: At first, Billy Batson is not even trying to do anything about this scary news item; he's simply using it to sell newspapers! ("Extra! Extra! Read all about it!") I don't think he's quite grasped the point of being a "superhero," but let's give him time -- he's new at it!

One man stops and buys a paper. A friend of his asks: "Wanta read about the boss, eh?" The customer quickly tells his friend to shut up.

Billy hears this exchange, and instantly suspects that these two men might work for the same "maniac scientist" mentioned in the headline. So he follows them. (Funny -- the wizard never mentioned that "incredible dumb luck" was also one of the superhuman attributes of Captain Marvel.)

Billy tails these hoodlums to what a caption calls "swanky Skytower Apartments." Turned away at the door, he heads for a radio station and barges right into the office of Sterling Morris, described as the "president." (They probably mean he is the CEO of the entire network; not just a station manager.)

Billy describes what just happened, but Morris seems to lack the zeal of a true journalist; he shows no interest in this possible lead. Instead, he arbitrarily assumes that the apartment building in question couldn't possibly be the location of an evil genius's lair. He offers no rationale for that sweeping assumption. However, when challenged by Billy, Morris does agree that the lad can have a job as a radio announcer if he actually finds the much-sought "phantom scientist."

Billy considers ways and means for invading the apartment building, and finally decides to go to the top of another building, use his magic word to change into Captain Marvel, and then leap across the gap to the roof of the apartment building. (Implication: Captain Marvel is incredibly strong, but cannot just fly through the air at will. Similar to how Superman traveled when he first appeared in 1938, of course.)

Our Hero lands right outside the window of a penthouse apartment and immediately sees that it contains the two suspicious characters he'd noticed earlier. Yes, out of all the apartments he might have tried first, he just happened to land right outside the one with bad guys in it! "What luck!" says Captain Marvel, showing that even he has begun to realize that the dice are loaded in his favor in this tale. 

It turns out that the evil mastermind, a bald guy called "Sivana," is a pioneer of teleconferencing. We see his face, but he is not present at the scene; he is merely supervising matters via a two-way television hook-up. He claims that if the ransom is not paid, his radio-silencer (which is in the penthouse with the thugs) will be activated at midnight and will put all the radio stations out of business forever. A very neat trick -- just jamming the airwaves wouldn't do it, because sooner or later someone would find the jamming device and turn it off. I have no idea how Sivana's machine is supposed to work, but then, I'm not a mad scientist.

In fact, we will never know if this device would have done everything its creator claimed it could, because that's when Captain Marvel crashes in, destroys the machine, subdues the flunkies, and generally demonstrates his superhuman strength. He and Sivana exchange a few words, then Captain Marvel smashes the television screen too (for no apparent reason).

Then he does the "Shazam!" thing again, and Billy Batson picks up a phone and calls Sterling Morris over to look at the evidence. The really odd thing is that Billy takes the credit for all this destruction, without ever mentioning Captain Marvel -- which is hard to understand, when you reflect that two henchmen were captured alive and they both got good looks at the superhero persona in the red bodysuit. Isn't Billy afraid that their stories will contradict his? At any rate, Mr. Morris proves to be a man of his word; he agrees that Billy is now a radio reporter. (Salary is not mentioned, but I imagine it will pay a lot better than hawking newspapers out on the streets.)

So that's the story. Let's take inventory.

On the face of it, Captain Marvel's debut seems to be a considerable improvement over that of Superman in 1938. (Faint praise, I know -- it would have been difficult for this story to be much worse!)

Captain Marvel doesn't torture or kill anybody, doesn't threaten to do so, doesn't use brute force on any innocent parties, and doesn't vacillate between making speeches about the need for others to respect due process, and then hypocritically ignoring "due process" himself. All that is to the good.

And some people, taking a first look at the "Billy Batson" identity, might be fooled into thinking that he was a "well-behaved" child who would make a good role model for America's youth.

But when we scratch the surface, we find that the underlying assumptions of this tale are chock full of extreme cynicism about the institutions of modern society -- oddly combined with encouraging false optimism about certain types of people whose real-life counterparts, frankly, should be shunned like the plague by any kids who know what's good for 'em.

Let's remember how Billy was making his living as his origin story got going. He was a paper boy who lived on the streets. He stated that he slept in an old subway station at night, and we have no reason to think he was lying. His exact age was not stated, but he was obviously far short of being a legal adult (especially since in the USA of 1940, the "age of majority" was 21, rather than 18 as it is now). The reason he was out on his own, living hand-to-mouth, was that his uncle had robbed him of his rightful inheritance. Nothing has been done about this sad fact. There's no mention of anyone even trying to do anything!

The plain implication was that Billy didn't trust the grown-ups who theoretically should have been taking care of a poor orphaned kid -- including looking into the subject of how his father's money had ended up in the hands of a greedy uncle who literally wasn't lifting a finger to meet his responsibilities to his orphaned ward. In other words: Billy would rather be homeless than trust any government agency to do anything whatsoever on his behalf. He wasn't dealing with social workers; he hadn't turned himself in to be issued a cot in a local orphanage; he hadn't approached the cops to file a complaint; he wasn't allowing anyone to have control of his life in any way, financially or otherwise. 

Is he just "excessively stubborn and skeptical of authority," or is he downright paranoid?

Probably the latter -- but the worst of it is that Billy isn't even consistently paranoid! What does he do on the first page of the story? He admits his impoverished circumstances to a complete stranger -- the same circumstances he has absolutely refused to bring to the attention of any other adult -- and then he just meekly follows the man down into the subway station, into a strange subway car, and all the way to a remote cavern where no one will hear any screams which might take place. Am I the only one who thinks that's incredibly stupid behavior in a kid his age? What if the stranger (the one who keeps his face hidden under the shadow of his hat) had turned out to be a perverted serial killer or something equally unsavory?

Next thing we know, the wizard Shazam is bragging about his charming habit of playing Peeping Tom by magically spying on what everybody does, all the time, and Billy doesn't grasp the implications of such massive "breach of privacy." And we should note that while Shazam claims to have been fighting evil for the last 3,000 years, it seems that neither Billy nor anyone else in the world of 1940 had ever heard of him before. Makes you wonder how much he's really accomplished in thirty centuries of (allegedly) trying to make a difference. There is a nasty possibility that Shazam has spent most of his time as a couch potato, covertly spying on the personal lives of one person after another, while telling himself it's all in the name of "research into the nature of evil" or some such excuse. (I can just hear him saying to himself: "I needed to know what sort of scandalous, depraved goings-on were taking place in the bedroom of that notorious Hollywood sexpot! Really! Every night of the week, in fact, just to make sure I've got the full picture!")

So Billy trusts complete strangers who try to lure him down into a subway where nobody will see what happens next . . . and he trusts weird old men who boast of playing Peeping Tom by cheerfully spying on every detail of everybody else's life! But he doesn't trust anyone else? He doesn't even trust Sterling Morris with the information that there's a new superhero in town, even though two thugs and the mysterious Sivana are already well aware of that little detail, so there's not much point in trying to keep it secret?

Just imagine what would happen if all of the juvenile readers of Whiz Comics #2 had chosen to adopt Billy's philosophy of life. ("Keep everything secret from the authorities, but trust weirdoes who want to lure you down into deserted caverns, and always take orders from a Professional Peeping Tom because he's such an exemplar of moral behavior!")

All things considered, I think the world may count itself lucky that Captain Marvel's original run as a mainstay of some of the old Fawcett titles came to a crashing halt in 1953. The tragedy is that it didn't happen much sooner! I hate to think what sort of effect Billy had upon the tender psyches of his readers during his heyday! (It might explain a lot of things that went wrong in later decades, though, when his former fans had grown up and were now running things.)

P.S. And just in case nobody got the point . . . I would never have posted this on any day of the year except April Fools' Day!)   

[narfstar]

 I am glad you clarified in the end  I fell for it and was going to tell you to lighten up

[Lorendiac]

I am glad you clarified in the end  I fell for it and was going to tell you to lighten up

This has become a sacred tradition for me. (Three years and running, now.) In preparation for April Fools', I reread a classic "Golden Age superhero debut," take lots of notes on anything which seems "odd" to our modern sensibilities, and write a piece about it which seems impeccably logical but which somehow ends up reaching some odd conclusions about the meaning of it all which probably are not what the character's creators wanted to suggest, and definitely don't match with how the "heroic figure" in question is normally viewed by modern readers.

I feel it keeps my brain limber to look at such things from a different angle, more-or-less as if I were "just now encountering" this character for the first time in my life, and had no preconceptions about the "proper way" to interpret whatever I was actually seeing. And, hopefully, it provides a bit of amusement along the way for some of my fellow fans.

It occurs to me that I've never yet done this to any of the big names from Marvel (or "Timely" in that era), probably because I don't recall ever buying and reading reprints of the original debuts of such classic concepts as the android Human Torch, the Sub-Mariner, and Captain America. I've seen plenty of summaries and retellings of their origins, and I own any number of other stories about them which were written decades later but set around the time of World War II (Roy Thomas's "Invaders," for instance), so I feel I have a pretty good idea of what happened in each guy's actual debut, but that's not the same thing as having studied the source material with my own eyes.

I suspect each of those debuts has been reprinted in some affordable format in modern times; I just haven't gone out of my way to start looking for 'em. Maybe I should.