Marvel Premiere #38

One can easily argue that the 1970s was the decade when “fantasy” finally solidified as a genre. And one can also argue that comics had a lot to do with it.

While many, many writers and artists have had a hand in the development of fantasy, the two men without whom the genre would not exist are J. R. R. Tolkien and Robert E. Howard.

Fantasy is a category of literature that can be divided into several sub-genres (with new ones cropping up all the time), but the two most enduring are those that Tolkien and Howard engendered. The former gave us “epic” or “high” fantasy, while the latter gave us “sword and sorcery.”

Epic fantasy tends to involve longer stories; its heroes face forces that, if left unvanquished, have the potential to affect the lives of everyone. To wit: If Frodo hadn’t destroyed the One Ring, all of Middle-Earth would have fallen under the control of Sauron.

Sword and sorcery tales generally deal with more personal quests; if the heroes fail to achieve their goals, it is unlikely that anyone else will ever even know. The impetus behind most of Conan’s adventures, for example, is the promise of riches.

While these sorts of stories had been popular among readers of fiction for several decades prior to the Seventies, it was the introduction of a visual element that really grabbed the attention of the uninitiated.

It is well understood, for instance, that the sales of Conan’s paperback reprints had been mediocre until Frank Frazetta, perhaps the first true fantasy painter, began illustrating their covers. The introduction of the Cimmerian’s comic series also brought a lot of attention to the character.

Similarly, Gil Kane and Archie Goodwin’s graphic novel Blackmark, published just one year after Conan’s comic-book debut, won critical acclaim and showed that graphic fantasy was a viable commodity.

Who doesn’t love a striking fantasy illustration, after all?

As mentioned, epic fantasy and sword and sorcery are two distinct sub-genres, each with its own flavor. What happens, then, when the two are intermingled?

Such appears to be the case with Doug Moench and Mike Ploog’s Weirdworld.

Moench (creator of Moon Knight and writer of numerous books for both Marvel and DC) and Ploog (artist known for his work on Ghost Rider, Werewolf by Night, Man-Thing, The Frankenstein Monster, and other horror-themed titles) debuted their creation in the pages of the extremely obscure Marvel Super Action #1 in 1976. (If you recognize this title as being that of an Avengers reprint book, well done, but that was, in fact, the second volume.) The only issue of this black-and-white magazine ever produced, it’s headlined by the Punisher, and no one would ever know that the nine-page “An Ugly Mirror on Weirdworld” even exists within its pages, amongst other features, unless he or she opened it.

I freely admit to never having read it, and despite my interest I am unlikely to pay $20 or more for a copy of the magazine just to get the, sadly, never-reprinted story. As far as I can tell, one doesn’t have to have read the story to understand the ones that follow (which show up in various places, but more on this later).

Thankfully, the next installment in the series appears in Marvel Premiere #38 (showcasing a superb cover by Gil Kane and Rudy Nebres). The blurb promises that it will appeal to fans of Lord of the Rings, but, all told, Weirdworld has little in common with Tolkien’s Middle-Earth.

Weirdworld falls into the category of what I like to call “whimsical fantasy” (I know those words are essentially synonymous, but please bear with me). This type of fantasy, while certainly “adult” in nature, is typified by diminutive, cartoonish characters. A really good example is Rankin/Bass’ animated adaptation of The Hobbit. No attempt at realism is made, and there is an unmistakable air of lightheartedness, even though the subject matter is often dark.

The main character is Tyndall. Unless I missed it somewhere, his race is never explicitly stated, although it is fair to assume that he’s an elf (he bears a passing resemblance to the characters in Elfquest), though not in Tolkien’s sense of the word. The elves in Middle-Earth are tall, majestic, virtually immortal beings. Tyndall and his companion Velanna seem to be more akin to halflings, at least in appearance.

The dwarves of the realm are anything but friendly toward him, and Tyndall concludes that this is because he is different. He hails from a place called Klarn, of which he remembers nothing.

Weirdworld is an apt choice for the title of this series because it’s decidedly quirky. When Tyndall first meets Velanna, she is imprisoned inside an egg hidden within the skeletal remains of a “leviathan.” After he “rescues” her (it’s debatable whether or not she was in any actual danger, as she was asleep when he found her), the two, having made an immediate connection based on their being the same race, attempt to make their way out of the “Region of Eternal Shadow,” hopefully to a place where people will not judge them.

They encounter a serpent in the swamp, but Tyndall manages to defeat it without too much trouble. The real danger comes in the form of an aged wizard named Grithstane, who captures them with his sorcery. He promises to release them if Tyndall brings him the blood of an “immortal dragon,” which, he believes, will restore his youth, so that the young, beautiful girl chained to the wall of his chambers will love him. (Nothing tops an old-fashioned love story, eh?)

Tyndall succeeds in killing the dragon and bringing back its blood, but, not surprisingly, Grithstane never had any intention of setting them free. Fortunately for our heroes, the young girl he was planning to woo transforms into a swamp serpent and devours him. The story ends with Tyndall and Velanna expressing their love for each other.

On the surface, there isn’t much that’s “epic” about this story, since the villain meets his end within eighteen pages, but there is certainly the suggestion of something greater on the horizon. After all, Frodo and the other hobbits’ adventure didn’t end after they defeated the Barrow-wights, did it? Our two characters are on a quest to find a place where they fit in, maybe even to return to Klarn, which, strangely enough, is a ring-shaped island floating in the sky.

I told you it was weird, didn’t I?

The conflation of epic fantasy and sword and sorcery can be achieved, as seems to be the case here, by dividing a larger story into episodes and gradually, perhaps even subtly, revealing more about the bigger picture. Why, for example, do Tyndall and Velanna appear to be the only remaining members of their race? Is there something more sinister at play? Are they destined to become the saviors of their people?

At this point, I have no idea.

Tyndall and Valenna’s Weirdworld adventures continue in Marvel Super Special #s 11-13, Epic Illustrated #s 9 and 11-13, and Marvel Fanfare #s 24-26.

I plan on blogging about all of them eventually, so stay tuned.

Magic Carpet #1

I first encountered the artwork of Alfredo Alcala in Incredible Hulk Annual #8 (1979). He provided inks over Sal Buscema’s pencils for this issue, and, being familiar with Buscema’s work on Hulk and elsewhere, I immediately recognized the remarkable contributions that Alcala made to the art. Like Joe Sinnott, Alcala not only easily pairs with and drastically improves the pencils of any artist he works with but also infuses the art with an easily recognizable, distinct look. 

Hailing from The Philippines, Alcala is among the greatest sword & sorcery artists of the Bronze Age. Looking at his amazingly detailed art, it’s hard to believe that he was self-taught. His work appeared in several Filipino comic magazines before attaining international recognition when he created Voltar, a Viking character similar to Conan (and, indeed, influenced by Robert E. Howard’s stories), in 1963 (seven years before Marvel’s Conan the Barbarian comic began). He worked prolifically for Warren, DC, and Marvel, but he is probably best known for inking John Buscema, to great effect, on Savage Sword of Conan.                                           

Alcala’s line work is similar to Bernie Wrightson’s, indicating that they probably had similar influences (they were developing their styles around the same time and hailed from different parts of the world, so it’s unlikely that they were borrowing from each other). They both worked on DC’s “mystery” titles in the early ‘70s but went in different directions thereafter. In addition to his work on Savage Sword, Alcala worked on several of Marvel’s black-and-white magazines, as well as providing occasional art (mostly inks) on its regular titles.  

His ink work on Detective Comics over Gene Colan and Don Newton in the ‘80s represents some of the finest illustration to ever be found on the Dark Knight’s titles. 

As mentioned, Voltar is Alcala’s most well-known creation. He first appeared in the U.S. in Magic Carpet #1 (published by Comics and Comix Co., a division of Bud Plant) in 1977. As far as I can tell, this is the only issue of the magazine. The production values are a bit amateurish, but Alcala’s artwork, which, apparently, was created specifically for the issue, is anything but. It contains two stories, the first being “Voltar” (written by Manuel Auad) and the second “Buccaneers of the Skull Planet” (written by Bill Blackbeard). 

“Voltar” is a fairly typical sword & sorcery story but an effective one. The Castle of Zimar has been overthrown by the sorcery of the evil Kan and his army of marauders. Word is sent to Voltar, who recognizes the need of his people and sets out to destroy Kan. On the way, he encounters a blind sage who tells him that he will encounter dangerous illusions and men that are actually beasts on the way to the castle. Voltar dismisses this warning at first but eventually admits that there is truth in the old man’s words as he faces numerous perils along the way.  

He finally reaches the city and is welcomed by a group of peddlers in the marketplace. While discussing the matter of Kan in a tavern, Voltar is given a drink by a dancing girl. He becomes dizzy, and monsters appear all around him. He strikes out at them until he realizes that he is attacking his friends, that the drink ensorcelled him. 

His wits regained, the warrior leads a small group of men through the castle’s secret passageways until they reach Kan’s chambers. The wizard summons demonic creatures to slay his foes, but he is unable to control them, and the monsters turn on him. Voltar uses this opportunity to deal the killing blow to Kan.

Every panel of this story is a masterpiece. In addition to his skill with the human form, Alcala’s cityscapes and wilderness scenes are incredibly detailed and absolutely engrossing. I can see how he could have easily put hours upon hours into each page.  

“Buccaneers of the Skull Planet” makes use of washes rather than line work, creating a different feel. The story is more science fiction than fantasy and is kind of complicated, involving the capture of a female agent and an evil wizard’s intention to use her as a sacrifice to summon an “Elder God.” As you can probably tell, this story borrows heavily from Lovecraft, even going so far as to mention the Necronomicon and its insane author Abdul Alhazred by name. 

While it contains some interesting concepts (such as a planetoid constructed entirely from bones), its main failing, other than being derivative, is that it crams way too much into its seventeen pages. There is enough material here for either a longer story or several interconnected ones. There is a lot of dialogue and many densely packed captions, which make the story kind of a chore to read. 

The Voltar story is clearly the better of the two. If I had to guess, I’d say that the second feature was created earlier in Alcala’s career, as the artwork is less accomplished and not immediately recognizable as his. 
 

Voltar’s further adventures appeared as a backup feature in Warren’s The Rook. I’m hoping Dark Horse will compile these in a hardcover in the near future, but if they don’t, I’m sure I’ll wind up purchasing the originals.

Sword & Sorcery Comix

 

Warren Presents #13, Sword & Sorcery Comix, is the spiritual successor to Ring of the Warlords, which is to say that it’s a collection of fantasy-themed reprints from Creepy, Eerie, and Vampirella. Unlike its predecessor, all of the art is by master illustrator Esteban Maroto (the man who gave us Red Sonja’s chainmail bikini, for those of you who’ve been paying attention), which is a great thing, indeed. There is no other artist I can think of who has such a strong grasp on the fantastic.

 

It’s certainly true that there are a number of excellent fantasy illustrators out there, but Maroto’s work has a unique quality about it that creates a dreamlike atmosphere that draws viewers into its world. Whereas many illustrators weave fantasy realms with stark, palpable imagery, Maroto’s figures often appear to be composed of clouds or fog. His females are sensuous, their forms inviting, yet they possess a strength that defines their characters. His heroes are idealized and redoubtable, his villains angular and tenebrous, his monsters gnarled and fearsome. His backgrounds are amazingly detailed and suggest a depth that extends beyond their edges. Contemporaries Gonzalo Mayo and Alex Nino are perhaps the only other artists who come close to equaling Maroto’s evocative line work.  

The stories in this collection draw heavily from myth and fairy tales.   

The book opens with “A Scream in the Forest.” A “woodsman” (probably a dwarf or gnome) named Ussel is haunted by, well, screams echoing through the forest at night. It is well understood that these are the screams of women who have been unfortunate enough to have been abducted by “Fearies,” ogre-like monsters who dine on young maidens, but usually only when food is scarce.  This is not currently a problem, however, so it seems that the creatures have developed a taste for human flesh. On his way home after a day’s work, Ussel encounters a Fearie intent on devouring him. He is saved by the sword of a warrior who calls himself Arn. Ussel takes his rescuer back to his cottage, and together they decide that the monsters must be stopped once and for all. They set out for the Fearies’ lair, following tracks and relying on Arn’s instincts. But Arn, it turns out, is not what he seems.  

I find it hilarious that the description in the table of contents has absolutely nothing to do with this story. 

Next up is “The Kingmaker,” which appears to be another episode in the Merlin saga that we first encountered in Ring of the Warlords. Uther Pendragon requests the help of Merlin in a battle with Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, over the love of Ygraine. Merlin’s magic turns the tide against Gorlois, and the tryst between Uther and Ygraine that follows results in the conception of—you guessed it—Arthur. I honestly don’t know if there were more installments in this series, but if there were I’d certainly like to find them one day, as I really like the way the Arthurian legends are handled.  

“Goddess in a Kingdom of Trolls,” the next story, concerns a human girl named Nonja who lives among the trolls, having been kidnapped by them as a girl. She is beautiful, and many of the trolls desire her, but she parries their advances. Though the trolls are kind to her, she wants to find others of her own kind and sets out. Hymie, a troll wizard, is undeterred and creates an illusion that makes him appear as a prince and follows her. Nonja encounters a man named Gore, who seems kind but is not quite what she expected. They part, and the wizard appears and propositions her. She is not particularly interested, sensing something is amiss, but she allows him to fetch her something to eat.   

While he is foraging, he sees a woman bathing in a waterfall and immediately forgets about Nonja. Several hours pass, and Nonja goes looking for the prince. Finding him in the company of the other woman, she confronts him, and his magical hat, which creates the illusion, falls off, revealing his true nature. Hymie apologizes and leads her to Gore, the man who will truly love her. Hymie winds up getting a happy ending of his own, but not in the way he expected.  

The fairy tale aesthetic that defines the magazine is certainly in full effect here. 

 

The next story is an adaptation of the Arabian story of Scheherazade (of One Thousand and One Nights). Two kings, Schahriar and Schahzeman, discover that their women are being unfaithful and, witnessing similar behavior from the woman of an ifrit (evil djinn), as well, conclude that all women are unworthy of trust. Schahriar, moreover, decides that a new maiden will be brought to him each night and will subsequently be put to death the following morning. To avoid this fate, a girl named Scheherazade devises a plan: she will tell the king a long story after their lovemaking, engaging his interest and preventing him from having her executed. She continues this for years, and they live happily forever more.  

This is probably my favorite in the collection because in a book full of top-notch art, the art is particularly good. There is an illustration of the ifrit emerging from the sea with a huge crystal coffer on his shoulders that is just breathtaking. The lush palace chambers and the flowing, intricate outfits of the kings and their women are likewise jaw-dropping.  

The final story, “The Sleeping Beauty,” is a familiar tale told in a new way. Unique to the collection (and unusual to comics in general), the panels are oriented sideways, requiring the reader to flip the magazine ninety degrees. It’s a bit inconvenient, but it’s easy to see why it was done this way. The narrative is mainly told through captions, and the “widescreen” panels allow Maroto to show more of the landscapes and the interiors of the cursed castle at one time than he would be able to do in a traditional layout, allowing the story to flow more effectively. The action sequences work well in this way, also.   

The best thing about this story, other than the lovely art, is that it doesn’t have a happy ending. It wouldn’t have seemed right if it did. 

 

I’m not sure that most of the material in this mag qualifies as sword & sorcery, but I enjoyed it just the same. As I stated in my review of Ring of the Warlords, I wish more of this kind of thing had been done. I realize that this book and its predecessor are made up of reprints, but they’re fantastic collections, nonetheless.  

Definitely worth picking up.

Red Sonja: The Marvel Years

In 1970, Roy Thomas managed to convince Stan Lee to license the rights to Conan the Barbarian, Robert E. Howard’s seminal sword and sorcery adventurer, who had been enjoying great success in mass-market paperback (thanks in no small part to the glorious cover art by Frank Frazetta), for a comic series. Barry Smith was tapped to handle the penciling chores, and the book quickly became one of Marvel’s top-selling titles.

With two dozen or so issues under their belts, Thomas and Smith decided to introduce a female character into the book, one who could hold her own against the Cimmerian swashbuckler. For inspiration, Thomas looked through Howard’s oeuvre and discovered a story called “The Shadow of the Vulture,” originally published in 1934, which featured a female warrior named Red Sonya (note the difference in spelling) of Rogatino. The story takes place in the sixteenth-century Ottoman Empire rather than in Howard’s Hyborian Age, but Thomas thought it could be easily adapted for his purposes. The result was Red Sonja’s first appearance in Conan the Barbarian #23.

In this introductory issue, as well as in the one that followed, Sonja was not clad in the chainmail bikini that sword and sorcery fans have come to know and love. Rather, she wore a long-sleeved, midriff-bearing mail shirt and cloth shorts. The change came about when artist Esteban Maroto sent Marvel a fan illustration of Sonja in the bikini. Everyone loved the new design, and Maroto was immediately commissioned to illustrate “Red Sonja,” a short but definitive story that appeared (along with his original drawing) in the black-and-white magazine Savage Sword of Conan #1.

According to Thomas, the bikini-armor’s first appearance in the Conan comic series was slated to be #43, but the story, “Curse of the Undead-Man,” wound up in Savage Sword #1 instead because the magazine needed a lead story. (Interestingly enough, it wound up being reprinted in Conan #78.) With this slot open in the Conan schedule, Thomas asked sword and sorcery writer David A. English for permission to adapt “The Tower of Blood,” a story of his about a vampiric brother and sister that Thomas greatly admired, into a Conan and Red Sonja tale. English consented, and the story (masterfully illustrated by John Buscema, Ernie Chan, and Neal Adams) appeared in Conan #’s 43 and 44. (These two issues were reprinted in Conan Saga #79, which can be obtained rather cheaply if you, like I, appreciate black-and-white comics.)

Sonja’s popularity soon allowed her to spin out into solo appearances in Marvel Feature (volume two) #’s 1-7 and then into her own eponymous series, which lasted for fifteen issues. Her adventures continued to appear occasionally in the pages of Savage Sword, including an origin story, “The Day of the Sword,” in #78. She appeared again in Conan #115, the double-length, tenth-anniversary issue, which, for some, represented the end of an era.

Marvel attempted to resurrect Sonja in the 1980s, first in a miniseries and then in an ongoing series. Strangely, she no longer wore her iconic bikini armor, opting instead for a less-revealing blue tunic. (I have been unable to unearth any explanation for the change.) This apparently didn’t go over too well, and the character, as least as far as regular comics were concerned, was done. She showed up a time or two in the ‘90s, but by then even Conan’s popularity was waning, and Marvel was more-or-less just waiting for the license to expire.

Sonja’s appeal as a character stems from a number of factors, the most notable of which is the seeming contradiction of her disarming beauty and revealing attire and her vow to never give herself to a man unless he can defeat her in combat. Sonja’s vow is tied directly to her prowess in battle, having been granted it by the goddess Scathach, who found her as a young girl in her most desperate hour and offered her not only the opportunity for revenge against the brigands who slew her family and violated her but also to be a champion for those who suffer similar injustices. Why the goddess required this proviso is unclear, but Sonja takes it very seriously.

 

Conan is, of course, enchanted by her and during their adventures together frequently attempts to circumvent it (putting his arm around her shoulders, et cetera). In the aforementioned issue 115, a heated disagreement between the two leads to Conan’s knocking the sword from her very grasp with his own blade. (Admittedly, it mainly results from Sonja’s needlessly taunting him.) She draws a dagger, but he refuses to continue the fight, having determined himself the victor. The question of whether or not this is the case is left open, which causes Sonja to feel conflicted (and a little angry).

Even though the Cimmerian is a rogue and a scoundrel, Sonja obviously has some feelings for him. When Conan sacrifices his chance to be reunited with his dead lover Belit in order to save Sonja, she is overwhelmed, and it’s clear that this is the decisive moment in her life. Conan, still convinced that he bested her, tries to convince her to ride with him and be his companion, but she respectfully declines because she doesn’t want to lose her powers by giving herself to him and, further, has no desire to just be another link in his long chain of “conquests.” She has a tear in her eye as they part ways, but Conan, in typical fashion, seems to forget the whole thing almost instantly.

One of the things that sets Sonja apart from Conan, other than gender, is that while she often works as a sword-for-hire, it is not unusual for her to undertake a quest merely because she feels that it is the right thing to do. She has heart. Conan, while not completely heartless, is only in it, as they say, for the money (and the women, when he can get them).

In my estimation, Sonja’s limited success at Marvel is related to its not better realizing her potential. Frank Thorne, for example, was selected to illustrate the majority of the She-Devil with a Sword’s adventures, and his style was arguably a peculiar choice. I’m not sure what he was going for with the designs, but his Sonja comes off as less beguiling and more savage. Her sex appeal, I believe, needs to be more overt, while not distracting. I don’t feel that this comes across in Thorne’s art. Some of the later issues of the ongoing series were illustrated by John Buscema, who had a much better grasp on the character, but he was, unfortunately, not available all of the time. Frank Brunner, who drew a few covers, such as the one pictured at the top of this post, would have done an excellent job, I'm sure, but he might have been tied up with another book.

Dynamite Entertainment purchased the license to Sonja in the early 2000s and has done magnificent things with her. But that’s a subject for another article (or, more likely, articles).

(Note: An earlier draft of this article appears as a guest feature under Rachel Helie's Double Helix column at The Comics Cube.)