Blue Beetle (1986)

Certainly a more ambitious project for the archive than has yet been attempted, the following represents my first trial, in true archival fashion, in going back and reading an entire run of a character and analyzing a more extended work. The obvious choice, owing to its affordability and my affection for the lead, was Len Wein’s 24 issue run of Blue Beetle which ran in the latter half of the 1980s. 

The question became how then to best divide this beast into portions fit for chewing, and what manner of organization would best serve? It would be most unfair to the work’s original intent and presentation to be critical of, or even consider, the lack of a cohesive narrative or theme for this series as I have done for the limited series I have reviewed to this point as this is not a single story broken into 24 parts but rather the episodic adventures of a set of characters who participate in many kinds of stories (with their own themes and narratives). It is true that from the first to the last Wein handled the writing duties, and with few exceptions the majority of the pencil work was done by Paris Cullins, but this does not justify viewing this work, or rather these works, with the same critical eye as those contrastingly hued equine. 

This, rather than being a discrete narrative, constitutes the serialized adventures of Ted Kord in the guise of his heroic alter ego the Blue Beetle. The individual story arcs range from single issues to three and four issue affairs, are reminiscent of the golden age of super-heroics, and, instead of having an established series villain or overarching climax toward which to stride, chooses rather a cornucopia of colorful villains both established and invented against whom to pit the intrepid hero. These scenarios range from the strikingly real to the cartoonishly outlandish but always in a simple and unpretentious way that modern works seem so unable to replicate; heroism and villainy are all here for their own sake. The tone is often lighthearted, but it does not shy away from pulling the heartstrings when the need arises. Characters and side-characters, plots and subplots, intrigue and romance, and the unwelcome intrusion of not one but two crossover events leave one struggling to find a unified comment to make on the series as a whole. Before I take a deep breath, dive in, and wrestle with this leviathan, I want to say that despite the fact that this series perhaps bats well below the Mendoza line, that does not stop it from putting up a couple of crooked numbers along the way. 

I think it best to focus this sprawling discussion in the following lines of thought: characters (of which there are many), the strongest and weakest of the arcs, the art (covers and interiors), and the overall impact of the series. I shall perhaps even save a small slice of commentary for the wonderful time capsule that is the advertising found in these books.

With this in mind I’m going to tear the bandaid off at once and talk about the series lead, Ted Kord the titular Blue Beetle. 

Yes, that is a scan from my personal copy of issue one. My perpetual distrust and mounting abhorrence for digital content is leading to rather extreme measures for the Archive. Tangent aside, Ted himself is one of the more unfulfilling elements of this particular run. He is by no means a bad character so much as that there is hardly enough of him to call him a character at all. Perhaps that is a step too far. It might be better to say that there is nothing that distinguishes him from the vast catalogue of heroes in this vein. He is willing to sacrifice his comfort for the sake of offering his skill to the super-heroic cause, he has a tendency to be flippant (but not in an obnoxious and tension deflating way like Deadpool), and he is charming, athletic, and self-confident. With only this description it would be hard to guess him correctly given even twenty attempts. 

This is not to say that there aren’t real character moments given our hero throughout the course of the twenty-four issues, but nothing rises beyond reaction to the level of personality. Ted doesn’t have hobbies, or tastes, quirks, or preferences. His life, beyond a tenuous romantic relationship with Melody Case, seems to consist solely of hero work and hiding his hero work. Some allowance must be made, of course, for the demands of the medium. A writer of a monthly comic must feel a great deal of pressure to make sure that every issue is filled with some manner of action and no small amount of trepidation should the narrative lapse too long into the personal or the mundane. That isn’t to say this series couldn’t have done those things or have had a unified and singular narrative (Alan Moore’s iconic Watchmen was in fact a contemporary of this series), but this series is clearly aimed at a more youthful audience. Perhaps not the preteen readers of the golden age- as some content certainly stretches into the PG13 realm- but neither is it written with an adult audience in mind. To appeal to that audience, Wein has made a point to keep the pace brisk, the arcs short, and the philosophy minimal. This aim seems to, in part, explain the largely amorphous character of Ted Kord.

 I can imagine two logical reasons for this thinness of character as I am quite reluctant to chock it up to weak writing. The first, and most common, is a result of the power fantasy element of the superhero genre. The more unique and distinct a character is, the less a reader will be able to imprint upon the character or insert himself into the narrative. The character needs to be iconic in appearance and vague in the details (see Indiana Jones for a textbook example of this phenomena). The second, and more complex, is that Wein, working with a character not of his own making, felt some responsibility to portray Ted in a way that was faithful to the original. Not having read the Charlton original, I cannot say how true this may or may not be, but there is certainly the sense that perhaps Ted Kord from this series is from a simpler time. It is only after eliminating these that I would begin to consider a want of skill as the culprit here. However, it is not a rule without an exception

The subtlety and beauty of this scene are difficult to exaggerate. In one of the standout stories of the series, and while looking for a serial murderer of the homeless, Ted simply sits and talks with an elderly homeless woman. He does not patronize her, make any assumptions about the causes of her condition, or offer unsolicited advice or solutions. The trite version of this story ends with Ted Kord’s return at the end of the episode divested of the garb of the Azure Avenger and armed with the KORD industries checkbook to save Essie from her dire straits with the power of the purse. But Wein, wonderfully, avoids the easy out and doesn’t let the bitter reality of the situation be discarded because a rich person throws some disposable cash on the ground. 

Moments like these, and there are a few of them, are the rare opportunities when a glimmer of a deeper character peeks through for Ted. Sadly, these moments are the exception to the rollicking adventure, punching and kicking, contemporary sci-fi heroics that had been the staple of superhero comic books for nearly half a century by the time this book was published. As a last point on our protagonist before I move on to the supporting characters in the series, there is some benefit to this ambiguity of character. It means that there is room for someone later to come along and shape Ted into a more definable figure, and while this will of a necessity be a departure from the original form, it gives later sculptors a canvas upon which to work. 

The supporting characters are not terribly involved in much of the overall narrative, but each gets a moment to take center stage. The main players are Jeremiah Duncan, an ex-Cornelius/Krieg employee who’s being blackmailed by his previous employer in search of the XD-3 he stole when he left, Angela Revere, a mousy secretary who’s being strong armed by her abusive uncle into stealing technology from KORD industries, Murray Takamoto, Ted’s old college roommate and project manager at STAR labs, Lt. Max Fisher, the bird-dog detective who is fixated on the idea that Ted had something to do with the death of Dan Garrett(the first Blue Beetle), and Melody Case, the beautiful second in command and sometime girlfriend to Ted Kord. 

The last of these deserves a little attention of her own, for good or ill. Melody opens the series as the free spirit, unwilling to settle down, but fun loving and full of smiles.

The earliest complication involves his desire for a deeper and more permanent relationship and hers to have it stay more casual. The first actual speed bump arrives in the short-lived discussion of a presidential ban on superheroes whereupon the two predictably take opposite sides, but this arc doesn’t amount to much. Unfortunately, Wein seems to lose the handle on her rather quickly from there. It’s as though he never really finds a niche for her, and sadly  she is resigned to devolving into an insufferable nag who spends most of the pages she’s on berating Ted for his absenteeism from his leadership role within his company.

the Wind, and I’d hate to think anyone would mistake that Ted and Melody’s relationship was in any way akin to that of Rhett and Scarlett. I had to bite my tongue just now to stop this line of thinking from spiraling into a completely different discussion, but I’ve recovered my composure and am fit to move on sans tangent. In the shortest version of the rant that isn’t, Ted, not having made the slightest effort to keep or earn Melody’s affection is hardly in a position to parrot the defeat and tragedy Rhett Butler pours out as he leaves his heart on the floor behind him when he closes the front door of Tara for the last time. 

Truly a gripping moment and certainly a highlight for these characters and the series. As soon as Chronos has finished his gadgetry and dons his costume, he sets out on a series of cartoonish capers, but he is never more terrifying than when he is sitting at his desk, toiling away and terrorizing his helpless niece. 

And since we’re on the topic of villains, I’m brought to what will certainly not only be one of my favorite topics upon which to expound, but one of Len Wein’s particular strengths throughout: the tragic villain ending. I recognized quite early that Wein had more than a passing fondness in giving his villains strong and moving endings. It seems as though he never cared to leave his readers with an untainted feeling of success upon the passing of some enemy or another. This pattern showed itself immediately with the introduction of Firefist in the first two-issue story arc.

(Some of the opening splash pages are so captivating) Immediately one can see that, at the very least, Wein’s second villain debut is aesthetically both more thematically unified and visually appealing, but even more than that he is armed with quite a unique motivation. Unlike the revenge, power, and wealth drives of his series predecessors, Richard Perignon(the Muse), the reluctant heir apparent to mafia Don Vincent Perignon, intends to destroy the mob as a criminal element in order that he might free himself from the obligation of running it once his father retires from that role. Were he not planning to accomplish this by handing the reins of criminal enterprise over to the gangs of Chicago, his motives might have been called heroic. Though the series doesn’t have time to explore it directly, there is a lot of narrative meat on the bone here, and Wein manages to walk an admirable line of hinting at the Muse’s hidden identity and not making those hints too obscure for a younger audience. The relationship between Richard and his father is not very thoroughly discussed, but I doubt the audience of the time would have been patient enough for the storyline to be overly intrusive on the protagonist’s time. However, there’s just enough narrative tether to allow Richard’s death, a few issues after his introduction, to be quite impactful.

There are, unfortunately, several elements of this arc that complicate reading Richard as simply a young man who is looking for a way to avoid the life of criminality while simultaneously avoiding disappointing the father he loves. The most notable of these is his blatant attempt to have Blue Beetle and the Question gunned down in the street. To be generous, it could be read as his destiny overriding his better intentions, but in either case it causes his protestations just before his death to ring more hollow than they would otherwise. The above is also a second example of a trod upon allusion, but I need not belabor a point. Caveat aside, this was a touching, pathos-filled, swan song for a villain in a steadily growing catalogue of such moments in the series. 

Wein might just as easily have called it there and put a win on the board, but, as is so often the case with this series, he finds a superbly bittersweet note upon which to end his story. A moment which speaks so loudly for itself I need add nothing more. 

If these instances represent the high watermarks for the series there are also a few unfortunate lows. Sadly, the prime culprit in this area is an arc featuring some of my favorite characters and the first series involvement of the wider DC universe. Very little about the battles between The Teen Titans and the Hybrid succeeds. The dialogue is unusually awkward(even for a superhero comic book), the plot is simultaneously convoluted and contrived, and, worst of all, the Blue Beetle becomes very much a passenger in his own story. The series also suffers twice from follies not of its own making. Both the “Legends” and “Millennium” crossover events step on its toes in an unforgivably uncouth fashion. This is not to say that those events are failures in their own right; I didn’t read them. However, their presence in the main line Blue Beetle line is consistently disruptive and not simply for the narrative pieces that are suddenly missing. 

There are also admirable weaknesses of the big-swing variety. Admirable in the sense that I can really appreciate the idea even if the final product is underrealized. One could say I have a particular affinity for this breed of weakness as it is one of the genetic markers of my own work. Without going into detail on each instance of this phenomena, I will focus on one representative example, the return of Dan Garrett, the original Blue Beetle. The story of Pago island, the death of Dan Garrett, and the origin of Ted Kod’s iteration of the Blue Beetle is told several times over the course of the series. 

But these are the types of moments where I would the narrator had the faith to leave the dialogue, internal and external, alone and let the wonderful panel art speak for itself. Are these moments of depth, these glimpses of greatness, worth wading through the far more numerous moments that pale in comparison? For most, I would say the answer is no. There are few who would see the parade of forgettable villains and unfathomable or even laughable situations and not quickly find them tedious or directionless. For myself, I regret not a single moment. Even with its failings I find myself inexplicably drawn to Ted Kord, his wondrous airship, the Beetle, and his BB gun. I can hope that his future will clear away some of his vagary, and, whatever the reason, I’m excited to go looking for just that. I will leave with a simple set of things that should be mentioned honorably and with the knowledge that it’s very easy to underappreciate a simple story told simply, and, if we’ve the generosity and patience, we might find a way to read it with the eyes of an impatient twelve year old who can’t wait to find out what the intrepid Blue Beetle will do next. It might even cure us a little of our self-seriousness.