Summary: Setting course for Mongo on the unlikeliest of missions (see D2-143 The High Ground), Flash has to absorb some friendly fire and hairy moments in his Skorpi ship before he can bring his vessel down. Trying to get his bearings before he can start his journey towards Ming’s palace, a disorientated Flash is about to reminded about the fact that an unannounced visitor on Mongo is never safe...
Much of what seems bizarre to modern (i.e., younger) comics fans is actually quite explicable to those who understand the kid culture of the 1960s.
The lovable but scary monster is a classic example. What were Casper, the Friendly Ghost, or the Addams Family, or the Munsters? Kids sympathized with Frankenstein as the villagers torched him alive in that old windmill. There was also the Beany and Cecil cartoon series about a boy and his friend the giant sea serpent, or Bizarro, the Superman supporting character I blogged about recently. Of course, it is not entirely as if this archetype has disappeared; the Iron Giant is a more recent example of the phenomenon.
There are good reasons why such characters are popular with youngsters. First, because kids are often the only ones who see the monsters the way they really are. The Casper theme song makes this explicit:
"Though grown-ups might look at him with fright, the children all love him so..."
And indeed, Millie is pretty much played the same way: In addition, a well-intentioned but misunderstood character probably fits the way a lot of kids feel about themselves. They want desperately to be helpful but adults reject their assistance. (Often for good reason, as a kid's idea of help can turn out to be far more trouble than it's worth.)
Most of the adults quickly realize, however, that Millie really is a friendly monster. When the cops go to arrest her, they find her escorting an old lady across the street. But there must be a villain in the piece, and it turns out to be Mr Gotrocks, the town banker: But when Millie pokes her head in the window, even Mr Gotrocks is won over. BTW, I am not sure where the name Gotrocks (usually spelled Gottrox) became a synonym for "very rich", but it's been around for quite a while. Here's a 1915 movie that features a character named "Patrick Gottrox - the Pickle King," which fits:
Gottrox decides to let Millie live in the old haunted house he owns, which nobody else will inhabit. Although he's wealthy, he's not anti-union: But the union men won't work on the house because they're afraid of the ghosts. So the banker decides to have Millie haunt the haunts. She quickly cleans out the nasty ghosts and makes friends with Goodie, the (tickled) pink ghost. Goodie promises the union members professional courtesy: The third segment is called "Millie Does the Twist." The Twist, of course, was a dance craze in the early 1960s:
That song is the only one to hit #1 twice; it reached the top in 1960 and in 1962. Chubby Checker later tried to get folks to do "The Fly", but they remained grounded:
At any rate, Millie's twisting causes havoc in the city: And the city responds by banning the dance.
Later still, Millie goes to Hollywood where she becomes a star. Jealous, other monsters invade Hollywood, but Millie shows that while remaining lovable, she can still pack a punch:
The producers are ecstatic and the writers are working overtime on scripts for Millie. But she develops a bit of an artistic temperament: So they rewrite the script to be Millie's life story as we've seen it in this comic, and Midway prospers. The End.
Comments: Obviously this is a very basic comic, intended for small readers. The art (by Bill Woggon) is appropriately cutesy. I did like some of the little touches, like the way he gave Millie a beret when she goes to Hollywood. There is a minimum of conflict in the story, which again may be appropriate for the age level this was aimed at.
Summary: Spending some rare quality time with Dale in a park on Earth after returning from his time travels (see D2-129 Return to Atlantis), Flash is visited by Egon, the chronic time traveller from the future (see for example D2-058 The Hapless Alien), who has an urgent hologram recording to deliver from Princess Thalia of the Mystic Isles of Mongo (see D2-111 Slaves).
Learning that Thalia’s people has become enslaved, Flash saves literally no time in reaching Mongo with Egon’s time-hopper, but ends up battling against impossible odds to reach the remote island in an adventure with a rich helping of duplicity and betrayal...
The Silver Age Sage reviews one of my favorite stories, the Night of the Reaper from Batman #237. I will never forget this sequence, the greatest page turn ever. Robin is investigating the murder of a man dressed up as Batman when something startles him: And when we turn to the next page: Now that, my friends, is why Neal Adams is a legend.
I've read almost all the monthly Silver Age Marvel comics, but for some reason I haven't read a lot of the annuals that Marvel produced during that era. Steve Does Comics reviews FF Annual #5 (which I have not read), while Commander Benson tackles Avengers Annual #2 (ditto). From their reviews, I'd guess that I should read the latter first.
As the 1960s neared a close, the comics companies found themselves under increasing pressure. As I have noted in the past, demographic changes caused by the birth control pill meant that their target market, kids from about 7-12 years old, was going to shrink dramatically during the 1970s, from a high of 25.6 million in 1968 to 21.7 million in 1976.
In addition, inflation was rearing its ugly head. While the effects of inflation on the elderly were well-reported, it caused similar (if less tragic) consequences to the young, who also survived on a fixed income (called an allowance). This forced the comics companies to prune their lines of their lower-selling titles. I noticed this a couple of weeks ago; when looking at the comics canceled in any one year, there was always a bulge just prior to a price increase. For example, DC shuttered nine titles between 1960 and 1961 (the price increase to 12 cents came in late 1961), but only seven titles from 1962-1967. In 1968 and 1969, DC canceled a whopping 17 titles.
The obvious solution was to cultivate a slightly larger slice of the demographic pie. But that was not without its difficulties. Going after older boys meant a combination of sex, horror and violence, but that would require substantial changes to the Comics Code Authority. In addition, the companies would find themselves facing competitors that had only recently staked out that territory for themselves.
One of those competitors was Warren Publishing. Warren had started out with Famous Monsters of Filmland, which mostly featured text and black and white photographs. In 1964, Warren introduced Creepy, and in 1966, Eerie. Both mags were obviously inspired by the EC horror comics of the 1950s, but they had several crucial differences. They were black and white, cost 35 cents, and (most important) they were magazine-sized, to get around the restrictions of the CCA.
They followed EC's format of having hosts who introduced and provided ending commentary on each story, usually with awful puns addressed to the "boys and ghouls" reading the magazine. Comics fans may not know that EC did not pioneer that concept; in fact it originated with Raymond, the host of Inner Sanctum radio show:
In 1969, Warren began publishing Vampirella, which followed the same format, with an interesting difference: the stories were introduced by beautiful, if somewhat threatening, females. Warren apparently paid well, as his magazines attracted some terrific talent.
The opening story features Evily as shown on the cover and here: By today's standards, that's tame but in 1969 it was pretty risque. The story itself (like Evily) is silly and padded. She's having a party and her evil guests are all required to bring her the souls of the damned. But her cousin Vampirella shows up and in a magic duel turns her into her opposite: Good!
The second story concerns a trio of tomb raiders, threatened by the curse of Quetzalcoatl for stealing his treasures. Quetzalcoatl can turn himself into any winged creature, from birds: To insects, and even (in the finale): The third story features Vampirella herself. She comes down to New York City and auditions for the part of "Monsterella", which (not surprising) she wins, and is put on a flight to Hollywood. In this one, the writer (Forrest Ackerman) goes for the gross-out ending: The fourth story concerns a movie producer whose last several films have flopped. He turns to his assistant who contacts a writer named Gorry Hackerman, who suggests combining horror and sex with attractive female monsters (sounds quite a bit like this magazine). The assistant discovers an actress who seems perfect for the role, and the producer and his new starlet go on to create several huge hits. But when he confesses that he loves her, she has a secret to reveal: The next story very much fits the old EC style. A man has discovered a well filled with monsters and wants to explore the area to see where the monsters come from. Perhaps his brother, who has an inheritance (and two young children) could finance things. The kids are frightened of the well and Uncle Carl, but Dad promises them he will always protect them. On a dive to explore the area around the well, Uncle Carl eliminates Dad: But when he tries to kill the kiddies, he slips in the well himself and is killed by a giant octopus. But somehow his spirit takes over the monster, which goes after the children. But Dad arrives and saves them: The next story is something of a rip-off of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, which was later made into the movie Blade Runner. An android whose purpose is to destroy renegade androids falls in love with one. They are judged by a panel of robots who reach a split decision. They are set free in a deserted area. But it turns out to be ground zero for a nuclear test and the two androids are found fused together.
The finale is called Rhapsody in Red, and it's a reworking of the biggest cliche in horror: couple out for a drive during a storm, flat tire, was that a castle we passed back there, oh, did I scare you by mentioning the vampires in the vicinity...
But if the story's a trifle stale, the art (credited to Billy Graham?) is transcendent: Overall I'd rate the stories as just okay. They're done in the EC style, but just don't quite have the bite of those stories; the twist ending is never quite twisted enough. The art is gorgeous, and I'd suspect that the teens this magazine was aimed at loved the product.
Summary: As a crippled Earth begins the arduous task of rebuilding its systems on new principles after a massive electric magnetic pulse is set off in space (check D2-128 EMP), Dr Zarkov joins other scientists in trying to find a solution to the crisis.
As the Megaspace Corporation ship nears Earth, Flash suddenly receives a vision from an old acquaintance urging him to reconnect with his special powers (see D2-118 Mind trip and D2-119 Skorpi in Atlantis) and join him on an urgent probe in a place and time long forgotten...
A longtime buddy posts about the Sea Hunt comics put out by Dell in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Sea Hunt was a TV show that ran from 1957-1961, and longer in reruns (which was where I encountered it). It featured Lloyd Bridges as a scuba diver; I seem to recall that one or two of his sons also appeared on the show occasionally.
I don't have any recollection of any specific episodes of the show itself, but in 1964 my mom took me and my sister to the New York World's Fair. My best memory at that fair was seeing a guy wheeling several baskets full of strawberries. Being a little wise-ass I asked him if he had any free samples, and no kidding he gave me a humongous strawberry! Better still, when my sister demanded that I share it with her, Mom said that since I was the one to ask for it, I could have it all.
Anyway, there was a Sea Hunt exhibit at the World's Fair and since I'd seen the show on TV, I wanted to check it out. It was basically a scuba diver in a giant glass tank, with Lloyd Bridges (on tape) narrating the story of a dive that suddenly went awry. A giant octopus attacked him!
Well, in the tank, the diver grabbed a very fake-looking plastic octopus and pretended to grapple with it. The whole thing was very cheesy. Okay, big deal, right?
Except that even as I was griping how fake it was, I realized that only a year or two earlier I would have been enthralled, and oddly that made me feel a little sad. Not at my earlier self for having been a credulous little kid, but at my (then) current self for being unable to suspend disbelief. It was an odd thing; I realized I was growing up and getting just a tad more sophisticated, and it was a little dismaying.
