SPOILER FREE Review of THE FORCE AWAKENS

Blue Milk

Back in 2005, I knew. It was obvious. Even if they said it was over, and there would never be any more, it was clearly a lie. Some day, there'd be more. No time soon. But eventually.

And sure enough, I was right. You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out. Eventually, something had to give, and that "something" was George Lucas. Either he would give in to the temptation himself, or allow others to move on without him. The first, while improbable in hindsight, was always a possibility, even given the venomous fallout of the Prequels. Lucas heeds no counsel but his own. It was said in the wake of the Disney sale that one of the main factors that prompted the sale was that he didn't want to direct the sequel trilogy which he knew would eventually be made. So he chose the second option.

He did it in the most irrevocable way possible. He could never be content to hire another set of hands and merely supervise. He was too old to want to collaborate. It was best to walk away, and the best way to walk away would be to give it away. So he took the payday and gave his blessing. His notebooks and ideas were part of the deal, but they didn't want those. Just as well. Clean slate.

Star Wars started out as an idea George Lucas had that he developed with a tight-knit group of friends and partners. When Star Wars got big and stayed big, the friends and partners fell off, until Lucas was the last man standing. His name was on the company, after all. So what if something was lost? It had to change anyway.

How to criticize the Star Wars movies? They simply are. If you're with me, you're with me, and if you're not, you're shaking your head. They're just movies, after all. But even after everything else falls by the wayside, it's never quite so easy . . .

They're still special because they're so few. Cut away the ancillary products, and you've got six movies: three essential and three inessential. The latter three are beloved by many but also loathed in equal measure. Now that there's a new series of movies, designed specifically to turn back the clock and pretend the "bad" Star Wars never happened, those other movies can finally breath, be their own weird thing with their own fans and controversies in their own corner of the landscape, without the pressure of being the only other Star Wars, with all the high emotions such a status implies. Now there's new Star Wars to argue about.

But it won't be the same. As much grief as he got for it, Lucas never consented to give the fans what they said they wanted. He had his ideas and they weren't all great ideas but at the end of the day it was his vision - if you want to use such a degraded word. All the other people with a claim to have shepherded Star Wars at any point in its development were gone. Those later films, warts and all, were inarguably his, and that's what makes them so interesting and (for those of us who do love them, warts and all) compelling. It's OK not to like them. But even if you wind up preferring the new Star Wars movies to the last series (something that seems very likely as of this writing), it will be impossible to argue that they're somehow more legitimate just because they're more ingratiating. Regardless of whomever else was involved, the common denominator for all previous Star Wars was George Lucas. This new model might be good, but it'll never be the same.

Maybe that's it: I'd rather have something imperfect and weird from George Lucas than a streamlined and perfectly satisfying sequel product constructed by the Disney corporation to hit all the right nostalgia buttons. It's not my fault I just happened to be born at the right moment to have those films imprint on me like a baby bird. The relative scarcity of Star Wars material made the movies rare and special in a time before cultural ubiquity. This is why the brand is so valuable. There's still, after almost forty years, only those six movies. Everything else is ancillary. There are literally hundreds of hours of "official" Star Trek in canon, same with Dr. Who (although let's not mention "canon" and "Who" in the same sentence, I'm just talking about the broadcast TV show), but . . . still only the six Star Wars movies, the same six movies to watch and parse and argue over and build elaborate Expanded Universes and Wookieepedias around. But not after tonight, and never again. (The fact that The Clone Wars and Rebels are also considered inviolable canon problematizes this slightly, but a large majority of Star Wars fans get by just fine without ever having seen either.)

Disney is good at what they do, the well isn't going to run dry anytime soon. But it'll never go away again, and it'll never be special quite the same way. Marvel will never again be the slightly disreputable upstart with vague counter-culture cachet, either.

Back in the summer of 2005, I knew as I watched Revenge of the Sith that this was the last new Star Wars film I'd ever get to see - while at the same time somewhere else in the back of my brain I knew that was impossible. Somewhere in the future, like a beast in the jungle, there was more Star Wars waiting for me - but it was so far off as to be academic. Honestly, ten years is sooner than I anticipated. How odd to think it's actually happening.

That last scene with Obi-Wan handing off baby Luke to Owen and Beru, before walking off into the desert - I would have been content for that to be the last shot in Star Wars, ever. It's a beautiful shot, almost cheap because of the way it plays on the visual rhyme with the first film, but fair game in the context of a film series constructed on rhyming shots and sequences. That's why it works, and that's part and parcel of the franchise's appeal.

By the summer of 2005 my marriage was on its last legs, even if I didn't know it yet. My ex was a good sport about going to see Star Wars with me, even if she didn't really care. But she was miffed after that, I remember clearly. "You cry at the end of Star Wars but not for our marriage." I guess I knew Star Wars would last longer.

Meanwhile . . .

So just what have I been up to lately, since it obviously hasn't been writing about Secret Wars?

A lot of real-world work stuff, to be honest, and which includes grading papers and dissertation chapters. But in between all that SUPER-FUN STUFF I did manage to put up a couple things for the AV Club - a piece on the precarious current straits of the X-Men franchise, and a retrospective look at Marvel's original run of Star Wars comics.

Even if you're not usually a comments reader - and if you're not, you should know that the comments over at the AV Club are well-curated and often very interesting - you might want to check out a back-and-forth in the comments for the latter article between me and Charles Lippincott, of all people, which is pretty amazing if you know who that is. It was about Roy Thomas, which only makes it nerdier.

And of course, I can be found weekly over at the AV Club's comics panel, and there's even a handy link on the sidebar taking you to a list of all the writing I do for that site. I only get 500 words a week, but I do my best when it comes to dismantling crap like Stan Lee's "autobiography" or Uncanny Inhumans. (It's not just negative reviews, but that does seem to be what people respond to . . . HMMMM I WONDER WHY)

(And don't forget, the Jams never stop.)

The Hurting's Party Jam Podcast #61

The Hurting's Party Jam Podcast #61 by Timoneil5000 on Mixcloud

Let's Talk About Secret Wars Crossovers!

Everything That Now Exists


Cover by Jack Kirby and George Roussos

3. The Molecule Man

The Molecule Man, created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, first appeared in Fantastic Four #20 in 1963. Despite his status as a prime-era Lee & Kirby creation, he spent much of the first twenty years of his existence out of the spotlight. He wouldn't fully come into his own until 1985, when Jim Shooter plucked the character out of semi-obscurity to play a surprisingly large role in the first Secret Wars - a role which would later be expanded to co-star in the sequel.

Even though by 1963 Marvel was already experiencing its first real successes, it would be an exaggeration to say that the company yet had a firm grip on its formula. A villain like the Molecule Man was the product of Lee & Kirby's trial & error period - less a full-formed world-beater like Dr. Doom or the Sub-Mariner, and more a gimmick menace along the lines of the Miracle Man or Kurrgo. Even the name, "Molecule Man" - much like "Miracle Man" - has a faintly generic ring to it. Whereas the likes of the Mad Thinker, the Mole Man, and the Red Ghost - other second-stringers introduced in the strip's first two years - continued to appear and develop throughout the 60s, the Molecule Man was one-and-done. He would not appear again for another ten years, until Steve Gerber brought him back for Marvel Two-In-One in 1974.

But at the moment of his creation, the Molecule Man was a big deal, such a big deal that Uatu the Watcher himself - in only his second appearance - drafted the Fantastic Four to defeat him.


Art by Jack Kirby and Dick Ayers



Now, it bears stressing that Lee & Kirby were (literally) making everything up as they went along. The "rules" that we take for granted simply hadn't been written yet: the Watcher was some bald guy who lived on the moon, and even though he said he couldn't interfere, that was all he really seemed to do. Things were a lot more hyperbolic back then. The FF could take on a guy capable of destroying the galaxy and call it a Tuesday without really breaking a sweat. It was a weightless statement, which added to the impression of the Molecule Man as a weightless villain. Accordingly, the Fantastic Four were able to defeat him without much fuss, simply exploiting (what he believed at the time to be) his only weakness, an inability to manipulate organic matter. (They covered themselves in clay in order to pretend to be statues, in case you were wondering.) Uatu banished him to another dimension, and that was the end of that.



There were lots of stories like this in the early days of Marvel. We remember the highlights, of course. The characters and concepts that touched a nerve would return and eventually become fixtures - those that didn't, wouldn't. But eventually, almost everything from the Lee & Kirby run returned, in one form or another - even Kurrgo and the Miracle Man. When Steve Gerber brought the Molecule Man back for the first issue of Marvel Two-In-One, no one had seen him for a decade. Given the opportunity to reintroduce the character with a relatively clean slate, Gerber instead opts to needlessly complicate matters. He kills off the Molecule Man on his first page back, but not before the character passes on the family business of trying to destroy the Fantastic Four to his son. (Where'd the son come from? Where was this world that had genetically compatible humans with whom to breed? If Uatu had the power to drain [or make him believe that he had drained] the Molecule Man's powers, why not simply send him to a universe without any oxygen and let nature take its course? Steve Gerber isn't concerned with asking these questions, so I guess we shouldn't be either.)


Art by Gil Kane and Joe Sinnott



As should come as no surprise, Molecule Man, Jr. is no match for the titanic team of The Thing and the, er, Man-Thing. But by the conclusion, Molecule Man, Jr. is dead, leaving only his wand as a memento of his passing. The wand, believed to be the source of - or at least a necessary focusing device for - his powers, banged around for a while. Rather than being simply an inanimate rod, however, the wand now actually did contain the powers and essence of the Molecule Man, and possessed everyone who came into contact with it - a succession of parties that included a little girl, a snake, an unemployed boxer, Reed Richards, and a hobo.



Enter Jim Shooter.

For whatever reason, Shooter decided that the Molecule Man wasn't living up to his potential, in more ways than one. So at the tail end of 1981, he resurrected the character - literally - for a two-part appearance in The Avengers, guest starring the Silver Surfer. The first thing Shooter did was to actually bring him back, separate from merely a disembodied mind inhabiting a magic wand.


Art by Alan Weiss and Dan Green

Living in a magic wand for a decade hasn't done much for the Molecule Man's disposition. After the Surfer tells him about where he's from and why he's on Earth, Molecule Man decides he wants to be Galactus now, and sets about eating the Earth - beginning with Western New Jersey.



The Surfer is easily overpowered by the Molecule Man, but not before he can send his board (which I refuse as a matter of principle to call "Toomie") to seek help with the Fantastic Four. They're not in town, but Iron Man just happens to see the signal, at which point he convenes the Avengers to investigate the problem. The team is no match for him, even with the Surfer on hand to help. All seems lost after the Molecule Man destroys the Avengers' weapons (Cap's shield, Iron Man's Armor, Thor's hammer, and the Surfer's board), and then destroys them, crushing them in a giant, er, crushing machine. The only Avenger left standing is . . . Tigra!



Up until this moment, Tigra had been experiencing a crisis of confidence as an Avenger. Next to the likes of Thor, Iron Man, and Captain America, she felt insecure, and had actually been suffering from bouts of anxiety over her perceived uselessness. In fairness, however, when left alone against the Molecule Man she reacts more or less the way you or I would.



With no one around to tell him what to do, the Molecule Man is the biggest creep you can imagine. (Shooter, being Shooter, even gives us a tiny bit of gay-bating just to make sure we're supposed to know how much of a loser the guy is.) But all is not lost, and the heroes have not been killed - rather, saved by the Surfer, who phased the Avengers through the bottom of the crushing machine at the last moment. (Incidentally: this story marks the first time Cap, Iron Man, and Thor's identities are revealed to each other - as, without his hammer, Thor reverted to Don Blake, and without his armor Tony was just a greasy man in a banana hammock. Weird to think that didn't happen until 1982!)

Tigra doesn't really come off very well in this story. Left alone to handle the Molecule Man herself, she loses her nerve when presented with the opportunity to kill him. But after the battle is joined, she's had enough of his shit.



Eventually, they got the drop on him for good. But before the Avengers can decide whether or not to kill him, Tigra actually does save the day.





Now, if you can put aside all of the other terribly problematic issues raised by this story, the ending is actually quite good. Tigra talks Owen (who didn't even have a name until this story, either) down from wanting to destroy the world, convincing him that maybe, just maybe, his dissatisfaction with the world stemmed from his feelings of inadequacy, and that these feelings were based on insecurities that could be helped through therapy. What a concept! Now, one would think based on this turn of events that the Avengers would hoist Tigra up on their shoulders and parade her through town, congratulating her for saving the world . . . and (more or less) nonviolently, to boot. Well, that's not exactly what happens. She decides she's not cut out to be an Avenger, and Cap, Thor, and Iron Man - in a stunning echo of their monumentally bone-headed response to Carol Danvers in Avengers #200 - let her walk away without so much as a feigned attempt to get her to stay.

The Molecule Man - now Owen Reece, with a newfound commitment to sanity, not being a misogynistic creep, and, er, not destroying the planet, disappears from the Marvel Universe for another three years. But then . . .


Art by Mike Zeck and John Beatty

The premise of the first Secret Wars, for those of you who may need a refresher (and if you do, don't worry, another will be along soon, Jim promises), was beautiful in its simplicity: the world's greatest heroes and villains were transported to the far end of the universe, to a specially constructed planet called Battleworld, in order to participate in a gladiatorial contest for the edification of a mysterious being known only as . . . THE BEYONDER!

While most of the Beyonder's (or, technically, Galactus', since Galactus was doing the Beyonder's bidding) choices were sound, there were still a couple of questions.



First among them being, in any assortment of the world's deadliest villains, why include an obscure villain who had, in his most recent appearance, been reformed? As we see, at the beginning of the series he really has no interest in being a bad guy anymore, even going so far as being unwilling to fight Ultron when Ultron loses his shit and tries to kill everyone (which, being Ultron, he does on page 9).





But even though he's trying to be better, he's still stuck with the villains. He doesn't need to be, obviously. But the Molecule Man is easily suggestible, easily scared, and as a result even more easily manipulated. So while Doom may initially dismiss him -



- he soon comes to realize that of all the assembled villains, Owen is the single most important.



As the war rages on, Doom recruits new soldiers from Denver (oh yeah, there was a suburb of Denver on Battleworld too, did I mention that?), using the machines located within the villains' fortress to transform two normal human women into Volcana and Titania. Volcana, AKA Marsha Rosenberg, doesn't have much in the way of self-esteem either, and is easy prey for Doom's manipulations. It's no wonder that she immediately makes common cause with the similarly star-struck Molecule Man.



Eventually Dr. Doom "wins" the war. (Spoiler alert for a thirty year old comic, I guess.) Having successfully stolen the Beyonder's power, he . . . well, he changes. He proclaims that he has no more desire to conquer or rule. With the Beyonder's power he becomes the most powerful being in the universe, and wants nothing more than to save his mother's soul from Hell and then leave the mortal plane entirely. His villainous cohort, however, does not react well to his attempts to make peace with the heroes of Battleworld - especially the Molecule Man, who strikes out with the fury of a true believer scorned.





Finally we've come full circle. When first he appeared the Watcher believed the Molecule Man to be a significant enough threat that not merely did he break his vow of non-interference in order to aid the Fantastic Four, but he personally intervened to banish the Molecule Man - who, importantly, believed he that had lost his powers - to another dimension. When he (sort-of) returned to Earth it took him years to get his act together, and when he did he realized that he had no real desire to fight anyone anymore. But on Battleworld, thanks to the "gift" of Doom's insight, we see that the Molecule Man was far more powerful than even he had been led to believe - in fact, he was every bit as powerful as the Watcher had initially said, back in 1963.

But ultimately, he didn't want to do anything with his power. He carried the villains - along with that chunk of Colorado - back to Earth, leaving the heroes to settle accounts with Dr. Doom and bring the first Secret War to its climax. He then settled down to a quiet, normal like with Marsha, in Denver. Far from being the angry nerd who emotionally tortured Tigra out of feelings of sexual inadequacy, he appeared positively sensitive. (Other than the whole trying to kill the heroes on Battleworld thing, which I think we can agree to chalk up to Doom's charismatic influence).

And that is where we find him at the beginning of Secret Wars II. But that is a story for another day.



Next: The Cosmic Cube