Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMANStories of the Silver Age (Part One)
All right, then.
Unca Cheeks knows full bloody well, by this point, how remonstrative and didactic a select handful of you can get over these darned things...
... so, real quick, like "the rules of the road," as it were.
1.) This is not not NOT a presumptive list of the quote-"best"- unquote SUPERMAN stories of all time
Read the sub-header, bubelah "The Thirteen Coolest SUPERMAN Stories of the Silver Age." Thirteen c-o-o-l-e-s-t. That means the ones I thought were just plain ol' funnest and niftiest, after a painstaking review process involving throwing all my old SUPERMAN and ACTION comics on the floor; stripping down to my raggedy BVDs; and rolling back and forth along the length of the pile, whilst chuffing soft "choo-choo-choo"ing noises all the while.
In other words:
2.) I didn't (and don't) give a handful of green M&Ms about "historical importance or any such reconstituted fannish bouillabaisse, when deliberating over this whole "funnest" business
This (admittedly) idiosyncratic mind-set provided the way beneficial side benefit of liberating your cantankerous ol' Unca Cheeks from the necessity of including the same tired, mandatory "classics" that always end up hogging all the space of lists such as these; "classics" which -- let's face it -- are summarily accorded entirely too much in the way of fawning, fanning goshwow and adulation.
Case in point "The Amazing Story of Superman-Red and Superman- Blue."
(For those of you out there fortunate enough to have let this turgid little prairie muffin pass you by [it was originally presented within the pages of SUPERMAN #162, in 1963] an unfortunate mishap on Superman's part with a Kryptonite-powered "Brain-Evolution Machine" [don't even ask, all right?] splits a stunned Man of Steel into two separate super-beings the aforementioned "Superman-Red" and "Superman-Blue.
(The word "separate," here, is used in its loosest possible sense, as the two Supermen are [in the words of S-Blue] "exactly identical, except for our costumes!" The bifurcated hero promptly sets about transforming the planet Earth into a literal Paradise eliminating all hunger and want; bringing healing and succor to the lame and the halt; traveling through time in order to guarantee that the Wayan brothers never make another television series. Lotsa dopey stuff like that, there. And... and...
(... and that's pretty much it, really.
(No real conflict, in any meaningful sense of the word. No drama engendered by the sense -- no mater how illusory or fleeting -- that Superman is ever at any sort of risk, be it physical; spiritual; or what-
have-you. Just page after dull, lifeless page of "... and now it's all just so perfect and wonderful -- !"
(Call me crazynuttykookoo if you all wanna, here...
(... but -- in the immortal words of Gertrude Stein -- "there's no there
there.")
Now, this story, on the other hand...
... hoo-gosh!
"The Death of Superman!" [SUPERMAN #149; November, 1961; Jerry Siegel, author; Curt Swan, penciler] -- "A Great Three-Part Imaginary Novel!" -- opens up with jailhouse convict Lex Luthor stumbling across a rare, space-borne element sample whilst loitering about the prison rockpile.
Fashioning a ruse whereby he can nab himself a handful of the sparkly stuff, Luthor later observes that "The meteor granules emanate a twinkling, multi-colored brilliance in the dark, and feel warm to the touch! I've a strong hunch this is Element 'Z'...!"
"Element 'Z' " (the criminal super-genius muses further) "...is a mysterious chemical substance which I've long believed existed elsewhere in the universe! [...] If Element 'Z' has now reached Earth, then I'm on the threshold of a tremendous discovery...!"
... and all of this, mind, derived from nothing more than the fact that
the stuff... y'know... twinkles, or something.
It is a calm and supremely confident Luthor who -- upon being granted an audience with the prison warden, the following morning -- placidly entreats the latter gentleman to " [...] let me use the prison hospital's laboratory facilities for 24 hours! Grant my request, and I'm sure I can find a cure for cancer!"
"I realize at last how wrong I've been to use my great brain to fight, rather than aid, mankind" the modest and unassuming Luthor simpers. "Please give me this chance to atone...!"
The warden (forgetting, momentarily, that the prisoner in question -- a man only marginally less diabolical and depraved than the monster who first signed the Backstreet Boys to a professional recording contract -- enjoys a lengthy and well-established track record for being able to construct doomsday devices out of chewing gum and a couple of old Danielle Steele paperbacks) figures "What the hell it's only Page Three, right? Where's the harm...?"
A scant twenty-four hours later (just a small garden salad for lunch; diet vinaigrette dressing; Evian water), Luthor is handing an incredulous warden a teensy vial of something colored (and rather unfortunately, I think) to resemble a urine sample; and blandly stating [Pick One]:
A.) "Here you are, sir! This serum will cure cancer!"
B.) "Here ya go, homie! This stuff'll get you off like a stone mutha! Primo stuff, bay-beeee -- !"
C.) "... mind, now it wasn't easy, scaring up the heart's blood of a ten-year-old female virgin..."
D.) "Here you are, sir! I call it... Viagra!"
E.) [smacks forehead] "... oh, wait... waaaaaiiiit
a second! Did you say 'cure
cancer'...?"
"Later, that very day," the following caption provides (My goodness! People come and go so quickly here!), a red-faced and out-of-breath warden comes huffing and staggering up to Luthor in the prison yard and manages to wheeze "The investigating scientists have reported fantastic success! Doomed cancer patients were cured instantly by your serum! If they remain cured -- !"
"They will!" a smug Luthor assures him. "The effects of Element 'Z' are
permanent!" (Because -- good golly! -- if you can't trust
the word of one of the world's most notorious super-villains...!)
"Congratulations, Luthor!" a beaming warden enthuses. "Instead of living in infamy, your name will go down in history as one of the world's greatest benefactors! You will win the Nobel Prize!"
"I'm... glad!" a beaming Rudolph (... ummmmm.... Luthor; I meant Luthor) meekly avers. "But I want no reward! I just want to make up for my evil past!"
Effectively demonstrating that the only element more commonplace in the DC Universe than hydrogen is purest, unalloyed Gullibility a soft-
hearted Superman makes an impassioned plea on his former foeman's behalf in front of the prison parole board.
"As I understand it," the Man of Steel emotes, movingly: "... Luthor says he repents his evil past [...] He has conquered cancer. Who can say what other blessings his marvelous intellect can perform for mankind? I say Luthor should get a chance to go straight!"
The arch-fiend's uncertain gender orientation aside, for the nonce the
parole board is, like, all jiggy wit' dat, and -- one panel later --
Luthor's swapped his drab prison greys for a tasteful brown off-the-rack number.
And spiked heels.
Okay. So I made up the part about the heels, then. Does
that make me a bad person, f'cryin' out loud...?
At Luthor's request, Superman flies the reformed reprobate to his (former) secret hideout, in the heart of Metropolis; and -- again, at the bald baddie's behest -- does a quick Woodstock '99 on the place.
"How warped I used to be!" a bemused Luthor chuckles, in fond reminiscence.
"Behold my Hall of Heroes! Atilla the Hun... Genghis
Khan... Captain Kidd... Al Capone!" (The modern-day
wing of said hall, incidentally, included such luminaries as Linda Tripp;
Leona Helmsley; Ricky Martin; and anyone who's ever been
employed as a Program Director for the FOX network.)
A day or two later a white-smocked Luthor is puttering about in his brand-new laboratory when a pair of hardened gunsels muscle their joint way onto the premises.
"Duke Garner and Al Mantz," a coldly furious Luthor fairly spits at the duo; "... underworld hoods! You must have stolen in while I went for lunch! Get out! I'm finished with crooks!"
"But we're not finished with you!" Garner growls, by way of reply. "Tell him, Al!"
"Either you kill Superman," the (imperceptibly) more refined Al explains; "... or we kill you! Who's gonna die, genius? You... or Superman?"
"I won't betray Superman!" a grim Luthor vows. "He's my friend, now!"
The trigger-happy twosome -- miffed by the former rapscallion's refusal -- commence to slinging hot lead in Luthor's general overall direction...
... only to end up staring, slack- jawed and disbelieving, as the providential arrival of a solicitous Man of Steel serves as this issue's requisite example of the deus ex machina storytelling principle.
"Probably, there will be other attempts by the underworld to destroy you," the Man of Steel -- who, plainly, has all the natural geniality and folksy bedside manner of, oh, say, Caligula -- reassures Luthor. "That's why I made this signal watch! Please accept it!" To which an emotion-
choked Luthor responds [Pick One]:
A.) "Thank you, Superman! You're... a wonderful friend!"
B.) "Oh, honey! Our anniversary! You remembered --!"
C.) "Is there... ahhhh... some particularly compelling reason why the 'signal' whenever I press the hidden button is the sound of you cackling like a crazed loon and repeating the words 'yeah, right' over and over again...?"
D.) [backing away slowly, in numb horror] "... ohmychrist...
that's... that's young Olsen's arm still attached, isn't it --
?!?"
Just to be on the safe side, however Superman sets Luthor up in "an outer space satellite laboratory" in geo-synchronous Earth orbit. ("I can't possibly watch over Luthor every instant!" the Man of Steel muses, after foiling yet another gangland assassination attempt. "Some day, the underworld may get him before he can signal me for help, and mankind will lose a great scientist!")
Weeks later, however The Big Blue Boy Scout is hustling his hinder heavenwards in response to yet another hypersonic help!help! from his hairless helpmate.
"What's wrong, Luthor?" a solicitous Superman inquires, upon entering
the satellite. "I saw your distress signal and came at once!"
(EWWWWwwwwww -- !)
But -- Oh! And how ever could we have foreseen something like this happening? -- it seems as if Luthor's jailhouse reformation was just a big, stinky load o' super-hooey. Immobilizing the Man of Steel with Green Kryptonite rays, the balding badass straps the prostrate and pain-wracked paladin down onto a table, and then [Pick One]:
A.) ... forces girlfriend Lois Lane; juvenile sidekick Jimmy Olsen; and surrogate father figure Perry White to witness his final, agonized moments on earth.
B.) ... forces him to listen to The Starland Vocal Band's "Afternoon Delight." Over and over and over again.
C.) ... decides to recreate the old Milton-Bradley board game, OPERATION. ("Take... out... Funny Bone. Ha... ha... ha.")
D.) ... bathing the hapless, squirming Man of Steel alllllll over.
With his
tongue.
"Resistance is hopeless, you fool!" a gleeful Luthor gloats. "Pardon me, while I turn up the power of the rays a trifle!"
"You... devil!" a dying Superman manages to rasp. "Ow... OW-ww!
OW-ww!" The big, blue wussy bear.
"Clever devil, you mean," the super-villainous answer to noted grammarian William Safire good-naturedly corrects him. "I discovered that cancer cure in order to be released from jail! I pretended to have reformed, so I could lull you into a false sense of security! The purpose? To catch you off-guard and lure you into this death-trap!"
Once the (now) thoroughly lime-colored Man of Steel has finally ceased and desisted with the spasmodic twitching and suchlike, a cautious Luthor takes the additional precaution of determining that he hasn't, in point of fact, just spent the last half-hour or so torturing one of the (then-)ubiquitous "Superman robots" to death; and that the wily Kryptonian isn't somehow "faking" the apparent total cessation of all life signs.
"At last!" the Rogaine-challenged rat fink rapturously yodels. "After all these years of vainly trying, I've finally succeeded in killing Superman! I've destroyed the mightiest man in the universe! What a glorious achievement!"
Having thus earned himself the very ultimate utmost in DC Super-Villain merit badges, then Luthor unceremoniously dumps the Man of Steel's super- corpse back on Earth, along with the grief-stricken trio of supporting characters.
"You'll pay for this, Luthor!" a rage-choked Jimmy Olsen vows, shaking
an ineffectual fist at the villain's retreating backside. "You... you
murderer!" (Wow... quite the little wordsmith, that young
Olsen fellah, eh...?)
"Soon," the following captions solemnly intone, "the streets outside Metropolis chapel are choked with hundreds of thousands of mourners, each silently awaiting a final glimpse of the slain Superman who lies in state" in a special glass coffin.
We observe as various groups of mourners file by Superman's coffin, silently paying their heartfelt respects in turn world leaders and assorted heads of state; melancholy alien beings, whose worlds and peoples the fallen hero had rescued from this catastrophe or that one; Justice Leaguers, Legionnaires and various other teary- eyed spandexed types...
... " [and] then it is the turn of grief- stricken Lois Lane, assisted by her sister Lucy, to stand before the coffin... and as Lois takes a last look at her fallen hero..."
(Your black-humored Unca Cheeks' very favoritest "bit" in this entire sequence, in fact, is a single-panel insert of a mournful Krypto, the Super-Dog passing by in solemn canine misery; thinking, morosely,that "I will never know another master like you! *choke* Goodbye! When I think of all the adventures we had together...!"
(Later on -- in a narrative sequence not detailed in the printed version of
this "Imaginary Story," but evident in the original script for same,
which your Unca Cheeks only just recently obtained by making things up as he
goes along -- the now master-less hyper-hound auditions, in turn, for the role
of canine super-sidekick for (and is summarily rejected by, in humiliating
turn) the Batman ("I've already got
one, thank you"); Wonder Woman ("Stop
that! Stop doing that to my freakin' leg, you hairy little
degenerate weirdo!"); Hawkman ("Good
boy, Krypto! You've caught something in the back yard again,
haven't you? Let's just take a closer look-see at that bloody, crumpled
form dangling from your jaws, there, and... omigawd! HAWKGIRL
-- !"); and -- inexplicably -- noted Hollywood thespian Richard Gere.
[Insert Your Own Joke Here]
Meanwhile -- on the hap-hap-happy side o' town -- a jubilant Lex Luthor
is throwing a party in his pants... and everybody's invited to come!
"It cost me plenty to get these trophies made so fast!" the balding braggart boasts to his gangland pals and gals. "Like 'em? The beautiful painting re-enacts my triumph over Superman!"
Courteously overlooking the embarrassing fact that the celebrated arch- fiend is gesturing towards a black velvet painting of several small dogs playing poker, the gunsels, dons and molls assembled all raise their Ovaltine mugs in lusty salute of Luthor's genius and villainy...
... only to stare, thunderstruck, as Superman comes crashing in through the nearest wall!
"Shouts of consternation and baffled rage fill the air," the accompanying caption informs us, "as the intruding figure smashes the mocking decorations..."
"Impossible!" a disbelieving Luthor blurts. "He's got to be dead! *choke*!"
"M-maybe it's a gh-ghost!" a panicky mobster offers, backpedaling frantically.
"A disguise is flying off!" another one observes, in a line of dialogue you don't see every day, by golly. "It ain't Superman! It's -- !"
"... a girl!" Luthor concludes, utilizing the razor-keen powers of perception which have made him a living legend in the DC Comics super- criminal underworld. "... with s-super-powers!"
"My name is... Supergirl!" the Maid of Might declares, in a wholly gratuitous display of Dramatic Ellipses. "I'm Superman's cousin from Krypton! I've been his secret emergency weapon for years!"
(Translated from the Silver Age "I'm a girl! I exist solely
to serve as a shapely and compliant counterpart to my four-color Alpha Male
counterpart
Check out this hinder, by the way! Sweet, huh...?")
"Luthor," she concludes; "... in the name of the planet Krypton, I arrest you for murder!"
Transferring the squirming, squalling super-villain to the bottle city of Kandor via "Shrinking Ray" (there's simply no elegant way to type out something like that, is there...?), Supergirl hauls the arch-criminal before the Kryptonian equivalent of Judge Judy, who sonorously informs anyone who might still conceivably care that "Lex Luthor, you killed a Kryptonian, and so you will be tried by Kryptonians!"
In a dramatic denouement which bares no resemblance whatsoever to THE MAN IN THE GLASS BOOTH, except for the plot; dialogue; pacing; and overall structure, a coldly contemptuous Luthor is forcedto stand trial while a parade of tearful witnesses to the murder itself is paraded before him.
"I saw him do it!" a near-hysterical Lois Lane sobs, at one point. "I... I saw Luthor diabolically murder Superman in cold blood, using Green Kryptonite rays! *sob*!"
"The puny ants!" a prideful Luthor sneers, inwardly.
When it is finally the arch-criminal's turn to testify on his own behalf, Luthor's "defense" is a simple, confident two-word declaration:
"I'm guilty!"
"... but I won't pay for my crimes!" he adds, in unspoken interior monologue.
The Kandorian jury returns with a pronouncement of "Guilty," and the judge sentences Luthor to "an eternity within the Phantom Zone"...
... BUT -- scant moments before the "Phantom Zone Ray Projector" can be trained upon him -- a steel-spined Luthor faces the court and rumbles:
"Punishing me won't bring Superman back!" (Well... he's got a point there, at any rate. Give him that much, by golly.) "Let's compromise! Let me go, and I'll build a ray that'll enlarge Kandor... back to the normal size it was before space villain Brainiac shrank your city with a Reducing Ray! You won't have to live in a bottle anymore! Is it a deal...?"
"Naturally, they won't refuse!" the smirking stinker exults, inwardly. "Being normal-sized again has been their greatest desire!"
"We Kandorians don't make deals with murderers!" the teensy-tiny judge thunders indignantly, surreptitiously pocketing the blank check signed by one "L. Luthor" within the folds of his robe. "Justice has been done! Because of his crime, Luthor will remain a phantom for all eternity! Never again will he harm the world of men!"
A seriously cheesed-off Luthor -- rapidly fading from all human ken -- vanishes
with a final, sullen observation hanging from his wraith-like lips "...
oh, poopie...!"
Okay. Now, admit it that was just blamed cool, wasn't
it...?
Be here bright'n'early next week, campers and camper-ettes; and we'll take a gander at a classic little offering entitled "Why Superman Needs a Secret Identity!"
You puny ants, you.
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE TWO
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE THREE
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE FOUR
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE FIVE
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE SIX
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE SEVEN
"The Thirteen All-Time Coolest SUPERMAN Stories Ever" PAGE EIGHT
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