Will Dockery
2004-04-17 04:29:13 UTC
Recently, while perusing my old comic books (from the days when I was a
comic book junkie, circa early-to-mid 1980s), I made a most unusual find --
a worn, yellowed copy of "Justice League of America" #89 from May, 1971.
The cover proclaims it to be, "THE MOST UNUSUAL JLA STORY EVER," and damned
if that isn't truth in advertising.
Despite being from 1971, the ish has a very psychedilc 1960s feel --
although it's the kind of "psychedelic 1960s feel" you'd get from an episode
of "Dragnet '67." DC was apparently doing its level best to be "hip" and
"move with the times," and their effort really shows. The dialogue is
peppered with slang terms like "swinging" and "far-out," and there are
scenes set in a Sunset Boulevard coffee bar and a rock club called The
Derrick, with an oil derrick motif. Even the heroes' clothes are affected.
When they change out of their superhero costumes and into civilian duds,
they opt for mod Carnaby creations with colorful scarves and blouse-like
shirts. Well, Clark Kent doesn't. But Bruce Wayne and Arthur Curry look
like they're dressed for a Lemon Pipers concert.
Not a damned thing happens in the story itself, as near as I can tell. The
"villain" is a well-paid, brooding TV writer named Harlequin Ellis. And,
yes, the character is based on Harlan Ellison -- with Ellison's approval, no
less. According to the letters page, Ellis "long-distanced us from
California to enthusiastically suggest that we use Harlan Ellison as the
lead character's name. But we decided to let Mike Friedrich's 'pun name'
stand." (Incidentally, that explanatory note came from the late, great
Julius Schwartz himself.)
At the beginning of the issue, the JLA is concluding another uneventful
meeting (who knew the Flash was recording secretary?). They all go their
separate ways, which for Black Canary means hanging out in sunny L.A. and
flirting with strangers. She meets Harleqin Ellis, takes a liking to him,
and before long they're making goo-goo eyes at each other at that
aforementioned coffee bar. Unfortunately, jealous Green Arrow comes along
and completely kills the mood by roughing up our would-be lothario.
Dejected and dateless, Harlequin goes back to his office in a funk, and
there's some inconclusive business with his secretary and some other guy
speculating about why their boss is in such a bad mood. The pouting writer
retreats to his office, where he imagines what it would be like to be
Superman. What follows is an incoherent dream sequence which somehow
involves a cyclops and the imagined death of Aquaman, though not necessarily
in that order. Meanwhile, Black Canary and Green Lantern are stuck in an
even MORE muddled subplot in which they go to an antiques store owned by a
mysterious Peter Graves-looking guy who speaks a little Spanish. Outside
the store (Recuerdos), the Peter Graves guy asks them to touch an
unidentifiable orange thing (a toaster? a lamp?) described only as a
"curio." They touch the curio, and Green Arrow has what can be described as
a bad trip -- though no drugs are involved, of course. Apparently, the
sheer force of Harlequin's awesome imagination has a physical effect on
Green Arrow, even though nothing else in the story suggests that the
scripter has super powers of any kind.
Are you following this? No? Good. Let us continue.
So TV boy slinks off to a rock club (the oil well place) and has a second
dream sequence, this time imagining himself as Batman saving Black Canary
from a minotaur. When this dream ends, Harlequin meets up with the "real"
Black Canary, who lets him down gently and then goes off in the arms of the
freshly-recovered Green Arrow, who in this story comes off as a possessive
jerk who keeps her on a short leash. The sad tale ends with writer Mike
Friedrich stepping boldly into his own story to tell us, "Many are the
things a writer is forced to do by the crash-pounding of his creative soul.
This story was one of them." His monologue goes on for a few more word
balloons, but it's all pretty much like that. The issue is dedicated to
Harlan Ellison, "That you might understand, brother." Heh.
This story is definitely an artifact from the era of "doing your own thing,"
and Friedrich is clearly using his job as a JLA scripter as a means for
personal expression. I'm not sure exactly WHAT Friedrich was tryigng to
express, but I hope his crash-pounding soul was satisfied. The fate of
"Harlequin Ellis" remains unclear. Official DC characters never completely
disappear, and I'll assume JLA #89 is considered part of the canon. Maybe
he's still out there, somewhere, plotting his comeback.
The ads in the issue are excellent. Nothing with the JLAers pimping for
Hostess snack cakes, but there are ads for a toy called the Groovy Grabber
(which is a red and white plastic top), official Woodstock jewelry ("Get
with it!"), and Bob Dylan's "New Morning" LP. Weirdly, some of the ads are
clearly targeting small children, while others are aimed at teenagers and
young adults. DC didn't seem to know who its audience was. Youngsters
would certainly feel ripped-off by an action-free saga of a weepy TV writer
who can't get a date, and yet the cover's come-on ("This is a story about
you! It's your turn to be either Superman or Batman!") seems designed to
capture the imagination of the lunchbox-and-crayons set. What gives?
I don't have many comics from this era, so I'm curious to hear from people
who are more familiar with DC output of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Is
there a lot of this stuff? Did this kind of thing happen all the time, or
was JLA #89 a one-time-only lapse of judgment or what?
--Joe--
I remeber this--- almost as bad as what was done with HE's story thatcomic book junkie, circa early-to-mid 1980s), I made a most unusual find --
a worn, yellowed copy of "Justice League of America" #89 from May, 1971.
The cover proclaims it to be, "THE MOST UNUSUAL JLA STORY EVER," and damned
if that isn't truth in advertising.
Despite being from 1971, the ish has a very psychedilc 1960s feel --
although it's the kind of "psychedelic 1960s feel" you'd get from an episode
of "Dragnet '67." DC was apparently doing its level best to be "hip" and
"move with the times," and their effort really shows. The dialogue is
peppered with slang terms like "swinging" and "far-out," and there are
scenes set in a Sunset Boulevard coffee bar and a rock club called The
Derrick, with an oil derrick motif. Even the heroes' clothes are affected.
When they change out of their superhero costumes and into civilian duds,
they opt for mod Carnaby creations with colorful scarves and blouse-like
shirts. Well, Clark Kent doesn't. But Bruce Wayne and Arthur Curry look
like they're dressed for a Lemon Pipers concert.
Not a damned thing happens in the story itself, as near as I can tell. The
"villain" is a well-paid, brooding TV writer named Harlequin Ellis. And,
yes, the character is based on Harlan Ellison -- with Ellison's approval, no
less. According to the letters page, Ellis "long-distanced us from
California to enthusiastically suggest that we use Harlan Ellison as the
lead character's name. But we decided to let Mike Friedrich's 'pun name'
stand." (Incidentally, that explanatory note came from the late, great
Julius Schwartz himself.)
At the beginning of the issue, the JLA is concluding another uneventful
meeting (who knew the Flash was recording secretary?). They all go their
separate ways, which for Black Canary means hanging out in sunny L.A. and
flirting with strangers. She meets Harleqin Ellis, takes a liking to him,
and before long they're making goo-goo eyes at each other at that
aforementioned coffee bar. Unfortunately, jealous Green Arrow comes along
and completely kills the mood by roughing up our would-be lothario.
Dejected and dateless, Harlequin goes back to his office in a funk, and
there's some inconclusive business with his secretary and some other guy
speculating about why their boss is in such a bad mood. The pouting writer
retreats to his office, where he imagines what it would be like to be
Superman. What follows is an incoherent dream sequence which somehow
involves a cyclops and the imagined death of Aquaman, though not necessarily
in that order. Meanwhile, Black Canary and Green Lantern are stuck in an
even MORE muddled subplot in which they go to an antiques store owned by a
mysterious Peter Graves-looking guy who speaks a little Spanish. Outside
the store (Recuerdos), the Peter Graves guy asks them to touch an
unidentifiable orange thing (a toaster? a lamp?) described only as a
"curio." They touch the curio, and Green Arrow has what can be described as
a bad trip -- though no drugs are involved, of course. Apparently, the
sheer force of Harlequin's awesome imagination has a physical effect on
Green Arrow, even though nothing else in the story suggests that the
scripter has super powers of any kind.
Are you following this? No? Good. Let us continue.
So TV boy slinks off to a rock club (the oil well place) and has a second
dream sequence, this time imagining himself as Batman saving Black Canary
from a minotaur. When this dream ends, Harlequin meets up with the "real"
Black Canary, who lets him down gently and then goes off in the arms of the
freshly-recovered Green Arrow, who in this story comes off as a possessive
jerk who keeps her on a short leash. The sad tale ends with writer Mike
Friedrich stepping boldly into his own story to tell us, "Many are the
things a writer is forced to do by the crash-pounding of his creative soul.
This story was one of them." His monologue goes on for a few more word
balloons, but it's all pretty much like that. The issue is dedicated to
Harlan Ellison, "That you might understand, brother." Heh.
This story is definitely an artifact from the era of "doing your own thing,"
and Friedrich is clearly using his job as a JLA scripter as a means for
personal expression. I'm not sure exactly WHAT Friedrich was tryigng to
express, but I hope his crash-pounding soul was satisfied. The fate of
"Harlequin Ellis" remains unclear. Official DC characters never completely
disappear, and I'll assume JLA #89 is considered part of the canon. Maybe
he's still out there, somewhere, plotting his comeback.
The ads in the issue are excellent. Nothing with the JLAers pimping for
Hostess snack cakes, but there are ads for a toy called the Groovy Grabber
(which is a red and white plastic top), official Woodstock jewelry ("Get
with it!"), and Bob Dylan's "New Morning" LP. Weirdly, some of the ads are
clearly targeting small children, while others are aimed at teenagers and
young adults. DC didn't seem to know who its audience was. Youngsters
would certainly feel ripped-off by an action-free saga of a weepy TV writer
who can't get a date, and yet the cover's come-on ("This is a story about
you! It's your turn to be either Superman or Batman!") seems designed to
capture the imagination of the lunchbox-and-crayons set. What gives?
I don't have many comics from this era, so I'm curious to hear from people
who are more familiar with DC output of the late 1960s and early 1970s. Is
there a lot of this stuff? Did this kind of thing happen all the time, or
was JLA #89 a one-time-only lapse of judgment or what?
--Joe--
was adapted into an Avengers/Hulk crossover from around the same time.
Amazing that Ellison took these things in such good humor--- a sign of
the times, i suppose.
Will