Originally published August 31, 2001, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1450

Although intercompany rivalry and jabbing between Marvel and DC is hardly anything new, in the past it was always done with a sense of… I dunno… style. And humor. Cast your recollections to the days of “Our Distinguished Competition,” which always sounded to me like a southern lawyer sparring with a northerner. Or just calling the competition “Brand Echh,” in a send-up of commercials at the time which wouldn’t compare themselves directly to competitors but instead use a generic substitute (as opposed to now when Advil will not hesitate to tell you it’s better than Excedrin, Bayer, Tylenol, Dristan, and sex all rolled into one.)

And DC occasionally took shots back, mostly aimed at Stan’s ego… and, most memorably, Marvel expatriate Jack Kirby basing the characters “Funky Flashman” and “Houseroy” on Stan Lee and Roy Thomas. As a young reader, that went right past me without ruining the stories, as the best in-jokes should.

But now, though… the kid gloves seem to be coming off. Friendly feuding is rapidly being replaced by what seems to be genuine dislike and personality clashes, at a time when the industry still needs a ton of work to become genuinely healthy. Under those circumstances, watching DC and Marvel wail on each other is kind of like watching a T-Rex and a triceratops going at it while sinking into a tarpit.

Joe Quesada, who I think is working his butt off to be Marvel’s cheerleader-in-chief, clearly does what he does because of passionate love for the field. I would like to think that that’s why every involved does it. But apparently not. According to Joe, industry professionals are wearing “self-loathing like a shroud.”

Oh. Is that what this thing is? I mean, I always thought it was mosquito netting, but no, apparently that sucker draped over me is self-loathing. Fancy that.

Despite how fabulous we think comics are, apparently “…in the end, we’re afraid that everyone will find out that we’re just horn-rimmed, pencil-neck geeks lusting over the pretty girl at the dance. We’re passionate about our art form (see, told’ja) yet even in that passion, we can’t avoid—can’t be anything but—self-effacing.”

Now I don’t think it’s particularly self-effacing to acknowledge that comics simply aren’t as popular or accepted an artform here as in, say, Japan. To note that, zealous prosecutors are actually able to have comics retailers found guilty of peddling smut by selling a jury on the notion that comics are just for kids. It’s not self-effacing to exhibit disappointment over the fact that, for instance, Buffy the Vampire Slayer draws in millions of viewers, but Joss Whedon’s excellent Fray, which should be a must for every Buffy fan, languishes in the lower realms of the sales charts because TV viewers either don’t know it exists or would never be caught dead reading a comic. It’s not self-effacing to realize the reality of the situation and vent frustration that it is not otherwise.

But if Joe really thinks the industry is too self-effacing then, in the words of the Joker, “This town needs an enema.” What’s required, then, is a spokesman who is not hesitant to sound off everywhere, to anyone who will listen, with no trace of modesty, just how incredibly terrific and cool comics are. Someone with enough personal charisma and natural ebullience that the media finds him irresistible. Someone who can work the late night talk show circuit, the college campuses. Someone people just can’t get enough of. Someone with years of experience doing it. Someone like… oh, wait… let me think… it’s coming to me… on the tip of my tongue…

Oh! Yeah! How about…

Stan Lee?

Stan Lee, Joe. Self-effacing and comics couldn’t remotely be mentioned in the same breath when Stan Lee was pushing our interests. So why isn’t Stan thumping the drums for Marvel…?

Ah… wait. I remember now.

Joe concluded, “We may look around ourselves and not like the reality of the situation, but here’s the key: With enough imagination, we can beat the heck out of any reality, and that ain’t no myth, brother!”

Good point. I’m going to put on my imagination cap now. And I’m going to imagine an industry wherein, when retailers express frustration over corporate decisions, they aren’t told that those decisions constitute an I.Q. test for them… with the direct implication that they’ve flunked.

I’m going to imagine an industry wherein I don’t go to the San Diego convention every year and see what I can only refer to as Fantoms… talented writers and artists who were producing top selling work when the current crop of editors was in short pants… guys who built the franchises upon which the companies now rest. Fantoms, former fan favorites who now, like ghosts, haunt the conventions, searching for work, finding none, cold-shouldered by those self-same editors. Running into an attitude given the stamp of company policy by executives who emphasize that the search is on only for hot, new, young talent. Older creators get a pat on the head and shown the door.

I’ve seen my potential future in the Fantoms, Joe, some years back, and it scared the hëll out of me. Guys who sold comics in far higher numbers than I ever did, only to be considered unusable, passe, outta here. I’ve worked hard to branch out into as many storytelling venues as I have because I’ve seen the comics writing on the wall, and it’s not my writing; it’s the writing of guys currently concerned with acne and braces. That’s not self-effacing. That’s survival in an eat-’em-up, spit-’em-out comics world mentality that I only see endorsed at the corporate level.

I’m sorry, Joe, you’re a great guy and all, and I think your heart’s in the right place. But Marvel doesn’t get to tell retailers they’re intellectually stunted or give long-time pros the gate and then get all misty eyed and claim we’re in the midst of a major downer. In this piano bar, at least, that doesn’t play.

And as for Bob Wayne’s subsequent San Diego speech… jeez louise. I mean, he must have had another speech prepared, but apparently he bagged the text in favor of one that was rife with potshots at Marvel. Some issues back, when I wrote about Marvel’s displaying the “Neener factor,” it never occurred to me that DC would then turn around and embrace it. “If DC was the kind of publisher that talked about IQ tests, I’m confident that those of us who love comics—retailers and publishers, freelancers and fans—would do just fine compared to anyone who suddenly drops into our world loudly announcing just how much smarter he is than the rest of us,” said Bob. The other guys suck and we’re cool. Who loves ya, baby? Neener neener neener.

Now DC’s done a lot right. Then again, so has Marvel. They dropped the Comics Code, a move I still support, and retailers are reporting that sales of Marvels are indeed increasing—due to a combination of quality in storytelling, canny assignment of talent, and good old fear that’s causing retailers to order more because they’re afraid they won’t be able to get reorders.

Certainly DC is entitled to take its bows, to receive its props, whatever you want to call it. But it could have done so taking the high road. Instead what we got was a speech that sounded for all the world like a parent in a divorce sitting the kids down and saying, “You know, daddy says he loves you, but really, mommy loves you more.” “Kids, I know mommy’s been talking to you, but you have to understand… your mother is the queen witch of the western world.”

I mean, c’mon! Wasn’t it remotely possible for DC to connect with the retailers without stirring up whatever anger and resentment they may already feel toward Marvel? What possible purpose is served for DC to indulge in self-aggrandization at the expense of the company to which they are bonded?

Yes, bonded. That’s what it comes down to. Because unlike divorcing parents who can split and go on to better lives without their spouses, DC and Marvel need each other. They’re linked. Because retailers are still surviving on profit margins cut too close to the bone. If Marvel goes belly-up one day, I do not want to lay odds on retailers being able to make up the short fall quickly enough to keep their doors open. And if hundreds of retailers go away suddenly, Diamond’s got a major cash flow problem. And if Diamond winds up on a slab, we’re cooked.

So you’ve got DC trying to act with the gravitas of an elder statesman, the reserved and caring guy, and Marvel behaving like a hyperkinetic ten year old, a swaggering teen, and a pep squad all rolled into one. And both companies are regarding each other with anger, annoyance, and total frustration that they’re stuck with one another. Watching DC and Marvel go at it is like watching The Defiant Ones, except Sidney Poitier is handcuffed to Howie Mandell. It’s entertaining on some level, and gets lots of ink, but ultimately it’s counterproductive and doesn’t solve a dámņëd thing.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the tailor. Taking my cue from Linus Van Pelt, I’m planning to have my shroud of self-loathing made over into a nice sports jacket.

(Peter David, possible future Fantom, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705.)