On Comics, Part 1

by an old school comic book guy

I saw the new Superman movie with my boys a few weeks ago. It was great – highly recommend. I still need to see the other tentpole superhero movie of the summer. I hear it’s fantastic. But I was thinking about Superman again yesterday. Not just the movie, but superhero stories in general. The source material. Comic books and I go way back.

I’ve loved them since I was little. Most early pictures of me – late '70s or early '80s – feature a Superman or Batman t-shirt. I mostly credit that to my Uncle Roy. He was a lifelong comic collector. When we would visit my grandparents in Wakita, Oklahoma, there was a barn. It was part garage, part workshop, part toolshed – and, for me, a playground.

In the workshop were several old office filing cabinets, and within those cabinets were stacks and stacks of reading material. A few of them were full of National Geographic magazines, a large collection dating back to I don’t know when, neat columns of golden yellow spines. They were fun to flip through to see the amazing photography. But the other cabinets were where the gold was. Comic books.

Stacks and stacks of comics, many still bearing 10-cent price tags. Uncle Roy had collected them from drugstores and grocery stores over the years – Silver Age Marvel and DC, plus pulpy sci-fi and fantasy titles like Conan, Doc Sampson, and Flash Gordon. Not to mention a ton of good ol’ Archie.

I’d comb through the drawers like a kid in a library, pick out a few, and head back to the house to read. At the end of each visit, I’d boldly ask Roy if I could take a few home. He always said yes. And little by little, I started building a collection of my own.

Comics gave me more than just stories – they gave me a love for reading. A love for storytelling. They expanded my vocabulary. Grab any random Fantastic Four issue and you’d find at least one pseudo-science word you’d need to look up – and I did. I was inspired to write, and draw, and dream by comics.

As I got older, though, I realized not everyone shared that love. At some point, comics stopped being "cool." At least in public. I kept my collection quiet – shared it only with a few close friends. And even then, I never really found anyone who got it the way I did.

Then came 1989.

Batman, directed by Tim Burton, starring Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson. I was 12. Already a movie lover. Already in deep with the Christopher Reeve Superman films. But this one felt different. Darker. Grittier. Not campy or cartoonish. Real. I was skeptical – Mr. Mom as Batman? But the film delivered. And it was massive. A cultural moment. Suddenly, everyone was wearing Batman shirts. The success of the movie felt like validation. Like the thing I’d quietly loved for years had finally been seen. And maybe, by extension, I had been seen too.

But that feeling didn’t last.

That wasn’t exactly true. Also premiering in 1989? The Simpsons. Along with Homer and Marge, Bart and Lisa…Comic Book Guy. A caricature of every fanboy trope rolled into one sad punchline. One that was so sharp it almost stung, and prevails to this day. I was back to sneaking into comic shops and reading behind closed doors. It was cool to like Batman, but not comics themselves.

Still, comics endured. The industry had its ups and downs, but it kept going. It made headlines now and then – The Death of Superman, X-Men #1, Rob Liefeld’s Levi’s commercial. Every time comics hit the mainstream, I felt a little jolt of pride. Like my weird little hobby was waving from the back row.

Then in 2003, The O.C. debuted. A teen drama on Fox. One of the main characters – Seth Cohen, played by Adam Brody – was a comic book nerd. Proudly. Unironically. He wasn’t a joke. He was cool. At least, by early 2000s standards. Again: validation. A little late for me – I was 26 at the time – but still. It meant something.

2008.

The movie Iron Man truly changed everything. Superheroes weren’t a novelty anymore. They were the genre, for better or worse. But honestly? It was bound to happen. There are just too many good stories in comics. Too many incredible, amazing, spectacular ideas. Eventually, someone was going to get it right.

And they did. Because the people making those movies? They were us. The uncool kids. The collectors. The ones who loved this stuff before it was safe to say so. They grew up. Got jobs in film. And started telling the stories the way they always saw them – not as jokes, but as something worthy of care.

My people.

Next week: Part 2—and my thoughts on the new Superman.