Forty years ago today. August 1971.

It's August, the month so good it shares its name with a special kind of nobility and dignity.

So, does this mean Marvel's heroes have followed suit and developed  an August mindset? Or, going back exactly forty years, do we find them still getting into a scrap at every possible opportunity?

I think we can all guess the answer to that one.

In a distinctly atypical issue, instead of battling the usual super-villains, everyone's favourite Spider-Man tackles a prison riot and goes on TV.

This issue has an extremely odd splash page that still baffles me to this very day.

One of those tales I have no more than the vaguest of memories of but it's clear from the cover that Captain America and the Falcon take on the menace of the Gray/Grey Gargoyle. The Gargoyle was one of my favourite minor foes, even if I never can remember how to spell his name.

I like to think Cap gets turned to stone at one point - or there doesn't seem to be any reason for the Gargoyle to be there.

I seem to recall that Conan does his usual grave robbing routine in this issue and disturbs more than he bargained for.

No doubt he gets away with it but I wouldn't be surprised If some double-crossing rat isn't so lucky.

It's the man without fear vs the man without trousers.

I'm lost now. Is this before or after Daredevil moved to San Francisco? I'm assuming it's before.

Either way, I liked the Man-Bull. He was nasty.

We've entered that fuzzy few months where my knowledge of what was going on in the world of the Fantastic Four grows vaguer than normal. This is obviously the first appearance of the Over-Mind, a villain I know far less about than I probably should.

Iron Man continues his tradition of coming across as feeble and futile on his covers.

Loki's up to no good. Is this the one where he claims the throne of Asgard, tries to get his leg over with Sif and creates the Demolisher?

I always liked the Demolisher. Was he ever seen again after this story?

I hope so, if only because he smashed the Surfer's board. I was never a fan of the Surfer. I liked to see him suffer.

Trouble was, suffering gave him even more motivation to complain about everything.

I know nothing about this issue whatsoever. Was "Lucifer" a pseudonym for a more well-known villain? Or am I barking up completely the wrong X-tree?

At last, a comic I know plenty about. Steve Does Comics' favourite semi-Asgardian makes her second-ever appearance, as women's libber and campaigner Samantha Parrington adopts the Valkyrie mantle to give that notorious male chauvinist pig the Hulk a lesson in feminism. One he, needless to say, completely fails to learn.

How could anyone not love a comic with a cover like that?

The Prelude to the Kree/Skrull War continues as the Avengers find themselves at either the North or South Pole, battling Ronan, the Sentry and their own member Goliath, with Captain Marvel, Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch held captive while Hank Pym and the Wondrous Wasp find everything getting a bit hairy.

The Black Orchid. Carry On Scheming. Phantom Stranger #36.

It's the moment we've all been waiting for since last month's Phantom Stranger, the moment when Howard Lunge's supercomputer finally reveals who the Black Orchid really is.

And, after much whirring, clicking and ticking, the conclusion it comes to is...

...that it doesn't know.

And there was me thinking my laptop was useless.

What it does tell us though is that someone's been scanning it with X-rays in order to read its data tapes.

Undeterred by this, Lunge proceeds with his next planned crime, the murder of an old woman who's fighting her ex-daughter-in-law Cleo Barry for custody of Barry's child.

Happily, the Black Orchid's on the case, disguising herself as the old woman's nurse and replacing the old woman with a robot that apprehends one of Lunge's lackeys while she deals personally with the other one.

Having thus foiled the murder attempt, she calls in the cops who take Lunge away, only for the Orchid to drop the final bombshell - that his client Cleo Barry never existed. She was just the Orchid in yet another  mask.

Much as I love the Orchid for her mysterious and over-complex ways, I am slightly baffled by certain elements of the tale.

For one thing, I don't understand why one of the would-be assassins takes along a mask to disguise himself as the old lady, when, as the plan unfolds, at no point does the plan appear to require it. I also don't understand why the Orchid goes through such a complicated subterfuge, involving her adopting at least two fake identities, acquiring a huge house to stage her plan in, and getting her hands on a robot. After all, she knows about Lunge's computer and its data tapes, so, as far as I can see, all she has to do is smash her way into Lunge's HQ, chin him one with her super-strength and hand the tapes over to the authorities. I suppose that's why just I'm a humble blog writer and she's a bona fide super-heroine.

I'm also curious as to the naming of a character Cleo Barry. As all lovers of fine comedy know, Cleopatra in the legendary British film Carry on Cleo was played by Amanda Barrie. Was the naming of a character as Cleo Barry coincidence or was writer Shelly Mayer a Carry On fan? Then again, the tale also features a character called Howard Lunge and a character called Dubbish, names that themselves seem to have stepped out of a Carry On movie.

Still, all other matters tied up, we're left with the question of who the Black Orchid is.

Well, in the style of Sergeant Sidney Bung of the Yard in Carry On Screaming, let's recap on yesterday's evidence. She's a woman who can fly, has super-strength, is invulnerable and can only be described as "fit". This issue we learned she can scan things with X-Rays, has access to life-like androids and, according to Lunge's supercomputer, she may be an alien. I'm sorry; I don't care how you cut it, she still seems to be Supergirl.

I suppose all we can say in light of such a revelation, and this issue's events, is Carry on, Kara.

"The Black Orchid is Watching You." Phantom Stranger #35.

I don't like to moan but I can't help feeling disappointed with my laptop. It cost me £400 from Currys and has never once shown its gratitude by conceiving the perfect crime for me to commit.

Howard Lunge's 1970s computer, on the other hand, enables him to commit intricately plotted felonies that leave no trace of his own involvement. And, in Phantom Stranger #35, he uses it to frame a young man called Dubbish for murder.

What his supercomputer hasn't accounted for is the existence of the Black Orchid.

Almost as soon as the frame-up's been performed, the Orchid's on the tail of Lunge's chief lackey Mr Flint but, before she can stop him, the crook burns the mask that's the only evidence of his subterfuge. To make matters worse he's then shot  dead by his own accomplices. Now how can our plucky petal wearer foil her foe's fiendish finagling?

But that's not all. As we leave Part One of this two-parter, Lunge orders his supercomputer to calculate the true identity of the Black Orchid. This is bad news. Computers are infallible. Could this be curtains for our flowery femme?

The Black Orchid does come across as a curious mix of the infallible and the inept in this tale, somehow knowing all about Lunge, his plans and his supercomputer but also giving his man Flint the time to burn the only evidence, and letting Lunge's other lackeys get away scot free.

On the upside it's as beautifully drawn as ever by Nestor Redondo who gifts it an atmospheric style that helps overcome the strip's noticeable lack of depth and characterisation.

All of these concerns are secondary of course. The real question is will The Phantom Stranger #36 finally do it? Will it finally tell us the truth about the Black Orchid? Will it reveal the real name of a beautiful woman who can fly, has super-strength, is a genius and bounces bullets off her as though they're no more than peas? For some reason my own supercomputer's flinging the name Linda Danvers at me.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

To be Steveinued.

Fun with Steve and Bob. The Phantom Stranger #35. Part Two.

As long-standing readers of this blog know, I've always had a soft spot for the classic, "You too can be a ninja," ad that turned me into the human killing machine I am today - not to mention the legendary ad for Duke the wonder dog that's worthy of a blog in its own right. And don't even get me started on Charles Atlas.

But Phantom Stranger #35, the comic that never stops giving, provides us with another classic example of the art of comic book advertising.

As any fool knows, if there's anything more exciting than being a ninja, it's being a boy scout, and here's where comics prove it. This time they give us Steve Scout, the boy scout action-figure. Why, just imagine the fun you can have with a boy scout action-figure, doing things like... ...erm.... ...er...

But don't just accept my word for it. Take a look at all the exciting stuff the ad credits him with doing: "He kneels to chop wood", "He stands to signal," and my favourite of them all, "He sits by the campfire."

Not only does he sit by the campfire but  his canoe actually floats and he has a battery powered flasher, a thing I think we can all do nothing but envy.

The ad bravely tells us he was America's only ever boy scout action-figure, which must've been a surprise to Bob Scout, his action-figure boy scout friend. Seemingly the manufacturers didn't feel Bob Scout was worthy of being counted in the official boy scout action-figure stats. I'm sure I can't imagine why that might be.

So there you have it. America's only ever boy scout action-figure (and his friend). I don't like to be a cynic but I can't help feeling that, clean-living though he no doubt was, there was a good reason no one else ever produced boy scout action figures. You know, like the fact they weren't ninjas.

Phantom Stranger #35. Part One: "Uuuuuuuuuu"

Phantom Stranger Quote of the Day: "Death -- the final arrogant act in a play too often taken for granted. But just who may bring down the final curtain? Who has the right to end life not earned, but given? The solutions to these riddles are not easily found -- for they lie hidden, lost within the forgotten labyrinths of the human spirit."

I've always been of the opinion that the correct thing to do upon encountering a person about to throw themselves off a bridge is to fake a heart attack - on the grounds that, no matter how much my fellow man might be suffering, I alone, should always be the centre of attention.

Sadly the Phantom Stranger lacks my wisdom and, upon encountering a young woman about to top herself, appears from nowhere to give her a lecture.

Now, you or I, upon enduring one of the Phantom Stranger's meaningless speeches, might be more tempted than ever to jump.

But not this one.

Instead she abandons the attempt and settles for knocking him unconscious.

It turns out she works for a mad scientist called Seine whose wife, thanks to his irresponsibility, is on her deathbed. Seine reckons that by feeding a bunch of demonic creatures the Phantom Stranger's soul, so they can enter our dimension and kill us all, he can restore his wife to perfect health. Needless to say his well-thought-out scheme soon goes more belly-up than a constipated goldfish, as his wife drags herself from her bed to free the Stranger and end forever her husband's plans.

After all those other Phantom Stranger tales where the titular twaddler gets to do nothing but annoy characters with his interminable philosophising, it's a refreshing change to see him actually at the centre of things, and I love Gerry Talaoc's art on the tale, which has that scratchy, twisted raggedness that really does make the world seem a dangerous and unpleasant place filled with spiritual decay and paranoia. Admittedly, in his rare chance to shine as a man of action, the Phantom Stranger proves to be a conspicuously futile derring-doer, managing only to get captured and stand around as Seine's wife does all the actual heroics, but still...

"Uuuuuuuuu"?!? Quickly! Someone put 10 pence in
the Phantom Stranger's meter! He's finally run out
of flannel! 

More importantly than even the Phantom Stranger though, this issue contains something else that's of far more interest to me. Could it be in the letters page? Could it be in the back-up strip?

Only time - and my next post - will tell.

So, journey with me, Reader, into the eerie realms we know as Comicdom. For, tomorrow night, I venture into a land of madness undreamed, and no one can know if I emerge from the venture with sanity intact.

To Be Steveinued.

DC 100 pagers.

If you've never had a Marvel Treasury Edition, you know not what it is to have your head explode with excitement. But, if there was anything in the 1970s that was almost as thrilling as buying a Marvel Treasury edition, it was getting your hands on a 100 page DC comic, with its mixture of tales old and new.

Why, with one of those things in your hands, you could become an instant expert, reading the latest happenings in the world of DC Comics while catching up on the history of your favourite - and not so favourite - heroes.

My in-depth research tells me I had thirteen in total - and those thirteen are pictured above and to the left of these very words.

Sadly, thanks to my disgraceful policy of never paying more than 99p for a comic, I fear I may never again lay my hands on most of them, which always insist on selling for more than that sum on eBay. Still, despite my Scroogeilicious tendencies, I do have the 100 page Witching Hour and the yellow-fronted 100 page DC Super Spectacular starring Superman. I also possess Superman Family #164.

From what I can remember of the others, the highlights included a Neal Adams Batman tale featuring the caped crusader versus a werewolf, and the Jim Aparo Batman of Detective Comics #438.

The Justice League 100 pager gave us the tale of the murder of Santa Claus. Although my memories of the other strips in that issue are somewhat slim, I seem to recall one of them featuring the Justice Society tackling a gang of juvenile delinquents, a task which logic would suggest they were more than a little over-powered for.

The Superboy one, I have fond memories of. I seem to recall it reprinted the origin of the Teen Titans. Did that issue also feature the story where Supergirl got her head chomped on by a lion while she was dressed like she was Sheena, queen of the jungle? For some reason that image has always stuck in my mind.

Superman #272 was an all-magic issue, which was fine by me though Superman at one point had Saturn Girl's pet, Proteus, stuck to his face, which can't have been a pleasant experience for him. The Flash hundred pager featured a group of sidekicks modelled on the Three Stooges - or perhaps they were the Three Stooges. My memories of it are as fuzzy as the end of Marilyn Monroe's lollipop.

But, all in all, it was the Batman/Detective Comics issues that made the most impact on me. Through them I got to see the work of Neal Adams, Jim Aparo and Dick Giordano, learned of Batman's origin and got my first sightings of Man-Bat and Manhunter. So, thirteen might be unlucky for some but for those of us who had them, it proved to be more than lucky. The moment you saw the number thirteen in this post, you knew I was going to end this post by saying that, didn't you? Mr Predictable? Me?

The Defenders #53. An educational experience for us all.

 

As I roam the elevated walkways of Sheffield's Park Hill Flats, people often say to me, "Steve, given the lack of available space for it, don't you ever worry just where Dr Doom's kingdom of Latveria is on the map?"

And I say, "No, I'm too busy worrying about the fate of Atlantis."

And it appears I'm right to do so because, in The Defenders #53, the kingdom that's never seen a crisis it can avoid, is yet again having a crisis it can't avoid. You see, Atlantis is being polluted by radiation from an underground complex in Russia.

Needless to say the Sub-Mariner's not putting up with that and, together with his allies Hellcat, Nighthawk and the Hulk, is soon heading up a convenient underwater tunnel to deal with it.

What the would-be heroes don't know is the complex belongs to a character called Sergei who's up to no good with their old team mate the Red Guardian and, just as our heroes are approaching his base, he's about to blow it up with an atom bomb in order to transform himself into the less than dramatically named "Presence".

It's at this point that the story ends for this issue, followed by a mundane back-up tale in which Clea gets kidnapped and tied up before hitting her assailant over the head with a statuette. Maybe it's my memory playing tricks with me but it seems to me that when I was a kid, Clea seemed to spend all her time being tied up by people. Who did she think she was - Wonder Woman?

When it comes to the Defenders tale, the truth is that, for all its nuclear shenanigans, the main plot's somewhat dull, taking what seems an eternity to get going as our heroes first stop off for a meeting in Atlantis before setting off to deal with the bad guy.

This sense of treading water's abetted by the fact that every page is filled with overly verbose captions that mostly serve no purpose other than to fill the book with words. It struck me, ploughing through all of this, that it felt like I was reading a Don McGregor tale and it's interesting therefore to read a comment box at the top of the letters page where credited writer Dave Kraft thanks various others, including McGregor, for stepping in and helping him out whenever he's had difficulties meeting deadlines. I do wonder if this issue was one such occasion?

Hellcat shows her smarts: "Gee, Namor -- I Don't know much about this radiation stuff but it sure sounds scary!"

But who cares about the main plot? As everyone knows, I only read Defenders tales to find out what the Valkyrie's up to and this issue finds her in her trying-to-enrol-in college phase. So, while the other Defenders get to tangle trouble behind the Iron Curtain, back home we get a sub-plot where, in her Barbara Norris guise, she has a chat with Clea, a ride on the New York Subway, a noticeably undramatic three panel clash with a villain called Lunatik and then walks up some steps - a clash so undramatic she doesn't even bother to put her books down to conduct it. Maybe there's something wrong with me but this wilfully undynamic excursion's more gripping for me than the more explosive main plot. I suppose it just goes to show that, for some of us, Character will always win out over Drama.

Babs aside, it's a disappointing issue. The fact that the Defenders tale abruptly halts halfway through the mag and we then get a fairly throw-away Clea story is somewhat frustrating, especially when coupled with the indigestibility of the writing on the main plot. What it does have going for it - apart from Babs - is Keith Giffen's art, his pages often wildly overcrowded with panels but proudly displaying the updated Kirby influence that lent it its charm.

It's also an issue that means I no longer have to worry about that vexatious matter of Latveria's location. Apparently, if page 17's to believed, it's directly north of Italy. Now that that's sorted out, all I have to do is find a way to stop worrying about Atlantis.