AND A LITTLE SUPERHERO SHALL LEAD THEM

Posted this on a thread which, like many, tended to blame "the Big Two" for their scurrilous promotion of the Superhero Cult, which alone is to blame for dwindling sales of the entire comics-medium:

To the subject of the OP: I'm possibly in the minority here, but I don't think there's an Iceman's chance in Hell that our beloved medium could ever make a return to newstands in the pamphlet format.  There might have been some small chance to regain a toehold for serial comics in bookstories, had the Big Two pursued the TPB format for original comics; the equivalent of how the Japanese compile ongoing serials into the *tankobon* format.  But they didn't.

I've encountered any number of fan-writers asserting that what killed the rep of comic books with big distributors by the 1970s was the fact that the majors reduced page-count in the 1950s to keep prices low for their juvenile fan-base.  The JOURNAL even devoted a whole issue to the topic in the late 90s.  By the time the 1970s rolled around, the price-point on comics was no longer competitive.  It wasn't even worth it to distributors to bale a few comics in with their usual stuff, because the comics yielded so little profit for the distributors.

Part of what we're dealing with is perception.  People expect candy bars to increase in price; if one wants a candy bar, one pays the current price.  But outside of hardcore fans, I don't think the average "comic browsers" were willing to pay more for what comics offered.  As long as the pamphlet cost under a $1.00, it was still feasible junk-reading.  Past that point, most people didn't care for comics enough to pay the going rate.  A lof of people who might've once bought comics migrated to videogames, which offered more continuous bangs for the buck.

Yes, it's a dirty shame that comics-fans focused so hugely on the superhero.  But without that concentration on one genre that you couldn't get from other media with any consistency, the fandom of the burgeoning DM might have drifted away and found other toys.

And the form of comic books might have fallen into the same disuse as Big Little Books.

MEDITATIONS ON THE GREAT DC REPRINT REJECTION

Recently posted this to a private listserve on the subject of the attempt DC Comics made in 1971 to make their books pricier:

It's always been a mystery to me that the preteen and teen buyers of that time chose the 20-centers from Marvel Comics over the bigger 25-centers from DC Comics, since the latter seems like the better bargain.  I understand that in hardcore fandom, Marvel has gained a great deal of good will/popularity and might be considered top dog there.  But the hardcore readership then was surely just a fraction of the mass market.

I can only surmise two possibilities: (1)  that the casual buyer of the time was "penny wise and pound foolish," in that he didn't mind getting fewer pages overall as long as he had five actual comics in his hand rather than four, OR (2) that the casual buyer was dominantly indifferent to or turned off by all the recapitulated reprint-material with which DC padded its 25-centers. 

By the conventional wisdom of the time, the casual buyers should've welcomed all the reprints by the logic that "any story you haven't read is a new story."  Yet it seems that they did not, perhaps because they weren't hardcore enough to be appreciative of the intricacies of DC Comics history.  Indeed, DC may have alienated some new readers by throwing all this copious old material in the faces of Casual Buyer Guy.  Most of the casual buyers in the 1960s probably barely noticed if a regular issue of Superman included a reprint, unless the editors explicitly called attention to it.  But counter-intuitive though it seems, a lot of buyers may have rejected DC's emphasis on their storied past, using it to support the long standing characterization of "DC" as connoting "Doddering Codgers."

Sad though it is to many hardcore fans, many casual buyers don't like having another generation's fantasies dumped in their faces.  Regard, in more recent years, how the kickass-but-retro double-film GRINDHOUSE, by two popular directors, crashed and burned in the theaters.

ADDENDA: An undocumented source adds that when Marvel did their "quick-change" in the same period-- where they converted many books in their line to 25 cents, and then back to 20 cents the next month-- that they also made themselves more attractive to distributors by giving them a better percentage deal.  But though that might have pushed more Marvel comics onto more stands, that in itself probably doesn't explain the audience's acceptance of the "bargain" of fewer pages for a marginally cheaper price.

THE INAUTHENTICITY OF PEANUT BUTTER, Part 1

A couple of months ago Steve Duin, a writer for the Oregonian, put together an article based on parts of a 1988 AMAZING HEROES tirade by Gary Groth against the Superman icon. Of the various reflections printed in that issue of AH, Duin calls Groth's screed "the only one that stands the test of time."

If one means that the Groth essay makes it onto a hypothetical list of "Worst Essays about Superman Ever," I would certainly agree.

I write the folliowing in the sure and certain knowledge that no matter how thoroughly I destroy Gary Groth's arguments, he would never deign to attempt refuting me anywhere but in a place conducive to the JOURNAL's good fortunes. I am sure that this reticence is merely a practical business decision and not an indication of Groth's lack of courage. I--

Ah, excuse me, I've a cold and think I'm going to--

***cccchhhiikkknnnshttttt!*

That's better. Where was I?

Ah, yes. First let me say that the aspect of Groth's essay I'll be debating here makes use of the word "icon," with the result that I too must use the term in my rebuttal. I should note that in semiotics this word has assorted special usages but I'll be using it only in its colloquial sense here, even as Groth did. The passage in question says:

"[Superman's] the ultimate American icon--he can be sold, marketed and merchandised, whose image can be replicated on everything from pillowcases to beach balls to underwear."

I don't doubt that this is the only significance Groth sees, or is capable of seeing, in the Superman character. (I think I'm safe in assuming equivalence between Groth's views on this subject today and his views back in 1988.) But by calling Superman "the ultimate icon" of marketability, Groth opens himself to an obvious question. In what way is the marketable image of Superman more "ultimate"-- that is, more fundamental, more elemental-- than that of, say, the "Golden Arches" of a certain fast-food restaurant to which Groth makes passing reference?

Though Groth does not offer any organized criteria to prove that Superman is an "ultimate icon" of American marketing, logic would dictate his main criterion is one of quantity: that Superman's iconic image is associated with far more commodities than comparable icons. I for one would like to see how the Man of Steel stacks up against Charles Schulz's PEANUTS for sheer preponderance of tie-ins, but I'll agree that Superman's image is indeed affixed to many commodities that have nothing directly to do with telling stories about the character (that is, excluding not only comic books but all other narrative media).

Since Groth's essay scorns one fan's association of Superman and Socrates, it seems appropriate that I should use a little Socratic "definition by division" to sort out Groth's problematic anti-Superman rhetoric.

First, aside from quantity, in what way is Superman's usage on pillowcases, beach balls, and underwear distinctive from the uses made of other marketing icons, like the Golden Arches? I assert that the greatest difference between the two is that the latter was conceived for no purpose but to advertise McDonalds, while Superman's use as a marketing icon was after the fact of his having appeared as a serial character whose adventures could be purchased on newstands.

Thus, McDonald's arches are a "primary icon of marketing," since they began as advertisements conceived primarily to sell McDonalds' food.

Superman, however, was primarily conceived to sell the serial adventures of a fictional character. Without the character's becoming popular through those fictional adventures, the character would never have been of consequence to the makers of beach balls, peanut butter, et al, and so would never have become a marketing icon. Since the etiology of the two icons is distinct I wil label Superman's marketing status as that of a "secondary icon of marketing."

Therefore, if as Groth says Superman is the "ultimate American icon" of marketing,being a secondary icon of marketability must count for more than being a primary one.

Having made this distinction, my second point is if Groth's notion of "ultimacy" is indeed linked to sheer preponderance, then within his proposition there is no contradiction in the above. Observation would suggest that the icons that most often lend themselves to being attached to many different products are indeed those of a secondary nature. McDonalds' Golden Arches may appear on T-shirts and a few other items, but they can't compete with such secondary-icon examples of marketing as Superman Peanut Butter, Peanuts Met-Life commercials, LOVE AND ROCKETS lighters or R. Crumb's DEVIL GIRL candy.

However, Groth's imputation of "ultimacy" to Superman fails because there is no meaningful correlation between quantity and the act of marketing itself. A LOVE AND ROCKETS lighter will not sell as widely as Superman Peanut Butter, but the former is still an attempt to use a secondary icon to market an unrelated commodity.

More about finding authenticity in primary and secondary versions of various products-- such as the titular peanut butter-- to come.