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| Undressed cover to The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man #1by Marcos Martin |
The majority aren't always wrong. Take writer Nick Spencer's work on The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man. A universally lauded title, it's also an undeniably fine comic book. That such a colossal degree of acclaim is entirely justified comes as no little surprise. Since his Jimmy Olsen back-ups in 2010, one wave after another of hurrahs and hat-hurling has greeted Spencer's output. For those of us stupefied by the admiring response to his repeatedly story-lite approach, The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man arrives as a bewildering revelation. Abandoning the content-sparse, all-tease-and-too-little-payoff decompression of Morning Glories and Thief Of Thieves, Spencer's storytelling here is rich, detailed, subtle and frequently captivating. Even the tale-opening splash page - a mid-air brawl between Spider-Man and Boomerang - arrives accompanied by 10 smartly-written narrative captions. Other writers might have left the side text-free and sidestepped the business of offering the reader a more satisfying yarn, but that's hardly the case here. Not just embracing a story-rich approach, but mastering an ambitious measure of the same, Spencer's work here is as rewarding as it's unexpected. In places - as when Boomerang mistakes the red-robed members of the Secret Empire for shag-hungry debauchees - it's even irresistibly hilarious.
The history of the super-villain team book is hardly a glorious one. If the post-Millennium era has at least seen Millar and Jones' gleefully provocative Wanted, Brubaker and Philip's astutely menacing Sleeper, and Gail Simone's heartfelt, incisive Secret Six, there's been little else of genuine note. Nimbly sidestepping the worst of the tradition's tendency towards the gratuitous and the reactionary, Spencer's Sinister Six are both sympathetic antagonists and dangerous, pathetic recidivists. Without straying into the sentimentally polemical, he sketches out each character's distinct pathology while carefully seeding the origins of their criminality. Though these are undoubtedly broken and hazardous individuals, they're no collection of fiendish stereotypes. If Spencer's ambitions don't initially extend to the extreme dysfunctions that Simone so bravely and successfully depicted, he never once sidesteps the culpability or the frailties of his cast. When the alarmingly arrogant Speed Demon steals a young girl's pet dog, and justifies doing so as a supposedly essential life-lesson for her, the balance between perversely enjoying his company and loathing his guts is admirably maintained. Yet when he lets slip that his mother once sold his own hound to pay for drugs, his situation becomes far more complicated than the hang'em-all brigade would ever allow for.
Spencer's nimble, empathetic storytelling is admirably complimented by Steve Lieber's meticulous and characterful art. How less satisfying would The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man have been, had the writer been paired with an artist who tended towards panel-sparse, splash-heavy storytelling? By contrast, the average number of frames on Lieber's pages stands above seven, and he uses each to absolutely nail the beats of Spencer's plot while avoiding the slightest suggestion of confusion and crowding. The result is an astute and droll comic which is anything other than an expensively thin and unavoidably quick read. Even the least kinetic of scenes is suffused with charm and energy. In common with peers such as David Aja and Marcos Martin, Lieber is at least as comfortable with a page depicting the weary climb of two bottom-feeder super-villains up a tenement staircase as he is with a de rigueur super-person punch-up. In both quieter and more clamorous moments, his unshowy focus on clarity, emotion and innovation allows the story to breathe and prosper. In a marketplace saturated with artists who place sub-Jim Lee-esque manic-hatching and hyper-muscled hubbub above the good of the narrative, Leiber's accomplished, ego-free and effervescent work is both a relief and a joy. The way in which he combines with Spencer to wordlessly establish the ruinously impulsive Boomerang's long fall from baseball pro to fifth-rate costumed punchbag is in itself worth the comic's $2.99 entry charge.
Though The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man is laced with a deeply satisfying measure of incident and emotion, it never seems indulgent, stodgy or over-demanding. Instead, it’s an indisputable hoot, unpretentious and yet undeniably smart, fast-moving and yet thoughtful, ambitious and yet entirely welcoming. One more example of a recent wave of super-books from Marvel that might just reach beyond the fannish hardcore and appeal to the longed-for broader audience, it’s every bit the triumph that everybody else has rightly declared. A unexpected pleasure, it’s totally disarmed my distrust of Nick Spencer’s work. I look forward to having my ingrained prejudices similarly confounded as I catch up with the issues I've missed.
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