{[['
']]}
']]}
Marvel Comics, 20¢ ($1.07 in 2014 dollars), 32 pages
Cover Date: May 1973 — Released: Feb. 20, 1973
Story Grade: B
Issue Score: 75.0
ARTFULLY RECOMMENDED
"The Hour of the Griffin!"
(20 pages / 125 panels / 3,172 words / 21:00 read time)
Writer/Editor: Roy Thomas
Artist: John Buscema
Inker: Ernie Chan (as Ernie Chua)
Colorist: Glynnis Wein
Letterer: John Costanza
I was never much into Conan as a kid. Yup, it was all about super-heroes for me in my halcyon youth. In fact, you might say I'm the reason there's so little diversity in the comic book market today.
But I happened to score a batch of Conan's recently. I placed an ad in Uncle Henry's soliciting for someone to cut trees on my property to make room for a garden. The deal was you-cut, you-keep, but my ad did say that anyone who brought me comic books might get to harvest a couple of extra poplars, maybe a birch, even. Two people replied to the ad, one of whom offered half a long box of comics, including about 90 Conans. Needles to say, he got the gig. Now, they were mostly reading copies, Very Good to Very Fine, but what the heck, I've always been a reader, not an investor.
The earliest issue in the bunch was #26, notable in that it was only John Buscema's second issue of what would eventually be a 135-issue run, lasting until #190, cover dated January 1987. For that alone, this issue has HIGH collectibilty, in my eyes. In fact, this issue is worth having just for Buscema's beautiful, beautiful art. Hey kids, there's a reason it's Jolly John, and not Kirby, or Ditko, or any of the other founders who's the star of How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way. The layout here is practically perfect, with Buscema at the top of his form, and the delineation is a delight to behold as well.
This book currently goes for about $22 in Near Mint condition. A slabbed 9.0 actually sold for exactly that price on eBay less than a month ago. But if you are, like me, less fussy and willing to take a lesser-condition copy, you can actually have one for about the price of a new Marvel comic. Per some of the online price guides, a Very Fine condition copy will set you back $18.50, a Fine issue $6.50, and a Very Good copy just $3.30. But a quick search of recent eBay sales shows copies in Very Fine condition going for about $5, and Fine+ for around $4, which just goes to show you how the bottom has dropped out of the back issue market for anything other than high grade key issues. Why Buscema's early efforts on Conan are not considered key is beyond me.
To my knowledge, this particular issue has only been reprinted twice, in Marvel's Conan Saga #63 in 1992 and, in 2004, in Dark Horse Comics' The Chronicles of Conan Vol. 4. In my estimation, you'll probably have less trouble tracking down a copy of the original comic than either reprint.
And why not start the hunt? The art here is so far above anything on the stands today, and the coloring moody and evocative despite the limitations of the era, it's worth having just to look at.
Actually reading it, however, could be a bit of a struggle. On his short-lived blog, Jim Shooter railed against the early-1970s practice of having writer/editors at Marvel. No writer, no matter how good, should be his own editor, Shooter said, and I wholeheartedly agree. After all, any decent editor would have kicked Thomas until his balls were as purple as the prose in this story.
Don't get me wrong, Roy Thomas is one of my comics heroes. His Invaders and pre-Crisis All-Star Squadrons, just to pick a couple of his titles off the top of my head, will always be among my very favorite comics of all time. But he sure proved Shooter right with this issue. There's a saying that writers should hunt down adjectives in their work, and kill them. But Thomas apparently was not in a particularly murderous mood when he wrote this story. Today, the typical 20-page comic book story will average 1,300 words. Here, Thomas pounds out 3,172. Thomas was always wordy, of course, and some of us love him for it. But this story is just an absolute chore to wade through, with adjectives aplenty choking up the panels like kudzu, describing in syrup-soaked detail every last thing Buscema draws.
For example, as enemy soldiers burst into an alter room and bear down on the barbarian, Thomas tells us:
"Instinctively, Conan crouches behind the massive, flame-lit alter . . ." he writes, in a panel showing Conan crouching behind a massive, flame-lit alter. "He braces mighty barbarian thews against finely-carved marble . . . begins to push . . . and slowly, ever so slowly -- or so it seems -- the alter begins to sway --"
This two-panel sequence is kind of funny in a way, as it stresses how long it takes Conan to topple the alter on top of his enemies. But, I suppose when you have a host of scimitar-swinging soldiers trying to hack you apart, easy-does-it is the way to go.
There's also a funny scene in which the invading horde descends into the city, Trojan War style, from the hollow underside of a giant statue depicting a winged horse. Presumably, this is the griffin of the title, although I always understood griffins to be a cross between an eagle and a lion — horses need not apply. Anyway, the invading army, from whatever kingdom Thomas says they're from in his tortuous "tableau" captions that introduce each setting, are told by a deserter about a secret cave entrance into — again, whatever kingdom Thomas says is being invaded — on the city's "nether side." This being 1973 and the Comics Code Authority in full effect, the cave has to be on the city's nether side, and not on its ass-end. You understand.
As the invading army begins to search for the cave, an incredibly convenient earthquake — which apparently does no damage and causes no panic inside the city — reveals its entrance. From there, the army eventually walks to "Troy."
"By Ishtar's girdle," one soldier says, "That cave-tunnel had more offshoots that the fabled labyrinth of Khora-Ja! Lucky for us one tunnel led into that horse's hollow belly."
What's funny, of course, is that in order to come down out of the giant horse's belly, the soldiers must have needed to climb up one of its legs, which I'd think would have created a fair bottleneck in the procession.
Meanwhile, Conan buddies-up with a captain of the guard who, apparently, was his enemy in the previous issue. This being the early '70s, we are getting into an era when it's helpful when attempting to read any comic book to have read the previous issue, at least, in that series. Even so, Thomas does a decent job of making this issue stand on its own. Unlike modern comics which frustrate the hell out of me, this issue leaves me less with the guessing-at-what's-going-on and more flush with the anticipation of wanting to track down and buy earlier issues.
Anyway, Conan and the captain happen across the city's queen and try to squirrel her away to safety. But first, Conan tries to distract their pursuers, leading them a merry chase until he happens upon a room housing the Living Tarim, or, as Conan notes, "The one this war is all about!" But our barbarian soon learns that Mr. Holy of Holys is not just some robed recluse, he is the product of way, way, WAY too much royal inbreeding. Why the rulers of this city would keep their prized quasi-fugly in a room lined with mirrors is a mystery, but it does end up making for a nice visual when his face is revealed.
Unfortunately, despite waging war over who gets to host the Living Tarim, none of the soldiers, on either side, have ever seen him. So, when they bust in and start slinging arrows at Conan, its the outrageous fortune of the. Living Tarim to get slightly less living, though no less ugly. Also, burnt to the bone, which is what falling in a fire pit gets you.
Conan then lights out and quickly reconnects with Queen and captain, leading their way to freedom through giant saber-toothed possum and rear guard soldiers. Conan then considers making the queen his wench, since he's gone to the trouble of rescuing her, after all, but as it turns out, she's preggers, and the thought of instant fatherdom is enough for Conan to point her on her way stage right while he hightails it stage left.
Finally — no spoilers on a 41-year-old comic — the invading general, Yezdigerd (gesundheit!), finds the dead Living Tarim and, in an epilogue worthy of any EC Comics or Twilight Zone twist, drives its robed skeleton through the conquered city, his none-the-wiser soldiers cheering their victory. After all, young Mr. Inbred was mute as well as being a hemophiliac, so who was going to talk to or touch him anyway?
[COVER: 8.50 — PLOT: 7.50 — SCRIPT: 4.75 — LAYOUT: 10.0 — ARTWORK: 9.75 — EDITING: 5.50 — COLORS/PRODUCTION: 7.25 — DOLLAR VALUE: 7.50 — COLLECTIBILITY: 9.25 —GOSH-WOW FACTOR: 5.0]
Post a Comment