In the Critics this week

Richard Mabey on summer, Leo Hollis on London’s tech transformation, Will Hutton on a new kind of capitalism and Toby Litt on Elizabeth Fraser.

The New Statesman’s special London issue this week celebrates the vibrancy and complexity of our capital. In the Critics section, our critic at large Leo Hollis explores London’s attempts to transform itself from Victorian capital to futuristic metropolis. Hollis considers Songdo, a new city being built outside Incheon, Korea, and the way it represents a new kind of metropolis: “the smart city, built according to the new rules of the information age”. Can London, “with its Roman street plan, Victorian infrastructure and endless sprawling suburbs”, become “a connected city in which monitors and sensors relay real-time data to regulate the urban fabric”? Reality, Hollis observes, seems to be getting in the way. Furthermore, smart technology comes with a warning. Hollis notes that the big players “such as IBM, Cisco, Siemens, Accenture and Mckinsey are all entering the debate on the intelligent city, the smart grid and next-generation buildings”. With this kind of packaged retrofitting of London for the 21st century, “one can’t help imagining a dystopian future (think Blade Runner) in which software companies have taken over the city”. What if London’s information were in the hands of its people rather than software companies? “London can never be like Songdo but the capital should define its own criteria for being a digital city and use its indigenous expertise to make the city a better place.”
 
The third essay in Richard Mabey’s series of seasonal diaries turns its reflections on landscape and nature towards summer. Mabey considers John Ruskin’s fear of utilitarian explanations for plant behaviour: “No one looked at plants with such loving attention, and no one disrespected more their integrity as living things”. With the extreme weather this summer generating a floral phantasmagoria, “we’ve all become a bit Ruskinian, eyes widened and imaginations frozen by prodigious growths and precocious appearances”. Mabey laments the fact that, as a species, we have never been good at delving into the lives of plants: “We like their looks and enjoy the masterfulness of cultivating them, and yet, like Ruskin, we don’t want to believe that they might have intelligent agendas of their own”. “Green things fed and sheltered Paleolithic people,” Mabey observes, but “among all the acutely observed and brilliantly comprehended animals that prowl the cave paintings of southern Europe, there is not a single plant to be seen.”
 
In Books, Will Hutton urges economists to give us a convincing vision of a new kind of capitalism. How do you break the intellectual consensus that Britain is a front-line developed economy, and must lower its public and private debts simultaneously and dramatically as a precondition for a return to growth? “To deleverage simultaneously is to invite protracted depression,” Hutton writes. “The challenge instead is to develop our economy as much as make it grow”. Hutton considers Going South: Why Britain Will Have a Third World Economy by 2014 by Larry Elliott and Dan Atkinson, with its thesis that “such epic economic mistakes have been made over the last generation, compounding those of the past 100 years, that the productive sinews of Britain’s economy – and its ability to renew that productive capacity – have shrunk to such a degree that Britain can no longer be considered a developed economy”. Meanwhile Paul Krugman’s End This Depression Now! demolishes the intellectual framework behind the coalition’s “self-defeating attempt to eliminate the structural public-sector deficit in four years, with roughly four-fifths of the task assumed by indiscriminate spending cuts”. The non-strategy has been a disaster, and yet one predicted by only a minority, “although anybody with a sense of economic history, an understanding of how markets can get locked in upward and downward spirals and a willingness to recognise that both private and public sectors cannot unwind their debts at once could have arrived at the same answer”. A reckoning is imminent, Hutton warns: “Inability to pay one’s way in the world means that the country’s buying muscle for scarcer food, energy and raw materials is under continual pressure”. And yet Krugman, Elliott and Atkinson find themselves in the same predicament. They “describe what has gone wrong brilliantly but their economics is descriptive rather than purposefully analytical,” Hutton writes. “They lack a solid political economy with an accompanying vision of what a good British economy and society would look like”. How Much Is Enough? by Robert and Edward Skidelsky argues that Western societies have lost their moral bearings. And until Krugman, Elliott and Atkinson can better answer the Skidelskys' question – what is this wealth for? – “they will do no better than draw with their opponents”.
 
Elsewhere, novelist Toby Litt pays homage to Elizabeth Fraser of the Cocteau Twins. Litt looks back to the summer of 2006, when he was asked to help Fraser out with some lyrics: “Writing lyrics for Elizabeth Fraser was the dream job and couldn’t be anything other than a gift from God”.  “A lot of writers have attempted to describe Elizabeth Fraser’s voice and have ended up writing what ex-NME editor Steve Sutherland once called 'mind’s-eye gibberish',” Litt writes. “And a lot of listeners have tried to work out what words Elizabeth Fraser’s voice is singing and have concluded that it’s 'mind’s eye gibberish'”. Since posting Fraser his lyrics six years ago, Litt is still waiting to hear back. “Since the Cocteau Twins split up in 1997, Elizabeth Fraser’s fans have become extremely used to nothing happening,” Litt laments, “there’s been a deliberate avoidance of public exposure”. With Fraser now taking part in Antony Hegarty’s Meltdown line-up at the Southbank, at last Litt is days away from being in the same room as that otherworldly voice.
 
Also in the Critics: Kate Mossman lists her top ten London songs, from the Clash to the Kinks; Ryan Gilbey names his top ten London films including Oliver! and An American Werewolf in London; we list our top ten London novels, from Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent to Martin Amis’s London Fields;
Sarah Churchwell on the “real” Hollywood; Talitha Stevenson on Amy Winehouse; Douglas Alexander on Labour in Scotland; Ryan Gilbey reviews Searching for Sugar Man; Rachel Cooke reviews the BFI’s season “The Aristocracy on TV”; and Will Self on the lingo needed to order fish and chips in Wigan.
Can London become a smart city? (Photo: Getty)
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Defining The Defenders: the long history of the superhero team-up

Netflix's new show draws on an established traditon of bringing together disparate characters.

Today Marvel’s The Defenders dropped worldwide. It’s the culmination of Marvel Studios’ interlinked series for Netflix, and all episodes will be available simultaneously as is the streaming services’ wont.

The Defenders, and the Netflix series that have preceded it, seem modelled on how the Marvel Cinematic Universe films have worked in multiplexes. At least superficially. Characters get their own solo films/series, which become increasingly interlinked over time, before all featuring together in an onscreen ‘team up’. Here, they combine against a threat greater than any they could plausibly win against on their own, sparring and generating alliances, friendships and even enmities in the process.

This structure, of course, is Marvel’s film and TV projects aping their source material. Marvel’s comics, and superhero comics more generally, have long relished the "team up" and the "super team". The use of this approach by Marvel’s other media ventures is intuitively right, allowing the mass audience for film and television to experience one of the specific pleasures of how superhero comics work in the characters’ new medium.

The concept of the super team goes back a long way. The Justice Society of America, from Marvel’s Distinguished Competition, is usually considered the first. They debuted in All-Star Comics #3 (1940) and the team consisted of the Flash (the Jay Garrick version, Flash TV fans), Green Lantern, Hawkman, and now lesser known characters like Hour-Man, the Sandman (not the Neil Gaiman one), the Atom, The Spectre and Doctor Fate. Within a few issues Wonder Woman would join: as secretary. Because it was the 1940s.

What’s interesting about this initial super team is that half of these characters were published by All-American Comics (who actually published All-Star) and half by DC Comics themselves, making this an inter-company crossover. (The companies would later merge). It also used to be claimed as the first example of characters created separately, and with no intention of them being connected, interacting. It isn’t. There are countless examples in the pulp fictions of the late nineteenth century, but the claim stood for so long because it felt right that the original super team should be the source of such meta-fictional innovation.

The Defenders were created much later in comics history and first appeared in 1971’s Marvel Feature #1. The team, though, had its origins in the "Titans Three" an informal grouping of heroes who appeared in a three part story serialised across Doctor Strange #183 (November 1969), Sub-Mariner #22 (February 1970), and The Incredible Hulk #126 (April 1970).

All three of those comics were written by Roy Thomas. Caught on the hop by the sudden cancellation of Doctor Strange (#183 was the final issue), he wrapped up ongoing plotlines from the cancelled comic in other series he scripted, bringing the now title-less Strange into those other series in the process. A couple more appearances of the group together followed, before the team was formally named in the aforementioned Marvel Feature #1.

Dr Strange. The Sub-Mariner. The Incredible Hulk. It’s quite likely that anyone reading this who is only familiar with the publicity for Netflix’s The Defenders would be surprised by that roster of headline characters. (And that’s assuming they’re even familiar with Namor the Sub-Mariner, a character of 1939 vintage who has not yet reached the MCU.) This is a radically different group to Daredevil, Jessica Jones (a character not even created until the 21st century), Luke Cage and Iron Fist, the stars of the current TV series. None of the telly team are characters a Marvel zombie would associate with The Defenders, although Iron Fist has been a very occasional member of the team’s roster, as has Luke Cage. (In which context, it’s unfortunate that Iron Fist has been the least liked of Netflix’s series, with a mere 17 per cent approval on Rotten Tomatoes.)

The complete absence of all three of the original Defenders from its television incarnation could be seen as an odd decision. Neither Benedict Cumberbatch’s Steven Strange nor Mark Ruffalo’s Bruce Banner are expected to turn up, even for cameos. Marvel Studios has policed a strict division between its Netflix series and its cinematic outings, despite announcing them as being set in the same "continuity". The fourth "classic" Defender is even less likely to turn up. The Silver Surfer (who joined the team in 1972, less than a year after it was formed) is, due to some bad deal making in the 90s, off limits to the MCU. His film rights sit with Fox, who utilised him in the rightly all but forgotten Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer (2007). 

One of the reasonably consistent features of previous incarnations of The Defenders is that the characters have generally faced mystical threats. They first teamed up to fight monsters from HP Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, and generally their antagonists have operated on that kind of scale. With Stephen Strange in the gang, that makes sense. You don’t need the sorcerer supreme to take out organised crime. But organised crime is largely what you’d expect Daredevil, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones and Iron Fist to take on, especially based on the Netflix versions of the characters. All four are "street-level" heroes, operating in New York, interacting with characters like murderous vigilante The Punisher and Kingpin of Crime Wilson Fisk. Perhaps splitting the difference, their team up series will see them take on The Hand. This is a ninja organisation, with mystical origins, that is nevertheless involved in organised crime and can be presented, as it has been so far for Netflix, within the context of crime stories.

Marvel’s Chief Creative Officer Joe Quesada has defended The Defenders being The Defenders by pointing out that the original team are largely unknown outside comics fandom, and their name means nothing to the public at large. (Although they have, of course, heard of all three of its constituent members.) Of course, for some this might sensible provoke the question "Why use it then?" What is this series called The Defenders at all?

The (original) Defenders were seen as a "non-team", a phrase occasionally used in the pages of their appearances. There was something deconstructive about this kind of team up. It was the pairing of characters who were unsuited to working, even to appearing, together and who would really rather not. (They had, after all, been brought together in the first place simply because Roy Thomas happened to write their separate titles.) The stories told with the group in some ways challenged and confronted the cliches of the decades old form that had begun back in All-Star Comics #3.

The line-up, and tone, of Netflix’s Defenders more resembles that of another, deliberately slightly interrogative non-team, that of the short-lived Marvel Knights book of 2000-2001. This did share The Defenders somewhat abstract definition of "team", featuring characters who didn’t like each other and didn’t want to work together, albeit without any mystical element to how they were brought together. Marvel Knights was also, in theory, the flagship of the line of the same name, at the time edited by... Joe Quesada. Hmm.

In recent years, Marvel have frequently cheerfully remodelled their comics - the original medium for almost all their characters - in order to incorporate changes and innovations pioneered as part of their film and television projects. Remixing their characters and the way they are grouped together in response to the success of their screen empire. The Guardians of the Galaxy, for example, have become more prominent in the comics, while characters whose film rights lie with film companies other than Marvel’s own, such as the aforementioned Fantastic Four, have been pushed to the margins. Accordingly, this August sees the launch of a new The Defenders title, featuring the lineup of characters from the television series.

Some loyal comics readers see this a case of the tail wagging the dog. Others might like to take notice of the metaphor used by comics writer Grant Morrison in his 2011 book SuperGods: Our World In The Age Of The Superhero. There, Morrison argued that comic books, while the medium in which these characters were created, was essentially the discarded booster section of the rocket in which they had been fired into the public consciousness, reaching vastly greater audiences in the process. 

“That’s not The Defenders,” commented a friend of mine on seeing a publicity photograph for the series a few weeks ago. It is now, mate. It is now.