Uncanny X-Men #141-142

It occurs to me that many of my favourite comics have gone on to infamy as the beginning of trends or plotlines that later went on to be vilified by fans.

Watchmen, along with The Dark Knight Returns, of course, heralded the Grim 'n Gritty Age of comics, in which creators with none of the skill of Frank Miller or Alan Moore attempted to ape the complex, morally ambiguous milieu of those stories. The fact was that most imitators focused on the darkness and despair found in those stories without having a clue that the tales were both grounded in hope and crafted by writers at the very top of their creative game.

So, too, has the storyline in these X-Men issues been followed up on for many years by creators unable to grasp the essence of the tale. Sure, Days of Future Past is about time travel. Titanic is about a boat sinking. Star Wars is about a war in space. Just because you can break the plot of a great story down into a single phrase doesn't mean just anyone can create a similarly worthy tale. The stink from the two decades of crap that followed these two X-Men issues can be smelled from the galaxy of Andromeda. By someone with a very bad head cold. But that does not diminish the power of the original story, or the joy to be found in re-reading it.

In retrospect, Days of Future Past was really the high point of the Chris Claremont/John Byrne X-Men era, not to mention of the careers of the primary creators. The team (along with inker Terry Austin) had taken the mutants from deep space to the Savage Land, delivering mind-bending sagas on a monthly basis for many, many months. Unusually complex (for the time) characterizations and slick, dynamic artwork and clear storytelling were the hallmarks of the run. But this two-part story got to the heart of what made the Claremont/Byrne era the classic it remains today. As many of the best stories are, it was about family.

Stan Lee's X-Men, Roy Thomas's X-Men -- they were superheroes. Sure, they were occasionally exciting, and the concept was always strong, but Claremont (for all his excess verbiage) really got inside the heads of these people and let us know what they were thinking and feeling (occasionally to excess, but it was a successful technique during this run). The end result was that readers cared about the Uncanny X-Men in the late '70s and early '80s in a way rarely seen before or since. It was one part soap opera and one part superheroics, and for a few brief years, it was magic. Every 30 days.

The story begins with Kate Pryde (a much older Kitty Pryde) seen crawling through a ruined New York City in the far-off (it seemed then) 2013. Mutants have been rounded up and either killed or interred, and the Sentinels rule the United States of America. Kate gets herself into jeopardy, and a graying Wolverine comes to her rescue. We learn Logan is part of the Canadian Resistance Army, and that he is working with Kate to overthrow the Sentinels.

There was no set-up for this situation; Claremont and Byrne just tossed the reader right into the midst of this unexpected, dystopic future. It was disorienting, it was disturbing -- it was marvelous. The look we got at the future Wolverine (not, back then, an overexposed joke) was intriguing, and the glimpse of the graveyard in the Sentinel camp was chilling. So many heroes, we learned, were now dead. How could this have happened? And how the hell can it be made right? What price would have to be paid?

Inside the Sentinel camp, we meet the surviving mutants -- including a now wheelchair-bound Magneto who has apparently gone over to the side of the angels. The sense of family among these survivors is palpable. Kate Pryde has been married for years to Colossus, and Franklin Richards is involved with Rachel, a telepath we meet here for the first time. But beyond that, Colossus refers to Magneto as "old friend," a designation almost beyond comprehension back then. It was clear that the struggle against the Sentinels had united mutantkind in ways we could only begin to understand.

Rachel has been tapped to use her powers to send Kate Pryde's adult consciousness back into her 13-year old self's body, and suddenly the story shifts gears back to a world we know. The Danger Room in the Westchester academy that is the secret headquarters of the X-Men. The X-Men we know. Our X-Men.

Kate, now inhabiting the body of her younger self, is quickly able to convince the team that she is not the Kitty they know and love, and that she has come back in time to prevent the assassination of anti-mutant Senator Robert Kelly, and a subsequent nuclear holocaust. Remember, too, that this was 1980. Such tales were not as commonplace (or cliched) as they might be considered now. The team makes off for Washington, where Kelly is leading a senate hearing that Charles Xavier is testifying at.

The plot in the present really isn't all that interesting in and of itself. The X-Men have to prevent an assassination. It's the glimpses of the future that we get that really make this compelling reading. For years now we had gotten to know the characters of Colossus, Storm, Wolverine and the others. We had just met Kitty Pryde a few issues back. Now, we were seeing where they would all end up decades down the line, and because of the skill and talent of the creators, we really, really cared about all these characters. This horrific future had to be prevented, no matter what.

Of course, the X-Men manage to prevent Kelly's death in the next issue, at a terrible cost to the future version of the X-Men, and with many unanswered questions (would that many of them had remained unanswered). The cover caption, "Everybody Dies!" was, for once, completely accurate. Claremont and Byrne carried through in part two on the setup of the first part. It is a tale filled with drama, intrigue and excitement, that at the last reaffirms the sense of family that both the reader and the characters feel. Claremont and Byrne as a team had one more issue in them, but it was a slight tale by comparison; this was their true farewell to these characters. Claremont remained for years after, but never again reached the level of quality and drama he did here. Days of Future Past gave Claremont and Byrne reputations they fed off of for years, but the tale has also haunted them. In the original version of this article, written a few years ago, I said "Even if you could reunite the creators of this tale, we all know they could never capture lightning in a bottle like this again." That was proven with the Claremont/Byrne JLA arc that served to introduce an effeminate vampire into the JLA rogue's gallery and launch a new Doom Patrol that precisely no one was demanding.

Days of Future Past has been mined for new story fodder now for over 20 years, with all the diminishing returns that implies. We've seen countless other time-travelers try to prevent dystopic futures like the one presented here (and endless variants thereof), to the point that I suspect many readers may have forgotten the power, quality and simplicity of this initial tale, if they've ever read it in the first place. But the junk that came after this story does nothing to diminish the quality of the original.

Amazing Spider-Man #121 by Gerry Conway, Gil Kane, John Romita Sr. and Tony Mortellaro

Much like Batman, Spider-Man is a character firmly grounded in tragedy. Sure, he's a wall-crawling wiseass, but let's remember he became a hero only after his callous disregard for helping others resulted in the death of his beloved uncle. Death has stalked this character throughout his history, and never with more impact or bitter sense of loss than the death in this issue.

When we first met Peter Parker, he was a nerdy high schooler who had received amazing super-powers. As the years wore on, Peter graduated high school, went to college, and as even nerds sometimes do (although by now Parker was no longer a nerd), he fell in love.

Gwen Stacy was the love of Peter Parker's life. Blonde, beautiful, full of life and vibrancy, she was a great companion for Spider-Man's alter-ego. Despite the fact that the writing in those days often fell into cliched melodrama, Gwen was depicted as spunky, independent, and very much a young woman of her time.

Spider-Man in those days was blessed with one of the strongest, most diverse supporting casts ever seen in superhero comics. The dual milieus of college and the Daily Bugle allowed for a wide variety of personalities to interact with our hero, and they were put to good use. As this issue opens, Pete's longtime best friend Harry Osborn has once again fallen into illegal drug use, and is suffering from clinical psychosis and schizophrenia brought on by an LSD overdose.

Whether such a drug could bring on such a reaction, Harry's condition was a likely red herring for the cover image, which featured Spider-Man, spider-sense blaring, wondering which friend or family member was about to die.

Gwen, along with Mary Jane Watson, is at Harry's bedside, as Peter Parker enters and is tossed out on his ear by an enraged Norman Osborn, Harry's father and the former Green Goblin. Norman is showed in a feverish rage, and Peter tries to calm him down, perhaps fearing that Osborn could slip back into his evil alter-ego in this time of crisis. Peter, Gwen and Mary Jane leave, wondering why their friend has fallen so far.

Norman Osborn was always shown to be a cold, distant father. He was a ruthless businessman, enormously successful, but unable to be a decent father to his son, who only wanted his dad's approval. The Goblin legacy that has run through the Spider-titles for decades has at times been one of the most compelling dramatic elements of the series. The evil being passed from father to son has a disturbing, almost incestuous air about it, while at the same time being completely believable within the context of a superhero saga.

And here, both father and son are in a state of crisis. Harry is a drug-addled wreck, and Norman Osborn again stands at the brink of madness. No artist before or since could have been better chosen to depict the fevered, sweaty brow of these characters than Gil Kane. His wide-eyed Norman Osborn seemed utterly mad. His pinpoint pupils conveyed a sense of insanity better than volumes of text could have. He was a dangerous man, and readers certainly knew the Goblin was likely to resurface. But I doubt anyone at the time could have anticipated the permanent change about to occur in this title, or indeed in the entire American superhero canon.

Peter Parker arrives at the Daily Bugle, feeling unwell. He sells some pictures of his latest slugfest with the Hulk to Robbie Robertson and J. Jonah Jameson, and then turns back into Spider-Man, to make the trip home as quickly as possible. We then see Norman Osborn, haunted by a hallucination of Spider-Man, and finally his paranoia and fear and sense of failure become too much for him -- Osborn's sanity snaps and once more his memories flood back, reminding him of the only solution to his problems that has ever given him any satisfaction. Osborn once more becomes the Green Goblin.

At this point, readers were probably gearing up for another battle royal between their favourite hero and his most dangerous foe. Perhaps someone's life would even be endangered, as hinted at on the cover. But this was to be a grudge match like no one had ever depicted in superhero comics. And the story and art at this point take on a pinpoint focus that narrows and narrows until we reach the horrific, inevitable conclusion.

Spider-Man arrives at his apartment, a struggle obviously having just occurred. Spidey finds Gwen's purse and a pumpkin-bomb, and he realizes the Goblin is back and has taken Gwen. It's a scenario he's experienced dozens of times before, the girlfriend in jeopardy. At this point in the average superhero comic, we know all the moves and just hope the writer and artist will find some twist on the tale that will make it entertaining enough to hold our interest.

Spider-Man uses his spider-sense to track the Goblin to the top of the George Washington Bridge. The dance begins, as the hero and villain engage each other in battle. Spider-Man, though, is sick, and he fears that the Goblin will realize this and quickly gain the upper hand. Despite his illness, Spider-Man manages to clock the Goblin a good one, and the villain goes toppling over the side of the bridge. As Spider-Man reaches Gwen, we see the Goblin land on his Goblin-glider and zoom back up to reach his target. But instead of attacking Spider-Man, the Goblin takes his ultimate revenge. He knocks Gwen off the bridge.

It is a moment that for readers of a certain age remains suspended in time, even decades later. Gwen Stacy, forever in freefall as Spider-Man, shocked, reaches down and shoots off a web-line to save his love. In that moment, of course, remains a universe of possibility. It is the final moment Gwen Stacy will ever draw a breath, and as a heartbroken fan (to this day, I admit it -- I loved her as much as Pete did), the moment stretches out into infinity. It is a universe unto itself.

Until the webbing reaches Gwen's leg, and we see the large "SWIK!" sound effect, almost distracting us from the more significant but smaller "SNAP!" effect by Gwen's head. Her neck is broken. Her life is over.

Parker, of course, doesn't know this, and (arrogantly? presumptuously?) lifts Gwen up to his perch at the top of the bridge. He cradles her in his arms, bragging to himself about how dashing and versatile a hero he is. Gwen's head tilts back at an odd angle, and the truth hits. It hits our hero, and it hits us.

Gil Kane gives us one last, loving close-up of Gwen's beautiful face, now forever silenced, before pulling back and showing us from hundreds of feet away how small Spider-Man's world has just become, how dim his future. All is lost.

It should be noted that the choice of John Romita Sr. as one of the inkers in this issue was perfect. After all, "Jazzy Johnny" had depicted Gwen as the vibrant, beautiful young woman who became a comics icon, and it looks to me like Romita inked the panel where Peter first looks at Gwen's now lifeless face, her eyes now closed. It's utterly appropriate and utterly effective in recalling all the stories we'd read about her before, all the time we'd spent with her. Spider-Man, the readers, and even her best artist, are all rendered heartbroken, all saying goodbye to Gwen Stacy forever.

The Goblin swings back around on his glider, ready to engage in the battle that next issue will cost Norman Osborn his life. Spider-Man swears on the final page he'll kill the Goblin, and while that isn't quite how it will turn out, Osborn will indeed be dead at the end of the next issue.

It's a fitting price that had to be paid for what went on in this issue. After all, Osborn not only killed Gwen Stacy, but he murdered the Silver Age of Comics as well. This issue, and the death of Gwen Stacy, are considered the end of an era, and indeed that's just what this was. Gwen's death really was the completion of Peter Parker's journey into heroism. While his uncle's death was tragic, he was still able to go on and enjoy college and fall in love and believe there could be a happy ending. Gwen's death was the death of happy endings for Peter Parker. Despite numerous returns in clone-form, the genuine Gwen has remained dead, and rightly so. As I noted in the first column I ever wrote about comics, "Some dead people should remain dead." Unlike Thomas Wayne or Uncle Ben, though, Gwen's loss still stings, probably because we spent so much time with her as a character before she was taken away from us. She wasn't mere origin fodder like Batman's parents or Peter's uncle. She was as real to readers of Spider-Man as Peter Parker was himself.

Her death ushered in a new dark, more cynical age that included such sagas as Jim Starlin's Warlock and Captain Marvel, Steve Englehart and Marshall Rogers' Batman, Steve Gerber's Howard the Duck and Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson's Swamp Thing. A dark, though often marvelous new age had fallen on comics, and this issue marked its beginning.

Nostalgia is a clear and present danger in any artform -- visionary creators can utilize the inspiration they get from beloved works to spur them on to even greater exploration of their own creative boundaries, but many bad entertainments have been crafted in the cynical hope of cashing in on the closed-loop nostalgia of stagnant "fans." How much greater work would result, one wonders, if instead of merely going through the motions for easy money, corporate comics creators would instead focus on what they found exciting and energizing about the comics they loved as a child and tried to instill in their own work that same sense of wonder they once felt.

Perhaps if that were to happen, a whole new generation of readers could look decades hence at today's superhero books as their own inner child's favourite comics.