Sick of Supes: Garth Ennis' The Boys

My comics reading and consuming habits have changed drastically since my time at IGN ended, a reality I describe in detail in my initial two blog posts for this humble little dumping ground for random ideas I call External Underpants. Go back and read those posts if you haven’t already and are interested in learning just how those habits have changed, but suffice it to say the number of superhero comics in my weekly reading stack shrunk almost immediately the minute I found myself no longer responsible for reviewing and keeping up with the regular occurrences of the DC and Marvel Universes.

Between the haphazard nature of DC’s New 52 reboot, Marvel’s never-ending cycle of event-driven storytelling, the editorial-dictated nature of both Big Two publishers, the lack of any sort of consistent artistic/visual presence on so many superhero books and the disturbing over-reliance of Marvel and DC on artificial gimmicks to drum up interest in and sales of their books, it didn’t take long for me to realize that the majority of superhero books were simply no longer worth my time, attention or money. And with my frustration over the way superhero comics are written and sold reaching unprecedented heights, I figured now was as good a time as any to revisit Garth Ennis’ The Boys, a series that ups the ante on taking the proverbial piss out of the superhero concept like no comic in history.

 

I first started reading The Boys after my first exposure to Preacher and Punisher MAX –

both of which I consumed in compulsive, marathon reading sessions – convinced me anything Garth Ennis wrote was well worth checking out. Ennis’ penchant for right-as-rain, rhythmic dialogue, his often hilarious voice, his mixture of brutal violence and heartfelt character exploration, and, above all else, his masterful grasp on pacing and serialized storytelling all won me over to his ever-growing legion of fans.

The dude can write comics with the best of them, and the news that DC Publisher and head honcho Paul Levitz pulled the plug on The Boys, the then top-seller of DC’s struggling Wildstorm imprint, because its satire of the Justice League so disgusted him certainly didn’t lessen the title’s appeal in my eyes. The very fact that Ennis – who proved in the pages of Hitman that he’s more than capable of handling the superhero genre in a heartfelt, thoughtful and sincere fashion when so inclined – felt the need to “out-Preacher Preacher” (one of the most violent, vulgar and sexual books ever published) in a full-on vulgar assault of the superhero genre made the series even more appealing. Once The Boys found a new home at Dynamite Entertainment and continued to sell gangbusters and receive considerable acclaim, I finally made the leap and devoured the first two collections, eventually catching up with the individual installments enough to write a few reviews for IGN.

But as was so often the case during my time with IGN, the need to keep up to date on mediocre superhero books meant my monthly consumption of The Boys eventually fell by the wayside even though I continued to purchase the comic when it hit the stands (what can I say, I’m loyal to a fault). Which brings me to last week, when, disgusted by the news of the Superman/Wonder Woman hook up, I decided now was the perfect time to catch up on Ennis’ balls-to-the-wall take-down of the superhero genre. And I’m glad I did.

For those unfamiliar with the basic premise of The Boys, the series takes place in a world overrun with superheroes that make The Watchmen look like boy scouts – violent, irresponsible, sexually depraved psychopaths with immense powers who have not the slightest care for the collateral damage their antics cause the world and its non-powered citizens. Enter the series’ titular team, The Boys, a CIA-backed squad of badasses charged with monitoring the most extreme, dangerous and insane superheroes and, when necessary, kicking the ever-living shit out of them (or worse). That the individual members of The Boys all each once suffered a tragic loss due to the criminal negligence of a superhero adds the dramatic meat to the core premise, but it also gives Ennis an outlet through which to pour his rage and disgust over the more ridiculous aspects of the superhero genre.

The Boys is definitely not without its considerable flaws, and it’s certainly not the first comic to paint superheroes as racist, fascist, nihilistic, fetishistic, misogynistic (as well as any other negative “istic” term you can think of) degenerates. What separates The Boys from other black-comedy superhero parodies is not only the savage, cartoonish and very gleeful nature of Ennis’ satire, but also the way he imbues the story with genuine tragedy and heart when appropriate. The fact that we feel for the personal losses of protagonist Wee Hughie and team-leader Butcher makes their rage palpable, causing us readers to stand up and cheer when they set out to crack some super-powered skulls.

And while it often borders on the obvious or sophomoric, Ennis’ satire of individual superhero archetypes is often nevertheless hilarious, particularly when it comes to tearing down specific properties like the Justice League, Batman and Robin, the Teen Titans and the X-Men, who without a doubt receive the brunt of Ennis’ ire. Ennis’ Stan Lee analog, The Legend, is likewise a comedic revelation, and the way Ennis metatextually ties his universe’s comic book industry into the shenanigans of his superhero antagonists just may be the series’ biggest comedic accomplishment.

But like I said, the series has its flaws. Though artist Darick Robertson’s style is perfectly suited for the book’s over-the-top, cartoonishly violent and sexual tone, it’s quite obvious when the monthly grind gets to him and causes both his line-work and storytelling to suffer. Things don’t improve much when a fill-in artist comes onboard to relieve Robertson and allow him to catch up, and in general the series’ visuals remain rather inconsistent until artist Russ Braun takes over as the series’ regular artist somewhere around the forty issue mark. From that point on the book gets a new sense of artistic energy and clarity, but it’s a rocky road getting there.

But above all else, it’s Ennis’ mastery of pacing and serialized storytelling that really makes The Boys sing. As he did to such great effect in his Preacher, Hitman and Punisher work, Ennis shows an uncanny ability to make each successive story arc build off the last, keeping the story’s central conspiracy chugging along with serious momentum and only periodically taking his foot off the accelerator to focus on the occasional subplot, character work or bit of levity unrelated to the core plot. That sense of pacing, coupled with the outrageous humor, high stakes, world-building, spot-on dialogue and characterization all make for a read that’s well worth your time and attention, especially if you’re as tired of superhero clichés as I am.

The Boys is about to come to its conclusion with Novembers issue #72, and I’m currently at issue #52. So far, Ennis shows no signs of taking his foot off the accelerator or pulling any punches, which is why I plan to stick with him until the very end. When the series finally wraps, I’ll chime back in with another blog post about the series as a whole. Until then, do yourself a favor and jump on board one of the funniest, most savage satires of the superhero genre ever written. 

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