The cover of Captain America #182 — drawn by Ron Wilson and Frank Giacoia (with probable touch-ups by John Romita) — offered few, if any, hints of major surprises to be found within its pages. Here’s Steve Rogers in his new heroic identity of Nomad, continuing his ongoing battle against the Serpent Squad, with a symbolic (and huge) representation of his former (and, of course, much better-known) costumed alter ego looming in the background. Pretty much what anyone who’d been following this title for the past several months would expect.
But upon turning to the issue’s opening splash page, we readers of November, 1974, learned that changes had indeed come to Captain America…
…as signified by several names appearing for the very first time in the credits of a Captain America comic.
Let’s start with the inker, Joe Giella — a veteran who’d logged close to three decades working in the comic book industry by this point, almost all of it at DC Comics. My younger self was well acquainted with his brushwork on such titles as Batman, Detective, Flash, and Justice League of America (I’d also enjoyed his pencilling as the ghost artist of the late-1960s “Batman” newspaper strip, though I wouldn’t learn he was the responsible party until decades later). His arrival at Marvel after so many years with their largest competitor was notable, although I probably barely registered it at the time — and, as it turned out, it would be a very brief sojourn, as Giella never accumulated more than a handful of credits at Marvel before returning to DC.
Then there’s the colorist, Bill Mantlo. Mantlo’s name would become very familiar to Marvel Comics fans within the next year or so… as a writer. But Mantlo originally broke into the business through a job in the company’s production department, and his first batch of professional credits (including in Avengers #129 and #130 and Giant-Size Avengers #2) were as a colorist.
Finally, there’s Len Wein, a comics writer for DC, Gold Key, and Marvel since the late ’60s — who, with this and several other comics released this month, became the first person not named Stan Lee or Roy Thomas to be credited as “Editor” on a Marvel publication (at least, not without “Assistant” or “Associate” fronting the title) since “the Marvel Age of Comics” kicked off in 1961 (and probably for a couple of decades before that). We’ll have more to say about this major change to, not just Captain America, but the entire Marvel Comics line, later in the post. But first, let’s take a look at —
Wait a minute, did I say “finally”? It sure seems like I’ve forgotten somebody, but who…? Oh, right. Him. The guy who, by taking over the pencilling duties on Captain America from Sal Buscema following a thirty-plus issues-long tenure by the latter artist, may still be causing nightmares for some Cap fans of a certain age: Frank Robbins.
Header to a one-page autobiography of Frank Robbins published in Flash #181 (Aug., 1968), featuring the creator’s self-portrait..
In 1974, Robbins already had some 35 years of experience as a comics professional behind him — though most of that experience had been in newspaper comic strips, rather than in the related but distinct field of comic books. Since 1944, he’d written and drawn an aviation adventure feature of his own creation, Johnny Hazard; but even as he continued to produce that strip (as he would until it came to an end in 1977), he was prompted by the strip’s falling circulation to begin doing freelance writing for DC Comics in 1968. Robbins worked on several different features over the next several years, but had his greatest impact writing Batman, where he was one of multiple talents involved in the Caped Crusader’s transition out of the “camp” era into an interpretation more aligned with his Gothic-noir roots, and (with artist Neal Adams) co-created a major new antagonist for the hero, Man-Bat.
Beginning in 1971, Robbins began occasionally drawing for DC as well, usually on his own Batman scripts, but sometimes illustrating the work of writers as well. Then, after filling in for Michael Kaluta on a single issue of The Shadow (#5) in early 1974, Robbins became the title’s regular artist with issue #7, giving him his most prominent artistic showcase yet in modern comic books. And then, not long at all after that, Robbins approached Marvel about coming to work for them. What prompted the change? According to a 2023 blog post by comics writer and historian Mark Evanier:
DC was not buying enough material from him [Robbins] or paying him that well at a time when Marvel was desperate for artists who could pencil super-hero comics…
Robbins inquired as to whether they [Marvel] could make use of his services. Marvel instantly wanted him…not for writing (they had plenty of writers) and not even for inking his own work. They needed comics penciled so they asked him what his page rate at DC was. Committing a bit of dishonesty that most freelancers commit at one time or another, Robbins fibbed and said he was getting more than he actually was.
That bit of dishonesty would have ramifications beyond Frank Robbins’ career, as we’ll discuss in detail later in this post. For now, suffice it to say that Marvel offered Robbins an increased page rate over what he’d told them he was getting from DC, and thereby got themselves a new penciller. After making his debut at the company in September via a vampiric twofer — a short tale in Dracula Lives #9, followed by a feature-length “Morbius” story in Fear #25 (an issue which, perhaps not coincidentally, was the last one of that latter title purchased by your humble blogger back in the day), Robbins was quickly given the Captain America assignment.
And now that we’re all caught up on Mr. Robbins’ career trajectory as of November, 1974, let’s take a further look at his initial effort on Cap…
As I’ve written before in this space, my younger self was not a fan of Frank Robbins’ artwork. And, honestly, my older self has never warmed up all that much to his stuff, either, although I’d like to think I have gained more appreciation (or at least understanding) of what the artist was trying to do, as he worked in the expressionistic, chiaroscuro-heavy style of newspaper-strip greats like Noel Sickles and Milton Caniff. But his approach wasn’t particularly well-suited to the superhero genre, in my opinion — and especially not a good fit for an idealized, “bright” hero like Steve Rogers, whether he was wearing the American flag at the time or not. Probably the biggest obstacle for me to enjoying Robbins’ art is the figure drawing. It’s one thing to exaggerate anatomy, and pose heroes in ways that are objectively unrealistic (Jack Kirby, anyone?), but Robbins’ work has deeper issues than that. Take a look at that last panel above, for example; just exactly how (and where) does Nomad’s left leg connect to his torso?
On the other hand, I think Robbins’ stylistic exaggeration works pretty good for his villains, at least sometimes. And speaking of villains…
But the Cobra’s regrets are pretty useless now, as he almost immediately comes to realize; and so, when the Viper tells him to cease his sniveling and get back to shooting, he complies. Meanwhile, she herself seeks the guidance of a higher authority — i.e., the Serpent Crown of lost Lemuria…
Art by Sal Buscema and John Verpoorten.
Art by Sal Buscema and John Verpoorten.
We didn’t devote a post to Captain America #163 when it was eligible in April of last year, so a bit of background on the Carter family’s neighbor, Dave Cox, is probably in order here. Inspired in part by CA writer Steve Englehart’s personal experiences, Dave was both a wounded Vietnam War veteran and a conscientious objector; in his debut appearance, he’d served as a foil of sorts for Sharon’s older (and, until recently, amnesiac) sister Peggy, for whom World War II had never really ended; Peggy had been certain that any man unwilling to fight in war must be a coward, but Dave had ultimately proved himself as brave as any man when he resisted the torments of the Cobra’s “convulsion pistol” blasts long enough for Cap and the Falcon to get the drop on the Serpent Squad and save the day.
And now that we’re all on the same page re: Mr. Cox, let’s return to Mr. Englehart’s scene-transitioning sentence, already in progress…
It’s interesting to me that Englehart’s script has Steve justifying his belief that he’s better equipped to deal with Viper and Cobra than were the unfortunate cops who preceded him, while sidestepping what seems to me to be a more important issue — the fact that our hero’s unwillingness to let those officers know he’s “really” Captain America could be seen as contributing to their ultimately being shot down by the Serpent Squad. No, we don’t know for sure that the police would have been willing to let Cap handle the situation all by himself, but they might’ve — and in any event, they surely wouldn’t have cold-cocked the Living Legend of World War II and handcuffed him to a squad car.
We’ve mentioned in earlier posts how Englehart’s re-conception of the Serpent Squad in this storyline was largely inspired by the activities of the mid-Seventies far-left terrorist organization, the Symbionese Liberation Army; the Squad’s last stand in this episode almost certainly takes its cues from the May 17, 1974 shootout between the SLA and the Los Angeles Police Department; a confrontation in which the house occupied by SLA members did indeed catch fire, probably as the result of an exploding tear-gas canister.
Cobra is freaking out so hard now that he hallucinates his old partner, Mister Hyde, manifesting in the smoke from the fire; Viper contemptuously backhands him to the floor, just as Nomad enters the picture…
That next to last panel above typifies, for me, everything that’s both right and wrong with Frank Robbins’ art. On one hand, I doubt that his predecessor, Sal Buscema, could have captured Viper’s fanatical, murderous madness as vividly as Robbins does here with his close-up on her sweating, shouting face; on the other hand, I’m pretty sure that Buscema would never have drawn Viper’s left arm with such a bizarre use of perspective that you have to wonder, if only briefly, if her head’s suddenly quadrupled in size.
Realizing that the Cobra is still among the living, Nomad picks him up and carries him outside — and not a moment too soon…
Of course, this wouldn’t be the last we’d see of the Serpent Crown — or the villainess formerly known as Madame Hydra, for that matter… though the former would resurface well before the latter. But in any event, we’re done with them — as well as with Steve Rogers — for this issue…
The Falcon and “Captain America” have barely started their patrol when they get lucky (if you want to call it that)…
Our new crime-fighting duo swoops in after the bank invaders, and Roscoe takes the opportunity to let Falc — and us readers — know that he’s more than just a gym-buffed bod with a serviceable set of acrobatic skills…
Now that’s a cliffhanger for you. I have to admit, I’m kind of dreading covering the story’s next chapter, knowing as I already do what happens next… but I’ll do my best to steel myself for the job before December, when we’ll take our look at Captain America #183.
Near the beginning of this post, I promised you I’d have more to say later about the ascension of Len Wein to an editor’s role at Marvel. A little further on, I indicated I’d also share more information about the broader ramifications of Frank Robbins’ little fib vis-à-vis his DC page rate. As it turns out, those two seemingly distinct topics are actually one and the same.
After serving two years as Marvel’s editor-in-chief, by the latter half of 1974 Roy Thomas was becoming less happy in the position. Much of his dissatisfaction seems to have stemmed from Stan Lee having left the role of president (Lee remained as publisher), to be replaced by a new hire from outside named Al Landau, with whom Thomas didn’t get along. But the tipping point for Thomas had nothing to do with Landau, at least not directly. The following comes from the account Thomas gave interviewer Jim Amash for Alter Ego #70 (Jul., 2007):
Stan and I still got along well, but Stan was caught in the middle in his own way. So he was increasingly reluctant, understandably, to champion me; so we were kind-of growing apart. The final straw had to do with Frank Robbins, of all people. As I recall it, when he left DC for Marvel, he apparently had fudged a little bit on what his rate had been at DC, a not-unusual thing for a freelancer to do in any field…
But, somehow or other, this matter apparently came up between Stan and [DC publisher] Carmine Infantino at a lunch I was not privy to. And between them… they agreed that, in the future, if a freelancer went from one company to the other, and if, say, Carmine called me up and asked me for the rate of one of our freelancers who might be telling him he was getting a certain rate, I was to tell him. And vice versa with the DC people.* To me, this had finally crossed the line of what I was willing to do…
After I heard about this new policy from Stan, I wrote a short memo saying I didn’t feel it was right to do that. I felt that freelancers don’t have that many weapons in their arsenal, and we shouldn’t do it. I do recall that I said that, whatever the precise intentions of Stan and Carmine, I felt this put us in the situation of doing something, quote, “immoral, unethical, and possibly illegal.”
…I just wrote this memo, and when I came back the next day from — for some reason I don’t recall — working at home for one day, Stan called me in and said, “I guess you meant this as your letter of resignation.” Maybe Al Landau had seen it, and he was probably incensed by it. Stan wasn’t fuming or anything, but after all, I was basically refusing to obey a direct order.
Other people have told me what I was supposed to say then. I should’ve backed down a little bit, and I could probably have continued along and just back-pedaled in enforcing that agreement. But instead, I replied, “Yes, that’s okay with me.” Because I wasn’t going to carry out that policy, no way. The funny thing is that, after I left, that policy seems to have become a dead letter immediately. I don’t think anybody ever reported any freelance rates back and forth…
Lee told Thomas he wanted him to stay on at Marvel in a writing capacity — to which the latter agreed, though only if he could continue to edit the books that he wrote. (This was in some ways an extension of the informal hands-off policy the stretched-too-thin Thomas had already been following in regards to Marvel’s writers, essentially letting them run their books the way they wanted as long as the books sold; but the new contract Thomas negotiated with Marvel at this point made it official for what seems to have been the first time.)
As for the rest of Marvel’s line, the duties that Thomas had performed as editor-in-chief would be divided up, with Len Wein becoming the editor for all color comics not written by Thomas, and Marv Wolfman doing the same for the black-and-white magazines. Wein and Wolfman were a natural team, having been friends (and occasional writing collaborators) since their days as avid comics fans looking to break in as pros. Wolfman had also been working on the B&W books, officially in an assistant capacity but really as the de facto lead editor, almost since the launch of the “Marvel Monster Group” in early 1973; before then, he’d briefly performed the same duty for Warren Publishing’s similar line of magazines. Wein, on the other hand, had been brought in as an assistant editor to Thomas on the color books only a couple of months earlier; immediately prior to that, he’d been writing regularly for DC Comics as well as for Marvel, with high-profile gigs at the former on such titles as Justice League of America and Swamp Thing.
At least one person who’d been freelancing exclusively for Marvel for a good bit longer than either Wein or Wolfman — writer Gerry Conway — believed that he had been unfairly passed over for the editor-in-chief position, and resented his two peers “jumping the line”. Conway would become even more unhappy when he wasn’t offered the same deal his friend Roy Thomas was getting, i.e., to be able to edit the books he was writing — which meant he’d have to report to Wein on Amazing Spider-Man, Fantastic Four, and Thor. Soon enough, the disgruntled author would jump ship entirely, returning to the company he’d started out with: DC, though this time as an editor as well as a writer.
In other words, the new status quo at Marvel was fraught with tension from the very beginning… which, perhaps, made it all but inevitable that it wouldn’t last even a year, with Wein’s tenure coming to an end in April, 1975. Ultimately, Roy Thomas’ stepping down as Marvel EIC kicked off a tumultuous period which would see four different people in the position in as many years — a period that would later be remembered for the kind of chaos that made the “Dreaded Deadline Doom” an all-too-familiar concept to Marvel’s fans, who’d find way too many unexpected reprints and fill-ins turning up in their favorite titles… but would also be remembered just as much, if not more, for its remarkably fertile creativity, as the brightest lights of Marvel’s second generation of creators proceeded to produce some of the finest work of their careers within this chaotic environment. It’s a fascinating period in comics history that I look forward to reliving in your company, in the months and years to come.
*Per Sean Howe’s Marvel Comics: The Untold Story (Harper, 2013), Carmine Infantino would later dispute the accuracy of this account, “claiming that he flatly refused to share freelance rate information”.
I fully understand that Robbins’ eccentric art is not to everyone’s taste, but I’ve always loved it. Especially when he drew The Invaders, for which he was particularly suited.
Although I respect the talent of the more representational comics artists such as Adams, Williamson, and Crandall, I’ve always preferred the quirkier and thus more visually interesting work of Robbins, Grandenetti, Kirby, Ditko, Boyette, Sutton, Estrada, etc.
It’s all down to taste.
I adored Robbins as well and I agree on preferring stylistic art in comics over representational. I go as far as not liking Adams and there’s a current (infrequent now) superstar artist that takes it so far his work to me look like still lifes. The worst thing about the latter is I know he can do it otherwise, having started out with Alan Davis being a clear influence.
It’s a little more complicated than representational vs. stylized art, in my opinion. Frank Robbins, Jack Kirby, Bill Sienkiewicz, and Darwyn Cooke can all be classified as “stylists”, yet surely it’s possible to be a big fan of one (or more) of those guys without caring for the others all that much. (Also, maybe it’s just me, but I think Alan Davis has a fair amount of Neal Adams in his artistic DNA, though he’s far from being a slavish imitator.)
I was always in two minds about Frank Robbins’ art. I liked his design and layout sensibilities, and his close-ups, but could never get past his cartoony and sometimes very poor or wonky anatomy.
The one thing I did notice when I first saw this issue 50 years ago was something that usually only came up in Kirby/Lee collaborations – the artist’s intention being overwritten by the writer/scripter. Looks to me when Robbins drew Nomad entering the building, he had him bending the pole back (like a springy tree branch), to catapult himself through the window. Englehart maybe thought that was over-the-top or unrealistic, and overwrote it in a way that didn’t really make sense: “… slowly, slowly set this pole to rocking back and forth… until I can use its leverage to hurl myself… inside the house!” And what were the two psychos with machine guns inside the house doing while this was slowly, slowly going on?
I loved the Englehart/Buscema era from #153-181 – probably some of my all-time favourite comics, even with some dodgy Colletta inks – and I vividly recall being horrified by Robbins’ squiggly renderings in #182 as a wide-eyed 10-year-old. I’ve come to appreciate Robbins’ work on retro titles like Invaders over the years, but these Caps still jar horribly. The only good thing to be said about the Robbins run is it’s slightly superior to the travesty that Kirby’s infantile scripting would inflict on this title from #193 onwards. Thanks to Robbins and Kirby, it was a few years before it was safe to come back to what was once one of Marvel’s most readable titles.
I agree about Kirby. I’ve never been with the theory that things like the MadBomb run or Devil Dinosaur were Kirby Classics unrecognized at the time.
I do think the idea of a bicentennial plot by a group of Brits to take back the country is a great idea for a Captain America arc. But like a great many ideas, the execution was lacking.
I wouldn’t go so far as to call Kirby’s scripting on Cap “infantile”, but it was certainly very different from what we’d been accustomed to, and was as jarring in its way as Robbins’ advent on art had been.
It’s been decades since I last read Kirby’s run, so it’ll be interesting to revisit those stories when we get there, about a year from now!
Neil, I’m in the same boat…I acquired the entire Englehart run of 153-186 for a straight read-through and you hit these Robbins issues and it just hits you hard!
I remember opening this comic and thinking what? WHAT? I had first seen Frank Robbins art in a Man-Bat story in Detective Comics 416 and was very unsettled by it. I liked my comic art to be polished and realistic and Frank Robbins certainly didn’t fit that bill. However I kept buying and reading Captain America faithfully and looking at the art again now with 50 years of hindsight I can appreciate its merits. Strangely I really liked Frank on the Invaders which hopefully you may be blogging about in roughly a years time. It seemed to fit well with the 1940’s setting of the book and reminded me of the Golden Age Flash, Green Lantern and Justice Society reprints that I had read over the past few years in the 100 Page Super-Spectaculars.
I like Robbins on Invaders, simply because he started on the book (WW II buffs have told me he’s also extremely accurate in WW II military equipment, uniforms, settings, etc.). Here, no. At some points, Madame Hydra looks like Natasha Fatale. And Sharon looks ridiculous.
You have a point about Cap not telling them but I can’t see any reason they’d believe him.
Viper’s characterization nails a certain type of terrorist back in the day. She’s one cold-blooded snake.
I know of the period and the editorial upheavals, and whether Jim Shooter save dthe West — or ruined it. No, wait, that’s someone else. I didn’t know the details about this moment of upheaval so thanks. Points to Roy for his choice.
I too dread your review of next issue if it ends with the image I think it does. That visual hit me harder than any in a comic before it and still gets to me as I can tell by my reaction to your hint. Englehart was at the t op of his game so the pieces were set up just perfectly for that page to be reacted to most horrifically.
I love it for all the wrong reasons! After the bland but solid art chores by Sal Buscema in his run, Robbins makes this issue look like a Not Brand Ecch satire.
Thanks for another excellent review Alan. Unfortunately my memory of this issue from 50 years ago is very clear and not in a good way. The writing was as strong as ever on this issue, but regarding Frank Robbins…. I had first experienced Frank Robbins’ work as a writer when Julie Schwartz assigned him to Batman and Detective Comics in June 1968. It was not bad (although I admit I didn’t always like his dialogue choices and some of his plotting could be unusual) but the art usually by Irv Novick or Bob Brown was fine, especially when inked by Dick Giordano (but also sometimes inked by Joe Giella). However, I still remember how surprised I was by Detective Comics 416 (1971), when after seeing an excellent cover by Neal Adams with the Man-Bat returning, I opened the book to find very strange art I had never seen before and yes, the story was written penciled and inked by Frank Robbins. I didn’t care for it at all. But for some reason Julie Schwartz liked Robbins’ artwork and he would return to draw subsequent issues of Detective Comics. I dropped Detective Comics around issue 424 (and no I don’t recall the reason) although would pick up a few issues in 1973 (437-439). But I admit I would forget about Frank Robbins art…and since I stopped buying the Shadow with issue 4, I had missed Robbins’ work on the Shadow. So I was quite shocked when I picked up Cap and Falcon 182 and saw the Robbins artwork. And yes I was quite familiar with Joe Giella’s name from his DC work. I don’t think Robbins-Giella combination worked well and I must be honest…when I first saw this issue I absolutely hated it…it was a real shock. I have read that in later years Robbins admitted that superheroes were not his forte. But I didn’t care for the way he drew Cobra or Viper. Even now, 50 years later…I don’t hate this work now but I don’t care for it much either. It’s really a shame because the writing is very good, for the most part. Why do I say that? Because of the Sharon Carter subplot which I didn’t think about at the time (because I didn’t know where that was going). It seems like Steve was trying to inject Peter Parker-like problems into the Cap story and it just didn’t ring true. Sharon should have really continued to be a SHIELD agent and she’s behaving in a very uncharacteristic way here. Another odd point here…the end of the issue. Yes it was a genuine shocker and I remember being completely floored by the return of the Red Skull. Not completely clear why he is wearing a mask over his mask? The Red Skull did something similar in Cap 143 but that was so he could attempt to start a race war. Not exactly sure what he was up to here. Steve Englehart was getting quite good at serving up shock endings and would provide another one in Dr. Strange 6 (November 1974) which you may be writing about as well…. Returning to Frank Robbins’ art, I admit that I did pick up the Invaders, mainly because Roy Thomas was writing it. I tolerated Robbins’ art but was never that enthused about it. Similarly, I stuck with Cap through the rest of Englehart’s run but was not happy with Robbins’ art at all. I even stayed with Cap until issue 200 and then left for a long time. By the way there was an inadvertent typo in your review. You meant you would be getting to Cap 183, not 283. Thanks Alan.
Oops! Thanks for pointing out that typo, brucesfl.
From the time I first saw it, on the same Man-Bat book referenced here by others, I have hated and despised Frank Robbins’ artwork. The unrealistic facial expressions, the ridiculously unnatural poses and the cartoonish layout all had me screaming. The only thing that saves this issue from complete disaster are Joe Giella’s inks. Joe did his absolute best to make something decent out of this mess, and I thank him for his efforts. I’ve seen what Robbins work looks like when he inked himself and trust me, this could have been far, far worse. At age 17, I had already been planning my artistic debut in the comics world and had already sent several samples to the Marvel and DC offices (got a very nice and encouraging note from Carmine once, even though I don’t think my work at the time was deserving of it) and Robbins’ work flew in the face of every single critique I’d ever received from either house. Used to make me furious every time I’d see his name or his work.
As to the story, I was originally curious as to why Steve couldn’t easily overcome two “merely mortal” cops or break a pair of handcuffs without having to remove the whole tire, but then I remember that my inner 12-year-old keeps thinking Cap/Nomad has super-strength through this period of time, when apparently, that’s not the case. Englehart continues to ruin Sharon Carter here, showing her angry that Steve is out galavanting around as Nomad, instead of building a life with her. Not even any concern that he was in the middle of a firefight, either. And Dave Cox? Raise your hand if you can see that coming, kids. The reason for his arrival is as plain as the nose on your face. Interestingly, Englehart writes Viper pretty well, showcasing her hatred and nihilism powerfully and consistently within the confines of the story. I agree that Steve seems to have over-written Robbins’ pictures once or twice, but really, can you blame him?
All in all, an issue that really doesn’t do much to move the plot along, other than definitively end the Serpent Squad arc (at least for a while). Thanks for the rundown, Alan, and the anticipation of more Frank Robbins to criticize in the near future.
I’m in agreement Englehart wasted Sharon. I didn’t appreciate it at the time as I’d hardly read any Silver Age Cap stories — now I have, and I’ve seen what a striking character she was. It looks like she’s being written out — I wonder who Steve had in mind to replace her?
You have a good point about the handcuffs. I can easily see Steve not wanting to slug it out with cops — and that could easily have turned into a distracting second battle on the scene.
Given that I never saw CA&TF 181-183 on the racks and that issue 184 had Trimpe filling in on art, I didn’t find out that Robbins had taken over as regular artist until I got issue 185, and, well, I was flabbergasted to say the least. His style just struck me as utterly bizarre. But since I loved Englehart’s writing, not to mention pretty much being in completist mode on the titles I’d come to most enjoy at the time, I persevered and kept on collecting, and I’d also add the Invaders to my must buys once that series started. On that mag, when Kupperberg took over from Robbins, I actually found myself sort of missing Robbins’ weird, kinetic style over Kupperberg’s rather bland art.
Anyhow, as to the story at hand, which I eventually did read about a decade afterwards, both the art & writing provided a sense of frenzied chaos, with Nomad’s frustrated dealings with the police, the mania of the Viper and the Cobra becoming entirely unnerved. Then there was that final tableau leading to the fall of the Falcon and Roscoe Cap and the dramatic last page & panel reveal of the Red Skull. Although by this point 50 years ago, I’d already read several of the Red Skull’s previous appearances in the Marvel Double Feature reprints, issue 184 was the first entirely new story featuring the Red Skull I’d ever read. Circa 1965 through 1970 or so, the Red Skull appeared so often in Captain America stories that he might have rightfully demanded a co-star credit! But Englehart waited about two and a half years into his run to finally do his own Red Skull story, and certainly made it dramatic. When I finally read this issue, I knew Roscoe didn’t have much longer to live, but still didn’t know how his demise came about, having to wait until I’d read the next issue.
Meanwhile, Nomad is still learning the sad distinctions between having been among the widely known and respected members of the superhero community, even despite the smear campaign initiated by the previous Viper, versus how he’s treated in his new persona as, essentially the new kid on the block, a complete unknown to the public and the authorities, who don’t appreciate his butting in on their work in trying to take down the baddies. And a bit of counterpoint with Roscoe going into action dressed in Steve Rogers’ old guise, seemingly doing all right partnered with the Falcon, against some seemingly common costumed bank robbers, until they’re both taken down by a surprise attack. And it must be noted that even the real Cap had been taken down by such attacks plenty of times and even held captive by the Red Skull in the past. But, well, things don’t tend to work out so well for substitute superheroes as they do for the real deal in our not always all that funny “funnybooks”.
“He might have rightfully demanded a co-star credit!”
Indeed, indeed. Once Cap took over the *Tales of Suspense* numbering, we saw the Red Skull in #101-04, #114-19, #129, #143 and #148…and he was name-checked in #108.
(In *Tales of Suspense,* the Skull appears in the present in #79-81 and #88-91.)
The long period between his return in #182 allowed the heart to grow fonder, and to make us glad to see him once more.
I agree that Frank Robbins was not the best fit to be penciling Captain America in the mid-1970s. I recall my reaction to the issues he drew when I picked up this and the rest of his short Cap run in the back issue bins throughout the mid-1990s.
However, In the late 1990s and early 2000s, scouring comic shop and convention back issue bins, I assembled a complete run of The Invaders. That played a major role in my growing appreciation of Frank Robbins’ artwork. I definitely feel that The Invaders, with its historical, wartime setting, was a much better fit for Robbins’ style & sensibilities.
Having said that, I will admit that another appealing aspect of Robbins’ work for me was his depiction of the female form. We don’t see all that much of it here other that the Viper, who’s evil & crazy, but his brief rendering of Sharon Carter is very pretty, and in subsequent issues of Captain America he drew some very beautiful babes.
I was not a fan of Frank Robbins at the time, for sure. His art didn’t look like anything else I was reading….the contortions and angles of his figures in action was bad, but I hated the way he did the sound effects on his pages and the way he sometimes used the character expressions in the same manner. That drove me nuts.
He single-handedly made me give up reading The Shadow and I had only picked up Captain America with the previous issue. I didn’t stick around to read the issue after this one.
That being said, I did enjoy his work with The Invaders and was actually disappointed when he left that series. Go figure. And I have come to appreciate him now, many years later. He does draw beautiful women, for sure, and I’ve come to appreciate his art on his Batman stories. but I’ve never gotten used to his rendering of The Shadow.
The thing I remember most – encountering this issue about a year after I started reading a lot of comics – is not liking the awkwardness of Robbins’ figures. A lot of folks have already gone on at length about this… As a teen comics fan, I kept picking up Captain America and even Invaders for a long time… but never really warmed up to Robbins’ style. Fun to read about it here. Thank you.
Count me among the Robbins yay-sayers – having only seen his work on a couple of Batman and Shadow stories, I loved the energy that shone through. And another benefit of his taking on Captain America: no more Vince Coletta! As much as i liked Sal B’s pencil’s, I found Colletta’s inks just terrible…Robbins was one of those artists whose pencils were best inked by himself, but Giella’s inks looked fine to me.
Comic nerd question: as I understand it, Robbins used to do his own lettering also when was doing art jobs. The sound effects on these pages are clearly his work, but I wonder if they were treated as part of the pencilling, and thus inked by Giella, or finished by Orzechowski as part of his lettering duties? (Speaking of which, had Tom O been long in the business? I recall liking his execution of the story title and the Red Skull’s exclamation on the last page; it showed that extra effort which lifted the book perceptibly).
That’s a really good question about the sound effects lettering and inking on Robbins’ stuff, Baden — unfortunately, I have no idea what the answer might be. Anybody else out there have a clue?
As for Tom Orz, according to Mike’s Amazing World, he’d been lettering professionally for about a year and a half at this point; see https://www.mikesamazingworld.com/main/features/creator.php?creatorid=627
Alan, I’ve been gradually reading your Camelot in Four Colors. Your Wonder Woman entry doesn’t include Morgana, Le Fay’s daughter who battles Diana in WW 188 and helps her in Adventure 397 (with Supergirl) — or did I miss it somehow?
Always glad to learn someone’s been visiting the old web site, fraser! I’ll add your WW notes to the long list of updates I need to make there. (Unfortunately, it may be a while, due both to other writing priorities, and to the fact that all the software I used to author the site is out of date.)
As of November 1974, I was reading more DC comics than Marvel titles, so I only got to read Steve Englehart’s run of Cap when the Essential reprint volumes were published. Wished I had read it at the time, as Steve did a phenomenal job with continuity akin to what he was doing on the Avengers issues at the same time. Although I don’t remember the specifics, Marvel must have run some kind of special subscription in the summer of 1975, so I wound up with a bunch of issues of different mags that were published between June and August of that year. That lot included Cap # 189, which was my first sampling of the art of Frank Robbins. I didn’t appeal to me at the time, but I agree with a number of the others that his retro look on the Invaders worked well enough. There’s one minor typo, Alan, in your intro paragraph about Joe Giella: According to Joe’s Wikipedia page, he entered the comic book field at age 17 in 1945, so in 1974 he would have been working in the industry for 29 years.
Thanks for the catch, Jay! Fixed now.
Frank Robbins always drew people so, so sweaty. It is just kinda gross and takes me right out of the story. Also, Robbins art does have a ton of energy behind it, but the anatomy and heavy lines make it look really cartoonish. His style does really play to the smaller, b&w realm of newspapers, but in comics, it just doesn’t work.
“…so, so sweaty…”
😂
But that’s what I “like” about his art! Think of the early Mad comics drawn by Will Elder. If you look at Robbins’ 1970s output as a satire you’ll have a lot more fun with it. I just don’t know if he was in on the joke.
I’ve never regarded ‘cartoonish’ as a pejorative, as many fans seem to. For me, it’s a recommendation! Robbins’ work was ‘cartoonish’, but this is comics, after all, and he fits right in. I adore his work.
I don’t have a problem with “cartoonish,” either. I have a problem with ” bad.” IMHO, Robbins’ work was “bad.” I don’t dislike him because he draws in a cartoony style. I dislike him b/c I don’t think he draws in a cartoony style “well.” But that’s just me. If you find something to like in it, more power to you.
I was a kid who didn’t like the Robbins art in this issue and that probably led to me dropping Cap a month or two later, not returning until Kirby did. Looking at it now, I really wish Marvel had kept Sal on the book at least until Steve took up the shield again. He deserved to draw the whole storyline.
That said, Robbins captured Viper’s increasing madness wonderfully. Given this was undoubtedly done plot/art/script, I wonder how much of that was contributed by him as opposed to Englehart. Viper here was scary, scarier than the Skull was the last time he appeared.
I’m hoping you continued to buy Cap for quite a while — I’m curious to see your take on a couple of upcoming plot points.
What I found really shocking about this comic ( apart from Robbins’ idiosyncratic and often preposterous figure postures) was the two scenes of the Cobra with a machine gun. Englehart really seemed to be using the Cobra as a prop here to highlight the Viper’s extreme views….if there was a Marvel super-villain who could slide away easily…and quickly…it was the Cobra.