Chrome Martyrdom and Cosmic Irony
The Silver Surfer in the Silver Age
Silver Surfer. The name is ridiculous. His appearance is no better. A silver man that surfs through space on a cosmic board; Frankie and Annette meet Star Wars. It’s for these reasons that the Silver Surfer is rarely taken seriously as a character. Yet, when you really think about it, is a chrome man on a cosmic surfboard any more silly looking than a Spider-Man in bright blue and red pajamas, or the myriad of DC heroes clad in capes, spandex, boots, and underwear? The truth of the matter is, there’s a lot more to the Silver Age Surfer than what appears at first glance, and it all begins with Galactus.
In my opinion, Galactus is still one of the most impressive comic book antagonists of all time. Imagine an immense cosmic being, nearly on the scale of a god in both power and knowledge, but constantly restrained by its own mortality. Galactus is such a being; so far beyond mankind that people are mere ants to him. His powers are vast and unimaginable, yet Galactus is mortal. He is constantly cursed with hunger. The problem is that Galactus can only consume nutrients found in/on a small number of planets. He devotes all of his immense power to searching the galaxy for these planets, consuming them, and then looking for more. Galactus is neither good nor evil. He is motivated by nothing more than the primitive need to continue his own existence. He is amoral, dispassionate, and just as unstoppable as his hunger.
Silver Surfer was his servant.
He roamed throughout the universe, searching for consumable planets so that Galactus wouldn’t have to. Galactus gave the Surfer the freedom to travel the cosmos, and the Surfer gave Galactus the freedom to live without constantly searching for nourishment. Through this exchange, the two became more than master and servant. They depended upon each other, traversing the cosmos alone, but together. In essence, they were soul mates.
Writer Stan Lee never did anything with much subtlety, yet this relationship somehow managed to remain implied without either character declaring it every five seconds. There was something beautiful about this master/servant relationship. It was functional, liberating, and intimate. Of course, we only saw this relationship briefly, as the two characters made their first appearances in Fantastic Four #48 and #49 (1966). Once the Surfer discovered that the newest planet he had found for Galactus (Earth) was inhabited, everything changed.
As Galactus, the most powerful villain ever depicted in a comic book
at this point, began his preparations to consume the Earth, both the Fantastic Four and their readers, alike, desperately began to wonder how he could be stopped. The only logical answer seemed to lie in his morally bothered servant who, while only possessing a fraction of Galactus’s power, was still the next-most powerful being on Earth. Inevitably, the Surfer rose to the occasion, defying his long-time companion. A heart-wrenching battle ensued in which both characters made it clear that they did not wish to fight. Each implored the other to stop resisting. Yet, they finally reached a point of impass. The Surfer realized that Galactus would always put his own life first, and Galactus realized that the Surfer would never stand aside to let him do so.
Then, after this terrible moment, the real
tragedy occurred. Galactus was made to stop, but not by the Surfer. As the events of this story wound down, and Galactus made a solemn vow never to attack the Earth again, the canyon of difference between Galactus and the Surfer had grown too deep. They couldn’t simply let things be. Instead, Galactus was forced to punish the Surfer for his insubordination. He banished the Surfer to Earth, the world he worked so hard to protect, creating an invisible barrier around the planet that would prevent the Surfer from ever escaping. Confined to one alien world after traveling the cosmos, having betrayed his soul mate with the best of intentions but the worst of rewards, the Surfer was left to wonder if his sacrifice had been for nothing.
For a few years after, The Silver Surfer would remain on Earth, each issue beginning with him hurling himself against the barrier, hoping against hope that he would somehow get through this time. These depressing scenes would always be followed by an attempt by the Surfer to interact with humanity, whether to say “hello” or to save a person in danger. In each case, mankind always misunderstood the Surfer’s intentions, perceiving him as an evil alien and attempting to kill him, capture him, or drive him away. In these moments, The Surfer would be left to wonder, more than ever, why he had sacrificed himself for these people; attempting to find some comfort in his actions, but only finding pain instead. In several issues, The Surfer would discover a way to get through the barrier only once, yet, each time sacrificed his opportunity and returned to Earth because it was somehow in danger. Though the Surfer could never reconcile his martyrdom, he reenacted it over and over again. Meanwhile, Galactus went on to face many other heroes in the Marvel Universe, but he and Lee’s Surfer would not meet again.
Several years later, the Silver Surfer title was discontinued. Fans weren’t relating to this deeper, darker, intentionally Christ-like character. He was shelved. Stan Lee, now promoted to editor, requested that The Surfer, his favorite creation, remain shelved. He didn’t want anyone else polluting his misunderstood vision. Of course, the Surfer did go on to receive several more incarnations, none of which were written by Lee, and none of which respected his original vision. The Surfer was a very different character in each incarnation: sometimes a whiny cosmic wimp with a holier than thou attitude, and sometimes devoid of any descernable personality whatsoever.
Fortunately, Lee came back to give the Surfer a final farewell in the early 1980s. The Silver Surfer mini-series, though hurt by the poor art and over-the-top dialogue, was a masterpiece of an idea; capable of having been a groundbreaking graphic novel had it been treated differently. In this story, set in the future, The Surfer has become a total recluse, disguised as a derelict and living in alleyways. Meanwhile, Galactus, ravaged by hunger, returns to Earth, reasoning that, though he agreed not to attack the Earth, he never agreed not to lead it to its own destruction. Galactus presents himself as God to the people of Earth, commanding them to live free and do whatever they want. As the world descends into chaos, and a powerful cult minister manipulates the words of Galactus to serve his own purpose, the Surfer is forced to step into the public eye and confront Galactus one last time. What ensues is a beautiful struggle, fought more with the mind, heart and soul, than with the fist. It’s a very suitable farewell to these characters, a bookend to Lee’s greatest work to date.
Lee’s work on the Surfer was profound. His ideas were often too forced, his dialogue too campy, and his plots too formulaic, but what lay at the heart of this character was pure genius. Lee’s days as a writer are over. He’s far too occupied with other aspects of the Marvel empire to ever return to his most cherished work. But it pains me to think that this idea is dead. Perhaps, one day, a new writer or filmmaker will finally recognize this vision within the Surfer and bring it to life in a way that Lee never could. Maybe then fans will truly come to respect the bitter relationship between The Surfer and Galactus; between The Surfer and his own destiny. Maybe then the Surfer will rise off the pages with new life: a sensational sentinel of the spaceways rather than a freaky chrome-covered guy in silver underwear.
*side-note: My exploration of The Silver Surfer was inspired by theferrett's blog on frequently re-published comic book titles.