Punch Up: “To Me My ❌-Men”
Fifty-Four
1987
Life Death IV
May, 1987, Uncanny X-Men Vol. 1 No. 220 by Silvestri, Green, Glynis, Orzechowski, Claremont + Nocenti
Previously on “to me my ❌-Men,” we caught up with the scene at the Gifted School, through some hijinks. Be it a bit of a palette cleanser, or a counter balance, as we take in a moment to laugh and breath. We have assembled our team, and the kids are alright, at the mall. Matt has his world to contend with. I am sure we will cross paths, as our worlds have been linked since the Hand informs both worlds. We have been hunted, and now we have a name for the hunter; Mr. Sinister. The Mutant Massacre is not done with us. Neither is Life Death. Conan turned Web of Spider-Man penciler, Marc Silvestri has been flirting with the X-Books on the pages of X-Factor and X-Men vs. Avengers. It felt he established himself on Uncanny X-Men Vol 1 No. 218. We are here to know, this is his comic. This is his time. We are in The Silvestri Era. We are home.
Forge’s story has been unfolding for us, since his, Marvel’s, sexiest debut, in No. 184, our Chapter 18. A perfect X-character, as he is within the struggle, but he holds the most human representation, to which you really don’t know how, and simply can’t define him. The binary contracts, do not apply. For it is when you meet him and for how long you are with him, that determines your perspective of events, and his character. He is like all of us, a series of contexts, circumstances, choices.
Through Chapter 20 we know he had a connection to Rom, and used his mutation on this off world tech to provide Val and Raven (in disguise initially) to provide the US government with means to address the “mutant problem.” We know, Raven, Carol, Rogue, and Forge’s lives are linked. We understand how at this point. We know what happened to Carol, has a bit of bookended moment with what happens to Ororo, through the actions of these characters. Which kicks of Ororo and Forge’s complex romance and horrors, beginning in Life Death I; Chapter 21. We know this because Forge’s story continues through Chapter 22. Forge does not appear to us, as 1984, becomes 1985, and Ororo’s story passes through Life Death II (and for us III) in Chapter 30. However, his influence on her path, has effected her, the guide for the ❌-Men, all this time, as leader of both them and the Morlocks. As a bond of leadership and partnership is forged between Logan and Ororo, in the crucible of Sinsiter’s plan, and the absenteeism of Chuck. Forge comes back into the scene in Chapter 47 in a flashback, to set us up for the expectation of what is here.
We know Forge, but I did not know Forge. A couple weeks before my 12th birthday, I picked up my third proper Uncanny X-Men comic; this one. Out of habit for three season now, I was still picking up X-Factor, hoping for more than this every time. Elektra: Assassin had ended during this past winter, and upended any hope for X-Factor as a perception of quality. I had been needing something to sink my teeth into. With Spring of 1987 came Uncanny X-Men Vol. No. 218, an inkling spurned by a single issue in Spring of 1986, Uncanny X-Men Vol. No. 208, seemed to be the eternal hope I was seeking. No. 219, was met with a critical eye, forged in this context. As we discussed in the chapters leading to this moment. I didn’t know sexy debut Forge, or Life Death Forge. It is in this context that I was introduced to him.
A collection of wires connected to his skull, he lives large and foreshadowing on a cover, saliva draining from his slacked jaw, his eyes elsewhere. Silvestri’s hand and Claremont’s words, have Ororo in potential parol, as she is there for confrintation on this cover. Entering into a dark room in the framed background, by his inevitability overwhelming the foreground.
Ororo: “Forge you coward! Show your face! I want my powers back—NOW!
This is my introduction to Forge, and it is in this moment, Ororo becomes my No. 1 Marvel character. I was thinking Kitty, but that was Spring of 1986 thinking. I won’t begin to let this go of this idea, until, when reading The Jen in 2012’s The Allred’s and 2014’s Matt Fraction’s Ff and Javier Pulido and Charles Soule’s She-Hulk, builds on John Byrne’s Sensational She-Hulk, my post X-Men reading favorite Marvel comic, as the 80’s became the 90’s. The Jen was my number one through her show in 2022. That is, until in rereading Ann Nocenti and Art Adam’s Longshot for Chapter 32 at the end of last year, that I realized that these three female characters had been dominating my truth. Longhsot is my guy. And I love all three of them, but he has probably been the one since Spring of 1987. A couple months before this moment, of anointing Ororo. When I dismissed my guy, and convinced myself, Ororo held that title. Because of this cover, and my brief encounter with her a year prior.
What alchemy Silvestri is doing here with Forge and Ororo.
Unfinished Business
{a k a l if e d e a t h I V}
“In the realm of IMAGINATION…”
-Claremont
Poetic descriptions accompany two hawks, dovetailing with delicate pithy detailed line work, a muted natural palette, the only indication of fantasy: a hawk on one of the hawks. A splash page, that presents with delicate persuasion, precisely what we are here for. In this new day of comics.
Over two pages, the hawks represent Ororo and Forge. Talking of them when romantically engaged unable to soar. Her with her hawk, he reveals himself to be metallic, and makes the choice for them. Breaking her, she falls and he callously abandons her. The panel choice are varied, fitting together, but with an energy that is just an appetizer for the future of comics. Open panels acting as release valves. I am drawn to the simplest of silhouettes, so little ink on that panel. Like accidental droplets. So effective.
I never continuously chose inspiration from this moment. Having been spending my early fifties cartooning comics of birds…I trace its subconscious inspiration to here…to these pages.
“In the realm of ‘REALITY’…”
-Claremont
I would have been seeing this dynamic for the first time, in 1987, but we have seen this before; Chapter 47 comes to mind. Silvestri and Claremont, present my birth region, the Rockies just so. Logan perched on the edge of a bluff over a cliff. The air framing the environment. Lost in thought. Stan Lee’s required introductions are made. He wants space. Those poor ancient rocks didn’t deserve this outburst. She crept up on him.
Ororo: “If I could afford to leave you be, my friend…I would not be here.”
These two dear friends, forged together through sequential shared traumas, still doing the work on cliffs and missions they can only trust each other on.
Claremont turns typical dialogue of tracking one down, in on itself, revealing Logan is lost in understanding himself, and he can’t see their shared truth. She knows him, she, a key to him knowing himself. And this flows into her story, unknown to me as I flow into age 12, but know all to well to us today.
Skillfully put, the environment is a painful reminder to her loss. The ability to be one with this place. She must traverse it with ordinary bipedal means. Logan lighting up takes on a magical visual in his cowboy hat, Silvestri’s line choices are a full rendering with less lines then you think. More spot blacks than you know. Glynis limited pallete placed porfectly. The pinks and purples of this issue, subtly in their balancing the narratives of greens and blues…of browns and yellows…red is the sun.
Ororo: “These peaks are home to you, Wolverine. They are the bars of my prison.”
She has come to conclusion she, could continue lead without her powers, but the deadly circumstances and her own mental health warrant she seek out Forge and try to squeeze blood from that stone. Perhaps she will be able to soar again. In her absence, she must lean on Logan to lead.
FUCK…she is right. It’s crazy, my entire contextual feelings about Ororo, are rapped up in her being depowered, which reveals horrific things about myself…when placed out of the full context…but what’s is striking me right now is…I was essentially basing this of two comics issues, at age 11…days from 12. Uncanny X-Men No. 208 and No. 220. I don’t think No. 219 really had an effect until recently, and she never showed in No. 218. That’s kinda crazy. Comics…single panels…can and have affected me deeply. For someone who sees the forest from the trees…I have the mutant ability to grow a forest from a tree in a single moment.
Logan: “Not my style bein’ boss—”…
Authors of film scripts and Actors need to read this era of wolverine, before delivering his lines. He is written in a specific voice by Chris Claremont. The Architect of his voice.
…”’specially the way I’m feeling’.”
He is not hearing her. She makes him listen. She listens. He senses. He needs to hear her. Always lost in his. He is about to sense her truth.
Ororo: “All I was, Forge tore from me. I was crippled, Wolverine—MAIMED—…”
She grabs her short friend up to near her level, by the scruff of his neck and spittles directives in his face…he reciprocates with clear boundaries. He offers up Rogue and Bets…Rogue…as we have seen has been struggling…feeling the role defaults to her in some spaces…she is not well suited. Bets, seems natural and gifted…accidentally acting in leadership moments…this being her past coming to roost. She being the better Captain Britain in this realm. However, having lived in their heads, and having her heart…she knows…she had not the timeline, despite the shared crucible, to have earned the trust required for the position. Logan backing either is not enough. In the moment…Logan relents. His boundaries fail. Back to the gang…or as they have been morphing into…the team. Logan gruffly heads off the cliff.
With this, we head to Dallas.
Now, when I am talking “to me my ❌-Men,” this right here is fundamental. You have “the” A-Team; Marc Silvestri on story and pencils, Dan Green with the inks, Glynis Oliver (X-Wein) on colors, Tom Orzechowski on letters, Chris Claremont on story and word smithing, and Ann Nocenti on edits, during the absent professor Jim Shooter era. Keeping in mind, comics are as Jessica Abel and Matt Madden (their workshop at SCAD was fundamental to my career) so brilliantly put it, Drawing Words & Writing Pictures.
The A-Team, has my personal first casting of the ❌-Men: Ororo Munroe AKA Storm AKA 'Ro, Sista Storm, Stormy, White Liones, Emma Frost…for a second, Blue, Horseman of Life, Snow-top, Weather Witch, Goddess, Hadari-Yao, Ororo Iqadi T'Challa, Ororo Komo Wakandas, Queen Ororo of Wakanda, Voice of Sol, White King, God Eater, High Priestess, Mistress of the Elements, Omega of Omegas, Earth’s Most Powerful Mutant, Princess of N'Dare, Sister Voodoo, Mutate #20, Wind Rider…to me in this moment, is who she is.
I struggle outside this context. A tree, that birthed a forest of understanding. This is where my perspective is rooted. All these titles and hyperbolae, erases what works for me. To me, Ororo is a representation of struggle, grounded, and yet a force of nature. The voice we hear in the cartoons and the films…are unrealcognisable to me. She is a born a member of the diaspora, a New Yorker, her father, a progressive of Black intellectualism with roots; I grew up in myself, around, the Oakland/East Bay/Bay Area Black Panther linkage to this in reality; in fiction Ororo, the son of two alley’s of Malcolm X. Ororo, raised and then abandoned in Egypt, lost, and then found in her mother’s home village, amongst her people, the N'Daré, in her Kenyan village. Who she then abandons, because Chuck convinces her of a calling to her be present for those, she also calls her people, Mutants. Through this path, she finds herself in Dallas, adrift from her self and her roots. Set to confront, what has grounded her. A paradox, in the form of Forge.
The A-Team uses sharp pointed perspective angles, haunting spot blacks, staring renderings of rain, muted and limited color palette, making equitable negative space and chiaroscuro, that can’t hide, Ororo. Red’s and pinks become poignant. Soft blue, yellow, brown, purple and gray, contextualize the space. My mother, the architect, Marcy Jones, prepared me for reading this page as I was being asked to abandon my own home, and move from Berkeley to across The Bay, to Marin. My life forever changing. Me with it. I held tightly to my formative foundation and my roots, entering adolescence, as Ororo clawed back at hers, maturing into a balance of leadership and self, on newsprint. Our struggles seemed so real. Powerless we felt internally, as our true strength was on display.
Ororo walks from rain into glass, an architecturally marvel, supported by a sleight of hand of contrite and steel, on pulped paper with ink. She frames her thought with the perpetual condition of the ❌-Men. Backs agains the wall. She reasonably, removed, entering into his space that framed her condition, focuses on herself, for once. What does she actually fear and how does she actually feel. Regarding a binary of condition and a complexity of feelings for a man who calls this home. As she walks through the entrance, in thought, something film does not have the same ease of depicting, she acknowledges what draws me to her character.
“There is a certain PRIDE in having nothing to depend on but my own natural skill and strength and intelligence. Powers can be a crutch…a way to hide from the world. From emotions. From commitments. In their own way, they are as much a fortress as this tower.”
In this moment she notes, the oddity of the door being open and the environment deserted. The automated defenses are offline. Dust is on the counter. Phone is dead. She walks through the space, her hawk has has never been this brilliant, her face this iconically defined. The delicately placed sharp lines, are gesturally loose and exacting in their effectiveness.
Nothing works. She explores.
A quarter mile, above; Naže, sits in meditation. A Cheyenne ceremony. Through this he is aware of Ororo’s arrival. We witness a heal turn.
The panel, I think of, the floating floors and stairs, seeming unattached in the ultimate open concept. Each housing a layout of wrecked furnishings. Each looking like a risk to step onto…or fall from. Ororo’s mind wonders and her body the space.
Forge’s Eagles Nest.
Ororo hears a faint appeal for help in the space.
She comes across Forge…and herself. A past from months ago.
Page turn, she is in his trauma from Vietnam.
She is walking on air now. Eagles Nest defenses activate. Her skills kick in and she tumbles. She sheds her yellow rain coat. She hears Forge’s voice. He is clear. Go away…or die. She identifies herself. His past now the illusion. Unfolding. In pinks and red. The moment his weapon was used to make her just so. She attempts stratagy, but she is struck by red lazers.
THUDD!
Down. Arm numb. She witnesses the past in the kitchen, reflects and observes the now. A metaphor of their relationship sits in the space. As the past unfolds around her, she heads to the lab. She discovers Forge, like on the cover, hooked up to the machinery operating the space. He is machine and man. He is lost in desire for her…but know not that she stands before him. She approaches to discover, he is also illusion in this condition.
Naže approaches from behind. Rifle on his shoulder, a smile on his face. He claims to be as she is, looking for Forge. She is suspicious of the timing. He claims, she is saving him a call. Also openly says he was testing her. She is not amused.
He pursues, with words of her being responsible for Forge’s madness, as Forge blamed himself for her condition. A gaslighting she is setting boundaries to. He claims she can’t be blamed, but can’t deny responsibility. A paradox…I have no use for…same goes for Ororo. Naže is sounding wise, but it is a ploy.
He then twists the words into presenting Forge as The Adversary. A critical moment in ❌-Men comics history. Naže claims Forges path into the white mans world through war and being the Maker, lead him to allow The Adversary to lose his Cheyenne soul. Naže claims they must track him down. It may be too late. Ororo is resisting. Naže pulls the, ‘you owe me,’ Chapter 22.
Ororo wonders out to the balcony, and elements. Naže yells through them…and with that the sky goes pink, clearing, Forge’s visage in the clouds mutating, Ororo’s resistance evaporating. Love has her. Naže’s parlor trick. An alliance is struck. His smile is proto McFarlane villains. The shadow over his eyes, clear on intentions.
Naže: “poor Forge ain’t got a prayer.”
Next: Jim Lee’s Alpha Flight
