The Classic X-Men Read — Part One of One

I wasn’t planning on doing a re-read series of posts for the X-Men. I really enjoyed the comics when I was a teenager, but while I’ve sporadically jumped back in over the years, I didn’t think there was enough there for an X-Men re-read to make sense.

Then a friend suggested I do one, and it got me thinking about how I’ve barely touched any of the real classics, specifically the Chris Claremont stuff. Sure, I’ve read The Dark Phoenix Saga, but that was so long ago, I can barely remember any of it.

So, no, a series of re-read posts still doesn’t make sense—but just the one post where I finally delve into the stories that laid the foundation for the X-Men we all know and love? That seems like a good idea.

All-New, All Different

Let’s start at the beginning—or, well… the new beginning anyway.

Even though this is the ground floor of what would eventually be the most recognised version of the X-Men, it’s actually still surprising how much of their DNA is set right from the get-go (or at least right from when Claremont takes complete control of the writing chores)—from broader things like the isosceles love triangle between Wolverine, Jean Grey and Cyclops to even more nuanced character traits like Storm’s claustrophobia.

Claremont’s famously verbose scripts are also in full force here. Maybe it’s because I’ve not read much of his stuff, but have heard so much about his work—including his wordy pages—that I didn’t find it intrusive at all, certainly not in the way that some other writers’ scripts from this era were. In fact, his mix of comics scripting and almost prose-like caption boxes really set the tone for the series, playing up the soap operatic dynamics more than a straightforward comic script would’ve.

(The leprechauns during the Black Tom/Juggernaut arc were a bit weird though.)

Dave Cockrum’s art in those early issues is absolutely stunning and he works well with Claremont—but the moment John Byrne came aboard, it immediately felt like Claremont had found not just a new collaborator, but his artistic soulmate.

Byrne’s work here is looser than Cockrum’s, which complements the more down-to-earth moments, perfecting that balance of superheroics and those aforementioned soap operatics. This, of course, leads us to…

The Dark Phoenix Saga

Jean Grey’s many deaths and resurrections are joked about now, but even after all these years, The Dark Phoenix Saga carries incredible emotional weight.

I think having that awareness of what’s going to happen actually adds to that weight, that sense of the inevitable somehow making the tragedy of it all seem greater as it leads up to the story’s culmination—from seeing the fear that Jean’s power inspires in not just her teammates and family, but in her as well, all the way to watching as she and Xavier temporarily triumph over that power, only to have it all end with her sacrifice.

It’s easy to see why it remains one of the best X-Men stories ever—possibly their very best. Claremont and Byrne always balance the large scale fights with quieter character moments, whether it’s Scott and Jean’s relationship or the reactions and thoughts of the rest of the X-Men.

Plus, it brings us choice moments like Wolverine finally and fully come into his own as the gruff badass, and the introduction of Kitty Pryde—but more on her in a bit.

Days of Future Past

Days of Future Past, while great, isn’t as big as I thought it would be. After all, it’s an arc that’s been referenced and returned to many times over the years—yet it’s really just a two-parter, albeit an ambitious one, sure.

That’s far from a criticism though. After The Dark Phoenix Saga, smaller scale stories like this one and the others collected here make perfect sense. They’re exciting enough, but still give us readers a breather.

Which bring us back to Kitty Pryde. Claremont and Byrne seemed to place Cyclops predominantly as the central role prior to his leave of absence, which made sense since Jean was the focus and eventual tragic villain of those stories.

Kitty’s been generally chosen as the new central character for these sets of stories. I don’t know if it was a conscious choice on the part of the creative team, but if it was, it certainly was a smart one. She’s young, she’s brave and she’s a fresh face—aside form being an interesting character and perfect audience surrogate, she’s also a statement of intent: the X-Men will keep moving forward into the future.

The main story seems to reaffirm that point, by establishing Kitty’s in-story longevity, but her solo battle against a N’Garai is the emphatic full-stop to Claremeont and Byrne’s statement.

(The Wolverine/Nightcrawler/Alpha Flight story was loads of fun too. It shows just how interesting Wolverine and his mysterious past can be when used smartly and sparingly.)

God Loves, Man Kills

Claremont’s God Loves, Man Kills with Brent Anderson has aged well—aside from his shocking use of the n-word, which, granted, might’ve seemed like an artistically bold decision at the time, but feels… well, exactly very “I would’ve voted for Obama for a third term if I could” now.

That said, the rest of the story is remarkably, and sadly, timeless. You could tell that this was a passion project of Claremont’s and it feels like a natural evolution of his time with the X-Men.

Anderson’s art is suitably somber throughout most of the story. It would’ve certainly been interesting to have seen how Neal Adams, the originally intended artist, would’ve handled it, but I think Anderson’s style truly brings a quiet gravitas. Still, his work is also wonderfully dynamic when it needs to be, for moments like Xavier’s demonic dream and his simple—and simply clever—layouts when Cyclops fires his optic blast to rescue Xavier at the end.

Wolverine by Claremont and Miller

If God Loves, Man Kills is a more evolved take on the X-Men, then Claremont’s Wolverine mini-series with Frank Miller is as straightforward and stripped down as you can get. It’s a tale of revenge and honour, and it cements Wolverine’s reputation that Claremont has been building since The Dark Phoenix Saga—he’s the best he is at what he does.

And so is Frank Miller from this era, simultaneously finishing off his legendary Daredevil run and four years away from The Dark Knight Returns. His storytelling is perfectly paced, his style is gritty in all the right ways, his action visceral and his emotions clear as day. As much as I don’t want to take away from Claremont’s script—which strikes an excellent balance between his colourful prose and the down-and-dirty story—Miller is the star here.

Wolverine: Weapon X

If I’m veering off the main X-Men title and exploring solo Wolverine stories though, I’d be remiss if I didn’t look at the one comic in this post that Claremont’s not involved with at all: Barry Windsor-Smith’s Weapon X.

Where his mini-series cemented Wolverine’s bad-assery, Weapon X establishes him as a sympathetic character, fleshing out his tragic past in a way that shows just why a comic isn’t just words and pictures put together, but something that’s greater than the sum of its parts.

Windsor-Smith’s art is gorgeously grimy, but the way the narrative uses the visuals and even the flow of the word balloons and caption boxes elevates Weapon X beyond just a solid story to a fantastic representation of the comic medium’s storytelling possibilities.

New Mutants: The Demon Bear Saga

I never read any New Mutants comics, save maybe Deadpool’s first appearance—and by that point, the team was more X-Force than New Mutants, really.

So, despite only a passing familiarity with some of the characters, it’s a testament to Claremont that it took me maybe a couple of issues before I was fully invested in the team. His verbosity, again, mostly worked to his advantage—though it did start to feel cumbersome by the time I reached Legion’s story.

The art here, however, is astonishing. It’s probably the best encapsulation of Claremont’s artistic partners over the years—with classic storytellers like the always spectacular Sal Buscema and Bob McLeod, as well as the new-at-the-time, but still stunningly inventive Bill Sienkiewicz.

Fall of the Mutants

I’d heard good things about Fall of the Mutants, but whether it was because the edition I’d read didn’t provide enough context, or just the stories themselves, I can’t say that I was particularly fond of this event.

Louise and Walt Simonson pitting X-Factor against Apocalypse was definitely the most engaging bit, and, sure, the other parts at least had some decent art by Bret Belvins and Marc Silvestri (though clearly he grew by leaps and bounds as an artist later in his career)—but all in all, while it certainly wasn’t terrible, Fall of the Mutants was definitely the most ordinary story out of everything I’d read for this post.

The End of an Era

Claremont’s mostly uninterrupted run on the X-Men finally comes to an end—and what a way to bow out, with what is still the best-selling comic of all time.

This is a blockbuster of a story, with Claremont playing up to Jim Lee’s strengths—massive battles and larger than life characters—but still keeping things grounded with a genuinely compelling and even nuanced duel of ideologies between Xavier’s teams and Magneto’s acolytes.

Is it as timeless as his earlier work? I don’t think so, but it certainly comes close. While he makes an excellent team with Lee, it’s nowhere near as perfect a pairing as his time with Byrne. But still, together with X-Men: The Animated Series a year later, these three issues were nevertheless the best possible introduction to the X-Men for a whole new generation—myself included.

***

It’s funny.

I started this having never read a decent number of these stories, but they all still felt so familiar. Maybe it was the aforementioned animated series and how it adapted them so well, or maybe it’s because, even after I started reading the X-Men comics regularly in the mid-nineties, they’d always reference these classics.

So, yeah, it might be my first time embarking on a lot of these adventures, but for almost as long as I’d been reading comics, the Xavier Institute for Gifted Students has always felt like it held a place for me.