Blog / Review of Marshal Law: Fear and Loathing by Pat Mills and Kevin O'Neill
I am bacteria. I am the lowest form of life. I am a superhero.
—The Sleepman
The six-issue comic series Marshal Law: Fear and Loathing (1987), written by Pat Mills and drawn by Kevin O'Neill, is one of the best I have ever read. It's not safe for work, kids, or the easily offended, given that it's about an ultraviolent super-cop who runs around in a gimp mask, killing superheroes using an arsenal of ridiculous sci-fi weaponry. But Marshal Law has much more to contribute than only shock value. It delivers a serious critique of the superhero genre and US politics, while simultaneously being a compelling murder mystery in its own right. It's also darkly hilarious in the vein of MAD Magazine. It works as well as it does is because Mr. Mills and Mr. O'Neill hold nothing back; they really do hate superheroes and everything the genre stands for, and they give it their all. Looking at the art and writing of many comics, often one component is better than the other. In Marshal Law, the visuals and the story reflect and build upon each other to create a comic that's more than the sum of its parts.
The story starts here: In the near future, the US government used bioengineering to give soldiers superpowers in order to fight a massive war spanning across South America. These super-soldiers were given colorful costumes and heroic names to create popular enthusiasm. Those who survived the war, which was a disastrous stalemate amounting to a second Vietnam, found themselves "surplus heroes," glorified by popular culture but unable to fit back into daily life. Driven insane by their traumatic experiences and strange powers, and having become extreme sadists or masochists as a result of their dulled ability to feel pain, many surplus heroes turned to violent crime. Marshal Law, the titular protagonist, shares this background. But rather than becoming a criminal, he became an authoritarian police operative tasked with hunting down out-of-line superheroes in a dystopian San Francisco half-destroyed by a massive earthquake. The Marshal enjoys his work, since he truly hates superheroes... because he is one too, and he hates himself. The six issues of Fear and Loathing focus on his attempt to take down a superpowered serial killer called the Sleepman. Evidence points to the killer's real identity being the Public Spirit, America's most famous superhero, who is essentially Ronald Reagan by way of Superman. However, the Marshal's judgment may be clouded by his personal feelings of anger and betrayal; the Public Spirit had a central role in the propaganda that convinced many young men to enlist in the war that ruined their lives, but did not fight in it himself.
The comic's overall thesis is twofold: First, the superhero genre is pro-authoritarian because it is a propaganda tool for politicians and celebrities, who are inevitably corrupt and hypocritical. Second, anyone who would seriously want to dress up in tights and fight bad guys in real life would have to be some sort of mentally unstable pervert. Given that in this comic's world, superheroes were created to be living weapons, the second point really serves to characterize the military-industrial complex and the Cold War as a catastrophic dick-measuring contest, as in Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove (1964). These criticisms fully apply to the Marshal, not only the heroes he fights. As the story progresses, it's revealed that although heroes like the Public Spirit publicly claim to stand for good conservative values like marriage and the family, they lead private lives full of crime and depravity that directly contradict their speeches. The Marshal is the opposite of them— he looks like some sort of bizarre leather-clad S&M Nazi and approaches the world with an uncharismatic bitter, sarcastic attitude. However, he's really an idealist despite it all. His catchphrase, "I hunt heroes. Haven't found any yet," has a dual meaning, referencing his literal occupation as a superhero hunter, but also his wish to find a true hero out there who would save others for no reward. His downfall is that by being a violent vigilante, he is ultimately part of the problem he fights against, not the solution. In this way, the Marshal is a strange and unlikable character, but also a tragic character.
However, make no mistake: the comic is dark, but it's very funny too. This is mainly because of Mr. O'Neill's deranged, angular artwork. It's like a twisted exaggeration of Jack Kirby's style— huge, misshapen, steroid-addled male heroes, and female heroes with ridiculously skimpy costumes and such tiny waists that their internal organs must be missing. Their designs are wildly varied and creative. Even throwaway enemies all look like they could be the protagonist of a different comic. (Perhaps the most memorable side character is Suicida, who wears "Nuke me slowly" written across his chest and a necklace of human ears.) The colors are bright but have a grungy feel because they were done with dense layers of paint and marker. And, the buildings and vehicles are as over-the-top as their inhabitants. Every available surface (walls, background objects, weapons, in-universe advertising, even the soles of the Marshal's high-heeled boots) is scrawled with slogans that blur the line between the comic's world and the fourth wall. The slogans are entertaining but also reflect what the characters are thinking and feeling, as well as their society's preoccupations.
A great thing about the writing is that all story-relevant characters get a chance to speak about their perspective in their own words. And even though they're all "bastards" (as the Marshal puts it), they all get to be right about something. In this way, the comic avoids falling into the traps of strawmanning and black-and-white morality, which is always a risk when writing a story to make a political point. This makes it clear that "classic" superheroes aren't the only ones that shouldn't be admired— characters such as Judge Dredd and the "grim anti-heroes" prevalent in the 1990s are no better. Because what's wrong with the world is ultimately bigger than something any one person can solve, with or without superpowers.
Even though this comic's ideology is a response to Reagan-era politics, it still feels painfully relevant in 2021, as authoritarianism and natural disasters become increasingly prevalent worldwide and America deals with the failure of the war in Afghanistan that should never have happened in the first place. Plus, with a new, forgettable Marvel series seeming to come out every other week, it's hard to not want Marshal Law to show up with his "meat cannon" shotgun and blow the caped bastards away.
There were subsequent Marshal Law stories published, but they were shorter and therefore lacked the same depth and complexity as Fear and Loathing. The first installment of anything born of anger is always the best, because such things always eventually burn themselves out. There's something distinctly threatening and apocalyptic about this one; it brings the original 1979 Mad Max to mind with its ever-so-slightly surreal, hurtling-towards-collapse setting. The world hasn't ended yet, but it can't take much more of this.