As a teenager in the 1970s I was a big fan of Marvel Comics, and Marvel’s superiority over its main rival DC Comics was clear to me. Marvel had Spiderman the Hulk, and the Fantastic Four, but more interesting were Black Panther, Daredevil, and Man-Thing. Nearly all their series were more psychologically subtle than DC comics, and their art work was also far more creative. The comics explored the isolation of being different from other people, the pain of rejection, the responsibilities of gifted people to the rest of the world, and the motivation of evil-doers. On the other hand, DC comics were far more simple-minded: it was good versus evil, upright and rather boring heroes protecting America from the dastardly aliens and sinners. Their artwork didn’t push boundaries either, while Marvel really experimented with different narrative styles and depictions of characters.

The approaches of the two giant companies that ruled the comic book world reversed, at least to an extent, in the following decades, and Marvel comics even suffered major financial difficulty. One of the ways in which DC became far more interesting as a source of creative art was in its decision to create comic books aimed at an older audience. In the late 1980s and for most of the 1990s, it produced a series of much darker (both psychologically and literally) stories through its Vertigo imprint, such as Hellblazer, Sandman, and Swamp Thing. These were stories with no promise of happy endings; there were no heroes in these stories, and each character lived a life ruled by ugly motives. The art for these stories was beautifully crafted, often by skilled painters, and it reflected the moral ambiguities of these more searching narratives.

Vertigo Visions is a collection of art from these DC Vertigo comics. Most of the images are from the covers of the books, or from trading cards associated with the books; some are reproductions of rare collectors’ edition posters. By its nature, the book doesn’t include the story-lines that explain the pictures. Given that the strength of comic books is their combination of story and images, this robs the images of much of their power. Since I am not familiar with most of the series, I can only judge these images on their own terms.

A great advantage of the comic book form is that it can develop characters and stories over many issues, sometimes hundreds of issues. Like TV drama series, this enables writers to introduce subtleties and complexities that are only the longest novels can rival. As far as the images go, comic book artists can use their imagination to depict fantasies that only the most sophisticated special effects in movies are starting to rival. Psychologically, comic book art is especially good for the depiction of the most extreme experiences, be it depression, mania, psychosis, or joy. Vertigo Visions helps to show some of the ways that artists have taken advantage of the medium, and also how they have lapsed into mimicking other art forms or relying on hackneyed (especially gothic) cliché. Furthermore, the obvious problem for serious comic book art is that it comes from a tradition that is essentially shallow and ephemeral, relying on shock value rather than emotional insight; in short, is seems to be a tradition that is unable to be serious, and so it might seem to be a hopeless task to make true art in a comic book form.

Judging from this book, Vertigo comics has had only partial success in taking advantage of its medium and overcoming the limitations. Certainly it goes far beyond the old formats of Superman, and the work of Greg Spalenka on Sandman is especially unusual and interesting. Dave McKean, one of the most represented artists in the book, worked on both Sandman and Hellblazer to powerful effect, especially with his use of photography. Far lighter in his touch with a strong streak of humor is the work of Brian Polland: "Animal Man #57, March 1993" with its pig carcasses hanging over the butcher’s counter is gruesomely fabulous. He also did a number of covers for The Invisibles, with its combination of eroticism and superheroes, which are pretty funny. On the other hand, I don’t see why Glenn Fabry gets many pages to himself: although there’s clear skill in his work, he relies so much on cliché it seems he might be trying to be kitsch — Fabry as the great ironist, the Jeff Koons of comics – although I have to admit that he has been prolific.

Of course, it’s not fair to judge a whole series of comics by a few covers. Really this book is for Vertigo fans, to complete their collections of some images they didn’t see previously, or to provoke some fond memories. For others who like this format, I’d suggest going to your local comic book store and paying an arm and a leg for some of those back issues to get a fuller appreciation of the way these artists have pushed the boundaries of the form. I recommend some of those Marvel comics from the 1970s.

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