Sister Act
Captain Marvel #17 (2004): Peter David (writer), Paul Azaceta (pencils), Chris Sotomayor (colors)
Captain Marvel #18 (2020): Kelly Thompson (writer), Cory Smith (pencils), Adriano Di Benedetto (inks), Tamra Bonvillain (colors)
All Captain Marvel families are alike, but every Captain Marvel family is unhappy in its own way. Two years ago, Margaret Stohl and Carlos Pachecoâs The Life of Captain Marvel dropped a bombshell of a retcon into the story of Carol Danvers. No longer a human woman granted extraordinary powers through an alien wish-fulfillment machine, Carol was now revealed to be the scion of a long line of Kree warriors â a mixed-heritage soldier from a dynasty about which she knew almost nothing.
The move was controversial, not least because it altered a character hitherto defined by her very human heroism into a much more typical Chosen One champion, born from the beginning to great things. Yet in the hands of Kelly Thompson, who took over the characterâs writing reins after Stohlâs departure, the revelation has also opened up new possibilities of storytelling. Throughout her history, both on and off the page, Danvers has always struggled with the burden of legacy: the need to live up to the memory, and eventually the name, of her superheroic predecessor Mar-Vell, who died in the service of the Marvel Universe. The overarching theme of Thompsonâs run has been the way that burden is low loaded and complicated with the additional legacy of her Kree birthright â about which, unlike the name of Captain Marvel, she is decidedly ambivalent. The Kree, after all, have traditionally been depicted as a ruthless, militaristic society: regimented, committed to racial and class hierarchies, and unapologetic in its conquest and subjugation of those they deem less than themselves. For Thompson, Carolâs acceptance of Kree culture canât be simply additive to her human identity: it constantly runs the risk of negating it completely.
This weekâs Captain Marvel #18 uses the opportunity of the Empyre crossover to bring that internal conflict to a frothing boil. Carol has been given the office of Kree Accuser, vested with the authority to mete out ultimate justice to those who violate the galactic order. Itâs a responsibility that immediately rubs against her human instincts of restraint and compassion, and Thompson does a fine job of spelling this out in Carolâs internal monologue throughout the issue. âI took this hammer when it was offered because itâs a powerful weapon and I am a soldier in a war in need of powerful weapons,â she tells us, and then makes the theme of the run explicit. âMy relationship with the Kree is all about legacy, I guess. And it remains complicated. There was a time when I wanted to reject all they wereâŚfor reasons that made sense. And others that did not.â Itâs a compelling development, and though I would be the last person on earth to sniff my nose at the magnificent gift that is Captain Marvel swinging a big, honking hammer, the real kicker of the issue, and the biggest reminder of the theme of legacy, comes from another surprise entirely. Carol, it turns out, has a sister. And as fans all over the internet would quickly tell you: itâs a big sister.
But at this point I want to backtrack a bit, because to understand why family matters, I think it helps to look at the last time a Captain Marvel met a sister he never knew he had. It was 2002, and Genis-Vell was going through a bit of a weird time. Though, to be fair, poor Genis always seemed to be going through a weird time. Introduced by Ron Marz and Joe Phillips in Silver Surfer Annual #6, Genis learned late in life that he was the technologically-conceived son of Mar-Vell. Even more then Carol Danvers, then, his entire superhero career was dedicated to the frantic, puppy-dog desire to live up to the traditions of his predecessor â Genis even took the codename âLegacyâ for the first decade of his existence, just to make things plain for the folks in the back. Not that the role ever came easily to him. Unlike Danvers, for whom selfless heroism was second nature even before fate gave her the opportunity for it, Genis was a jacketed, ponytailed, party boy for most of his life: a gambler, a lush, and unapologetically ready to jump into bed with anything that moved. True, he seemed to have conquered his worst habits during the first leg of Peter Davidâs 1999 run on the character, which saw him merged with career sidekick Rick Jones in an homage to the old â60âs Captain Marvel series. But that, as it turned out, was the moment everything went wrong.
See, the real trouble was, responsible Genis just wasnât selling. So when David relaunched the title in 2002, he used the opportunity to take the status quo in an entirely new direction. Overwhelmed by the responsibility of his cosmic awareness, and obsessed with the notion that none of his instincts or intelligence could work out the way they needed to, Genis rapidly and completely lost his mind. By the end of the seriesâ first arc, he had progressed from unstable hero to full-on world-destroying super villain. And so, from a parallel dimension, a hero was dispatched to put an end to the threat: his sister, Phyla-Vell, Captain Marvel.
Everything that follows in the fight between Genis and Phyla in Captain Marvel #17 is set up to establish Phyla as the improved, responsible model to her lemon of a brother. âEverything you do, you do in the name of âCaptain Marvel,ââ she tells him, âand the only way you can do that is by pretending youâre one of a kind. But youâre not, and you know it. You want me to tell you what you are?…Youâre the first draft. Youâre the one mom made the mistakes on. Iâm the one whoâs getting it right.â
On the most essential level, this is what the Marvel siblings do: they ground the storyâs hero in the concept of legacy, but in doing so, they illuminate all the ways that the hero falls short. Take another look at this weekâs Carol Danvers story, and we can see that Carolâs newfound sister Lauri-Ell is serving exactly the same function, albeit with a totally different effect. Like a mirror image to the unapologetically butt-kicking Phyla, Lauri is a pacifist by inclination, a conscientious objector to the military values onto which Carol has happily signed. âThough I was born and bred for war,â she says, âI have no taste for violence. I never have. I would never commit these crimes against my people and the SkrullsâŚI mourn them all, as well as my crew, who were my only friends in this world.â In confronting Carol, she undermines not only her position as an Accuser, but her entire history as a proud officer of the U.S. Airforce, whose militaristically patriotic values have been central to the character in both comics and film since Kelly Sue DeConnickâs relaunch in 2012. And for both Carol and Genis, the stinger is this: the outcome of the story shows that the devilâs advocate sibling is absolutely right. Carol ultimately violates her orders and sides with the sister she never knew. And Genis? He remains dead to this very day.
But thereâs something else at work here, under the surface but always present, and surely important. It has to do with the ways that, both visually and in the text, these siblings are allowed to express their sexual identities. Consider Paul Azacetaâs design for Phyla-Vell, with her short-cropped hair and lantern jaw. It didnât take long before her depiction began to generate theories in cosmic fandom that Phyla might have a queer identity. And it wasnât long after that when Marvel made these theories canonical, by entering Phyla into an on-page relationship with Moondragon â herself allowed to come out of the closet during the same Peter David run that brought Phyla onto the scene.
All of this is especially significant given the treatment of Genisâs own sexuality throughout his publication. I mentioned earlier that one of Genisâs key traits was his sexual voraciousness, and there were hints â generally left to the readerâs imagination, but present â that it might be a voraciousness that didnât care much about binaries of gender or sex. Only once, and briefly, was this acknowledged in the text itself: in issue 35 of the 1999 Captain Marvel series, David casually reveals that Genisâs lover Steckâee regularly switched back and forth between sexual characteristics, and that this was of no particular concern to Genis himself (though it was a source of stereotypical trans panic for alter-ego Rick Jones, in scenes that feel regrettably retrograde to a more aware audience). So readers paying close attention would be well aware that Genis, too, fell somewhere on the queer spectrum. But, importantly, this never became a key part of the character: on panel, in every other circumstance, Genis was depicted only consorting with women, his alternative tastes remaining, at best, to the readerâs imagination.
Carol Danvers might be an even more dramatic case. Here, Marvel cannot make clear enough that no admission has been made on page or screen that Carol is anything but resolutely straight. Yet she might have the longest history of fan insistence on a queer identity of any major hero in superhero comics. Beginning in Chris Claremontâs run during the late 1970âs, there have been no shortage of veiled hints that Carol has had a decades-long romantic relationship with fellow hero Jessica Drew, and writers and artists havenât been shy about playing to the attentive fans who have noted the clues all along. But from the perspective of a marketable, multimedia franchise, it seems that a gay or bisexual Captain Marvel just wonât do. Carol, like Genis, can be queer in suggestion, but not in fact. Only the foils on her supporting cast can do that.
I donât mean to argue definitively that Lauri-Ell is, or ought to be interpreted as, any sexuality in particular. But Cory Smithâs depiction of her, as with the design of Phyla-Vell, seems calculated to show the character in ways that run contrary to the heterosexual norm â and already, the internet fan community has been quick to notice. And perhaps this, too, is what the Marvel Sisters do: they liberate writers to tell queer stories on the page that might have been about the Captains Marvel themselves, if they werenât constrained by market forces that denied those characters their full expression of self. Itâs not a fair substitute, in the grand scheme of things. But this is an industry that inches forward in its representation of sexuality in painfully slow movements year by year â its progress labored, constantly resisted, but advancing in spite of it. And for now, it might be the best weâre going to get.
Special thanks to my colleague Allison Senecal for her invaluable insights and input on this piece.
Zach Rabiroff edits articles at Comicsxf.com.
