Let me say right away that this issue is not very good. But it is (and I don’t think I’ll get many chances to say this on our windmill chase) relevant. Just check out that cover. Reed made some bad moves on the stock market and can’t pay off his subprime mortgage on the Baxter Building.

Check Ben Grimm channeling some Main Street rage (or would that be “Yancy Street rage”?):

If Mr. Fantastic can’t invest his money without getting burned then there really is no way to predict the stock market. I mean, this guy figured a way to shrink an entire alien race so they could escape their dying planet. But faced with the Dow Jones, Mr. Fantastic is no match.

The rest of the story involves our heroes getting sucked into Hollywood by emerging film mogul and King of the Sea, Namor. And surprise, surprise, Namor’s real plan is to kill the male portion of the Fantastic Four and seduce Sue. The final twist to this insane plot is that he fails.

I didn’t like this issue because it seems like a cheap way to set an issue in Tinsel Town. Kirby makes the most of it by inserting some of the big stars of the day.

I’d be lying if I said I could name everybody, but props to Namor for getting Hitchcock to direct.

Must. Move. Forward.

I keep feeling like there are depths to plumb with this issue, all in spite of the fact that I didn’t particularly enjoy it. But we’ve gotta keep going. We can always revisit old themes or plot points later.

We can’t walk away without mining issue #8’s fan page, though. In what’s become the book’s running gag, they publish yet another letter — this one from Don Henrehan Jr. of West Islip, N.Y. — complaining about the name “Mr. Fantastic.” Stan responds that “by actual count…most readers seem to like the name,” which doesn’t exactly jibe with trend I’m seeing on these letters pages. (They do run a letter in support of the name, the first that I can recall so far.)

Don also wonders why Ben Grimm’s best friends call him “Thing.” The answer?

But tell us, what would YOU call the Thing? (Inasmuch as his real name is Ben Grimm, “Ben” would seem to be the most logical appelation, but we sometimes fear that new readers wouldn’t know why he is being called Ben unless we constantly explain it. See the things editors have to worry about?

See, at least I understand the rationale here. Say you’re picking up your first issue of Fantastic Four. You see the word “Thing” and can quickly narrow down which of the four characters to which the name applies. As opposed to, I dunno…”Mister Fantastic.”

My favorite letter of the month, however, comes from M. Sher of Brooklyn, who’s already itching to see the Fantastic Four on the silver screen. Sher plays the fanboy casting-call game and comes up with the following faces for the four:

• Mr. Fantastic: Gregory Peck
• Human Torch: Troy Donahue
• The Thing: Steve Reeves (“With make-up on, of course”)
• Invisible Girl: Tuesday Weld

First off: Gregory Peck was old enough to be Tuesday Weld’s dad. And yes, that’s the same Steve Reeves who played Hercules in Hercules Unchained. I know you love you some Alba, Drew, but I’d take this lineup anyday.

Hey yo, if knowledge is the key, then just show me the lock… **ahem**

You are correct, Joe: We never got to this issue last time. Congratulations. We are in uncharted territory. Maybe we lost it because things are getting too predictable. Once again we have the basic story structure of: family bickering leads to someone stomping off, only to get caught up in some villain’s scheme, which causes everyone to come together for the common good. Throw in the reoccurring “Let’s cure Ben!” side-story and you’ve got issue #8.

Another thing that is getting old is the unpredictable limit of Johnny Storm’s power:

So now he can’t “flame on” because he’s worn out, but other times he can go supernova or create heat tornadoes? That’s some lazy writing, Stan.

The way Kirby has drawn the Puppet Master is horrifying. It’s those eyelashes. The whole blind step-daughter thing only adds to his creepiness. It wouldn’t take much for Marvel to re-introduce a much darker Puppet Master; I can’t help but think he would be modeled after this guy. I’m not saying I want that, just that it wouldn’t take much.

I do appreciate the corniness of this Puppet Master. I too love the winged horse and the way he daydreams of himself as king. But what I really love is his catch phrase:

It’s really funny depending on how you read it. And it looks like it’s catching on:

I also like this use of Reed’s stretching ability:

Unlike Johnny’s flames, Reed gets to use his power very creatively in every issue. But then he has to go and ruin it with his mouth:

“Gents”? That’s why we hate you Reed. That’s why.

Clearly there’s a snag between issues #7 and #8, Drew. This is the second time that our pace has slowed going into this story. Why is that? We both enjoyed the last issue. Maybe a man can take only so much Fantastic Four in such a short span of time. There’s a reason comics come out every month or two, you know…

Come to think of it, did we even get around to covering issue #8 last time around? Because I didn’t recall a thing about it as I read it this evening. Maybe we never made it this far — I can’t remember anymore.

Not that there’s a whole lot that’s memorable in hindsight. Yes, this marks the debut of Alicia Masters, who, if you don’t know already, will become Ben’s main squeeze as time goes on.

Alicia’s blind, which means she’s not put off by Ben’s appearance, although I’m not sure what about him she finds attractive at this point. (I mean, regardless of whether he has a strong chin or not, I’m pretty sure the dude doesn’t feel right.)

For now, her only role is to melt Ben’s heart a little bit and give him added dimension, which is in line with the book’s portrayal of women so far but troublesome nonetheless.

Did I know Alica Masters was the daughter of the Puppet Master? No, I did not. Funny how Puppet Master molds his little dolls by hand, because one of the few things I know about Alicia is that she’s a sculptor herself.

For the sake of our audience (har har), I might as well outline the story here. Puppet Master, a middle-aged Charlie Brown with Abe Sapien fish lips, is training himself to control other people using voodoo dolls.

Unless I missed something (and that’s entirely possible), I don’t think we ever get an explanation about his powers — only that he’s still figuring out how to use them and needs to work his way up to the big time, which, as usual, involves taking over the world. (I’m going to butt in here during my editing and say that I was skimming images to crop about an hour after writing the previous sentence and noticed a mention of radioactive clay. Of course. That explains everything.) Naturally, the Fantastic Four get caught up in the mix and have to stop him.

There are themes of manipulation throughout the story, both in the way he uses his little molded avatars and in the more sinister way he uses his meek, blind daughter to do his dirty deeds. There’s some abuse subtext buried in there somewhere; even the ending has shades of “Janie’s Got a Gun” if you read it in the right way. I’m probably imagining things.

And while I’m at it, what are your thoughts on that ending? I’m used to Lee wrapping up his stories on somber, reflective notes, but this one’s a little too somber and reflective. It’s downright sinister, both a warning against unchecked hubris and more than a suggestion of foul play. I’d expect it more from an episode of The Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents than from Fantastic Four.

Okay, my memory’s fading already. There was a prison break in here, but I’ve lost track of why, outside of an excuse for some clobberin’ time. At least we get this:

But seriously, Puppet Master: You do nothing for me. I recall the team’s storyline clearly, though, partly because it’s another story that begins with a fight between Johnny and Ben, and partly because it involves another attempt by Reed to cure Ben of his Thing-ness. It’s formulaic, but it’s what the audience enjoys.

Wait wait wait…you know what? I do remember something about the Puppet Master now:

I must not have read this issue the last time around, because I totally would have remembered that. Wow.

Finally, can I just say that the “Joe Public expresses shock at Sue’s invisibility” gag wore thin after the second issue? It had to happen at least twice in this issue alone.

This is all she does, every goddamn issue.

Okay, Drew, play the resurrector and give the dead some life…

To quote the great Joe Askins: “In my mind, Reed Richards is at his best when he’s solving problems with crazy inventions and super-science.”

I couldn’t agree more. Reed is in his element when he’s in his lab, solving some insane problem with his rays, test tubes and whatever crazy machine Kirby decides to draw.

The rest of the time Mr. Fantastic is pretty much a factory-wrapped douche.

At this point, Reed’s stretching abilities seem secondary power to his real power, his massive brain. Whatever jam our heroes find themselves in, you know they’re only a lab visit away from getting out of it. Science saves the day!

You might start to wonder why Reed hasn’t bothered to solve any real problems or diseases. Or what the Fantastic Four do all day other then squabble and wait to be attacked. I don’t know. I can only promise you that this is just a comic book.

Don’t worry, Drew, I dig this issue too. I like it because, in my mind, Reed Richards is at his best when he’s solving problems with crazy inventions and super-science, and “reducing gas” is a perfect example of that.

After the issue #6 dud, it was nice to see some grade-A Kirby. No monsters, mind you (although Kurrgo and his kin are distinctly alien), but some very active panels. I’m impressed at how much he can convey movement with something as simple as Johnny’s windswept hair:

Plus, the team gets to do a lot of falling and flipping through the air this issue, and Kirby poses their bodies in just the right way to give them some real heft:

(That’s still my favorite full-page panel so far — and the source of the Yancy Street Revisited header!)

This one’s also chock-full of visual gags, many involving Reed, which is something we haven’t seen too often:

The pancaked face squeezing through the vent grate is something I expect from Plastic Man, not Reed Richards, and that’s enough to make me smile.

The first act has little to do with the main story, but it’s some of my favorite character work to date. How many other books would devote four pages to characters’ anxieties about awards ceremonies?

Back to you, son.

Hands down my favorite story thus far.

(Another damned footstool?!?!)

Knowing what we know now, issue #7 is a meaningless, one-off story, certainly unimportant when compared to the momentous introduction and reintroduction of Doctor Doom and Namor, respectively. But it’s wholly satisfying. I love every panel. I love the B-story of “Mr. Fantastic Goes to Washington.” I love Planet X, the Hostility Ray (MMMMMMMM), and the nice little twist to this compact morality play.

Long story short: Planet X is about to be wiped out by a runaway planet. Despite being a “far wiser” and more advanced race than humans, the people of Planet X never saw the point in space travel and only bothered to build two spaceships (a totally insane premise and the main reason I love this issue).

So Kurrgo, Master of Planet X, recruits the Fantastic Four to help him solve this problem. And no, we never learn how Kurrgo knows about Reed Richards and Co., but how on Earth would you have made it this far without the ability to suspend disbelief?

(Portable had a different meaning in the ‘60s.)

Forced to work for Kurrgo after the Hostility Ray turns Congress against the Fantastic Four, Reed uses his massive brain to develop Reducing Gas, which will allow all of Planet X to shrink down small enough to fit in the one spaceship these geniuses bothered to build.

Turns out Kurrgo has a bit of an ego and decides to keep the antidote gas, so that once safely away from Planet X, he can rule as a king among ants.

Look, no one out-egos Reed Richards. Dude didn’t even bother to make antidote gas, because “in this vast universe of ours, one’s size is only relative anyway.” Something I’m sure Sue has heard many a time. And anyway, Kurrgo — “maddened by his savage dreams of power” — doesn’t even make it off the plant in time.

Lesson: Be careful with those savage dreams of power.

I’ll go into a few more reason why I love issue #7 on the follow up – just in case Joe doesn’t agree with me here.

• By this point, every other letter published on the Fantastic Four Fan Pages requests a new super-name for Reed Richards. The “no more monsters” bandwagon is picking up steam, too.

• Celebrity alert! The first letter on issue #5’s fan page is a brief but glowing note from a Roy Thomas of Sullivan, Mo. Four years later, Thomas is writing The Avengers and The X-Men.

• Martin Ross of New York says in issue #6: “It’s the greatest! But I think Susan Storm ought to be thrown out. She never does anything.” (Italics mine.) I’m with Martin on the last part — it’s time to see a Sue-centric story.

• You know what? After going through my scans of one more time, I’m going to take back part of what I said earlier about Jack’s art in these issues. Issue #5 — its large, chapter-opening panels in particular — is a gem. What struck me this time around is that this issue looks like the sharp, clean Kirby I recognize from the mid-1960s and beyond…

…while the issues before and after seem to hearken back almost to his ’40s and ’50s art. The characters are skinnier, with less heft.

This isn’t a coincidence. Joe Sinnott, who finished just about every one of Kirby’s pages during the latter half of the ’60s, was the inker on issue #5. Atlas Comics, which placed Sinnott at the very top of its list of the 20 greatest inkers of American comics, describes his style as “mature, solid, assured, precise and smooth,” which is as good of a description of issue #5 as any.

Dick Ayers came on with issue #6 and stuck around for a year and a half, and it’s his inking that really rubbed me the wrong way. With his finishes, Kirby’s characters look like the smooth, doe-eyed lovers in romance books. And although The Thing is still more rounded than rocky at this point, Sinnott in issue #5 finished him with some sharp features; by issue #6, Ben is back to looking lumpy.

And I’m sorry, this just doesn’t cut it:

I mean, I can see Kirby beneath it all — mouth agape, spread fingers all but breaking the frame — but something tells me he didn’t intend for those arms and that torso to look quite like that. Echhhh.

In two issues, Jack and Stan take us through time and space and back again. So much happens that it’s hard to know where to start.

There is the awesomely over-done pirate talk:

The continuing super villain foot stool fetish:

And the introduction of the Yancy Street Gang:

But the real reason to celebrate issues #5 and #6 is this man:

Doctor Doom is the greatest of super villains and this drawing sums up why he holds that title. Everything about him is over the top: his name, his costume, his raison d’etre, and his dialogue:

Like all great fictional characters, Mr. Fantastic needed a foil, and Lee and Kirby delivered. And if you’re like me, at this point you think Reed Richards is an a-hole in need of an antagonist, the kind who’s hellbent on out-egoing a man who calls himself Mr. Fantastic.

Doctor Doom’s pursuit of world domination seems ripe for parody, but it’s important to consider the context of this kind of evil genius. Both Lee and Kirby served in World War II (Kirby landed on Omaha beach), and I don’t think it’s far off to compare Victor Von Doom to another egomaniacal European bent on taking over the world.

Fantastic Four #4-6 don’t exactly form a single story arc, but it’s still difficult to talk about one and not the others. Issue #4, as we’ve seen, reintroduced Namor to the comics scene, a move which — along with the creation of a new Human Torch just a few months earlier — anticipated the return of Golden Age characters (Captain America, Red Skull, Ka-Zar, etc.) and homages and reimaginings of old concepts in the forms of new heroes (Angel, The Vision, and Black Widow, to name a few).

Issue #5 continues the stand-alone trend of its four predecessors — there’s no Namor to be seen — but it does just as much as issue #4 in the continuity department by introducing Doctor Doom, a character with a decades-old grudge against Reed Richards. Reed’s short history lesson, told in flashback, doesn’t reveal much about his old college rivalry with Doom, but it’s the most we’ve learned about any of these characters’ backgrounds since the first issue. (For instance, why isn’t young Johnny Storm living at home and attending school like a good young boy? I’ve peeked at Wikipedia and the Marvel Database, so I know the answer, but it hasn’t come up yet within the pages of the book.)

Like everyone else we’ve seen so far, Doom’s afflicted with a mighty power-hunger and a tendency towards overly elaborate schemes. The difference between his approach and the ones prior to this is that Doom has a serious vengeance streak — he’s just as driven to ruin Reed as he is to rule the world. And if he can find a way to tie the two together, all the better. This time, it’s personal.

What unfolds in issue #4 is one of the more unexpected story twists in this young series. In a nutshell, Doom seeks a set of old gems that will make him “Ruler of Earth,” so he coerces Reed, Ben and Johnny to travel back to the 18th century to steal Blackbeard’s chest of booty. What unfolds over the next 10 pages is an old-fashioned pirate story, complete with cannon fire, swashbuckling and shipwrecks. And just as Marty McFly writes “Johnny B. Goode” and Kyle Reese becomes his best friend’s father, Blackbeard turns out to be nothing more than Ben Grimm in disguise!

Needless to say, the team outsmarts Doom and sends him packing by the end.

What makes Fantastic Four #6 so significant is not so much the story in question (although it does involve a couple of novel gimmicks), but the simple fact that, for the first time in this series, a villain returns. And not just a villain — the villain from the previous issue. “Two’s a coincidence…,” goes the saying, but in this case, it’s clear that Lee and Kirby have tapped Doom to be the team’s primary antagonist.

Namor’s back, too, which means he’s officially a major player around these parts. He’s as brash and self-serving as always, teaming with Doom for the sake of convenience at the outset but redeeming himself at story’s end by hurtling Doom’s ship into space. Note that Namor, like Doom, is a little too fixated on one member of the Fantastic Four. His jones for Sue, and her conflicted feelings about him, will come into play again and again down the line.

I always have trouble remembering Namor’s power set, aside from the super-strength, the aquatic abilities, and the Dr. Doolittle communication skills. You know, the Aquaman stuff. Judging from this story, he can fly (which doesn’t quite jibe with the whole water thing), absorb and project electricity (“like an electric eel”) and survive the chilly vacuum of space wearing nothing but his Jockeys and a glass helmet. Surely writers have toned him down a notch in the years since.

Visually, Kirby’s leaving me cold. This is probably because I’ve been spending a lot of time with his work from the mid- to late ’60s and early ’70s, when he was less constrained from the traditional three-row pages and medium- to long-shot compositions. Another problem — one that isn’t Kirby’s fault — is that these issues as they appear in the Omnibus are bold in color, but extremely muddy, as if the inkers’ pens were flowing a little too freely. My scans are faded and dull, but they reveal many thin motion and shading lines that come across as giant blobs of black in my book. How disappointing.

I have more to say on both issues, but Drew’s about to go on vacation and wants to chime in before he leaves, so I’ll pass the baton to him. Take it away, Drew.