A Universe of Universes Part Three

Over the past couple of weeks, we’ve looked at two approaches to shared universes in comics: one in which the concept of a shared universe is developed and revealed bit by bit, and the other in which the publisher announces from day one that their titles live in the same continuity.

But there’s a third model I want to look at today. In this approach, none of a publisher’s titles are related, and their characters don’t cross over with others.

In this scenario, publishers tend to lean on high-concept miniseries with notable creative teams. From conversations I’ve had, at least some of them want to recreate the excitement DC’s Vertigo line generated in the 1990s. That sounds good in theory, but there are a few facts we need to remember…

For starters, Vertigo was firmly rooted in existing DC Comics continuity, at least in the early years. The initial lineup of Vertigo titles in 1993 included Doom Patrol, Animal Man, and Shade the Changing Man, all updates of existing DC series; Swamp Thing, which included appearances by the Justice League, the Demon, and others; Hellblazer, a Swamp Thing spinoff; and the Sandman, a new take on an existing DC character name that tipped its hat to its predecessors. Vertigo would continue adapting and updating existing DC properties for years to come.

That’s not to say Vertigo didn’t offer stand-alone titles with no connection to previous series. But for every Preacher, which ran for 66 issues plus various one-shots and even a miniseries, there were many series that petered out after about 20 issues. And Vertigo also published numerous projects that were either one-shots or miniseries, most of which would go on to be mostly forgotten. I could make a list, but I’m sure for every title I included someone would push back to say “But I loved that one!” (Looking at a list of Vertigo titles, even I find myself thinking, “Well, no one remembers that one, but I loved it.”)

So, what do publishers mean when they say they want to recapture that Vertigo magic? To me it means:

(a) letting teams create thought-provoking projects that could never fit into a superhero universe

(b) allowing the teams to avoid dealing with continuity

(c) hoping these projects would stand out, garner attention, and become hits, and, ultimately

(d) hoping these projects lead to media development that would enrich everyone.

Sounds great, right? Could there possibly be a downside to this approach? Of course there could!

Let’s start where comics like these live: At comics shops. A retailer looks at the latest solicitation catalog and finds that All-Potato Comics is soliciting a new six-issue miniseries called Hellpotato. Our retailer has heard of the writer but not the artist. He reads the description and thinks, “Let’s see if anyone’s interested in this.”

Some time goes by. The publisher reaches out in various ways; there are a few publicity hits, some preview pages, and a full PDF for our retailer to look at before setting orders. Maybe the publisher offers an ordering incentive, like returnability. For the sake of argument, let’s say the shop’s customers are showing interest and requesting copies of the debut issue. The retailer locks his orders, receives his copies a few weeks later, and issue #1 sells well enough on release. He keeps his orders pretty high on issue #2. By issue #3 interest is waning a bit, but the series is still performing adequately. Orders keep slowly dwindling through issue #6, followed by the inevitable collected edition, and it’s all over. Not too bad for all concerned.

Meanwhile, the writer and artist have moved on to other projects with other publishers. All-Potato Comics has solicited their own new miniseries by different creative teams, each with its own high concept, each with its own marketing plans. Once again, the retailer has to figure out what each series is, see what interest there is, cross his fingers and order those debut issues.

As time goes on, those series arrive in stores. A few perform as well as or even better than Hellpotato. Many perform worse.

Of course, the more pull a publisher has, the better the creators they can attract. And a high-concept, easy-to-understand story helps build interest. But at the end of the day, though, ask yourself this – Which is easier to sell: A new, high-concept series that isn’t tied to anything else, or a new Batman or Spider-Man spinoff?

That’s not to say there’s no value to stand-alone miniseries. But building an entire publishing plan around projects of this sort can take you only so far.

I like to imagine a day when a publisher that’s focussed on stand-alone series might introduce a character – a compelling one, I’d hope – that could appear in their various miniseries as a sort of catalyst adventurer. A character that fans would meet and want to see more of. Maybe he’s trapped between worlds, maybe he’s the hero of one miniseries and the villain of another. It’s a concept that someone else would have to believe in and develop. I’d love to see someone try it, anyway.

Okay, enough about shared universes. I’ll be back after the holidays with the Master of Suspense. Meanwhile, thank you all for reading this newsletter, and I look forward to more next year!