Spider-Man: Fever by Brendan McCarthy

On a “I guess I’ll take a chance with this” whim I picked this trade up at BMV in Toronto for seven bucks, and in exchange, I got a psychedelic fever dream of Steve Ditko proportions. Spider-Man: Fever is a three issue limited series that Marvel published in 2010, and was clearly created by Brendan McCarthy as a tribute to the great designs of Ditko (the artist/co-creator of Spider-Man and Dr. Strange, among others). He weaves an oddball tale full of magic, eccentric characters, and mystical dimensions inhabited by demon spiders. There is nothing ordinary, normal, or otherwise about this book. It’s a kaleidoscope of insanity wrapped up in a Marvel wrapper. And I think I love it.

The book starts with Dr. Strange mulling over an ancient portal but quickly switches gears to Spidey relaxing on the side of a pigeon-poop stained building before being attacked by the Vulture. As much as the book is mimicking the Ditko style, it’s here that we see some Stan Lee shining through as well. As the Vulture and Spidey grapple, Spidey says “Gotta knock this crazy old bird off of me. He’s heavier than I thought. We’re swinging wide of the wall!” For some reason, that phrasing ripped me back to memories of the early Spider-Man stories, and from there on in I was hooked, even though this adventure was going to be nothing like I’d ever read before. With the end of the Vulture fight, we are torn away from the standard super hero fare, and quickly McCarthy’s story opens up the bizarre. Spidey is rendered unconscious and a multi-dimensional demon spider captures Spider-Man’s soul and takes it away to his own dimension to be eaten. Dr. Strange is privy to these events and sets off to rescue Spider-Man from this horrible fate. Along the way we meet a number of eccentric characters, including a man who has been turned into a fly, two sad and constantly eating dogs, and an Australian Aboriginal woman with a personality similar to that of Tank Girl’s. There is also a clearly non-canonical explanation of how the radioactive spider that bit Peter Parker came to be. As you can gather, this isn’t a book for those with a zealot-like passion for the traditional Spider-Man.

I’ve already hinted that the art is uniquely captivating -it reflecting a hippie’s acid dreams- however, it requires more discussion than a simple line or two. McCarthy’s art is strangely beautiful. His lines flirt between wispy and bold, and his choice of colours accentuate the mind-bending quality of his inks. He is no traditionalist in his cartooning, yet he draws one of the best Spider-Men I’ve seen, right up there with Ditko and John Romita Sr. You can tell by looking through the book, that he was both influenced by and influential to the progs of 2000 AD; his style is a grandiose mixture of future shock, psychedelic, and fantastical. His comfort with playing around with the Marvel flagship character and having no problems with placing him in gonzo situations speaks to the faith he has in himself as an artist. Clearly, this man knows how to harness his talents. Any apprehension I felt about picking up this trade was clearly unfounded, and I feel a level of guilt in originally thinking this book might barely be worth the measly seven dollars spent.

I, for one, think this might be one of the best Spider-Man comic books I had never heard about. It’s a wondrous mash-up of American comics with British subversiveness. As well, it is a great throwback to the days when American comics could do anything, and a fantastic riff on Ditko’s surreal stylings.