Archie loses his edge

Jonathan Kay

National Post

Daniel S. DeCarlo, the Archie comics' principal artist for the last four decades, the man who gave Betty her ponytail and Veronica her upscale wardrobe, has drawn his last panel. Although the 80-year-old is still considered the best Archie artist around, his publisher fired him this year after Mr. DeCarlo filed a lawsuit in a dispute over royalties.

This bad news will affect Canadians more than anyone else. We have the highest concentration of Archie readers anywhere in the world. Of the million comics sold globally every month, 30% are sold in this country. No one is quite sure why. According to Victor Gorelick, Managing Editor for Archie Comics, "Archie's always been very popular up in Canada. Canadians identify with the Archie character for some reason. Maybe it's because the family structure is so strong in Canada. Or maybe it's because of Canadians' respect for authority -- which is a big part of Archie. I don't know."

A less mysterious fact about Archie fans is that two-thirds of them are female. This is by design. When Archie made his first appearance in 1941, he was conceived as a girl-friendly alternative to caped and costumed superheros. "Girls are quite passionate about Archie comics," says Bonny Norton, a University of British Columbia education professor who studies children's reactions toward Archie. "They have a protective attitude toward the characters, especially Betty and Veronica. They're interested in the friendship networks and how kids interact with each other. They're interested in the high school world."

And what kind of world is that? Many people associate Archie comics with innocence. But the Riverdale of the Forties, Fifties and Sixties was in some ways a dark place. Good-hearted Betty constantly lost Archie to the vain and narcissistic Veronica Lodge. "Ronnie," (as Archie called her) prevailed because she was shrewder and knew how to exploit middle-class Archie's weakness for glamour and money. This despite the fact Betty was, herself, a beauty. For genuinely unattractive girls, Archie's world was even crueler. Big Ethel, a minor character included in the plot as a boy-crazy foil for Jughead, was the butt of every joke simply because she was ugly. The rules of life -- as girls learned them from the Archie comics -- were harsh: Money, looks and cunning win. The good female heart is always disappointed.

I specify "female" because these moral rules didn't apply to the boys. Though Reggie was richer, better looking and more athletic, he played second fiddle to "carrot-top." Archie was the alpha male. And yet, where girls were concerned, he was weak and gullible. Riverdale was a very empowering place for females: A woman with allure could make the best of men her slave.

This subtle, comic misandry at the heart of the old Archie stories was essential to their charm. Its absence explains why DeCarlo's 1957 creation, Josie and the Pussycats (The rights to the soon-to-be-released live-action film adaptation of Josie was the source of DeCarlo's discontent) came out so flat by comparison. Josie is a go-getting (if bland) female in the style of Betty and Veronica. But Melody, the Pussycats' drummer, is a brainless sexpot.

Of course, it goes without saying that all members of the Riverdale gang are virgins. Even today, sex is never mentioned in the Archie comics. Still, there has always been sexuality. Countless strips feature Veronica bringing local boys to a libidinous swoon with a revealing dress or bathing suit. And Betty, in her desperate moments, has also been known to show off the goods. (To quote Stephen King, "I couldn't believe that Archie could go on ignoring her in favour of that spoiled little rich girl, Veronica. Betty was a blonde! And that figure!")

Betty and Veronica -- members of the stronger, scheming sex -- dole out lipstick stains solely as a reward, the way dolphin-trainers dispense sardines. In Archie's world, only men have libidos, and they wear them like choke collars.

I should say "boys," not men. For the Archie comics' depiction of generational differences is rooted in the forties, an age in which it was assumed that people abandoned their sexuality soon after marriage. Any man older than a teenager -- Archie's father, Principal Weatherbee, Pop Tate -- is drawn fat and bald (the only exception is the spry Mr. Lodge). Women of a comparable age -- Ms. Grundy, Ms. Beazley, the mothers of Betty, Veronica and Archie -- are wiry spinsters or frumpy housewives. It is the binary world that George Orwell observed in a 1942 essay describing the comic postcards of the era: "The amorous honeymooning couple reappear as the grim-visaged wife and hapless, mustachioed, red-nosed husband, no intermediate stage being allowed for."

This antiquated sexual dichotomy has always been one of the charming virtues of the strip. And it is only by imagining that Archie's adventures are set in the past that the alcohol-free, drug-free, sex-free teenage universe he inhabits becomes even remotely credible.

Unfortunately, Riverdale has become selectively modernized and rendered more politically correct in recent decades. Big Ethel has become more attractive. Big Moose, the erstwhile moron, is now passably bright. A token Hispanic boy-and-girl pair has been added -- to complement the token Black boy-and-girl pair introduced in the seventies.

Moreover, as DeCarlo himself sadly observes, intragroup conflict has been phased out in favour of plots that feature collective action: "Betty and Veronica have sort of melded into one now. Veronica was a very sophisticated rich girl and a snob. That's not true any more. I think the stories used to be funnier. They were a little more slapstick. These days, it's more [politically] correct. And not only political -- socially and everything. They don't want to offend anybody."

Trina Robbins, author of From Girls to Grrrlz: A History of Comics from Teens to Zines (Chronicle, 1999) agrees. "Betty and Veronica are friends now. [Back] then, you could get away with being cruel. In a lot of the comics, there was a cruelty in appearances. Even though they were funny, they would make fun of people with big noses -- or fat girls or whatever. You could get away with it in those days. Archie comics have gotten much nicer."
It is a matter of taste of course, but to me, the change has been for the worse. Pick up a modern Archie comic, and you'll find the comic's dark side has entirely faded from view. The formerly fractious Riverdale gang has been transformed into a bunch of virtually indistinguishable do-gooders preaching trite messages about tolerance and teamwork. If trends continue, we may soon see a gay Jughead, a wicca-practicing Midge and an Alcoholics Anonymous Professor Flutesnoot.

And so, though his many Canadian fans will miss him dearly, DeCarlo has probably picked a good time to leave. Archie comics are still selling well, but the Riverdale he has been drawing for the last 43 years is a much less interesting place. Every fictional world -- even the one depicted in a light-hearted comic book -- needs unsettling undercurrents and familiar villains.