In 1984, when Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird put out the first issue of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, they had no idea that their quirky little parody would end up becoming a phenomenon. But the four turtle brothers and their rat sensei Splinter would quickly rise to the forefront of popular culture, with a franchise that spawned immensely famous children’s television programming and feature films only a few short years after their debut.
However, Eastman and Laird did more than just give rise to a multimedia franchise: in their early work under Mirage Publishing, their self-made brand served as a fitting harbinger of what would come to characterize the entire entertainment industry over the next few decades. Often brutal, but always belying a certain self-aware humor, the early black-and-white TMNT is now a testament to the underlying cultural twist towards the surreal superhero sardonicism the genre is known for now, more than three-and-a-half decades early.
While many would be introduced to the radical mutant foursome through the 1987 cartoon, with its colorful, over-the-top goofiness that spawned toys, videogames and eventually a second film franchise, the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was a gritty, violent and often bizarre ride which began on a shoe-string budget and a dream. The background to Eastman and Laird’s initial creation came in response to the seminal run on Daredevil by Frank Miller, which was known for its visceral, dejected brutality and disturbing subject matter. Perhaps a jibe at Miller’s sometimes joyless seriousness, TMNT began as an over-the-top love letter and also deconstruction of this then-new grittiness Miller was promoting, and the trend it was spreading throughout the comic industry during the ‘80s.
Eastman and Laird ratcheted up the violence to 11, but made their protagonists barely credible, humanoid turtles who hung around with a junk store owner named April O’Neil. Full of dirty jokes, ninja clans, conspiracy theories and exciting action sequences, the series also displayed what a little imagination can achieve if left free rein. Being an indie comic, the two were not bound by the rules of the major publishing houses, and the meteoric fame they achieved was a breath of fresh air to the industry at the time.
Because, with all the detail and character the pair dreamed up in those early days, what the two did not do was take themselves too seriously. While the group is portrayed as focused, honor-bound and warriors through-and-through, they also get beamed across space to partake in an alien gladiator match against dinosaur people, investigate corporate sabotage against a madman using rodent-killing robots and fight through waves of genetically-engineered worm-based ninjas. The world they build is simply one action set-piece after another, a kaleidoscope of wonder and mayhem rolled out with a wink and a smile.
Perhaps the best of the early issues were their “One-Shot Microseries” where each of the reptilian heroes is given their own moment to shine. Smaller stories like Michelangelo adopting a stray cat and taking him to a toy store, or Donatello fighting fantasy monsters with none other than Jack “King” Kirby, no doubt a powerful influence on the creators, really give the two a chance to tell the kind of down-to-earth stories they wanted to about daydream-doodled, down-to-earth heroes who happen to live in a sewer and get in fantastical adventures (and no, they don’t eat pizza).
Even amidst their growing franchise, the tone remained firmly tongue-in-cheek, even during their darkest storylines. Following their defeat by Shredder and subsequent stand-alone Issue #11, where the team goes into hiding at ally Casey Jones’s farmhouse, the title was forced to take on guest creators in an effort to keep up with release demands as Eastman and Laird spent time managing their booming franchise. This would end up developing into more serious takes on the characters, such as Mike Zulli’s controversial (and highly violent and realistic) “Soul’s Winter” storyline, which included one of the turtles having his hand sliced off, but even so, there’s always a fringe of levity behind even the most brutal of interpretations.
Because, unlike the industry heavyweights, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles didn’t have to be these great symbols of tenacity, fortitude and intrepid morality. What granted the boys the charm they had, that allowed them to reach so many so quickly, was that they were not perfect: they were simply four genetically mutated teenaged monster-men who couldn’t help but get caught up in the adventures of the world around them.
Many point to Miller and Alan Moore as having been the chief architects of the artistic ethic behind the superhero craze as it developed throughout the 2000s, and, while those two certainly did set the trends and tools for more mature story-telling across the medium within their storytelling, their style verges heavily into what we would term as “satire”, which presupposes a certain postmodern deconstruction of previously overused or emblematic tropes found in the genre itself. Satire doesn’t have to be funny, and in the cases of Moore and Miller it often wasn’t (unless you have a very dark sense of humor), which is often way you’ll find iconic characters undergoing existential crises within the page of their comics.
Not so for Eastman and Laird. If anything, their initial run on the little title that could is a reconstruction of the superhero genre itself: it takes those grim and gritty elements and puts them on full display, even putting in a few sex jokes along the way for a medium known to appeal to children, but nothing can shake the overall innocence, the fun that the two are having, even in the darkest moments of their writing.
A great example of this is the early One-Shot for the leader of the turtles, Leonardo, as he is forced into a gauntlet of foot clan ninjas on a snowy night in New York City. On the panels below, the rest of the brothers and April prepare dinner in her apartment, and chat about Christmas. On the panels above, Leo is fighting his way through a desperate battle, suffering grievous wounds, his swords breaking from the savagery of the onslaught. And both of these sentiments are true to the title. It’s a parody, but it’s a parody with a little heart that shines through no matter what.
It’s this kind of down-to-earth wistful wonder amidst the turmoil of impossible adversity that would end up characterizing not only the top runs of the ‘90s and early ‘00s, such as X-Men’s “Age of Apocalypse” crossover or Batman’s “Hush,” but also oddball dark horse epics like Guardians of the Galaxy of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. There’s perhaps even an homage during The Avengers: Age of Ultron, when the team retreats to a farmhouse much like the Turtles do after their defeat by Shredder, both featuring rowdy, bickering but ultimately loving families.
This formula of four teenaged, mutant brothers, who also happen to be Ninja Turtles may seem like a simple, and somewhat silly solution, but there’s a reason why it has remained a popular franchise, and it’s because of the way the concept itself manages to walk the line between overly serious grittiness and cartoonish, surreal ridiculousness from a core level of the idea itself. And, like it or not, Eastman and Laird’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles served as a perfect template for what would come to be the spirit of our times.