Miracleman, Chapter 9:

The Mentality of Big Ben

We’ve begun discussing chapter nine of Alan Moore’s Miracleman (parts 1, 2, and 3), illustrated by Alan Davis. Today, we continue our exploration of that chapter.

(We’ve also previously introduced Miracleman and discussed chapters onetwothreefourfive, six, seven, and eight, as well as the interlude “The Yesterday Gambit.”)

The second page of chapter nine focuses on Big Ben, whose mentality seems to be a combination of Cold War stereotypes and super-hero clichés. The two blend together so well that it’s hard not to recall that super-heroes flourished during this historical period, often distinguished by a childlike view of the world as one of good and evil, black and white. It’s no coincidence that this fits so well with super-hero tropes, or that the super-hero spoke to readers whose brains had already been softened by jingoistic nationalism.

To Big Ben, Major Molotov is a “super-Commie” and a “Marxist madman.” Why must Major Molotov, like so many political foes, be called a “madman?” This isn’t a medical diagnosis. It’s a slur, to which Big Ben reflexively reverts. And we see on this page how it prevents Big Ben from seeing the truth, or even inquiring into it.

We learn that Sir Dennis Archer has told Big Ben that Miracleman is named “Major Molotov,” thereby explaining the “MM” on the hero’s chest. Major Molotov’s mission, according to Sir Dennis Archer, is to steal “the plans for our new Zarathustra death-ray.”

Big Ben doesn’t seem to realize that this implies his own government is building a death ray, which would seem to suggest that government’s as evil as the Soviets. If it’s fair game for one side to create a death ray, it’s certainly fair game for the other side to try to steal it; both sides can easily rationalize such actions as defending their own population and security. But even this obvious level of moral consideration is too much for Big Ben, who need not see the obvious implications. Indeed, he can’t because his mind is polluted with thoughts of good and evil, in which the government building the death ray is good and the one trying to steal it is evil.

Miracleman stands still and appears more befuddled than threatened by Big Ben. But Big Ben, like conventional super-heroes, refuses to give up. When his punches don’t work, he picks up a boulder and throws it to no more effect.

What exactly is his plan? Because of the captions, we know: he expects to discover this super-villain’s weakness. Big Ben recalls when the villain named Menace “had kidnapped Doc’s beautiful assistant Valerie” and would have killed her if Big Ben hadn’t discovered “that the brute was vulnerable to common tap water.” It’s the perfect example of a vulnerability, stated in a way that emphasizes the irony of a powerful villain defeated so easily. Vulnerability to water recalls the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. Super-hero fans might laugh, but such silly vulnerabilities were once routine parts of super-hero stories. Green Lantern Alan Scott was vulnerable to wood, and the retooled Green Lantern that debuted in the 1960s was vulnerable to the color yellow. Superman’s vulnerability to Kryptonite made no more sense; why would portions of an alien’s destroyed planet hurt him again? (Even this ignoring all the absurd colors of Kryptonite, which could have any effect the writers wanted.)

Big Ben’s mentality might be shockingly stupid, but it illustrates the shocking stupidity of so many super-hero stories, often produced by men who had little understanding of good writing and marketed to children by companies with no concern for art or those children’s welfare. This isn’t to say that those old super-hero stories didn’t have charm or reflect certain psychological insights. But the super-hero genre wasn’t derided solely out of prejudice. They were also often of poor quality. And while the worldview they presented might not have spurred children to a life of crime (as Dr. Fredric Wertham claimed), it did and does promote an arrested and simplistic mentality, in which the good guys win as if by some unspoken law of the universe – perhaps imposed by some benevolent God, rather than brought into existence by the struggle of men lacking any super-power but a willingness to build a finer world.

Big Ben exemplifies this mentality. He need not examine his secret handlers, nor their presumption of righteousness. He need not recognize that he cannot defeat Miracleman through punches. Indeed, Big Ben sees no need to talk with Miracleman at all. Why would he, if he sees Miracleman as a “Marxist madman?” Influenced by his experiences with super-villain after super-villain, the colorful names of which he lists off, Big Ben believes he only has to keep striking, to never give up. He’ll find Major Molotov’s weakness eventually, for he is good and the universe watches over and rewards the good.

It’s easy to laugh at Big Ben. He represents the status quo of the super-hero genre, before stories such as Miracleman infused that genre with a previously unparalleled dose of realism and intelligence. Moore rigs the deck here, presenting Big Ben as little more than a satire. Moore also presents his predecessors in a simplistic manner, which helps accentuate Moore’s own achievement. Elsewhere, Moore and even Miracleman would acknowledge the charm and wonder inherent in the best of these old super-hero stories, even if they did rely on illogical clichés – and even those can be written poetically, in the hands of a good writer, and thus redeemed. But it’s common for vital, new works of art to position themselves strongly against their predecessors, and in reaching beyond those predecessors to simplify or even to misunderstand them.

But there’s another reason why we might not want to laugh too hard at Big Ben. Miracleman might be shockingly different from the silly super-hero stories Big Ben embodies. But it’s still a super-hero story. And we’re inclined to read its protagonist as a hero, despite his morally questionable deeds. If we read Big Ben as the bad guy with a warped worldview, we’re actually mimicking the dichotomous thinking of Big Ben himself.

Among all of Big Ben’s absurd captions about how Miracleman is an evil Bolshevik is a line about how he had “so brutally dispatched a score of our finest tommies.” It’s a jingoistic phrase, echoing those used during the Falklands War to cynically prop up Thatcher’s government through patriotic invocations. But beneath it is the truth that Miracleman has dispassionately slaughtered soldiers he need not have. We tend not to notice this because, while those soldiers are largely faceless, Miracleman is the protagonist, and we identify with him. We internalize his goals as our goals, and the human beings whose bodies oppose him are mere obstacles to be dispatched.

Big Ben may be a joke. And the insight into his mentality, on this page, may be a satire of the super-hero genre, at least before revisionism. But Miracleman (and Miracleman) isn’t free from the underlying dynamics, in which stories (whether of super-heroes or national superpowers) are defined in terms of good guys and bad guys. If Big Ben inoculates us against the problematic aspects of the super-hero genre, he also inoculates us against seeing Miracleman himself as any sort of unproblematic hero.

The world isn’t black and white, even if the original Warrior stories were. And if we replace one object of hero-worship for another, we haven’t escaped the underlying problem at all. We may even consider Miracleman as a whole to be a meditation on this dynamic. The text is a moral structure that the reader must negotiate, intellectually, in order to go beyond Moore’s generic innovations into a new mentality.

Whatever else Big Ben may be, he’s not altogether other from ourselves. And it’s in this overlap, at times present on the page and at times only implicit, that we might move from laughter into the difficult work of interrogating our own thoughts and patterns.

To be continued.

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In 1996, while still an undergraduate, Dr. Julian Darius founded what would become Sequart Organization. After graduating magna cum laude from Lawrence University (Appleton, Wisconsin), he obtained his M.A. in English, authoring a thesis on John Milton and utopianism. In 2002, he moved to Waikiki, teaching college while obtaining an M.A. in French (high honors) and a Ph.D. in English. In 2011, he founded Martian Lit, which publishes creative work, including his comic book Martian Comics. He currently lives in Illinois.

See more, including free online content, on .

Also by Julian Darius:

This Lightning, This Madness: Understanding Alan Moore\'s Miracleman, Book One


Judging Dredd: Examining the World of Judge Dredd


Somewhere Beyond the Heavens: Exploring Battlestar Galactica


The Cyberpunk Nexus: Exploring the Blade Runner Universe



A Long Time Ago: Exploring the Star Wars Cinematic Universe


Classics on Infinite Earths: The Justice League and DC Crossover Canon


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New Life and New Civilizations: Exploring Star Trek Comics



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When Manga Came to America: Super-Hero Revisionism in Mai, the Psychic Girl


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Warren Ellis: The Captured Ghosts Interviews


Voyage in Noise: Warren Ellis and the Demise of Western Civilization


Shot in the Face: A Savage Journey to the Heart of Transmetropolitan


The Weirdest Sci-Fi Comic Ever Made: Understanding Jack Kirby\'s 2001: A Space Odyssey


The Devil is in the Details: Examining Matt Murdock and Daredevil


Everything and a Mini-Series for the Kitchen Sink: Understanding Infinite Crisis


Revisionism, Radical Experimentation, and Dystopia in Keith Giffen\'s Legion of Super-Heroes


And the Universe so Big: Understanding Batman: The Killing Joke


a feature-length documentary film on celebrated comics writer Warren Ellis

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Keeping the World Strange: A Planetary Guide


Minutes to Midnight: Twelve Essays on Watchmen


a documentary on the life and work of celebrated comics writer Grant Morrison

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Teenagers from the Future: Essays on the Legion of Super-Heroes


Improving the Foundations: Batman Begins from Comics to Screen


Not pictured:


  1. There’s a famous Spider-Man story called “Nothing Can Stop the Juggernaut!” where Spider-Man tries to prevent (notice a didn’t say “stop”) the Juggernaut from kidnapping his psychic ally, Madam Webb. Everything Spidey tries fails and when Juggernaut reaches his target, he realizes the kidnapping is useless to him after all, and leaves. Spidey goes after him in an effort to apprehend Juggernaut for endangering Madam Web’s life. Juggernaut, who clearly outmatches Spider-Man, sees his web-spinning foe as more nuisance than anything else, easily beating Spider-man senseless.

    Except Spider-Man refuses to give up. Everything he has tried up to this point has failed, but he keeps trying. Eventually, at his wit’s end and straining to remain conscious, Spider-Man tricks Juggernaut into walking onto a construction site, where he sinks like quicksand into a pool of liquid concrete. Juggernaut is subdued (at least until another writer wants to use him for a future story) and Spidey comes out on top, proving that impossible odds can be overcome with impossible determination.

    You may have already read it. It’s been reprinted a number of times and is considered a classic among Spider-fans. That story was originally published through June and July of 1982, roughly the same time as the Warrior Summer Special which featured “The Yesterday Gambit”.

    I can’t help but wonder if Moore was aware of this story and drawing inspiration from it for his characterization of the Miracleman/Big Ben fight here. Realistically, if Spider-Man was real, the Juggernaut was real, and the two got into a fight, Juggernaut would squash Spider-Man like a bug and move on. But because Spidey is the hero of the story; he has to win somehow, no matter the astronomical odds against him. Big Ben shows a Spider-Man sized level of determination, and Miracleman still swats him like the annoying fly that he is. It’s a way for Moore to again set Miracleman and his adventures in as real-world a context as possible.

    None of this means I’m ragging on “Nothing Can Stop the Juggernaut!”, far from it. The story was a highlight of Roger Stern’s 1980′s run on Amazing Spider-Man, which I think is one of Spider-Man’s best, right up there with the original Lee/Ditko version. I don’t think Alan Moore is ragging on this story either, if indeed he was even aware of it or drew inspiration from it. Perhaps Moore and Stern were drawing from the same well at a remarkably similar time. Still, I notice the similarity of story premise here and can’t help but wonder…

  2. Horaz SC says:

    “The Man with no time for crime!”
    I read this chapter exactly as you’re describing it
    (with the first BB drawing even striking a sort-of Kirby pose),
    and randomly remembering (or speaking it up) this catchphrase
    just makes me laugh a lot and takes off a lot of the pressure and
    tension of a continual Miracleman reading.

    No, really, just when you think the story goes dark as hell, think about Ben!
    Even in the crudeness of the final chapter, I was repeating this and laughing like an idiot.
    Which only adds to the layers and layers of awesomeness on this cursed work.

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