The little Irken that could, or that tried and repeatedly failed, is coming back in the form of a new comic from Oni Press. The Portland based comic book publisher is teaming with Nickelodeon to create the first new Invader Zim stories since the cult-favorite cartoon was canceled in 2003. Fans may breathe a sigh of relief, as not only will they soon see the return of their favorite characters, but also the return of much of the original creative team. Series creator, Jhonen Vasquez, will illustrate and write stories for the new series, joined by Aaron Alexovich, Eric Trueheart, and Rikki Simons (who also provided the voice of Zim’s sporadically loyal robot/dog cosplayer, Gir).
I have fond memories of watching this show when I was in high school. As a fan of Vasquez’s Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and Squee! comics, I was astounded that Nickelodeon let him create a show for their channel. His work was not what anyone would consider “General Audiences” fare. Not only was the show real, but it had only marginally toned down the violence and disdain for humanity that made Vasquez’s comic books so appealing to morose young people like me.
The news of Invader Zim’s return with Vasquez at the helm got me excited, but then I started to think about that time of my life and why I liked Vasquez’s work so much. Now I’m not so sure how I feel.
Before discovering skinny jeans and backyard keg parties, I was a twiggy middle schooler draped in oversized black clothing, and for a time I was harassed by three assholes. It wasn’t so bad that it’s haunted me the rest of my life, but it did suck enough that at the time I considered switching schools. I got shoved around in the halls, had my head slammed into my locker, and one time I was thrown to the ground and kicked in the face. It was unpleasant.
The terrible injustice of it for me was that the inciting incident for all of this was something I wasn’t even a part of. It had something to do with water balloons. I don’t remember exactly. Because I wasn’t there.
My tormentors were straight out of an 80s era John Hughes movie. Johnny was on the football team and even looked like a buff Anthony Michael Hall. In high school he made a complete transformation from aggro-jock to hippie pacifist. He let his bong water blonde hair grow out, twisted it into dreadlocks, and started wearing shirts that read namaste. Travis was tall and strong. He was also on the football team. He had a narrow head topped with crispy black hair, and under a sloping forehead sat two droopy eyes and a wide mouth filled with large teeth. We referred to him as Horseface. He didn’t know this. I don’t know what happened to him. He may have gone to a different high school.
The other guy was different. I can’t remember his name. He was the one who kicked me in the face. A few years later, either in high school or shortly after we graduated, I found out that he died. He was cliff diving while drunk at a local lake and he drowned. Or maybe he broke his neck. When I heard this, I said, “Good, fuck him.”
Thinking about it now, I get a feeling in my stomach like I’ve swallowed sand. It’s one of the most callous things I’ve ever said. Yeah, those guys were jerks, but I can’t imagine now having such a cavalier disregard for somebody’s death. Even someone I disliked. Fifteen years later all I can really remember about him was that he scared me more than the other two. He was a year older and a bit scrawny. Even though he wasn’t as physically imposing, there was something unpredictable about him that made him seem dangerous. Johnny and Travis targeted me because they felt personally affronted. But this kid, whose name I can’t remember, just seemed to generally enjoy havoc. Like he wanted nothing more than to spit in life’s face at every opportunity. That was my impression of him, anyway. I can imagine him on that cliff, booze pushing through his bloodstream like goading hands, coaxing him to jump. Either he felt invincible up there, or he didn’t give a flaming shit that he wasn’t. Or maybe it was just a terrible accident. I have no idea. I really didn’t know him.
I don’t think that Jhonen Vasquez, deep down in his spiked, bootstrapped heart, wishes death on anyone. JTHM was simply an outlet through which he could vent his frustrations about feeling like an outsider. In fact, you could even read it as a comic that, underneath its outrageous pretenses, preaches tolerance. In the first issue, Johnny murders a whole fast restaurant full of people after a woman starts commenting on his appearance. He was just trying to eat his taco in peace. Obviously, mass murder is an extreme response to personal criticism, but it’s a comic book about an homicidal maniac. The message is clearly stated.
It’s not surprising that I found a hero in this character. He speaks for the speechless, a champion for those of us trapped in our throats with our inside voices, afraid to rise up. But there is something crucially different about Johnny. For all his boisterous disdain for the world around him, he isn’t cynical. Vasquez certainly was, to be fair, but not his creation. His unspeakable acts of violence were, for him, his most genuine form of self-expression. At the very least, nobody could ever accuse Johnny the Homicidal Maniac of being insincere.
Of course, he was also completely insane.
The person I was in high school, the person who loved JTHM and Invader Zim, is not the person I am today. I was a callous, cynical asshole back then. That said, I don’t think being callous and cynical are requisite qualitites for enjoying Vasquez’s work, and I am interested to once again see the world through his perspective (or at least Zim's), over a decade later. I’ve certainly changed in that time. How has he?
We’ll find out on July 1st, when Invader Zim #1 hits the shelves.
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