The Rich Are Very Different: The Green Team #1 Review

The Green Team is one of those comic book superhero teams that is destined to become part of comic book history. By which I mean, in about 20 years, some hotshot, big idea comics writer like Neil Gaiman was in the 90s will ressurrect them and try to treat them seriously as an archetype of a particular type of comic, written by middle-aged adults about adolescents, trying to capture the zeitgeist of a particular period of history. And that purely theoretical comic book writer of 2028 or 2033 will be heralded as a genius for finding a way to take The Green Team seriously, the way that Gaiman was when he wrote Prez into Sandman #54 20 years ago.

But that will happen in 15 or 20 years. Today, The Green Team feels very much the way Prez did back in 1973 (before my time, but I remember the series getting some play in DC Comics house reprint ads in the mid, late 70s, maybe as a giant sized gallery reprint, and even at that age I thought the idea was ridiculous): an effort by someone too old to be part of youth culture, trying like mad to grab bits and pieces that they either do understand or that they’ve read about, to make a book to appeal to them… and ultimately feeling like its trying too hard and mising the mark.

And maybe that’s my problem; after all, I am old enough to remember Prez, which means that my only relationship to youth culture is related to the things I would do to Lindsey Lohan if I had a double-strength condom and an iron-clad fake name to give her. But the trials and travails of a bunch of rich kids with Twitter trying to prove themselves to daddies who want them to grow up to become bougouisie douchbags like themselves (mission accomplished!) somehow doesn’t land home with me.

Plus: we’ve already got an Iron Man, guys.

We open by meeting Mohammed Qahtanii (marking the first and last time I will try and remember how to spell that name), a young, rich Middle Eastern prince struggling under the yoke of his father’s expectations to continue in the family business. Mo, however, is committed to seeking out Commodore Murphy, a rich kid known as “64” after the number of trillions of dollars he stands to inherit on his 21st birthday (you know, like all normal folks!). 64 is Internet famous for running pop-up experimental tech expos in shithole warehouses, which he then publicizes on Twitter – think TED Talks with DC Comics technology, and irritating people you wouldn’t want to hang out with in real life (kinda like TED Talks). We also meet 64’s buddies: actress Cecilia Sunbeam (Lindsey Lohan, only with continuing career opportunities), and oil millionare heirs J. P. and T. T. Houston. As a group, they’re buying up experimental technology to further 64’s apparent urge to become a superhero. As an individual, Mo is Tweeting about the Expo, including his GPS position, which causes some supervillains to show up and start some shit, which in turn causes 64 to play his hand and show what he’s really been working on.

Okay, first of all: rich kids? Seriously? Is there anyone alive who gives a tin shit about the trials and travails of ridiculously rich kids with daddy issues? I mean, sure, people like my mom read Us Magazine to learn about them, but that’s purely in a rubbernecking, look-at-how-apeshit-crazy-Amanda-Bynes is kinda way. Rich young wastrel trust fund douchebags have been the butt of popular cultural jokes for at least the past fifteen years – The Simple Life didn’t get a bunch of seasons on Fox because people were interested in Paris Hilton’s philanthropical ambitions – so writers Art Baltazar and Franco are starting themselves out in a hole to think we’d care about them on any level above schadenfreude or mockery.

And while one can make the argument that the idea of a rich guy who decides to be a superhero is no different than Tony Stark, the difference is that Stark had an initial motivation, even in his earliest issues: he was a weapons manufacturer who saw what his weapons were doing, and that revelation was what started him on his more altruistic path. Here? We’ve got rich kids who’ve decided they have enough money, and want to do something else that make more. Which is fine, but it’s not exactly a relatable motivation. The character we spend the most time with is Mohammed, and we learn that he is motivated to do something more than just increase stockholder value… but who gives a fuck? You don’t wanna be a multi-millionaire industrialist beholden to your father to constantly seeking that buck? Tell him to fuck off! Renounce your throne, turn your back on the money and get a Starbucks barista gig while you start your mumblecore band (note to self: is “mumblecore band” a thing?)! But don’t expect me to give a fuck about your existential malaise from the back of your limo, guy.

And that, ultimately, is a long way to go to describe that the problem with this book are its protagonists. It’s early yet, but I can think of no reason for me to root for these characters. With no personal tragedies or motivations for these people beyond, “I’m rich, so I wanna be a superhero,” I can’t think of a single reason why I should give a damn. Because so far, the mission comes from the money, whereas in Iron Man, the mission requires the money. The difference is subtle, but it matters: if Tony Stark were given actual superpowers tomorrow, I believe he would be willing to give up the money because he would have what he needs. These kids? Well, they want to save the world and be able to jet to France for lunch. It is the difference between heroes and thrill-seekers… and it is also the difference between someone I want to read about, and someone I don’t.

Plus: Commodore uses all that money… to make an Iron Man-style suit of armor? Really? That’s all we can get out of a rich guy in a universe where touching the right meteorite can actually give you superpowers: an Iron Man knockoff? Including a riff on the scene from the first Iron Man movie where Stark can’t control his thrusters? I hung in for 20 pages to wind up with Iron Man and His Amazing Asshole Buddies? Making the reveal that this book is about a rich guy in a suit of armor just killed the entire thing for me, man.

Ig Guara’s art is a high point of the issue, even though he spends most of it drawing regular people and technology that’s meant to look one month ahead of current street-level tech. His bodies and backgrounds are realistic, and his faces are expressive, if sometimes on the exaggerated side – there’s a panel where Sunbeam is being reminded of her well-known car accidents where she looks less disturbed and more like she is suffering a moderate to severe brain embolism. But what really sticks out is his design of supervillain Riot, who looks genuinely horrifying, like a combination of Joker and Starman antagonist Ragdoll. That character and his minions are striking and memorable… and it’s a shame they’re showing up in this book.

I have no doubt that Baltazar and Franco have good intentions with this book; hell, in a world where the median age of comics readers is something over 35, it’s probably good to make something meant to appeal to younger viewers. But this book feels like it’s throwing everything that the writers have read about on the news that kids do at the wall – they use Twitter and Instagram! They’re interested in new, green technologies! They hang out in shithole warehouse flash parties! – and it does it using characters who are riffs on the worst people in the world. And again: my opinion might be skewed by my middle class, middle-aged background and years of watching empty-headed trust fund douchebags on The Soup every weekend. But if a guy with 64 trillion dollars wants to save the world, he can do it by buying Africa and dropping a Wal-Mart with no cash registers on every corner. And unless I hear that something other than having the money to become a superhero is motivating these kids to be superheroes, I won’t be checking back in with them.

At least not until 2033, when Neil Gaiman Jr. uses them in whatever comic appears in whatever imprint replaces Vertigo.