In celebration of the release of Marvel's new edition of Greenberg the Vampire (on sale September 30th)—here's the introduction I wrote for the collection. Enjoy!
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I began my comic book career at DC Comics, working on their anthology books, writing five to eight page mystery stories—well, they called them mysteries, but they were really horror comics, a phrase that became anathema in the witch-hunting 1950’s—about vampires, werewolves, ghosts and assorted Things That Go Bump In The Night. These short stories were a great way to learn the basics of the craft without being thrown into the deep end of monthly, twenty-two page comic book stories.
At one point, my editor, mentor and good friend Len Wein decided to add some ongoing series to two of his books, Weird War Tales (yes, there really was such a thing) and House of Mystery, and he asked me to come up with pitches for each. I already had something in mind for Weird War, an idea I’d developed some months earlier called Creature Commandos (yes, there really was such a thing). Len liked the pitch and we set to work developing the series. For House of Mystery, Len had a title—“I…Vampire”—and tasked me with coming up with a story that would fit it. I had that one on deck, too.
In the years before I broke into comics, I wrote a host of short stories—all of them hurled out into the slush piles of various magazines and subsequently hurled back—and one of them was a unique take on the vampire story: “Savage Wolves” was the tale of a bloodsucker named Oscar Greenberg, a neurotic, reclusive Jewish writer—part Woody Allen, part Stephen King, part J.D. Salinger—who lived in New York’s fabled Dakota building, cursing his fate and dealing with (among other things) his annoying live-in nephew, his gorgeous vampire girlfriend, a very overprotective mother and an animated corpse. As noted, “Savage Wolves” never sold to any magazine (although I do recall at least one very appreciative rejection), but, soon after writing the short story, I took a screenwriting course at The New School in Manhattan and used that as an opportunity to convert the Greenberg story into a movie script (well, the first fifty or so pages of one). One of the things I discovered when I read the script aloud to the class was that it was funny—the dialogue got laughs, the good kind, which surprised me. I knew the characters were experts at the kind of Brooklyn badinage that was part of my world growing up, but hearing the appreciative laughter of my classmates made me, dense person that I am, realize that what I was writing was a horror-comedy: a mix of genuine scares and character-based humor.
So I trotted into Len’s office and told him the Greenberg tale, hoping he’d want to use it as the basis for the new “I…Vampire” series: he didn’t. Len was looking for classic horror, not a modern day version of Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and so I came up with another pitch which, with Len’s guidance, became the “I…Vampire” that still haunts the DC Universe today.
I forgot about Oscar Greenberg for a couple of years until, having made the pilgrimage from DC over to Marvel, I found myself sitting across the desk from Denny O’Neil, legendary writer, editor and one of the smartest humans to ever work in this business. Denny was seeking one-shot stories for a black and white magazine called Bizarre Adventures and, once again, I dusted off the tale of my Jewish vampire, sketched it out for Denny and waited for him to reject it, as Len had. To my delight, he didn’t.
Denny paired me up with the brilliant Steve Leialoha, who brought my script to life with a perfect blend of humanity, horror and whimsy. The story appeared in an issue of B.A. that headlined an adaptation of Stephen King’s “The Lawnmower Man” (since Oscar was partly inspired by King, that seemed fitting) and that, I thought, was that.
Except it wasn’t.
Soon after that issue of Bizarre Adventures saw print, people in the Marvel office started coming up to me to say how much they’d enjoyed “Greenberg”; telling me how funny, how offbeat, how unique it was. I was delighted, but baffled. Why was this story getting a reaction that none of my other Marvel work had? I had no clue then, but, looking back, the answer is obvious:
I’d been at Marvel for over a year by the time the Greenberg story appeared, writing a number of monthly comics, trying desperately to evolve my craft—sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing spectacularly. It’s not that the work was bad—well, some of it was, but I’m gratified to know that my runs on Defenders and Captain America are still held in high regard—it’s that my stories were a sometimes-obvious mixture of all my comic book influences: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby via Steve Gerber, with hearty helpings of Thomas, Wein, Wolfman, Englehart, Moench and other writers whose work had inspired me along the way. I hadn’t yet discovered a way to absorb those influences and filter them through my own distinctive point of view. I hadn’t found my voice as a writer.
With “Greenberg the Vampire,” I found it without even trying. I wasn’t working within the confines (many of them, I later realized, self-imposed) of the Marvel Universe, playing with tried and true superhero tropes in a genre I loved perhaps a little too much. I wasn’t creating a story reminiscent of some Old Classic I’d loved as a kid. I wasn’t trying to be Kirby or Gerber (as if anyone but Kirby or Gerber could!): I was just being myself. Telling a tale that could only have come from me, in a voice that was uniquely mine.
I was so excited about the way the story turned out, and the enthusiastic reception it received around the office, that I went to Jim Shooter—the extremely tall and extremely talented man who’d brought me to Marvel in the first place—to pitch him a Greenberg graphic novel. Jim turned me down—and, really, who could blame him? As a one-off in the back of Bizarre Adventures, “Greenberg the Vampire” was a fun little experiment. A full-length story in Marvel’s high-end graphic novel line? No way.
But a few years later—I can be a very patient man—my Marvel contract was coming to an end and I was negotiating a new deal with Jim. Dick Giordano and Len Wein wanted me to come back to DC and offered me both Justice League and Swamp Thing. My dear friend Karen Berger was very excited about an original idea I had, an eccentric space-fantasy called Moonshadow. Given those parameters, there was no reason for me not to return to DC, except for the fact that I was happy at Marvel—enjoying the folks I was working with, the books I was writing—and didn’t feel a desperate need to leave. Which is why I told Jim I’d be delighted to stay if he’d let me do two projects that would allow me to stretch myself creatively: the aforementioned Moonshadow (which liberated me as a writer in ways I’d never expected, but that’s another introduction for another company) and, yes, the Greenberg the Vampire graphic novel.
Jim, to his eternal credit, said yes to both and I began work on a new Greenberg story with a gifted young artist named Mark Badger. We’d collaborated on a Gargoyle mini-series for Marvel that I remain very proud of and I saw something in Mark’s singular, iconoclastic style that was perfect for my tale of writer’s block, Hollywood seduction and the biblical mother of demons, Lilith: Mark didn’t just meet my expectations, he transcended them. Ann Nocenti—another huge talent and old friend—was our editor and she completely understood what Mark and I were going for, both verbally and visually. Ann supported us, with great enthusiasm, every step of the way.
Jim, to his eternal credit, said yes to both and I began work on a new Greenberg story with a gifted young artist named Mark Badger. We’d collaborated on a Gargoyle mini-series for Marvel that I remain very proud of and I saw something in Mark’s singular, iconoclastic style that was perfect for my tale of writer’s block, Hollywood seduction and the biblical mother of demons, Lilith: Mark didn’t just meet my expectations, he transcended them. Ann Nocenti—another huge talent and old friend—was our editor and she completely understood what Mark and I were going for, both verbally and visually. Ann supported us, with great enthusiasm, every step of the way.
When the Greenberg graphic novel finally came out, it was no sales sensation—but, again, it was a work that a number of my fellow professionals took to heart. The late, great Dwayne MacDuffie told me it was his favorite graphic novel: he called it “Portnoy’s Complaint meets Dracula”—a better description than I could have ever come up with. I heard from Peter David that Stan Lee—my childhood hero and probably yours, too—loved it, as well. And I remember being summoned to a meeting with the Marvel Big Brass, where I was introduced to a wonderful man named Don Kopaloff who was, at the time, Marvel’s agent in the movie business. (He later became my first agent, as well.) The Brass loved Greenberg and wanted to see it developed as a film: you can imagine how quickly I finished the half-written screenplay I’d had lying around for seven or so years.
No, Greenberg never made it to the screen—considering that Marvel has completely conquered Hollywood, never say never, right?—but the two stories contained within this collection remain near and dear to my heart. Without Oscar, Denise, Morrie, Ira and Mama, I wouldn’t be half the writer I am today.
No, Greenberg never made it to the screen—considering that Marvel has completely conquered Hollywood, never say never, right?—but the two stories contained within this collection remain near and dear to my heart. Without Oscar, Denise, Morrie, Ira and Mama, I wouldn’t be half the writer I am today.
All of which is my long-winded way of saying how happy I am to see these twin tales back in print. Hope you enjoy them.
©copyright 2015 J.M. DeMatteis
©copyright 2015 J.M. DeMatteis
