Crawling Back: Amazing Spider-Man Annual #14 Review
A beautifully illustrated annual exchanges great art and a unique tone for some misplaced characterization
—by Nathan on November 2, 2025—
By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, Doctor Strange returns!
The Master of the Mystic Arts has been the subject of a few of my recent reviews, both focused on 90s series titled Secret Defenders, where the Sorcerer Supreme banded together with other defenders of the world…though not really in secret. As one arc featured a team-up between the doc and Spider-Man (plus a few other friends), I wanted to take the opportunity to review another narrative featuring Peter Parker and Stephen Strange.
A while back, I discussed their first-ever team-up, courtesy of Stan Lee and the bombastic, trippy art of one Steve Ditko, in Spidey's second annual. I wouldn't call that story a personal favorite, but it's usually the first one that comes to mind when I think of Spidey's magical misadventures. Dwelling on that issue and wondering of others like it, I recalled this annual, from Dennis O'Neil and Frank Miller. I'd remembered reading it some ago but could not call to mind the particulars. As O'Neil and Miller collaborated on a different annual I reviewed relatively recently, it seemed a fine idea to dive into this narrative from the duo.
I can't say the annual was what I expected or even close to what I remembered, which isn't a critique. Surprises await us at every turn in this issue, and I'm not even talking about Doc Strange's spellcasting. No "Presto chango!" or sudden rabbits from hats await us. But we are treated to the story of a vain little man, the most unexpected villain you'll meet, whose plan hinges on the death of Doctor Strange and fans of…an early 80s punk rock band?
"The Book of the Vishanti"
Writer: Dennis O'Neil
Penciler: Frank Miller
Inker: Tom Palmer
Colorist: Ben Sean
Letterer: Joe Rosen
Issue: Amazing Spider-Man Annual #14
Issue Publication Date: October 1980
I'm sure we, as comic readers, have all had the experience of encountering a comic cover which did not accurately reflect the content within. Maybe it's Spider-Man staring down Sabretooth on the cover of an ASM issue during the "Assassin Nation" plot, a scene which did not happen in the story, for example. Or maybe, as in the case of this narrative, it's the cover telling the audience they're about to witness Spidey and Doctor Strange, together, face down both Doctor Doom and the dread Dormammu.
Which does not happen at all.
But that's probably because "Spidey versus Lucius Dilby" would not have sounded remotely marketable.
To be fair: Doctor Doom and Dormammu do appear in this comic, but they're not the main adversaries, and Doc Strange does team with Spidey, but only in an incredibly technical sense. The caption is otherwise egregiously misleading, as is the spectral form of Doctor Doom looming over our heroes. If you wanted to pick this up for someone who is a fan of Steve Ditko's greatest creations hoping they'll encounter a story where both men clobber one of Jack Kirby's finest fiends, you and the reader would both be in for a major disappointment.
But a deceptive cover isn't really the kind of trick that I was referring to in the intro; at least, it's not the kind of trick reflected within the story. No, the trick I'm talking about is O'Neil and Miller drawing our Web-Head into a story of magic and mysticism starring a pug-faced guy who looks like Doc Ock's cousin and featuring punk rock music from the 80s that somehow reads surprisingly well, as disjointed as it appears on the surface.
There is a matter of tone over characterization I wish to wrestle with, which I will discuss a little later, but in terms of just tone, O'Neil and Miller nicely combine seemingly incongruous moods. Spidey, generally a street-level hero, always feels like he could become woefully out of place in any comic dealing with magic, yet here, the creators slip him into a world torn between the grounded and the arcane. He battles magical monsters, but they're stone gargoyles brought to life. He evades a gaggle of ghoulish goblins with the aid of a truck. He follows a group of hypnotized concert attendees and citizens through Times Square, the glowing lights of advertisements invaded by chanting drones as O'Neil and Miller build towards a crescendo. The tangible world Spidey regularly engages with is set against the bizarre, and O'Neil wisely has our hero use his street smarts to tackle this weird world. He has to fall back on the only tools he knows–his wit, his strength, and his webbing, which he amusingly combines with the surrounding environment to battle gargoyles, goblins, and a magic-powered robot.
These are the "tricks" I referenced earlier, where O'Neil and Miller bring reality into contact with otherworldly elements and emphasize the discordance. Hypnotized concert attenders, initially dancing to actual pop punk band Shrapnel, find themselves whirling around the front lawn of the Latverian embassy while under the thrall of a spell. Doc Strange, seeking help, casts a beam of magic which bounces through New York, winding up at Empire State University. Even our villain, the nebbish Dilby, is a former university student, traipsing around the halls of Doc Doom's Latverian castle, his glasses and speech clashing with the medieval clothing he wears and the stone passageways he encounters. The whole issue is spattered with potential discordant elements, yet they all work in harmony.
A great deal of this compatibility is owed to Frank Miller; not quite yet the household name he'd become working on Daredevil, Miller has nevertheless honed his craft–and, apparently, witchcraft–at this point in his career. He capably develops not only a garish dimension clearly inspired by Steve Ditko, but he blends the natural and supernatural so well that the paranormal never looks out of place. Doctor Strange's study, cluttered with relics, is given a touch of realism as Miller snakes rainwater down its central window; Strange's bouncing distress beam passes by actual New York icons, such as the Flatiron Building, and realistically rendered Marvel locations such as the Baxter Building; and the gargoyle fight involves a collapsing water tower and chunks of masonry which look fantastically real. Miller sketches engaging settings, adding a level of detail which draws the eye to the world(s) surrounding our characters.
I would say the same of our characters if it were more true. As a villain, Lucius Dilby is an inspired choice: he seems intelligent but physically weak, and when drawn into a situation where he is offered magical abilities of his own, he engages in his own agenda rather than the reasons Doom or Dormammu would have him do so. He's drawn almost comedically by Miller, with the bowl cut and glasses, yet the pitiful appearance is only to offset your suspicions of him and lend the guy an element of surprise when he rises to the position of the annual's main antagonist.
But…who is Dilby? This is where I found myself torn. The idea behind him is great, creating a character so pathetic that by time he takes center stage, he's caught folks off-guard. Spidey even refers to him as "the lamest excuse for a bad guy I've ever seen." There's humor in the idea, and again, it's an amusingly deceptive plot by O'Neil and Miller. But we don't learn anything about who he is or even how his agenda comes into play. Between his initial appearance and his role in the plot, there's a whole lot of nothing involving Dilby. He gains a level of arrogance fairly quickly after acquiring his abilities and acts somewhat on his own, diminishing Doom and Dormammu's roles in the narrative. We are allowed some interpretation as to who he is and his motivations, but he changes so quickly into "main villain" mode that much of what could make him a compelling character beyond the amusement of "nerdy guy gets magic and becomes a jerk" is cast into the realm of the dread Dormammu.
As our villain is given short shrift, so are our folks on the light side…somewhat. Spidey's the real star of the whole annual, battling his way through bad guys to save Doc Strange (and the world) from the nerdy jerk with the magic. Everyone else, however, is treated fairly unevenly. Doc Strange is ambushed and trussed up like a pinata, and his manservant Wong is left unconscious. Even Spidey's alter ego is dealt a hard hand, as he absconds from sorta love interest Debra Whitman two different times to slip into the old red-and-blues. He's surprisingly rude to her on both occasions, and though every good Spidey reader worth their salt is aware of Peter's penchant for ditching people, his method of doing so here is just darn frustrating. Perhaps I feel sympathetic towards Debra knowing how other writers wrote her with a lack of decorum, but you almost feel O'Neil knows how often Peter just brushes her off and just unthinkingly leans into the trope.
We've got some oddball characters and characterizations, then, which do dampen the magic of this annual a tad. O'Neil and Miller create a narrative which often feels like style over substance, Miller's penciling the clear winner if we're judging between two different kinds of lines–dialogue vs. artwork. The story's more fun than I would've wagered, especially as O'Neil and Miller hone in on the entertaining concept of bringing the mystic into conflict with the natural order. Spidey fights gargoyles! Hypnotized punk rock fans lumber through Times Square! A geek wears medieval peasant clothing! It's all so weird, but it works. But you're bound to find that O'Neil and Miller don't wield all enchantments well. We've got some frustrating characterization on the part of our villain, an underused female character, and a rude Peter Parker. And that misleading cover! You will not find Spidey and Doctor Strange fighting Doc Doom and Dormammu on the inside…heck, you won't really find them fighting anyone together. If you want action as your reward, you're gonna have to settle for Web-Head vs. Bowl-Head.