Political Commentary

My two-year-old niece played pleasantly, happily with her toys in front of the television while waiting for her parents to take her to school.

On the television, the Today show presented a panel discussing the Larry Craig situation. A clip of Craig would run, then the panel would discuss. Another clip of Craig would play, followed by more discussion. And so on.

Every time Craig’s clip ran, my niece would frown up at the screen, pigtails shaking, and shout, “Be quiet!”

She returned to playtime during the moderator's discussion, but when Craig came up again, she repeated her request: “Be quiet!”

"Be quiet!"

"Be quiet!"

And then went back to her toys.

A friend to all children...

Though she was a friend to all children, she carried nothing but claws for all but two adults. She liked to steal corn chips and sips of cranberry juice. She was 23 years old. Now she is gone. Rest in Peace, Bernice…

Happy Birthday Captain America, Newsboy Legion, The Boy Commandos, Fighting American, Boys Ranch, Fantastic Four, The Hulk, The X-Men, Etc. Etc.

It must have been early 1966 when I first encountered the work of comic book creator Jack Kirby, who would have turned 90 today. I did not then get to read a story he drew – I merely glimpsed the work in question, in passing, from a few respectful feet away, held by boys a year or two older than I was. The gang huddled together, backed up against the lockers waiting to enter the classroom, and they turned each page slowly only when each member was ready to find out what happened next. They chuckled in pleasure, in anticipation, to themselves, one of them exclaiming “Oh, yeah!” as another page turned.

It was several years before I actually read the story myself. I had no desire at first sight to find out what was hidden beneath that horrifying ugly cover of a devil-horned giant, with a bald, naked silver guy (on what might have been a surfboard) chasing three normal looking blue-suited humans and one orange rock man.

It was probably disturbing to me as well that the rock man had no shoes. Batman was on TV that night though, and I had questions about the show to ask of classmates my own age. The cover left my sight, but I did not realize then it was still in my mind.

Later months and years went by: my hipper younger-brother occasionally purchased some other comics by that “Marvel” company. I immediately recognized the characters as the ones I had glimpsed before. Kirby’s artwork was not to my taste but like all comics then we read them indiscriminately out of some sort of unspoken childhood obligation.

The artwork on the insides was as disturbing as the covers, but without looking them up again, I can still remember my first sight of the character called the Black Panther – like a living black shadow, ready to pounce upon the creations of another guy called Psycho-Man.

Then there were the Inhumans: Gorgon with the hoofed feet, Karnak with the sensitive hands and big head, Medusa with the living red hair, and their giant dog Lockjaw with the perpetually pouting lower lip.

There was also a story of the bald, naked silver guy on the surfboard fighting a really ugly robot. I remember the end of the story where the robot -- called, of course, Quasimodo – defeated by the Surfer’s “Power Cosmic” showed his loss with a face in anguish greater than I had ever seen before.

These were not the homey, safe DC Comics of Batman, Superman and the Flash. These were the powerful forms of the Marvel Comics Group, and their stories seemed to me always drawn by Kirby. His story telling between the covers thumped my head the hardest. Perhaps my disturbance came from a combination of the power of Kirby’s story telling, along with how gritty and urban they appeared alongside the seemingly more sedate and conservative DC Comics.

Artists of the time tell how Kirby created a style of story telling barely constrained by the limits of the page. What Scott McCloud called "The Invisible Art" of Comics, was how the best comics drew the reader's eye from panel to panel, from page to page. Kirby drew instinctively this way and reading his work, following the frames of what his mind said was the best way to tell this story, can become addicting. My mind became educated to the unfamiliar style and I began to keep my eyes out for more.

I later found that Kirby had been creating comics since the beginning of the industry, most notably his first hit: co-creating Captain America with partner Joe Simon. The two moved from company to company in those days, coming up with more ideas and characters, creating the first romance comic, as well as turning out significant work in westerns, science fiction, combat and supernatural stories; and of course, more super heroes. After twenty years experience under his pencil, Kirby teamed with Stan Lee to birth “The Marvel Age of Comics” where the Fantastic Four, the Hulk, the X-Men, Thor and Spider-man all began. Though Lee was the glib front man, putting words to the pictures, a whole lot of the more-significant ideas, according to subsequent research and interviews, most attribute now to Kirby.

Eventually Kirby wanted more money, more credit from the company he’d led to greener pastures, so his children would not have to worry about insurance or college. Unable to come to an agreeable contract with Marvel he moved to DC Comics and came up with the so-called Fourth World series of books: “New Gods,” “The Forever People,” and “Mister Miracle - Super Escape Artist.”

Words and pictures both by Kirby, they were his most-personal effort to-date. The “New Gods” stories somberly carried a serious weight of the past, with super-beings of two opposite worlds caught in an eternal planet-shattering battle, while “The Forever People” showed the cost of that war on the young but, dressed-up in the fashion of the late 60s youth movement, it also told the tale of hope for the future. “Mr. Miracle” was about another cost of war – individuality – and to me it represented Kirby himself the most. He had escaped the slums of New York by natural talent and tenacity, fought in Europe against the Axis tyranny, slipped through the knots of mediocrity tied tight by corporate interests. As long as he kept his ideas flowing by the power of the mind he could always survive.

Of course, the Fourth World did not last long. Kirby never gave us the big finish he’d had in mind, and no one can tell where the characters could have gone because no one is Kirby.

The later years of his life, while not as productive – his work no longer seen as hip or cool he did not get the jobs from the major publishers – found him in a controversial bid for creator’s rights, as he used the legal system in an attempt to get his original artwork back from Marvel.

While younger artists without half his creativity got big deals and solid contracts, Kirby went without. He never saw his creations become multi-million dollar motion pictures, or his works become hard-bound collector’s editions.

For those of you not impressed by the comic book, you can also view Kirby’s influence outside the four-color printed page:

You could crawl out from under a rock and check Star Wars (Lucas has admitted being “influenced” by Kirby’s “New Gods” series as much as by Kurosawa’s “Hidden Fortress”). Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” based in large part on his research into the life of Kirby.

Kirby worked harder than most. When I was first getting into comics, it seemed at least two or three books a month on the stands carried his stories. Right now, it seems that DC, Marvel, and newer publishers like Image Comics have more Kirby in reprint form the first few months of this year than any time while he was alive. You can find these in your local comic book shop. If you ask for a Kirby comic in a shop and they do not know who Kirby is, then you should find another shop.

In order of importance, I would recommend “The Fourth World Omnibus” and “Fantastic Four” – after that, you could try others like Kamandi, The Eternals, and Captain America. If you become extremely fanatical after that, you might even enjoy the more-quirky Devil Dinosaur.

The New York Times ran a great piece on Kirby over the weekend, and Kirby’s friend and historian Mark Evanier (his great blog you’ll also find linked to the right) will finally get his long-awaited Kirby biography on the bookshelves this October.

There is also a virtual visit and more information in store at the Kirby Museum and a very good Kirby documentary included on the ‘deluxe’ edition of the first Fantastic Four movie.

Happy Birthday, Jack Kirby! As a schoolmate of mine said a long time ago: “Oh, yeah!”

Shine On

The first in an irregular series remembering 20th century cultural icons...

Laurel and Hardy were probably not popular entertainment’s first Odd Couple, but due to their large volume of quality comedic work in film, they were among the most influential. One of the better pieces about them on the Internet is Mark Evanier’s article here.

When first encountering their screen antics I preferred the mild-mannered put-upon Stanley – the skinny Bow to the ever-exasperated know-it-all roundness of Ollie the Fiddle – but over the years, as I get older, I see more the perfection of their pairing. They’re like the Baby New Year and the Old Year Past figures seen every December 31: Stanley is the baby with Innocence we wish we still had, while Ollie is the adult of Experience who thinks he’s seen it all. His pride is ours, and we know he will at some point fall – in a “prat”, of course.

Woody Allen’s “Reasons to Live” from “Manhattan” could well have included the following clip. It’s from the marvelous The Flying Deuces, which you should rent or own, and though the two minutes offered here does not display their usual comedy shtick, it makes the case for our keeping the pair forever in mind.

All you need to know: The dead-head duo decides to quit the Foreign Legion, making a leisurely exit from the fort. Unaware they are about to be put away for desertion they take the time to dawdle when a familiar tune wings into their ears.

One of the most charming moments ever put to film and, at the very least, it’s a “Reason to Smile”…

A Line Is Drawn

Clowns have been fooling around reportedly since the days of the Pharaohs. Evolving from the familiar court jesters to the more defined characters of the Commedia Del Arte and the sad-faced fools of the circus, their most consistent reason for being is to make us laugh by looking at ourselves.

Brothers Max and Dave Fleischer were probably not laughing much at themselves in the first decade of the 1900s, nor were they pondering the history of comedy and laughter. Their mental efforts were focused on an idea of rotoscoping for the movies – filming a live-actor then tracing over the figure in the film-cells to give an effect of a literal moving picture. Needing something interesting to trace, as well as something that would not cost a lot of money (given their probable respective income at the time, as noted here) they remembered a clown suit Dave owned and decided to see how that would work with their invention. The result was one of animation’s first real stars: Koko the Clown.

A good number of Koko’s early cartoons, along with some entertaining documentaries on the history of the Fleischer Studios and animation are available in the recently released Popeye the Sailor DVD collection.

Koko’s character is most-like the “First Zany” clown of the Commedia Del Arte School – a clever rascal who often attempts to go against his master’s wishes. The “master” in Koko’s case is Max Fleischer. On film and in real life Max Fleischer is God in his studio, forcing Koko (played on film for later rotoscoping by Brother Dave) into sometimes-cruel and more-times petty situations. And while Max may come up with an initial story, Dave as Koko supplies the beats that make the several minutes of life so energetically entertaining.

In “The Tantalizing Fly” from 1919, possibly their first Koko cartoon, Max "draws" Koko on a large blank page, despite the constant interruption of an annoying fly. The fly is from real-life – it is unknown how they animated the pest’s movements.

Max tries to put this uncontrollable menace under his thumb with a fly swatter, missing the target and hitting instead poor Koko – literally drawing stars and a moon from the clown. Koko yanks away the pen from his "boss" and tries to bop the endless pest himself – but instead rains ink in heavy drops everywhere on the page and into the real world of Max’s face.

“I’ll draw a fly trap,” Koko announces and inks out a bald man snoozing in stillness, cross-legged on a chair. The fly goes for the tempting target of the hairless head, circling the man’s pate. Every time Koko raises the pen for a final blow, the fly flits off until Koko sneaks behind the man, smashes in, and…hits the head instead of the fly. The man jumps up berating the clown for the rude awakening. Koko sticks out the pen and sucks the man of ink back into his nibs.

Koko then tears the page and dives through the hole. Max turns the paper over where Koko’s back is to the audience, captured in mid-dive downward. Max shakes the page over the inkwell and Koko goes back to his original state – a pool of ink sliding back into the inkwell. The fly follows and Max’s hand seals the deal. The End. Four minutes since The Beginning.

Though Max is God and Creator in most Koko stories, his creation’s antics show that the clown too can be a creator – sometimes quite literally, as when Koko takes control of the pen from Max.

An actual plot for the films is not generally part of the creative process in the early efforts. These cartoons usually consist of nothing more than “one damned thing after another”: one action takes you off on another tangent. No thoughts for the future, only the here and now are important. Every action a reaction, breeding another action and so on until the end when every character, except Max goes back to the inkwell to rest until the next cartoon.

MODELING (1921)

Two years and a handful of cartoons later and the brothers Fleischer have already made what appear to be great leaps in their understanding of the new technology they were building as needed. In “Modeling” from 1921 they combine not only live-action and rotoscope, but they have also added animated drawing and stop-motion Claymation to their toolbox.

They've also included a semblance of a plot: While Max draws Koko, a visitor in an adjacent studio sits for a bust modeled after himself. Mayhem ensues.

Koko continues living under the quick-tempered whim of Max but he still takes what is thrown at him (sometimes literally – here, a glob of clay) and makes the most of it, joyously. No thought for tomorrow weighs him down. His life span, each incarnation of his new life, only lasts the length of the new cartoon before returning at the end to the well of ink from which he is born anew each time.

The childishness is natural. Koko retains no thought more than an instinctual instant reaction to whatever appears in his path. Skates drawn on his feet, a new background of frozen lake applied behind him and after a bit of flailing around he soon takes to the ice, as with each new situation, like a pro.

You know how each new life of his begins; you know how it will end. You do not know what he will fill up his life with in the time between.

Here is ‘Modeling’… Again with the sales pitch: You can buy it along with a hefty helping of Popeye here.

The silence of these shorts may be overly-deafening -- we're so accustomed to some sort of music and sound-effects with our cartoons. Louis Armstrong’s Hot Fives collection, contemporary to these Kokos, is a good soundtrack though others have tried light jazz (when the cartoons first came to television as in the example above) and techno.

The Fleischer’s later cartoons during the “talkie” phase utilized their good taste in music for their soundtracks – featuring Louis Armstrong, Cab Calloway and others. A documentary on the Popeye set notes their studio was located near New York’s Tin Pan Alley where the great tunes of the day by Gershwin, Berlin and others was in the air, in the midst of creation. Their silent Kokos however, the fluid story without a real story, demonstrate their tremendous musical spirit.

Koko may dance to a song only the Fleischers can hear but his movements amid the constant creation on-screen will make your mind and heart sing. Moreover, perhaps you might even reflect on how you spend the unknown amount of time allotted yourself.

Blues in the Green

THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD (1938):
Starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland
Directed by Michael Curtiz and William Keighley
(103 min.)
Technicolor

Robin Hood leads Maid Marian through the green of Sherwood, away from the reveling of his Merry Men. The merriment belies their business of taking care of the poor.

He is strange to her, she says, not because of his anger at the tyrannical and bloody discrimination of the Normans against the Saxons, but because he actually does something about it. "You must hate the Normans," she says.

"Norman or Saxon, what does it matter?" replies Robin. "It's injustice I hate."

This scene comes and goes quietly about half-way through what's remembered mainly as a simple swashbuckling adventure story, based on the old English legends of the laughing outlaw who robs from the rich to give to the poor. A swashbuckler, though, is not only an adventurous daredevil, but also a laughing braggart.

Robin Hood, then, stands cocky in a similar light to the characters most frequently found in the music of the blues: a Mannish Boy. He has to laugh to keep from crying.

A Technicolor blues.