STAN'S SOAP BOX MEGAPHONE_0016

 

  

There is no way to "solve" the riddle of who "created" the Marvel characters without understanding the power of the megaphone pulpit that Stan wielded. Digital collage by Rick Arthur.

"I felt that comics grew because they became the common man's literature, the common man's art, the common man's publishing" - Jack Kirby

Stan Lee was ahead of his time. There was no internet or social media back in the 60s and 70s, so he invented it on paper - by using a "soap box" to promote his company. Make no mistake that Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko and the rest of the artists were NOT equals. Stan held all the power in the relationships, and he "owned" the megaphone he wielded. Stan built the Marvel brand by hawking it to whoever would listen, as often and as loud as he could. The month that the Fantastic Four launched, Kirby penciled over 100 pages of content for Marvel. What captured the imagination of the reading public at that time was how different the Fantastic Four was from the rest of the comics on the stands. The images were bold, larger than life, and fresh takes with sweeping, dynamic, powerful action sequences.

What promises were made to Jack or Steve? We don't hear a lot about Ditko, in comparison, because he always remained relatively silent about his falling out with Marvel. The artists were (and still are...) treated like replaceable cogs by management. Stan built the Marvel brand, no doubt, but it was built on the backs of giants like Jack and Steve. I think of Stan as a cross between PT Barnum and Ray Kroc - but in the tiny, corrupt, brutal cage-match world of comic publishing. So, there is a talent in that, a kind of world-building/brand-building component-type of skill that Stan had which other comic publishers/editors did not have. Stan was a natural huckster, a self-made internet influencer, before the internet. Many picture Stan and Marvel as being interchangeable or Stan and comics as interchangeable, based solely on the wall-to-wall hype he created.

This picture was achieved in a variety of ways. Mostly, having the last and loudest word in terms of narrating the brand on a micro and macro level gives the impression that he created everything. It is a notion that is hard to shake for many and countless books, articles, and documentaries seek to delve into the inner workings of the early 60s Marvel revolution.

Hype started on the covers with bold, commanding blurbs directing readers to pay attention to what was inside. Stan wrote the cover copy and orchestrated how the covers looked. The writing all conformed to one vision and one voice. Popping a comic open, Stan's name appears prominently in the credit boxes and those, too, are playfully worded by Stan. Splash pages often also included introductions to stories that guided the reader into the experience and told them what to expect. Again, one voice speaking directly to the reader and creating an emotional bond. You can't fault Stan Lee for good, catchy blurb writing and brand building. 

Perhaps his biggest contribution was Stan Lee's Soap Box, a space in the early comics that allowed Stan to really connect with readers personally. He hyped an imaginary "bullpen" of merry but hard-working artists and gave them all colorful nicknames, a shorthand to intimacy. Lee touted upcoming projects and both social and personal topics that appealed to him. He did this by congratulating and conspiring with his audience. Each soap box column also ended with Stan's distinctive signature which again cemented the emotional bond readers had with him and Marvel. Excelsior! Face front, true believers! Stan even popularized Marvel with a distinctive series of catch-phrases. In effect, his voice became a giant, loud, consistent component of the Marvel brand.

The potential problem here is that of accepting the words coming out of the megaphone as true. Based on Stan's position in the company as a dialogue writer, editor, and company figurehead, it can easily be forgotten that freelance artists and writers had no voice and no power in the relationship. They could not speak out and were treated as replaceable, being dependent on a page rate that kept many chained to the drawing table for ten plus hours a day, seven days a week. Voicing concerns might see an artist lose assignments or even be black balled in a tiny industry chugging away at the edge of oblivion. 

There were no safety nets for artists. No health insurance. No ownership. No profit sharing. No cut of licensing...

...And the continued message was always that everyone was replaceable - which kept wages down.

Readers did not understand this economic and power dynamic. In their minds, the hierarchy was clear. Stan made the comics. Everyone else, no matter how talented, drifted in and out but Stan's contribution was outsized, ever present, and constant. This is what you believed if you read the soap boxes.  

I know this is a brutal take on the situation. My view has shifted over time. I still love Stan. He contributed mightily to the development and outreach of comics as a pop culture form. Comics would not have grown without someone tirelessly fanning the flames. Comics and other industries are piled high with companies that failed to connect with audiences despite having quality products. Stan's hype helped fuel the reader's imagination. I won't entertain how Stan positioned himself in lectures, magazine articles, print interviews, on TV, and even in cameos in Marvel movies. He will forever be connected to comics and Marvel in an indelible way.

There is one last important area to touch on and that is the power of having the last word.

The Marvel Method ONLY works

if the artists are exceptionally strong storytellers.

A large part of the success of Marvel during the explosive period of the 60s was due to something called The Marvel Method. It sounds simple enough. A plot outline, often verbal and sometimes being just one or two sentences, would be given to an artist who would disappear and come back with finished pencil artwork fleshing out the entire story, all the visual elements, all the story beats, all the action. Having the story as artwork, the "writer", Stan, would dialogue the pages, get them off to letterers, inkers, and colorists then printing for the newsstands.

This was an important "innovation" for a variety of reasons. In a visual medium, it is a hundred times easier to stroke in dialogue with completed artwork in hand. The burden of crafting the story was shifted entirely to the artists. They did all the heavy lifting in terms of problem solving. There are many instances of the artists scrawling in key dialogue on the page margins of the original comic pages so that Stan could "read" the story before adding dialogue. This was a method that was custom suited to Stan and allowed him to say whatever he wanted over the top of the art and after the fact. In the comics' production line, he would have the last word.

It should be noted that there is a reason why this method was able to flourish during a certain period of time at Marvel. Stan held all the keys. Artists that he was working with already knew how to tell compelling visual stories. Kirby and Ditko in particular were products of art studios that encouraged independence. Kirby was already an innovator and large figure in the industry having invented or invigorated monster comics, horror, westerns, and romance comics before turning his sights back to his passion for science fiction/fantasy. Stan was not surrounding himself with blank-minded artists who needed their hand held. The early crew were independent, voracious readers, and brimming with experience in narrative storytelling. When given a chance to create, they stepped up to the drawing table and did.

This is the part that loses a lot of people in the conversation about "what is writing" in comics. Many people cannot wrap their heads around the lopsided contribution that the artwork makes in telling a story in a visual medium, especially if it is coming first in the creative process. It is totally misunderstood. Part of that misunderstanding is that the narrative about how comics are made, and the collaboration involved has been communicated solely by the writer, editor, or publisher. In Stan's case, he was using the megaphone of his soap box and other techniques to tell the story of "who" made the comics and how. He controlled every aspect of that message. It was a charming but wholly inaccurate representation and one that the artists never had the power or voice to rebut. The only options were to grin and bear exploitation by the boss or quit. Many quit.

This post is not meant to "prove" or "solve" anything in the debate about Stan, Jack, Steve, or early Marvel. It is an opinion, just a perspective and one that I have grown into over an extended period of time. Paradoxically, Stan's writing will always be overshadowed and indistinguishable from his hype and we can and should revisit his dialogue and determine how well he was able to write after the story was already there.

'Nuff said.

RICK

Billion Hero Studios

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RONIN_STOP POSING BOY!_0009

Frank Miller's Ronin, breaking ground and expanding horizons in the comic world. Image copyright by right's holder. Miller smashes expectations with a stunning and visionary exploration in comic storytelling. Color by Lynn Varley.

"I am here! And you can't stop me!"

Ronin is an odd story for Miller. It was a risk. Working on Daredevil as artist and writer for as long as he did built expectations in his audience for gritty, noir-style, crime soaked, superhero comics with a touch of romance/tragedy. Ronin looked and felt radically different. Who was expecting a sci-fi/samurai/romance closer to European and Japanese graphic albums than American pop?

Ronin was experimental. Miller pushed his own boundaries and flexed his creative muscles. The writing and pacing were uneven. In some spots, the story flowed easily and in others Miller struggled to get his ideas across. The plot meandered. Can anyone describe what it was really about? In some sections, the art slid from stylized toward being sloppy. His characters had trouble holding their appearance. Some dialogue exchanges were too wordy. Ronin is not a slick, polished presentation and yet, it is a thunder bolt.

You have to remember that in American comics during this period, superheroes ruled the roost with series writing that never came to any conclusion or allowed characters to change and grow. The artwork felt homogenized and interchangeable. Plots and characters were thin. Marvel and DC were interested in blockbuster event comics and cross overs. Continuity was a quagmire. Readership sputtered. Distribution was migrating to the direct market. Miller jumped on Daredevil, reinvented that character, and pumped new blood into a c-list hero by building his supporting cast and fleshing out Hell's Kitchen. Most color in comics was also still done on newsprint using a limited palette and hand separations.

Frank Miller's Ronin came along at a time when few in the American comic reading crowd had ever been exposed to Japanese manga or European graphic albums. Master cartoonists like Moebius were ignored by the American masses because they didn't produce superheroes. Miller challenged his Daredevil fans from Marvel to follow him to another company and invest in brand new characters that no one had ever seen before in a style that Miller had never worked in before and in a design and printing style that had not been successfully tried here in the States. It can also not be stressed enough how radical the color by Lynn Varley in the Ronin comic was in comparison to what monthly superhero comics looked like. Ronin was a departure in every aspect of comic making from what Miller had been tinkering with on the monthly Daredevil.  

What we saw in Ronin was Miller expressing his energy, thoughtfulness, and daring in the writing and drawing. Miller took chances and built a unique vision of the future that mashed different genres and exposed us to his raw thinking. Ronin was like looking at the wild ambition that Miller has for his own cartooning and where he wanted to go as a writer/artist/creator.

Ronin was not his best work or his most well-known, but it was probably the most crucial in his artistic journey. Many experiments and masterpieces would come in the future: Elektra; Born Again; Dark Knight; 300; Give Me Liberty; Hard Boiled; Year One; and his own passion project, Sin City. This is a phenomenal body of work. Without Daredevil, there would be no Ronin or Dark Kight or Sin City. Without Ronin, Miller would have had to wait around for other opportunities to open up to tell this type of unique story - if that chance ever came. The pressure for Miller to sit back and repeat what he had been doing with Daredevil must have been great. It takes courage to do something that no one else was doing. Daredevil was Miller as a storyteller learning to draw, write, and gain confidence. Ronin was Miller arriving, busting the doors down, and declaring "I am here! And you can't stop me!" Once Ronin was complete, he would trust himself more in each project. 

NOTE: I had this post in a que to make its way out into the world after a little editing. Recently, Frank Miller announced that he would be forming his own independent comic and media imprint called Frank Miller Presents. A sequel to Ronin was discussed as a new project to come out from him as he gears up to publish 3-4 titles per year. Amazing. No other details were given about the Ronin: Book II project. Wasn't I JUST talking about Ronin yesterday? Love that story, flaws and all. It will be interesting to see how Miller applies what he has learned about storytelling to these characters and situations. An exciting time for comics.

Update... Miller will be writing a sequel, Ronin: Book Two, with some of the main Ronin characters to be penciled by Philip Tan from Miller's layouts and inked by Daniel Henriques. It will be 48-page bimonthly book with a $7.99 cover price debuting in November of 2022 under the new Frank Miller Presents banner. See sample below. Enjoy.

Frank Miller Presents, Ronin: Book Two with Miller writing and layouts, Tan on pencils and Henriques inks. Image copyright respective owner.

RICK
Billion Hero Studios
The Power of Storytelling






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FANTASTIC FOUR_LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE_0008

Fantastic Four #51: This Man... This Monster! Told completely from start to finish in a single issue and following the groundbreaking introduction of Galactus and the Silver Surfer in the pages of The Fantastic Four, this story commands attention. Kirby, Sinnott, Lee, Marvel Comics.

Doug on the left and Rick on the right wearing bootleg comic Tshirts, back when we both had a hairline. A little photoshop magic finds Ben Grimm in the pouring rain and Godzilla blasting Batragon. Test shirts by Rick.

"Stan and Jack had stumbled onto something"

Comics are always changing and the swarms of creative ants that scurry non-stop constructing characters and universes out of dirt piles each do it for their own reasons. There is no 100-year plan of development. Creators are responding to situations on the ground, in real-time. Both Stan Lee and Jack Kirby had long careers in comics before they struck gold with early Marvel stories that featured people with superhuman powers and abilities who also had problems like their readers did. Stan and Jack had latched onto something that hit the tuning fork just right with the public. It didn't matter what their relationship to each other was like.

Ultimately, they both poured their time, effort, and energy into pursuing the idea that comics could be more than they were. They both loved telling stories. Both felt that comics could speak to real issues, feelings, and connect with readers on a deeper level than had been the norm in the business. Both of them basically played in different garage bands until one day, when they teamed up, they began producing hit after hit after hit.

Kirby in particular was always known as an innovator in comics. He co-created Captain America with Joe Simon when the medium was brand new, produced war, romance, supernatural, western, and monster comics with fantastic success. Readers responded to his larger-than-life depictions of creatures and his dynamic action sequences. Kirby was endlessly creating new characters and concepts and, with help from the extraordinary talented Steve Ditko (Spider-Man, Doctor Strange) and a legion of talented creators, put an ailing Marvel permanently on the cultural map. Over time, the contribution that Stan made has been given a much-needed look. Jack had always been a pioneer in the field, blazing trails and testing out new storytelling methods. 

Do I miss those rough, early songs from that band? Yes. I feel like today there have been crops of writers and artists in comics who don't believe that "comics can be more" but that comics should be movies or book contracts or "launching pads" for something else instead of a stand-alone medium. Jack, Joe Sinnott, and Stan remind us with their signature body of work on the Fantastic Four, that capturing lightning in a bottle is really about sharing that lightning with others. Sharing the love of making comics and telling stories.

Reprint cover for This Man, This Monster. Marvel's Greatest Comics. My first introduction to the Fantastic Four. Unlike Reed in the Negative Zone, I was hooked.

I picked up this Fantastic Four story as a beat-up copy of Marvel's Greatest Comics #38. I had saved up paper route money and bought a grocery bag stuffed to overflowing with comics from a pal named Jimmy Joe. It was the mid-70s and I was in the single digits of age, just discovering the secret joy of reading and buying my own comics. As a kid, there was a weird alchemy to reading those stories, holding them in my hands, and buying them with my own money. This was probably the first thing I had ever purchased, and it was reading materials! I paid ten bucks for about a hundred comics. Iron Man. Avengers. Hulk. Spider-Man. Thor. And Fantastic Four. All were well-read before I got to them, and all would get poured over continuously. I am pretty sure that my mom did not want them in the house and that my dad argued for me to keep them. He had been a collector during the early years of comics and came home one day to find his stacks in a burn barrel. My dad vowed to never do that to his kids.

I remember that cover vividly - Reed is in The Negative Zone and his cable has snapped. With the story, This Man, This Monster! Stan and Jack let the reader in on the secret right in the beginning. As the story unfolds, we get insight into the Fantastic Four, Sue, Ben, Johnny, and Reed by eavesdropping on the conversations and interactions of the Thing's doppelganger. The subtext is powerful. Things are not what they seem. The story starts as a revenge tale and twists neatly into a study in trust and redemption - all while cementing the Thing as the true outcast of the group. It is decidedly tragic. Even as a kid, I dreamed of being The Thing. 

Kirby's breathtaking storytelling combined with Joe Sinnott inks, masterfully conveying the humanity of the characters and the predicament of their situation. When gaining powers from cosmic rays during a failed exploration of space, each of the Fantastic Four could hide behind normal-looking faces and bodies except for Ben Grimm. The Thing is stuck forever looking like a monster. We get an examination of what a tortured existence an outsider has in life. Lee provides dialogue and editorial asides that cement the reader to the page. Coming hot on the heels of the introduction of the Silver Surfer and Galactus, this tale is complete in one issue (FF#51) and unmasks the real heart and soul of the Marvel superhero family/team with emotional gravity.

This Man... This Monster! is an undeniable classic and definitely a comic book story that made me love comics. I would reread it many times over the years, and I find myself rooting for the bad guy at the end, who has a change of heart and makes the ultimate sacrifice for Reed. Recommended reading.

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UNCHARTED SEAS AHEAD_0002

Inspired by Jack Kirby Celestials from the original comic series (not the movie) at Marvel called The Eternals. Eternals copyright respective rights holder. WIP. Pen and ink on Bristol board. Digital color using Affinity Photo. Original image 10x15 inches. Artist: Rick Arthur. 2021.

"The Wind Grew Very Still Indeed"

The compass spun lazily in my hand and the sun shone too brightly. I grabbed at a thick rope and leaned out, squinting in all directions looking for some hint of direction on my future journey. There were no shores to see, just seemingly endless water, deep and flat, on every horizon. The waves were unnaturally still.

Welcome. For five years, I taught a college-level, one-credit comic drawing class for New Mexico Tech in the mountains of a dusty town named Socorro. It was probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever lived with wide, dramatic vistas, crystal blue skies, and compelling silhouettes. Every semester, I taught engineering students about the basics of comic art and creativity. I rewrote my syllabus and changed my approach with each new class and sometimes shifted focus again after mid-terms. I made a large, conscious effort to respond in real time to both group and individual interests. I easily amassed hundreds of pages of notes, drawings, examples, and created a companion guide that topped out at over 160 pages.

I learned a great deal about the teaching process simply by explaining myself out loud and answering questions that students had. I struggled with how to give a good, basic understanding of creative material which demanded a holistic approach. To overload students with complex ideas while teaching comic art seemed counter-intuitive. The meal can only be bitten off in pieces anyway and should be chewed a little as you go along. Learning takes time, practice, and patience which weighs against the eagerness, enthusiasm, and expectations students bring. That was my initial reasoning.

Teaching always reminded me of my own artistic curiosity as a student at the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon and Graphic Art in Dover, New Jersey (now The Kubert School). Like a lot of students there, I struggled with a heavy workload and trying to absorb many lessons that would not make sense until years later when encountered in real life situations. Aha! That is what my teachers were trying to show me.

As a kid, I went through various stages of reading, enjoying, copying, recreating, exploring, and developing my sensibilities. With luck, hard work, patience, stubbornness, and some guidance, I have been able to mature my outlook further. This was not easy and took all my time, everything I had. There were the unceasing hours of practice and trial and mostly error followed by "critical" analysis. 

What experience can I really distill for my students? How do I approach the materials and why should students care even a fraction as much as I do about it? How is it even possible to give students the benefit of immersion in just two hours a week? There are a lot of excellent "how to draw" books out there. Many teachers with more experience and longer work histories are helping students learn art and comic drawing. What can I offer that no one else can?

My philosophy is to learn as much as I can. I have had the chance to work in every different aspect of drawing comics, printing, production, book making, advertising, illustration, and I am always working to apply what I have learned back into the comics I make. When I teach, I try to look at things from the point of view of my students and expose them to as many of the tips and techniques for telling stories as I can. My attention is in deciphering both the how's and why's of drawing. No serious question by a student is off limits. The idea is to give students the tools they need to explore for themselves. Each will take away different things from the experience and hopefully incorporate at least one or two things I try to convey. At the end of the day, it is my task to have some of my enthusiasm rub off and open students to the idea that they can tell any story they can think of drawing.

Storytelling is powerful and comics, a fusion of words and pictures, is powerful indeed. 

The cry of gulls grew fainter, and I drew in a long breath, knowing that when I exhaled, I would make a decision on which way to head. I could never know how far it would be before hitting land or what storms lay lurked. The ship deck creaked gently underneath me, waiting. Where would I end up? Not knowing was part of the adventure but I was prepared and had steeled myself for what fate would bring and what my wits could decipher.

Ahoy!

RICK

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