Shadowy Origins, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Plagiarism.

I'm going to come out and say something:

Stealing is okay.

I mean, don't get me wrong, you shouldn't steal money or really cool shoes, but ideas are up for grabs. The fantastic thing about the idea ether that we all seem magically connected to is that we are all connected to it. The upside is that we can all take a crack at ideas. The downside is that our attempt may pale in comparison to another's. When Rob Liefeld departed Marvel and created (among other "original" works) his rip-off of the Hulk called "Smash" (No, really), no one cared. Making a purple Hulk does not improve upon the idea of the Hulk (but three female Hulks, a red one, and a barbarian version does -- oh, just Wiki it).

When Bill Finger and Bob Kane took all of the Shadow stories they had loved and put the lead character in a more ridiculous costume, rechristening him "The Batman," they were introducing the world to an improved, or at least more contemporary and marketable, version of the dark vigilante concept. Whether their success owes more to the fact that you could see, rather than only read, Batman's adventures, or to the changing public perception of escapism and entertainment (likely, a bit of both), one concept was embraced and another was allowed to slowly disappear.

Of course, the Shadow is not gone. He was allowed his own godawful movie adaptation (but isn't Alec Baldwin great now?) and he has sporadically appeared in comic books of his own. If rumors are to be believed, we will get to watch a new crack at the character as directed by Sam Raimi in a few years. Maybe this new version will stick and the character will make a come back, and maybe it won't. While we all owe the Shadow, his creator, and his defining writers credit for inspiring Batman, we long ago made our choice of preferred nighttime crusader.

Besides, trying to spot the inspirations behind every popular idea would drive anyone crazy...

Spirited Away

The astounding thing about reading Will Eisner's The Spirit is the timelessness. I'm striving to find a word that really captures what I mean, but words just can't sum up the place this work still holds in the canon of comics. In many ways, the uneducated would probably place these stories much later on the timeline of comics than the 1940's.

Eisner defies his time of origin with an art style that takes the best of his animation background and mixes in fine art skills and a sense of what works and what fails on the page. This seemingly effortless knowledge isn't possessed by many today; the way that Eisner allows his images to tell stories on their own could deliver a much-needed lesson to the overbearing writers to emerge after Stan Lee's revolution. While much of the credit is certainly due to Eisner being a cartoonist (i.e. writing and drawing instead of working in tandem with another creator), the restraint is still remarkable. Fight scenes are given the space to speak for themselves, and internal narration only ever complements images, never struggles for dominance. Whereas cracking open a Chris Claremont issue of X-Men will reveal captions and thought balloons that explain, in detail, everything occurring on panel, Eisner wisely uses his narration to explain things that can't accurately be portrayed through art: changes in speed and sound, thoughts that the thinker wishes to hide from those around him, etc.

Eisner also lays down a foundation for panel staging that has only recently (relatively speaking) been expanded upon, and even now with mixed results. Eschewing the legacy of comic strips, which often featured pure side shots of characters, scenes that are akin to adjacent animation cells, Eisner panned his "camera" to suit his story. I was blown away by the panel that features the titular character recovering from a punch at the far end of the panel, the bulk of the space taken up by wood flooring. This panel expertly, but subtly, communicates the distance the punch sent him, the spatial relationships between characters, and the implied movement (if only Frank Miller hadn't "directed" an awful film version a while back, I might have a chance to find an example of such a panel online). Eisner manages to preemptively break out (literally and figuratively) of the constrictions that later artists will adhere to concerning panel structure. Mixing "widescreen" layouts with small squares panels, allowing certain panels to have differing borders or none at all, Eisner layed down a groundwork that wouldn't be seen again in mass form until decades later.

As for his noir style, the influence is obvious and practical. Eisner's style was at once cartoony and meticulous, and the heavy "shadows" (re: inks) allowed him the time to focus on what would be shown. In sharp contrast to the almost offensively bright superhero adventures that would fill the pages for years to come, Eisner's Spirit used shadows to guide the eye, to focus attention, and to create tension. For years, this sense of light was lost to the medium, but Eisner nailed it in his first few outings. Most importantly, and something that creators still often fail to capture, Eisner does it all with a sense of fun. It is evident from the outset, as his covers often playfully acknowledge the medium by having characters interact with the typography of the page. Not willing to try to pass off a subpar imitation of another medium (film, animation), Eisner makes a bold statement that comics is a singular medium capable of its own path and its own style. How much of that style saw its first appearance here wouldn't be evident for years to come, but it is inescapable now.

Scott McCloud's TED Talk

Scott McCloud never fails to impress. The creator of the wonderful Zot! and the scrutinizing and enlightening mind behind the trifecta of comics scholarship Understanding Comics, Making Comics, and Reinventing Comics, McCloud made sure that he brought his signature method of thinking to his TED conference discussion.

Using a quick series of flashing pictures to help tell the story of his life, McCloud draws laughs from the crowd and slyly sets them up for the second part of his 17 minute lecture, where he effectively sums up his major work in Understanding Comics. Of course, never one to slack, McCloud takes advantage of the new medium of presentation offered to him (moving slideshow) to illustrate concepts that he just couldn't in comics -- namely, experiencing the "infinite canvas" explored by some enterprising comics creators.

By the end of the 17 minutes, you will be stunned to discover that everything he mentioned, every detail that seemed like a massive diversion from the topic, contributed to his theory and topic. He's sneaky like that.

Check it out for yourself: