Of course it won't end. For many fans, Kirby is the Mistreated Artist while Lee is Everyone's Evil Boss, two archetypes that have too much appeal to die easily. The reason that the argument *ought* to go away, however, is that even though there are a handful of stories about the collaboration of Lee and Kirby that are valuable to the history of comics and comics-criticism, too often these few stories are extrapolated to ridiculous lengths, and applied to situations regarding which no outsider to the Marvel Bullpen has knowledge.
For instance, here's one such story, originally published in the JACK KIRBY COLLECTOR #24, which concerned creative friction between the two creators. As far as expatiating about the particular story discussed, the so-called "Beehive" two-part tale in FANTASTIC FOUR #66-67, the essay itself is a valuable piece of interpretation.
However, in recent weeks I've been on a private yahoogroup in which I've encountered fans who have extrapolated this particular story into the notion that every time one would encounter some narrative goof-up in a Lee-Kirby collaboration, it was because Lee changed his mind about the storyline or forgot what was going on. Thus again Kirby becomes the Mistreated Artist, whose stories are travestied by an irresponsible boss, and whose true unsullied works can only be found in a fantasy-library like that of Dylan Horrocks' HICKLAND.
Since my opponents' remarks appeared in a private venue, I won't quote them here. I've given them notice that I'm summing up my objections here and that they can either respond here or respond on the yahoogroup. If none respond here, other readers of this blog will have to take my representation of the opponents' arguments on faith.
To repeat, my opponents took it as gospel that any time Kirby's art seemed to make a narrative error, it was either Lee's fault for messing with the story or that Lee was culpable for not catching a minor gaffe (Reed Richards being drawn with two left hands). So I decided to turn to one of the works on which Kirby edited himself, to see if he was gaffe-free on his own. I randomly chose his tenure of BLACK PANTHER, beginning in 1977.
I honestly thought I'd find one or two problems with continuity or verisimilitude in an issue here or there. But as it happens, the first issue is so stuffed with them that I don't even need to go any farther.
PAGE 1-- Black Panther enters a room with a newly-introduced character, "Mr. Little," a midget whom we soon learn is notorious for collecting obscure artifacts. In the room is a seated dead man and in one dead hand he holds, raised slighly above his head, one such artifact: a brass frog referenced in the title as "King Solomon's Frog" (and which my essay-title references as well). But, cool though the visual is, how can a dead man be holding anything above his head? We soon find out on--
PAGE 2-3. This splash panel shows that as Little and Panther examine the body, learning that the man's been killed by a sword-thrust, a mysterious armored swordsman waits around a corner, preparing to pounce on the intruders. Since Kirby evidently did think he needed to account for the "dead man's hand," a caption tells us that "his hand is stiffened in rigor mortis." However, though we've all seen countless fictional images of people dying while tightly clutching objects, this dead guy is just holding the frog on his open palm. Wikipedia tells me that rigor mortis stiffening usually takes about three hours to occur, and since on the next page we learn that the wound is "fresh," I think it unlikely that our menacing swordsman has been standing around for three hours, waiting for Panther and Little to come in. (Hmm, this is getting long. To be continued.)
No comments:
Post a Comment