CSotD: Perspective and perspectives
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I was into my Vintage line-up this morning and was struck by "today's" (December 14, 1956) Big Ben Bolt, in which Ben's sidekick is talking to a woman he's smitten with about her college-aged son. It's three panels of two people talking to each other, and John Cullen Murphy had to make some choices, given how boring a conversation would be if shown as three panels of talking heads.
It all takes place in the back of a cab as Spider takes her home after seeing the kid's nightclub act. You couldn't split it up into the elements of that — walking out of the place, in the cab, on the doorstep — because the dialogue is far more continuous than those actions.
Nor could you put it on the doorstep, which would simply be different angles of those talking heads, and, while having it take place in her apartment would give you some visual choices — she could make them coffee, they could be seen as silhouettes in one panel, etc — that would distract us with the potential for romance when we're supposed to focus on the fact that this talented snotty kid may be winning his mother's permission to skip med school after all.
I liked his decision to pan around the interior of the cab for two panels and then go to an exterior shot for the third, and part of what makes it work is the detail he brings to it. There are cartoonists who hate drawing specific models of cars and trucks and whose repertoires of emotional facial expressions are limited, but, a generation ago, this kind of detail was part and parcel of storyline strips.
(And it's customary here to blame simplified graphics on the shrinking of comics by corporate beancounters, but now that people choose to shrink them onto telephone screens, that blame-game has lost its validity. Chicken/egg, sure, but, in the end, we've embraced the insult to artistry.)

And then I got to Johnny Hazard, in which "today" is August 20, 1947, and, once more, we've got a three-panel conversation between two people in cramped quarters, broken up this time with two exteriors and an interior.
Once again, I think the detail matters, but the art in this strip is not on the same level as in Ben Bolt, and there's not a lot of emotion in the conversation, so the challenges are different.
I can see the staging/blocking work in this even if it were rendered in modern simplicity, by which I don't mean Baby Blues/Pearls simplicity but Rex Morgan/Judge Parker style.

And I'd note here that, while Rex Morgan more frequently simply faces the challenge of breaking up the talking heads …

… Judge Parker is nowhere near as blabby as it once was and has, in particular, been dealing with some action lately.
(And, yeah, if you're gonna team up with a grumpy, unstable ex-cop, Andy Sipowicz is a helluva model, but that's only a wink to readers, not the point of this discussion.)
In fact, I'm not sure there is a point to this discussion, but I'm going to be watching how cartoonists break up the talking heads for a little while now. I'll let you know if I have any cosmic epiphanies.
Beyond, that is, thinking you should put away the damn phones and view these things full-sized. Especially if you have a 42-inch TV and are paying the cable company for HD-level viewing of that stuff. Fair is fair, dammit.
But, again, that wasn't my point and I probably didn't have one.
On the other hand …

As long as we're talking about things outside my field of expertise, an ongoing kerfuffle in the Marvel Universe refuses to drop out of my newsfeed, and that is the contention by a Marvel bigwig that bringing in diversity has killed comic book sales.
And, yes, I know that Batman is DC and not Marvel, but Tom Spurgeon posted a link to a piece about a new book in which Batman's enemies battle each other, and said this:
… when I talk about narrative exhaustion for a lot of these characters, this is the kind of thing that springs to mind. I have to imagine all the Batman bad guys have battled a few times since 2000 or so. Comics used to get around this by swapping out the entire audience, but comics has in recent years had a significant part of their audience stick around for several years.
Which I suspect was more of an observation than a rant, but it pinged something for me because, as I've said before, the challenge for comic books is that they've focused on getting their audience to stick around instead of playing the churn.
Sometimes, you deal with churn through retention, but the other approach is to acknowledge turnover and focus on consistent quality and on replacing the drop-outs.
If Fisher-Price can do it, why couldn't Marvel and DC?
The thing is, people eventually wise up to exotic variations on the same old shit, and you can't just throw in some LBGTQ racial minorities and claim you made it new.
Why not, instead, pass the maturing end of that audience along to the complex graphic storytelling of books like Bacchus, which truly is geared to grown-ups? (As noted here previously.)
There's a lot out there for people who have outgrown Batman and Spiderman, and it makes more sense to accept that — maybe even to invest in it — than to try to turn kid's stuff into serious literature in hopes they'll stick around a little longer.
Because while you cater to that diminishing cohort of perpetual adolescents, you're failing to cultivate the upcoming audience with simple superhero comic books that actively appeal to them.
That young audience — the one that originally built your empire — still exists, but they're giving their money to Raina Telgemeier and Noelle Stevenson because you don't seem to want it, or them, anymore.
Now here's your moment of grim foreboding
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