The Art of the Comic Strip Narrative

For many people, the daily comics are something to scan and forget -- which is why the gag-a-day strip continues to thrive. In previous posts, I've talked about the importance of the narrative in the continuing story strip, and the skill it takes to keep it interesting when you have three panels to recap events and advance the plot.

But comics are a unique artform where both words and pictures combine to tell the story. Comic art at its best can set the scene, show action, and portray the characters' inner thoughts or emotional states.

How important is the art? Thanks to an unusual turn of events, we have a chance to compare two different ways of illustrating the same story -- and see how the art shades the narrative.

Steve Bryant was under consideration as a fill-in artist for Gil Thorp and was asked to provide some sample strips. Below is the strip that originally ran drawn by current artist Frank McGlaughlin, and underneath that, Bryant's tryout version.

(click on image to enlarge)

Notice how, even with identical dialogue, the dramatic emphasis and pacing of the story change. McGlaughlin uses three equal-sized panels. The eye travels across the strip at an even pace, keeping the narrative flow moving along in a similar fashion.

Bryant, on the other hand, makes the second panel bigger, which causes the eye to pause. Just like an actor who pauses before delivering his line, Bryant has given Cully's words more dramatic weight.

Notice also the placement of the word balloons. In the printed version, they're all in the top third of the panel. It's possible to read all the dialogue without ever really looking at McGlaughlin's pictures.

Bryant uses word balloon placement to further the narrative. In the first panel, he breaks Gil's lines into two connected balloons. This suggests a slight pause between the two lines. A little more dramatic, and (if you say the lines out loud) a bit more natural, too. There's nothing wrong with the way McGlaughlin did it -- but without that visual clue, the reader will assume both lines are delivered with the same pacing.

In Bryant's second panel the word balloon is placed to the right of Cully's head. The reader sees the resolute expression on this young man's face before he speaks. Again, there's a suggestion of a pause, as there's a visual interruption between Gil's word balloon and Cully's. We get the impression that Culley chose his words carefully before responding on this topic that's clearly difficult for him to talk about.

And while the two lines are in overlapping balloons, they're not as separated as Gil's speech. The balloons show a shorter pause between them than the lines in panel 1.

Bryant places Gil's response in panel 3 in the lower right corner. It suggests the speaker's location -- Gil is in the foreground, just off-panel.

The careful placement of the three balloons draws the eye across the strip in a downward diagonal motion. With McGlaughlin, we can skip the top of the strip and never become fully engaged with the comic. Bryant forces us to notice expressions, and indeed, take in all the art.

In any form of drawing, choices are made about what to put in, and what to leave out. In cartooning, those choices impact the narrative. McGlaughlin gives us enough background detail in the first panel to know we're in the stadium. Those details remain in all three panels. When Cully runs off at the end, the short distance between the two characters shows that Gil's comment comes hard on the heels of Cully's response (the overlapping word balloons show the same thing).

Bryant also gives us a stadium background, although with less detail than McGlaughlin. Once the scene is established, we don't need to see it again, and so we don't. The second panel shows Cully alone. In McGlaughlin's version, we see Cully, Gil in the foreground, and some fence in the background. There are many things to draw our attention. Bryant strips away all the distractions. He wants us to look at Cully's face and has taken everything else away to ensure we do.

Bryant's third panel has Cully in silhouette. By putting his entire body in the panel, Bryant shows distance. He's clearly walked away from Gil, who's now calling after him. Clearly a few seconds have passed between panels 2 and 3. By showing Cully in black outline, Bryant hints at the weight of his burden. In the first panel, Cully's facing forward in full light, looking up. In the last, he's in shadow, facing away and looking down. Culley's mood has changed over these three panels.

A lot of thought -- and work -- went into these panels.

And all of this is for a daily comic strip that takes most people fifteen seconds to read.

I like to linger over my morning comics and savor the details of the artform before me. Now that's entertainment!

- Ralph

(Special thanks to This Week in Milford, where I first learned of Steve Bryant's artwork)

The Art of the Comic Strip Narrative, Part 2

Yesterday's post comparing two different ways of presenting the same comic strip continuity generated some insightful commentary from readers. From the same sources here're two other examples placed next to each other.

The comic strip on the top was drawn by Frank McGlaughlin, the official artist for Gil Thorp, and was published a few months ago. The bottom strip is a tryout by Steve Bryant, created at the request of the Chicago Tribune.


Unlike yesterday's example, there are strong storytelling elements in both versions. The script requires three different speakers and a scene change. McGlaughlin starts out the reader in the team bus, showing us the two coaches in a discussion.

If you haven't been reading throughout the week, it may take a moment to figure out where they are. Bryant shows us the bus in transit, clearly setting the stage, but there's a trade-off. We don't know who's speaking (unless we've been reading the continuity throughout the week).

(To be fair, Bryant used the text supplied by the Syndicate. Had he been the actual artist working with the writer, it's possible that the dialogue could have been slightly tweaked so that Kaz and Gil mention each other by name.)

In McGlaughlin's version, panel 2 has Gregory sitting in the back of the bus, his pose showing he's not been humbled at all by the talking-to referred to in panel 1. He's also looking up as if seeing himself on an imaginary pedestal. His two teammates seem less than impressed.

Bryant has Gregory address the reader directly (while seeming to talk to someone off-panel). How big is Gregory's ego? Big enough to break the fourth wall! On the downside, the way Gregory and his fellow passenger are dressed give us no indication that they're members of a high school basketball team. McGlaughlin's choice of varsity jackets did the narrative a greater service in that respect.

For the third panel, we have Gregory's ex-girlfriend (Maureen Monte, right) and her friend Anne Mayers (left) talking about his ego. Notice the nice arc the story provides. We start with the coaches talking about how they hope Gregory's attitude is under control, the middle panel Gregory refutes that assumption, and in the last two other people provide additional evidence to show just how conceited he really is.

McGlaughlin gives us a clear change of scene by filling in the background and showing us a girl's bedroom. The two girls, albeit drawn somewhat awkwardly, are in poses typical of teenagers lounging. Although the setting is clear, the cell phone with exhibit A (the texted scores) is kind of difficult to make out.

Bryant's far more economical in his scene change. The first two panels have frames, the last one doesn't. By drawing the girls closer in, he can show the cell phone. McGlaughlin has the girls staring off into space, which doesn't help. Are they engaged in conversation or is Anne just thinking out loud? Bryant has both girls' attention focussed on the phone, which draws our eyes to it, too.

Plus, by having the brunette dressed in a light-colored top, the phone stands out in contrast. McGlaughlin chooses to draw a black phone in front of a black sweater.

The downside to Byrant's portrayal is that we're not sure where the girls are. They could even be on another part of the bus, for that matter (letter jackets in panel 2 would have helped that somewhat). On the plus side, he breaks up Anne's lines into two connected word balloons. As mentioned yesterday, it suggests a pause in the delivery, and the second balloon's position over Maureen's head indicates that the comment came after Anne was shown the text message.

If I had to choose, I would say that Bryant's the better artist overall -- and his website shows that he's well-steeped in the comics tradition. Still, continuity strips with their many constraints present a unique set of challenges to the graphic storyteller who usually has a whole page to play with.

I'd almost call this one a draw. No pun intended.

- Ralph

The Comics Playoffs - Round One

Funky Winkerbean's recent story arc involved a high school girl's basketball team going to the playoffs -- something the sports-related Gil Thorp comic strip does as a matter of course.

Previously I compared how then-current Gil Thorp artist Frank McLaughlin and prospective replacement Steve Bryant drew the same panels. The difference in story-telling technique was remarkable and generated some good discussion in the post's comments.

This time around, it's Gil Thorp stand-in artist Frank Bolle and Tom Batiuk.

Here are two panels depicting game-winning (or losing) shots made just as the buzzer sounds.

In both cases there's no long sequence building up to the shot, so the panels have to stand on their own.

Notice the workmanlike execution of the Bolle panel. The narrative has to do all the heavy lifting here. Imagine the panel without the caption -- we see a ball bouncing off the rim, period. Without the narrative, there's no context for the picture. The caption without the picture still tells the story -- but not the other way around.

Now consider the Batiuk panel on the left. All the elements come together to pull the reader into the story, and the narrative is moved forward by all the elements.

First off, the importance of the shot is told by a word balloon (instead of a third-party narrative caption) -- the announcer's calling the game, and we're listening in. Then there's the sound effect of the buzzer. Gil Thorp tells us it's the last second. Funky Winkerbean lets the sound speak for itself (in a graphic way).

Finally, the image tells us everything we need about the shot. In addition to showing the ball going in, we see members of both teams. The expressions on their faces give us both the elation of victory and the sadness of defeat.

Take away the word balloon, and we still have most of the story.

But not all of it. The word balloon gives us the background information, the sound effect the drama, and the image the emotional context of the action. Having all those elements seamlessly work together to tell the story is the art of comic strip narrative.

Tomorrow -- action on the court!

- Ralph

Dick Tracy and the Phony Funny

Comic strips can provide a moment's entertainment. But skilled creators can make this simple art form multi-layered to appeal both to the casual reader, and those who look for more in their entertainment. (click on image to enlarge)

This particular sequence provided more than a few seconds of reading. Mike Curtis and Joe Staton worked something very clever into this one. You may recall that recently Tracy ran into Vera Alldid, former cartoonist, and referenced a discontinued comic strip. In a later sequence, Tracy called the Flash, bringing in yet another defunct classic comic. So when Sam Ketchum states his favorite strip was "Derby Dugan," I thought it was yet another reference to a Golden Age newspaper strip.

Except it was one I had never heard of.

That's not too exceptional. There were many comics that came and went since the format was introduced in the 1900's. Just take a look at the archives of Barnacle Press, for example - most of the titles are cyphers to me.

I was curious, though, so I researched Derby Dugan, and discovered the Easter Egg written into the strip. It turns out that Derby Dugan is the subject of a trilogy of novels by Tom De Haven. De Haven's narrative arc is set in the world of newspaper comics (and real life personalities) in the early part of the century (Funny Papers: A Novel ), the 1930's (Derby Dugan's Depression Funnies: A Novel ), and the 1960's (Dugan Under Ground: A Novel ). The books feature different heroes all involved (in some fashion) with the fictional comic strip "Derby Dugan."

A simply line in Dick Tracy, that helped me discover a new author (and series) I'm anxious to read. Not bad for a three panel daily!

Legacy strips:frozen or fresh? Part 2

Time Magazine published a list of the ten longest-running newspaper comic strips. In part 1 I talked about those that seems frozen in time -- and creatively frozen as well. But just because the original artist dies, the creative development of the comic strip doesn't have to die as well (or turn into a zombie). It can become the starting point for the the new artistic team. From Time Magazine's list, here are the strips I think are fresh rather than frozen.

Little Orphan Annie - The last creative team to work on Annie did the best they could to update this 86-year-old strip. Annie started wearing jeans, the stories had contemporary settings, but it was all for naught. People who came to the comic because they loved the movie didn't relate to the adventure-style stories. Unlike times past, readers are receptive to new gag strips, but are completely uninterested in new (or even revamped) narrative strips. A noble effort, nonetheless.

Gasoline Alley - This is one of the few strips where characters age (albeit not quite as quickly as in the real world). The current artist, Jim Scancarelli has made major changes in Gasoline Alley, keeping the story -- and the world it inhabits -- growing and evolving. Phyllis Wallet, a mainstay of the strip since the 1930's died of old age during his tenure. Characters leave the strip, and new ones appear. Situations change, and children are born. Just like the real world, life goes on. Slow, organic growth that results in major changes over time.Very fresh, though with a patina of age.

Prince Valiant - Another strip where characters age. When Hal Foster created Val, he was a young boy newly arrived at King Arthur's court. Over a half century later (being a Sunday-only strip, time moves very slowly), he's now a late middle-aged family man. The current creative team of Gary Gianni and Mark Schultz are moving the stories in a more fantasy-oriented direction, bringing them in line with current tastes of comics readers. Maintaining the high standards of the past in contemporary form, fresh in look and stories.

Brenda Starr - Currently written by a journalist, this strip has dramatically changed since Dale Messick's death. Characters have aged, and the trials and tribulations of Ms. Starr reflect the current unsettled market of newspaper reporters in general. The strip has hit the right balance of adventure, drama, and commentary on the very medium it's printed on (thanks to current writer Mary Schmich, a reporter for the Chicago Tribune) and a clean, modern graphic look as drawn by June Brigman. Building a new story on a strong foundation -- fresher than the newspapers that carry it.

Dick Tracy and the End of Annie - 1

Mike Curtis and Joe Staton finished up an extended sequence in Dick Tracy that was (in my opinion) something of a tour de force.

In addition to providing an unusual case for Dick Tracy, it also wrapped up loose ends from another legacy strip, while honoring the tradition of that strip in an innovative way.

This post (part 1) I'll lay down the foundation for the sequence. In part 2, I'll show how Curtis and Staton used those elements to tell an unusual story.

A brief history of Little Orphan Annie

Harold Gray began Little Orphan Annie in 1924, and continued it through his death in 1968. Although the strip was continued, it was in something of a creative free fall. Artists and writers came and went, and circulation continued to decline. (click on images to enlarge)

Harold Gray's Annie, from 1936

After the success of the musical Annie (both on Broadway and in Hollywood), the strip, which had been reduced to reprinting sequences from the 1930's was resurrected. Leonard Star (Mary Perkins, On Stage) took over the strip and continued until 2000. (click on images to enlarge)

Leonard Starr's take on Annie

Noted artist Allan Kupperberg took over, and in 2004 handed off to talented artist and writer Ted Slampyak. Kupperberg and Slampyak updated Annie, letting her wear jeans and t-shirts rather than the anachronistic (but iconic) red dress.

The final Annie strip by Ted Slampyak, 2010

Unfortunately, readers wanted the musical Annie, and in 2010, Tribune Media Services abruptly cancelled the strip. Annie was in the hands of the "Butcher of the Balkans" and although Oliver Warbucks was searching frantically for her, she and the Butcher disappeared into the wilds of Guatamala. The End -- for now.

Annie's radio program featured a secret message
at the end of each episode. Buy Ovaltine, send in
the vouchers, and you could get a secret decoder
ring (and be a member of the secret society).

Little Orphan Annie on radio

Little Orphan Annie debuted on radio in 1930 as a 15-minute serial, and continued through 1942. The program settled into a format that differed from the comic strip, where Annie and Sandy were often wandering alone, in a picaresque narrative.

The radio program had Annie living in Simmon's Corner, a small, rural community in Tucker county, the ward of Ma  and Pa Silo. The Silos took care of Annie while Daddy Warbucks was off doing big projects. Of course, it didn't mean that life on the farm was dull for Annie! She crossed paths with gansters, Nazi spies, and other villians that all seemed to converge on Simmons Corners.

The modern world of Slampyak's "Annie" and the radio world of Simmons Corner would be brought together in "Dick Tracy" in a brilliant fashion. As you'll see in part two.

A worthy opponent

The villain of the Dick Tracy sequence comes from the golden age of Annie. Axel first ran across Annie in 1939, and at the time just seemed like another crook. But when he returned in 1940, he was a cold-blooded arms merchant with more than a passing resemblance to Hitler. He was eventually captured and deported.

Axel harangues his followers in 1940. 64 years later, his attitude hadn't
changed a bit.

Terry and the Pirates: The Good Villain 1

I am grateful to IDAF Publishing for their beautiful reprints of Terry and the Pirates. Milton Caniff was a masterful storyteller and artist. The six-volume collection has the entire run reproduced on library-quality paper, making the series a joy to read and study.

I received The Complete Terry and the Pirates, Vol. 4: 1941-1942 for Christmas, a volume I was particularly excited to get. It has the seminal sequence chronicling the death of Raven Sherman. Raven wasn't the first comic strip hero/heroine to die onstage, but it was one of the most powerfully rendered.

But there was something else remarkable in this collection. There were not one, but two appearances of good villains. The first appeared in January, 1941. In this sequence, the Japanese commander knows that a Chinese freedom-fighter (Dr. Ping, AKA the Blue Tiger) is escaping in a group of refugees. He orders the column strafed, reasoning that killing all the refugees will ensure the Blue Tiger is also destroyed. (click on image to enlarge)

By the end of 1940, Americans were becoming increasingly leery of the Japanese as they continued their conquest of China. Since "Terry and the Pirates" was set in China, Caniff had actually introduced them into the strip in 1937, shortly after the Japanese invasion began. At the time, he was not allowed to call them by name, so they were simply referred to as "the invaders."

In most depictions of the Japanese in the immediate pre-war and World War II era, there are seldom any redeeming features. The Japanese became the embodiment of the "Yellow Peril," an Asian stereotype that had been floating around in Western fiction since the 1890's. They were portrayed as unscrupulous, murderous, and -- being Oriental -- soldiers who did not acknowledge the Geneva Convention.

The commander in the first sequence fits that pattern. Ordering the wholesale slaughter of civilians in order to kill one combatant personifies the evil that readers of the day imagined were typical in the Japanese military. (And if you think this is too outre, imagine the story being written today with Syrian characters.)

So far, this is a story of its time. But notice the final panel. One of the plane crew is uneasy with the command. An enemy with a conscience. Something we might expect today, but very rare in 1940's fiction. And notice the final sequence. The good villain again expresses his distaste with his actions.

In the final three panels, we get a nicely paced little morality tail. The "evil" villain scoffs at his crew  mate's unease. "Who cares? Those taken by surprise never know what hit them." The next panel shows a Flying Tiger taking them by surprise. And the final panel shows the invaders dying, riddled with bullets, as they had riddled the refugees below. They never knew what hit them.

Of course, both invaders had to die. The narrative demanded the evil villain pay for his hubris and lack of remorse. And the good villain, while a reluctant participant, still had to pay for his crime.

One final note: Caniff plays with our expectations in the middle sequence. The wagon is strafed and Dr. Ping clutches his chest. For a moment, it looks like the end. But only for a moment. Small touches like this kept the reader guessing, and engaged. Because unlike other adventure strips, you never could be 100% sure how the plot would unfold.

Complicated stuff -- especially for the funny papers. But the depth of characterization Caniff portrayed -- even in such minor roles -- is part of the reason "Terry and Pirates" is still admired and enjoyed in the 21st Century.

Next: The Good Villain 2

Mark Trail - Suddenly in the Past

James Allen continues to shake things up in the vintage comic strip Mark Trail. Note the way he ends a long-protracted (but never dull) sequence involving Mark and two friends finding their way out of a cave. I already noted what happened when they found a water passage (Mark Trail Goes with the Wind).

Mark Trail has always featured closeups of animals in their natural environment, so it's a perfect way for Allen to build some tension before showing Trail breaking the surface.

His two companions soon follow, and the story arc ends here:

Then the very next day this sequence appeared...

Meanwhile, two years before!? That's one heck of a transition.

It confounded me, but James Allen's been at the helm of this strip for me to know I can trust his narrative skills. This will all make sense. I just have to keep reading.

The Comics Playoffs - Round Two

Yesterday I compared the comic art of Tom Batiuk and Frank Bolle. Both currently depict high school basketball action in their respective strips, at significantly different levels of effectiveness (in my option).

Today we look at the extended action sequence (click on images to enlarge).



In this sequence from Gil Thorp, a key Milford player gets injured. This is the entire sequence -- the strips the day before and after have different scenes. Bolle attempts to show action with motion lines. Speed lines might be more effective. To my eye, it looks like everyone's wobbling like a Weeble.

Look at the first panel. We know that the basket is further away than the girls, but where's the ball? Is it directly over the girl at left? Slightly behind her? Almost to the basket? I'm not sure.
Also, is the Oakwood player really tall, or did she just jump up? The motion lines suggest side-to-side motion (which suggests she's just tall), but the tilt of her body and her waist at the other girls' chest level is more in line with a jump.

I don't know -- and because I have to puzzle over it for a second the dramatic flow of the narrative stops.

And the second panel's similarly confusing. The motion lines make a little more sense, but it still looks like wobbling.

In the third panel, we get the fateful fall -- and the first appearance of speed lines. And that's unfortunate, because they're straight and long, suggesting fast motion and a long fall. To me, it looks like she was dropped from the ceiling! But she still wobbles some.

Fortunately, these pictures are captioned -- otherwise I might be hard-pressed to figure out what the heck's going on!


Now let's look at Batiuk (click on the image to enlarge). In this sequence, Summer Moore makes a game-winning shot right at the buzzer. The event is stretched out over three days, heightening the dramatic tension.

The first day sets the stage. We see Summer running down the court in the first panel. In the second, she's surrounded by the other team (we can tell because they're in the foreground, background, and next to Summer). The third panel shows the shot. The angle places the ball in the foreground (so we now it's important), and shows us Summer throwing it up and out of the ring of opposing players.

The second day's sequence freezes time. The first panel serves as a mini-synopsis. And notice that the angle is different. Batiuk uses speed lines to show the arc of the ball, helping us see that it's further down the court than any of the players. The game announcer's word balloons have served as captions for the panels, and in the first day's strip took over a significant amount of the panel space.

In the second panel of the second day, the narrative stops. The last two panels have no sound at all. The second shows the crowd as they follow the ball. The last panel, the players. Time stands still.

The third day we see the result. The ball goes in just as the buzzer sounds. No caption's necessary. The second panel explains the importance of the shot (for those who came in late), and the third winds down the action with Summer's dad and a little comic relief.

When all the elements work together, sequential art can be a powerful narrative medium. Although Batiuk's depiction of people is less realistic than Bolle's, it engages the reader more effectively. Which means we care more about the Westview win than the Milford loss.

- Ralph

In praise of Eduardo Barreto, Part 2

Yesterday I posted an analysis of one of Eduardo Barreto's last comic strip sequences published before his death. Barreto was one of those amazing artists who did such a masterful job that his work furthers the story, rather than call attention to itself. And it does so in ways often unnoticed by the causal reader.

In this last sequence published before Barreto's death, Noble, the head of the Shadow Team is having an audience with the Wambesi chief, explaining his mission. In disguise is the Phantom. (click to enlarge)

In the upper panel, the eye moves from left to right, starting with the caption. Note how carefully Barreto places everyone. The heads of the crowd are lower in the left than the right, pulling the eye along (and also suggesting depth). Noble is in the center, so we know exactly who the caption refers to. The chief is in the right foreground, and between the two is a picture of Noble's hunt -- the Phantom.

All three heads are related, conveyed by the subtle alignment of eyes. The eyes of Noble, the Phantom, and the chief are all in a straight line. The reader's eyes move from speaker, to subject, to audience. Also note Noble's dynamic pose. He didn't just hold up this picture. He whipped it out of his pocket and lunged slightly forward to show the chief. Noble isn't just mildly interested in finding this man, he really wants to find him.

The next two panels are interesting, because they take place at the same time. By laying the panel with the Phantom's face over Noble's scene, Barreto shows what the Phantom is thinking at the same time Noble is speaking. And look at the grouping of three faces. Noble address his man, who has a neutral expression. But on either side of him (and behind him) are two Wambesi warriers looking angry. Although Noble thinks he knows why, the placement of the figures suggests that Noble's team is surrounded and outnumbered by dangerous foes.

The next panel shows the Phantom in a field of white. While it nicely breaks up the page and gives the eye a bit of a rest, it has a more important narrative purpose. By isolating the figure, Barreto has removed all distractions. We need to pay attention to what the Phantom's thinking. It's the dramatic turning point in the sequence, and because there's nothing around the figure, time seems to stop for a moment.

In the first panel on the last row, the action heats up. Barreto uses speed lines to indicate motion. Noble doesn't just point to the picture, he jabs it emphatically. His emotion is carrying him away. This panel has to be read in tandem with the one that follows. In this one, we only see Noble, who's oblivious to what's happening around him. In the final panel, we see the results of Noble's words.

The Wambesi have exploded with fury. In the far right of the panel, you can see Nobel, still talking, unaware of the riot behind him. Not so the Phantom! Look how all the lines sweep the eye from left to right. The line of warriors is closest at the far left and trail off to the right. This funnels the eye straight through the middle of the panel to the Phantom, who's leaning backwards to carry the eye over to Noble.

Noble, however, is in shadow, so while that's the end of the narrative of the panel, it's not the main point. The main point is that the Phantom is facing  a sea of angry warriors.  Because Noble's in shadow, the eye pauses on the Phantom. All the warriors are leaning to the right, as are their spears. But only one is pointed horizontally -- and that one is aimed straight at the Phantom.

In far less time than it takes to read this post, Barreto works his magic. His lines lead the reader's eyes in the direction he wants them to, ensuring they see not only what he wants them to see, but in what sequence and with what weight. There's not a misstep anywhere along the way.

Eduardo Barreto was a rare talent. He'll be sorely missed.