It shouldn't surprise you to learn that comic legend Jack Kirby has an IMDB page listing a slew of credits. He of course worked directly for Hanna-Barbera, and helped create and/or develop a number of cartoons for them. And he's been given on-screen credit for creating many of the characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Not to mention that he's shown up in a number of comic book documentaries, talking about himself and his craft.

Less well known is that he has a few acting creits to his name. He notably appeared as a police sketch artist in the 1970s The Incredible Hulk show with Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno, and later had an actual speaking role as himself in the 1990s sitcom Bob.

But the credit that has me curious is from a 1976 episode of Starsky & Hutch in which he apparently plays the part of an "Officer Day." So I sat down to watch the episode and while there is a credit at the end for an Officer Day played by Jack Kirby, there's no character named as such on screen and I don't see anyone who clearly seems to be Jack. The closest I can see is there's a uniformed officer seen helping another cop who was just shot; it looks like it could be Jack but we never get a good look at his face...

I don't see any other names in the credits that I know to be linked with Jack in any way, and the show itself doesn't really have any comic book themes to it. There is one character shown reading a copy of Werewolf by Night #34 but that's entirely incidental to the entire episode.

So I'm wondering first if that is indeed Jack Kirby in that uniform and, if so, how did he find himself in it? Or are we talking about an entirely different guy who happens have the name "Jack Kirby"? There is another unnamed, uniformed police officer in the episode who actually has speaking lines -- is that the "Jack Kirby" in question?

It's an obscure, barely-even-comics-related question, but does anyone have any knowledge or insights about what the deal is here?

When is it relevant to dig deeper into comics history? At what point are we able to take accepted wisdom as fact? When is it pertinent to scrounge up original sources?

One of the goals of comics historians is to set the record straight. To quote Indiana Jones, they're on "the search for fact... not truth. If it's truth you're interested in, Dr. Tyree's philosophy class is right down the hall." The study of comics is an interesting one for a few reasons. One, it's about things that were published and distributed en masse. Unlike traditional history or archaeology where you're looking at individually produced items. Two, it largely came into existence late enough in human history that there was at least some prescient notion that comics would be interesting and valuable to someone, whether that was intended for government use (in the way of financial records) or personal use. Third, it was also late enough in human history that a sufficient number of people had sufficient free time to be able to study comics while earning a living doing something else.

Compared to many other aspects of history, comics has an incredible stockpile of original source information. We have original production artwork from Windsor McCay's "Little Nemo." We have the original check National paid Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster for their first Superman story. We have Harry Peter's original design sketch for Wonder Woman with hand-written notes from William Marston. We have recorded testimony of Will Eisner from the copyright lawsuit against Victor Fox.

But most of that has only come back into the light sort-of-recently after having been presumed lost for decades. People hunting through old file folders and cabinets and trunks and such.

But, to my original question, though, at what point do you stop digging? How much Siegel and Shuster got paid for Superman has long been known to comic fans, but we only had their word on the matter. Does having the actual check make a difference? It adds credence to their story, of course, but otherwise, no.

The Eisner testimony, when read in its complete form, paints a slightly different picture of Eisner than the story he'd always told. He didn't lie, to my knowledge, but his after-the-fact version makes him out to be more virtuous and noble than what his actual testimony suggests. It's probably indeed how he remembered the event and, while the two versions don't line up perfectly, they're close enough than here too the overall story doesn't really change a whole lot.

So should we just accept what we've "known" when it comes to comics history?

The obvious answer is "no". If it weren't for people NOT accepting "known" comics history, we likely wouldn't know who Bill Finger was at all. We might still believe Jack Liebowitz was playing golf with Martin Goodman when he let slip how well Justice League was selling.

But at some point, though, you experience diminishing returns. You can do more and more and more research, and only come across smaller and smaller tidbits of information. For example, if you read a biography of Stan Lee, you'll learn a lot about him. If you read another biography about Lee, much of the same material will be repeated. You'd spend as much time reading the second biography as the first, but learn fewer things. A third biography would yield even less. So at what point do you stop reading because you're not learning anything new?

When is it okay to stop looking for primary source material? If ever? How much effort is enough and how much is too much?

Questions I don't have answers for, but something to keep in mind as you're reading people (including myself!) who talk about comics history. How much of what they say is something they actually researched and how much is something they heard from some guy at a comic shop once?

If you're reading this, you're at least like me enough to feel like everything is pretty horrifically awful right now. And however much you're engaged or not at the moment -- and, trust me, I totally get why you might feel like checking out and generally ignoring the world in favor of reading about some superheroes or something -- you're likely doing what you can just to get through each day. You're dealing with rapidly increasing food and fuel prices, and job insecurity at a minimum; possibly active threats of governmental violence and/or the possible 'disappearance' of yourself or loved ones. So what good is looking at a book filled with protest art and comics?

I'll defer to editor Tony Wolf. In his introduction to Times Like These, he writes...

I believe that all art -- even protest art -- is an exuberant expression of one's mind and heart. History has shown us fascism can steamroll everything (and quickly) if there is no pushback. Our current leaders have continually been shattering norms and 'flooding the zone' with lies, as they move the goalposts ever closer to dictatorship and pushing oppressed communities out of society. When a President campiagns on the fear of immigrans "poisoning the blood of our country," you know things have taken a turn. The years go on, and still we say "No" to this dehumanizing rhetoric.

In organizing this book, I thought about how we now look back at protest art from the Vietnam era, the Civil Rights era, World War II, McCarthyism. Surely even my more cynical peers will acknowledge that dissent efforts (of all kinds) mattered during these periods. If we make it through these years with our democracy somewhat intact, this collection can be seen as one among many snapshots of resistance art. If nothing else, protest art and nationwide protests like No Kings show that Americans didn't let go of democracy without a fight...

We are, of course, but a small portion of Americans around the nation making our voices heard, still believing there is a chance for a better tomorrow.

The art on display in here runs the gamut from satire to commentary to, in some cases, just portraits of those who've been murdered by ICE agents. Likewise, the artistic styles range from cartoony to realistic to interperative. Normally, I'd say with a collection like this that there's something for everybody to like, but given the subject matter, I don't know that "like" is the operative word. Suffice it to say that the book includes work by Bill Sienkiewicz, Emil Ferris, Peter Kuper, Rick Parker, J.T. Yost, Dean Haspiel, Alex Hernandez, and many others. There is no shortage of talented people saying variations of "Trump and his ilk are shitstains who are murdering thousands of people, destroying lives of hundreds of thousands, and tearing the country down to nothing."

Once the printing costs of the book are covered, all the proceeds will be donated to the ACLU, who has obviously been exceptionally busy trying to legally halt pretty much every awful thing this administration is doing. And since "every awful thing" is, in this case, literally everything, they've got their hands full and could use all the help they can get. Is the ACLU better off if you just send them $20 directly, rather than buy a book which has to take at least some of that $20 to cover printing costs? Technically, yeah, probably. But there's more than a little to be said about seeing others' perspectives on what's most important to them, and getting some measure of catharsis by seeing that you're not the only one who thinks this whole administration and everyone who supports it are on some bullshit.

Time Like These is available now through Comic Lion Productions for $20 US. Check out some of their other comics while you're there too.

Here are this week's links to what I've had published recently...

Kleefeld on Comics: Memorial Day
https://ift.tt/ZP1rsCY

Kleefeld on Comics: Of Cataloging and Digital Comics
https://ift.tt/iXPSTH8

Kleefeld on Comics: Which Details Are Worth It?
https://ift.tt/98hCkLW

Kleefeld on Comics: Thundarr Review
https://ift.tt/wJsmYg5

Kleefeld on Comics: What Happened to Fumetti Ads?
https://ift.tt/kciKV5X

I expect many of you will be familiar with print ads that use comic style storytelling. Probably the two most classic examples are the Charles Atlas "98 pount weakling" and Hostess treats ads that were both famous in comic books. But the style/format of emulating a comic -- often with photographs! -- was almost common up through the 1970s or so. Even through the "juvenile deliquency" scare of the 1950s, they continued appearing in magazines, seemingly completely disassociated from the comics medium. Here's a few examples, ranging from 1951 up through 1976...

Although I'm certainly no purveyor of vintage advertising, I don't think I've seen any like this since the late 1970s. I find myself wondering both when and why the fell out of favor. Did they last into the 1980s and I just haven't seen them? What would've caused their decline -- the usual suspects like television had been around for years by that point. Anyone have any thoughts or ideas on the subject?

The original Thundarr the Barbarian cartoon debuted in 1980, part of ABC's Saturday morning lineup that fall. In retrospect, it's timing was very strange. It largely pre-dates two of the pop culture trends of the '80s: post-apocalypses and sword and sorcery fantasies. Mad Max: The Road Warrior came out in 1981 and the first Conan movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger debuted in 1982. Obviously both genres did exist prior to that, but that a network cartoon was preceeding a cultural zeitgeist of sorts instead of following well behind one was decidedly unusual.

Needless to say, it was one of the most unique shows on television at the time, certainly the most unique cartoon. The opening narration starts by explaining how civilization was totally destroyed, and new creatures evolved to live in the ruins. Yes, the basic story structure tended to be fairly straight-forward good-versus-evil fights, but it was always over the backdrop of the still-recognizable detritus of then-modern civilization. And except for a few very learned individuals (notably the female protagonist, Ariel) everyone was completely clueless as to the origins or even purposes of these now-ancient relics. A simple pocket watch might be seen as mystical talisman, or a shrine might be built up around a data processing center. (These types of ideas got more wide-spread/popular attention in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome a few years later.)

It would only be years later that I learned about the show's creators. It was conceived of and headed by Steve Gerber, with the original character designs by Alex Toth. Jack Kirby provided most of the villains' designs, and scripts were written by the likes of Marty Pasko, Roy Thomas, Mark Evanier, and Buzz Dixon to name a few. Boatloads of talent at the helm and, despite working for what was ostensibly a kids show, they never talked down to their audience.

Now, does any of that background matter when it comes to the new Thundarr the Barbarian comic book by Jason Aaron and Kewber Baal? No. The first issue lays out the basic background (I haven't checked directly, but it's nearly if not completely identical to the opening narration from the show) before dropping readers into the story. And like the show, there's sufficient exposition to give readers the gist of what's going on immediately, while filling in details as Thundarr comes into the picture and requires additional context. We start off with humans being subjucated and auctioned off as slaves to the various clans of lizard- and ape- and rat-peoples. The story then leads the heroes to fight the Council of Wizards to stop their larger plans.

Aaron does a good job of throwing readers right into the story, but catching them up with any necessary history/context as it moves along. There's a good mix of action and exposition to keep things moving. And Baal does a good job communicating how exactly the action moves along. I'll also make note in particular that he draws a pretty good Ookla, which is one of those characters that seems like he ought to be easy enough because of his visual simplicity but, in fact, is really hard to get just right.

What struck me, as a fan of the show as a kid and having studied it more conscientiously as an adult, is how much of the show's lore is packed into the comic. There's the opening narration, as I noted earlier, but the majority of the cast are characters that appeared in show at some point. Including Sabian and a winged monster he conjured -- who only appeared in the show's opening credits and not anywhere in any episode. They also go to offering a more detailed backstory for the protagonists -- which is only hinted at in the show itself -- and manage to logically weave in the various elements of the story that had been known. Clearly, both creators are fans of the show and have done more than their fair share of homework to honor what other fans liked four decades ago.

There is some element of nostalgia being peddled here, without a doubt. However, the story thus far is done well enough that it can stand on its own for any readers who've never heard of Thundarr before. The TV show was well-received in its day but only lasted two seasons, and never won any awards. It was fun but offered viewers more to think about than just simple high-adventure excitement. I think the comic very much continues in that same vein. It's solidly entertaining in its own right, but offers more than a simple run at nostalgia. Worth a read if you have any interest in a post-apocalyptic sword and sorcery adventure, and DEFINITELY worth a read if you were a fan of the show back in the day!

The first four issues are out now from Dynamite Entertainment, and #5 is scheduled to be released on June 17.

I was speaking with a comics creator this past weekend who had only "discovered" Jack Kirby a couple years ago. He said he was certainly aware of Jack's work for years, but it only really "clicked" (his word) for him a year or two ago. Perhaps not so coincidentally, he'd only been drawing comics for about five years, so his appreciation might well come from getting a more visceral understanding of the comics creation process, whereas previously, he may have been stuck on the overt aesthetics.

We ended up chatting a while, and I threw out a few bits that he hadn't really been aware of. Like that Jack was writing and drawing comics professionally at age 20, doing rip-offs for the Lincoln Syndicate. And that he worked most of his career out of his home. And that he was in his 40s when started Fantastic Four and in his 50s during its peak period.

None of what I said was revelatory, really. It was new to him, certainly, but that Jack lived next door to Joe Simon is an interesting anecdote but hardly changes how you view his work on Captain America Comics. How old Jack was when he worked on any given comic isn't really a huge deal, other than perhaps how it may have come before or after some other book he worked on.

But, at the same time, there's a better sense of the whole picture.

"Wait, Jack wasn't some crazy kid throwing wild ideas out when he created Galactus -- he was 50!"

"Wait, Jack didn't go into an office every day?"

"Wait, that would explain how Jack drew 8-10-12 hours a day, but still managed time for his wife and kids!"

And what all that does is put your own work in perspective. Jack worked on comics for nearly a quarter century before he started getting to the stuff that he's best known for; maybe the five years you've been working isn't so bad after all. Sure, Jack had a tremendous output, but he didn't have to leave the house for 10-11 hours a day just to earn a living. That difference is bound to impact your output!

Comparing your work/your success/your fame/whatever against anyone else's is something of a fool's game in the first place. After all, you're not them and have a different set of talents and goals and circumstances than they do/did. But if you want to make any sort of comparisons, even if it's for superficial purposes, it helps to have some context so you know what exactly you're comparing yourself against!