Carl Barks adhered to an eight-panel
narrative structure, the norm for the still-burgeoning comic book
industry of the early '40s. While some might find fault with the
absence of variety or experimentation (Barks was certainly no Jack
Kirby or Jim Steranko), he exploited the format to remarkable effect.
This is a page from The Golden Helmet (1952 — click on the pictures for a closer look):
Panel
1 sets up the crux of Donald's predicament: he's underemployed as a
museum security guard, resorting to flights of fancy to stave off
tedium. His reverie is interrupted by an interloper who nudges Donald
into active duty — the first time Donald is required to
actually guard
something. When we reach the concluding panel, the peculiarity of the
scene causes Donald (and the reader) to wonder what this is all
about.
The next eight
panels draw Donald further into the mystery:
Here Barks combines
the art of silently advancing the story via Donald's snooping and
tapping — a Visual Narrative technique common to the animation
studio Barks left behind — and colours it in with Donald's internal
monologue of reason/speculation.
Needless to say,
the discovery leads to the compressed “Tom Swift” sort of
adventure Barks was famous for. As for characterization, much is said
about the complex moral nature of Barks' ducks — sci-fi provocateur
Rudy Rucker goes so far as to label them “anti-heroes.” This is
surely overstatement made for effect, but Barks was nevertheless keen to
exploit his heroes' moral vulnerabilities. In this adventure, Donald
will briefly succumb to the allure of the MacGuffin, a Golden Helmet which confers ownership of all of North America to its bearer.
That said, what I
find charming about Barks' heroes is their facial innocence. Contrast
Donald's snooping with that of the Dickensian villain he interrupted.
Donald begins in state of mild pique, wondering what this grotesque,
suspicious-looking malcontent was looking for. The more he ponders
the puzzle, the more benign his facial expressions become, until —
oh joy! — he discovers what the villain missed. It is this
innocence that draws the reader in and allows him to take pleasure in
the hero's later (and tirelessly repeated) renunciation of the same.
Now re-read those
panels. “That guy was looking for something else — something he
got wind of in an old Viking book, maybe!” “Those translators of
ancient writings come across some strange secrets sometimes!” Even
with the gratuitous use of the exclamation mark, do you “hear”
those sentences in Donald's spluttering quack? The voice I hear is that of a mature adult male, and it's a voice common to his young
nephews as well. (In fact, it's a voice not far removed from that of my father, who would read these adventures to us kids after our Saturday night bath.)
Some years back
Disney mounted an animated series based loosely on Barks' adventures.
The one episode I watched was surprisingly faithful to the source,
but I was left completely cold. Voice was a huge impediment to my
enjoyment. Scrooge sounded like Mike Myers impersonating his
Scottish grandmother, the boys sounded like mice being squeezed
through a penny-whistle, and Donald sounded like the lame duck he's
morphed into since he stopped spanking the kids and started attending anger management workshops.
Viewers unfamiliar
with the comic books were able to take the series at face value and
judge it (approvingly, for the most part) for what it was, while
those of us who'd worn the books thin were dissatisfied. The true
artistry of comic sequential art is, as Scott McCloud so brilliantly elucidates, invisible — it is what the reader brings to the work,
under the artist's subtle prompting. At his best, Barks' colluded with the
reader on a level of silently shared intelligence that, today, seems
almost formidable.
The geeks at Boing Boing are admirers of Barks, and occasionally puzzle over the
near-extinction of the Funny Animal Genre. I believe the unusual
longevity of Barks's duck stories shines a telling light on this
species' endangered status. But that's material for another post.
The panels here are all from "The Golden Helmet"
an adventure included in the Fantagraphics
volume, Donald Duck: "A Christmas For Shacktown"
January 5, 2021: "Lucas and Spielberg have acknowledged Barks’s influence on their Indiana Jones movies — what they have not acknowledged is that CGI never surpassed an aging, self-employed cartoonist hidden away in his converted Gilroy barn" -- fabulous bit of Barks-related writing by Scott Bradfield over at LARB.
Also: my appraisal of Don Rosa.
2 comments:
My own history with Carl Barks: I was not allowed to have comic books as a young kid, but one of the family restaurant's we went to had Donald Duck comics in the waiting room. I'm not 100% sure they were Carl Barks to be honest, but at least they made use of his signature characters Uncle Scrooge, Gyro Gearloose, Magica De Spell, et cetera. I've never really looked at it since, and would love to become re-acquainted with it one day.
A few years later when Ducktales came out i was in 4th grade, and everyone at school loved that series. I guess we were just about the right age for it. I assume this is the series you are referring to in your post?
For reasons I was never entirely clear about, someone at Disney made the decision to send Donald off to the Navy, and the show was entirely about Uncle Scrooge and his 3 nephews. Donald only ever appeared in a couple episodes (one of which must have been the one you watched, it sounds like.)
Since I have only the foggiest memories of those old Donald Duck comics, I've got a million questions about what they're like. But rather than bother you with all of those, one of these days I think I'll just have to track down these Carl Barks volumes for myself.
Ducktales is indeed the show I refer to. I suspect Donald was shipped back to the Navy because it was proving increasingly hard for the actor to quack lines like, "Those translators of ancient writings come across some strange secrets sometimes."
If you go the Fantagraphics route I'd advise against "Lost In The Andes," their first collection. It has some good stories, but also some real stinkers that even Barks felt ambivalent about. Also, Fantagraphics hadn't yet settled on the format they wanted, so the book's organization is a bit of a mess. "A Christmas In Shacktown" (A) is good, as is "Only A Poor Old Man" (A).
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