On 'The Beano': Naughty National Icons and a History of Misbehavior (Part 3 of 3) by Dona Pursall

By the time the first readers had grown up and become the parents of Beano readers, Beanotown characters had slightly fuller bellies and better clothes. By the 1950s the social context of the readers had changed, and so had the driving forces of the characters. Naughty behaviour was no longer a moralising reaction to adult’s poor values, but rather, in line with rising youth cultures of the time, a statement towards self-assertion and independence beyond the authority of the family unit. Pranking parents and dodging school were key motivations for the characters in this period, dads and teachers becoming the most common targets for mischief. This is typified by the introduction of new characters. Roger the Dodger, as the name suggests invests all of his energy into sidestepping any chores or responsibilities asked of him, and the Bash Street Kids dedicate themselves to learning as little as possible from and humiliating as often as possible their long suffering teacher. Rather than playing, as earlier strips, with the dynamics between adultishness and childishness, 1950s play positioned between looking respectfully to the past and looking rebelliously to the future.

‘Roger the Dodger,’ The Beano No. 807 January 4th 1958

‘Roger the Dodger,’ The Beano No. 807 January 4th 1958

The 1950's rise of the Teddy boy and girl culture marked both the rejection of post-war austerity and of earlier socialist models of community, and a move towards conspicuous consumption and the start of the neo-liberal teenage subculture. While the characters of the 30s and 40s, still confined by post-war rationing, were often happy to work for food, by the 50s economic rewards had become the norm. Beanotown children were no longer just mischievous, playing pranks for laughs, - they had become confrontational, determined to never grow into their parents and in response to their inflated rebelliousness, the punishments they received, from the very parents and teachers who were now the target of the humor, were stronger too; seeing children punished with a slipper or a cane became a common final image. This would perhaps suggest that the intended audience of these comics has moved away from the child, corporal punishment hardly seems humorous to victims. However, the joy for the child reader stems from the very violence of the punishment, which makes the risk so great, rather than from outright laughter. The characters, despite being aware of the possible consequences, continue to rebel; each week finding new, creative ways to challenge the status quo and sometimes, to the great relish of the readers, succeeding. The value in reading each week is found both in the creativity of the child characters, and the unpredictability of the outcome.

One such character appeared first in March 1951. Weirdly, in exactly the same week a character with exactly the same name also appeared in US newspapers, these were however two different, equally menacing, Dennis’. Dennis Michell is a freckled, blond, five year old who causes trouble mostly through his youthful innocence and curiosity for adult audiences and was drawn by Hank Ketcham as a single panel feature. Meanwhile, Beanotown’s Dennis had the tagline “world’s naughtiest boy” to his strips, and with distinctive black spiked hair and knobbly knees was a ten year old trouble-maker actively looking to create mischief and chaos wherever he went. His long-suffering ‘Dad’ was the most frequent victim to his antics, however anyone considered well-behaved or conforming was at risk. ‘Dennis the Menace’ has become a mascot for the Beano comic, continuing to react against rules and order to become the longest running strip in the comic.  

Just as Beano characters were getting naughtier, the anti-comics movement became stronger and more vocal. Predominantly in the US but also in the UK concern was growing regarding the power of comics to corrupt young minds, and the fear that it would raise a generation of illiterate, disobedient young people increasingly led to strong moral campaigns by activists such as Fredrick Wertham. The debate was part of a wider contemporary controversy regarding ‘high’ and ‘low’ artistic culture. Comics for children received significant attention within this discourse as their readers were considered vulnerable. That a comic could be a social menace, and that adults were actively seeking to prevent children reading them inevitably led to the opposite reaction and in comics history the 1950s is regarded, rather ironically, as both the peak of the counter-comics movement and simultaneously, as the ‘Golden Age’ of comics.

 The 1950s children grew up and their children became the new Dennis the Menace Fan Club members. The childhood of the 1970s and 80s though had moved on rapidly. Conspicuous consumption, technology and fashion, music and TV offered new and exciting forms of entertainment to challenge the comics medium. The liberated free time of gangs of kids making their own entertainment on the streets had given way to organised sports and adult supervised activities. Energy children had previously invested in mischief and rebellion was now increasingly focused in team sports and computer games, steering play away from chaotic spontaneity and towards organised and purchasable activities. The reactionary social rebellion of the youth of the 50s and 60s had passed. Who you were was increasingly defined by the things that you had and wore; rather than what you did. The dynamic of conflict between parents, teachers and children was replaced by a return to the more slapstick and surreal mischievous behavior of the early Beano characters, however with many more resources with which to play tricks. While ‘Wily Willie Winkie’ had to make do with what he could find and make in the 1930s, the characters of the 1980s had water pistols, remote control cars, football boots and trampolines easily available to them. It is often these objects, things they have or take, which become the target of the jokes, either through their destruction or finding surprising, unusual or extreme uses for things for which they were never intended.  

The new characters of this era reflected both the pace of change and developments in knowledge prevalent in this era. ‘Ball Boy’ for example only cares about football and is concerned with new kit, equipment and techniques for training, but he is plagued by the rather useless members in his team. Humor often stems from the gap between the characters' ambitions and the realities of what they can achieve, between ideas and their physical capabilities. This joyful nature of these strips lies in the characters persistence despite failure. Their disregard for the restricting limitations of reality is endearing and an important reminder to children to have big dreams. These children are no longer making fun of the constrains of social restrictions or authoritative adults, but rather of the void between the infinite possibilities presented to children that they can be or have anything they want, and the child as an erratic and unfinished being.  

The Beano is a commercial product, and as such it has always strived to stay relevant and contemporary as times have changed. Inclusion of known or famous real people as comic characters has been a continuous technique used to achieve this, as well as storylines concerning real issues. They produced for example a special souvenir issue for the wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry and for their 4000th issue in 2019 they introduced the new character Mandi and her Mobile, drawing attention to the issues children face with mobile phones.

The joy in these strips is connected with the journey characters take through the narratives, and that they remain fallible, incomplete children throughout. The reader is not guaranteed a laugh at the neat resolution of success, but because these characters are underdogs who work hard, who try and fail and grow. This style creates an honest unpredictability which is especially appealing to children because they identify with it. They accept that even though sometimes the strips end in catastrophe or punishment for the child character, the next edition has a fresh potentiality to it, a new chance.  

Adult nostalgia towards their reading experiences of the Beano as a child is fascinating, as it is the resilience, the strength, the determination and rebellion of the characters that is remembered, rather than the uncertainty of success or failure at the end of the strips. There is an energy for action, risk taking, challenging norms and unsettling equilibriums, which adult memory associates with liberation, creativity and learning and not with obstreperous, obstinate children. It is this nostalgic memory that allows the V&A to proudly advocate their Manual for Mischief, as connected with strengthening and empowering children, not with creating a deviant population of young people. Naughtiness and misbehaviour in this context is playful, pervasive and a necessary part of child development.  

This rose-tinted reminiscences inspired by the 80th birthday celebrations seems to imply that this comic about badly behaved, disruptive, unruly children represents something about British childhood and identity which is considered valuable and worthy and which has become idealised in connection specifically with the Beano. In continuing to genuinely view the world through the amazement of a child, seeing things for the very first time and not being immune to the wonder that this creates, the comic has remained joyful and innocent, and an important reminder that so many things adults take for granted can be questioned and disproved, or seen in a completely different way, when played with by an unencumbered and inquisitive child. Perhaps much of the nostalgia associated with reading these comics lies here, in how the Beano reminds us of something adults often forget. In looking through the prism of childhood we are able to see ourselves and the world around us in a fresher, freer, and more fun way.

An updated ‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1992

An updated ‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1992

Dona Pursall is a PhD student of Cultural Studies, currently embraced within the COMICS project based at Ghent University, Belgium. Funded by a European Research Council Starting Grant, the project seeks to piece together an intercultural history of children in comics: https://www.comics.ugent.be/ Dona’s research explores children, childhood, imagination and culture within the history of humorous comics. She is specifically investigating the relationship between the British ‘funnies’ from the 1930’s to 1960’s and the experiences and development of child readers within the context of wider social unrest and political change.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is curated and edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round

 

On 'The Beano': Naughty National Icons and a History of Misbehavior (Part 2 of 3) by Dona Pursall

‘Tin-Can Tommy’ from The Beano No. 75 December 30th 1939

‘Tin-Can Tommy’ from The Beano No. 75 December 30th 1939

The target audience for these comics has always consciously been children, editorial comments addressed them specifically, letters and jokes pages encouraged their participation and complicity. The tone, even in the early comics, constructed a pro-child attitude, often pitching their wit and their intelligence against flawed adult characters and systems. The ‘us and them’ approach to adulthood added to the popularity of these comics from inception. ‘Pranking’ adults who misuse their power and assume authority, and shaming bullies were particularly common tropes in these strips, as in the ‘Pansy Potter’ and ‘Wily Willie Winkie’ strips featured here. In directly challenging unjust adults, these characters demonstrate their own maturity. This became especially powerful during the Second World War when a predominance of absent fathers, and the mass disruption to families caused by urban evacuation, left many children effectively in unsupervised situations. In this context Pansy Potter single-handedly fighting against invading German tanks and submarines, Lord Snooty firing Hitler out of a cannon in a defiant act of justice, and Tin-Can Tommy taking on the Germans provided relevant, reassuring and inspiring role models for child readers as well as an important chance for laughter in very difficult times. These examples perhaps typify one of the greatest strengths of the Beano’s plot tropes, their adaptability.

Beano characters, as so many other comic strip stars, exist in a perpetual present. To use Umberto Eco’s term, the ‘oneitic climate’ is a world of hazy and mostly irrelevant pasts and futures and consequently of infinite possibilities. For the child characters this creates a fresh and naive approach to every experience, despite the longevity of many of these strips and the inevitable repetition of tropes allowing strips to respond directly to the world beyond the comic. During the Second World War for example, Hitler's authority became a natural ‘enemy’ for the characters. Jokes also often ridiculed characters demonstrating unpatriotic actions in the wartime context. Unfair or unjust behaviour such as stealing, arrogance or greed were common targets.  

These strips often ended with a joke, a punchline or a pun. Although fantastical, these are not like fairy tales, narratives of character or situational transformation, they are rather joyful, playful moments, encouraging readers to look again at the everyday, the familiar with new wonder. Martin Barker has written comprehensively about how the characters serve the strips, that the notion of winners or losers in comic strip resolution is less important than the visual and linguistic ‘poetry’ of the strips’ composition. The elegance of the ‘Pansy Potter’ strip for example lies in the bullies belief that by using a phone to insult ‘Pansy’, he will be safe, and yet it is by following the very same telephone line that she is able to find and ‘educate’ him in phone etiquette. There is great joy in her total disregard of the chaos and destruction she has caused in the process of enforcing ‘good’ behaviour.

‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1937

‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1937

The social values of fairness, justice and respect remain important to the characters and the ethos of the comic. The playfulness however challenged naive expectation that children should be silent and well-behaved. In this regard these comics were genuine products of the late modernist movement, reacting against earlier Victorian restrictions, and instead following the trends in commercial and mainstream cultures of the day. They confronted the inadequacies of earlier philosophies about the  idealised purity of children and instead embraced enlightened psychological and sociological knowledge about complex individual human experience.  

Times change. What was considered mischievous behavior in 1940 cannot be the same as what is considered mischievous behavior today, and yet generations of adults unanimously agree that the comic is a poster child for childhood (mis)behavior. Although the exact nature of what is naughty or humorous has significantly changed in line with social morays, the anti-grown-up attitude, resisting seriousness, responsibility and most importantly rejecting or ridiculing tasks commanded of children by adults has remained a constant motif of Beano. Both intentionally disruptive misbehavior and chaos caused by misdemeanor seems to have remained equally popular throughout its history. The ‘enemy’ however has changed considerably through time, often in recognition of changing attitudes and social trends.  

Each story in the comic interacts with a complex world. These are not narratives simplified to focus purely on the punchline, nor idealized to encourage aspirations of adventure and conquest as the story magazines had done before, but rather they engage with the complexities of everyday action and consequence in the child's journey of discovery.

‘Wily Willie Winkie’ from The Beano No. 58 September 2nd 1939

‘Wily Willie Winkie’ from The Beano No. 58 September 2nd 1939

In the ‘Wily Willie Winkie’ strip from 1939 the restoration of justice drives his inventiveness in the narrative. In the social context of the time, readers in the late 1930’s would enjoy the inversion of his position as powerless inferior to an adult of authority. The strip is about imagining how a child can make things better and what the consequences of that might be. As a comparison, the same motif of problem solving can be seen in the strip ‘Rubi’s Volatile Vacuum’ however in 2019 rebellion against abusive adults has been replaced by resistance to repetitive work and inadequate machinery. ‘Rubidium Von Screwtop’ is, like her father, an inventor. Just like ‘Willie’ she tackles challenges through innovation but often this causes trouble. Her lack of success seems appropriate however as she often tries to wrangle with the wonders of science, such as black holes, rather than just against disrespectful policemen.

‘Rubi Von Screwtop’

‘Rubi Von Screwtop’

Dona Pursall is a PhD student of Cultural Studies, currently embraced within the COMICS project based at Ghent University, Belgium. Funded by a European Research Council Starting Grant, the project seeks to piece together an intercultural history of children in comics: https://www.comics.ugent.be/ Dona’s research explores children, childhood, imagination and culture within the history of humorous comics. She is specifically investigating the relationship between the British ‘funnies’ from the 1930’s to 1960’s and the experiences and development of child readers within the context of wider social unrest and political change.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is curated and edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round

 

 

On 'The Beano': Naughty National Icons and a History of Misbehavior (Part 1 of 3) by Dona Pursall

What do Kofi Annan, Judy Blume and Ben E. King have in common?

They each celebrated their 80th birthdays in 2018. Born on the cusp of the Second World War, in the same year that nuclear fission was discovered and in which nylon and freeze dry coffee were introduced, they were children of another era. Superman and Lois Lane also turned 80 in 2018. This occasion was celebrated with an 80 page special edition of the 1000th issue of Action Comics and the publication of a curated collection of essays and re-prints Action Comics: 80 years of Superman The Deluxe Edition.

Front cover of the first edition of The Beano from 30th July 1938

Front cover of the first edition of The Beano from 30th July 1938

British comic readers also celebrated an 80th in 2018, of not one character but of a whole comic, and importantly a children's comic. The ways that this special birthday was celebrated speaks loudly to the place it has in British culture and British hearts. In its honour, the V&A art museum in London hosted an exhibition entitled Beano: A Manual for Mischief, Stella McCartney produced a dedicated fashion collection for kids paying homage to the comic characters, the National Trust (a heritage charity for historic buildings and landscapes) held Beano inspired "mischief and mayhem" related events across the country, and the McManus, Dundee’s Art Gallery and Museum, was renamed 'The McMenace' and hosted exhibits such as 'Minnie Lisa' by Duh Vinci, a Mona Lisa inspired portrait of Minnie the Minx, one of the comic’s most well-known naughty characters. The event became the most popular comics exhibition in UK history. What seems remarkable about these widespread appropriations of the comic's birthday celebrations is the incongruous relationship between these prestigious and well-respected institutions, and a comic for children where silliness, ridicule and misbehaviour are central tropes. It appears that despite its irreverent and mischievous nature, the comic has become a British institution in its own right.  

‘Bean feast’ is an eighteenth century term referring to an annual formal dinner. The expression ‘beano’ originated from this and in its abbreviated form it became associated more informally with any party. As a title Beano drew from the positive associations of a festive occasion to inform the tone of the comic. It is published weekly as a gathering of fun-loving, original and energetic personalities who throw themselves wholeheartedly into celebrating life. They sometimes fail, sometimes succeed, they laugh at others and at themselves, they challenge and question, they play on the edge of the adult world, but always remain children. The diversity of characters has continually morphed throughout the 80 years of publication, reflecting real social changes which affect childhood experiences, but the feeling of a chaotic carnival has remained the foundation of the comic.

Excerpt of ‘Desperate Dan’ from Dandy No. 60 Jan 21st 1939

Excerpt of ‘Desperate Dan’ from Dandy No. 60 Jan 21st 1939

The market of comics for children was already richly populated both with imports and British story papers by the late 1930s. Text story magazines for children had been popular since before the turn of the century, offering serialized popular narratives of mystery and adventure. Comic strip stories were gradually included, though the magazines remained primarily textual, often drawing from literary genres. The Scottish publisher D C Thomson was already a major producer of British children's story papers when in 1937 they introduced a new humorous anthology, the Dandy comic which, unlike the existing story magazines, offered predominantly drawn comic strips, and included 'American style' speech balloons rather than captions.  

The other way this comic differed from the existing offerings was through its main content of self-contained rather than serialised stories.  It introduced completely original characters and reworked popular favourites. The first issue contained, for example, ‘Desperate Dan’, a ridiculously strong cowboy with an exaggerated square jaw and a reputation for eating giant cow pies (referring to pies made of cow meat, although the double entendre was probably intentional), and ‘Our Gang’, about a squad of unruly children based on the Hal Roach Rascals movies which had started as silent films released by M.G.M. in 1922. The publisher commissioned and employed artists and writers across the breadth of the country, many of whom who had never written for children before, to create significant and iconic characters who would become the 'stars' of the comic and thus capture the hearts and minds of the readers.   

The success of the Dandy was followed with the launch of the Beano. It built on the most popular aspects of its big brother such as the non-consecutive strip style and the original and playful characters. The heart of the Beano comic, however, was the range and energy of the child characters presented, and their engagement with real-world children's issues.

Excerpt of ‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1940

Excerpt of ‘Pansy Potter’ from The Beano annual 1940

The first editions introduced characters such as ‘Pansy Potter, the Strongman's Daughter’, a young girl with extraordinary muscles who is able to treat the great feats of human engineering, such as ships and aeroplanes, as though they are toys. ‘Wily Willie Winkie’ was an engineering genius able to challenge adult authority through his inventions. ‘Lord Snooty's’ aristocratic position enabled him to defend his pals from the harsh injustices of a socially divided society. A shared attitude of irreverence unites these strips, despite differences in age, ability and social status of the characters. The breadth of different types of character in the comics also offered readers variety enticing all children. It was launched as the first ever British children's comic for both boys and girls, a move which reacted against the very gendered magazines that had gone before, and responded to the anecdotal evidence that many girls already chose to read the 'boys' magazines rather than those marketed to them.  

 Disobedient and playful children were already a well-established trope in literature, film and comics by the 1930s in both the US and Europe. However, whilst humor in cinema tended towards inclusive, reconciling laughter to appeal to the widest possible audiences, and strip comics in newspapers often laughed at the separation between the child and the adult view on the world, the Beano comic introduced a new kind of anarchic comedy, of children laughing together against grown-ups. 

Importantly though, the child characters not only challenged the expectations of behavior but also of looks. Beano children were not the neat, cutesy, stylized children that had become popular in the Victorian era and had continued to predominate as movie stars and marketing props such as Baby Marie Osborne and Shirley Temple. Beano children were clumsy, they had knobbly knees, spiky or disheveled hair and disproportionate limbs or heads. They were often illustrated with the inelegant, unbalanced stance of real children and their clothes were unfitting or patched. Changing labor and education laws had removed children from the factories and workplaces and required them to attend primary school, often reducing the already low income of the families and leaving children often alone in the world, on the street and unoccupied. Beanotown children were equally victim of the economic depression and food shortages as real British children were, their naughty behavior often being instigated by hunger and necessity. This was not the world of the privileged and the protected, but rather of the vulnerable underdog: a character 1930's child readers would have identified strongly with.

The Beano, No. 55 July 29th 1939

The Beano, No. 55 July 29th 1939

Dona Pursall is a PhD student of Cultural Studies, currently embraced within the COMICS project based at Ghent University, Belgium. Funded by a European Research Council Starting Grant, the project seeks to piece together an intercultural history of children in comics: https://www.comics.ugent.be/ Dona’s research explores children, childhood, imagination and culture within the history of humorous comics. She is specifically investigating the relationship between the British ‘funnies’ from the 1930’s to 1960’s and the experiences and development of child readers within the context of wider social unrest and political change.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is curated and edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round

Promoting Tommy Steele through 1950s UK Comics (Part 2 of 2) by Joan Ormrod

Tommy as Magic Helper

Advert promoting the new series, “The New Tommy Steele Story.” Romeo #9, November 30th 1957, Page 15.

Advert promoting the new series, “The New Tommy Steele Story.” Romeo #9, November 30th 1957, Page 15.

The fan could put herself in a fantasy scenario in the picture stories in which Tommy Steel appeared as himself.  There are two significant tropes in these stories, Tommy as magic helper and the guitar as a magic object used to achieve a dream.

Tommy Steele’s “never told before” adventures in Romeo started 7th December, 1957 and continued until late 1958.  The story banner proclaimed, “This is the Tommy as he really is, the Tommy few people know anything about” thereby inferring this is a secret between the comic and the Tommy Steele fan.  In most of these stories Tommy acted as a magical helper able to elevate or enrich ordinary people through music and help people find true love.   

One such story, “So Early in the Morning,” appeared in Romeo #40, May 31st, 1958. The story simultaneously showed Tommy as magic helper whilst promoting his latest film, The Duke Wore Jeans (1957).

While making The Duke Wore Jeans Tommy sets his alarm clock incorrectly and goes on set on Sunday only to find everything closed.  However, there is a girl singing on the set.  Tommy records her and plays the recording to the director.  She is appointed to play in the film and she then becomes a singing star. This story appealed to the teenage girl’s desire not just for the star, but for recognition and fame.

Figure 7 ‘So Early in the Morning’. In the first panel the story promotes Tommy's new film. Romeo #40 May 31st, 1958, p.12.

Figure 7 ‘So Early in the Morning’. In the first panel the story promotes Tommy's new film. Romeo #40 May 31st, 1958, p.12.

Every fan's dream - that the star will recognise their talent, although here there is no hint of romance just stardom and fame. Romeo #40 May 31st, 1958. 'So Early in the Morning', p.13.

Every fan's dream - that the star will recognise their talent, although here there is no hint of romance just stardom and fame. Romeo #40 May 31st, 1958. 'So Early in the Morning', p.13.

An example of Tommy’s ability to spin gold from little can be seen in “Ping Went the String of Tommy’s Guitar”, Romeo #19.  Chorus girl, Maisie’s dress catches and breaks the ‘e’ string on Tommy’s guitar.[1]  Desolate, she persuades Old Charlie, a busker outside the theatre, to donate his e string to Tommy. Charlie refuses Tommy’s money as reward and so Tommy busks outside the theatre with Charlie, earning a huge amount of money.  This story reinforced Tommy’s affiliation with his working-class roots, his kindness and his talent.

The guitar as fetish object. ‘Ping Went the String’. Romeo 19, December 6th, 1957, p.7.

The guitar as fetish object. ‘Ping Went the String’. Romeo 19, December 6th, 1957, p.7.

Dual promotion of Tommy's latest hit and his star image as a down to earth ordinary person but who can magically bestow favours. Romeo 19, December 6th, 1957, p.8.

Dual promotion of Tommy's latest hit and his star image as a down to earth ordinary person but who can magically bestow favours. Romeo 19, December 6th, 1957, p.8.

Tommy and His Magic Guitar

The significance of the guitar is reflected the story of how he became a pop star in The Tommy Steele Story (1957)Tommy is introduced to the guitar when in hospital with a bad back.  He is taught how to play a guitar and entrances hospital staff and patients with his abilities to entertain.  When he leaves hospital, he visits a second-hand shop and buys a guitar which he takes around the world in his travels with the merchant navy. On his tour he picks up musical styles and creates rock ‘n’ roll.  The guitar eventually becomes the means for him to achieve his dream to make his own unique music.  The notion of the guitar as a means of achieving a fantasy or dream recurs in several stories. 

A story told by Tommy occurs in Roxy in which the guitar was a significant feature of the narrative.  The guitar, like that in his biopic, becomes the means for girls to achieve their less ambitious goals of love and marriageThis story was part of an ongoing series from the first issue to 1961 in which each week, a star told a story in which they helped a couple find love.  In nearly all of these stories the inciting incident is shown in the first panel when the protagonist faces a dilemma. The star intervenes.  There is often a romantic quarrel before the star helps to resolve the dispute.   

In “Look What I’ve Won! Tommy Steele’s Guitar and Ten Guitar Lessons!” (Roxy 14, June 14th, 1958, pp.1-4) Trudy, “the shyest, quietest girl in town”, wins Tommy’s old guitar and has lessons with Dermott, a musician in a skiffle group.  The second page of the story shows Trudy trudging through town, imagining everyone is laughing at her.  She clutches the guitar which seems large and heavy in her arms (fig 12).  Gradually her guitar teacher, Dermot, wins her confidence and love and he convinces her to play the guitar in front of an audience.  Trudy buys a new dress, one that will draw instead of detracting attention from her (fig 13). Dermot tells her she is a natural born player and to believe in herself. (fig 14). “By now, so great was her love and faith in Dermot that if he’d told her to jump off the Blackpool Tower she’d have done it!” Trudy’s singing is a success.  She forgets her stammer and shyness.  The last panel delivers the coda, “If it hadn’t been for Tommy Steele’s old guitar all this would never have happened.”  Tommy wraps the story up explaining how stammers can be cured through song. 

Trudy, the shyest girl in town wins Tommy Steele’s guitar and finds romance. Roxy 11, May 24th, 1958

Trudy, the shyest girl in town wins Tommy Steele’s guitar and finds romance. Roxy 11, May 24th, 1958

Roxy 11, May 24th, 1958, page 2.

Roxy 11, May 24th, 1958, page 2.

Trudy turns to consumerism and fashion to solve her problems.

Trudy turns to consumerism and fashion to solve her problems.

The stories usually end with the protagonist sending an update on their romance to the star. Tommy's guitar not only makes romance happen and cures Trudy's stammer.

The stories usually end with the protagonist sending an update on their romance to the star. Tommy's guitar not only makes romance happen and cures Trudy's stammer.

There is a similar to a story in Roxy 1 (which I discussed in an article for The Journal of Girlhood Studies[2]) in which an equally shy girl is given a lucky guitar by Tommy, buys a dress and finds love. 

Marilyn's Screen Test No. 1 - Spanish romance combines the glamour of a Spanish holiday with the holiday romance. The fan can interact and daydream about the star. Note too, the record promotes Tommy's new film, Tommy the Toreador (1959).

Marilyn's Screen Test No. 1 - Spanish romance combines the glamour of a Spanish holiday with the holiday romance. The fan can interact and daydream about the star. Note too, the record promotes Tommy's new film, Tommy the Toreador (1959).

The fan was also hailed in the Marilyn Screen Test series in which pop stars acted out a scene of dialogue on a record that could be purchased for one shilling and nine pence. The Tommy Steele record was advertised in Marilyn, 26 September 1959, and the record ephemera proclaimed, "You star with Tommy Steele in Marilyn's Screen Test! Screen Test is a game you'll be thrilled by. YOU play a love scene with TOMMY STEELE." The record story, set in Spain, where “They go in for something called romance in a very big way,” promoted Tommy’s latest film, Tommy the Toreador (1959).

A girl goes on a Spanish holiday with a group of friends. Tommy, setting up the action, says, "In the gang you went with, was a boy you liked very much. I'll play the boy and you're the girl . . . It is moonlight . . . in the distance you can hear the sea washing the shore and somewhere a guitar is playing." The dialogue refers to the daydream.

Girl: ‘It’s just a dream.’

Boy: ‘No, love. You wake up from dreams.’

Boy: ‘We only need two things to make it perfect.’

Girl: ‘Such as?’ Boy: ‘Two orders of fish and chips.’

These stories and promotional elements of the comics in these early years of teenage culture and pop music continued a tradition that started with Hollywood promotion in the early twentieth century.  These cross promotional tactics were used in exploitation of independent films in America and the UK in the 1950s.  Film companies, comics publishers, radio and later television in the late 1950s early 1960s attempted to understand the phenomenon of rock ‘n’ roll and how it could be tamed and exploited. It was in their interests to downplay the sexual and violent dark side of rock ‘n’ roll, making these new stars less dangerous to parents.  Although the stories and promotional materials surrounding Tommy Steele may appear naive and, at times, slightly comical, the promotional tactics pioneered later fan and industrial practices.  They were precursors for fanfic, DIY culture of the 1960s onwards and star promotion.  The British pop industry developed promotional tactics for stars that culminated in the mid-1960s UK pop invasion of America spearheaded by the Beatles.   

ENDNOTES

[1] Romeo #40, 4th January, 1958, pp.7-8

[2] “Reading Production and Culture in UK Teen-Girl Comics 1955-60: Consumerism, Pop Stars and Lucky Guitars,” Journal of Girlhood Studies, 11(3) pp.18-33. https://www.berghahnjournals.com/abstract/journals/girlhood-studies/11/3/ghs110304.xml

Dr Joan Ormrod is a senior lecturer in the Department of Media at Manchester Metropolitan University.  She specializes in teaching subcultures, comics, fantasy and girlhood.  She has published widely on these topics and she has edited books on time travel, superheroes and adventure sports. Her monograph, Wonder Woman, the Female Body and Popular Culture will be published by Bloomsbury, February, 2020.  Joan is the editor of Routledge’s Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics and she is on the organizing committee of the annual conference of Graphic Novels and Comics.  She is currently researching girlhood and teenage comics in the UK 1955-1975.​

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is edited by William Proctor and Julia Round

Promoting Tommy Steele through 1950s UK Comics (Part I of 2) by Joan Ormrod

On November 15th, 1955 Amalgamated Press (later Fleetway) published Marilyn, a comic aimed at the late teenage, early twenties female market.  By the end of the 1950s, it became apparent that the comic had a younger readership of teenage girls, a newly identified emerging market.  Teenagers in this era were identified as a market ripe for exploitation, as there was virtually full employment and they had no responsibilities.  Consequently, teenagers had the money to pay for consumer goods, music, media and styles that differed from that of their parents.  Marilyn was the first of several comics and magazine titles that identified and developed this new market. It was followed by Amalgamated Press’s Valentine (1957–1965) and Roxy (1958–1963), DC Thomson’s Romeo (1957–1974) and Cherie (1960–1963) and Mirabelle (1956–1978) and Marty (1960–1963 published by C. Arthur Pearson (later subsumed by Fleetway).

Valentine21Dec6301.jpg

It was estimated that at least 40 percent of teenage girls read these comics. Their circulation varied from Valentine’s 407,000, Romeo’s 329,000, Marilyn’s 314,000 and Mirabelle’s 224,000. This readership may seem small compared with film and television audiences of 15 million in this era but if a comic had a turnover of 150,000, with rereading and swapping, this potentially translated into 750,000 readers.[i]

The comics came in either comic form (printed on cheap newsprint) or magazine form (printed on shiny paper with full colour covers).  This depended on how the publisher’s presses were set up. However, all of them shared a similar format that hovered between comic and magazine with picture stories, text stories, articles (fashion, pop music), advice columns (beauty, pop music, lifestyle and relationships).  At regular intervals they also contained free gifts.  My interest in these publications is as much in the paratexts (the adverts, free gifts, the articles and advice columns) as the picture stories.  All of these reflect what publishers perceived were teen girl interests such as consumerism, pop music and lifestyle. From their earliest publication these comics and magazines contained articles on pop music and this expanded throughout the 1950s into the 1960s. Comics could also provide what television and film could not—continuous accessibility. In this article I want to analyse the development of an emerging British pop music industry through pop star promotion.    

mirabelle.jpg

Pop music was just one of several seductive American cultural imports aimed at teenagers. This started in the early 1950s with jazz and country music.  The British media and cultural industries soon began to exploit American style and music.  British pop stars were developed who emulated the major rock ‘n’ roll star of the late 1950s, Elvis Presley. While American stars, like Elvis Presley, were treated with awe, they remained largely out of reach. They had an advantage over the King – they were more accessible to the British teenager. British stars cultivated Presley’s look, music and snarl.

The first really big star was Tommy Steele.  He is a good example how pop exploitation was already sophisticated and crossed various media.  But it was comics where the teenage girl had ready access to the pop star through biographies, free gifts, stories and DIY.  Through these channels she could imagine herself in a relationship with the pop star.  The comics acted as a channel for her daydream and fantasy.

Comics and Rock ‘n’ Roll

In the mid-1950s rock and roll music arrived in Britain but, until the mid-1960s, it was difficult to access in the mass media. There were few television shows and films took forever to circulate on the distribution circle.  The main ways teenage girls could access pop music was either Radio Luxembourg, playing records at home in their bedrooms or, if they were lucky and lived in a larger town, they might have a coffee bar.  The bedroom was an important place where teenage girls could read comics, create a shrine to their pop idols, play records and discuss pop music and fashion with their friends.  Comics were always there and they could be reread, loaned and borrowed. 

Home grown British stars were incorporated into articles and advice columns in comics and they frequently mentioned how their visits to the publishing offices. In reading through the comics of the late 1950s I was struck by the amount of promotional stories and gifts devoted to Tommy Steele.

Tommy Steele the First Major British Pop Star

Tommy Steele's career in pop spanned 1956 to 1960.  His career went from pop in the late 1950s to light entertainment from the early 1960s.  Later he progressed to international success in Disney films and stage musicals.  His career trajectory, from pop to light entertainment, was the anticipated career path of the teen star in the late 1950s up to the mid-1960s when music became recognised as a potential career path. By 1960, in an article about the record industry for Cherie #7 (November 12th, 1960), he admitted he had, “"risen slightly above [rock and roll], and I consider myself lucky that I have.”

Tommy Steele: Britain’s biggest pin-up & first major pop star

Tommy Steele: Britain’s biggest pin-up & first major pop star

The official version of Tommy Steele's ascent to stardom is similar to that of other stars such as Cliff Richard, Marty Wilde and Terry Dene.  He was discovered singing and playing in the 2i’s coffee bar by John Kennedy a freelance photographer.  Kennedy eventually co-managed Steele with Larry Parnes. Steele’s good nature, charisma and youthful energy made up for his lack of singing ability in a market filled with adult or middle-aged stars.  His first hits were cover versions of American songs and his appeal through the popular skiffle craze in the UK. 

Within four months of his first hit record, “Rock with the Caveman,” he starred in a biopic, The Tommy Steele Story about his career to date in 1957. The film told of his unsuccessful career in the merchant navy and how he sacrificed it for his love of music.  On being sacked by the navy, he began singing in a London café where he was discovered and became a star. This film was followed by The Duke Wore Jeans (1957) in which he played a working-class boy pretending to be a duke, and Tommy the Toreador (1958) in which a sailor, whose ship docks in Spain, becomes a toreador by accident.

The themes that were repeatedly used in comics stories about Steele often used his stint in the navy, working class origins, charm, kindness, humility and his guitar. Tommy Steele’s working-class background in Bermondsey acted as a means of making him less threatening representing him as a dutiful son. His stint in the merchant navy was used in films such as The Tommy Steele Story and Tommy the Toreador.  In the latter, foreign settings such as Spain, then a glamorous destination in British tourism, provided an exotic locale for his international appeal.

Comics, Daydreaming and Tommy Steele

The promotion surrounding Tommy Steele included pinups, advice columns, free gifts and picture stories.  Much of promotion was based on consumerism from raising awareness of his new records or films, or clothing ranges endorsed by Steele.  In, “Dig This: The Tommy Steele Story,” Roxy #10, May 17th, 1958, Mary Verney Mellor described how Tommy and his brother, Colin Hicks who had also entered the pop music industry, spent their money on clothing.  Despite their wealth, she stated that “Unlike the young Elvis Presley, Steele appears as an entirely non-threatening, asexual presence. Like Gracie Fields, he is closely identified with his working-class community, and is presented as a thoroughly decent lad who remains loyal to his roots.”

‘Tommy Talking’ showbiz advice column in Mirabelle, November 7th, 1959, p.5.

‘Tommy Talking’ showbiz advice column in Mirabelle, November 7th, 1959, p.5.

Stars also lent their names to advice columns Mirabelle’s showbusiness column of the early 1960s “Tommy Talking: The Lively column from our happy-go-lucky reporter” was purportedly written by Tommy Steele. In nearly all cases the columns were written by a staff writer, possibly the comic paying the star to use their name and image.  In many cases, the star’s advice was promotional whether selling records, films, fashions or, like Alma Cogan, beauty information and fashion tips. Such promotion also developed the star brand and star as commodity.  

Many articles, free gifts, stories and promotional materials promoted daydreaming and a fantasy of a relationship between Tommy Steele for his young audiences.  Valentine #26, July 13th, 1957, Patti Morgan’s weekly fashion column, “Be Pretty and Smart” promoted a fashion range with matching his and hers clothing with prints of Tommy’s face and autographs.  Accessories included guitar-buckled belts.

Star endorsement and fashion design in which the image and autograph inscribe the fan with his image. Patti Morgan, “Be Pretty and Smart” Valentine 26, July 13th, 1957, p.14.

Star endorsement and fashion design in which the image and autograph inscribe the fan with his image. Patti Morgan, “Be Pretty and Smart” Valentine 26, July 13th, 1957, p.14.

The material components of comics such as free gifts and special purchases were used in promoting the star and in making him more accessible to the fan. A favoured free gift was transfers that could be ironed onto fan’s clothing or soft furnishings.  

Transfers free gift. Marty (1961)

Transfers free gift. Marty (1961)

Capture.JPG

Fans could imagine themselves in a relationship in the picture stories or act it out.  A free gift in the first issue of Romeo, 21st September, 1957, was the rock ‘n’ roll lucky wishing ring, “specially designed to fit any finger…Put the ring on the third finger of your right hand.  Turn the ring until the initial you want to wish on is uppermost.  Then wish your wish.” In this way the publisher directly addressed the fan.

Lucky Wishing Ring free gift – you put it on your right hand rather than left – the star was accessible but not too accessible. Romeo 1, 21st September, 1957 p.10.

Lucky Wishing Ring free gift – you put it on your right hand rather than left – the star was accessible but not too accessible. Romeo 1, 21st September, 1957 p.10.

ENDNOTES

[i] For girl comics reader practices in the 1950s see Mel Gibson (2016) Remembered Reading: Memory, Comics and Post-War Constructions of British Girlhood. Leuven: Leuven University Press, pp.145-148.

Biography

Dr Joan Ormrod is a senior lecturer in the Department of Media at Manchester Metropolitan University.  She specializes in teaching subcultures, comics, fantasy and girlhood.  She has published widely on these topics and she has edited books on time travel, superheroes and adventure sports. Her monograph, Wonder Woman, the Female Body and Popular Culture will be published by Bloomsbury, February, 2020.  Joan is the editor of Routledge’s Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics and she is on the organizing committee of the annual conference of Graphic Novels and Comics.  She is currently researching girlhood and teenage comics in the UK 1955-1975.​


The Early Development of the Comic Strip in the UK (Part 2 of 2) by Roger Sabin & Michael Connerty

Michael Connerty

That’s an interesting point about the relative depth and complexity of the Sloper world. No individual strip during these years seems to have had the same kind of impact, and I don’t think there was any merchandising associated with these characters as you say there was with Sloper. Also true that conventions around tone, repetition and non-continuity were quite quickly established in the new comics, and this did occasionally make for material that could be a bit…rubbish (let’s be honest!). You’ve got to expect that from any mass entertainment industry cranking out product at that kind of rate. Of course there’s so much good stuff at the same time, and it’s probably worth mentioning some of the star artists of the period.

Tom Browne tends to be universally cited as the most important figure during the 1890s, and, no doubt about it, he was very great, very influential, and very prolific. In fact, he was that prolific that overwork was conceivably a contributory factor in his early death at the age of thirty-nine. At the height of his fame he was doing five front page strips per week as well as other bits and pieces inside these comics. His most important series was titled Weary Willie and Tired Tim (originally “Weary Waddles and Tired Timmy”), and first appeared on the front cover of Illustrated Chips in 1896. It was immediately and massively successful. A good number of imitators- including Browne himself- produced similar strips based on down-at-heel double acts, and the figure of the tramp, already a staple of music hall and humour periodicals, became ubiquitous in the comics of this era. Browne’s chirpy tone and dynamic panel compositions characterised further series like Airy Alf and Bouncing Billy, Don Quixote de Tintogs, and Squashington Flats. You can see his influence in the work of someone like G.M. Payne, who created Curly Kelly for Merry and Bright (below)- very much in the Tom Browne mould.

Cover of Merry and Bright, including "Curly Kelly" by G.M. Payne, 5 July 1913

Cover of Merry and Bright, including "Curly Kelly" by G.M. Payne, 5 July 1913

Tom Wilkinson was another great artist, and the strips were often very smart, and wonderfully drawn. His double act were Lucky Lucas and Neglected Jim- I like this one in which Lucas gets caught up in the works of a printing machine at Comic Cuts, emerging with next week’s strip printed all over him. He also drew a long-running series for Puck called Professor Radium that was one of a number of strips that can be viewed as early examples of science fiction in the comics. Jack B. Yeats also contributed a series focused on the intrusion of gadgetry and technology into everyday life called Dr. Patent’s Academy, also to Puck, and another about a weird automaton called The Whodidit, for Comic Cuts. Yeats is an interesting example in that he initially contributed to humour periodicals, producing work in the more heavily-worked style associated with Punch and so on, then began contributing to Harmsworth’s comics from the early ‘90s early on, evolving a stripped back, spontaneous approach more suited to the strip format. He had a lengthy career- over 25 years- as a comic strip artist, something that he appears to have subsequently swept under the carpet as a he pursued a career in the more elevated world of fine art. The fact that he was reasonably successful in this subterfuge is pretty amazing when you consider that he had produced a couple of dozen recurring characters, consumed by mass readerships in the hundreds of thousands every week.

Tom Wilkinson, “The Amazing Adventures of Lucky Luke and Neglected Jim”, Comic Cuts, May 28 1904

Tom Wilkinson, “The Amazing Adventures of Lucky Luke and Neglected Jim”, Comic Cuts, May 28 1904

There were a lot of other comics knocking around at this stage, all offering similar fare- Illustrated Chips, Smiles, Comic Life, The Butterfly, The World’s Comic, Larks, and so on. One worthy of special mention is Puck- not to be confused with the American humour periodical of the same name. This was yet another Harmsworth publication which began appearing in colour from 1904 (black and white was the norm throughout the 1890s). It also included a supplement- Puck Jr.- that was an early attempt to explicitly target the very young reader. At the same time Puck was the first to overtly promote itself as a product for women, by, for example, featuring cover art that was clearly influenced by the look of women’s magazines such as Harmsworth’s own Woman’s World, first published in 1903.  

Prior to Puck Jr. there was nothing particularly ‘adult’ about the content of the strips in any of the comics- the vast majority dealt in knockabout physical slapstick, punning dialogue and humorous japes. In the 1890s, the single panel gag cartoons were much more likely to contain references to romance or excessive drinking, but the strips were definitely family-friendly. The cast of characters were, in general, drawn from the contemporary urban scene- shopkeepers, street performers, policemen, burglars, tradesmen, housemaids, and, it goes without saying, rascally kids. There was little by way of full-blown fantasy, and the streets in which the action takes place, by and large, reflected the quotidian world of the comics’ readers. Exceptions to this included series like Comic Cuts Colony by Frank Wilkinson (and later Julius Baker), set in an African jungle, and Jack Yeats’s Roly Poly’s Round the World Tour, in which the protagonist enjoys serial adventures in various far flung parts of the Empire.

There were other important publishers during the 1890s and early 1900s, though Harmsworth did dominate. Arthur Pearson published The Big Budget, which was a key title. It had more pages than other weeklies and was stuffed with serialized fiction. There were great strip artists contributing. Ralph Hodgson was the art editor- and, as “Yorick”, was a fine cartoonist himself.  He got people like Tom Browne, Frank Holland, Jack Yeats and other established artists on board from the get-go (apparently they weren’t contractually tied to specific titles). He stopped doing the strips himself around 1907, drifted away from comics, and ultimately became a moderately successful poet.

Roger Sabin 

That's a great survey. I think you've mentioned all my favourites from that later period. From the earlier time, I'd pick Charles Ross and Marie Duval, who I've already highlighted and who I've been working on for years, and also Archibald Chasemore, who had a gift for physical gestures and facial expressions, as well for depicting clothes (in his other life he designed costumes for the theatre). I guess we sound like fans of these folks - and we are! - but it's important to reiterate that a proportion of their work was vastly racist/sexist/and every other kind of '-ist, as befitting its times (you mentioned the ‘Comic Cuts Colony’ - and there's a reason we're not reproducing an image from that!). 

What you're seeing in that shift from the 1880s and 90s into the 20th century is a change in the profile of cartoonists. In the earlier period, it’s possible to generalise and say that most were middle class gents with training in illustration and painting. Later on, with the Harmsworth/Pearson/etc. boom, they tend not to have much art education, and come from lower-middle-class and working-class backgrounds. With this comes a shift in the 'aura' of cartooning from a bohemian pastime to a workaday pursuit. Most names continued to be male, but women were in there, too, hustling away. We know this because there are scattered mentions in memoirs and press reports, and even illustrations of hopefuls queuing to show work to editors. (Women cartoonists' signatures are less visible, or disguised, partly because the profession was seen as less-than-respectable. There's a lot of work for historians to do in uncovering their output.)

These cartoonists could be pretty promiscuous in terms of who they worked for - their work can turn up in several titles at once, as your survey makes clear, but also on book covers, on advertising, in theatre designs, in event programmes; basically anything to make a shilling. They had to be great artists, but they also had to be funny - to have an 'adequate grasp of the ridiculous', as Lemmy used to say. That was not always a natural combination (then as now). It's pretty obvious that one of the reasons the less polished creators like Duval and Ross could 'get away with it' was because they were great comedians.

And if you could hit that funny/skilled sweet-spot, then you could make good money. That went for Yeats, as you imply, but also for Browne and W.F. Thomas (for many years the Half-Holiday cover artist). They lived comfortable lives, and Browne was a minor celebrity. There is some evidence of bidding wars pushing up fees - Funny Cuts carried a weekly advert boasting that it paid better than its rivals. But mostly the work in comics was drudgery, undertaken by a body of pauperised freelancers, feeding the readers' insatiable habit for 'fun' every week. Reg Carter's 1908 strip from the Half-Holiday gets it about right, about a struggling cartoonist whose life revolves around poverty, booze, sex, and fights with his editor. Not much has changed, I'm sure.

Reg Carter, 'A Day in the Life of a Comic Artist', Ally Sloper's Half-Holiday, 23 May, 1908.

Reg Carter, 'A Day in the Life of a Comic Artist', Ally Sloper's Half-Holiday, 23 May, 1908.

Professor Roger Sabin is Professor of Popular Culture at the University of the Arts London. He is the author or editor of seven books, including Adult Comics (Routledge 'Major Works') and Comics, Comix and Graphic Novels (Phaidon), and he is part of the team that put together the Marie Duval Archive (www.marieduval.org). He is Series Editor for the booklist Palgrave Studies in Comics, and 'The Sabin Award' is presented annually at the 'International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference'.

Dr Michael Connerty teaches film and animation history at the National Film School (Dun Laogahire Institute of Art, Design and Technology) in Dublin. He recently completed his PhD at Central Saint Martins, UAL, where his focus was on early British comics, particularly the work of Jack B. Yeats. His writing on comics history has been published in the International Journal of Comic Art and in the collection Comics Memory: Archives and Styles edited by Maaheen Ahmed and Benoit Crucifix (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018).

The Early Development of the Comic Strip in the UK (Part 1 of 2) by Roger Sabin & Michael Connerty

Tom Browne, "Weary Willy and Tired Tim", Comic Cuts, 24 July 1897

Tom Browne, "Weary Willy and Tired Tim", Comic Cuts, 24 July 1897

Michael Connerty

Okay, so what is there to say about the British comic strip in the final decades of the 19th century and into the early 20th? Firstly, whereas the strip in America evolved principally in the context of the newspaper and the Sunday supplement, in the UK strips came in the context of publications like Comic Cuts, The Funny Wonder and The Jester, which were much more specifically oriented around laughs, thrills and entertainment. One of the most striking characteristics of the British comics of this era is their variety of content. I think you can see the chaotic arrangement of elements on the page, all vying for the reader's eye, as a kind of metaphor for the intense vitality of urban life at the end of the century. The comic strip is just one component in amongst this jumble- though it would become increasingly dominant over the course of the 1890s, and would come to define these publications into the new century.

A big influence on this form were the hugely successful text-based publications like George Newnes's Tit-Bits and Alfred Harmsworth's Answers to Correspondents, both of which were stuffed with easily digestible factoids, anecdotes, historical tales, scientific curiosities, amusing trivia and early examples of celebrity gossip, in an apparently random flow of information, aimed at a mass readership. Some of this kind of material made it into the comics too, alongside pages crammed with humorous graphic imagery in the form of strips, but also single panel cartoons, many of which were lifted, without permission, from other sources, including American and European periodicals.

Almost all of the comics also featured literary serials- with dramatic, and occasionally lurid, illustrations, linking the comics to the penny dreadful that preceded them, but also to contemporary forms of popular fiction- tales of crime, espionage, mystery and adventure. A lot of these illustrations, in a realist rather than a cartoony style, justify the cover price on their own! The strips themselves often riff on the tropes associated with these genres and there is an intertextuality at work with formal and narrative references to a wide array of contemporary media and entertainment, including the circus, music hall (the UK version of vaudeville), popular theatre and, from the mid-1890s, cinema.

Marie Duval, 'A Nice Chat!', Judy, 4 December, 1872

Marie Duval, 'A Nice Chat!', Judy, 4 December, 1872

Roger Sabin

We obviously share a love of the speed-freak bonkers-ness of these publications, and I agree with everything you've said, but would like to problematise it in two ways. First, strips were around a long time before Comic Cuts et al. I know you wouldn't disagree with that, but I'd like to give a shout-out to people like Heath, Cruikshank, Doyle, Leech, Tenniel, Ross and Duval, who were tickling people's funny bones with sequential panel narratives right through the 19th century.

Second, if we base our discussion of British comics around 'strips', then isn't that trying to fit them into a particular box? Isn't it more helpful to think of them as miscellanies, as you expertly describe? So, for example, Brian Maidment has tracked the history of humorous miscellany-style magazines in the early 1800s, and we can go from there to Punch and the Punch rivals (Judy, Fun, Tomahawk, etc.) then to Ally Sloper's Half-Holiday and all the imitators of that groundbreaking publication, and then to Comic Cuts and the 1890s funnies.

I guess this is a question - or series of questions - about history. Yes, there was an evolution towards the (UK) comic as a strip-based publication (if we take The Beano - founded 1938 - as our standard British reference point). But that's only one trajectory: an obvious counter-example might be something like Private Eye (founded 1961) which is a satirical miscellany in the old tradition (and which nobody calls a comic). All that leads us to the question of the moment at which there was 'genre consciousness', i.e. comics were accepted as comics. I presume from the above that you might choose the 1890s, with Comic Cuts being the archetype, and I might take things back to the 1880s with the Half-Holiday and its copyists.

Either way, there's the question of 'strippy-ness', and I know that both of us are interested in aspects beyond strips e.g. how those literary serials you mention were illustrated. If we get too focused on just one thing, then we miss... well... too much. (That's a critique that could be levelled at comics studies as a whole, I think.)

One thing we do seem to agree on is that the explosion of these publications was a product of circumstances having to do with the unique status of the UK at that time. Victoria's empire was the most powerful the world had ever seen, and by 1900 London was the largest city in the world. The infrastructure for what we might call modern entertainment capitalism was there early-on and was sophisticated compared to other parts of the world. Hence, as you mention, the incredible music hall/variety scene, the boom in photography and later film, and in cheap publishing - including comics. I'm not making any kind of nationalistic point here; just indicating that when you look over to the US, and start to make comparisons, that might not be germane because urbanisation and entertainment capitalism were taking different forms there.

Oliver Dawney, "Deep-Sea Fun", in Puck, 22 October, 1905

Oliver Dawney, "Deep-Sea Fun", in Puck, 22 October, 1905

Michael

Yes you’re right about the perils of having too narrow a focus with these things, particularly true in the case of the neglected single panel gag cartoon. They have traditionally fallen between critical stools, but surely the most obvious scholarly home for them is within the warm embrace of an expanded comics studies. You can see all kinds of examples of comics ‘language’ on display in the gag cartoons, and they share so much in terms of graphic style and the development of the cartoon sensibility. The Oliver Dawney one above is a fine example of the noble art.

There is a self-consciousness around comics as a specific publishing category, which emerges a bit more fully during the 1890s, and is then pretty much consolidated by the turn of the century. I totally agree that the artists contributing to the comics during this period exist on a continuum with earlier cartoonists, illustrators and caricaturists (as in the US, individual artists probably didn’t distinguish much between these various activities at the time, and many were adept in all of these areas), but there are certain elements that begin to predominate- recurring characters, sequences of panels, word balloons, a particular graphic style- albeit that these weren’t necessarily appearing for the first time during that decade. It’s worth noting that a number of the comics included reprints of well-known American strips by the likes of Frederick Opper and F.W. Outcault, which definitely had an influence on British cartoonists, such as Julius Baker (below).

Julius Baker, "The Cinderella Season Has Commenced in Casey Court," Illustrated Chips, 20 January 1906

Julius Baker, "The Cinderella Season Has Commenced in Casey Court," Illustrated Chips, 20 January 1906

In the same way that Hearst and Pulitzer were instrumental in providing platforms for American strip artists, a future press baron called Alfred Harmsworth (later “1st Viscount Northcliffe”) was a key figure in the development of comics as a mass medium in the UK. He would go on to have great success as a media mogul, establishing the Daily Mail and the Daily Mirror for example, but he achieved his earliest successes with comics. Because Harmsworth and his peers were so intent on shifting as many units as possible, there’s an open and accessible style of address at work that seems to be aimed equally at men and women, working class and middle class, young and old. There’s almost no reference at all to party politics- Harmsworth didn’t want to alienate any potential purchaser. There is plenty of flag-waving Jingo-ism, particularly during the South African War (1899-02) and later during WW1. A corollary of this is that, as elsewhere, the pages often contained ethnic and racial stereotypes that reflected the Imperialist world view predominant in British popular media at the time.

Harmsworth believed passionately that what he called “the age of cheapness” had arrived- the comics were part of the same popular commodity culture that included the joke shop novelties and mail order cures for baldness regularly advertised in their pages. One of Harmsworth’s most important moves was the dramatic reduction in the price of his titles to the rock bottom half-a-penny. Hundreds of thousands of copies were purchased every week, far outstripping the readership that had existed for humour periodicals during the previous decade. Harmsworth also saved a lot of money by skimping on ink and printing quality, and by using very low-grade paper. This has meant that surviving copies are often in pretty poor condition- tiny shards of brittle paper litter the table after even the most careful perusal through library volumes. There is an urgency around the archiving and preservation of this material. It’s all split between the British Library, the Bodleian in Oxford, and various regional and local libraries at the moment. It would be great to see a comics-specific archive of material from this period.

Roger

Oh, I agree about cartoons - so overlooked, and so fascinating. They factor into the previous point about a historical progression towards 'comics': I forget who it was that observed that in many cases they were seen as progressive/adult/forward looking, for the way you could play with the juxtaposition of word and image, and that strips were seen as clunky and old school in comparison, even looking back to the kids' books of the 1860s. Once again, there's no linear evolution. Similarly, as you hint, early creators would not have  perceived themselves as 'cartoonists' or ‘strip artists’; rather, as artists doing a job that involved several kinds of cartooning. (The word 'cartoonist' only enters the Oxford English Dictionary in 1893.) 

As a sidebar, I’ve been collecting scrapbooks from this period lately, and scrapbookers loved chopping up comics, but were not particularly interested in strips; they wanted illustrations and cartoons, because then they could customise their own pages.

I also agree about American influence. By a certain point in time, it's everywhere. But, as you say, it's often in hybrid form - a little bit like in the 1940s when bebop came over and was reimagined by London musicians. I also agree about Harmsworth. What is interesting about him, in retrospect, is the way he changed everything from the bottom up. As you say, there's his obsession with cheap ink and paper, etc., but what's less acknowledged is the way he utilised an army of street sellers. He revolutionised distribution as much as anything. The old idea of the family firm, with paternalistic ties to staff and newsagents, which was a characteristic of the Half-Holiday and its publisher, was blown out of the water in favour of a new brash capitalism that emphasised *hustle*. Harmsworth would put dozens of titles out there to see which ones survived, and would launch comics tactically to destroy rivals. So although the 'Harmsworth Bros' started out as a family firm, this model very soon morphed into something more aggressive, and faster.

That had big consequences for the content of the comics, I think, and not just in obvious ways like the kinds of characters that were foregrounded, and the 'borrowing' of stuff from the US. For example, I'm interested in the turn against world-building. Whereas previously the Half-Holiday attempted to build a universe (i.e. the endless soap-opera of the Sloper family), and invested in an albeit crude week-by-week continuity to keep people interested, now we were into an era of what I'd call 'assemblage comics' - cheapo publications thrown together from here-and-there, with the aim of being enjoyed in the moment (rather than asking the readership to put in some effort). The Half-Holiday had also built a world outside of itself - with Sloper merchandising and stage shows, which were then referenced in the comic - and this idea, too, was pretty much ditched in favour of print-focused speed and immediacy ('100 Laughs for a Halfpenny!', as Comic Cuts had it). Some of the new comics paid more attention to editorial branding and direction than others, it was true. But the idea of the 'classic' interchangeable, cheap-and-cheerful, British comic was pretty much an 1890s thing.

Oh, and on your final point, I know what you mean about archiving these comics. I was in a library looking at an historically important title called Illustrated Bits, and it literally fell to bits. Sad...

ally sloper.jpg

Professor Roger Sabin is Professor of Popular Culture at the University of the Arts London. He is the author or editor of seven books, including Adult Comics (Routledge 'Major Works') and Comics, Comix and Graphic Novels (Phaidon), and he is part of the team that put together the Marie Duval Archive (www.marieduval.org). He is Series Editor for the booklist Palgrave Studies in Comics, and 'The Sabin Award' is presented annually at the 'International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference'.

Dr Michael Connerty teaches film and animation history at the National Film School (Dun Laogahire Institute of Art, Design and Technology) in Dublin. He recently completed his PhD at Central Saint Martins, UAL, where his focus was on early British comics, particularly the work of Jack B. Yeats. His writing on comics history has been published in the International Journal of Comic Art and in the collection Comics Memory: Archives and Styles edited by Maaheen Ahmed and Benoit Crucifix (Palgrave Macmillan, 2018).







 

'Misty' and the Horrible History of British Comics (Part 3 of 3) by Julia Round

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British girls’ comics were wildly popular throughout the 1950s, 1960s and early 1970s: outselling the boys’ titles and circulating millions of copies every week. However by the 1980s circulations had fallen drastically, and very few titles made it out of this decade. The collapse of the industry and the cancellation of popular titles like Misty was likely due to a number of factors. IPC’s corporate structure was absolutely key to the demise, as in the 1970s individual titles were made into ‘cost centres’ and thus had to make a profit every week. Both Wilf Prigmore and Pat Mills agree that the company treated its creative staff as ‘the enemy’, with requests for a fairer deal constantly being ignored. No surprise then that creators sought out more appealing opportunities: leaving to work for the American or European markets, or moving into different media such as children’s paperback fiction, which offered decent advances and the prospect of reprints and royalties if stories proved to be popular. Publishers also abused their readership, as the merging of titles was a common practice. Although each title had a distinct look and identity, it was the fate of most to be merged into each other in pursuit of profit. The merger strategy, known as ‘hatch, match and dispatch’ was a popular way to bolster sales in a dwindling industry. While new titles always sold well on launch, after sales hit a certain low the comic would be merged with another title so their combined circulations would be taken into account: often devastating readers who may have followed one of the titles for years.  

Misty merged with Tammy on 19 January 1980, forming Tammy and Misty in which Misty would appear as the sometime host of the regular feature ‘Strange Stories from the Mist’ (also hosted by the Storyteller: a older male character initially introduced in June and School Friend (1965-74). However, due to Misty’s lack of regular characters and its host’s ethereal nature, her appearances quickly dwindled. By 26 September 1981 Tammy had reverted to its original title (in readiness for the merger of Tammy and Jinty on 28 November 1981), and Misty herself had all but vanished from its pages. Her last appearance in a story in Tammy and Jinty comes nearly six months later, after a long absence, when she bookends ‘The Mists of Time’ (15 May 1982). Reprints of Misty stories continued to appear worldwide: initially in the UK it continued in the annuals (1978-86) and a Best of Misty Monthly (8 issues, 1986). A French-Canadian Misty was launched in 1980 and was published fortnightly, and Misty material was also used in Canada as part of a bigger series of mystery/horror anthologies called Collection Kalédiscope (PAF Loisirs, 1976-80). As the 1980s progressed, Misty reprints continued to appear in the UK in IPC’s Barbie comic (licensed from Mattel, 1985-87) and its Swedish translation (Pandora Press, 1986-89), and Misty stories also appeared in the German comic Vanessa – Freundin der Geister [Friend of the Spirits] (Bastei-Verlag 1982-1990), with Miss T renamed as ‘Scharlotte Schock’. 

The Internet gave those who remembered British comics a new voice, and at the start of the millennium, many fan sites and blogs began to emerge focusing on these titles and begging for the return of comics like Misty. These include ‘Mistycomic.co.uk’ (Chris Lillyman, launched 2002), ‘Girls’ Comics of Yesterday’ (http://girlscomicsofyesterday.com, launched by Lorraine Nolan c.2011), ‘A Resource on Jinty: Artists, Writers, Stories’ (http://jintycomic.wordpress.com, launched by Jenni Scott in April 2014), and ‘Great News for All Readers’ (http://greatnewsforallreaders.com, launched by David Moloney on 31 August 2015). Other British comics sites and blogs such as ‘Blimey!’ (Lew Stringer, launched 2006), ‘Down the Tubes’ (John Freeman, launched 1998) and ‘The Bronze Age of Blogs’ (Pete Doree, launched 2009) are also invaluable repositories for articles and reflections on girls’ comics, alongside numerous forum threads devoted to British girls’ comics (such as www.comicsuk.co.uk) which contain lots of information for the interested reader. 

Misty’s return seemed possible when in Egmont Publishing bought the rights and released a Special Souvenir issue (2009) and the e-book Tales from the Mist 1: The Best of Misty (2012). The rights were then sold to Rebellion Publishing, who have released three collected editions to date (2016, 2017, 2018), along with new material in two Scream! and Misty Halloween specials (2017, 2018).

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I’ve been researching Misty for the last four years, as a continuation of my work on Gothic and comics. But my relationship with it goes back much further, and my project was initially sparked by the recurring memory of a story I read in a girls’ horror comic when I was eight or nine years old. It was a about a girl who was not very pretty. She was given a magic mirror and told it would make her beautiful if she followed its instructions correctly. And it worked! But as she got more lovely she also became mean and vain, and one day she did something wrong with the instructions and when she woke up the next day and looked in her mirror her beautiful face was shattered and warped. It ended on the threatening words ‘After all, would you want to face yourself every morning, like this…’ 

I threw the comic away, but I never forgot that story (I remembered the final page and line nearly verbatim, for over thirty years). I now know it was ‘Mirror… Mirror’ (art by Isidre Monés, writer unknown), published in Misty #37 on 14 October 1978. When I found it during my archival research it was a pretty emotional moment. But once I started researching Misty I discovered tons of other stories that also hit and haunted me. I loved its alluring host with her poetic words, its dramatic tales of horrifying fates and karmic justice, and its incredible artwork and striking layouts. I wanted to tell everybody about this comic that continued to surprise me over thirty years later, and found myself summarizing Misty’s most shudder-making stories to anyone who would listen (which now includes you!) 

For me, studying Misty has revealed a lot about the nature and dominance of Gothic horror for girls. My book uses Misty as a lens to explore these ideas and arrive at a working definition of ‘Gothic for Girls’. It is also the first full-length critical history published on any single British comic. It brings together a wealth of primary research taken from archival visits, creator interviews, and online discussions with past readers, and reveals a great deal about the hidden history and production practices of the comics industry in this country. Many of the writers, artists, editors and associates I interviewed have never previously spoken about their work for British comics. Their recollections give a fascinating picture of how the industry operated – one that is in danger of being entirely lost due to a lack of records and the ephemeral nature of these publications.  

It has been a joy to help name the creators of these stories and to finally credit them for their work. The value that the Misty readers placed on ‘their’ comic was also apparent from all the people I spoke to and the level of active engagement in its letters page. These feelings of ownership and the emotional resonance of childhood things (including my own experience) demonstrate the ways in which readers use texts like Misty and other British comics to shape their identities. Misty’s recent revival also demonstrates the power of fandom, if made visible and granted a platform… three cheers for these aca-fans!

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Julia’s new book Gothic for Girls: Misty and British Comics is available now!

Much of her supporting research is available open access at www.juliaround.com, including interviews, articles, extracts, and a searchable database of all the Misty stories, with creator and publication details where known.

Julia Round’s research examines the intersections of Gothic, comics and children’s literature. Her books include Gothic for Girls: Misty and British Comics (2019), Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels: A Critical Approach (2014), and the co-edited collection Real Lives Celebrity Stories. She is a Principal Lecturer at Bournemouth University, co-editor of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect) and the book series Encapsulations (University of Nebraska Press), and co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her new book on Gothic for Girls and Misty is accompanied by a searchable database, creator interviews, and other open access notes and resources, available at www.juliaround.com.

'Misty' and the Horrible Hidden History of British Comics (2 of 3) by Julia Round

Unlike other girls’ comics, which would often have a few ‘regular’ serials that lasted for their entire run, such as ‘The Four Marys’ in Bunty (DC Thomson, 1958-2001), Misty kept its serials short (averaging around 10 instalments) and seldom revisited characters. Its serial stories revolve heavily around a mystery theme, and all follow the same rough template as we are introduced to a female protagonist who quickly develops a spooky problem of some kind. This may be the intrusion of a supernatural power (visions, telekinesis, telepathy), or the discovery of a mysterious or magical object (a box of paints, a ring, a mirror, a car, a swimsuit). Alternatively the protagonist may find herself trapped in an unhappy situation (a new family, school or world) or become aware of some deception (a secret prisoner or plot of some kind). The plot then develops as the character discovers new information relating to the item or their situation. One common feature is the focus on a protagonist who has to accept or overcome some aspect of their self, and thus the stories can be read as bildungsroman narratives in which characters negotiate unexpected changes and circumstance (a clear metaphor for adolescence) and ultimately accept their new identity or surroundings. For example, in ‘The Four Faces of Eve’ (Malcolm Shaw and Brian Delaney), Eve has no memories of her past and is plagued by terrifying nightmares of death. She ultimately discovers that she has been made from the bodies of four different girls and is experiencing visions of their memories. The story revolves around her search for a friend (‘I’m so lonely. I’ve got no friends, no memories, and now, it seems, no family!’, #21) and attempts to solve the mystery of her origins. She despairs (‘I’m a freak, a monster!’, #29), but when she finally tells her story to the circus folk she has met, they not only believe her but also show her the way out of her situation, as her friend Carol’s father informally adopts her, saying ‘I’ve got two daughters now.’ (#31)

‘The Four Faces of Eve’, Misty #22. Written by Malcolm Shaw, art by Brian Delaney.

‘The Four Faces of Eve’, Misty #22. Written by Malcolm Shaw, art by Brian Delaney.

Misty combined these serial instalments with one-off single stories: generally wicked four-page cautionary tales where a delinquent protagonist would be dramatically punished for a misdeed. A short selection might include: Cathy cons an old lady out of a moodstone ring which then sucks all the colour out of her life (‘Moodstone’, #1); a gossip columnist is crushed to death by the books of names and notes she has kept on her acquaintances (‘Sticks and Stones’, #16); clothes-thief Ann is turned into a fashion dummy (‘When the Lights go Out!’, #18); cruel siblings Vivien and Steve trap a mouse in a maze until it dies of exhaustion but are in turn locked in a maze by sentient apes (‘The Pet Shop’, #24); Sally awakens a real ghost while teasing her scared cousin (‘The Last Laugh’, #29); mugger Cath causes an old lady to be hit by a bus but is then run over herself (‘Dead End’, #34); Sue takes a creepy mask to win a Halloween competition but then cannot remove it (‘Mask of Fear’, #39); Rita steals a jigsaw but ends up trapped in one (‘The Final Piece’, #44); Lisa steals a clock but discovers she will have to wind it forever (‘Slave of Time’, #55); Olivia summons the spirits of her teachers to cheat on a test but they will not leave (‘The Disembodied’ #68); cheat Alison is given a magic pen but continues to cheat so it breaks and covers her with irremovable ink (‘A Stain on her Character’, #72); Sally destroys her dad’s snail experiments, but the snails trap and immerse her (‘House of Snails’, #77); Kate scares her little sister with monster stories and is attacked by a monster herself (‘Monster Movie’, #87); vandals break some stained glass windows and end up trapped in the new ones (‘Crystal Clear’, #99); and jealous Roma drugs her cousin and cuts off her beautiful hair, but is then consumed by ghostly hair growing out of the floor (‘Crowning Glory’ #101). 

Alongside this were single-page comedy series: Miss T (a hapless witch), Wendy the Witch, and Cilla the Chiller (who appears in the annuals). Miss T was created, written and drawn by Joe Collins, who had created a number of other comedy strips for different titles, such as ‘The Kitty Café Cats’ (Girl), ‘Snoopa’ (Penny, Jinty and Penny), and ‘Edie the Ed’s Niece’ (Tammy). Miss T features regularly in the weekly issues of Misty and even takes over from her on occasion: welcoming the reader on the inside cover (#91) and often appearing and addressing readers on the ‘Write to Misty’ letters page (#16). Her bulging eyes, tangled wiry hair, bulbous nose and warty face should make her a repulsive character, but the little witch exudes innocence and is generally trying to do good (despite unintentional mishaps), making her an appealing heroine. Her battered witch’s hat and oversized shoes also contribute to a visual sense of guileless chaos, and the strip enhances this by being heavy on effects: using emanata such as motion lines, and sound effects (‘Glop’, ‘Burp’). When she is critiqued by a reader in the letters page of #79 (‘I think she’s STUPID and ought to be in stupid comics, not yours’) a lively debate continues for three issues (#89-#91). In the final count Misty claims that 270 people support Miss T with just twenty-six against: ‘a victory for the little witch of more than ten to one’.

‘Miss T’, Misty #70. Written and drawn by Joe Collins.

‘Miss T’, Misty #70. Written and drawn by Joe Collins.

Wendy the Witch (by Mike Brown) was a reprint from Sandie (1972-73), aimed at slightly younger readers. Wendy’s spells often help her to revenge herself on bullies, although they may go awry. Her strips often make heavy use of puns (‘She’s had her chips now, eh, monster?’, #60) and editorial asides. The supporting cast of characters (which include Enid, Nellie, Rosie, and Nosey Nelly) give the strip a feel similar to The Beano’s ‘Bash Street Kids’ (Leo Baxendale), or ‘Dennis the Menace’ (devised by George Moonie, David Law and Ian Chisholm) as Wendy gets ‘the slipper’ from her mum (Misty Annual 1979).  

Cilla the Chiller, a schoolgirl ghost who haunts a stately home and plays tricks on its visitors, appears only in the Misty annuals. Its creators are unknown, and the strip has a similar feel to the other two comedies: puns are common, and the art is in a typical British comics style: reminiscent of the work of Reg Partlett or Leo Baxendale.

‘Wendy the Witch’, Misty #55. Art by Mike Brown.

‘Wendy the Witch’, Misty #55. Art by Mike Brown.

Julia Round’s research examines the intersections of Gothic, comics and children’s literature. Her books include Gothic for Girls: Misty and British Comics (2019), Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels: A Critical Approach (2014), and the co-edited collection Real Lives Celebrity Stories. She is a Principal Lecturer at Bournemouth University, co-editor of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect) and the book series Encapsulations (University of Nebraska Press), and co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her new book on Gothic for Girls and Misty is accompanied by a searchable database, creator interviews, and other open access notes and resources, available at www.juliaround.com.

'Misty' and the Horrible Hidden History of British Comics (Part 1 of 3) by Julia Round

British comics, especially those for girls, dominated children’s entertainment in the last century but have been all but forgotten today. When remembered, there is a perception that the boys’ titles were all about heroic adventures and space travel, while the girls got stories about horses and boarding schools. Nothing could be further from the truth! – these comics were not for the fainthearted and tales could often include murderous animals, football violence, Nazi soldiers, cursed choirs, deals with the devil, schoolgirl sacrifice, parallel worlds, monsters, possession, criminals and more.. 

Misty is an important part of this lost history. It was a weekly anthology comic for girls that told tales with supernatural or spooky themes. It was published by Fleetway and ran for 101 issues between February 1978 and January 1980.  It appeared at the end of a decade in which British comics had started to dwindle due to competing entertainment media (cheap paperback books, television, early computer games), and publishers’ exploitation of their audience.  

Cover, Misty #1. (1978)

Cover, Misty #1. (1978)

Despite its short run, Misty is one of the best-remembered British comics. But its stories and themes were not unique. Spooky stories had featured prominently from the earliest days of British comics, such as ‘The Phantom Ballerina’ or ‘Jane and the Ghostly Hound’ in Amalgamated Press’s School Friend (1950-65). IPC’s great rivals DC Thomson had also made prominent use of the theme in comics such as Diana (1963-76), and particularly in their mystery title Spellbound (1976-78), which would be cancelled just as Misty was set to launch.  

But a number of things made Misty stand out from the rest of the crowd. Firstly, its ethereal and seductive cover girl/editor: Misty herself, who welcomed readers to each issue, answered letters on the ‘Write to Misty’ letters page, and sometimes introduced stories in bookending panels (but only in the annuals and specials). Misty was the brainchild of the comic’s editorial team. Its sub editor, Bill Harrington, suggested that the comic should have a host type character: a spooky looking fellow called ‘Nathan somebody’. Nathan was rejected as too creepy, and Misty instead came to life: imagined by the comic’s first editor and co-creator, Wilf Prigmore. The team initially devised her as a ghostly looking character, but she quickly evolved into more of a spirit guide: a ‘child of the mists’ whose role is to present tales for our delight. Misty’s appearance was created by Shirley Bellwood, a portraitist and veteran of the older romance comics, and who based Misty closely on herself. With long black hair, flowing robes and a star charm, she resembles the new age witch of the 1960s and 1970s counterculture. Her welcomes to readers draw extensively on images of the body and the journey (see further below) as we are constantly urged to ‘walk’, ‘journey’, ‘quest’, ‘venture’, ‘step’ or ‘follow’ Misty elsewhere – crossing into another world.

Inside cover from Misty #16. Art by Shirley Bellwood, words by Malcolm Shaw, lettering and page design by Jack Cunningham.

Inside cover from Misty #16. Art by Shirley Bellwood, words by Malcolm Shaw, lettering and page design by Jack Cunningham.

Misty’s appeal is acknowledged by the comic’s first creator, writer Pat Mills, who says: ‘Misty worked well […] she is this beautiful witch-like character and I’m sure it would have had an appeal to a lot of readers and – being a little cynical about it – possibly the more middle-class kids, or middle-class mum would see it as “safe” whereas if they had seen the kind of covers I had in mind they might have said “Oh no, I don't want my Daisy reading this kind of nonsense!” Mills is credited with suggesting the initial idea for a girls’ horror comic as a vehicle for his lead serial, the Carrie adaptation ‘Moonchild’. He also had a key role in shaping the look of the comic, which drew on the innovations that he and art editor Doug Church had used in 2000AD. This included spreading stories over four pages rather than the usual three, allowing for one big panel or splash page to introduce each instalment.

‘Winner Loses All!’, Misty #79. Art by Mario Capaldi, writer unknown.

‘Winner Loses All!’, Misty #79. Art by Mario Capaldi, writer unknown.

Misty’s dynamic page layouts are the second reason for its impact – as part of my research into this comic I instigated a small-scale research project (funded by Bournemouth University’s Centre for the Study of Journalism, Culture and Communication) into these layouts. This was devised and conducted by Dr Paul Fisher Davies, who tagged layout features in ten randomised issues, Tags included panel features such as angled borders, round borders, open borders, jagged borders, and so forth, along with page layout features such as arrows, colour, inset panels, and splash pages. The pages were also categorized in terms of their relationship to a standard ‘grid’ or number of tiers.

‘A Scream in the Night’, Misty #47. Art by Jorge Badia Romero, writer unknown.

‘A Scream in the Night’, Misty #47. Art by Jorge Badia Romero, writer unknown.

The findings were remarkable. Misty’s pages are continually transgressive and dynamic – in the sample of 241 pages there were no pages that received no tags – even those that appear simple and perpendicular still have at least one dynamic feature, such as an open panel border or staggered tier. Panel borders are varied and experimental in form: they are often angled, liminal or indeterminate (ragged, misty) or broken in some way. The most common feature found was the borderless panel, achieved either by using blank space to create an implied border, or by overlaying consecutive images so they appear contiguous. Another significant page feature noted was transgression, where character limbs or other objects break an enclosing panel border or other spatial container, which occurs on ninety-three pages (39%). These exciting formats are most often used for a purely decorative purpose with no clear narrative meaning, although in some instances they are modalising (i.e. have ties to the story content, such as a cloud shape to indicate a dream or memory). When modalising features appear, they tend towards the emotional and symbolic rather than the prosaic – for example indicating heightened emotion (jagged border) or reinforcing the central motifs of the story (representational border). 

The study’s findings also helped us reflect on the usefulness of current comics theory, using the notion of the ‘tier’, which is an important organizational principle of the comics page and is prominent in francophone discussion of bande dessinée (as ‘bandes’ or ‘strips’ are integral to the French name for the medium). The work of Benoît Peeters (1991), Thierry Groensteen (2009, 2012), and Renaud Chavanne (2010) supports the search for tiered patterns as a principle in the Misty layouts. However, this project found that while tiers do seem to be an organizing principle for most Misty pages, this seldom takes the form of a straightforward grid. Variations such as staggering (where the upper and lower edges of panels in sequence do not line up) and tilting (where the baseline that defines reading progression is at an angle rather than horizontal) are extremely common: appearing on ninety-six pages (40%) and eighty-nine pages (37%) respectively. 

The dramatic and dynamic page design also has much to do with Misty’s art editorial team: art editor Jack Cunningham and art assistant Ted Andrews, who both worked on the comic for its entire run. The art was commissioned from Spain, drawing on artists from three main studios (Selecciones Ilustradas, Creaciones Editoriales/Bruguera, and Art Bardon), and sometimes manipulated heavily to fit house style. Cunningham recalls that when it was received it would be in various sizes, so the first thing to do was to ‘make a standard size that every artist worked to, and it used to appear as quite simply as square frame, square frame, square frame, and as we got a better idea we perhaps started off with some figures that were outside of the frame, run the titles across two pages, and break it all up, bit by bit […] I didn’t go through the whole script of course, but I designed what the opening page should look like and the end page should look like. And then here and there indicate where it would be better to leave a frame open perhaps. Because it’s very static, and very difficult to get any feeling of movement.’ Some artists also designed their own page layouts, with the extra page allowed for each story giving them space to shine.

 The Spanish artists who worked on Misty and many of the other British girls’ and boys’ comics of the time were powerhouses of talent, and their skill is the third reason that Misty had such an impact. These artists had defined the look of 1950s British romance comics, dominating Fleetway’s catalogue of titles (such as Valentine, Mirabelle, Roxy and Marilyn), and glamorising their content. While it has often been assumed that the Spanish artists were used because they were cheap, artist and researcher David Roach (Masters of Spanish Comic Book Art) states categorically that ‘They weren’t used because they were cheap, they were used because they were the best!’  Many worked for the American industry at the same time. Isidre Mones remembers Misty fondly, saying ‘I always had a suspicion that there is a sector of British women between forty and forty-five years old traumatized by those comics that I drew. I overlapped them with my Warren work, and I did not disguise the terrifying aspect very much!’

 Stories were not signed and original art was not returned, so the identification of artists is an ongoing task conducted by fans and scholars online. For those interested in learning more, a searchable database of all the Misty artists’ names and story summaries is available at www.juliaround.com/misty. Recycling and ‘bodging’ was used extensively to get the most out of an expensive piece of quality art. While almost all of the content of the weekly issues was original, the annuals and specials would reprint these stories, alongside reprints from earlier titles. The accepted wisdom was that stories could be recycled every few years as the audience would have moved on, although this was not always the case.

 Misty’s fourth great strength was in its highly skilled writing team and its combination of different story types. As creators were not credited it is hard to identify the authors of stories, although its editorial team (editor Malcolm Shaw, and sub editor Bill Harrington) would have written many of these. Malcolm Shaw and Pat Mills had worked together previously, launching Jinty in 1974, before it was taken over by Mavis Miller when she left June.  Shaw took over from Misty’s initial editor Wilf Prigmore after just a few issues, and served for almost the comic’s entire run. Although Malcolm Shaw wrote for many girls’ titles, the Misty stories were a perfect fit for his interests in science fiction and myth, and allowed him to push the boundaries of fiction for girls. He was passionate about the title and was its lead editor for the bulk of its run.

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Julia Round’s research examines the intersections of Gothic, comics and children’s literature. Her books include Gothic for Girls: Misty and British Comics (2019), Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels: A Critical Approach (2014), and the co-edited collection Real Lives Celebrity Stories. She is a Principal Lecturer at Bournemouth University, co-editor of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect) and the book series Encapsulations (University of Nebraska Press), and co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her new book on Gothic for Girls and Misty is accompanied by a searchable database, creator interviews, and other open access notes and resources, available at www.juliaround.com.

Comics, Childhood and Memory—An Autobiography (Part 3 of 3) by Melanie Gibson

Comics, Childhood and Memory: An Autobiography (Part 3 of 3)

Melanie Gibson

A very contrasting example, which moves away from the concept of agency and glamour and reflects the move towards learning through difficulty and emotional turmoil, is seen in Figure 9, a story which featured in Tammy from 1974 to 1984.

As noted above stories in British girls’ comics generally became bleaker as the twentieth century progressed, and made extensive use of the victim heroine motif. Here, as well as incorporating the increasingly fashionable activity of gymnastics, popularized through television coverage of the Olympic Games in the 1970s, especially through the figure of Olga Korbut, the story features a main character who is another working class outsider. As with the school stories mentioned earlier, the focus is on Bella’s trials and challenges, initially at the hands of relatives who want her to use her skills to steal on their behalf, and later on the part of the gymnastic establishment, as the example below shows. However, in contrast to the adult male characters her body constantly breaks the frame and the images seem to celebrate the inability of the form of the comic to control her moving figure. The narrative also celebrates her class position, rather than attempting to direct her into becoming a middle-class girl, and locates her as thriving, rather than simply surviving.

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Bella at the Bar’ (Tammy, IPC, Jan. 15 1983, pp. 14-16)

Bella at the Bar’ (Tammy, IPC, Jan. 15 1983, pp. 14-16)

To conclude, the general cultural consensus, or rather, stereotype, about British girls’ comics was that they were less significant than comics for boys, or other types of comic, specifically because they had been created for a young female audience.

In some ways I adopted that stereotype, as it was not the British girl’s titles that I was drawn to in becoming an ‘aca-fan’, but the superhero titles from the USA. I was influenced in this initial choices of focus by what had become a life-long engagement with that specific genre. However, in writing this article, I recognize that I did not exclusively read in that genre, but like most children in Britain, across a range, including the girls’ comic.

In looking at examples from material that I had at the time, rather than titles came into my growing comics collection as an ‘aca-fan’, when I became interested in exploring women’s memories of comics, I can see a number of links across the two genres that dominated my childhood reading, a few of which I have started to draw out above.

What surprises me most in revisiting my childhood reading, is how much the body in movement and physicality, much like superhero titles, is significant in girls’ comics, whether through activities seen as specifically signifying girlhood, or simply through being adventurous and engaged with others.

Finally, returning to memory, revisiting these titles evokes an emotional response, as they bring back discomfort with notions of traditional femininity, as well as tensions around school. I have a clearer understanding, perhaps, of why I rejected girls’ comics generally, but I can see that some were, and are, important and positive aspects of my reading history.

Bibliography

Bunty (DC Thomson) 1958-2001

Girl (Hulton Press) 1951-1964

Jackie (DC Thomson) 1964-1993.

June (Fleetway) 1961-1974.

Lady Penelope (City) 1966-1969.

Mandy (DC Thomson) 1967-1997.

Roxy (AP) 1958-1963.

School Friend (AP) ran from 1919-1929 as a story paper and 1950-1965 as a comic.

Tammy (IPC) 1971-1984.

Twinkle (DC Thomson) 1968-1999.

Gibson, M. (2015) Remembered Reading: Memory, Comics and Post-War Constructions of British Girlhood. University of Leuven Press. 

Gibson, M. (2008) ‘Nobody, somebody, everybody: ballet, girlhood, class, femininity and comics in 1950s Britain’. In: Girlhood Studies. 1, 2, pp. 108-128  

Gibson, M. (2008) From 'Susan of St. Brides' to 'Heartbreak Hospital': nurses and nursing in the girls' comic from the 1950s to the 1980s’. In: The Journal of Children’s Literature Studies. 5, 2, pp. 104-126 

Gifford, D. (1975) The British Comic catalogue 1874-1974. Mansell. 

Kuhn, A. (1995) Family Secrets: Acts of memory and imagination. London: Verso. 

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Dr Mel Gibson is an Associate Professor at Northumbria University, UK, specializing in teaching and research relating to comics, graphic novels, picturebooks and fiction for children. She has published widely in these areas, including the monograph (2015) Remembered Reading, on British women's memories of their girlhood comics reading. Her most recent work focuses on girlhoods, agency and contemporary comics. Mel has also run training and promotional events about comics, manga and graphic novels for schools and other organizations since 1993 when she contributed to Graphic Account, a publication that focused on developing graphic novels collections for 16-25 year olds, which was published by the Youth Libraries Group in the UK.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round.

 

 

 

 

Comics, Childhood and Memory—An Autobiography (Part 2 of 3) by Melanie Gibson

Comics, Childhood and Memory: An Autobiography (Part 2 of 3)

Mel Gibson

I next turn to the most popular of the titles for pre-teens in the late 1950s and on, Bunty, which I experienced entirely as a ‘pass-along reader’. The following images all come from that periodical. I chose to use a single edition here to show different styles of illustration, the use of color and the mixture of new and reprinted material.

Unlike School Friend and Girl, the key difference was that in Bunty the publisher aimed to create comics that they hoped would appeal to working class readers, so developing new markets by further differentiating the audience by class as well as age. Again, as with Girl, the actual audience read across class lines. Familiar tropes and narratives were given new twists in Bunty, most notably, perhaps, in schoolgirl stories. This was the case in ‘The Four Marys’, where one of the ‘Marys’ was a working-class scholarship pupil. This was the narrative most often mentioned by respondents in my 2015 book on memories of comics, and had an impact on several generations of readers. It was reported as about community, unity and friendship, and as enabling girls to overcome obstacles, a narrative of productive and positive inclusion, as is implied by aspects of the story in Figure 4.

However, this approach could be double-edged given that this narrative, like many others, focused on the problems of being a working-class outsider. The stories tended to be concerned with the struggle of such outsiders to deal with the snobbery of, and bullying by, both staff and other pupils. So, on the one hand, one might become one of a very close-knit group of friends, but on the other, one might be victimized because of a perceived difference from the school ‘norm’. As someone who had been severely bullied in school by a teacher before the age of eleven, such stories were far too close to my actual experience to be pleasant reading, again resulting in rejection, especially as I was unconvinced that I would eventually win out as the heroines in the comics did.

These particular genre stories, then, can be interpreted in very different ways. The example below, which appeared in the early 1970s, is a reprint of a much earlier story, as the style of art suggests, along with the uniforms and the dress of the teachers. Here the focus is inter-school sports rivalry and about the consequences of being a ‘show-off’, in this case about a school having superior sports facilities. There is, all the same, a sub-narrative about who is included on the team, with snobbery playing a major part in tensions within the school.

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‘The Four Marys’ (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, pp. 16-17)

‘The Four Marys’ (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, pp. 16-17)

The next two images, also from Bunty, are included to illustrate the domestic and everyday life aspects of the title. The first is the title page featuring the ‘Bunty’ picture story which was an often humorous and affectionate account of the titular Bunty’s life. The anthropomorphized dog in the top corner, whilst a surreal addition, is based on Bunty’s dog, which appears in a more normal form in other stories. Many of these comics had a title which was a girls’ name and the contents and cover were, in effect, a summation of a form of girlhood and of the inferred age and gender suitable interests of the potential reader. As with the Twinkle narrative above there are captions, but no speech balloons, so Figure 5 also shows how British comics for girls maintained a range of modes of address.

Bunty front cover (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, p. 1)

Bunty front cover (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, p. 1)

The last page of the same edition, featured what was also described in interview (2015) as one of the best remembered aspects of the title across the whole period of the publication of the title, the cut out doll. These pages were often seasonally themed, as is the case here, given that the reader is asked to choose an outfit for a Christmas party. Note also that despite the very different styles of drawing the girls on the front and back cover are both meant to be Bunty, emphasizing the overall identity of the periodical. To actually play with the dolls, in an era before photocopying or scanning were commonplace, meant that the reader had to destroy the ending of the final story, forcing a choice of what was more important to them as individuals. The title was, then, interactive to an extent and this activity serves to point out the agency of the reader.

Bunty Cut out doll (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, p. 32)

Bunty Cut out doll (Bunty, DC Thomson, 832, Dec. 22 1973, p. 32)

There were, as mentioned above a number of narratives that featured girls with powers of one kind or another. One of the most popular was Valda (Figure 7) who featured in Mandy from the late 1960s into the 1980s. Many of the narratives focus on adventures, which makes the character increasingly distinct from the domestic and the victim heroine in the comics. Others feature her skills and prowess in a number of sports, including ice skating, tennis and diving. However, she also fights evil and rescues those in difficulty, the latter as shown in Figure 7. She takes her power in part from the crystal depicted around her neck in the main panel, but also has to bathe regularly in the flames of the ‘fire of life’, ensuring the continuation of her skills and youthful appearance, despite being over 200 years old. As a child, what particularly impressed me about this particular story, in one of the few girls’ annuals that I owned, was the abrupt way in which the narrative was introduced. To simply dismiss the concerns and questions of adult males in favor of following one’s own agenda sounded wonderful. Here, then, is another point of contact between girls’ comics and my preferred superhero comics, in what can be recognized as a non-costumed female hero with powers who is assertive and independent. Here the directive aspects, or the focus on suffering, that appeared in other narratives is absent, offering space for celebration, rather than modification, of the self.

‘Valda’ (Mandy Annual, DC Thomson, 1976, p.2)

‘Valda’ (Mandy Annual, DC Thomson, 1976, p.2)

What the examples above indicate is that there was generally a quite self-contained world, or model, of girlhood (with various age and class inflections) in each of these titles. This was, on the part of some publishers, purposive in maintaining a space between younger girls and popular culture. Popular culture was seen as potentially corrupting, especially for girls, in the mid twentieth century. That comics could be seen as part of that culture was contained by publishers through incorporating content that could be read by adult gatekeepers such as parents as protecting girls from its worst excesses. Comics were consequently not generally part of the synergy around other forms of popular culture and so became lower profile, increasingly detached from the more consumerist model of girlhood offered in magazines.

However, this protectionist stance was not consistently followed. The mage below offers an example of a very different approach, given that another way of reading the self-contained worlds of many girls’ comics is not as protection of the girl reader, but as a failure to capitalize on the marketing of other cultural products. The chosen example illustrates the practice of closely shadowing popular television programs from the mid-1960s on. There were comics like Lady Penelope (City, 1966-1969), which in addition to its obvious commitment to Thunderbirds also featured strips on The Monkees and Bewitched (Gifford, 1975, p.95). However, this example is from June, a comic that included strips based on television, but was not dominated by them. ‘The Growing up of Emma Peel’ offers an extension to the series, in what might now be called a prequel. The unfortunate cook that features on the page is later explained to be Emma’s trainer in a number of forms of combat and his role is rather like that of Alfred in Batman. The dialogue serves to suggest that Emma’s father does not take her seriously, but her exclamation ‘Got it! At last!’ is used to show the reader that, far from being a dilettante, she is determined and committed. Here too there is an underlying positioning of the girl as to be shaped, in this case indicating the need for self-discipline in achieving aims. The adult Emma is shown in the photograph that leads into the story, and the assumption is that the reader will be aware of the series, but the emphasis is on what is needed to achieve both her glamorousness and her capacity for action.

‘The Growing up of Emma Peel’ (June, Fleetway, Jan. 29 1966, p. 24)

‘The Growing up of Emma Peel’ (June, Fleetway, Jan. 29 1966, p. 24)

Dr Mel Gibson is an Associate Professor at Northumbria University, UK, specializing in teaching and research relating to comics, graphic novels, picturebooks and fiction for children. She has published widely in these areas, including the monograph (2015) Remembered Reading, on British women's memories of their girlhood comics reading. Her most recent work focuses on girlhoods, agency and contemporary comics. Mel has also run training and promotional events about comics, manga and graphic novels for schools and other organizations since 1993 when she contributed to Graphic Account, a publication that focused on developing graphic novels collections for 16-25 year olds, which was published by the Youth Libraries Group in the UK.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round.

 

Comics, Childhood and Memory—An Autobiography (Part I of 3) by Mel Gibson

Comics, Childhood and Memory: An Autobiography (1 of 3)

Mel Gibson

Everyone writes and re-writes their autobiographies as they remember, in a continual process of selection and construction. As Annette Kuhn (1995) described it, memory is ‘driven by two sets of concerns. The first has to do with the ways memory shapes the stories we tell, in the present, about the past-especially stories about our own lives. The second has to do with what it is that makes us remember: the prompts, the pretexts of memory; the reminders of the past that remain in the present (p.3). Some of my childhood memories are anchored by what I was reading to a specific place and time, in line with what Kuhn suggests, as having been an enthusiastic comic reader generally means that I have a timeline of my childhood, given that they were typically bought new or second-hand shortly after publication. It also means that comics are tied in a direct way to memory, something which as an ‘aca-fan’ became linked with the practice of object elicitation, of using comics as objects in interview.

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As a British child born in 1963 in the North East of England my memories of comics incorporate a wide range of texts, including material like Rupert the Bear and Teddy Tail, anthropomorphic narratives which originated as newspaper strips. I also had access to imported superhero comics, which my father bought for me (or perhaps for himself with me as a secondary, pass-along, audience). These were exclusively DC titles, especially Batman, The Flash and Justice League of America. They were aimed at an audience much older than I was when I first read them, with him, as an under five year old. The combination of comics featuring adult characters and a parent who was around only intermittently, given that he was studying art in London, was potent, giving those comics a heightened significance. That he also used elements of them in art works stressed their importance too and may have contributed to my interest in comics as an ‘aca-fan’.

However, I also had access to comics in the form of annuals that had been gifts for my mother as a child. These annuals related to a gender specific title called Girl, a weekly periodical which had specific class and gender signifiers. More costly than many of the other titles available, and partly printed in four colour rotogravure on comparatively high quality paper, it was also a broadsheet. The majority of titles for girls, in contrast, were tabloid and although they might feature a cover in colour, were usually printed in black and white, with occasional uses of red as a spot colour (see Figure 4 for an illustration of this). All of these physical qualities attached to Girl could be seen as signifying the middle-class nature of the periodical. Who the audience actually was is not so fixed, but the intention was, whoever the reader, to guide their aspirations. It is Girl and the genre that it belonged to, the British girls’ comic, which will be the focus of the majority of this article. I would add that I am focusing down further still, on titles that were aimed largely at younger readers, rather than those in their teens.

The robust annuals, part of the wider culture and marketing around comics, along with toys and a range of other materials and events, were a staple Christmas gift in British households throughout the late twentieth century. The annuals I got to read had been published in the 1950s and contained a mixture of other materials alongside comic strips, including prose narratives. These earlier British publications linked me with both my mother and grandmother through forming the basis of some of our shared reading and family history. As Kuhn states, ‘an image, images, or memories are at the heart of a radiating web of associations, reflections and interpretations’ (1995, p.4).

Engaging with both the superhero comic and the girls’ comic, two very different comic traditions, meant that they became juxtaposed in my mind. Both inhabited what seemed to be gendered spaces and readerships and, indeed, almost appeared to be capable of being used as tools to mold me into a ‘proper’ girl or boy. Both also seemed to contain characters whose activities were linked with gender. I was, however, most drawn to stories in Justice League of America and to one in particular in Girl, entitled ‘Belle of the Ballet’. Whilst the content is very different, what drew me in was that the male and female characters had shared aims and objectives.

The example shown below, which I have analysed in depth elsewhere (2008), is a complete short story from an annual (in the British weekly anthology comics stories could run for twelve weeks or more, each week ending with a cliff-hanger). What is important in this context is that David, the male dance student is a regular character who trains and performs alongside Belle and Marie. He does not dominate the stories, but is simply part of their friendship group. In this example the friends investigate a dance focused mystery where class and the acceptability of dance are also key themes.

This narrative and others about Belle and her friends, the encouragement of family members and the increased cultural interest in ballet as a socially appropriate activity resulted in my taking ballet classes when I was around five. This ended rather swiftly when stage fright and the theft of my Twinkle comics from the dressing room after a performance resulted in my refusing to go back to classes again (or read that comic).

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‘Belle of the Ballet in Little Miss Nobody’. (Girl Annual 3, Hulton, 1954, pp. 81-84)

‘Belle of the Ballet in Little Miss Nobody’. (Girl Annual 3, Hulton, 1954, pp. 81-84)

The stolen copies of Twinkle flag up another set of references, as well as memories. It was a British weekly title which was sporadically bought for me and formed a dramatic contrast with the superhero titles. It was an important title for very young girls and, I believe, the only nursery comic that consciously addressed a gendered audience, as indicated by the way that the strap-line after the title ran, ‘specially for little girls’. Accordingly, it often had similar content to titles for older girls, including a focus on work. For instance, Twinkle featured a narrative about ‘Nancy the Little Nurse’, who helped her grandfather mend toys. I returned to this comic and that narrative in 2008, in writing about the many tales about nurses that appeared in British girls’ comics. Twinkle also featured a number of magical friend stories and a range of activities including a cut out doll.

‘Nancy the Little Nurse’ (Twinkle, No. 362, 28th Dec 1974)

‘Nancy the Little Nurse’ (Twinkle, No. 362, 28th Dec 1974)

I fear that as a child I felt the material in the girls’ titles was somehow constraining in comparison to the content of superhero comics. It was only later, in researching girls and comics, that I became fully aware of the diverse narratives that existed and that these titles were often ground-breaking in terms of both approach and content. Engaging with girls’ comics as an academic, in hoping to understand what these texts meant to readers, helped me grasp the complex nature of the genre and how readers understood those comics, using them as identifiers of self, often in opposition to monolithic readings of girlhood and the girls comic. However, as a child with limited funds to draw on, I simply opted for what I saw as more exciting and less directive. The full color in the superhero titles was also, I admit, an attraction.

However, to return to memory, in largely rejecting British girls’ comics as a slightly older child (preferring, by the mid-1970s, as I entered my teens, the X-Men and Franco-Belgian albums in translation, particularly Asterix, Lucky Luke and Tintin) I was consciously cutting myself off from what was a major genre and shared cultural experience. I now suspect it was also an attempt to disengage from British girlhood and what I saw as the expectations surrounding it. It was also about this time that I became an avid reader of science fiction for adults, which further moved me away from girls’ culture.

To put the scale of this rejection in context, British girls’ comics existed for every age group, as the depiction of the characters in the two narratives above suggests. These weekly anthology publications formed the majority of reading of most British girls between the 1950s and 1990s, with over fifty titles existing through this period and major ones circulating between 800,000 and a million per week. It was, in effect, the dominant form of comic aimed at girls, and created a potential feminine reading trajectory that ran from Twinkle, through Bunty and similar titles aimed at those under twelve, to titles for older readers focused on heterosexual romance and popular culture such as Roxy in the 1950s, and later Jackie and on to magazines. What is also significant about these narratives is that romance only featured in titles for older readers and the worlds depicted in girls comics were about their friendships and rivalries, not about boys.

The narratives they included changed over time especially from the late 1970s to 1990s, some becoming rather bleaker and horror-inflected and others opting for realism via the inclusion of photo stories. Further, a number were slowly converted into magazines, reflecting what were seen as changing interests amongst girls. This shift also served to emphasize that comics were for boys, which the sales figures for girls’ titles actually contradicted. However, as I became a teenager, I was increasingly uncomfortable about talking about my interest in comics, as cultural assumptions about reading meant that I was often told to read magazines for older girls or women instead. Additionally, actively seeking out superhero comics put me firmly in a male zone, including one specialist shop where I was known as ‘the girl’, and seen as a rarity. This meant that I inhabited a liminal zone around popular periodical reading and gender.

To return to the kinds of narratives that existed, the titles for younger readers featured a number of dominant types. There were schoolgirl investigators, school stories of various kinds, work related stories, those tied to popular activities like ballet, ice skating, horse riding or gymnastics and ones about friendships. They also contained ghost stories, ones where girls had magical friends, rags to riches narratives, and tales about animals of various kinds. There were, in addition, forays into science fiction and fantasy, with a number containing heroines with magical or other powers. The umbrella of the girls’ comic, then, had a very diverse range of material beneath it. The following examples give a small indication of some of what was available.

I begin with ‘The Silent Three’, an example of the girl investigator narrative and one of the most popular narratives in what was one of the most popular titles for girls in the 1950s. Whilst the majority of girl investigator narratives do not incorporate costumes, here the three friends wear matching domino masks and cloaks. The friends’ activities are also part of a type of secret society at school. Consequently, investigative narratives in this particular story run alongside ones about everyday school life, including school bullies attempting to either find out about or discredit those in the society. This has some obvious links with concepts in the superhero titles including the vulnerability of the hero and the secret identity. This is despite the private all-girl school and middle (or upper middle) class context of the narrative. The villains, as suggested in the images below, as well as the school bullies, may also be, like those in some Enid Blyton books, class ‘others’.

‘The Silent Three’. (School Friend Annual, AP, 1958, p. 7)

‘The Silent Three’. (School Friend Annual, AP, 1958, p. 7)

Dr Mel Gibson is an Associate Professor at Northumbria University, UK, specializing in teaching and research relating to comics, graphic novels, picturebooks and fiction for children. She has published widely in these areas, including the monograph (2015) Remembered Reading, on British women's memories of their girlhood comics reading. Her most recent work focuses on girlhoods, agency and contemporary comics. Mel has also run training and promotional events about comics, manga and graphic novels for schools and other organizations since 1993 when she contributed to Graphic Account, a publication that focused on developing graphic novels collections for 16-25 year olds, which was published by the Youth Libraries Group in the UK.

The ‘Remembering UK Comics’ series is edited by Dr William Proctor and Dr Julia Round.

Remembering UK Comics: A Conversation with William Proctor and Julia Round (Part II)

‘THE BASH STREET KIDS,’ THE BEANO

‘THE BASH STREET KIDS,’ THE BEANO

JR

When I was reading comics like Jackie I don’t remember any credits at all though, and I certainly didn’t know enough about the creators to follow anyone in particular. I barely recognized celebrities in the photos strips! (and there were some fairly big names, though often before they were famous - that’s George Michael below). Jackie always felt more like a magazine than a comic to me though - I mostly remember its articles (on anything from anorexia to crafting), pop music features and interviews, and of course tons of quizzes (how else would I have known what sort of personality I had or how to attract the right sort of boy?!)

George Michael stars in this photo strip from Jackie

George Michael stars in this photo strip from Jackie

So my awareness of British comics creators has been almost entirely retrospective, a bit like yours I think. It’s been an amazing journey of discovery! I’m still not great at recognizing art, but the range of styles and techniques and layouts in these comics is spectacular. Some of the pages are mind-blowing! — notions like tiers and grids simply didn’t seem to exist for these artists. 

‘The Chase’, Misty #40 (art by Douglas Perry, writer unknown)

‘The Chase’, Misty #40 (art by Douglas Perry, writer unknown)

‘The Loving Cup’, Misty #71 (art by Brian Delaney, writer unknown)

‘The Loving Cup’, Misty #71 (art by Brian Delaney, writer unknown)

WP

That’s a great point about artistic styles, Julia. Again, at the time it would have just seemed typical to me, and while breaking the structural ‘rules’ of grids and tiers has become quite common nowadays, often with critics describing such exploits as innovative (especially in superhero comics). But it’s not something I’ve given much consideration to be honest (and certainly not at the time).  

JR

There’s a lot of variety! Some artists did always go in for quite static layouts of course - regular rectangular panels laid out in three tiers. Some of the DC Thomson titles in particular might include things like a snippet of dialogue captioning the whole page (‘Dad! You can’t mean it!’) - for me, this can make the events feel a bit more like summaries and slows the pace. But a lot of the girls’ comics had crazy layouts! All those gymnasts and swimmers meant dynamic action that could be used to break up the page. Doug Church’s role as art editor of 2000AD led a big push towards splash pages and large opening panels that definitely fed into titles like Misty in the late 1970s, but I think the impetus was always there. 

‘Bella’, Tammy (written by Primrose Cumming, art by John Armstrong)

‘Bella’, Tammy (written by Primrose Cumming, art by John Armstrong)

WP

Thanks to Professor Martin Barker, I now have a complete run of the 1970s’ comic Action, which caused quite a controversy stirred by the media ‘harm brigade’ (the more things change, and all that). It is my favorite UK comic overall, but that came much later after I read Barker’s Comics, Ideology and its Critics (1989). I won’t go into that here as we have an essay upcoming focused on the title, and an interview with Martin Barker himself, but I think it’s interesting that comics tapped into successful films, much in the same way that so-called ‘exploitation’ cinema did. Spielberg’s Jaws led to a cycle of ‘Sharksploitation’ and ‘nature-run-amok’ films, like William Girdler’s Grizzly (1976) -- which lifts its plot from Jaws, but replaces the Great White with an 18-foot tall grizzly bear! -- Michael Anderson’s Orca (1977), Joe Dante’s Piranha (2000),and many, many more, all the way into the new millennium with the Sharknado franchise. But UK comics tapped into successful film cycles as well, like Action’s ‘Hookjaw,’ a bloody intertextual remix of Moby Dick and Jaws.

‘Hookjaw’ from Action

‘Hookjaw’ from Action

It seems to me — and I’m sure scholars have mentioned this before me--that comics also drew from the exploitation model of latching onto the coat-tails of popular cinema. Another example that springs to mind comes out of your research into Misty, Julia! I’m thinking of the strip titled ‘Moonchild’ by Pat Mills and John Armstrong, which is a thinly-veiled riff on Stephen King’s Carrie; although as Simon Brown points out in his Screening Stephen King, without Brian De Palma’s 1976 adaptation, King probably wouldn’t be the house-hold name he is today! So I’m guessing that it was De Palma’s film that ‘Moonchild’ is responding to rather than King (at least directly). 

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JR

Absolutely — the Misty serials in particular seemed to rearticulate texts from all over the place. As well as ‘Moonchild,’ Pat Mills wrote a serial called ‘Hush, Hush, Sweet Rachel’, which takes its plot from Frank De Felitta’s Audrey Rose (1975, also adapted into a film in 1977). ‘End of the Line’ (Malcolm Shaw and John Richardson, #28–42) draw on the movie Death Line (1972), where people are kidnapped by the cannibalistic descendants of a group of Victorian tube tunnel workers trapped underground. Of course, sometimes the recycling is little more than a name-check to create an atmosphere: ‘Whistle and I’ll Come,’ which recalls M.R. James’s ghost story ‘Whistle and I’ll Come to You’ (1904) which was made into a UK television adaptation in 1968). ‘Hush, Hush, Sweet Rachel’ is a portmanteau of the movie Hush . . . Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964), a psychological thriller about infidelity and a falsely accused murderess, and the TV movie Sweet, Sweet Rachel (1971), a pilot for a series about a murderer who uses extrasensory perception. And ‘The Four Faces of Eve’ (Malcolm Shaw and Brian Delaney) name-checks the 1957 movie The Three Faces of Eve, which is about dissociative identity disorder. So intertextual references were very common, even if only used as a knowing nod to source material or to conjure a mood. 

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WP

Although I’m aware of academic work on UK Comics—James Chapman’s British Comics, Mel Gibson’s Remembered Reading: Memory, Comics and Post-War Constructions of British Girlhood, and Martin Barker’s Comics, Ideology and its Critics are three of my personal favourites—I often wonder if some of the UK Comics’ history is in danger of being forgotten. There are surely reams of publications that have yet to receive academic treatment (I am unaware of work on comics like Champ and Scream, two of my nostalgic objects). Of course, you have your new book on Misty coming out soon as well! Mazel tov!

Is that a fair assessment of the field do you think, Julia?  Are we in danger of losing our national memory about UK Comics to some degree?

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 JR 

Definitely. Few people thought any of these comics (particularly the girls’ titles) were worth preserving or collecting, and I’ve heard loads of horror stories of original artwork being used as cutting boards, or comics being used to mop up archive floors, or thrown into skips (when Fleetway moved offices), or just given away outside conventions. Mel Gibson’s research into readers’ memories and oral histories actually started because she found that the comics themselves were so hard to get hold of! When big private collections have appeared (such as Denis Gifford’s, after his death) they’ve been split up and sold off. I’ve been part of a number of (rejected) bids to try and get some national research money behind preserving some of these collections, and I’m speaking at a public event next weekend (Saturday 2 November) at the Cartoon Museum in London that is trying yet again to drum up some interest in this. We need to protect and preserve these publications and their ephemera, whether through digitisation or creation of a physical archive. There isn’t anything about today that looks or feels (or smells!) like old British comics — they really are relics of a bygone age, not to mention an important part of our national memory. They have so much to tell us about society from almost every angle — ideology, gender roles, politics, economics, social norms, other media, and much much more. 

 Plus, did I mention that the stories and artwork are awesome?!

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BP 

It’s certainly a history that is worth preserving, and I’m sure that there are many titles that have fallen through the academic gap (and perhaps will continue to do so). And yes, the stories and artwork are awesome (sublime, even)! 

I’m sure some readers may find the idea of ‘smell’ quite odd, but when I sniff an old comic, I am immediately catapulted back through time as if at 88 miles per hour in a Delorean; back to a simpler time, of a childhood spent indiscriminately gorging on a bevvy of titles, often picked up at a jumble sale hosted by a local church (in my experience). I remember ink-stained fingers as I delivered comics and newspapers—and the odd porn magazine—on my paper route. I remember Dennis the Menace terrorizing his dad, who would react spectacularly by chasing Dennis with his weaponized slippers. I remember Judge Dredd shooting up another block party, Slaine slicing and dicing his enemies, a thinly-veiled analogue of Robert E. Howard’s Conan. I remember laughing at the various strips in Whizzer and Chips, Cor!, Buster, etc.; gasping at the latest twists and turns in Roy of the Rovers; shivering in terror at ‘The Thirteenth Floor.’  I remember reading my sister’s Jackie, Mandy, and Bunty. Gender didn’t matter in what I read—I was and remain a comic book omnivore— yet it mattered enough not to openly declare my eclecticism to friends for fear of masculine reprisal in the school playground. I remember it as the best of times during the worst of times (I grew up in Thatcher’s Britain, so nuff said). 

DENNIS THE MENACE AND GNASHER FROM THE BEANO

DENNIS THE MENACE AND GNASHER FROM THE BEANO

At the beginning of this conversation, I did caution that I would be likely to wax lyrical! My memories of reading as a child, and as a teen, are precious. Without the education provided by comics, I’m not sure I would be such an energetic and avid reader as I have been throughout my adult life. (Bryan Talbot once said that he learned to read through comics, so I know I’m in good company.)  

STRONTIUM DOG FROM 2000AD, ART BY CARLOS EZQUERRA

STRONTIUM DOG FROM 2000AD, ART BY CARLOS EZQUERRA

In essence, this series of essays on UK Comics aims to spotlight at least some of the medium’s history. As such, we have curated a lively series of essays that will hopefully reach those readers for whom UK Comics are forgotten relics, or to share a range of perspectives on a medium that people may not be aware of. We hope you’ll join us on our voyage into the dog-eared, pulp-inflected, yellow-stained past as we remember the wonderful, eclectic, intelligent, and insane world of UK Comics.  

Next week, we begin with Dr Mel Gibson on girl’s comics.  Join us, won’t you?

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Dr William Proctor is Senior Lecturer in Transmedia at Bournemouth University, UK. He has published widely on various topics related to popular culture, including Batman. James Bond, Stephen King, Star Wars and more. William is a leading expert on franchise reboots, and is currently writing his debut monograph, Reboot Culture: Comics, Film, and Transmedia Histories (forthcoming, Palgrave). He is the co-editor of Global Convergence Cultures: Transmedia Earth (with Matthew Freeman, Routledge 2018), and Disney’s Star Wars: Forces of Promotion, Production, and Reception (with Richard McCulloch, University of Iowa Press 2019).

Dr Julia Round is a Principal Lecturer in the Faculty of Media and Communication at Bournemouth University, UK. She is one of the editors of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect Books) and a co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her first book was Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels (McFarland, 2014), followed by the edited collection Real Lives, Celebrity Stories (Bloomsbury, 2014). In 2015 she received the Inge Award for Comics Scholarship for her research, which focuses on Gothic, comics, and children’s literature. She has recently completed two AHRC-funded studies examining how digital transformations affect young people's reading. Her new book Misty and Gothic for Girls in British Comics (forthcoming from UP Mississippi, 2019) examines the presence of Gothic themes and aesthetics in children’s comics, and is accompanied by a searchable database of all the stories (with summaries, previously unknown creator credits, and origins), available at her website www.juliaround.com.













 


































































Remembering UK Comics: A Conversation with William Proctor and Julia Round (Part I)

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Editor’s Note: Most American comic fans know of the so-called British Invasion as creators such as Neil Gaiman, Alan Moore, and Frank Miller, among others, represented new voices in U.S. comics. But few have taken the time to understand the larger British comics culture — the context which these and many other gifted pop culture auteurs emerged. But more than that, we should know more about everyday comics culture — what British youth read, what forms these publications took, how stories circulated in their “ordinary” lives, and so forth.

When I first came to England in the early 1990s, I came back with a suitcase full of magazines and comics, fascinated by a parallel world of popular culture in English which was little known in America. I had read my Angela McRobbie and Martin Barker and even George Orwell’s work on the comic postcard, and wanted to understand this tradition better. I had no idea that British comics was sputtering well before I got there.

When Billy Proctor proposed a series of interviews, conversations, and essays on the British comics tradition, I jumped at the chance. I had first met Billy through our shared interests in the works of Bryan Talbot, having spent a wonderful afternoon at the home of one of the UK’s leading comics artists. I felt more of us around the world should know of this history and so for the next few weeks, I am turning control of my blog over to Proctor, who organized the “Cult Conversations” series a while back, and his colleague, comics scholar Julia Round, for a deep dive into this particular comics culture.

In the coming year, I hope to do more here on comics and comics studies as we ramp up to the release of my book, Comics and Stuff, coming in 2020 from New York University Press

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WP

I should state that I am likely to wax nostalgic about UK Comics, or at least, comics I read in my salad years. It seems that my childhood was a period where comic books were in abundance (I was born in 1974). Scanning the shelves of local newsagents these days fills me with sadness, to be honest, although perhaps I’m peering into the past with rose-tinted spectacles. Perhaps not. It’s not that there are no UK comics any longer—far from it. As the image below attests, shelves are teeming with British comics. But to my eyes, they all seem to be for children, less so for anyone over the age of five or six. And what counts as a ‘childrens’ comic’ seems to have shifted quite significantly since around the 1990s.

Here’s an image of UK comics’ shelves in retailer, WHSmith.

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Comics were a huge part of my reading life from childhood through to my teens. Of course, I continued to read comics as an adult as well, but gravitated towards more ‘mature’ fare. Maybe it was a rite of passage, generally speaking. Many of us started out reading The Beano, The Dandy, Whizzer and Chips, Cor, etc. then moved onto titles like Victor, Action, The Eagle, Warlord, Scream, Champ, and, of course, 2000AD. I’m talking mainly here about boys' comics, but I also read girls’ comics too! I would never have bought them nor admitted to reading them to my friends though! Even at a young age, boys were dunked in the petri-dish of masculinity, learning to become MEN. If I’d finished reading my weekly purchases, I’d certainly dip into my sister’s Jackie, Bunty, and Tammy, as well as her magazines such as Look-In and Smash Hits.

 Am I romanticizing our youth Julia?

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JR   

Not at all! — in fact, I really like the idea that working your way through the British comics, from youngest to oldest, was a rite of passage. Sadly though it seems that often it ended in the denigration and ultimate rejection of comics - I’m wondering if this attitude was almost culturally ingrained. Memory is a strange beast - if you’d asked me twenty years ago if I read British comics as a kid I think I might have said not really - not because I was lying, I just didn’t really remember much about them or how significant they were to me. But I did read them, and part of the joy of immersing myself in them again for research purposes has been having all these half-formed memories flooding back.

JACKIE (1980)

JACKIE (1980)

I had a long hiatus from girls’ comics after a particularly scary encounter with Misty when I was about 7 or 8 (for more on that check out our podcast!), but I read Jackie for years afterwards, well into my early teens, and lots before that as well. I think I started on Twinkle, and I definitely read The Beano and The Dandy enough to get some annuals for Christmas. I also distinctly remember a comic from my pre-teen years called BIG that nobody at all remembers (the lack of exclamation mark was very important since there was another pop magazine called BIG! which my newsagent always used to produce for me instead). I’ve often doubted it existed, but a spot of internet research turned up this, and tells me that it was a reprint title, collecting the best of comics such as Cor!, Buster, Whizzer and Chips, and so on. Reprinting and recycling was common practice in the British comics - not just in the souvenir hardback ‘annuals’ which would be released every year in time for well-meaning relatives to buy you for Christmas, but also between titles. Publishers believed that kids only read comics for a few years, meaning that their entire audience would be renewed every 8 years or so, which meant that popular serials that had originally appeared in one title would often be recycled into another one some years later, or collected together under a different name, like BIG.

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One of the most interesting things about the British comics was the sheer range of titles. Ones for the very young, like Twinkle, with simple layouts and stories about fairies and flowers and talking animals. The anarchic comedy titles like Beano, Dandy, Cor! and the others. The war, sports and sf titles for boys that you’ve mentioned, and the school and ballet stories for girls (June and School Friend, Bunty), not to mention the romance titles of the 1950s. But as the medium developed and the number of weekly publications increased, it’s worth stressing that these were definitely not all cosy Enid Blyton-style tales - horrific bullying, ghostly happenings, mistaken identities, kidnappings, and much much more graced the pages of the British girls’ comics, and things got dark — really dark! — before the industry faltered in the 1970/80s and finally collapsed in the 1990s.  

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It still boggles me that an industry that at its peak was publishing hundreds of weekly titles, with circulation figures up in the millions, can have so completely collapsed! And it didn’t have anything to do with censorship or a Code like in America. British comics publishing was completely dominated by two main companies: DC Thomson, a family-run firm based in Dundee, Scotland, and Fleetway Publications (originally known as Amalgamated Press, and later renamed as the holding company International Publishing Corporation, which also gobbled up many smaller publishers such as Odhams and Newnes). These two companies were engaged in fierce competition which went on for decades. They poached each other’s creators, copied each other’s titles, kept prices low, increased free gifts, and constantly sought to outdo each other for drama and excitement - we, the readers, definitely befitted from their creativity and innovation!  

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The strongest memories for me are of absolutely nail-biting stories, combined with crazy layouts and amazing artwork. Fleetway sourced most of this from Spanish artists, many of whom (I found out much later) also worked for publishers like Warren in America. I didn’t know enough about the writers or artists to recognise this at the time, of course, and the British comics stories were completely uncredited for many years, which didn’t help either! Do you remember any particular artists or writers Billy/what are your strongest memories of the ones you read? 

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WP 

That’s an interesting question! I think it was only when I started to read 2000AD that artists and writers came to the fore. The comics I read in junior school (ages 7-11) were mostly the humor comics such as The Beano, The Dandy, and later, Champ and Scream. It was only later that I went back and recognized certain writers and artists—Alan Moore was involved in writing ‘Monster’ for Scream, which was a short-lived anthology comic that absolutely terrified me! (I’ve since bought the complete 15-issue run from Ebay.) It was in secondary school (ages 11-16) when I gravitated to 2000AD. I worked at the local newsagents as a paper-boy then, and I even remember the address where I delivered 2000AD on a weekly basis! Unbeknownst to both the addressee and the newsagent, they wouldn’t receive their copy on the day of release, but the day after. I would take the comic home to read before delivering the next day, hoping that I wouldn’t be caught for doing so. At school, there were a few kids who also read 2000AD—and I mean a few. It’s plausible that many teens read 2000AD regularly, but perhaps we were at an age where that wasn’t to be admitted in public. (Puberty came with unwritten rules after all, and comics should have been in the rear-view mirror by that time.)  

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But there was one boy who had a massive back catalogue of 2000AD comics, and we became fast friends. He would lend me older issues in chronological order so I could read full stories from beginning to end. Then as now, 2000AD worked on a kind of rotation. The flagship strip was, and remains,  ‘Judge Dredd.’ Dredd would feature in every issue at the front of the comic, but other strips would run for a number of weeks until the story was finished, then depart for a while, replaced by other stories on a rotating basis. I distinctly remember the first time I started to recognize artists’ styles without looking at the credits. The story was ‘Nemesis the Warlock’ and the run that introduced me to the character was by Bryan Talbot. The detail is incredible, with the technique of cross-hatching used to magnificent effect. (I once spoke to Talbot about departing from that style later in his long and illustrious career and he simply remarked: “it takes bloody ages, that’s why I stopped!”) And to this day, ‘Nemesis the Warlock’ remains my absolute favorite UK comic, bar none.

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Other artists, such as Brian Bolland and Kevin O’Neill, also became instantly recognizable.  

Of course, this was the era when the ‘big two’ US publishers, Marvel and DC, would start offering work to UK writers and artists, many of whom cut their teeth on 2000AD. In effect, 2000AD became a breeding ground for talent, with now-familiar names crossing the Atlantic to work as hired hands for the big two: Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, Alan Moore, Peter Milligan, Warren Ellis, Jamie Delano, etc. This is often referred to as ‘The British Invasion.’  

Art by Brian Bolland, who would go on to pencil Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke for DC.

Art by Brian Bolland, who would go on to pencil Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke for DC.

It was much later, however, that writers and artists became sovereign (at least for me). So while I may be au fait with many artists’ styles nowadays, that occurred retroactively, and even more so when I began studying comics as an academic. I must say that my scholarly work, however, is focused more on US superhero comics than UK comics, although I hope that I’ll rectify that in future—I’ve been keen on doing some work on Scream as it seems broadly neglected in academic spheres. 

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In a nutshell, my strongest memories are of excitement and horror! Roy of the Rovers always left me gasping with exertion, as did ‘We are United’ in Champ. I was an avid football fan, and these strips seemed akin to the real thing—perhaps more so!  

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Also in Champ was ‘The Sinister World of Mr Pendragon.’ I would read it under the bed covers (with a flashlight), and would be so paralyzed with fright that I wouldn’t dare go to the bathroom in case the monsters ate me! ‘The Dracula Files’ in Scream had a similar effect.  

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What about you Julia?  Did you recognize artists or follow a particular writer? As you said, of course, many strips went uncredited at the time, but I believe Action and 2000AD instigated a shift towards proper accreditation (I may be wrong about that but I’m sure you’ll tell me!)

SCREAM’S ‘THE DRACULA FILE’

SCREAM’S ‘THE DRACULA FILE’

JR   

If you go back far enough, there actually used to be credits in British comics - you can find them in Eagle (1950–69) and some of the romance titles of a similar era, but by the 1970s this wasn’t standard practice any more. Some smaller companies like Top Shelf did carry on crediting their artists and writers, but the British Big Two definitely did not. Part of each comic’s editorial team’s job was actually to paint over any signatures that artists dared to add to their work! - of course this led to lots of more subtle signatures and references bring inserted, and it can be lots of fun to try and spot these. The artist John Armstrong was particularly good at hiding his initials in his artwork! 

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I think 2000AD was the comic responsible for bringing creator credits back when it launched in 1977 - its art editor Kevin O’Neill basically said ‘This is bullsh*t’, put them on, and told Fleetway management they were experimenting. They’ve been there ever since! The idea was then picked up by Tammy editor Wilf Prigmore (credits first appeared in Tammy on July 17, 1982, and continued until February 11, 1984). He remembers this move as also being driven by one of his writers, Anne Digby, as the comic was serialising an adaptation of her Trebizon school story novels and she thought adding her name might help them sell. 

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Dr William Proctor is Senior Lecturer in Transmedia at Bournemouth University, UK. He has published widely on various topics related to popular culture, including Batman. James Bond, Stephen King, Star Wars and more. William is a leading expert on franchise reboots, and is currently writing his debut monograph, Reboot Culture: Comics, Film, and Transmedia Histories (forthcoming, Palgrave). He is the co-editor of Global Convergence Cultures: Transmedia Earth (with Matthew Freeman, Routledge 2018), and Disney’s Star Wars: Forces of Promotion, Production, and Reception (with Richard McCulloch, University of Iowa Press 2019).

Dr Julia Round is a Principal Lecturer in the Faculty of Media and Communication at Bournemouth University, UK. She is one of the editors of Studies in Comics journal (Intellect Books) and a co-organiser of the annual International Graphic Novel and Comics Conference (IGNCC). Her first book was Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels (McFarland, 2014), followed by the edited collection Real Lives, Celebrity Stories (Bloomsbury, 2014). In 2015 she received the Inge Award for Comics Scholarship for her research, which focuses on Gothic, comics, and children’s literature. She has recently completed two AHRC-funded studies examining how digital transformations affect young people's reading. Her new book Misty and Gothic for Girls in British Comics (forthcoming from UP Mississippi, 2019) examines the presence of Gothic themes and aesthetics in children’s comics, and is accompanied by a searchable database of all the stories (with summaries, previously unknown creator credits, and origins), available at her website www.juliaround.com.













 













Interview with Morgan G. Ames on 'The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop Per Child' (Part III)

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You note that many of the accounts that link the OLPC with cultural imperialism discount the cultural agency of the child users. What do these accounts miss? 

Other analyses of OLPC provide some really insightful critiques about the project's potential effects, but nearly all of them just don't have any on-the-ground experience with how OLPC's XO laptops were actually used. Without seeing what kids were doing with the laptops, I feel like they're missing half the story -- in particular, almost none of the kids cared at all about OLPC's vision or the constructionist software on the machine. If they used the laptop at all, they pursued their own interests with it.  

There were also some features of the laptop -- its mesh network, for instance -- that generated a lot of excitement early on, but really did not work in practice. The XO laptops were just too slow and their batteries drained too fast to make mesh networking possible; the capability was in fact removed from an update to the Sugar software. 

At the same time, I don't want to let OLPC off the hook when it comes to cultural imperialism. OLPC's leaders said all sorts of things about kids leapfrogging past all the adults in their lives, teaching themselves English and programming, and ultimately transforming their cultures. But what does it mean to frame kids as the primary agents of change? Negroponte often said just this in his talks: "We have to leverage kids as the agents of change." Not schools, not governments, not infrastructures, not even parents -- kids.  

One problem with this is that it assumes that kids are not really fully within their cultures. This fits with many of our social imaginaries of children as closer to nature and more noble for it -- they aren't mired in the petty concerns of adulthood yet. OLPC hoped to capture children's "natural" interests and steer them toward computing cultures and away from the cultures they were born into. In addition to being a sneakier form of cultural imperialism, this of course didn't work -- my results corroborated what researchers in education and social science know very well: that learning is socially-motivated and culturally-embedded.  

A second, and much more fundamental, problem comes from the model of cultural change this promotes, which centers on children. It means that these projects are under-resourced from the beginning, because they weren't really thinking about infrastructural or institutional change -- they were focused on individual change and just hoping that larger changes flow from that. And when that change fails to happen, it becomes the fault of those individuals. Failure becomes the fault of the children. 

This meant, for one, that when way more laptops were breaking than One Laptop per Child expected, it was at least at first seen as the responsibility of the kids to repair them. OLPC shipped an extra 1% of laptops, but just over a year after laptops had been handed out in Paraguay, 15% were inoperable, and at least another 15% had dead pixels, missing keys, and other hardware problems. This really blindsided Paraguay Educa -- OLPC leaders had told them that these laptops were so rugged they could withstand being tossed around. Negroponte loved to toss XOs across stages and then turn them on in his presentations. Moreover, OLPC leaders said that kids would be able to repair any issue that would come up. Papert himself had said, "An eight-year old is capable of doing 90% of tech support and a 12 year old 100%. And this is not exploiting the children: it is giving them a powerful learning experience."

Paraguay Educa soon realized, however, that this was not the kinds of breakage that kids could fix on their own. And, moreover, they needed way more spare parts than OLPC had provided. They found temporary workarounds, but once their funding started to run dry, the broken laptops started to really stack up. When I returned in 2013 for some follow-up fieldwork, one participant estimated that counted generously, only 40% of the project's laptops were usable at all, and most of those were rarely used. 

It's these kinds of details that one can only really get from spending some time on the ground. In the early days of the project, many were deeply worried about theft and a laptop black market -- but this problem was basically nonexistent. Breakage, however, was a major problem, and was not adequately anticipated.

Broken XO

Broken XO

You traced what happened to some of the “success stories’ from OLPC. What outcomes did you find? What factors shaped the long term impact of their engagement with computing and programming? 

I was really interested in finding any cases that OLPC would likely define as "success" -- and while I didn't find many, I did find a handful! A few were interested in Scratch or eToys, two of the constructionist programs on the machine. Others photoblogged or learned some basic technical skills. When I returned for follow-up fieldwork in 2013, some were part of a Saturday programming club run by Paraguay Educa. 

What was striking about these kids, though, was that all of them were encouraged by their caretakers -- generally mothers or aunts -- to take their laptop use beyond the media consumption of their peers. These kids' learning was clearly socially-motivated -- and they were, in essence, practicing the other half of connected learning that was missing for most kids. Many of them also already had a computer at home, which was rare in Paraguay more generally, at least in 2010. 

However, most of them ran into various structural limitations in this use. A big one was the English-centric nature of the Internet and of nearly all programming languages. Another involved the kinds of opportunities available in their provincial town. While I am generally very critical of "deficit" models of learning, I also can't ignore the ways that historical and present conditions at times actively marginalized those few interested children. In the end, I think their lives were enriched by the project, but they were not transformed.

Let me end by posing one of your own driving questions. What is the alternative to Charisma-driven models of technological and cultural change? 

In an ideal world, I'd love for projects to honestly assess the resources needed for even incremental change, and to engage in really culturally-embedded cooperatively-run projects led by local leaders, with long-term support for making incremental improvements. Because that's just what is actually realistic here. I'm deeply tired of the technologists on tech-centric projects like this one assuming they're the smartest people in the room and that they don't need to consult with anyone else -- we can clearly see the consequences on that not just with One Laptop per Child but, really, in the many moral crises across the technology industry as a whole.  

I recognize that this would be a pretty drastic transformation from how many tech-centered development and education projects tend to be run -- at least, those that tend to get the most attention and resources. So as a first step, I would ask that those involved in these projects at least recognize that the "moonshot" model of technology-driven social change -- where projects are encouraged to think big, to "disrupt" everything, to "fail fast and often" in hopes that one day they'll really transform the world -- is not only unrealistic, it has some real negative consequences. People involved in developing these technologies are often blinded themselves by their charisma -- they're part of that project because they've bought into the vision too. At the very least, I hope my account can help them stay a bit more grounded, keep their eyes and ears open, and keep their hearts just a little more humble.

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Morgan G. Ames researches the ideological origins of inequality in the technology world, with a focus on utopianism, childhood, and learning. Her book The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop per Child (MIT Press, 2019) draws on archival research and a seven-month ethnography in Paraguay to explore the cultural history, results, and legacy of the OLPC project -- and what it tells us about the many other technology projects that draw on similar utopian ideals. Morgan is an assistant adjunct professor in the School of Information and interim associate director of research for the Center for Science, Technology, Medicine and Society at the University of California, Berkeley, where she teaches in Data Science and administers the Designated Emphasis in Science and Technology Studies."

Interview with Morgan G. Ames on 'The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop Per Child' (Part II)

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You root the OLPC project in a particular conception of the relationship between technology and childhood in the thinking of Seymour Papert. What do you see as some of the core assumptions shaping this vision of ‘the technically precocious boy”?

Nicholas Negroponte was certainly the public face of One Laptop per Child, but he readily admitted in his marathon of talks in the early days of OLPC that the very idea for the project was actually Papert's, even though Papert was already retired when OLPC was announced. He often said that the whole project was "the life's work of Seymour Papert." 

And when you read through all of Papert's public writing, from the late 1960s through the early 2000s, you can clearly see that connection. Papert started writing about the liberatory potential of giving kids free access to computers not long after after he joined MIT in the 1960s. Throughout the 1970s, he was a central figure in developing the LOGO programming environment. The branch he worked on, which ended up being the dominant branch, was built around the ideals of what he called "constructionism," as a tool for kids to use to explore mathematical and technical concepts in a grounded, playful way. He kept advocating these same views throughout the 1980s and 1990s, even as LOGO lost steam after many of the really grand utopian promises attached to it failed to materialize.

Seymour Papert

Seymour Papert

I argue that one of the reasons for this failure is that LOGO and many constructionist projects are built around a number of assumptions about childhood and technology that just aren't true for all children -- and in fact are only true for a particular set of children, mostly boys, who have a lot of support to explore technical systems.  

Some of this support comes from their immediate environment: they have parents who bought them a computer, who helped them figure it out, who were there to troubleshoot, who supported their technical interests. If it wasn't a parent, it was someone else they could turn to with questions. The programmers I've interviewed who proudly say they are self-taught had a whole constellation of resources like this to help them along. 

But some of this support also comes from the cultural messages that we hear, and often propagate, about children. Messages about boys' supposedly "natural" interest in tinkering with machines goes back at least 100 years -- there's this great volume called The Boy Mechanic: 700 Things for Boys to Do that was published in 1913! Then there's transistor radio culture, engineering competitions, and a whole host of technical toys specifically marketed to boys in the decades following. Amy Ogata, Susan Douglas, Ruth Oldenziel, and many other fantastic historical scholars have traced these histories in depth. With the rise of computing, this same boy-centered engineering culture gets connected to programming, displacing all of the women who had been doing that work as low-paid clerical workers around and after World War II, as Nathan Ensmenger and Mar Hicks have shown. The same boy-centered culture also defined the video game industry in the 1980s.  

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From all of this, at every turn boys -- and particularly white middle-class boys -- are told that they belong in this culture, that they are (or can be) naturals at programming. Everyone else has to account for themselves in these worlds, and everyone else faces ostracism, harassment, and worse if they dare to stick around. It's something I became pretty familiar with myself throughout my computer science major.

When I talk about the "technically precocious boy," it's both of these pieces -- the specific material and social support certain kids get, but also the larger cultural messages they live with and have to make sense of in their own lives. This is what social scientists call a "social imaginary," or a coherent and shared vision that helps define a group.  

Unless projects very actively reject and counter these social imaginaries, they ride the wave of them. One Laptop per Child is one of these, just as Papert's other projects were. Even though these projects tended to speak inclusively about "girls and boys" and "many ways of knowing," they then turned around and extolled the virtues of video games and talked about technical tinkering in ways that wholly relied on this century of cultural messaging, which had long been incredibly exclusionary.

Did this conception constitute a blind spot when applied, unproblematically, to childhoods lived in other parts of the world? How might we characterize the childhoods of the people who were encountering these devices in Latin America? 

The biggest issue with relying on the social imaginary of the technically precocious boy is that the kids who identified with it have always made up a very small part of the population. If you think back to the youths of many of those who contributed to OLPC, who were discussing its similarities with the Commodores or Apple IIs of their childhoods -- most of their peers couldn't care less about computers. So to assume that somehow all or most kids across the Global South, or anywhere in the world, would care when this kind of passion is idiosyncratic even in places that have long had decent access to computers is a bit baffling to me.  

When I've said as much to friends who worked on OLPC, I often heard something along the lines of, "well, those past machines maybe only appealed to some kids, but this one will have much more universal appeal!" And Papert wrote about the universal potential of computers too -- he called them the "Proteus of machines," with something to appeal to everyone. I see similar stories in movements to teach all kids to code.  

But the majority of the kids I got to know in Paraguay -- as well as those I met in Uruguay and Peru -- just weren't very interested in these under-powered laptops. I found that over half of kids in Paraguay would rather play with friends or spend time with their families, and didn't find anything all that compelling about the device. The one third of students who did use their laptops much at all liked to connect to the Internet, play little games, watch videos, listen to music -- pretty similar to what many kids I know in the U.S. like to do with computers. This is not to erase the cultural differences that were there, much less the legacy of imperialism still very much present across the region. But it really drives home just how wrong the assumption was that kids in the Global South would be drawn to these machines in a way that differed fundamentally from most kids in the Global North, that they'd really want to learn to program.

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You correctly note that the metaphor of the school as a factory often results in a dismissal of teacher’s role in the educational process. Yet, the OLPC and other Media Lab projects have depended heavily upon teachers and other educators to help motivate adaption and use of these new platforms and practices. How have these two ideas been reconciled in practice? 

The social imaginary of school-as-factory is a perfect foil for the social imaginary of the naturally creative child (and the technically-precocious boy as an offshoot of it). We certainly see messages all the time that portray schools with derision and contempt -- in spite of a long and well-documented history of school reform, schools are often talked about as hopelessly outdated, mechanistic, and antithetical to children's creativity. (This is not to say that I think schools are perfect as they are -- I certainly dislike drill-and-test practices, for one -- but they are complicated and culturally-embedded institutions, often asked to create impossibly large cultural changes with impossibly scant resources.) When One Laptop per Child, or other Media Lab projects, echo some of these sentiments, they hardly need explain themselves -- the school-as-factory social imaginary readily comes to hand.  

But you're right that how schools relate to teachers, and how teachers relate to these projects, is much more complicated. In his writing Papert very clearly condemns schools, but is much more equivocal about teachers, often casting them as "co-learners" even as they are charged with steering children's learning toward mathematical ends. Other OLPC leaders said some terrible things about teachers early on -- more than one said that most teachers were drunk or absentee, for instance -- but local projects, including Paraguay Educa (the local NGO in charge the OLPC project in Paraguay), conducted teacher training sessions and expected teachers to use the laptops in classrooms. At the same time, OLPC and many local OLPC projects, including Paraguay Educa's, talked about how the most interesting things kids would do with their laptops would probably happen outside of classrooms, and that they would soon leapfrog past their teachers in ability. 

I can't fully resolve this paradox, but I can say that keeping the social imaginary of the school-as-factory alive is pretty valuable to many ed-tech projects that promise to overhaul an educational system that seems to be both in urgent need of fixing and receptive to quick technological fixes. However, it's one thing to paint a rosy picture of the possibilities for technologically-driven educational reform without the need for teacher buy-in -- but then when it comes down to actually implementing a reform effort, teachers become a necessary part of the project, because ultimately they are a necessary part of learning.

What are some of the important differences between the schools described in the rhetoric around OLPC and the actual schools you encountered on the ground? 

Negroponte exhibited some very wishful thinking in justifying the costs of the program. He'd tell governments that they should think of this as equivalent to a textbook, and put their textbook budget into this program. Amortized over five years, he said, a hundred-dollar laptop would be equivalent to the twenty dollars per year per student that Brazil, China, and other places budgeted for textbooks. But I found only one school in Paraguay that consistently used textbooks, and it was because they were sponsored by an evangelical church in Texas. If schools had any, they had some very old textbooks that were kept in the front office for teachers' reference only. Most teachers wrote lessons on a blackboard, and students copied them into notebooks that they were responsible for buying. 

Papert had a version of this analogy as well -- but instead of textbooks, he equated computers with pencils. You wouldn't give a classroom one pencil to share, he would say derisively -- but even if OLPC's XO laptop had actually been $100 rather than close to $200, that's a far cry from a ten-cent pencil. Moreover, even ten-cent pencils were items that not all Paraguayan students could consistently afford. A good portion of Paraguay's population are subsistence farmers and the Paraguayan school system has been underfunded for many decades now; some schools don't have working toilets, and none provide photocopiers, paper, or even toilet paper or soap. Most classrooms did not have plugs for charging laptops or WiFi routers -- the schools, with the help of local project leaders and parent volunteers, had to install those. And in some cases, the wiring that they used was mislabeled, so the plugs failed.

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Despite these rough conditions, many teachers really did care about teaching -- they were not "drunk or absent entirely," as Negroponte once claimed. But much like teachers in the U.S., they were beset from all sides by demands for their time, they were very underpaid, and many exhibited signs of burnout. Even so, some were really excited about the project, but most really didn't have the time they would have needed to integrate a difficult-to-use laptop into their curriculum. In the book I include several vignettes from my fieldwork that describe in detail how these teachers would struggle to use laptops for lessons in spite of broken machines, uninstalled software, slow networks, and quickly-draining batteries. It's no wonder that nearly all gave up in time.

The Constructionist paradigm leads us to see the web and media use as “distractions” from the core OLPC mission at the same time as the MacArthur Foundation’s Digital Media and Learning initiative was emphasizing the kinds of learning which could take place around games, social media, and participatory culture more generally. How would your results look if read through this different frame? 

Aside from some fairly abstract discussions of the virtues of videogames, constructionism generally doesn't really discuss media use -- it seems to exist in a cultural vacuum where students encounter a Platonic (or perhaps Papertian?) ideal of a computer with nothing but LOGO, and maybe Wikipedia, on it. But the connected learning framework -- which, in the spirit of cultural studies, takes children's interests and media worlds seriously as ideal starting-points for learning -- was very much on my own mind throughout my fieldwork and analysis. And I was deeply impressed by the ways some kids found innovative ways around the XO's hardware and software limitations, and the ways that a new video or music file would spread, student to student, through schools. 

The piece that was largely missing, though, was a way to bridge those interests with learning outcomes like literacy, numeracy, and critical thinking that are important for effectively navigating the world. A handful of parents and teachers had ideas about how to shape their children's interests toward more learning-oriented ends, and I have a chapter devoted to their stories. But they were the exception, not the norm.  

Moreover, I would bring a critical media studies lens to this as well, and ask just what kind of influence advertisers including Nestle, Nickelodeon, and more should have in children's educations. These companies developed content specifically for the XO laptop that was widely popular during my fieldwork, and thus had preferential access to children via an avenue that most considered "educational." While I love the connected learning approach of really centering children's cultures in the learning process, I am very critical of companies' efforts to make money off of that.  

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Morgan G. Ames researches the ideological origins of inequality in the technology world, with a focus on utopianism, childhood, and learning. Her book The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop per Child (MIT Press, 2019) draws on archival research and a seven-month ethnography in Paraguay to explore the cultural history, results, and legacy of the OLPC project -- and what it tells us about the many other technology projects that draw on similar utopian ideals. Morgan is an assistant adjunct professor in the School of Information and interim associate director of research for the Center for Science, Technology, Medicine and Society at the University of California, Berkeley, where she teaches in Data Science and administers the Designated Emphasis in Science and Technology Studies."






 

 

Interview with Morgan G. Ames on 'The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop Per Child' (Part I)

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Earlier this year, I met Morgan G. Ames, who has recently published The Charisma Machine, which deals with the MIT Media Lab and the one-laptop-per-child initiative, which was perhaps the iconic project at the lab during the time I was at MIT. Our brief conversation brought back a flood of memories of my interactions with faculty and students there and of some of the intellectual debates I was having at the time these projects were unfolding. Reading her book brought back an even more intense flood of memories. So, I approached her about doing this interview months ago.

Her writing is fair-minded and generous but also critical of the project and how it worked on the ground in Latin America. She digs deep into the thinking behind the project, its links to a particular way of thinking about computing, its demonstration of the limits of a certain top-down mindset that is common to many U.S. based technology--based learning initiatives, and the gap between the Global North and South in terms of the realities of what happens inside and outside schools. The questions here are important ones that need to be considered both within the Media Lab and far beyond it.

I've hesitated about sharing this interview right now given the current turmoil the Lab is undergoing in the wake of the news of its affiliations with Jeffrey Epstein. I don't want this discussion, which has nothing to do with that one, to be understood as piling on. I admire the courage of Ethan Zuckerman and others at the lab who have publicly protested the choices made by the Lab and MIT leadership in this case. I celebrate the women who have stepped up to confront the misogyny that permeates many aspects of MIT culture. Yet, I also maintain fondness for old friends who have found themselves caught up in this mess and who have in some cases made some really bad decisions. This interview focuses on a different moment in the Lab's history and reflects a conversation being held before this scandal erupted.

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Explain the book’s title. In what sense was the One Laptop Per Child  “a Charisma Machine”? What are the implications of applying a term like Charisma, which has historically been so closely associated with the qualities of human leaders, to talk about technologies?

When I first started following the One Laptop per Child project way back in 2008, I was fascinated by how alluring the project's "XO" laptop seemed to be for many contributors and others across the tech industry. OLPC had very ambitious ideas for how its laptop should be used by children across the Global South, and what the results would be -- and I found that the laptop itself came to stand for those ideas for many people. I started thinking about how the laptop began to have its own kind of authority in these circles: even mentioning it came to stand in for a particular kind of joyful, technically deep experience they wanted more children to have with computers.  

I turned to sociological theory to help make sense of this, going all the way back to one of the founders of modern sociology -- Max Weber -- who outlined and described different kinds of authority. Charismatic authority is something that religious or cult leaders may have -- they may not have the weight of an institution like the government behind them, or the weight of tradition to lean on, yet they still seem to command a following.  

On the one hand, some of OLPC's leaders were certainly charismatic -- Nicholas Negroponte in particular has been the public face of the project, and his charisma was important for promoting it, just as his charisma helped build the MIT Media Lab in its first two decades. But in many of the places OLPC was taken up, Negroponte wasn't necessarily well-known or, in some cases, really known at all. In these cases, OLPC's "XO" laptop itself came to stand for OLPC's ideas. 

When I think about how "charisma" might apply to machines, I think about how science and technology studies (or STS) has shown that machines can have agency: they can take on meanings and act on the world beyond the intentions of their designers. I also think about how STS, and the social sciences more broadly, discuss authority not as some kind of divine or "natural" thing, but something that is produced by a whole set of social choices and technical constraints that already exist. So when I call OLPC's laptop "charismatic," it's not in a hero-worship kind of sense -- it's a first step in calling attention to the ways that many have taken its allure for granted, and how that allure was created. 

You note that African countries were resistant from the start to the OLPC project and that 80 percent of the laptops produced were deployed to Latin American countries. Why were Latin American countries more receptive than African countries, given Negroponte’s project to transform the Global South?

 At the flashy debut of what was then the "hundred dollar laptop" at 2005 World Summit on the Information Society, the African delegation immediately voiced concerns about the environmental impacts of these machines and their very real potential to further the ongoing imperialism of the Global North across Africa. Moreover, the governments of many African countries OLPC approached in the years following just didn't have the budget to put toward this project -- and that's even just buying the laptops, not the significant infrastructural and maintenance costs that were required to sustain it. (Though Negroponte repeatedly said that governments could "give out laptops and walk away," most clearly knew that that wasn't realistic.) The one non-pilot project in Africa was in Rwanda, which did eventually buy some 250,000 of OLPC's "XO" laptops. But that's a far cry from the hundreds of millions of laptops that OLPC had initially aimed for. 

In Latin America, however, OLPC's mission fit very well with a longstanding interest in open-source software, and most Latin American countries are at least "middle-income" by World Bank measures. So while OLPC's early promotional photos often featured smiling African children, it was mostly Latin American countries with the resources and interest to take it up. And even within Latin America, it's really two countries -- Uruguay and Peru -- that together purchased nearly three quarters of the XO's in the world, around one million laptops each. Other projects -- including Paraguay's, where I spent by far the most time doing fieldwork -- were much smaller, generally on the order of tens of thousands of laptops. 

The MIT Media Lab has long been celebrated for its roles in “inventing the future,” yet your analysis focuses a lot on the nostalgic dimensions of the devices it created. In what senses was OLPC nostalgic? What was it nostalgic for? How do we reconcile the competing pulls towards futurism and nostalgia? 

This was one of the great ironies of this project, and of many charismatic technology projects, especially in education. These charismatic projects may paint visions of a utopian future, but in order to be charismatic they have to appeal to parts of the world that are familiar to those they want to reach.  

For OLPC, that was the childhood experiences with computers that many techies, especially those who consider themselves part of the "hacker" community, fondly recount from their own childhoods. In the early years of OLPC, I read through dozens, even hundreds of discussions about OLPC among project contributors and across the web that directly compared OLPC's XO laptop to Commodores, Amigas, Apple IIs, and other early computing systems that many of them had used decades before.

The specifications of these older systems were even used, in part, to justify making the XO laptop really underpowered. Reducing the laptop's energy usage was a driving goal, but the justification I heard was that these old systems didn't need fancy graphics or lots of memory to be captivating, so why does the XO need them? This ended up creating huge problems in use, though -- most kids today don't really care about those older systems, after all. They want a computer that could take advantage of the media-rich web, and the XO just couldn't deliver there.

In this way, as I argue throughout the book, charisma is ultimately "conservative" -- it may promise to quickly and painlessly transform our lives for the better, but it is appealing because it just amplifies existing values and ideologies. In OLPC's case, it promoted a vision of the world where children across the Global South would have the opportunity to have the same kinds of formative experiences with a computer that these adults remembered having.

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Morgan G. Ames researches the ideological origins of inequality in the technology world, with a focus on utopianism, childhood, and learning. Her book The Charisma Machine: The Life, Death, and Legacy of One Laptop per Child (MIT Press, 2019) draws on archival research and a seven-month ethnography in Paraguay to explore the cultural history, results, and legacy of the OLPC project -- and what it tells us about the many other technology projects that draw on similar utopian ideals. Morgan is an assistant adjunct professor in the School of Information and interim associate director of research for the Center for Science, Technology, Medicine and Society at the University of California, Berkeley, where she teaches in Data Science and administers the Designated Emphasis in Science and Technology Studies."


 

 

Comic Books Incorporated: Interview with Shawna Kidman

Every so often, you teach a class where the gestalt is just right. When I first arrived at USC, I agreed to teach an independent study with a group of students — from three different universities — who wanted to learn more about fandom and participatory culture. One of those students — Flourish Klink — skyped in from MIT, since she had come to the Comparative Media Studies program to study under me and I had left her high and dry. Today, Klink is the co-host of the Fansplaining podcast and consults with major entertainment franchises about their fan relations. A second — Aymar Jean Christian —who skyped in from the University of Pennsylvania has since written and published Open TV: Innovation Beyond Hollywood and The Rise of Web Television. My new colleagues in the USC Cinema School sent over their best and brightest. Taylor Nygaard is now a feminist television scholar on the faculty at Arizona State University and finishing work on a book dealing with Pinterest as a platform. And Shawna Kidman has recently published Comic Books Incorporated: How The Business of Comics Became the Business of Hollywood.

I should just retire now.

Kidman entered the seminar having already worked for several years within the comics publishing world. I recall her as being the most skeptical student in the lot, her experiences within the industry coloring how she perceived media audiences. Her new book asks equally tough questions, representing a major contribution not only to our understanding of the history of American comics, but to media industry studies more generally.

As the title suggests, there is no question that the comics industry exerts a strong influence today over decisions made in the film, television, and games industry and more than that, she shows us the ways that ideas that emerged in comics publishing are now playing themselves out in terms of the structures of those industries also. She questions the established wisdom about the comics scare of the 1950s, the legal battles over Superman’s authorship, the rise of HBO original programming, the place of underground comics, and more generally, claims about the subversive or subcultural status of comics as a medium.

She’s done the original research, she brings a media industries perspective, and she does the hard work of constructing and supporting revisionist arguments throughout. As one of her teachers, I could not be more proud..

Part of your personal narrative has been a shift from working in the comics industry to becoming a media scholar. How did your earlier experiences inform the approach you took in this book?

Yes, my first encounter with comic books was as a worker, not as an academic, and not as a fan. Part of why DC Comics hired me was actually because I didn’t fit the profile of most of their job applicants; I wasn’t steeped in comic book culture and I didn’t have a typical fanboy/fangirl perspective. But I did have a media background—I’d had jobs in film development and film financing during and after college. That helped me to understand the Hollywood folk the company was interacting with, and that’s really what DC needed around 2005 when it was trying to improve its west coast presence. During the few years I was there, first as an assistant and later as a creative executive, I got a crash course in comics and read a ton. I spent a lot of time with editors, met a lot of writers and artists—it was amazing. But I learned more about the business side, since that was what got me the most excited.

I think this separates me from a lot of scholars in this space, who are drawn to comic books because they love the medium. It was the dynamism of the industry that I loved. The maneuverings and politics were endlessly fascinating, because they seemed like a little window into the heart of Hollywood: small subsidiary vs. major conglomerate, creators vs. executives, original stories vs. pre-sold content, and the never-ending effort to milk the life out of every single product, whether or not it was popular. I was also a history geek, so I read everything that Les Daniels wrote, and the Gerard Jones’ book, and anything else I could get my hands on. But all of those guys, even though they told great stories, largely ignored the business. And because I was witnessing it first hand, seeing how the decisions were getting made behind closed doors, I knew there was more to it—that part of the story they were telling must have gotten lost. That nagging feeling stuck with me. But I didn’t have the language or conceptual background to articulate what the story was, or how it fit in to the big picture.

That’s when I decided to go to grad school for Media Studies, which basically meant “film and television”. Still, I thought about comic books every day. Everything I had learned while working was so relevant and seemed to give me this unique insight into art, and history, and Hollywood. That notion, that I had something to say because I had been a worker, and that industry dynamics matter in the creation of culture, pushed me towards Industry Studies as a subfield. I learned everything I could about regulation, distribution, and intellectual property. And slowly, with this new vocabulary, I was able to start giving context to my work experiences, and put it together in a coherent narrative. Of course, it took about a decade more of research to actually get there.

NEWS-STANDS IN THE 1930S

NEWS-STANDS IN THE 1930S

While you write about comics history here, you see yourself more broadly as a scholar of media industries. What can a close study of the comics industry help us to understand about other creative/media industries?

Yes, media industries is, in an everyday sense, my area of practice. I worked in the media business, I was trained in media studies, I read about the media business, I teach classes about media and the media business, I consume media. Today, all of this necessarily means being media-neutral. It makes no sense, and is actually kind of impossible, to take an interest only in television, or film, or streaming, or interactive, because the lines between all of these spaces have become so blurry. This is especially true for those of us who look at the business side, where these barriers are even more fluid. For me, comic books are very clearly a part of this media jumble, and accordingly, they deserve serious attention from media scholars. For example, I don’t see how someone could fully comprehend the global theatrical market today without understanding something about the way comic book companies like Disney and AT&T manage their intellectual property. And if you don’t typically think of Disney and AT&T as comic book companies, then you’re already working with too limited a scope.

That said, my book is a history, and most people think the media business hasn’t always been quite so blurry. But there were never strict media siloes. There was not a time in the history of mass culture when producers in one medium weren’t constantly looking over their shoulder at other media, checking out the competition, borrowing, selling, merging, jumping ship, jumping back; this merging is a huge part of the history of mass media. And that is especially clear when you look at comic books. So the first reason it’s a great media case study is that it reveals the extent to which commercial entertainment has always been a transmedia affair. Comics publishing was a relatively small business, and since it was under constant threat (declining sales, deteriorating distribution, labor problems, tough financials), it was forced to live in the margins of the entertainment industry, the in-between spaces of more profitable media companies, merging, borrowing, scrounging for its future; it was a scrappy business.

By the 1970s, comic book companies were in fact no longer primarily publishers. They were toy licensers, cartoon producers, feature film developers. Or in other words, they were intellectual property (IP) companies, long before that was even a thing. So as the entertainment industry shifted toward franchises and brands during the 1980s and 1990s, and then gradually reoriented itself around IP management and exploitation, comic books increasingly moved to the center of mainstream media production. This is the second reason why it’s a great media case study—comics have of course provided a lot of source material for contemporary media, but more interesting than that (at least for me), the business works as a kind of pre-history for the franchise era we’re currently in.

DC OFFICES

DC OFFICES

Throughout the book, you push back against the idea that comics are “fundamentally subversive, subcultural, and resistant” in favor of a focus on the idea that “the infrastructures of comics culture...by and large, belong to and are controlled by the comics industry.” What kinds of infrastructures do you have in mind?  Is the idea of a medium being “subcultural” necessarily at odds with a medium being “corporate”?

So to really answer this, I have to get into a little bit of theory. If your definition of “subculture” is simply a smaller cultural group within a larger one—a cultural “subdivision”—then that subculture can be anything, and have any attribute. But within the field of Cultural Studies, the concept of “subculture” is a lot more specific and refers to the culture of a subordinate group; a subculture is thus necessarily a cultural community that lacks power, one that is not hegemonic or dominant. When we’re looking at comic book culture writ large, we’re primarily talking about the stuff published by DC and Marvel (and also Dell, Harvey, Image, Dark Horse, IDW, and many others). This is culture produced by corporations with legal teams, with access to established institutions (universities, museums, etc.), with access to financial capital, and with relationships to Hollywood. Publishing is a tough business, so not all of these companies succeed or post huge profits. But that doesn’t mean they are powerless or that the individuals running them could be considered “subordinated”.

This remains true even when these corporations produce comics that are dark, or controversial, or meta. They may seem subversive, but these works are part and parcel of mainstream or hegemonic culture. In fact, part of what makes our dominant culture so effective is its ability to incorporate and draw from stuff on the margins, stuff that seams resistant, but doesn’t actually upset any power imbalances. So a dark and twisted version of Superman, or a politically themed graphic novel that wins a Pulitzer Prize—these don’t strike me as being particularly subversive or subcultural texts. Of course, when you look at both the long history and the current scope of comic book culture, there are certainly moments of subversiveness and pockets of resistance—the work of the Underground in the late 1960s, elements of the alternative press in the 1980s, self-published graphic novels today, etc. But after researching this book, I don’t believe that these pockets are representative of the medium; I think they’re exceptions and that comic book culture has, for the most part, emanated from a place of power.

This is where my focus on industry infrastructure was really eye-opening. (And by industry infrastructure, I mean the parts of the business that usually go unnoticed—the everyday practices and systems that give shape to workplaces, and that ultimately have a huge impact on the media produced. It’s one thing for an artist to draw an image, and quite another for that image to become a product, to enter into circulation to be sold and consumed. That transformation doesn’t happen without help from some matrix of organizational bureaucracies, legal frameworks, financing structures, and distribution networks, or what I refer to as “industry infrastructure”.) When you look at the infrastructural history of comic books, aspects of the culture and the business that may at first have seemed like confirmation of comics’ subversiveness start looking like something quite different. This wasn’t something I set out to argue when I started researching the book, but every case study I got into ended up moving in this direction.

For example, consider the comic book community’s collective excitement around creator rights, the widespread support for Jack Kirby’s claims against Disney, and fans and creators coming to the rescue of Siegel & Shuster in their fight for ownership of Superman. These struggles seem to many like the embodiment of resistance against corporate culture. But when you look at the nuances—the court decisions, the terms of the contracts, the outcomes of the labor struggles, the profit breakdowns—things become a lot murkier. I discuss all of this in my chapter about creative labor and copyright, and I ultimately argue that what may seem like creator “resistance” often helps corporate IP owners shore up their copyright claims. And the relationship between some dissident creators and the corporations they publicly oppose tends to be a lot more symbiotic than we’re often comfortable acknowledging.

SUPERMEN: SIEGEL AND SHUSTER

SUPERMEN: SIEGEL AND SHUSTER

Many of your chapters revisit the traditional story of comics history with its heroes and villains showing how our understanding of these events shifts if we focus on industrial developments. How, for example, does your approach lead to different conclusions about the comics crisis in the 1950s?

Most accounts of the 1950s focus on Fredric Wertham. He accused comic books of having indecent content and he fought to limit their circulation. His crusade supposedly led to a code of censorship that altered content and caused a steep decline in sales. I took Wertham’s legacy seriously when I began my research, but it wasn’t long before I realized his significance had been vastly overstated. This was a man who was not well respected by scholars, who was quickly forgotten by the mainstream press, and who was largely ignored by politicians, even though they briefly brought him national attention.

This becomes pretty clear when you look at the congressional investigation into comic books. The public hearings started with Wertham and his claims around juvenile delinquency, and that’s the part most people remember. But these hearings moved on to other business matters pretty quickly. The resulting transcripts are a treasure trove of fascinating details about the day-to-day practices of the industry. Reading through it, I found that publishers were facing a perfect storm of problems: not just bad press, but competition from television, an overcrowded market, and a breakdown in the distribution network. As is often true in media, it was distribution that turned out to be the biggest challenge. It’s easy to ignore distribution networks when they’re functioning properly; like other aspects of infrastructure, their nature is to fade into the background. But as soon as they break down, as they did in the magazines and comics business in the 1950s, everyone realizes how important they are. At the time, it seems like that was all anyone could talk about. The Congressional hearings, the trade press, the memos between executives—it was all about solving distribution.

The censorship code, meanwhile, turns out to have been something of a smokescreen. It was developed by the big publishers, who disregarded nearly all of Wertham’s arguments about indecency. That didn’t seem to matter though. Merely by embracing the concept of self-censorship, regardless of the specifics, they were able to get Congress off their backs and change the public narrative. The Code, meanwhile, allowed a struggling distribution business, part of which was vertically integrated with publishing, to limit and better control the content pipeline. With the Code, distributors could more easily refuse comics from smaller publishers in order to give preferential treatment to their own material. They recalibrated a shrinking market in their own favor. This of course is a familiar story. Sixty years later, we’re still dealing with vertical integration and with distributors who give preferential access to their own content.

SEDUCATION OF THE INNOCENT? SENATE HEARINGS IN THE 1940S

SEDUCATION OF THE INNOCENT? SENATE HEARINGS IN THE 1940S

What might your approach tell us about the role which Stan Lee has played in recent decades in helping to authorize the MCU films?

I’m glad you asked this because I don’t write much about Stan Lee in the book. I wanted to shift attention away from individuals and towards systems and structures. That said, Stan Lee was unquestionably an innovator and had a significant impact on the medium and on modern fandom. Back in the 1960s, he created an incredibly compelling public persona, a literal character in some instances, which he inserted into the comic books themselves. And he used that to cultivate a very personal relationship with readers, who grew deeply connected with the Marvel brand through him. That personal connection to a living breathing individual mattered to fans then, and it matters to fans today too.

Which is why I think Stan Lee’s legacy is still so significant for audiences, although I would argue that the mantle has largely been passed to Kevin Feige. It’s worth mentioning though, that this role that Feige and Lee fill—putting a human face on a cherished brand—isn’t necessarily about authorship or creativity in the traditional sense. Lee did of course help create Marvel’s marquee characters, but it’s hard to know exactly what his role in that creative process was (especially given the heavy mythologizing around the Marvel Method, not to mention all the litigation), and how much of these characters’ inventiveness can be attributed to him individually. The same can be said about Feige. We know he plays a role in the creative process of the MCU, but we can’t actually pinpoint his contributions. It seems like the thing that actually most distinguishes both Feige-produced films and Lee-created comics are their tone—relatable, cheeky, humorous, but never condescending. That tone defines the Marvel brand, and Lee and Feige’s participation as creators or auteurs has helped humanize that brand and give it a kind of cultural legitimation (which arguably has been the primary task of all cinematic auteurs; Foucault and many others see this purpose as part of the “author function”).

I’m actually writing a new piece about this topic right now, and what’s becoming clear is that the rise of figures like Lee and Feige, creatives who are ultimately known more for their work as executives (managing creative teams, representing the corporate brand, establishing a house tone or style), tracks pretty closely with the rise of franchise culture. As expanding story universes have replaced the old production model—isolated films and TV series—we’ve seen the story-overseers, typically producers and executives by trade, become more important than directors, whose names used to sell movies.

STAN LEE WITH SPIDER-MAN

STAN LEE WITH SPIDER-MAN

You discuss comics fans as “privileged,” which would seem to be the exact opposite of John Tulloch’s concept of television fans as a “powerless elite.” In what sense are comics fans privileged and how is their influence felt within the comics industry?

Yes, this is definitely true. I believe that comic book fans are privileged in many ways, so much so that I don’t really consider them to be a subculture at all. I’ll stick to just two points though, which I think most directly address Tulloch’s argument. First, comic book fans are very well represented in the film and television industry, disproportionately so. Comic book publishers estimate the comic-book-reading audience in the US at two million people, or less than 1% of the population. Now if you spend any time in Hollywood, you quickly realize that way more than 1% of the people are reading comic books. Sure, some of them are just looking for source material, and some of them may be overstating their reading habits, but even so, it’s an extremely well-regarded medium within that creative community. This is even more true when you look at the upper echelons of the entertainment business. A huge portion of the guys who have been dominating Hollywood for the last thirty years are lifelong comic book fans. Now this may be for good reason—comic book reading could theoretically improve creative thinking and thus statistically increase the likelihood of someone ending up with a career in media. Regardless, I think you would be incredibly hard pressed to argue that comic book fans are a population that lack access to cultural production or decision making.

Second, even comic book fans who are just fans—who have no role in the media business and don’t desire any—get a kind of preferential treatment in Hollywood that is, again, disproportionate with the community’s actual size. By this, I mean that media gatekeepers typically take the opinions of comic book fans more seriously than they do those of other interest groups or cultural communities. There are many reasons for this. For starters, comic book fans often fall into what some consider the “right” demographics—young, male, white, educated—so advertisers are willing to pay more for them. Many comic book fans have also been early adopters of technology. So a fan presence was established early on the web and remains highly visible. This is one of the reasons Hollywood flocked to San Diego Comic-Con in the early 2000s—they wanted online fan support (this has changed a bit in recent years, but that’s a discussion for another day).

Of course, comic book fans are not all-powerful and they are not one thing—this is a heterogeneous constituency that is sometimes heard, sometimes not. But if you identify as a comic book fan, you are generally far more likely to be catered to by mainstream media producers, and your criticisms are far more likely to be heard, than would be the case if, say, you identified as a hip-hop fan or a reader of romance novels. Relatively speaking, comic book fans are among the most powerful consumers of media out there. Which is part of why comic book adaptations are so incredibly prevalent across film, television, and gaming.

Your book keeps its focus fairly tightly on the American comics industry but Hollywood increasingly factors global box office into its model of commercial success. What role have these global calculations played in shaping the current moment of superhero blockbusters?

The global box office plays a very significant role in the spread of comic book IP. In fact, most of the big superhero movies make more abroad than they do in the US, and this has always been true. Even back in 1978, Superman made more money in foreign theaters than domestic. Of course, many executives in Hollywood are familiar with this general track record, which supports the widespread notion that effects-driven action films just play better globally. The rule-of-thumb has been that, unlike comedies and dramas, they’re not dialogue driven (which is helpful when there’s language barriers) and they lack social and emotional nuance (which is helpful when there’s cultural barriers).

I think this logic drove a lot of production decisions in the early 2000s when the studios started pursuing global markets more aggressively. At the time, there were a number of additional factors fueling interest in comic book source material (all of which I cover in the book). I think, at first, the pressure to hit globally was no more significant than any of these other causes. But in the last decade and a half, the international market has continued to grow, and today, I think it is perhaps the biggest driver of this genre. It was a kind of circular logic that got us to this point: these effects films were always very expensive, so they had to find international success, which grew the market, fueling a need and a desire for more global blockbusters, with ever-growing budgets, further necessitating more international success, growing the market, etc., etc.

The thing is, I don’t find the initial argument particularly compelling. The notion that comedies and dramas won’t sell abroad is a lot like the idea that “black films don’t travel”. It’s been proven to be wrong again and again, but for some reason, continues to guide decision-making. It’s also not clear to me that international audiences prefer superhero films to other genres. All we can know for sure is that superhero films, backed by aggressive marketing and distribution efforts, have found massive audiences. Could other genres find those same sized audiences if given the chance? I don’t know. Will Hollywood ever put superhero dollars into non-superhero films and give it a try? I don’t know that either. The executives at Disney do though, and given the market right now, it’s completely up to them.

MARVEL IN CHINA

MARVEL IN CHINA

Shawna Kidman is an Assistant Professor of Communication at UC San Diego where she teaches courses in media studies. Her research on the media industries has been published in Velvet Light Trap, the International Journal of Learning and Media, and the International Journal of Communication. She is the author of Comic Books Incorporated (UC Press, 2019), a history of the U.S. comic book industry and its seventy year convergence with the film and television business.

 

Emergent Media and Presidential Politics (in the 1890s): A Conversation with Charles Musser (Part II)

Continuing a conversation with Charles Musser regarding his recent book Politicking and Emergent Media: U.S. Presidential Elections of the 1890s (University of California Press, 2016).

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While new platforms make possible new communication strategies, different candidates, then as now, make different choices about how to deploy those media towards their own goals. Thus, we have seen Obama and Trump deploy social media in different ways. What differences did you find in the way that the candidates deployed, say, the Stereopticon to reach their desired publics? What different notions of civic participation animated those strategies? 

The Republicans wholeheartedly embraced the stereopticon. Judge John L. Wheeler’s pioneering illustrated lecture The Tariff Illustrated (1888), which advocated for a protective tariff—the Republicans’ central campaign issue, is really the first political or campaign documentary…a direct progenitor of Robert Greenwald’s Uncovered: The War on Iraq (2003) and Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004).  Republicans largely credited Wheeler’s lecture for Benjamin Harrison’s defeat of President Grover Cleveland. Targeting the swing state of New York, it was reportedly seen by 174,000 people while Harrison carried the state by 15,000 votes. Four years later Republicans utilized an updated version delivered by at least five different lecturers as a central campaign weapon. While doubling the number of audience members, they much less success as Cleveland won the rematch. Republicans used the stereopticon lecture yet again in 1896 in the Chicago area where it had not previously been used (Illinois was then considerd the key swing state). Moreover, stereopticon lectures proved very effective in the lead up to the 1900 election with appropriately new subject matter—programs on the Spanish-American and Philippine-American wars––advocating for McKinley’s imperialistic stance.   

The Democrats were much less interested because they believed they had the major newspapers on their side—which was true until it wasn’t, specifically in 1896 and 1900.  But in 1892, many of the Democratic newspapers were prepared to counter Republican efforts and offered mocking critiques of the updated The Tariff Illustrated (1892).  Nevertheless, there was no Democratic equivalent.  Democrats like Republicans did use the stereopticon as a form of outdoor advertising.  In the evening they would project slogans onto outdoor screens, for instance, attacking the Republican’s protective tariff with “Protectionism is the art of taxing the many for the benefit of the few.” Political cartoons were also commonly shown. This had the virtue and limitation of reaching city strollers of all political stripes. However, their value was modest–- part of the campaign milieu that included campaign buttons, banners and posters.  

We have watched the role of the Internet deepen with each election cycle as it reaches a broader cross-section of voters, as candidates learn how to use it, and as it gains visibility in relation to more established mass media outlets. Was the same thing happening in the elections of the 1890s in terms of the different roles these media play in subsequent campaign cycles? 

While I would agree with the first part of your statement, “We have watched the role of the internet deepen with each election cycle as it reaches a broader cross-section of voters,” I am not sure that I entirely agree that candidates as a group have learned how to use it more effectively over time. Obama’s campaigns knew how to creatively mobilize YouTube and video steaming but it was so new they had to figure it out for themselves. But YouTube did not play a significant role in 2016. Hillary Clinton and her campaign staff never learned how to use the media of any variety with above average effectiveness. Romney was done in by the iPhone which surreptitiously recorded confidential talk to potential rightwing donors. The early 2020 Democratic presidential primary debates repeat many of the same problems evident in their Republican counterparts four years earlier. I am not sure that future candidates will learn from Trump and become skillful masters of Twitter. Alexandra Octavio Cortez is the only Democrat who seems to have comparable talents though to quite different ends. It’s too early to guess if she will run for president and if that will be her preeminent media weapon. 

Historical perspective can remind us that the more things change the more they stay the same. Tariffs have become as much of an issue today as they were in the 1880s and 1890s. Who knew? Moreover, there was an obvious if painful analogy between 1884 campaign and the 2016 fracas. A damming letter to Republican candidate James Blaine was made public. At the bottom was a note: “Burn this letter.”  His Democratic candidate Grover Cleveland was said to have fathered a child out of wedlock. The Democratic chant was “Burn, Burn, Burn this letter.” The Republican counterpart was “Ma, Ma, where’s my Pa?” The candidate who had mail that needed destruction lost to the person with a problematic sexual history. Could history repeat itself in 2016? Indeed, it did: Hillary’s erased emails outdid Trump’s sexual shenanigans. Snail mail and email seem to have made little difference. 

As a student of political history, I knew about William McKinley’s back porch campaign, but I did not know the various ways he used new communication technology -- not only cinema but the telephone -- to reach out to voters across the country. Tell us more. 

McKinley was the Republican’s premiere orator but he believed he was no match for Democrat William Jennings Bryan. The last thing he wanted to have happen was to go around the country giving speeches with Bryan in his wake. So, he decided to act presidential, stay home and conduct a front porch campaign from his home in Canton, Ohio, even as Bryan toured the country by railroad giving numerous speeches. The difference was striking but also complementary. Bryan used the railroad to get to the people, while the people used the railroad to get to McKinley. They both ended up giving numerous speeches—far, far more than Cleveland or Harrison ever did. Still there were serious drawbacks to McKinley strategy. Presidential candidates were expected to make strategic appearances at key rallies organized in large cities. With Illinois expected to be the crucial swing state in 1896, a huge McKinley rally was organized for Chicago on Chicago Day. Republicans tried to make it an official city holiday. They failed, but employers were encouraged to give their employees the day off if they attended the festivities. McKinley was under immense pressure to make an exception and to attend, but he knew that if he made one exception, he would have to make many more. So, he declined. The techies of 1896 then came up with at least two ingenious solutions. First, with the long-distance phone lines recently installed between New York and Chicago and with McKinley plugged into this new communication system, they installed telephone receivers by the reviewing stand where he should have been located. When loyal Republicans marched by, they were encouraged to shout into the receivers and have their words heard by McKinley in Canton—and his vice-presidential candidate in New York. It was as if McKinley was in Chicago—or more accurately that their voices magically joined McKinley in Canton. The idea was a success and quickly repeated in other major cities such as Pittsburgh and New York. 

Motion pictures did the reverse. Abner McKinley brought the Biograph team to Canton where they filmed McKinley in front of his home apparently receiving a telegram. When McKinley at Home was first shown at Oscar Hammerstein’s Olympia Music Hall on October 12th, it was as if McKinley and his home had been magically transported to a theater filled with prominent Republicans and other supporters. Vice presidential candidate Garett Hobart, was expected to be present and shout out a “Hi, Bill” to his running mate. (The elderly Hobart, however, had apparently had enough with new technology when he listened in on the Chicago rally via telephone and did not bother to appear.) In any case, a virtual McKinley was able to stand in for the candidate himself. Moreover, his virtual-self made regular appearances at the Olympia and then Koster & Bial’s Music Hall, where pro-McKinley rallies continues for the next month. New York City actually went for McKinley. New media didn’t just solve a problem, they added something more. The Republicans evidently knew how to innovate. Surely they would find a way to get the United States out of a protracted four-year depression.   

Early accounts have tended to treat McKinley at Home as an isolated text. But building on your earlier work which looked at exhibitors as constructing an assemblage of short films you make the case that it should be read in relation to other films shown on the same program. Can you speak a bit more here about the way the McKinley film fit within a larger flow of ideas?

Biograph was a fully integrated company (production-distribution-exhibition) that had full control over the programs it produced, and its creative personnel knew how to make use of that centralized control. We somehow have this view that those involved in cinema were naïve and struggling to find their way—that they just assembled films into some kind of random order because they didn’t know better. In short, editing had yet to be invented and cinema of the 1890s was all about the isolated image as a kind of attraction. In fact, when it came to audio-visual programs, post-production was in the hands of the exhibitor and there was plenty of experience in this area. The Biograph company thus presented a carefully calculated and powerful pro-McKinley motion picture program which made a series of calculated and impressive analogies. McKinley’s image was wrapped in a series of quintessential images of America. These included the legendary actor Joseph Jefferson in a scene from Rip Van Winkle and two scenes of Niagara Falls. There was also a good all-American racial “joke” as an African American woman washes her baby, who despite her best efforts does not become any whiter. All this led up to a McKinley parade in Canton and culminated with McKinley at Home. During a press screening, McKinley at Home was shown last but it was upstaged by The Empire State Express. So, in a strategic move Empire State Express was shown last. It showed America’s famed express train—a technological marvel in itself, depicted dynamically as it raced towards and past the camera and so viewers. But the train, like the Empire State (New York) was also racing ahead for McKinley. Thus, a series of associations or substitutions—American grandeur, American railway technology, Biograph’s superior motion picture technology, and McKinley as a future mythic president. I see this as a prescient form of montage of attractions not simply at cinema of attractions. The onrushing express is like the final shot of Potemkin—the prow of an onrushing battleship. 

What did or did not work about William Jennings Bryant’s attempts to expand the reach of his famous oratorical skills using the phonograph? 

If motion pictures were seen as the new media dominated by Republicans, the phonograph was viewed as the new media technology ideally suited for Bryan’s talents. In fact, there were numerous technological problems and limitations to phonographic reproduction and production--as well as the brief playtime of a recording—that belied such an assumption. Because Bryan had achieved a special status as an orator and won the Democratic nomination with his “Cross of Gold” speech, people certainly wanted to hear him and were ready to go to phonograph parlors to do so.  Although many did hear a small selection of Bryan’s speeches in phonograph parlors during the 1896 campaign, the orator was not Bryan. Correspondingly, they could hear a few excerpts of McKinley’s speeches, but they were not spoken by McKinley.  Speakers specifically trained and paid by the phonograph companies provided the voices. Visitors to phonograph parlors often made quick comparisons, sampling recordings for both candidates. Remember, however, that the phonograph companies were generally pro-McKinley. Some reports suggest that Bryan’s speeches may have been subtly burlesqued in their re-presentation. It seems completely credible, though this might have been in the partisan minds of pro-McKinley journalists. 

Given this assumed affinity between Bryan and the phonograph, it is not entirely surprising that in 1900 when Bryan had more time to prepare a campaign, the Democratic National Committee arranged to have the candidate and a number of high profile Democrats record master cylinders from which 250 duplicates were to be made. It was widely “expected that the Bryan Speech as ground out by the phonograph will play an important part in the campaign.” In fact, the master cylinders were apparently flawed and the duplicates unusable.  A series of lawsuits followed—which the Bryan campaign lost. High hopes came to naught.  

How important do you think these early experiments with mediated communication were to the candidates, their campaigns, and their outcomes? Were the uses of cinema, recorded sound, and these other technologies an interesting side show or did they help to shape the outcomes of these elections? 

That is a good question and of course there are no easy answers. Mediated communication modes—particularly if we include the newspapers—were crucial to the outcome of these elections. Cleveland’s narrow victory in 1884—thanks to New York’s many Democratic newspapers––proved that. He lost some of that support in 1888 and lost New York State. Certainly McKinley lopsided victory in 1896 was partially due to the fact that all the traditionally Democratic newspapers refused to support Bryan and in effect became pro-McKinley. The stereopticon was certainly a factor in 1888 with The Tariff Illustrated and quite possibly in 1900 with the many celebratory accounts of military victory securing an overseas empire. When going into a campaign, political operatives never know the precise layout of the upcoming battlefield and are looking for every possible advantage. Media was always an important part of the equation. On the other hand, Bill Clinton’s tagline that “It’s the economy, stupid” bears weight. Cleveland may have won the 1892 election because the country was beginning to enter a Depression. It was unlikely that any Democrat could have won the 1896 election given the previous four years of economic devastation. And the rebounding economy of 1900 certainly was crucial to McKinley’s fortunes.   

Media, and in the long 1890s particularly new media, shaped the gestalt or, to use Raymond Williams; term, “structures of feeling” of the campaigns. The Republican party’s use of motion pictures and the telephone–-along with the bicycle––gave them a pro-active aura of being up-to-date and if I can use these words––cool and hip. Bryan’s problems with the phonograph did the opposite, calling into question his competence and reinforcing his aura as something of a rube or country hick. This goes beyond immediate cause and effect and takes into account deeper and more subtle influences.  

One person who should not be lost in all of this is Theodore Roosevelt. I don’t think anyone had carefully researched and assessed the ways media played a crucial role in his rise to power, but Politicking and Emergent Media covers that ground in ways that readers should find interesting.

Your book doesn’t just deal with the campaigns, but also how the public learned the outcome of the elections. How Americans would have engaged with unfolding election results during the 1890s? 

Today we often gather around our TV sets—of computer screens--to watch election returns with friends and family.  In the second half of the 19th and first decades of the 20th century, crowds gather at newspaper headquarters to follow the returns since the papers were plugged into the telegraph system that reported the votes in almost real time. In big cities, this reporting of results became competitive. Who could get them first and who could display them in the most entertaining way. At first these returns were posted on bulletin boards. Increasingly they were projected on a screen using the stereopticon. While waiting for a new set of figures to arrive, cartoons, slogans or other miscellaneous materials were projected. Bands might provide music. In 1896 motion pictures were often screened between updates. It was undoubted the first time that many people got to see films for free. 

Across the book, you are also conducting a conversation about the disciplinary shift from Cinema Studies (where you situated your earlier work) and Media Studies, Dare I say Comparative Media Studies (where you situate this current project.) Yet, clearly, earlier writers of film history were interested in film’s relationship with painting, photography and various forms of popular theater. In what ways does the new focus on thinking across media break from that earlier tradition? What do you think your project gained from embracing those conceptual shifts? 

Thank you for that question. I think we have to remember that Film Studies emerged in the context of a great truism or cliché: “cinema is the art form of the 20th century.”  If that was the case, much needed to be done.  Filmmakers—major and minor—needed to be studied and assessed.  Film works needed to be restored and presented to the public. We needed to understand the history of this art form on a level of detail and sophistication which had not really begun to happen. In this context, I realized that beginnings are important and since little was really known in terms of the formative years of motion pictures, that this was in particular need of being studied. Also I quickly discovered that the questions and answers that came out of such investigations were not necessarily the ones that we would have expected. They made me really think about the very different ways cinema had been cinema over the course of its history. At the same time, this pre-Griffith period was a period before film was considered an art—either at the time or by our contemporaries. So in that respect the study of early cinema was already moving in a media studies direction.

The first fifteen years of my sustained, in-depth investigation into American early cinema (1976 to 1991) were focused on mapping out its history on multiple levels. In this, I obviously was not alone but part of a generation of scholars often associated with the 1978 Brighton Conference. We sought to understand the changing nature of film style as well as the dialectics between modes of production and representation. The American motion picture industry was shaped in many ways by a series of legal battles around patents and copyright. I was particularly interested in figuring out the rapid shifts in cinema practices. We certainly attended to the ways cinema interacted with and appropriated elements from various popular cultural forms in terms of subject matter but also in areas such as exhibition (vaudeville, illustrated lectures and more). We were interested in intertextuality and then increasingly in intermediality. Cinema, however, was always the starting point.  Obviously, I wrote about Biograph, McKinley and the way cinema had played an active role in American politics only a few months after commercially successful projected motion pictures appeared in the US.  However, because it was always in terms of a history of cinema, such investigations often stopped short.

When people talk about the death of cinema, it is not that cinema died but it ceased to be this dominant art form. With the fading of art cinema, some might argue that it even became a minor art form produced for a modest group of educated cognoscenti; but even if one wants to include major Hollywood blockbusters, its hegemony was broken. Television, video games, the Internet and social media: media studies was really a necessary engagement with a new and very different cultural realm. Although I came to Politicking and Emergent Media through my interest in early cinema, I wanted to decenter cinema and re-situate it in a much broader media landscape. At the same time, a much broader media landscape created problems of focus and shape. Concentrating on U.S. presidential political campaigns proved a clever and effective solution. It enabled me to ask a whole series of new and interesting questions. One of the fundamental questions I had to pursue: what was the relevant media formation for this undertaking. I realized that newspapers were a central component, which quickly put me somewhat at odds with the Amsterdam model of Thomas Elsaesser. It was also essential to include public oratory and pageantry, which did not depend on technologies of reproducibility which extends the range of media that Lisa Gitelman and others had been investigating. The result was a more open-ended investigation with many surprises. 

One modest example: I had been interested in the stereopticon but again as part of a history of screen practice as a way to understand cinema’s rapid emergence as a sophisticated cultural force after 1896. So, it required a conceptual adjustment to realize that the stereopticon was arguably a more pervasive and politically influential media form than cinema in 1899-1900, at least when it came to presenting narratives of US imperial conquest. Comparing the role of the phonograph to motion pictures was straight forward but the role of the telephone—and in a different way the bicycle—was completely unexpected. For me it produced a richer and more interesting story—a story that resonates with the contemporary moment but always in unexpected ways. There is no question that Republicans were the party of big business and US imperial expansion but they were also generally more progressive on environmental issues and women’s suffrage. What surprised and intrigued me the most in the course of this undertaking was that Republicans, particularly in the decisive 1896 election, presented themselves implicitly and explicitly as the party of technological innovation and hope, conveying an optimism about the future that would reaffirm Republican dominance in the political realm until the Great Depression.

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Charles Musser is a Professor of Film and Media Studies, American Studies and Theater Studies at Yale University where he teaches courses on the history of film and media as well as documentary (both production and critical studies). He recently completed a new feature-length documentary Our Family Album (2018), an essay film on Love, War and the Power of Photography. Its literary counterpart, Our Family Album: Essay-Script-Annotations-images is being published by John Libbey and will be distributed by Indiana University Press in late 2019.