It is the 90th anniversary of Jack Kirby’s birth.
Mark Evanier remembers
Jack Kirby would have been 90 years old today.
I know I write too much about Jack but that’s because people are always asking me about him. And as more time passes on this planet without him, more people ask. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard fans of his work regret that they didn’t get to meet him. His work enriched their lives in some way and they assume, probably correctly, that a personal encounter would have been even more enriching. At the very least, they could have told him what his unbounded creativity meant to them, professionally and/or personally.
So does Tom Spurgeon.
And the New York Times:
He created a new grammar of storytelling and a cinematic style of motion. Once-wooden characters cascaded from one frame to another — or even from page to page — threatening to fall right out of the book into the reader’s lap. The force of punches thrown was visibly and explosively evident. Even at rest, a Kirby character pulsed with tension and energy in a way that makes movie versions of the same characters seem static by comparison.
The frenetic action and the rooftop fighting so common on the superhero set did not just materialize out of nowhere. Mr. Kirby remembered much of it from his Depression-era youth on New York’s Lower East Side, where, he once told an interviewer, the incessant fights among rival gangs were often staged up and down fire escapes and during running battles across tenement rooftops.
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