August 2004


When word leaked out early in 1970 that British neophyte artist Barry Smith had been chosen to draw Marvel's new monthly comic book Conan, the ensuing communal reverberations were seismic and the career repercussions immediate. Up until then, it had widely been assumed that Jack (King) Kirby would automatically get the nod to illustrate the most coveted character in pulp fiction history.

When he didn't, Kirby left Marvel for the creatively greener pastures of rival DC, whose flagging fortunes were instantly revitalized by the King's mythic Fourth World quadrilogy of The New Gods, The Forever People, Mister Miracle, and Jimmy Olsen.

As it happens, in August 1970 I paid a visit to the Marvel bullpen offices in New York to visit Stan (The Man) Lee, whom I'd first met two years earlier. While I was waiting to see Stan and future Conan writer Roy (The Boy) Thomas, I couldn't help but notice the dozens of FOOM (Friends Of Ol' Marvel) fan club posters which were hanging outside every cubicle, each featuring a different mighty Marvel character.

In a telling commentary of just how badly Marvel was taking the King's defection to DC, every single poster which had been drawn by Jack Kirby had been slashed.

Even more to the point was something else I saw on a wall as I made my way to Stan's office. It was a cigar butt, scotch taped to a large piece of cardboard, like a mounted trophy. Over the cigar someone, obviously in happier times, had proudly printed: Jack Kirby's Cigar Butt. Now there was a new comment angrily scrawled underneath: He'll Be Picking Them Off The Ground Soon.

Even so, why the uproar over Barry Smith? Because up until then he'd been known primarily for being little more than a new artist who shamelessly aped Kirby's style on various Marvel titles such as The X-Men, The Avengers, and Nick Fury Agent Of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Now, copying the style of another artist certainly wasn't anything new or even anything to be overly ashamed of, because anyone who starts out drawing comics usually begins by copying someone else; that's how you learn. And it's a testament to how overwhelmingly pervasive Kirby's long-standing influence on the entire medium was—and indeed still is—that everyone in the industry had at one time or another copied Kirby before developing their own individual style.

What made Barry Smith's work so singularly unique in the pantheon of Kirby copiers, however, is how wretchedly bad it was. At their best, Smith's characters had a rubbery boneless elasticity to them that was more befitting Plastic Man than Robert E. Howard's sinewy Cimmerian. At their worse…well, don't ask.

So when the first issue of Conan came out, not only were everybody's low expectations duly met, they were exceeded: the book stunk. Oh, the writing was more than serviceable; veteran Roy Thomas knew his Howard well enough to make the comic an entertaining enough read. But after years of seeing Frank Frazetta's searing version of Conan adorning Lancer's paperback series, Smith's tepid take on the character was a severe letdown.

But then a truly strange thing happened on the road to cancellation and inevitable ignominious oblivion: Smith learned how to draw. No, scratch that: he didn't just learn how to draw, he somehow summoned up an artistic ability whose sheer bravura technical skill made Robert Johnson's much-vaunted crossroads deal with the devil look like a cheap sideshow con job by comparison.

With each successive issue, you could actually see something occurring right before your very eyes, the likes of which had never quite been seen before in a comic book: the quantum transformation of an artist from presumed hack to peerless master of his craft, all within the space of a mere eighteen months.

Watching Smith's art progressively evolve from issue to issue on Conan is the visual equivalent of hearing the Beatles grow and mutate from the simple competence of Meet The Beatles and Twist And Shout to the subtle complexity of Rubber Soul and Revolver. Albeit with one big difference: unlike the Beatles, who had spent years honing their craft in strip joints before ever setting foot inside a recording studio, Smith hadn't even attained a modicum of "simple competence" when he began illustrating Conan—which only serves to make his accomplishment all the more impressive.

And more than anything else, it's this astonishing display of public artistic maturation that makes Dark Horse Comics' new The Chronicles Of Conan so fascinating. This five-volume set reprints the entire run of Marvel's original Conan series, as written by Roy Thomas and illustrated by Barry Smith (with a few supplemental fill in issues done by solid stalwarts Gil Kane and John Busecema). Each volume comes with new multi-page afterwards by Thomas, who provides informative background information about how the series was created, month by month.

Granted, tactile newsprint purists like myself will always prefer the original pulp versions, but I'm nevertheless glad to finally have a comprehensive and chronologically archived reading copy of these stories, newly 'remastered' and archived on glossy stock with the addition of computer color that, to be honest, is nothing short of astonishing.

All of Smith's original line work has been cleanly separated and broken down into different layers to give a textured 3-D effect. Water now looks like real translucent water, and all faces and musculature is now properly rendered with contoured shadows and tones. Even the uninked issues which had to be printed directly from Smith's pencils are given a new vibrant lease on life. And best of all, each individual volume sells for less than a double sawbuck.

As mentioned above, to get the full effect it's best if you read all five volumes of The Chronicles Of Conan in sequential order. But if you can only spring for one, make sure it's Volume Four: The Song Of Red Sonja, which contains one of the ten greatest illustrated fine art masterpieces in the entire history of comic book art, the truly breathtaking "Red Nails." And fittingly, it's "Red Nails" which gets the ultimate nuanced computer colored treatment.

(Soon after the publication of this Pre-Raphaelite masterpiece, Barry Smith became Barry Windsor-Smith and left comics to form his own successful art company, The Gorblimey Press. But that's another story for another time.)

The only real problem I have with this series—aside from Dark Horse not reproducing the original covers that Smith drew—is that they've also neglected to print the letters sections which originally ran in each comic, as Russ Cochran did with his multi-volume Complete EC Library. Which means that if you want to read the erudite Letter To The Editor that I had printed in Conan #5, then you'll have to dig out your old back issues or dig deep to buy a used one. Sure it'll cost you a few bucks. But with a lineup like Roy Thomas, Barry Smith and Yours Truly all appearing together in a single issue of Conan, by Crom, it'll be worth it!

MEANWHILE: Next month we'll take a look at Dark Horse's new brutally bonecrushing monthly Conan comic, and then spend some quality time with the one series that Sin City creator Frank Miller calls the best horror comic in a generation: Mike Mignola's Hellboy. But first, here's your homework assignment: go out and rent Guillermo del Toro's new Hellboy movie, which has just been released on DVD. Then we'll meet back here in 30 days and see if Miller was just talking out of his fedora when he made the above-noted wild-eyed claim. Class dismissed.