Ephemeral landscapes: of the page, storytelling . . .
Wit, witlessness, parody, satire, and the suspension of disbelief |
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back to the beginning of STORYTELLING Wit
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. . . Arthur Koestler advances the theory that all creative activities -- the conscious and unconscious processes underlying artistic originality, scientific discovery, and comic inspiration -- have a basic pattern in common, which he attempts to define. He calls it "bisociative thinking" -- a word he coined to distinguish the various routines of associative thinking from the creative leap which connects previously unconnected frames of references and makes us experience reality on several planes at once. (Koestler 1970: 2) At this point in the academic narrative, introducing such a quotation (and commenting on its use, for that matter) has different implications than if it had appeared earlier, say, in examining the role of the comic writer or artist. No claim is made that this paragraph is a creative leap (no, not the Koestler lines, this paragraph). But this paragraph is meant to suggest in a preliminary sense the way in which a break in continuity calls attention to itself (in a very, very preliminary sense; Koestler's book is almost 500 pages).
It may be that the author/creator/artist uses "witty" panels to pace the larger story, by providing a form of punctuation. It may be that the author is calling attention to a significant detail or revelation that the grand sweep of the narrative cannot admit. It may be a countervailing argument. It may be a particular display of verbal or graphic virtuosity for its own sake. Or, it may be just a joke.
But that really sounds like the fundamental nature of comics: the actual material of comics. And if that might tempt comic creators to have a very high opinion of themselves, it also allows them to make fun of themselves, and of the world, even in serious contexts. All that is required, as in most popular entertainments, is the willingness for the reader or the audience to suspend disbelief. Reading itself becomes at least an imaginative if not creative (or subversive) act. And getting the joke is often the surest way to get the reader hooked -- excuse me, to keep the reader involved (Iser 1978: 108). Good comic parodies may be safest when making fun of other older, usually well-known sources, but they do require that the reader also make connections to the present day. Mad's métier lies in making fun of all mass media.
Instructional leaflets and pamphlets have tried to learn from comic-strip storytelling conventions to help us use electronic gadgets or familiarize ourselves with passenger aircraft -- what better opportunities could there be to make light (fun) of daily life?
The more stately the public institution, the more it invites the comic parody. Museums are engaged in an ongoing project, not always successfully, to conceal plebeian roots and some very crass commercialism. The harder they try, the more they ought to beware the visitor with sketchbook in hand.
And even superheroes can do a little promotion for the cause.
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