For a species that can't know what the future
holds, we seem to have reached a pretty good consensus on what tomorrow will
look like.
In trying to nail down that aesthetic, I picked up "Zap! How
to Draw Fantastic Sci-Fi Comics" by Bryan Baugh. It's meant to teach
artists how to create robots, aliens, cyborgs, androids, and even something
called a space gorilla. But the best part is its chapter on the history of
sci-fi comics. Among its most interesting points:
A great
definition of sci-fi: "deals with fantastic circumstances that are
scientifically plausible based on current scientific beliefs and
theories." (If you substitute the word "outdated" for "current, you actually get a succinct definition of
steampunk and other retro-futurist art movements.) The difference between "space opera" and "hard science fiction" is that the former leans more on "feeling," and the latter on "thinking." So in a hard sci-fi work, detailed gears/wires/moving parts are shown to help create a sense of realism; "this could really happen," the audience thinks.
The 1920s marked sci-fi comics' rise to prominence, a time when society was feeling optimistic. The art reflected these feelings, and Baugh states "the depiction of futuristic technology was always shiny and flawless. Spaceships were sleek rockets with elegantly curved fins. Astronauts wore flashy jumpsuits, and robots often had the decorative look of walking jukeboxes."
The reason Star Wars appeared so realistic is that while all the ships and outfits were futuristic, they also looked worn, with scratches and dents. The result "was a completely make-believe sci-fi world that had a gritty, real feeling." The work has cast a long shadow on images of the future through today.