When Art Spiegelman's "Maus" came out in 1986 (a later edition would win a Pulitzer Prize in 1992), many mused that the graphic novel had come of age. Finally, it seemed, it was possible to meld words and pictures with the richness, depth, and insight of a novel. All sorts of topics could be tabled now, not just men in tights with superpowers.
And yet, this promise was so rarely fulfilled, outside of brilliant exceptions to the rule such as Daniel Clowes' "Ghost World" or Gilbert Hernandez' "Human Diastrophism." In cinema, it's been just as bad: for every adaptation such as "American Splendor" — which wasn't even animated — we get a few years' worth of Fantastic Fours or Spidermen.
Thus, it is a great joy to see that "Persepolis," easily the best graphic novel of the past decade, has not only made it to the screen, but been adapted by the author herself, keeping her striking black-and-white illustration style intact on the big screen.