“Stripped” is the name of cartoonist Dave Kellett’s documentary about the newspaper comic strip industry. Started five years ago and now nearing a final stage with the help of filmmaker Fred Schroeder, the made-for-television program assesses of the current state of the newspaper comic strip and its future. Kellett, who is a webcomics enthusiast and practitioner, admits that he began the project expecting to record the demise of newspaper comics; but as he assembled interviews with cartoonists, he changed his mind: the film now ends on a somewhat more optimistic note — adapt or die, with history showing that adaptation has been part of the medium’s history.

At the New York Times artsbeat.blog, George Gene Gustines describes the film as “a musing on comic strips by many of their creators, how the medium has evolved and the migration to the Internet, some of it forced as the number of newspaper outlets for strips has shrunk and some of it voluntary by a new generation of cartoonists.”

The film itself is fast-moving — quick images of comic characters and strips, a sort of collage in motion, followed by short sentence excerpts from more than 70 interviewed cartoonists on screen, then more collage. Although divided into “chapters” (“The Golden Age,” “The Creative Process,” and “The Crisis”), some of the chapters don’t go very far — “The Golden Age,” for instance, scarcely covers the ground. “The Creative Process” is much better: it offers the most lengthy excerpts from cartoonist interviews.

I’m quoted twice on camera. Once I say only a single word, and I wasn’t quick enough when watching a screening to catch what it was. On the other occasion, I utter this profundity: “I don’t think web comics are the answer” (“comics historian” lettered beneath my picture). And that cryptic comment reveals the film’s most serious flaw. Why don’t I believe that web comics are the answer? What is the answer? Is there one? What’s the question?

Throughout, the film is much the same: there’s little depth. Some of the interviews about the creative process are nicely insightful, but there’s too little thought displayed in assessing the fate of the newspaper comic strip. It’s a subject that deserves — demands —i n-depth examination and discussion. And Kellett provides very little of either.

In short, the film is more dazzle than deliberation. It conveys an impression rather than offering an analysis. But the film is skillfully done, and that is its redeeming feature. Discussing a static artform, printed comic strips, Kellett and Schroeder compensate for the inherent lack of movement with quick cutting and flashing imagery. The flashing images go by quickly — here and then gone. The film is copious rather than thoughtful.

But that ain’t necessarily bad. In presenting and assessing the state of the comic strip universe, the film is friendly and understanding about an artform seldom examined in a motion picture medium. That is a great plus in itself.


For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


The Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum is undeniably the largest facility of its kind. “We have the largest collection of cartoon and comic art in the world,” said Jenny Robb, the present curator of the Museum (and a former student and assistant of the founding curator, Lucy Caswell). “In our old space we were hidden underground and didn’t have proper exhibition space to show the artworks. So the goal here is to be more visible and provide more accessibility to our collections.”

The collections are impressive: something in the neighborhood of 300,000 pieces of original art, 45,000 books on cartoonists and cartooning, 67,000 serial and comic book titles, and 2.5 million comic strip clippings and newspaper pages.

“We want to be the center of the comics universe,” said Robb.

At the center of that universe, Sullivant Hall stands like a cathedral of the cartooning arts. And I am reminded of another cathedral — namely, St. Paul’s, in London. In Sullivant Hall, I find an echo from St. Paul’s.

St. Paul’s was the architectural masterpiece of Christopher Wren, who, as Surveyor of Works for Charles II, supervised the design and building of more than 50 of London’s churches after the Great Fire of 1666 destroyed two-thirds of the city. Wren-designed churches set one of modern architecture’s distinctive styles. Among his more spectacular achievements was St. Paul’s.

Wren is buried in the crypt of St. Paul’s, and on his tomb, in Latin, are these words: If you seek his monument, look around you.

We might say the same of Lucy Shelton Caswell and the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum.




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Ohio State University's Cartoon Library bore many names over the years, most of them laughably cumbersome as the University sought to attach to the facility a name that described its holdings without trivializing the dignity of the institution by attaching it to “comics.” Until 2009, the collection included a hodge-podge of visual materials, beginning at the time of Caniff’s donation with paintings, photographs, tear sheets, and book and magazine articles tracing the career of another OSU alumnus, famed magazine illustrator Jon Whitcomb. Thereafter, the collection attracted other materials of a kindred sort, prompting the name Library for Communication and Graphic Arts — a name that avoided the word cartoon as if the University regarded it as a vaguely suspicious pretender to the intellectual and artistic status of collegiate life.

When the collection was moved to the Wexner Center, the moguls of the Ivory Tower finally surrendered, calling it the Cartoon, Graphic and Photographic Arts Research Library — shortened, in 1997, to the mercifully accurate Cartoon Research Library. In 2009, all the non-cartoon holdings were transferred to other special collections in the University’s library departments. The Milton Caniff Research Room was long ago retired as a name for the operation although the bronze plaque bearing that inscription exists somewhere on the premises. That Caniff should be subsumed by Ireland is a somehow serendipitous outcome.

Ireland was a beloved cartoonist on the staff of the Columbus Dispatch for nearly 40 years until his death in 1935. During his long career, he poked fun at politicians and advocated environmental causes and ridiculed the Ku Klux Klan while also commenting on the fads and foibles of Columbus in his weekly summary of news and views, The Passing Show, the logo of which changed picturesquely to suit the seasons and other stray topics that wandered across Ireland’s drawingboard.

Ireland usually depicted himself as the “janitor” of the feature, but whether he appeared or not, his signature dingbat was an Irish shamrock, and it was always in evidence. 


(Incidentally, Lucy Caswell has produced two biographies of Ireland (in 1980 and, lavishly revised in color, in 2007); both are printed in dimensions that present the cartoonist’s work at a generous enough size to represent his elegant artistry, especially on his Sunday Passing Show pages, which appear in the second edition in color.)

Ireland was already a local institution known nationally when Caniff came to the city to enroll at OSU in 1925. Caniff needed a job in order to pay his way, and he applied to Ireland, who gave him a try-out assignment, saying if the youth could produce something that would “make me jump,” he’d have a job. Caniff drew the accompanying comic strip — and got the job.


I’ve lobbied to have a bronze version of this historic comic strip made and placed somewhere in Sullivant Hall to commemorate the connection between the cartoonist whose papers started the collection and the one whose estate built the collection’s new home. But so far, no one is listening to me.

The BICL&M move to Sullivant Hall is commemorated in photographs here, if you’d like to see what a grand facility now houses the world’s most extensive collection of comics art — all shepherded into being by the first and founding curator, Lucy S. Caswell, after whom the reading room of the new Library is named.


For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


Sullivant Hall on the eastern edge of the Ohio State University campus in Columbus, Ohio, could have been named after T.S. Sullivant. But it isn’t. Sullivant was the pioneering cartoonist whose pictorial hilarities depicting Biblical characters and cave men and anthropomorphic jungle animals imbued the old humor magazines Life and Judge with comical distinction from the 1890s to the 1920s. 

Sullivant1 So it would be a fitting tribute to his cartooning genius if the building that now houses the world’s largest archive of comics art and cartooning history bore his name. Alas, whoever Sullivant Hall is named for, it is not the cartoonist. Rather, it bears the name of some other long forgotten but no doubt deservedly neglected local dignitary. Sullivant Hall, whatever the accomplishments of its namesake, came to life over the weekend of November 15-17, 2013,  for the Grand Opening of the Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum.

The formal ribbon-cutting ceremony transpired at Sullivant Hall on Friday, November 15, at 6:30 p.m. The evening continued with a “conversation” between two OSU graduates now professional cartoonists, Jeff Smith and Paul Pope, in nearby Mershon Auditorium. The opening event was bookended by the Festival of Cartoon Art, featuring talks by cartoonists on their work and on cartooning generally on Saturday and Sunday and, on Thursday and Friday, the “academic con,” offering two dozen 15-minute paper readings by scholars of the medium.

The BICL&M began as a special collection of the OSU Library in 1977 when Milton Caniff donated to his alma mater his papers, files and much of the original art of Terry and the Pirates and Steve Canyon. At first called the Milton Caniff Research Room, the collection was housed in two small rooms of the old Journalism building: a reading room and an adjoining archival (storage) room, operated under the watchful eye of a journalism professor named Lucy S. Caswell, who would wind up devoting the rest of her career to the project. A third converted classroom was added later.

In 1984, Will Eisner donated materials documenting his career in comic books, instructional comics, and graphic novels. Caswell once recalled how the Eisner collection found its way to the Cartoon Library: she picked up the phone and a voice at the other end said, “Will Eisner is moving to Florida and thinking of throwing away a lot of stuff. Would you like to have it instead?”

The same year, Toni Mendez, a licensing agent who represented cartoonists (notably among them, Caniff and B. Kliban), donated her papers. And in 1986, Walt Kelly’s widow donated Pogo papers and other materials related to Kelly’s tenure as president of the National Cartoonists Society. NCS has established its archives in the Cartoon Library, as has the Association of American Editorial Cartoonists.

As more cartoonists donated their papers, the collection grew and soon needed more space. The first move was in 1990 to the Wexner Center for the Arts, a modern building at the High Street boundary of the campus, where the comics stuff was consigned to a basement cavern. While languishing there, the collection was increased in 1998 when comics historian Bill Blackbeard donated the holdings of his San Francisco Academy of Comic Art; at 75 tons, it’s the largest heap of newspaper comics strip tear sheets and clippings in the world. In 2000, Mort Walker donated the 200,000 original cartoons of his sadly defunct International Museum of Cartoon Art, which he had founded and nurtured and funded since 1974.

The next move was the last — from 6,800 square feet to 30,000, from the Wexner Center to Sullivant Hall, a decaying facility that was gutted and extensively re-modeled to hold the BICL&M. The remodeling was funded to a great extent by two lavish donations. The largest was $7 million, donated in 2009 by the Elizabeth Ireland Graves Foundation in honor of Billy Ireland (hence, the present name of the Library & Museum); next came $3.5 million from the Charles M. Schulz Estate, $2.5 million of which matched donations from individuals and institutions all across the country and around the world.

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


Shaolin Cowboy 2 coverGeof Darrow's Shaolin Cowboy is back in a four-issue mini-series, and it may be the strangest comic yet foisted off on us — and not just because the story, such as it is, unfolds without much verbiage. In the first issue — right after we see a frog atop a mound of dirt or rock — the Cowboy emerges with a black eye from earth in the middle of a desert. He finds a pair of chain saws fastened at opposite ends of a long pole, and right about then, he encounters a flock of zombies, all naked. Suddenly, four wise-ass male delinquents drive by in a car and are stopped and threatened by the zombies; the Cowboy attacks the zombies and the delinquents drive off, shouting insults. Then the crew of an N.S.A. satellite watch the Cowboy as he fires up the chain saws and wades into the zombie flock, swinging the chain-saw pole in a circle, cutting zombies in two with each swath. That’s the first issue.

The completed episode within this issue — the Cowboy rescuing the hooligan assholes — reveals him, in contrast to their assholery, to be an admirable if entirely too silent a personality (even stoic, if we can use that term for a Buddhist). This revelation is scarcely essential in this first issue: we’ve seen him before (in the earlier Shaolin Cowboy series) so we don’t need as much of what first issues are supposed to supply — a more-or-less thorough orientation to his character. And the story, though cryptic in the extreme, is provocative and suspenseful: it’s enough to bring us back for another issue to see what happens as he confronts the zombies and what will happen as a result.

Alas, the confrontation with the undead goes almost nowhere.

The next issue is devoted entirely to double-spread after double-spread showing zombies being cut in two by the swinging chain saws. After a couple pages of this, ennui sets in pretty strongly with me. In the third issue, the red-shirted Cowboy gives up his chain saws and starts jumping from zombie head to zombie head, squashing each skull like an over-ripe pumpkin as he leaps, and leaving behind a trail of splattering blood. A sample of that is posted here, too. The whole issue is like this.



It’s Darrow’s art and story, and while most artists prefer drawing over writing, I can’t imagine Darrow sustaining much interest in the seemingly endless parade of similar blood-spurting scenes. And the walking undead are scarcely fascinating as candidates for individual portraits: a partially decayed corpse looks pretty much like all partially decayed corpses. The general idea underlying the act of storytelling is to go someplace with a sequence of events; to repeat the same episode over and over is dull work and dull watching.

At the end of the third issue, the Cowboy shakes hands with another cowboy (maybe John Wayne), who says: “Cowboy, nobody wants to die, but if you have to die— die last.” And our Shaolin hero turns bare-handed to face the incoming tide of zombies.

In the fourth and last issue, the Cowboy proceeds to attack the horde of zombies with his bare hands and feet. Darrow has by now drawn several hundred pictures of blood-spurting naked rotting humanoids. Sometimes the Cowboy uses the heel of his hand when assaulting a zombie. Sometimes a foot. Fists and feet, over and over again. Just as I thought the pictorial possibilities had been exhausted, Darrow draws the Cowboy snatching the face off one of the undead.

It goes on and on and relentlessly on in increasingly smaller panels.


Finally, they’re all dead. The Cowboy is exhausted. His hands drip blood. Sweat runs down his face in rivulets. He looks around. He sees a puff of smoke emanating from the top of a butte in the distance. Next, we see blood spurting from a few of the zombie corpses near the Cowboy — and, horrors! — from the Cowboy! He falls over. He’s dead.

Cowboy4This sequence is beautifully handled and staged in a single page. After seeing what I’ve just described, we then hear the “kraak” of a gunshot. The gun fired from the top of the distant butte is so far away from the Cowboy and the zombie corpses that the sound of gunfire takes this whole page to travel from its source.

The camera switches to the top of that distant butte, and we see the four hooligan assholes from the first issue, laughing and gassing, one of them holding a smoking rifle. “Yea, we really fucked up his shit, Bro,” says one of the assholes, “ — awesome!”

Cowboy5The last page is devoted to picturing the arrival of a frog. It may be the same frog that peered at us on the opening page of the first issue. Dunno.

What I do know, is that the Cowboy’s endless and seemingly meaningless (except for sheer survival) battle with the zombies has come to naught. Seemingly.

But — wait! The N.S.A. satellite in the first issue is named Cheney666; and the action is taking place six miles from Palinsbush, a reference, I suspect, to the crotch of Sarah the Palin. This may be political satire and all those zombies, members of Congress. Works for me.

But — wait! When the Cowboy emerged from the earth in the first issue, his hands were bloody — just as they are at the end of his battle in the fourth issue. And then, there’s the reappearing frog, fat and squat like a buddha. Is this tale circular? Are we, when we reach the end, back at the beginning? Is all of it going to repeat itself, around and around and around again?

Is this a metaphor for life? Life is a struggle against corpses, the “remains” — the customs, moralities, and governments and philosophies left behind by those who’ve gone before? A struggle gainst history? And then, at last, we join our predecessors in death?

Or is Darrow’s story just a huge joke? A joke the construction of which is hilariously labor intensive for him. And not just a little boring to look at, page after page.

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


The Mouse House has a reputation as a controlling institution. It is aggressive in protecting its wholesome image and its copyrights —quickly taking to court anyone caught using the symbolic Mickey or, even, Donald without permission. So Brooks Barnes at the New York Times was surprised at what he saw in the coming movie “Saving Mr. Banks,” a comedic drama about the turbulent making of Mary Poppins in the 1960s. In the movie, “Walt Disney acts in a very un-Disney way. He slugs back Scotch. He uses a mild curse word. He wheezes because he smokes too much. The real shocker?” Barnes goes on — “Walt Disney Studios made the film.”

For Saving Mr. Banks, the director, John Lee Hancock, said, “I was a bit afraid because we wanted to be honest about Walt. I imagined the moment when Disney would say, ‘Sorry, we like him better as a god than a human.’ To their credit, they were smart enough and brave enough to realize that a human Walt was not only a better character, but was easier to love.”

And the portrait of Walt Disney that emerges may be close to the truth. He was a demanding boss and had a keen sense of what was funny and appropriate in a film and how to achieve it, particularly when animation was in its infancy. Animator Jack Kinney, who began working for Disney in 1931 and stayed for 20 years, running the Goofy unit and winning five Academy Award nominations and an Oscar for Der Fuhrer’s Face, revealed the sometimes cantankerous side of his employer in his 1988 book about the early years at the studio. I’ve posted the cover picture here because it so aptly illustrates the personality of the Disney Kinney knew.  WaltDisney1

Kinney wrote: “Walt went to great lengths to portray himself as a shy person, ‘Uncle Walt,’ a kindly, self-effacing farmboy from the Midwest who prided himself on the fact that he never owned a tuxedo. He was a great admirer of Will Rogers, and copied his mannerisms in public, which added to the image. He was certainly Midwestern — waspish, down to earth — but he could swear like a trooper, and he had a terrific ego.”

About the picture on the cover, Kinney elucidates: “Walt roamed his domain with a hard-heeled stride that, along with his distinctive [cigarette] cough, warned us of his arrival. He’d crash through the door, stride to a chair, sit down, and tap his fingers on the arm until one of the guys grabbed a pointer and proceeded to tell the story [of the animated cartoon the storyboards of which were pinned on the wall]. Walt’d usually allow the guy to finish, then all the boys would hold their breath until he started talking. We studied him the way he studied the storyboards. If he coughed, you knew you’d lost his attention. A slow tap meant he was just thinking, but a fast tap meant he was losing his cool.”

“It was bandied about by the boys in the back room that Walt stopped in the studio basement on his way in to change into his mood costume for the day. These moods were known as ‘the Seven Faces of Walt,’” Kinney said. And then he illustrated them:


When a few Disney staffers were once asked by a reporter to describe Disney’s sense of humor, a pause ensued; after a short wait, one came up with a single telling word — rural. Said Kinney: “The sorts of things that tickled Walt were outhouse gags, goosing gags, bedpans and johnny pots, thinly disguised farts, and cows’ udders.”

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


SexCriminalsVia CBLDF's website: Image’s Sex Criminals No.2 has been banned from iOS comic apps, but not from iBooks, according to the publisher and the book’s creators, Matt Fraction and Chip Zdarsky. The Apple explanation was cryptic: "We found that one or more of your In-App Purchases contains content that many audiences would find objectionable, which is not in compliance with the App Store Review Guidelines."

Image Publisher Eric Stephenson, in a joint interview with Fraction, Zdarsky, and the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, explained that the book was first delayed for an extended review by Apple, then banned completely.

Zdarsky noted that since no indication of what content Apple found objectionable was provided, there was no way to change the book to make it acceptable. "Heck, if they were specific about the problem, we’d at least have a chance to put a black bar over something if inclined," Zdarsky told the CBLDF. "But then it looks like censorship, whereas a full banning somehow evades those kinds of optics. My mind reels."

Not only was there inconsistency between different Apple stores. Stephenson noted the inconsistencies in Apple’s decision:

"I mean, first off—there’s not a lot of difference between the content in issue One and issue Two, but the one thing comiXology mentioned was that it may be—and they were just guessing here—because of the floating semen in issue Two," he said. "But then, if that’s the tipping point... Isn’t ‘Something About Mary’ available on the iTunes store? Because I’m pretty sure that has a fairly memorable scene involving Cameron Diaz running a handful of semen through her hair thinking it’s hair gel. And there’s an episode of Girls where a guy ejaculates on Lena Dunham’s chest and you can get that on there as well, so... It’s tame content by comparison, and on top of that, the notorious Saga No.12—that’s still available on both the iBookstore and through the comiXology app. There’s no real standard, and it’s just kind of inconsistent and hypocritical."

As if to confirm Stephenson’s opinion, Apple banned No.3 of the title for undisclosed violations of decorum, I suppose; and then, just to round it all off and achieve a consistency not evident yet, Apple retroactively banned No.1, too. All aboard now.

RCH fitnut: I picked up all three copies of the title, seduced—inexplicably, you probably think—by the title and by the cover art. As a society, we’ve known “sex sells” since just shortly before Adam and Eve got booted out of Eden, and comic books, particularly superhero comics with superwimmin cavorting around in skin-tight skivvies, have always been subliminally trafficking in sex, but it all went rambunctiously overt with the launch last year of a funnybook with the title Sex. Just that. Sex. Sex Criminals followed tout suite, beginning with what is doubtless the most spectacular cover exploitation of the topic imaginable. 

The “crime” involved herein seems related to the teenage heroine’s discovery of sex and its attendant pleasures and problems. Hardly scandalous in this day and age. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the series in use in schools in sex education classes.

Incidentally, I don’t think the floating seman in No.2 is all that obvious. I thought it was a printing error.

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


Rise Above cover
In Svetlana Shkolnikova’s report in the Fort Lee Suburbanite about Archie Comics co-CEO Nancy Silberkleit’s visit to a school last October 15, you wouldn’t know Silberkleit is embroiled in several nasty legal struggles at the Riverdale HQ. The article was all about Silberkleit’s efforts to promote anti-bullying. Silberkleit, a former art teacher, surrounded herself at the school with artwork from various stages of comic book production as she discussed career options and her anti-bullying comic Rise Above. Silberkleit has shared her message with countless classrooms around the world over the past two years, either in person or through Erica Walters, the bullied heroine of Rise Above.

In the comic, Erica begins her first day at a new middle school and learns to deal with a bully who harasses her with taunts of "braceface," dumps a soda on her, and posts the resulting photo on social media. Silberkleit said she can still identify with the embarrassed, pained expression on Erica's face as a group of students jeered at her, and she decided to pour her experiences into a comic book.

Says Shkoljnikova: “She began leading talks about bullying after reading about several bullying victims who had ended their lives. She dedicated Rise Above to Mitchell Wilson, an 11-year-old Canadian who committed suicide in 2011 because his muscular dystrophy made him a regular target of attacks.

“Her success at Archie Comics and the work of her foundation Rise Above Social Issues led to her inclusion in the Commerce and Industry Association of New Jersey's Women of Influence event this year.”

Well, it’s about time Silberkleit got some decent publicity.

Rise Above page

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Slabbed Zap #0Comic books are made to be read, Chris Arrant said at comicbookresources.com, “but along the way they’ve grown to become a collectible in the minds of some, leading to an interesting bifurcation of fandom: collectors and readers.” Well, not really “collectors”: more like “investors” — people who buy comics as an investment, expecting them to increase in value like stocks or lab rats. In order to preserve their value, investors “slab” their most valuable comic books, incasing them between heavy-duty plastic plates, bolted together. The most conspicuous offender in the slabbing business is the Certified Guaranty Company (CGC), which makes a livelihood out of grading and slabbing comics.

Readers, like me — and cartoonist Derf Backderf — find this practice reprehensible. Derf was shocked, Arrant reported, “at the degree to which comics collecting [investing] had subsumed the readability of comics, especially given that ‘true collectors’ would hermetically seal their comics in CGC ‘slabs,’ leaving them unable to be read — you know, the original intent for the comic.”

“For someone who has devoted his life to making comics, and who takes several years to painstakingly craft each one … to be FUCKING READ! … this is an abomination,” Derf wrote in a long post on his blog. “For baseball cards, fine. because you can still read everything on the card. With a comic book, 90 percent of the contents are lost forever! Most of these ‘collectors’ wouldn’t know the difference between Wally Wood and Wally Walrus. They’re just collecting a number. It’s an affront to everything I hold dear.”

In ferocious reaction, Derf has started what he calls a “one-man crusade against slabbing” by buying CGC books and “then free[ing] them from their plastic coffins.”

And I say: Bravo.

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Alter Ego No

 Alter Ego No. 122 is devoted entirely to commemorating the Comics Buyer’s Guide, fandom’s most venerable publication, the publisher of which, Krause, unceremoniously terminated a year go without giving any of us a chance to give it a dignified send-off. Here, however, editor Roy Thomas has gathered many of the people who contributed to CBG over the years, providing us all a chance to give the magazine the decent burial it deserves after a 42-year run. Founder Alan Light shows up to recount the early history, and he’s accompanied by a horde of others, each contributing remembrances — Brent Frankenhoff and John Jackson Miller with more history; senior editor Maggie Thompson, her editor emeritus husband Don (posthumously in photos), columnists Murray Bishoff, Bill Schelly, Peter David, Tony Isabella, Mark Evanier, Bob Ingersoll, Fred Hembeck, even Yrs Trly. The issue, copiously illustrated, is a nostalgian’s feast. I’m still reading it. Back issues are available at twomorrows.com at $8.95 each.

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Watterson AngoulemeWhile the Super Bowl was transpiring on this side of the Atlantic, Bill Watterson was winning the grand prix at France’s Angouleme, the international comic strip festival, according to GlobalPost.com. In winning France’s top prize for cartooning, Watterson, 56, creator of the now retired Calvin and Hobbes, beat Japan's Katsuhiro Otomo (Akira) and Britain's Alan Moore (Watchmen). Not unexpectedly, the reclusive Watterson was not present to receive his prize, the most prestigious of its kind in the French-speaking world. In 1986 and 1988, Watterson received the Reuben Award of the National Cartoonist Society. In 1992, he won the prize for best foreign comic book at the Angouleme Festival. He wasn’t present for any of those presentations either.

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Hit number one coverIn Hit No.1 (of a four-issue run), writer Bryce Carlson indulges a fantasy about policemen who turn hitmen, killing bad guys without bothering about courts and trails. The protagonist, Harvey Slater, rubs out several evil-doers in the course of this book — enough, in short, to serve the purpose of such episodes: they demonstrate his personality as a bully-boy. Not the sort of fella you’d like to be around so why would we buy the next issue?

Probably because the concept is tantalizing even if the star of the show isn’t a very appealing character. And the cliffhanger ending helps, too.

Slater runs into an old girlfriend, his captain’s slut of a daughter, Bonnie, who got involved enough with drugs that her father had to pull strings to save her. She’s been away, waiting for the heat to cool. Slater takes her to his apartment and after a roll in the hay, he goes to answer a knock on the door, and finds there a detective who wants to arrest Bonnie, who, it seems, is a fugitive. While Slater is talking to the guy, Bonnie finds Slater’s shotgun and blasts the detective to smithereens. A provocative predicament if ever there was. And there Carlson leaves us, dangling on the edge.

Apart from the unusual concept, Vanesa R. del Ray’s visual interpretation of the story is equally off-beat. She uses a lot of close-ups, focusing many times upon irrelevant parts of a scene (ashtray and cigarette stubbing, f’instance). Her storytelling is deft, however: breakdowns pace the action dramatically, and she often resorts to wordless sequences of action. Her draftsmanship seems a little tentative at times; when she draws Slater and Bonnie together in the same panel, Bonnie is not only shorter than Slater but seems on a different, smaller, scale altogether.

All the narrative transpires in semi-darkness, and the gloom enhances the noir atmosphere. Archie Van Buren’s colors often spark a sequence with an atmospheric glow (Slater is always lighting a cigarette), but sometimes the colors run a little too dark, adding obscurity to the ambiance.


Altogether, though, Hit is a package I’ll buy again.

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The Original Daredevil Archives,Volume 1

By Charles Biro et al
Foreword by Michael T. Gilbert
288 7x10-inch pages
color throughout
Dark Horse

The oriiginal Daredevil is the blue-and-red costumed crimefighter at Gleason Comics, not the blind Marvel lawyer. Gleason’s Daredevil started as a backup character in Silver Streak Comics No.6, which has been reprinted in another Dark Horse archival volume (reviewed at the Usual Place, Rants & Raves, Opus 308).

In the Foreword, Michael T. Gilbert rehearses the history of the character and Gleason Comics, and the biography of artist/writer Charles Biro (and his buddy Bob Wood, who also drew and wrote). Daredevil, who was re-created on his second appearance in Silver Streak No.7 by Jack Cole, proved so popular a character that he spun off into his own title in July 1941, which sports a title as odd as the character — “Daredevil Battles Hitler.” The U.S. wouldn’t be battling Hitler until the end of the year, but Adolph was already a well-known villain.

Like others in the Dark Horse series of archival volumes, this book reprints the entire contents of the books it includes — Daredevil Comics Nos.1 through 4, July - October 1941 — arcane advertisements and other incidentals as well as the title character stories and the backup features with Dicke Dean (Boy Inventor), Cloud Curtis, the Pirate Prince, Nightro, Dash Dillon, Pat Patriot (“America’s Joan of Arc”—an oddly religious evocation for a costumed female crimefighter), Whirlwind, Real American, London, and the Bronze Terror. The Claw, the towering Oriental villain of Silver Streak, re-appears throughout these four issues like a bad disease.

Jack Cole is back on Daredevil for the first issue, but after that, it’s Biro’s baby. Among the other artists are several whose names will rattle on through funnybook history — Jerry Robinson, George Roussos, Edd Ashe, Reed Crandall, Bernard Klein and Dick Briefer. The art and its reproduction here are better than I remembered in such vintage titles as this — clean and clear, very little distracting shading and feathering of the sort neophyte artists attempt and fail at.


The Daredevil stories are also vibrant with breakneck action and not nearly as verbose as they, and all Gleason titles, became as the forties wore on and Biro gained his footing.

Historic stuff, this. And exciting reading, too.

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


Tuki coverAt the Small Press Expo in early September, Jeff Smith revealed a little detail about his new webcomic, Tüki Save the Humans. According to BleedingCool.com, the new opus centers on the first homo erectus to migrate away from the cradle of life. “Two million years ago was the very first fantastic ice age, and Africa was in a drought and all the early animals, all the early hominids, all the apes, all the creatures were going extinct because their jungles were disappearing. It was at that time that the very first early human left Africa. Somebody was the first guy, and I’m going to tell his story,” said Smith.

The first chapter was out around Thanksgiving; he’ll be doing the comic in “seasons,”putting it up 25-page chunks of story at a time.

Smith explained, “I’ve created a new panel flow for myself. I’m doing the pages horizontally so they’ll fit the size of the computer screen. It will be printed as a book at the end, and it might be a little awkward, but… I think it’ll be halfway between RASL and Bone. It’s going to be much more like Bone than RASL: it’s going to have humor. Part of the story is everyone is trying to stop him — the ancient gods, the animals, the other humans — they’re all going to try and stop him leaving Africa, and it should be pretty ridiculous,” Smith commented.

Tuki spread

For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com


For more Rants & Raves with its comics news and reviews, gossip and cartooning lore, visit www.RCHarvey.com