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Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/27/05

Today’s Rex Morgan, M.D., is actually a quite lovely chiaroscuro composition; even the sweatshop coloring hacks knew to leave well enough alone, adding only a splash of red to Rex’s tie that’s quite striking in and of itself. The mood is appropriately somber for the subject matter, but the dialogue confirms my growing suspicion that there’s only one competent medical practitioner in the Morgan family, and it isn’t the one who goes around waving some fancy initials around after his name in an overly compensatory fashion. Maybe Rex is distracted by the recent departure of his sexy blond archaeologist buddy, but his comments here give the impression less of “trained doctor” and more of “Catch Me If You Can-style fraud.” First, he seems baffled by the idea that a wounded man coming back from a war zone might have a piece of metal embedded in his body; then he claims ignorance as to why discussing an injured individual might be relevant at a medical practice. I mean, forget med school; anyone who’s seen an episode of M*A*S*H could have faked his way through this conversation better than “Dr.” Morgan.

The war in Iraq is a potentially touchy subject for the comics pages, even for an ostensibly “issue”-oriented strip like Rex Morgan (though the “issues” raised by the Fence Post Frank/Buck plot would be best dealt with by a psychologist and a landscape architect). If this storyline takes a stand more controversial than “Wounded soldiers should have their wounds treated promptly by a skilled medical professional” (which, I can’t emphasize strongly enough to Jack, would in this case be June), Rex Morgan, M.D. might find itself exiled to the Opinions page with the Boondocks and Mallard Fillmore.

Of course, if the strip needs some help in talking about the war without actually, you know, talking about the war, it should take some lessons from the master:

Beetle Bailey, 9/27/05

Soldier, I know it seems like some of the tasks you’re ordered to undertake are small or irrelevant, but each one slowly but surely advances the cause of freedom. And by “cause of freedom,” I mean “some campaign contributor’s stock portfolio.” I’m not sure how the Army gets its martini glasses, but I’m betting it involves a no-bid contract and a Halliburton subsidiary.

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Herb and Jamaal, 8/17/05

Jamaal’s last name is apparently “Jamaal.”

Beetle Bailey, 8/17/05

Mall-based makeover artists now apparently sell breast implants and mustache extensions.

Hagar the Horrible, 8/17/05

And, most traumatically, Helga and Hagar are apparently into sploshing.

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Beetle Bailey, 5/15/05

Here’s what offends me about today’s Beetle Bailey: the joke is not only par-for-the-BB-course lame, but could have very easily been made into a daily strip (just take panels three, four, five, and eight) without reducing the meager humor content at all. C’mon, Walker (Walkers?): while you were idling on the links, Bill Watterson was fighting tooth and nail to get you extra non-fungible Sunday space! The least you can do is take advantage of it. Since Beetle Bailey has a well-known affection for single-panel strips that presumably take less time to draw, you’d think the strip could at least offer mega-panel Sunday editions that would allow more loving detail to be lavished on Miss Buxley’s breasts.

Here’s what doesn’t offend me about today’s Beetle Bailey: the idea that Sgt. Snorkel is going to be disappeared into to some Abu Ghraib-style hole, locked in a cage, forced to wear a dog collar, and interrogated by military intelligence until he begs for mercy. That’s just good clean fun. Go easy with the glow-sticks, boys!

I do have to say that the center panel reminds me that I like the shoes in Beetle Bailey. It’s like the Keep On Truckin’ Guy joined the army and moderated his stride a bit. Also, General Halftrack’s over-the-phone thought balloon joins Mary Worth’s earlier soundless sound in the annals of cartoon oddity: