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Dick Tracy, 2/4/09

“Ethan Noll — Ethan Noll? Like ethanol, the volatile, flammable grain alcohol that some think could be a valuable fuel source, and which is often derived from corn, which in turn is the main crop in Iowa, the location of Professor Noll’s university? I wonder if this offers a clue of some sort to the denouement of this episode? Naw! Too much of a coincidence. Literally every human being I meet has a name that’s a pun of some sort, and only half of those turn out to be relevant.”

There are many things I dislike about Dick Tracy — currently at the top of my list is its decision to renew its earlier flirtation with Comic Sans (HEY GUYS JUST BECAUSE IT’S IN BOLD DOESN’T MEAN WE CAN’T TELL) — but the weird fractured chronology on display in the second and third panels, in which an event is first recounted second-hand and then shown to us in flashback, isn’t one of them. This is actually a fairly common technique in the strip, and I’ve grown to appreciate it more as I read it; it at least adds a little narrative interest among the stubby fingers and the bludgeonings. It reminds me of the weird editing in Steven Soderbergh’s The Limey, only with even more graphic and brutal killings.

Funky Winkerban, 2/4/09

“Yup, I’m all set to start writing again, and AAAH AAAH AAAH IT’S THE REANIMATED CORPSE OF MY DEAD WIFE!” Ha ha, just kidding, Les wouldn’t be terrified by this prospect; the appearance of his wife, resurrected as a shambling zombie-demon, would be the highest form of erotica for him.

I was blessedly out of the FW loop during the storyline being described here, but many commentors seem to recall it as one of those irritating lesser-Shakespeare-comedy-type plots where the protagonists keep having their meeting thwarted by random circumstance (much like Darrin and Lisa’s attempts to track each other down before the latter’s death). If that’s true, then surely Les will be able to produce a new book that’s as big a flop as his last one, and the cycle of misery will be complete.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 2/4/09

Hmm, Second Officer Tomas, who in previous appearances looked to be of Latin or African descent, has made an appearance today looking thoroughly Caucasianized. Perhaps he’s still desperately attempting to placate the drunken, belligerent WASPs who make up most of the ship’s passengers, and thus is switching races himself so as to put them all at ease. Thus the patient requiring medical attention is Guido himself, with Rex being called upon to provide more enwhitening injections.

Marmaduke, 2/4/09

Marmaduke’s owner can’t get the dog to stay off the furniture, stop digging up the back yard, or refrain from eating the neighbors, but at least he’s managed to instill his own virulent anti-Semitism into the hell-beast.

Ziggy, 2/4/09

Hey, everybody! Have you heard about all the corporate bailouts? Ziggy has, apparently! Maybe someday the strip will get around to making a joke about them.

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Dick Tracy, 1/29/09

Dick Tracy is well known for such stunningly pointless narration box scene setting as “In another room” and “Elsewhere,” but I have to admit to being somewhat intrigued by “Much later”. By using qualitative, not quantitative, terms, the strip sets up an intriguing narrative tension about exactly when the third panel is supposed to be taking place. Are we meant to read it as “Much later, after Dick’s gruesome, nine-hour ‘enhanced’ interrogation of Professor Noll, at the end of which he described the secret project he was working on, confessed to a number of crimes he couldn’t have possibly committed, and then was shot ‘trying to escape’?” Or as “Much later, after the human race has evolved into a species with no pupils, shiny black skulls, truncated, pointy breasts, and a tendency to name people things like ‘Driller’?”

Gil Thorp, 1/29/09

Of course, Central has an incredible home-court advantage. Playing basketball on a court with four-foot ceilings does limit the number of home fans who can come and cheer, but for teams unused to such conditions, the stooped, simian lope that they make necessary can be a real distraction — one that the permanently hunched over Bobcats can exploit.

I’m not sure what the two clowns standing behind Marty are up to — trying to get their faces on the radio? That’s not how it works, guys — but I sincerely hope that the blond-haired glasses-wearing dude is making the universal jerk-off motion with his left hand, as he appears to be.

Blondie, 1/29/05

I strongly disapprove of the set-up for this joke. Dagwood can’t possibly be much older than, say, 50; obviously anyone born after 1960, when asked by a child if some common, century-old device were available during their childhood, would respond not with “Yes, and yet I’m also going to offer a description of an archaic technology that will make me seem even more wizened to you,” but with “JESUS CHRIST ELMO HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM,” followed by some serious soul-searching and a series of inappropriate and regrettable music and clothing purchases.

Mary Worth, 1/29/09

“Yes, before I came to visit you, I never imagined the hatred and despair that lurked just beneath the besequined surface of this beautiful sport! Now every time I see a coach talking to a skater on TV, all I’ll be able to think of will be the many ways that each has been able to wound and disappoint the other over the years. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my glass of blood as soon as possible and get the hell out of here before this little papered-over truce you’ve established inevitably collapses in tears and acrimony and slashing blades.”

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Dick Tracy, 1/28/09

I spent longer than I care to recount staring at the final panel of this cartoon, trying to figure out what Dick was getting at. Was there some other way to pronounce “perfume” that would cause this apparent play on words to make some sort of sense? “Especially because you’re making perfume for my wife. Or is it per-foom-ay? Just like your house went a-boom-ay? Wait, no, hold on a second…” Eventually, I figured out that the final word panel should be read as “Or is it perfume?” I don’t want to single out Dick Tracy, because Random Bolding Syndrome is an affliction that strikes virtually every comic ever created, though some more than others (*cough* Mark Trail *cough*). Here’s a helpful tip for comics artists: try reading your dialogue aloud, adding emphasis, before committing it to word balloons, OK?

I did not, however, have to think very long to figure out what Dick was getting at with “Just want to know you better” in the first panel; obviously it involves electrodes, sensitive body parts, pleas for mercy, etc.

Rex Morgan, M.D., 1/28/09

I can’t even begin to tell you how unsettled I am by panel two Rex, with his pursed, fleshy lips and suddenly beady and lizard-like eyes. Maybe he’s trying to cut his usual condescending tone to his wife by feigning a sympathetic and concerned facial expression, but he has no real idea what that would look like, so he’s just flexing his face muscles at random and hoping for the best. Meanwhile, in panel three, Rex and June look less like they’re discussing the abstract possibility of some little boy they don’t know being lost, and more like they’ve been given some terrible, devastating piece of personal news, like “Little Sarah didn’t get into that elite pre-school because they found her uncanny and creepy” or “Honcho Magazine no longer has home delivery.”

Crankshaft, 1/28/09

It’s good to know that the ’Shaft occasionally feels a frisson of remorse for his many monstrous crimes.

Apartment 3-G, 1/28/09

“Love! Happiness! The giddiness of a new relationship! I … I … does not compute! Should I just slit her throat now and make a run for it?”