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Curtis, 9/26/10

Curtis shackles its artist’s powerful, primitive vision and impeccable draftsmanship to the well-thumbed sheaf of stock narratives the world expects from a genre strip. Hey, it’s a living. But art will out! The strip slips its narrative fetters once a year for Kwanzaa, and once in a while for its title character’s superhero fantasies.

There’s so much to love here: the spandex mask rising to wrap SuperCaptainCoolMan’s improbable coiffure, the villain’s breakfast, mustache, and pince-nez, the allusion to confusing and unspeakable prison sex, “…you evil but stupid genius”, and that implacable wall o’ mammoth. But best of all, the electric elephant stinkeye at the climax, and “ZORGG.” A worthy successor to QLUNQ! HA HA HA WHINNY!

Then back to earth for a tired “principal’s office” joke — and maybe Derrick and “Onion” waiting in the hall? The nicest trips end far too soon.

Mark Trail, 9/26/10

Mark’s part-time gig with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has slowly but completely corrupted his principles as an Outdoor Journalist. No longer does he implore readers to “Enjoy Nature” — no, now it’s all, “Stay away from the terrifying outdoors, where you will die from the flash floods and the lightning and the tornadoes and the tsunamis and the flying squid.” And shilling weather radios so people can stay inside and entertain themselves by scaring the dog.

“EEEEEEE!”

Brenda Starr, 9/26/10

No sound effects here but the pitapat of my fanboy heart. Brenda Starr is looking into the Pokeville hometown background of Tap Fitzpatrick, the flamboyant DA falsely (she thinks) accused of the murder of TV host Felicity Fox (no, not her). Pokeville has its secrets, at least one of whom is driving that Hummer that nearly ran over Brenda’s Mustang. But most of the town’s action is at Joe’s One Stop, Pokeville’s Jack Ass Acres, where you can get anything you want from the resident gap-toothed androgyne and owner of Bullseye the Dog — except information.

O Brenda Starr, how do I love thee?

1. Crisp, hard-edged modern drawing by artist June Brigman — retaining the trademark eye-sparkles of Dale Messick’s loopy-girly style.
2. People smoke, yet the strip is not about their smoking (see, Curtis?).
3. Intelligent background jokes — “Live Bait! Tanning!”
4. Timely material — Hummers, Mustangs, bloggers, prescription drug abuse, the decline of print journalism.
5. Author Mary Schmich, renaissance woman and (dare I hope?) future hyphenated spouse of former Baltimore Mayor Kurt Schmoke.
6. Brenda Starr kicks ass!

Pluggers, 9/26/10

The essence of Pluggers. Except for the color, which seems way too upscale, and anyway should have leached out decades ago.

— Uncle Lumpy

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Blondie, 9/23/10

Blondie launches an unprovoked, totally unjustified attack on the Comics Curmudgeon Fall 2010 Fundraiser! Boy, you’ve got some nerve, Blondie! Just wait ’til Josh gets back from vacation — just you wait!

Judge Parker, 9/23/10

Oooh, this is promising: L’il Judge Randy’s packin’ heat! OK listen up, Judge Parker — Chekov’s gun is now officially on the table, and we expect either a) incompetent mayhem by a public official with collateral damage to innocent victims, or b) sexy target practice with CIApril Bowers involving sexual innuendo, leg silhouettes, hair-shaking, and nuzzling. Nuzzling, dammit! Deal? OK, now deliver!

Hi and Lois, 9/23/10

Atop the Salmon Throne of Ranch House Doom in the deepest suburbs of Mordor Meadows, the Dark Lady summons her thrall: “Hi, honey! Oh, nothing much, just thinking of you! Ash nazg durbatulûk, sweetie, bye for now!”

Mark Trail, 9/23/10

Mark submits articles to Woods and Wildlife but is apparently not a subscriber. Time to call Woods and Wildlife Editor Bill Ellis: “Say, Bill, I have a question about those stories I keep sending you! Do you ever publish any of them?”

He’ll be heartbroken to learn that his “Nature Journalist” job is just a fiction his occupational therapist Cherry cooked up to get him outdoors and keep his mind off his massive head injury and memory impairment. No matter: he’ll call Bill again tomorrow, just like always.

Give generously to the Comics Curmudgeon! Hey, c’mon, I figure nothing ventured, nothing gained! Am I wrong?

— Uncle Lumpy

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OK, let’s leave Mary Worth‘s Mike and Jenna alone on the beach to figure out one more time why it makes a lick of sense for Lonnie’s death to propel them into each others’ arms. Other soaps beckon!

Apartment 3-G, 9/20/10

Credit Apartment 3-G for playing the long game. Faithful readers will remember that Blaze recruited Tommie back in January to sing in his theatrical production (Stop the World: I Want To Get Off! set in a Turkish prison) — the diversion that lured her to the stage of I Dressed In the Dark. But only the truly obsessed will recall the misty origins of the Great Tommie Makeover — in 2006, when Tommie’s old flame’s cheatin’ wife Lucy dismissed suspicions of her husband’s adultery on grounds that Tommie and Ted were both just too dull for sins of the flesh. She was right, of course, but for some reason it didn’t sit well with Tommie.

Josh commented at the time, “I can’t wait to see Tommie try to tart herself up.” Well, he had to, but she did, and I just hope everybody’s happy.

Judge Parker, 9/20/10

Sometime around 1965, Judge Parker figured out that law is ghastly boring and they’d better diversify. That was a huge boost for the career of Sam Driver on the right here, who got all the wet work while Judge Alan opined from the bench and L’il Randy was all “O jeez, Dad!” Well, Randy — the one with the brush cut on the left — is all grown up now, and a judge himself! But manly glass-thrusting aside, he’s still pretty much “O jeez!”, only now it’s Sam pitching the worldly wisdom.

Tonight, he will school his young protégé in cars, the ways of professional criminals, and how to slip the cunning traps of chesty sylphs who even now plot his enslavement, in the kitchen, over wine. And after that? BUSINESS PLAN!

Mark Trail, 9/20/10

One odd thing about Mark Trail (and there’s a party game for you!) is its covert but abject horror of Nature: truly wild animals — hibernating bears, for example, or gators — are implacable malevolent soulless evil beasts who would as soon eat your sorry ass as look at you and need to be wiped out. WIPED OUT!!!

Ahem. But give ’em a collar, train them to walk on their front legs, or name ’em “Lucky” and they turn into helpless forest flowers who would never hurt a soul and, after some half-assed “wild animals should not be pets” lecture, deserve a nice warm kitchen, a saucer of milk, and eternal vigilance over their welfare.

So if Stepfather Frank had taken the trouble to stock his pen with unruly, poorly groomed, loathsome wild animals instead of dozy half-pets, he and his pals could blast away all afternoon and Beth would be all smiles, cookies, and lemonade. And if he had shown the foresight to 12-gauge Lucky to kingdom come before that vermin set one goddamn hoof in his kitchen, well, he’d be halfway to The Honorable Stepfather Frank B. Mr. Governor Sir by now, wouldn’t he?

Rex Morgan, M.D., 9/20/10

Mayor Stu, the slowest student in the history of Public Relations, is determined to get as far behind this story as he possibly can. When he sees the “MAYOR HAS PROSTATE CANCER” billboard atop City Hall, he’ll demand — demand — to know the signpainter’s name. He’s making a list, by God!

— Uncle Lumpy