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Mark Trail, 5/12/05

It’s fun, in a self-psycho-analysis kind of way, to watch delusions of grandeur slowly transform into paranoia. For instance, now that I know that at least one comics writer reads my blog, I’ve come to assume that all comics creators do. This means that just about anything that happens in any comic could be a reaction to things said here!

Take Mark Trail, for instance. Jack Elrod has long come under sustained and savage attacks, both by me and my commentors, for his inability to draw human beings and corresponding tendency to throw into random panels adorable wildlife animals rendered freakishly huge by problems with perspective. But today’s strip is fauna-free, and instead features a disturbing closeup on the wizened, crumpled visage of Mike, the lovable alcoholic hermit. When considered along with last month’s zombie sherriff, it’s almost as if Elrod is saying, “You want strips with drawings of people? I’ll give you drawings of people! I’ll give you drawings of people until you can’t take it any more! You’ll be glad for me to go back to beavers, moose, pelicans, and sea turtles once I’ve shown you what an ugly, awful creature Homo sapiens is.” And then he laughs and laughs, one of those awful laughs that gets raspier and raspier until it degenerates into hacking coughs that raise up blood-tinged phlegm.

At least, that’s how it happens in my mind.

Well, I for one say: enough already! Bring on the beasts! Not least because the human-interaction angle of this story is possibly the dullest Mark Trail plotline on record. An insurance investigation has made for entertaining narrative exactly once in human history — in Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity — and there was at least sex involved there. Jack Elrod can draw a mean sea turtle, but he’s no Billy Wilder.

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Mark Trail, 4/23/05

Be careful, insurance investigator guy whose name I can’t be bothered to look up! You may think you’re having a productive, professional chat with a respected member of the local law enforcement team, but you’re actually standing mere feet away from a bloodthirsty zombie who’s lulling you into a false sense of complacency so he can crack open your skull and eat your brains!

Admittedly, it can hard to tell the difference between a small-town sheriff and the walking undead. Here’s a few “warning signs” that may indicate a corpse reanimated through foul magic:

• Chalk-white skin
• Eyes with orange pupils
• Protruding cheekbones giving the face the appearance of a skull
• Deep shadows cast over one side of the face, seemingly at odds with the actual lighting in the room
• A thousand-mile stare that seems to wistfully harken back to a pre-death-and-unspeakably-evil-reanimation existence

If you think you might be talking to a zombie, run for higher ground! It’s a well-known fact that a zombie’s main mode of locomotion is an awkward shuffle, so they have some difficulty with inclines. In case of mass zombie takeover of your town, be sure to tune in to NOAA radio. If the usual weather report has been replaced by a guttural voice moaning “BRAINS … BRAINS!” over and over, you’re pretty much screwed.

Incidentally, it almost seems like Sherriff Zombie’s directions — “you can find him at Lost Forest” — are some kind of snide joke, but it’s commonly known that zombies have no sense of humor.

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Mark Trail, 4/17/05

Apparently last week’s killer tsunami was only the beginning of the Mark Trail carnage. This week the focus is on tornadoes, but the topic has really broadened to nature’s wrath in general. And what do we see here? While the puny humans have their seeming superiority stripped away by the awesome power of the winds and rain, the wild beasts, long tormented by mankind, gloat at the carnage wreaked upon their bipedal oppressors. The squirrel in panel three looks positively gleeful about the car being swept away in the flood — perhaps he saw too many of his nut-gathering friends crushed to death beneath its cruel tires! The beavers in the last panel, meanwhile, seem to be taking a more philosophical view of the twister as it tears the wooden homes of men to bits: they seem confident that their dam will make it through the storm, but don’t mind taking a moment out of their busy schedule to watch the plans of their rivals come to naught. The only animal to look panicked by the situation is the dog in the lower lefthand panel — and we all know what happens to collaborators and Uncle Toms when the revolution comes, don’t we? It looks like Mark is trying to get in good with the majestic flying geese and ducks in anticipation of the imminent nature-driven apocalypse.