Post Content

B.C. and Wizard of Id, 11/3/06

Here’s a true comics fact that I find endlessly fascinating: Johnny Hart, the deranged mastermind behind B.C., is also the writer (but not the artist) for the Wizard of Id. This is interesting because B.C. is, as frequently noted here by me and others, totally deranged these days, whereas the Wizard of Id is, if not breaking any new comedic ground, actually still kind of funny. Today’s strips, both on the topic of sweet, delicious, tempting, demonic booze, illustrate the point nicely. B.C. is pretty typical of the strip’s current loopy state: the weird verbiage, convoluted but not particularly funny, the setup that’s ultimately just one character telling a joke to another, and the punchline that’s dependent on a series of odd assumptions and that seems like it might, in a parallel universe, be funny, but in this one is not. Now, a lot of you cruel bastards have taken this to mean that Hart has just lost it. But take a look at this Wizard of Id, which is itself typical of the strip’s style: blunt, dry, to the point, and actually driven by some cursory knowledge of the strip’s characters. In other words, ol’ Johnny is fully capable of working within the constraints of what makes a comic strip funny and normal; but in B.C. he’s made a conscious decision to follow his own meandering muse. Which in some ways is all the more alarming.

Apartment 3-G, 11/3/06

Meanwhile, the Story of Lu Ann’s Magical Mysterious Attic has apparently been outsourced to a Brontë sister. I’ve been all in favor the new interweaving storylines in Apartment 3-G, but we need more of Tommie teasing married men with her awkward sexuality and Margo threatening people with bodily harm and less of Lu Ann’s maybe-supernatural loft space. Yesterday we were teased into believing that this pile of bedding was someone asleep on the bed; presumably tomorrow we’ll learn that there isn’t actually anybody in the next room, but that someone has accidentally left the radio on in there and it happens to be playing Li’l Jon’s latest hit, “Hello, Anyone There? (Feat. Ying Yang Twins).”

If Alan and Eric Mills and, hell, Margo are all conspiring to drive Lu Ann insane à la Gaslight, though, all will be forgiven and then some.

Dick Tracy, 11/3/06

If you haven’t been following Dick Tracy (and really, who could blame you if you haven’t?), Dick has acquired an experimental device that can read minds. This turns out to be much, much less interesting than it sounds, as so far he’s only used it to annoy his officemates. I just wanted to point out that one of his coworkers is apparently Lara Flynn Boyle, seriously slumming in some kind of Nehru-collared shirt.

Marvin, 11/3/06

Lord alive, I hope the dog eats that baby.

Post Content

B.C., 7/22/06

See, this strip is actually a lot more clever than it might appear at first glance. By posing a series of incomprehensible humor-style elements — Do electronic components ever actually feature “charcoal” lettering? Wouldn’t black golf balls be easier to see than said lettering on said components? — it distracts from the central problem, which is, you’ve got cavemen talking about golf and electronics, what the hell.

Mark Trail, 7/22/06

I was going to say something to the effect of “The whole Kelly-Welly-as-Lost-Forest’s-official-tramp thing is getting old,” but then I realized that it wasn’t, and it never will. I particularly love the extreme closeup on Kelly’s dark, evil, seductive eyes in the third panel. I’m assuming that this is Ranger Rick’s point-of-view: in the world of Mark Trail, this is the last thing you see before you wake up with a nasty case of chlamydia.

Wizard of Id, 7/22/06

Ah, it’s Yet Another Lame Strip Written By An Old White Guy Featuring An Anachronistic Golf Joke (YALSWBAOWGFAAGJ™). You might not know this if you don’t have parents who watch the Golf Channel voluntarily, but all those beasts the Wiz is thought-ballooning about in the second panel are the nicknames of various professional golfers. That’s right: Id’s dwarfish despot is forcing his chief thaumaturgist to dismember the cream of the PGA’s crop just to shave a few strokes off his handicap, the sick bastard. Anyway, the reason this strip caught my eye is because the thought balloon in panel two has some shading on the bottom, which usually is a cartoon convention for anger, but this time around it appears to signify … nothing. Nothing at all. Wasted strokes. Wasted!

For Better Or For Worse, 7/22/06

Worst. Onomatopoeia. Ever.

Post Content

Gil Thorp, 5/30/06

“For the love of Christ,” you’ve probably been saying for weeks, “What in God’s name is going on in Gil Thorp?” Well, the sad answer is: not much. We’ve been treated to two or three boring storylines involving surly teenage athletes that have been getting in the way of what we all really want: more of Brent Raptor’s mom. But today’s strip promises big moves in that department. The lady rounding out this coachy foursome joined our cast of lovable misfits last summer, when she used her feminine wiles to get Milford grad/polka disc jockey Von to take care of her little stalker problem. Now she’s going to take on the She-Raptor, which heralds another wacky summer in Gil Thorpistan. Does the “horizon broadening” she has in mind involve getting avocado facials together at the local day spa, or forcible kidnapping at knifepoint? Tune in to find out! I find the whole prospect positively delicious.

Wizard of Id, 5/30/06

Can I admit something to you all? Since I started reading the Wizard of Id on a regular basis last month, I’ve found myself sort of enjoying it some of the time. Admittedly, my expectations coming into it were set very, very low, though this hasn’t enhanced my appreciation of Crock, which I took up again at the same time. The Wiz by my estimation is funny maybe a third of the time, which is a lot better than some strips I could mention but won’t because it would be deeply embarrassing for them.

Anyway, today I had the realization that the installments of this strip I like the best are the ones involving the stablehands, whose conversation inevitably revolves around horse feces and the shoveling thereof, and, in the larger sense, the level of degradation that this brings into their lives. Make of this what you will.