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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.

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Spider-Man, 11/2/06

This is just one more reason to oppose out-of-control corporate media consolidation.

Crankshaft, 11/2/06

Not soon enough, you evil old man, not soon enough.

Gil Thorp, 11/2/06

“A tie, do you hear me, a tie! We’re monsters! What have we done? A tie!”

Rex Morgan, M.D., 11/2/06

Man, I think June played the race card kind of early in this dispute.

One Big Happy, 11/2/06

Hates boys? Sounds like she likes boys … a little too much.

…

OK, that … that was probably over the line.

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Mary Worth, 11/1/06

I’m sorry, it’s going to take more than Tommy waving around the world’s smallest bible to convince me that he’s decided to give up the exciting, glamorous world of methamphetamine addiction. I’d be a little more credulous if he weren’t holding the Good Book in his fingertips at arm’s length. He’s clearly using it as a prop to get dear old Mom to open her home to him once again upon his release, and is concerned that Jesus will see into his black heart and His written Word will burn the skin right off of his evil, evil hands. Since most bibles tend to be referred to as “holy” on their front cover (good marketing, that), I’m guessing this is a crude, handmade pamphlet that’s actually full of bootleg pornography.

The fact that Tommy’s eyes are the size of dinner plates makes it all the harder for me to believe that Christ is his anti-drug.

Some commentors have been remarking snarkily on Tommy’s hairstyle and what it might say about his position in the prison social hierarchy. I’d just like to point out to you newbies that Tommy has always rocked the scrunchie hardcore.

Bonus question: What the hell does that sign that’s partially blocked by Iris’ head in panel two say? “Cur”? “Fur”?

For Better Or For Worse, 11/1/06

I’m assuming that what’s happened here is that Shannon has proved that she’s plenty smart enough to disconnect the soundsystem, and that we’re going to learn some valuable lessons about how you should be nice to those less fortunate than you, and that industrial sabotage is totally OK if your bosses are jerks. But I’d like to believe that what the Lead Rectangular String Instrument player means is not that the power is out on their amps, but that due to Rebecca’s total bitchiness, they’ve, like, magically lost their sound, man, their groove, their mojo, that special something that’s made them Canada’s favorite teenage pop act. Then Rebecca will have to go on a magical journey to get her sound back, where she’ll find out the true meaning of music and friendship.

Check out the huge pile of bottled water cases in panel two. Makes you wonder what else is in Becky’s rider in terms of backstage goodies. (Insert your own “rider” joke here.)

Judge Parker, 11/1/06

You know, Judge Parker, I love homoerotic subtexts in serial comics more than just about anything, but I also like those subtexts to be at least thinly veiled. This isn’t even sporting for me.