Showing posts with label Krazy Kat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Krazy Kat. Show all posts
Sunday, November 9, 2014
The John Stanley 1950s Bibliography is now on Amazon!
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Buy A Print Edition of the 1950s John Stanley Bibilography! Yow!
The deluxe (color interior) version, which includes a cover gallery in full color, is also available. THIS is the link for that edition.
I have print versions of the other two volumes in process. The 1940s volume will undergo some big revisions--mostly the inclusion of more text.
I think this is the first stand-alone book on John Stanley's work to be published. With any luck, this will just be the first of many...
Here's the full cover image, including spine and back panel...
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Koupla Kokonino Konvulsions: stories from Krazy Kat #548, 1955
It's been a while since we looked in on John Stanley's version of Krazy Kat. Thus, here are three stories (and a cover) from one of the mid-1950s one-shot KKs. These were published in Dell's "Four Color" series--a 1300+ issue run that proves the utter validity of Sturgeon's Law as refers to funny-books.
I detect some of Stanley's hand in the finished artwork of these stories--perhaps it's just the influence of his layouts, more strongly felt than usual, in the final versions.
In this later run of Krazy Kat, Stanley embellished the original love-hate triangle created by originator George Herriman. One notable change: Krazy, him/herself, has become more of a loose cannon than in the 1951/2 run. He/she often competes with Ignatz Mouse for the "Tubby Type" role in these stories.
Ignatz still triumphs as the Tubbiest of the lot, but in having two unpredictable figures playing against a staunch authority figure (Offissa Pupp), Stanley gives himself more license for character-driven comedy.
Here's the cover...
Today's first selection explores a typical Krazy Kat situation: the constant imprisonment of the anarchy-minded Ignatz, for crimes of brick-hurling. We also see aspects of Ignatz' relationship with his primo victim/enabler, Krazy. This comic-book Sid and Nancy romance is barely tolerated by Pupp, who realizes he is ultimately unable to run interference in this love-hate affair of cat and mouse...
In this second run of Krazy Kat, Stanley has relaxed into the characters, and is more confident about adding personal touches to a forbiddingly private world. John Stanley was of the right age to have been enormously affected by George Herriman's original version. To hip readers of the 1920s and '30s, Herriman was the comics' godsend. To the average reader, Krazy Kat was a migraine source--best skipped en route to "Tillie the Toiler."
Walt Kelly's Pogo attracted a similarly adoring, fervent fan base in the 1950s. Kelly's work made a bigger impact on The Average Joe, circa 1952, than Herriman's did in its prime.
While comics scholars and more adventurous readers still see plenty to love in the work of Herriman and Kelly, the average reader of 2011 is hard-pressed to find a point of entry into either man's work. Both creators' intensely playful use of phonetic language does not scan well in an increasingly less literate world. Kelly's contemporary political references, especially in the 1950s daily strips, while enlightening for those who know history, can be baffling to uninformed newcomers.
By 1955, Stanley had fully honed his sensibilities as a writer and storyteller. In the 1951/2 Krazy Kat, Stanley handles the characters timidly, as if they might bruise easily. A few years later, he more forcefully blends his ideas with Herriman's creations. His wordplay dominates these later KK stories--in a way that, coincidentally, ties them with Kelly's contemporary Pogo.
Kelly and Stanley were colleagues, and obviously admired each other's work. I think Stanley was trying to do a Pogo with these Krazy Kat stories--not an imitation, but an attempt to connect rich elements in a similar manner.
Back to the comics: Ignatz attempts to enter the world of commerce, with vexatious results, in this untitled solo story.
Like Stanley's version of Woody Woodpecker, Ignatz is an agitated outsider. His attempts to mesh with the everyday world end in frustration and disappointment. Here, the mouse is victimized by various species--he forgot to remember that his clientele tends to be predatorial!
His only potential paying customers--the elephants--freak out due to that old elephant-fears-mouse business. Even stalwart authority figure Offisa Pupp refuses to pay a dime for an apple.
Ignatz admits defeat soberly, without a temper-tantrum or other destructive urges. One genuinely feels sorry for him, at story's end.
I've saved the best for last. Anytime a John Stanley story involves a creative act, such as painting, poetry or sculpting, an odd reflex kicks in. His creators are typically suspect figures--and their admirers and financiers deluded, decadent fools.
The naive, sweet-natured Krazy defies Stanley's general attitude towards artists. His/her creative impulse is applauded and supported by the self-important Pupp. Krazy's kreative kwalities are only thwarted by the jealous, resentful Ignatz--who simply can't stand for the kat's attention to stray from him for too long.
The disastrous unveiling of a sculpture is a repeated comic trope in Stanley's work. It was, apparently, a moment he savored in his stories. The unveiling of a comatose Pupp-as-statue elicits a genuine YOW! from Ignatz.
While Stanley does not condemn the artist as a phony in this story, he gets comic mileage from the piece of art itself being deceptive. Krazy's cheerful myopia allows him/her to mistake the KO'd, prone Pupp as her handiwork. Pupp makes the most of his shock-value unveiling, and nabs his usual suspect in the resulting fracas.
It's a clever touch, but the story's last page again reinforces Stanley's apparent belief that artists--and their admirers--are absurd. Stanley made a living from his own relentless creativity and problem-solving. It seems odd that he had such an apparent axe to grind about artists and their world.
This situation shows up far too often in John Stanley's work--from start to finish in his career--to be a coincidence. Is this some kind of self-hatred, creeping into his work?
John Stanley isn't around to answer this question. The dark side of his work stems, I believe, from this apparent self-loathing. Stanley was dismissive of his efforts, in the one or two interviews of his that I've read. Although his muse came through for him like clockwork, he seemed not to have much faith in it.
In a August, 1965 interview for his local paper, the Peekskill, New York Evening Star, Stanley, then hard at work on his auteur series Thirteen Going on Eighteen and Melvin Monster, confessed to reporter Dorothy Krumeich:
Stanley's best work appears almost effortless. Like Harvey Kurtzman's artwork, it appears spontaneous to the spectator, and does not betray the blood, sweat and tears that went into its creation. Was creativity a constant struggle for John Stanley? If so, it was a battle he successfully fought for 25 years.
Stanley was a heavy smoker and drinker. His son, James, in an interview for Alter-Ego magazine in 2005, matter-of-factly states: "He suffered from depression and alcoholism." Jim Stanley speaks more about his father's state of mind in this fascinating and honest interview. Both this and the 1965 newspaper piece on John Stanley can be found in issue 54 of Alter-Ego magazine.
This is a sobering note on which to end this posting. We know so little of John Stanley the person. His work leaves behind apparent, tantalizing clues that it did not come easily to its creator. Creativity can often be a difficult, demanding process, as any writer, artist or musician can tell you. The golden moments, when one seems to be merely the messenger of inspiration, are gruesomely outweighed by uncertainty, confusion and those sad moments of I-got-nothin'.
We are fortunate that John Stanley could consistently set his demons aside to write, and sometimes illustrate, transcendent comics stories. Knowing that they apparently did not come easily to their creator gives us more to savor and appreciate about the work itself.
I detect some of Stanley's hand in the finished artwork of these stories--perhaps it's just the influence of his layouts, more strongly felt than usual, in the final versions.
In this later run of Krazy Kat, Stanley embellished the original love-hate triangle created by originator George Herriman. One notable change: Krazy, him/herself, has become more of a loose cannon than in the 1951/2 run. He/she often competes with Ignatz Mouse for the "Tubby Type" role in these stories.
Ignatz still triumphs as the Tubbiest of the lot, but in having two unpredictable figures playing against a staunch authority figure (Offissa Pupp), Stanley gives himself more license for character-driven comedy.
Here's the cover...
In this second run of Krazy Kat, Stanley has relaxed into the characters, and is more confident about adding personal touches to a forbiddingly private world. John Stanley was of the right age to have been enormously affected by George Herriman's original version. To hip readers of the 1920s and '30s, Herriman was the comics' godsend. To the average reader, Krazy Kat was a migraine source--best skipped en route to "Tillie the Toiler."
Walt Kelly's Pogo attracted a similarly adoring, fervent fan base in the 1950s. Kelly's work made a bigger impact on The Average Joe, circa 1952, than Herriman's did in its prime.
While comics scholars and more adventurous readers still see plenty to love in the work of Herriman and Kelly, the average reader of 2011 is hard-pressed to find a point of entry into either man's work. Both creators' intensely playful use of phonetic language does not scan well in an increasingly less literate world. Kelly's contemporary political references, especially in the 1950s daily strips, while enlightening for those who know history, can be baffling to uninformed newcomers.
By 1955, Stanley had fully honed his sensibilities as a writer and storyteller. In the 1951/2 Krazy Kat, Stanley handles the characters timidly, as if they might bruise easily. A few years later, he more forcefully blends his ideas with Herriman's creations. His wordplay dominates these later KK stories--in a way that, coincidentally, ties them with Kelly's contemporary Pogo.
Kelly and Stanley were colleagues, and obviously admired each other's work. I think Stanley was trying to do a Pogo with these Krazy Kat stories--not an imitation, but an attempt to connect rich elements in a similar manner.
Back to the comics: Ignatz attempts to enter the world of commerce, with vexatious results, in this untitled solo story.
His only potential paying customers--the elephants--freak out due to that old elephant-fears-mouse business. Even stalwart authority figure Offisa Pupp refuses to pay a dime for an apple.
Ignatz admits defeat soberly, without a temper-tantrum or other destructive urges. One genuinely feels sorry for him, at story's end.
I've saved the best for last. Anytime a John Stanley story involves a creative act, such as painting, poetry or sculpting, an odd reflex kicks in. His creators are typically suspect figures--and their admirers and financiers deluded, decadent fools.
The naive, sweet-natured Krazy defies Stanley's general attitude towards artists. His/her creative impulse is applauded and supported by the self-important Pupp. Krazy's kreative kwalities are only thwarted by the jealous, resentful Ignatz--who simply can't stand for the kat's attention to stray from him for too long.
The disastrous unveiling of a sculpture is a repeated comic trope in Stanley's work. It was, apparently, a moment he savored in his stories. The unveiling of a comatose Pupp-as-statue elicits a genuine YOW! from Ignatz.
While Stanley does not condemn the artist as a phony in this story, he gets comic mileage from the piece of art itself being deceptive. Krazy's cheerful myopia allows him/her to mistake the KO'd, prone Pupp as her handiwork. Pupp makes the most of his shock-value unveiling, and nabs his usual suspect in the resulting fracas.
It's a clever touch, but the story's last page again reinforces Stanley's apparent belief that artists--and their admirers--are absurd. Stanley made a living from his own relentless creativity and problem-solving. It seems odd that he had such an apparent axe to grind about artists and their world.
This situation shows up far too often in John Stanley's work--from start to finish in his career--to be a coincidence. Is this some kind of self-hatred, creeping into his work?
John Stanley isn't around to answer this question. The dark side of his work stems, I believe, from this apparent self-loathing. Stanley was dismissive of his efforts, in the one or two interviews of his that I've read. Although his muse came through for him like clockwork, he seemed not to have much faith in it.
In a August, 1965 interview for his local paper, the Peekskill, New York Evening Star, Stanley, then hard at work on his auteur series Thirteen Going on Eighteen and Melvin Monster, confessed to reporter Dorothy Krumeich:
Right from the beginning, I always felt ‘I can’t do another’ at the completion of every book—there never seemed to be an idea left in me.
Stanley's best work appears almost effortless. Like Harvey Kurtzman's artwork, it appears spontaneous to the spectator, and does not betray the blood, sweat and tears that went into its creation. Was creativity a constant struggle for John Stanley? If so, it was a battle he successfully fought for 25 years.
Stanley was a heavy smoker and drinker. His son, James, in an interview for Alter-Ego magazine in 2005, matter-of-factly states: "He suffered from depression and alcoholism." Jim Stanley speaks more about his father's state of mind in this fascinating and honest interview. Both this and the 1965 newspaper piece on John Stanley can be found in issue 54 of Alter-Ego magazine.
This is a sobering note on which to end this posting. We know so little of John Stanley the person. His work leaves behind apparent, tantalizing clues that it did not come easily to its creator. Creativity can often be a difficult, demanding process, as any writer, artist or musician can tell you. The golden moments, when one seems to be merely the messenger of inspiration, are gruesomely outweighed by uncertainty, confusion and those sad moments of I-got-nothin'.
We are fortunate that John Stanley could consistently set his demons aside to write, and sometimes illustrate, transcendent comics stories. Knowing that they apparently did not come easily to their creator gives us more to savor and appreciate about the work itself.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
More of Stanley's Krazy Kat: from issue #5, 1952 with a chaser from '55
It's been nearly two years since I posted examples of John Stanley's curious take on the cult classic George Herriman comic strip Krazy Kat.
This series was an apparent challenge to Stanley. The first two issues show him struggling to get a grip on these felicitous characters, and the whimsical settings--both at odds with his prior, mostly urban/suburban material. Of course, just as he was getting into the Kokonino Kounty groove, Dell had to cancel the series.
These are some stories from the last issue of the first KK run. This untitled "Ignatz Mouse" story is very similar to a couple of contemporary Little Lulu stories. "Space Kids," from LL 56 (September, 1953), shows Tubby an' Th' Gang [TM] attempting a similar space-age mind fudge on Lulu and Annie. In "Trip To The Moon" (LL 86, August, 1955), the rascals fake-out Lulu into believing she's gone to--I don't need to finish typing that sentence, do I?
This theme surfaces other times in Stanley's LL and Tubby stories. Free to portray the "Tubby Type" in its apotheosis, Stanley lets Ignatz run rampant in his astro-prank, as you'll see...
Lively cartooning, imbued with that unmistakable "Stanley Spike," sells the antic events of this story swimmingly. My favorite moment: the worthy-of-Samuel Beckett Page Four, Panel Two.
Air travel is a theme in this issue. This longer story takes more time to explore its absurd set-up, and is peppered with sprightly word-play. Stanley let himself romp on the pages of this funnybook...
Ignatz' single-minded pursuit of an exhausting, complex prank again reminds us of Master Tompkins. This story plays as a sort-of Tubby daydream. There is an air of wish-gratification in the careening events: the kind of mid-day fantasia a bored Tub might have, fighting off post-lunch sleepiness in the back of Miss Feeny's class.
As freewheeling theater-of-the-absurd entertainment, these Krazy komix have their undeniable charms. As with the recently posted New Terrytoons material, this isn't first-rate John Stanley. But there is a sense of joy and abandon. While he continues to work within the formulae of Little Lulu, he is able to take greater risks with the characters--which he clearly enjoys. Unlike Lulu, Krazy is a sort of Zen airhead. His/her lack of emotional reaction to Ignatz' mischief is disarming.
There is displayed a certain reverence for the original Geo. Herriman conception of the strip. Stanley, who was usually prone to re-invent the cast, add new characters, and otherwise slant the personas of his adopted, licensed figures, stays fairly true to the vibe of the original. He is, perhaps, more clever than Herriman--one does not sense the intellectual struggles that make Herriman's work fascinating and transcendent.
When I read Herriman's Krazy, I strongly sense the hard effort of thinking. I don't feel that funny stuff came to him as automatically as it did to Stanley. Herriman and Carl Barks have this in common: their work feels ponderous (altho' in a good way). While Stanley's work has obvious smarts to it, I don't think he puzzled over his work. It feels as though he got 'in the zone' and just produced these stories in a burst.
I can't say for sure. This remains the "Rosebud" of John Stanley: I still know almost nothing about the man. I have been in contact with Stanley's son, James, and with a former Dell Comics editor, with whom I hope to do an interview, who worked with Stanley in the 1960s. It is my hope that both these individuals can help me shed some light on who Stanley was as a person, and how he developed his sense of humor, and appreciation of the absurd.
For now, I'm just wondering out loud here. I appreciate your humoring me while I ramble a bit.
For a chaser, here's the title-free Ignatz story from the 1955 "Four-Color" KK #619. While its frantic events are kinda kontrived, Ignatz' poetic monologue, on the opening page, is Tubby-Talk at its most profound.
In contrast to the 1952 stories, this seems rather dashed-off. Stanley's workload was more regulated in the mid-1950s. Though he was drawing the quarterly Tubby, which may have consumed more time than usual, he wrote some 480-odd pages of Little Lulu material--for the monthly comic and one 100-page giant. Assignments such as this and the Little King one-shots may have been squeezed in to fatten the ol' paycheck.
In closing, I hate to contradict Dell's advertising copy, but, rest assured--no goodness, or entertainment, could be had in either funny-book pictured in that filler ad.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
from "Krazy Kat" #4, 1952: soup's on!
My most recent John Stanley discovery is, thanks to the chatty format of the blog, literally remarkable.
In 1951, Dell revived the recently-deceased King Features entity KRAZY KAT. The strip's creator, the great George Herriman, had passed away seven years earlier, and his strip went with him. William Randolph Hearst was a great admirer of Herriman's work, and kept his strip in print, long after the intellectual set's 1920s adoration of it had waned. It was mostly an irritation to the Average Reader, who sought the calming blandness of Blondie, Winnie Winkle and other syndicated detritus.
Why anyone thought this esoteric, generally disliked-by-the-masses strip would make a promising Dell comic-for-the-masses is lost to time. Perhaps Stanley was a fan of the Herriman original. He'd had great success in translating other licensed properties to the comic book page. With Little Lulu, he was at the creative helm of one of the most popular monthly comic magazines in the US. Herriman's cast of characters, settings, and the basic love-triangle conceit of his strip were already strong stuff. It could be that Stanley sensed these elements would work in the funnybook format.
Stanley's Krazy was killed, presumably by poor sales, after five issues. He had just barely gotten his take on the characters when the book ended. The first issue contains some of the most random, blind groping of Stanley's career. By issue #4, he was getting into a good groove.
Reading these comics, one can sense that Stanley was right in bringing Herriman's ideas to the 1950s funnybook realm. Stanley jumped on the 'tics' of all the characters, exaggerated their virtues and flaws, and set up a template that could have continued for years.
In 1953/4, Dell's Krazy was revived for a few one-shot "Four Color" issues. The three I've read don't seem to be from Stanley's hand. Even given the experimental nature of the five 1951/2 issues, these later Krazys seem thuggish, derivative and dull.
Stanley wasn't the first to adapt Herriman's eccentric vision to another medium. Priorly, Krazy had been adapted as two long-running, highly variable cartoon series. A silent-era series, sponsored by Hearst, presents a watered-down, vaguely affectionate take on the strip, as it appeared in the 1910s and early '20s.
Pioneer animator John Bray took over the series in the early 1920s. The series' quality bettered, but eventually flagged. Another pioneer animation figure, Bill Nolan, took on the series, which was produced by Margaret Winkler and her husband, Charles Mintz.
Mintz essentially shanghaied the series, and took it to Columbia Pictures, where its lasted until 1939. In the early talkie era, the animated Krazy had some charm, if one can forgive the complete surrender of Herriman's concepts to a cheerful, peppy, blatant imitation of Mickey Mouse.
Meanwhile, the newspaper original grew increasingly quirkier. It must have heartily confused 1930s readers of the strip who first encountered the screen cartoon Krazy...
In 1951, Krazy Kat was hardly konspicious in its kommercial kharisma. In a bold move, Dell eschewed their usual try-out run in their "Four Color" one-shot series. They afforded Krazy his/her own book. Obviously, someone had faith in the idea.
Who better to write it than John Stanley? If Walt Kelly were not knee-deep in "Pogo" by this time, and if he were willing to take on a comic book feature not of his own creation, he might have done well with the denizens of Kokonino Kounty--themselves an obvious influence on his comics work.
Stanley was an obvious choice. His schedule was less full than it had been. The monthly Lulu was locked in place, and running in high gear. There was room for another series. Krazy was a quarterly book, as would be Stanley's next major title, Marge's Tubby [see previous post].
The transition from idiosyncratic cult newspaper strip to mass-market kiddie funnybook was not entirely smooth. Certain subtler elements of the strip are tucked into the background, and occasionally hinted at, but never boldly stated.
The characters' overall look is updated for post-war funny animal styles. Ignatz suffers the most, with his oversized ears and prehistoric Utilikilt [TM]. The felicitous, semi-surreal landscapes continue from Herriman's version, as do almost all of the supporting characters.
Stanley has a lot of fun with Krazy--now clearly tagged as a male. Krazy is a "Kandide" figure--a cheerful idiot savant. Things happen to him, and around him. He is occasionally sadistic (as a Stanley character must be, from time to time), but is mostly benign, a child of the universe who is protected from the worst of life's misfortunes.
Ignatz joins the ranks of Stanley's agitated outsiders, alongside Tubby Tompkins, Woody Woodpecker and Peterkin Pottle. Stanley clearly considers Ignatz the most interesting character. He instigates almost every narrative action in the five issues of Dell's Krazy Kat series, plus a handful of "Four Color" one-shots that occured a few years beyond this first brief run.
In this story, Ignatz is homeless and hungry in the snowy cold. His desire for comfortable homeowner Krazy's bowl of hot soup is the bridge for a classic Stanley confrontation.
I've gabbed enough for one rainy Saturday morning. I will post other stories from this short-lived, highly experimental series in the future. For now, here's a representative story for your enjoyment.
In 1951, Dell revived the recently-deceased King Features entity KRAZY KAT. The strip's creator, the great George Herriman, had passed away seven years earlier, and his strip went with him. William Randolph Hearst was a great admirer of Herriman's work, and kept his strip in print, long after the intellectual set's 1920s adoration of it had waned. It was mostly an irritation to the Average Reader, who sought the calming blandness of Blondie, Winnie Winkle and other syndicated detritus.
Why anyone thought this esoteric, generally disliked-by-the-masses strip would make a promising Dell comic-for-the-masses is lost to time. Perhaps Stanley was a fan of the Herriman original. He'd had great success in translating other licensed properties to the comic book page. With Little Lulu, he was at the creative helm of one of the most popular monthly comic magazines in the US. Herriman's cast of characters, settings, and the basic love-triangle conceit of his strip were already strong stuff. It could be that Stanley sensed these elements would work in the funnybook format.
Stanley's Krazy was killed, presumably by poor sales, after five issues. He had just barely gotten his take on the characters when the book ended. The first issue contains some of the most random, blind groping of Stanley's career. By issue #4, he was getting into a good groove.
Reading these comics, one can sense that Stanley was right in bringing Herriman's ideas to the 1950s funnybook realm. Stanley jumped on the 'tics' of all the characters, exaggerated their virtues and flaws, and set up a template that could have continued for years.
In 1953/4, Dell's Krazy was revived for a few one-shot "Four Color" issues. The three I've read don't seem to be from Stanley's hand. Even given the experimental nature of the five 1951/2 issues, these later Krazys seem thuggish, derivative and dull.
Stanley wasn't the first to adapt Herriman's eccentric vision to another medium. Priorly, Krazy had been adapted as two long-running, highly variable cartoon series. A silent-era series, sponsored by Hearst, presents a watered-down, vaguely affectionate take on the strip, as it appeared in the 1910s and early '20s.
Pioneer animator John Bray took over the series in the early 1920s. The series' quality bettered, but eventually flagged. Another pioneer animation figure, Bill Nolan, took on the series, which was produced by Margaret Winkler and her husband, Charles Mintz.
Mintz essentially shanghaied the series, and took it to Columbia Pictures, where its lasted until 1939. In the early talkie era, the animated Krazy had some charm, if one can forgive the complete surrender of Herriman's concepts to a cheerful, peppy, blatant imitation of Mickey Mouse.
Meanwhile, the newspaper original grew increasingly quirkier. It must have heartily confused 1930s readers of the strip who first encountered the screen cartoon Krazy...
In 1951, Krazy Kat was hardly konspicious in its kommercial kharisma. In a bold move, Dell eschewed their usual try-out run in their "Four Color" one-shot series. They afforded Krazy his/her own book. Obviously, someone had faith in the idea.
Who better to write it than John Stanley? If Walt Kelly were not knee-deep in "Pogo" by this time, and if he were willing to take on a comic book feature not of his own creation, he might have done well with the denizens of Kokonino Kounty--themselves an obvious influence on his comics work.
Stanley was an obvious choice. His schedule was less full than it had been. The monthly Lulu was locked in place, and running in high gear. There was room for another series. Krazy was a quarterly book, as would be Stanley's next major title, Marge's Tubby [see previous post].
The transition from idiosyncratic cult newspaper strip to mass-market kiddie funnybook was not entirely smooth. Certain subtler elements of the strip are tucked into the background, and occasionally hinted at, but never boldly stated.
The characters' overall look is updated for post-war funny animal styles. Ignatz suffers the most, with his oversized ears and prehistoric Utilikilt [TM]. The felicitous, semi-surreal landscapes continue from Herriman's version, as do almost all of the supporting characters.
Stanley has a lot of fun with Krazy--now clearly tagged as a male. Krazy is a "Kandide" figure--a cheerful idiot savant. Things happen to him, and around him. He is occasionally sadistic (as a Stanley character must be, from time to time), but is mostly benign, a child of the universe who is protected from the worst of life's misfortunes.
Ignatz joins the ranks of Stanley's agitated outsiders, alongside Tubby Tompkins, Woody Woodpecker and Peterkin Pottle. Stanley clearly considers Ignatz the most interesting character. He instigates almost every narrative action in the five issues of Dell's Krazy Kat series, plus a handful of "Four Color" one-shots that occured a few years beyond this first brief run.
In this story, Ignatz is homeless and hungry in the snowy cold. His desire for comfortable homeowner Krazy's bowl of hot soup is the bridge for a classic Stanley confrontation.
I've gabbed enough for one rainy Saturday morning. I will post other stories from this short-lived, highly experimental series in the future. For now, here's a representative story for your enjoyment.
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