Don't dig CBRs? Rename the file as an RAR extension, unzip it, and read the pages that way. You'll want to read the stories before you partake of my commentary on them.
That said, let's get this show on the road...
Showing posts with label animal encounters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label animal encounters. Show all posts
Saturday, March 16, 2013
A Cockeyed Cure For Well-Being: Clyde Crashcup #3, 1964: story by John Stanley, art by Irving Tripp
Don't dig CBRs? Rename the file as an RAR extension, unzip it, and read the pages that way. You'll want to read the stories before you partake of my commentary on them.
That said, let's get this show on the road...
Monday, August 8, 2011
A Couple of Woodies For You: proto-Little Lulu items from New Funnies, 1945
The above detail is from the cover to New Funnies 97, which isn't featured here today. The focus is on a pair of early "Woody Woodpecker" stories that remarkably anticipate the themes of John Stanley's classic Little Lulu narratives--in both story and art.
Stanley's version of Woody Woodpecker is the gateway to his single finest characterization: Tubby Tompkins, from Lulu. This comparison has been noted, in depth, already in this blog.
Today's first story, from New Funnies 96, has strong ties to the classic Little Lulu era. The use of snowball fights as a comedic status war is common in Lulu. Stories such as "The Big Snow Fight" (Four-Color 139, 1947), "The Snowball War" (LL 9, 1949) and "Prisoner of War" (LL 66, 1953), to choose just three, show Stanley's clever, vivid use of this childhood aggression-play as a ground zero of narrative stakes-raising.
Woody fights solo against "the South Side Gang," a cut-throat mob of dog-kids. Unlike Tubby, the woodpecker is a disenfranchised loner, and no mercy is accorded him at any point.
The theater-of-cruelty that would inform Stanley's Thirteen Going on Eighteen is evident here. Before Woody can perform his two acts of aggression, he has been repaid tenfold by the cute-yet-vicious humanoid tots.
After those two incidents, the South Side Gang literally attempts to seal his fate. They freeze him inside a snowball, then shove him downhill to his intended doom.
After those two incidents, the South Side Gang literally attempts to seal his fate. They freeze him inside a snowball, then shove him downhill to his intended doom.
Woody's soliloquy, while the kids send him rolling, is almost chilling. "I must be SOMEPLACE... I can't be NO PLACE!"
Woody, in Stanley's hands, is forever "no place." Try as he may, he never fits into the world around him. He puts up a good fight, but the universe dishes out indifference all the same. Tubby never suffered anything remotely as bad--even in the clutches of the feared West Side guys!
Our second story, from New Funnies 104, is written and drawn by Stanley, in the style of his earliest Little Lulu stories. This story, cover-dated October, 1945, was drawn shortly after the first Lulu one-shot. Unlike the debut Lulu, which is crisply inked in pen, this story is finished with a brush. It gives the artwork a softer feel, and its style is obviously infected by the Marge Buell look.
It's worth comparing that first Lulu (there are two stories from that debut issue elsewhere on this blog) with this and other 1945-46 "Woody" stories drawn by Stanley. (Yep, you guessed it--many of those stories are also found deep inside Stanley Stories.)
Trainspotters will note an early instance of "ZAZ," plus moments of windmill action, a Charlie Chicken clone, one "YALP!" and a large, plump "YOW," as the 'pecker attempts to be helpful down on the farm. (Spoiler alert: he fails.)
Once again, the Thirteen-esque ballet of cruelty runs the show. Woody wants to please, to conform to normal routines. But he can't; no matter how carefully prepared, no matter how alert of conscious of his surroundings, objects living and inanimate are set to do him in.
For once, Woody is not an a-hole, and is genuinely sympathetic. The painful, humiliating battery he endures is, like some of Val's more awkward moments in Thirteen, almost too much. Stanley trafficked in such knockabout comedy, for his entire career, but he sometimes didn't know when to turn it off. But it takes someone going too far to know, indeed, how far "too far" really is.
At his best, Stanley pushed the boundaries of "too far" daringly, and endowed formulaic stories with a bracing comedic zest. This gives his stories an edge which makes them still relevant and funny.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Two Stories From the Second Little Lulu Comic: Art and Story by John Stanley
I see that this post is the most popular one ever to appear on Stanley Stories. It gets more hits than anything else on here. Well, give the people what they want, sez I.
The only story left from the first "Lulu" comic was reprinted in The Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics, seminal tome from 1981 that can be had for peanuts on Amazon.com.
Time to move on to #2. The pair of stories I've selected today both are animal-themed. Both also show much more of John Stanley's fine cartooning style than the prior issue.
These aren't hi-grade scans. It's better to read these in color, as originally published, rather than try the pallid traced versions of the Another Rainbow and Dark Horse reprints. Those suck the life and soul out of Stanley's deft drawings.
Exhibit A, "...has family trouble," is among Stanley's rare cat-centric pieces. With this still-larval version of Lulu as his protagonist, Stanley captures the innocence and curiosity of childhood in a way the series would quickly avoid.
This story is an upbeat twin to a dark, disturbing "Li'l Eight-Ball" story Stanley wrote for New Funnies #101, also published in 1945. A sense of melancholy informs this story, too, but it's played for a much gentler effect.
This is as close to genuinely charming as John Stanley gets. Still, since it is a Stanley story, there is one moment of violent (but amusing) discord:
This encounter is unlikely to better socialize Mr. Gripe. This is the first appearance of a sinister social archetype of Little Lulu's world: the seriously anti-social, violence-prone loner, who typically has a Dickensian name like "Krank," "Gruff," "McGrouch," et al.
Mr. Gripe is on the gentlest end of this anti-social spectrum. To experience the Stanley Sociopath at his darkest and scariest, read this.
As well, this story offers two protagonists--Lulu and Christopher the cat. Christopher's inner monologue adds another level to the narrative. We are privy to her thoughts about Lulu and the other "pink ones," which is played for rich humor.
As is often the case in Stanley's world, the least empowered character is the wisest. Lulu's mother is oblivious to the kittens' need to still be with their mother. Christopher, who knows best, ingeniously retrieves her offspring.
Lulu and the cat trauma-bond in the ninth frame of p.7, in an echo of the "Li'l Eight-Ball" story's scenes of crying. However, Christopher is just playing; she's in charge of the situation 100%.
Stanley's feline drawings have great charm. I have a feeling that Stanley was a "cat person."
A couple of pantomime gag pages...
and then Lulu and Tubby "Goes On a Picnic." (Bad grammar is intentional.)
A tightly composed piece with conscious pay-offs, "Picnic" is connected to the prior story. Tubby's brag that he "almost killed a cat" with his toy bow-and-arrow reminds us of "...has family problems."
We see early signs of Tubby's self-absorption; it doesn't really occur to him that it was the Jensen's Groceries delivery truck that nearly did in the feline. At story's end it is the Jensen's truck that delivers Lulu and Tubby from their sylvan escapade and allows them to finally have their picnic.
The relationship of Lulu and Tubby is rather primitive, by later "Lulu" standards, in this story. The two kids are much more childlike here--antagonistic and stubborn, given to whims and acting out. Hints of Tub's future Quixotean self are already evident.
It's Lulu's terser, less expressive persona that makes the major difference. She is not the kidult she would be in 1950. She is closer to Marge Buell's imp than to the classic John Stanley version.
Stanley puts Lulu and Tub through some very funny slapstick paces here, and milks much humor from their bickering and over- or under-reaction to stakes-raising events.
We see more Stanley animals in "Picnic." Their presence, over these two stories, shows how much at odds Stanley's own drawing style was with the Marge Buell look and feel. All the human figures look stiff, awkward and generally unappealing. Stanley was a long way from making these characters work, visually, on his own terms.
Not to say that these are poor drawings, by any means. They're full of life, and Stanley does what he can to infuse them with character. His true colors emerge in the drawings of animals, in both these stories. Some hints of his masterful 1960s cartooning can be seen in those brief moments. His backgrounds, though simple, express a strong sense of space and depth.
It must have been frustrating for Stanley to work with Buell's primitive designs in these early Little Lulu one-shots, but he does his best, and the results, while stiff, are workable.
In Stanley's cartooning, the drawings are always humbly in service of the story. Stanley possessed one of the least distracting cartoon styles. It's just solid, unassuming line work, the better to sell his narratives--which, after all, is why we read his stories.
The only story left from the first "Lulu" comic was reprinted in The Smithsonian Book of Comic-Book Comics, seminal tome from 1981 that can be had for peanuts on Amazon.com.
Time to move on to #2. The pair of stories I've selected today both are animal-themed. Both also show much more of John Stanley's fine cartooning style than the prior issue.
These aren't hi-grade scans. It's better to read these in color, as originally published, rather than try the pallid traced versions of the Another Rainbow and Dark Horse reprints. Those suck the life and soul out of Stanley's deft drawings.
Exhibit A, "...has family trouble," is among Stanley's rare cat-centric pieces. With this still-larval version of Lulu as his protagonist, Stanley captures the innocence and curiosity of childhood in a way the series would quickly avoid.
This is as close to genuinely charming as John Stanley gets. Still, since it is a Stanley story, there is one moment of violent (but amusing) discord:
Mr. Gripe is on the gentlest end of this anti-social spectrum. To experience the Stanley Sociopath at his darkest and scariest, read this.
As well, this story offers two protagonists--Lulu and Christopher the cat. Christopher's inner monologue adds another level to the narrative. We are privy to her thoughts about Lulu and the other "pink ones," which is played for rich humor.
As is often the case in Stanley's world, the least empowered character is the wisest. Lulu's mother is oblivious to the kittens' need to still be with their mother. Christopher, who knows best, ingeniously retrieves her offspring.
Lulu and the cat trauma-bond in the ninth frame of p.7, in an echo of the "Li'l Eight-Ball" story's scenes of crying. However, Christopher is just playing; she's in charge of the situation 100%.
Stanley's feline drawings have great charm. I have a feeling that Stanley was a "cat person."
A couple of pantomime gag pages...
and then Lulu and Tubby "Goes On a Picnic." (Bad grammar is intentional.)
We see early signs of Tubby's self-absorption; it doesn't really occur to him that it was the Jensen's Groceries delivery truck that nearly did in the feline. At story's end it is the Jensen's truck that delivers Lulu and Tubby from their sylvan escapade and allows them to finally have their picnic.
The relationship of Lulu and Tubby is rather primitive, by later "Lulu" standards, in this story. The two kids are much more childlike here--antagonistic and stubborn, given to whims and acting out. Hints of Tub's future Quixotean self are already evident.
It's Lulu's terser, less expressive persona that makes the major difference. She is not the kidult she would be in 1950. She is closer to Marge Buell's imp than to the classic John Stanley version.
Stanley puts Lulu and Tub through some very funny slapstick paces here, and milks much humor from their bickering and over- or under-reaction to stakes-raising events.
We see more Stanley animals in "Picnic." Their presence, over these two stories, shows how much at odds Stanley's own drawing style was with the Marge Buell look and feel. All the human figures look stiff, awkward and generally unappealing. Stanley was a long way from making these characters work, visually, on his own terms.
Not to say that these are poor drawings, by any means. They're full of life, and Stanley does what he can to infuse them with character. His true colors emerge in the drawings of animals, in both these stories. Some hints of his masterful 1960s cartooning can be seen in those brief moments. His backgrounds, though simple, express a strong sense of space and depth.
It must have been frustrating for Stanley to work with Buell's primitive designs in these early Little Lulu one-shots, but he does his best, and the results, while stiff, are workable.
In Stanley's cartooning, the drawings are always humbly in service of the story. Stanley possessed one of the least distracting cartoon styles. It's just solid, unassuming line work, the better to sell his narratives--which, after all, is why we read his stories.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Deadly-Serious Funnies: Andy Panda in "The Mad Dog Mystery" (Dell one-shot #85, 1945)
There was some interest in seeing this early long John Stanley narrative. By no means is this among Stanley's better work. It is a decent example of his storytelling skills, largely devoid of his characteristic comedy.
A couple of tics emerge throughout this deadly-serious story. One is the eccentric 1940s beardo who appears early in the story. He gives the story a false comedic start that's immediately replaced by a Fredric Brown/Dorothy Hughes-esque mystery, garnished with Hitchcockian suspense set-pieces.
Well, take 15 minutes and read it yourself. Then we'll talk...
There is a fair deal of incidental comedy throughout "The Mad Dog Mystery." I dare say that the phrase "I'd walk a skunk for ten bucks!" is the funniest comment I've encountered so far today.
A mild theme of wartime intrigue gives the narrative some decent stakes. Stanley almost never included topical references in his work. Whereas Walt Kelly and Carl Barks played up the America-at-war angle for maximum drama and laffs in their contemporary stories, John Stanley disengaged from the realities of the day.
Kelly, in particular, played up the fifth-column angle like mad in his "Our Gang" stories, which "The Mad Dog Mystery" rather resembles with its rambly plot and childish protagonists. Barks, as in his "Terror of the River" and "Ghost of the Grotto," would have made the bad guys much more sinister in appearance.
The sequence in the houseboat is particularly Barksian. Left to die in the sinking, scuttled houseboat, Andy Panda and Charlie Chicken stoically prepare to meet their maker. Sheer practical survival-thinking--and a poor plastering job--save the day. The cramped 12-panel grid of the wartime Dell comics adds to the tension and sense of inescapable threat that pervades this sequence--and the whole story.
Stanley often gives a lumpen ordinariness to his antagonists. The traitorous scientist (and member of Stanley's antiques-loving Evil Rich) Klinker is a frumpy, seemingly ineffectual fellow. He's distinguishable from the cops who burst in as an un-needed deus ex machina at story's end. Klinker is slighter, more composed and less earthy than the derbied dicks.
The theme of the Evil Rich was a constant throughout Stanley's comics writing. Here is where he and Carl Barks part ways with a vengeance. Scrooge McDuck is a frequent violator of human rights--a driven individual who will stop at nothing to increase his already-absurd level of wealth. He has almost no time for anything but money.
Stanley's wealthy are idle aesthetes who fiddle with antiques, paintings and other trappings of the good life. Their actual money is almost never seen--in contrast to Scrooge McDuck's iconic Money Bin, and its owner's orgasmic rolls-in-the-hay with his cash. Money is the fetish-object of Scrooge McD's life. The trappings of wealth are the end-goal of Stanley's Evil Rich.
In Stanley's world, it is preferable for the elite to admire their Van Goof canvases, esoteric upholsteries of the 16th century, statuary, rare coins, books and whatnot. This keeps them distracted from the genuine harm and suffering their money and power can cause other people.
"The Mad Dog Mystery," a sorta-sequel to "The Secret Six," Stanley's Oswald Rabbit thriller of the same year, suffers from the vagueness of Klinker's actions. We never learn exactly what Klinker does--or how it helps "the enemy."
There is that canister of carefully-labeled lethal gas--the agent of Klinker's undoing, and a rare moment when Stanley's work aligns with the crude doings of the super-hero comics genre. Comics' mad scientists always seem to have such a clearly-marked supply of dangerous acid, gas or poison on hand. I'm pretty sure it was in their contracts to do so.
Stanley was usually alert about genre cliches and how to bend them. Such occurrences are usually tongue-in-cheek in his work.
Of course, this is from the early period of Stanley's career as a comics writer. He was still learning, and still forming the vision that became so distinct by the later 1940s. The relentless flow of the narrative may have eddied into a corner, and forced this obvious plot-point.
"The Mad Dog Mystery" has one of many occurrences of consequential cross-dressing in Stanley's oeuvre. Boys dressed as girls, and vice versa, are a common sub-theme in Little Lulu and Tubby. The stakes for these kids are as high as Prof. Klinker's herein.
Stanley's minor stories, among which "The Mad Dog Mystery" resides, reveal as much about their creator as his most acclaimed and important work. Like his characters, John Stanley was driven by apparent compulsions to repeat certain themes, actions and devices. He refined them, over time, but they remained central to his work as a storyteller and artist.
A couple of tics emerge throughout this deadly-serious story. One is the eccentric 1940s beardo who appears early in the story. He gives the story a false comedic start that's immediately replaced by a Fredric Brown/Dorothy Hughes-esque mystery, garnished with Hitchcockian suspense set-pieces.
Well, take 15 minutes and read it yourself. Then we'll talk...
There is a fair deal of incidental comedy throughout "The Mad Dog Mystery." I dare say that the phrase "I'd walk a skunk for ten bucks!" is the funniest comment I've encountered so far today.
A mild theme of wartime intrigue gives the narrative some decent stakes. Stanley almost never included topical references in his work. Whereas Walt Kelly and Carl Barks played up the America-at-war angle for maximum drama and laffs in their contemporary stories, John Stanley disengaged from the realities of the day.
Kelly, in particular, played up the fifth-column angle like mad in his "Our Gang" stories, which "The Mad Dog Mystery" rather resembles with its rambly plot and childish protagonists. Barks, as in his "Terror of the River" and "Ghost of the Grotto," would have made the bad guys much more sinister in appearance.
The sequence in the houseboat is particularly Barksian. Left to die in the sinking, scuttled houseboat, Andy Panda and Charlie Chicken stoically prepare to meet their maker. Sheer practical survival-thinking--and a poor plastering job--save the day. The cramped 12-panel grid of the wartime Dell comics adds to the tension and sense of inescapable threat that pervades this sequence--and the whole story.
Stanley often gives a lumpen ordinariness to his antagonists. The traitorous scientist (and member of Stanley's antiques-loving Evil Rich) Klinker is a frumpy, seemingly ineffectual fellow. He's distinguishable from the cops who burst in as an un-needed deus ex machina at story's end. Klinker is slighter, more composed and less earthy than the derbied dicks.
The theme of the Evil Rich was a constant throughout Stanley's comics writing. Here is where he and Carl Barks part ways with a vengeance. Scrooge McDuck is a frequent violator of human rights--a driven individual who will stop at nothing to increase his already-absurd level of wealth. He has almost no time for anything but money.
Stanley's wealthy are idle aesthetes who fiddle with antiques, paintings and other trappings of the good life. Their actual money is almost never seen--in contrast to Scrooge McDuck's iconic Money Bin, and its owner's orgasmic rolls-in-the-hay with his cash. Money is the fetish-object of Scrooge McD's life. The trappings of wealth are the end-goal of Stanley's Evil Rich.
In Stanley's world, it is preferable for the elite to admire their Van Goof canvases, esoteric upholsteries of the 16th century, statuary, rare coins, books and whatnot. This keeps them distracted from the genuine harm and suffering their money and power can cause other people.
"The Mad Dog Mystery," a sorta-sequel to "The Secret Six," Stanley's Oswald Rabbit thriller of the same year, suffers from the vagueness of Klinker's actions. We never learn exactly what Klinker does--or how it helps "the enemy."
There is that canister of carefully-labeled lethal gas--the agent of Klinker's undoing, and a rare moment when Stanley's work aligns with the crude doings of the super-hero comics genre. Comics' mad scientists always seem to have such a clearly-marked supply of dangerous acid, gas or poison on hand. I'm pretty sure it was in their contracts to do so.
Stanley was usually alert about genre cliches and how to bend them. Such occurrences are usually tongue-in-cheek in his work.
Of course, this is from the early period of Stanley's career as a comics writer. He was still learning, and still forming the vision that became so distinct by the later 1940s. The relentless flow of the narrative may have eddied into a corner, and forced this obvious plot-point.
"The Mad Dog Mystery" has one of many occurrences of consequential cross-dressing in Stanley's oeuvre. Boys dressed as girls, and vice versa, are a common sub-theme in Little Lulu and Tubby. The stakes for these kids are as high as Prof. Klinker's herein.
Stanley's minor stories, among which "The Mad Dog Mystery" resides, reveal as much about their creator as his most acclaimed and important work. Like his characters, John Stanley was driven by apparent compulsions to repeat certain themes, actions and devices. He refined them, over time, but they remained central to his work as a storyteller and artist.
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