« Sooner or later we all sit down to the banquet of consequences. » — Robert W. Frank, paraphrasing Robert Louis Stevenson
Today, we ask: who was Peter Randa? I’m asking because I read one of his books at random — actually, the comics adaptation, and was deeply impressed with its quality. Randa, né André Duquesne (1911-1979) in Marcinelle, Belgium, wrote some 300 hundred novels in various genres over a mind bogglingly productive quarter-century under a myriad of pseudonyms, namely Jean-Jacques Alain, Urbain Farrel, Herbert Ghilen, Jules Hardouin, Jim Hendrix (!), Henri Lern, André Ollivier, H.T. Perkins, F.M. Roucayrol, Diego Suarez, Jehan Van Rhyn and Percy Williams. There may be others. He dealt in the genres of science-fiction, horror, espionage, crime, and erotica (with over fifty novels written in the early 1970s).
Well, here’s the basic plot, taken from the current e-book edition (which I’m grateful exists at all, as even outstanding work often languishes in utter obscurity or downright oblivion):
« Archie Leggatt is a madman, a real one. He believes himself the Devil, had kidnapped three young women and terrorised a fourth. A run-of-the-mill serial killer? Perhaps… but when such an un assassin boasts supernatural powers and leaves more than the scent of brimstone behind, physicians and investigators begin to wonder and ask themselves questions with terrifying implications. Can one truly hope to put Satan behind bars? »
What fascinated me about Le banquet is its steady ambiguity between possible mental aberration, hypnotic suggestion, and the outright supernatural. This precarious balance — and slow-burning tension — is maintained right to the end, which is no mean feat. Is Leggatt just a regular madman, a consummate mesmerist, or a temporary, occasional shell for Old Nick? I’m reminded of a similar exploit accomplished by Arturo Pérez-Reverte in his 1993 novel El Club Dumas (The Club Dumas), wherein one didn’t know for certain whether there was anything actually uncanny going on… until the conclusion. Sadly, Roman Polanski fumbled his cinematic adaptation (as The Ninth Gate), starting with the absurd casting of Johnny Depp as the presumably intelligent book detective protagonist. When Polanski’s wife starts flying, the jig is up, I’m afraid.
-RG
Who's Out There? 
Nice moody art. And according to comics.org there’s 156 pages of it! I know you don’t get much per page in these pocket editions, but all the same, that would be a hell of a story. A huge job for the artist, so perhaps he cut a few corners by swiping here and there. Not only from Uncle Creepy but also I’m sure I’ve seen the girl’s face in the sixth page before. Looks like it could be Jesus Blasco, who knows.
I hadn’t heard of Michel Gourdon before reading this post, but I did know of the hugely prolific Aslan [https://pulpinternational.com/pulp/keyword/Aslan/], who it turns out was Gourdon’s brother! What a family!
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So much depends on mood! Some of these are even longer than this — I have one (L’orgue de l’épouvante, Hallucinations no. 53) that’s around 225 pages long. Some adaptations are even split into two issues!
In the best of cases, I’d say the format really works in the artist’s favour… having only two or three panels per page lets the story breathe, and compositions can certainly flow better with fewer elements to juggle.
I own original art from a few of these, and size varies somewhat. I know *I* would work pretty small if I had to get through such a dauntingly massive job.
I suppose swiping is inevitable, but nowhere near as abundantly practiced as it was by Edifumetto and Ediperiodici artists. I suspect it might even have been encouraged.
Small world, isn’t it? Imagine how many art supplies Michel and Alain must have used between them over their careers!
Thanks again for reading and commenting — it’s always food for thought!
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