Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 26

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« 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).

Two more covers (respectively 1955 and 1973) painted by the also miraculously prolific French illustrator Michel Gourdon. Here’s a segment from a French TV show touching upon the scope of his career, on the occasion of the auctioning of his vast trove of original art. Hope it all found good homes.

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? »

Illustrator unknown, wouldn’t you know it? Given his skill, style and stamina, I’m guessing he’s Spanish, but beyond that, I’m drawing a blank. Still, kudos to this anonymous artistic practitioner.
I know, I know: it’s Warren’s Uncle Creepy with a pencil moustache.

Jeannine agrees to the Faustian deal Leggatt proposes.

A handsome doctor thinks he can save the woman he loves. Randa sets up the usual scenario, all the better to kick the reader’s legs out from under him.
Le banquet des ténèbres — the bédé adaptation — saw print in Eclipso no. 30 (June 1973, Arédit). Amusingly, mycomicshop.com’s archivist describes Eclipso as ‘French publication reprinting comics from various Marvel properties.’ Well, not exactly. The title should clue you in: the anthology started out reprinting DC series such as Eclipso, Deadman, Mark Merlin, Challengers of the Unknown, Hawkman, Doom Patrol… while also dipping into Tower’s T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, for instance. Marvel got stirred into the mix in the early 1970s, then came a period of French novel adaptations, then back to US comics, mostly from Marvel. The ride ended in 1983.

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

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 25

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« But Mireault was, here as ever, a little too raw, a little too honest, a little too vulnerable for what comics might expect. » — Zach Rabiroff

This is as sombre as I’m willing to go. Hallowe’en, to me, is more about a seasonal mood and a welcoming sort of darkness… than serial killers and other aspects of people’s inhumanity to one another. And yet…

This is a testament to the late Bernie Mireault’s compositional virtuosity and mastery of the syntax of comics… but it’s also evidence of how deeply he could look into the abyss.

It’s obviously not a joyous read, but Zach Rabiroff’s Remembering Bernie Mireault: 1961-2024, recently posted on The Comics Journal’s website, is an exemplary tribute to a great overlooked talent.

Last month — and some twenty-five posts ago — I wrote about Bernie, showcasing a pair of stories poles apart from today’s offering… but they’re all Bernie’s. He was that solid a stylist.

Left Alone: The Rustin Park Killings, written by Jennifer Van Meter and illustrated by Mireault, appeared in The Blair Witch Project no. 1 (Oni Press, July 1999).

-RG

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 24

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« ffor I haue seyn of a ful misty morwe ffolowen ful ofte a myrie someris day. » — Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde

You see, there were these two competing comics publishers…

… which is to say DC Thomson and the dystopian-monikered International Publishing Corporation (IPC); between them, they dominated the UK comics market. By the late 1970s, said market had surpassed circulation of ten million copies, its rosiest sales outlook ever.

To be perfectly cynical, the rival publishers’ editorial vision was mostly to copy one another’s successes. Same mouldy old dough.

In 1977, « Freelance writer Pat Mills had an idea for a girls’ horror comic* that would use his 2000 AD approach — longer stories, bigger visuals, with adaptations of stories from big name writers… Misty was about to be born. »

This, of course, is the Stan Lee version of an ‘idea’, for what IPC was commissioning, and Mills was providing, was a copy of DC Thomson’s existing Spellbound. However, since Mills was asking for a piece of the pie, he was sacked before the new magazine’s launch, and replaced with a perhaps more pliable sancho.

In terms of timing, Spellbound happened to cease publication (after 69 issues) just a few weeks before its clone’s launch. For its part, Misty lasted 101 issues before being folded** into the more reliably successful Tammy; a common practice in England for underperforming magazines that still have a following. After all, Spellbound, upon its own cancellation, had been whisked into Debbie.

This is Misty No. 22 (July 1st 1978, IPC). This one I can credit: Jordi Badía Romero (1958-1984).
This is Misty No. 28 (Aug. 12 1978, IPC).
This is Misty No. 34 (Sept. 23 1978, IPC).
This is Misty No. 64 (Apr. 28 1979, IPC).
This is Misty No. 94 (Nov. 24 1979, IPC).

And here’s a short story.

Dr. Julia Round recalls, in her foreword to Misty: 45 Years of Fear (2023, Rebellion): « Misty is perhaps best remembered for its one-shot stories, which were vicious cautionary tales in which characters would be brutally punished for a mistake or misdeed. There was a strong sense of dramatic irony in these stories — wishes backfire, magical items that are gained dishonestly turn on the owner, and unkindness to animals or nature sees girls transformed into bugs or plants. » This particular example is gentler, obviously.

Blood Orange was published in Misty Annual 1979. No credits whatsoever, thank you very much.

-RG

*It’s worth noting — with a shudder — that UK comics were both stringently gender *and* genre specific.

** « Most titles were folded when they got down to about 200,000 sales. They said is was not viable, but can you imagine now, having a circulation of 200,000? » — Wilf Prigmore

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 23

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« Most magazines have peak moments. They live on, they do just okay, or they die. ‘The New Yorker’ has had a very different kind of existence. » — David Remnick

Oh, Françoise. It’s funny — while researching this post, I consulted, among other sources, Françoise Mouly‘s Covering the New Yorker (2000, Abbeville Press). When it came to whittling down my choices to a manageable handful, I realised that the magazine’s long-time ‘art editor’ and I must have fundamentally divergent tastes, for we concurred on but a single entry, one that mostly made the cut so I could include something moderately modern. That would be Charles Burns‘ Strange Brew… which Mouly art-directed.

To be fair, I already knew that the lady and I didn’t see eye to eye. In two words… no, make that one: ‘Tomine‘, I find her taste lacking. It’s not that The New Yorker doesn’t frequently boast outstanding covers; given the depth of the talent pool at its disposal, how could it be otherwise? But like many other fabled institutions, it just isn’t what it once was.

That said, few topics capture cartoonists’ (or should I posh up and say ‘illustrators’?) fancy more than that of Hallowe’en. Check out these beauties Françoise didn’t rate!

Mysteriously, this one came out nearly a month after Hallowe’en. Most topical and too good to waste? The attack on Pearl Harbor was just around the corner, and with it the beginning of America’s official involvement in WWII. But Bogeyman Adolf was already weighing on countless people’s minds. Cover by Rea Irvin.
A moody one by Edna Eicke (1919-1979), this was the Oct. 27, 1945 issue.
Another one by Rea Irvin, one of the magazine’s co-founders and its first art editor.
This stunning mixed media beauty is one of versatile Laura Jean Allen’s sixteen covers for The New Yorker. Check out more of her work here.
A special night requires special preparation! A fetchingly low-key scene from the agile brush of Abe Birnbaum (1899-1966); he painted nearly 200 New Yorker covers, and judging from this one, it’s easy to see why.
This one just fills me with glee — and a soupçon of melancholy. It’s not even nocturnal, and yet just exudes Hallowe’en spirit! It’s by the mighty William Steig (1907-2003). For more Steig wizardry, check out our jazzy entry Steig Swoops In: The ‘Epic in Jazz’ Cat Sextet.
This one’s by the marvellous Robert Blechman (born 1930 and still with us).
A true delight from the pen of Arnie Levin (born 1938). Check out this fine interview with the man.
No assortment of New Yorker Hallowe’en covers would be complete without at least one contribution from Charles Addams. I resisted the urge to include more, leaving myself the option of an eventual solo exhibition for the master.
A helpful tutorial from Warren Miller (born 1936).
This, obviously, is Charles Burns‘ Strange Brew. That is *not* a vegan brew.

-RG

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 22

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What’s an enterprising kid to do when he’s plucked out of his small home town and dropped into a big city? Worry about getting mugged, first of all, then dodge his hippy-ish parents’ attempts to make him eat big-city-weird-food (kimchi or paneer spinach? ew*)… but eventually get his bearings and go exploring. Our intrepid protagonist Charles fancies himself a reporter, so when he’s surprised by a monster at night (‘huge! fangs! hair!’), he heads out to investigate and eventually runs into Margo Maloo, ‘monster mediator’. Surely she needs a sidekick… or does she?

The Creepy Case Files of Margo Maloo, a webcomic by American cartoonist Drew Weing, has so far been collected in 3 volumes, although I didn’t even know it was a webcomic until writing this post, having come directly to the printed books by way of Weing’s debut graphic novel Set to Sea (Fantagraphics, 2014). No regrets at all — Margo Maloo’s adventures bundle up my favourite elements (teamwork and friendship, to name a few) into an alluringly drawn and coloured package. Weing’s writing is smart; while his kids function as archetypes of specific personalities, this does not feel constraining or predictable; on the contrary, they feel like real people that one would like to hang out with. It also helps that they traipse around a fully-fleshed out city that’s more than just a static background.

Chubby Charles reads like a Daniel Pinkerwater character, given his obsession with junk food and an immense curiosity about the world that overrides his fears. This is high praise indeed, as both admins here are enthusiastic DP fans.

The salty licorice fish is an actual thing. I’d be curious… if licorice wasn’t pretty much the only flavour I can’t stand.

You can start reading the adventure here.

~ ds

* Let it be known I’m actually a big fan of kimchi and spinach (paneer, considerably less so).

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 21

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« A gentleman does not boast about his junk. » — Emily Post*

Good manners… where have they gone, along with the other social niceties?

To prepare some of you for this satire, you need to be aware of who 19th century débutante and eventual étiquette authority Emily Post (1872-1960) was. The author of Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics, and at Home (1922… and updated to this day) was among the earliest American self-proclaimed experts on good manners. « Today, of course, you can barely dig up a débutante, let alone a ladies’ maid. And yet from the great beyond Emily Post continues to offer counsel. “Etiquette,” revised and edited by her great-granddaughter-in-law, a former flight attendant, is now in its seventeenth edition. » [ source ]

Well, that should suffice. Here’s a fun little parody from the early Silver Age. Both writer and artist are unknown, appropriately enough — it would be gauche to draw attention to oneself, don’t you know?

Don’t Be a Stumbling Spook! originally appeared — well concealed — in the back pages of Dark Shadows no. 2 (Jan. 1958, Farrell). An obscure story from an obscure title from an obscure publisher — the trifecta!

This is the one! The entire issue is available for free perusal right here.

I leave the esteemed Ms. Post to deliver the closing words, as I presume a gentleman should: « The only occasion when the traditions of courtesy permit a hostess to help herself before a woman guest is when she has reason to believe the food is poisoned. »

-RG

* That purported quote was too cute to pass up, apocryphal as it may be. Or is it a case of meaning drift? MIght ‘junk’ actually refer to bric-a-brac or — miraculously — a Chinese ship?

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 20

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« With pen and ink, I can achieve a scratchy, foggy effect that is appropriate. It was a continual process of learning. » — Nick Cardy

While WOT? favourite Nick Cardy (1920-2013) — who would turn one hundred and four years old today! — spent a lot of time chronicling the undersea adventures of Aquaman, his lingering true love, despite his busy schedule as DC’s premier cover artist, was the Teen Titans — he contributed, either as penciller, inker… or cover artist — to all forty-three issues of the original series.

And what I loved most about editor Murray Boltinoff‘s books is that they were packaged as horror books even when they nominally featured superheroes, a welcome respite. The costumes seemed an afterthought, a most unusual and refreshing attitude. Here, then, is a gallery of Mr. Cardy’s moodiest, most sinister Teen Titans cover artwork.

This is Teen Titans no. 33 (May-June 1971, DC).
This is Teen Titans no. 34 (July-Aug. 1971, DC). Lettering by Ben Oda.
This is Teen Titans no. 35 (Sept.-Oct. 1971, DC).
This is Teen Titans no. 36 (Nov.-Dec. 1971, DC).
This is Teen Titans no. 41 (Sept.-Oct. 1972, DC).
This is Teen Titans no. 42 (Nov.-Dec. 1972, DC).
This is Teen Titans no. 43 (Jan.-Feb. 1973, DC).

-RG

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 19

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« Dick’s Monster was something to behold. Whatever possessed him to put the creature’s nose up on the forehead is beyond us — but it worked, making it possibly the weirdest Frankenstein Monster ever done. » — Ray Funk and Al Dellinges, 2005

Golden Age cartoonist Richard “Dick” Briefer (1915-1980) had a special fondness for Dr. Frankenstein’s creation. Between 1940 and 1954, he wrote and illustrated scores of the Monster’s further adventures, both as tragedy and as farce… with equal aplomb.

This is Frankenstein no. 7 (May-June 1947, Prize), the lighter version.
In a darker vein, this is Frankenstein no. 27 (Oct.-Nov. 1953, Prize), the darker one.

Having left the troubled comics industry after its censor-imposed purge in the mid-50s, Briefer put together an exquisite proposal for a daily newspaper strip featuring the Creature and his pals, thirty-six strips in all. Here’s a handful of them. Don’t you wish comic strips were half as well written and drawn nowadays?

In a 1979 letter to Al Dellinges, Briefer recalled « Frankenstein, the comic version, was always a joy, and I have some superb samples of a projected daily strip that had been turned down by syndicates in the past. At this stage in my life, even though ‘horror’ is ‘in’, I’m too lazy to start sending it out again. »

For further reading on this subject, do seek out the inaugural volume in Craig Yoe’s ‘Chilling Archives of Horror’ series, Dick Briefer’s Frankenstein (2010, IDW).

-RG

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 18

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« Religion is like a blind man looking in a black room for a black cat that isn’t there, and finding it. » — Oscar Wilde

We certainly can’t have an Hallowe’en countdown without at least one black cat, can we?

Here we have Hamilton, Ontario’s Win Mortimer (1919-1998) at his most stylish. A competent craftsman, he drew a lot of Superman and Batman for DC in the Golden Age, and may be most remembered by readers of a certain generation for his work on Marvel and The Children’s Television Workshop‘s Spidey Super Stories (57 issues, 1974- 1982). As for me, I was always fondest of his work for Gold Key’s mystery titles, where he seemed to be having more fun.

And never did he cut loose more expressively than with this tale of « The Cat with the Evil Eye », from The Twilight Zone no. 38 (July 1971, Western). Working from a barebones scenario by the über-prolific Paul S. Newman, Win messes around with shapes and textures at a breakneck pace. Four pages flicker by and it’s all over but the mournful yowling.

-RG

Hallowe’en Countdown VIII, Day 17

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The Moomins* never had a ‘proper’ Hallowe’en, as this celebration didn’t exist in Finland in Tove Jansson’s lifetime. The closest thing was Pyhäinpäivä , a sort of ‘Saints’ Day’ dedicated to lamented loved ones, whose memory is honoured with lit candles on their graves.

That being said, Moomins’ myriad adventures include many costumes and surreal moments that would qualify in a skipped heartbeat as good fodder for the end of October — who needs a specific holiday for sinister goings-on? Tove Jansson knew how to temper the spine-chilling with good humour. Her cast of characters is rich in spooky creatures rejected and misunderstood just because they live by different rules, some of which are, most appropriately to this post, ghosts.

The Hattifatteners (first appearing in The Moomins and the Great Flood, 1945), described as ‘…the little white creatures who are forever wandering restlessly from place to place, in their aimless quest for nobody knows what’ (Comet in Moominland, 1946) certainly qualify as a kind of ghost, with their whitish colour and the soft flexibility of mushrooms on thin stalks.

Hemulen (looking a bit Slavic there) and the Hattifatteners, whose appendages (appropriately) make them look like a bunch of crosses at a graveyard.

The Moomin lore includes actual ghosts, too. One example is the Island Ghost, featured in The Exploits of Moominpappa (written in 1950, and that can be read in its 1968 revised version here). In typical Jansson fashion, he can’t actually haunt very well, and is prone to random bouts of sneezing. He also likes knitting. That description fits me well, actually, so perhaps I’m a ghost, too.

« The room had suddenly grown cold with an icy draught, and the ghost sneezed. I don’t know how you’d have felt, but for my part I immediately lost much of my respect. So I crawled out from under the bed and said: ‘Cold night, sir!’
‘Yes,’ replied the ghost in an annoyed tone. ‘A bleak night of fate resounding with the horrible wails of the phantoms of the gorge!’
‘What can I do for you?’ I asked politely.
‘On a night of fate like this,’ the ghost continued stubbornly, ‘the forgotten bones are rattling on the silent beach!’
‘Whose bones?’ I asked (still very politely).
‘The forgotten bones,’ said the ghost, ‘Pale horror grins over the damned island! Mortal, beware!’ The ghost uncurled, gave me a terrible look and floated back towards the half-open door. The back of his head met the door-jamb with a resounding bang.
‘Oops!’ said the ghost… »

The Moomins (1983) S01E45 – Island Ghost

This is not the only time the Moomins tried living on an island or encountered a ghost. Moominpappa at Sea (a story published in the daily strip in 1957, and similar to, but not entirely the same, as the novel from 1965), in which the Moominpappa becomes a lighthouse keeper, features another timid spook who does such a rattle-up job terrifying Moomintroll that he gets banned from haunting by the stern Moominmomma. Given this story’s mostly nocturnal setting, lonesome lighthouse and clanging chains galore, it’s highly appropriate to this October. The following version has been ‘reworked’ in colour by Drawn&Quarterly:

Tove’s brother Lars Jansson, who took over the writing (and eventually the illustration as well) of the Moomin comic strip in 1958, also has something to contribute to this Hallowe’en post. As an honourable mention, I offer you his Moomin and the Vampire (1964). One can argue that his stories lacked the soul (and artistic ability) of his sister — I’m not here to discuss that, just to take a peek at the little vampire bat escaped from a zoo.

~ ds

* Not sure who The Moomins are? Visit Poise and Prudence: Tove Jansson’s The Moomins.