The punchline to the EC story “Pleasant Screams!”, written by the usual Bill Gaines / Al Feldstein combo, with art by Joe Orlando. From Tales From the Cryptno. 37 (August, 1953) Can anyone in the class tell me where this panel was swiped and quoted (to hilarious effect) in the eighties? The answer follows…
Here it comes… pencils down, everyone!
Poor Fifi. He hardly seems to be the right breed of pooch for the Canadian Arctic, not to mention its special precipitations. Reprinted several times since, this edifying tale of poetic justice first saw print in the final issue of the Yummy Fur mini-comic (no. 7, Sept. 1985, Tortured Canoe).Chester’s closing argument in the case.
Ah, for a return to the days when we didn’t know way too much about Chester Brown, when he was a mysterious, self-published cartooning genius and Châteauguay‘s finest son. I remember how awestruck I was upon encountering his brilliant Yummy Fur minis, available at Toronto’s gone-but-not-forgotten Dragon Lady comic book store in the early-to-mid 1980s. What a surreal breath of fresh air they were!
A cat’s meow and a cow’s moo
I can recite ’em all Just tell me where it hurts yuh, honey
and I’ll tell you who to call Nobody can get no sleep There’s someone on ev’ryone’s toes But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here
everybody’s gonna wanna doze.
The source of Bobby Zimmerman‘s inspiration: Anthony Quinn as “Inuk” in The Savage Innocents (1960). Back then, people dressed like this where and when it was actually cold; nowadays, it may be sunny and well above freezing, but those fierce, dauntless Polar explorers roam the streets in great numbers, clad in their fashionable down-filled, fur-lined hooded coats…
« They were bitter, war-weary men and the old woman’s music was comforting — perhaps too comforting… »
Writer and occasional penciller William ‘Willi’ Franz (born 1950) broke into the comics industry at the tender age of 15, selling his first script to Charlton editor Dick Giordano in 1966.
Will Franz, September 1971. A photo « …taken at the Manhattan insurance company where I worked as an accounting technician. My wall is covered with cartoons I made of various office friends and personnel. » Source: Will Franz and Charlton Spotlight.
While best known for his fruitful collaborations with his mentor, the great Sam Glanzman (1924-2017), namely The Iron Corporal, The Devil’s Brigade and most enduringly The Lonely War of Willy Schultz, Franz also scattered a few gems that the light has mostly missed.
My favourite among these has to be his final story for Charlton, The Organist and the SS, published in Attackno. 8 (Nov. 1972). Franz’s bleak, nuanced and markedly pacifist tales had drawn the military’s ire, back in the late ’60s, and this somber little piece of doom might have, too, if anyone had been paying attention.
As Franz recalls in a 2015 interview with Richard Arndt, published in Charlton Spotlight no. 9 (Winter-Spring 2015-2016):
« I was told that a lot of Charlton sales were on military bases. They were a staple on Army bases. I, and my stories, were dropped in 1969, out of the blue. Things were heating up in Vietnam.
I was blacklisted at Charlton because a guy had put my name and stories down as one of the reasons he registered as a conscientious objector. I found out other people were throwing my name around. Someone in the army apparently said that my stuff, maybe like [Archie] Goodwin’s stuff, was too blood and guts. It was going to make soldiers *not* want to kill the gooks. The army can’t have that! »
Well, evidently Charlton (presumably managing editor George Wildman, bless his heart) let Will sneak back into the fold, if briefly, after the heat was off, otherwise I’d be writing about some other topic entirely.
Without further preamble, please savour this pitch-black, existentialist play of war and death, but mind the thorns.
Will’s layout for the opening splash of our story. It’s always a treat to see what liberties the illustrator takes… or doesn’t.
This issue is chock-full of arrivals and departures: it opens with a story from new recruit Warren Sattler, trying his hand at a few short mystery and war stories before he found his niche in excellent collaborations with Joe Gill on Billy the Kid and Yang; next up is Jack Keller, who was winding up his comics career, what with Charlton’s remaining pair of hot rod books, Drag ‘n’ Wheels and Hot Rods and Racing Cars, soon to be scrapped. He would move, appropriately enough, to making a living selling cars. Finally, Argentine ace Leo Duranoña (b. 1938) was just passing through Charlton, crafting a handful of finely-hewn tales before moving on to DC and Warren… among others.
Some people would shudder at the idea of having « literary » and horror and / or science-fiction within the same sentence, but I firmly believe that some of this oft-despised « genre » oeuvre is worthy of that (somewhat pompous, anyway) moniker.
To open the proceedings, here’s a page from a graphic adaptation of « Shattered Like a Glass Goblin », written by the venerable Harlan Ellison in 1968 (and first published in 1975, in Deathbird Stories: A Pantheon of Modern Gods.) One of the showier pieces featured in the anthology The Illustrated Harlan Ellison(1978), it is drawn by William Stout, who does a great job translating the story into no-longer-just-mental images – and sneaking in a tentacle or two in the process (if you think that’s just a tail, shhh, don’t ruin it for the rest of us). People who dislike a vivid palette, beware: the bright, vivid colours just emphasize the terror felt by the main character (and the readers, if said readers have any imagination to speak of).
Apparently, poor high-school kids are often forced to analyze « Shattered Like a Glass Goblin », because upon Googling it to check the year of its creation, I stumbled upon a bevy of study resources that explain what the story is about and what techniques Ellison used to make this point. Yawn, and yuck. There’s nothing that ruins a good time like having to dissect it.
Page from the graphic adaptation of Shattered Like a Glass Goblin, written by Harlan Ellison and illustrated by William Stout, published in The Illustrated Harlan Ellison (1978). Stout cleverly refrains from showing everything, instead suggesting the unimaginably horrifying in a series of fleeting, clipped images.
Now we come to Marvel’s short-lived Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction series, which often published adaptations of short stories and novels by well-known writers into a comic format (Mostly with lacklustre results, as far as I’m concerned, but then I’ve always preferred to stick with the original medium of things.)
Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction no. 1 (Marvel, January 1975). The cover is by Frank Kelly Freas. It has nothing to do with either the Day of the Triffids nor with Ray Bradbury (is he *really* the ‘most famous SF author of all time’?) but it features aliens with stylish tentacle-hair (how much hairspray did it require to hold, I wonder?)Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction no. 4, (Marvel, July 1975). Cover by Frank Brunner. I say the guy looks much handsomer with a mess of tentacles sprouting randomly from his torso! Bonus: a newly-materialized, huge tail that no doubt ripped his pants apart, even if the artist demurely decided not to draw attention to this fact.Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction Giant Size Special no. 1 (Marvel, 1976). Cover by Don Newton. Number 1 it may be, but this was the final bow of Unknown Worlds. Note that the tentacles sought out the woman first! (Coincidence, you say? I think not.)
Since I’m talking about tentacles and literature, I am contractually obliged to include something Lovecraftian as part of this post.
My colleague R.G. has already talked about the H.P. Lovecraft edition of the anthology Graphic Classics (head over here to check it out ), but I’d like to share two illustrations from the inside. Both are by Allen Koszowski, whose work is a feast of tentacled beasts and Lovecraftian horrors.
Illustration by Allen Koszowski of « Fungi from Yuggoth ». Published in Graphic Classics: H.P. Lovecraft, Volume 4, 2002.A portrait of Mr. Lovecraft himself, in all his striking glory, accompanied by some of this unholy creations. Illustration (also by Allen Koszowski, which was accidental on my part) from Graphic Classics: H.P. Lovecraft, Volume 4, 2002.
Koszowski got the similarity down pat: Lovecraft was mighty weird-looking (in a stately kind of way) – which seems quite appropriate. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but he certainly looks like he’s just seen something terrible just behind his interlocutor’s back, but he was half-expecting it, so he’s not too startled, even though someone’s probably about to get gobbled up.
(Cats have that look periodically, too, down to the dilated pupils.)
Incidentally, I said that Koszowski’s art was full of tentacles, so here’s one more taste of his proclivities:
Cards on the table time: I never did much like Tintin. While there’s no denying the technical virtuosity and high imagination on display in Hergé’s work*, as a child, his overly-meticulous line and storytelling struck me as flat, sterile and remote. I thought I was just about alone in this view.
There was a Tintin-esque series I did delight in, and that was Martin le Malin, a translation of the Dutch « De Avonturen van Pinkie Pienter ». While much derided and nearly forgotten today, Pinkie remains, in my view, a misunderstood and under-appreciated work.
I was to learn, decades later, that the series was in fact created in response to the very aspects of Tintin that left me cold. In 1951, Dutch painter J.H. Koeleman (born October 30, 1926), while visiting his brother, learned from his young nephews that they were somewhat frustrated with and repelled by Tintin, finding the stories too complicated and the artwork too fastidious. From this incident, Uncle J.H. hit upon the idea of creating a series using a deliberately naïve and relatively primitive style, something closer in tone and essence to what a talented and imaginative child would craft for himself.
Koeleman produced and self-published a pair of albums, which were met with critical praise but disappointing sales. However, in early 1953, established publisher Mulder & Zoon came knocking and offered the man a deal: they would, using the greater resources at their disposal, republish and distribute his early efforts. The joint venture worked splendidly… at least for a time. In total, Koeleman wrote and drew twelve Pinkie Pienter albums between 1953 and 1958. These were also published in softcover 16-page colour instalments, which is the format I encountered them in. In my youth, they were everywhere: (long gone) supermarkets, department stores… and at 39 cents apiece, they offered a fine deal.
However, during Expo 58 (aka the Brussels World’s Fair), long-simmering tensions came to a head between the author and his publisher. Koeleman walked out, and the less said about his successors, the better. For it is in the later Martin le Malin albums that we can plainly witness the difference between intentional simplicity and economy… and sheer incompetence.
Today, I’ll focus on my favourite saga, « Les Martiens atterrissent » (Number 6 in the series, and serialized in « La soucoupe volante », « D’étranges visiteurs de l’espace » and « L’attaque des Martiens »).
In the actual story, Martin’s bumbling sidekick, Floris Fidel (Floris Fiedel in the original) has been shrunk by Martian leader Plasticos (isn’t he just adorable?), but on the cover, while their size ratio remains constant, it’s Plastico who’s grown gigantic.
You go to bed quietly, and the next thing you know, Martians are trampling your hedgerows and peeking in your window. Next time, draw the curtains. Love the way the cat runs for it in panel 5.
Martin finds that piloting unfamiliar spacecraft is not something you pick up on the fly.
Having captured Martian Aluminicus’ spacesuit, Martin tries, and fails, to infiltrate the invaders’ ranks.
Oops. Another one of Floris’ screwups lands Martin in hot water.
I only learned today, while researching this post, that Pinkie/Martin was also published in English! Is anyone familiar with this edition?
The copies I’ve seen for sale are listed in far-flung Australia. Curiouser and curiouser…
The Martin cameo, as it appeared on the back of the first edition albums.
And here’s a custom-made Plastico (with Florisse in tow) needle-felted by WOT’s own multitalented ds.
You’ve likely noticed it already, but people getting attacked by tentacles tend to be dressed in red. Now, red will not make a bull enraged (as a matter of fact, bulls are colour-blind to red – there, you learned something new today), but what effect would it have on an octopus? None at all, as it turns out, as red light does not reach ocean depths. One might want to wear red to become near-impossible to spot at a depth of a hundred metres or more, but that doesn’t explain why tentacles would persistently seek out red targets. Crap, there goes my theory.
Nevermind; we can still feast our eyes on some fetching mam’zelles and monsieurs clad in red, theories be damned.
Music aficionados will notice that this cover is a tribute to something quite outside the comic field, namely this album art:
Cover of 10cc’s Deceptive Bendsalbum, designed by Hipgnosis, 1977. Where are the tentacles?! The girl’s dress is also somewhat more demure (though not by much).
After Alien Encounters, we naturally move on to Alien Worlds. Admire the, err, tentacles on this cover:
“If he had been watching his mistress as usual, if he had been at the controls instead of giving himself a lube job, the accident might have been prevented.” Moral of the story: no lube jobs at the wheel! That tentacled thing behind Princess Pam is actually Cynx, her guardian. The science-fiction comic anthology Alien Worlds, first published by Pacific Comics and then by Eclipse after Pacific went bankrupt, was edited by Bruce Jones, who wrote the bulk of the stories, and April Campbell. This is Alien Worlds no. 4 (Pacific Comics, September 1983), cover by Dave Stevens, with colours by Joe Chiodo.
Mushrooms *and* tentacles *and* some pretty gams? Sensory overload! At first glance, the story (scripted and pencilled by Bruce Jones, inked by Dave Stevens, coloured by Joe Chiodo and lettered by Carrie McCarthy) is nothing but gratuitous cheesecake – a pretty, half-naked girl wandering around with her robotic servant – but it’s actually surprisingly touching. Check it out here. Fittingly, mushrooms save the day.
It’s not just women who like to sport flashy red outfits, by the way. The men’s costumes might cover considerably more skin, but the vermilion remains!
« The tentacles of a giant octopus emerge and grab him in a death grip. Almost as though the hideous creature has been standing guard over the treasure for all this time… » Of course it has! Any self-respecting octopus takes his job seriously. The Frogmen no. 2 (May-July 1962); the cover is by Vic Prezio, and the sumptuous inside art is by George Evans.
There’s (also) an epic battle between a killer whale and the octopus in this issue (witness the aforementioned George Evans art).
Of course he wants you, silly – who can resist a man in red swimming trunks? Nor octopus nor man. I retract my comment about men being more covered up. Do they have to tell their families, though?
One more for the road and I’ll conclude this vernissage…
“The bolts of current are merely absorbed by the rubber flesh of the octeel, which is part octopus and part electric eel!” Oh, for the love of puns. Weird Thrillers no. 4 (summer 1952, published by Ziff-Davis), with painted cover by Norman Saunders.
You’ll no doubt want to see what an electric octopus looks like, so here you go:
“Tentacles of Death”? Sign me up, please! The gruesome cover story is drawn by George Tuska.
Brooding pretty boy (is that you, Brian Setzer?) is about to get a pleasant shock in this Dave Stevens (1955-2008) cover featuring a “punk rocker” in the well-scrubbed tradition of, say, Lea Thompson in the infamous Howard the Duck movie. Still, it’s a dazzler, as you’d be right to expect from Mr. Stevens.
I’d like to bring to your attention that on March 22nd, 1914, more than a hundred years ago, John Stanley, American cartoonist and comic book writer extraordinaire, was brought into this world. He died in 1993 at age 79, but he left an undeniable mark on this world. (At least I hope it’s an indelible one.)
I won’t talk about his artistic parcours, as people far more erudite than I have already done it. For an enjoyable gallop through Stanley’s multi-faceted and staggeringly productive career, head over to the Comics Journal and read an excellent article by Frank Young. Want to read some stories (and have a few hours, if not days, to spare?) Visit Stanley Stories, a truly impressive blog by the same Frank Young, who scanned tons of comics and perceptively analyzed them for our great enjoyment.
Me, I’m just an devotee who likes to curl up and read his comics. I’ll share some images. The art is by John Stanley, unless otherwise specified.
Marge’s Little Lulu no. 10 (April 1949). I recommend « John Stanley: Giving Life to Little Lulu » by Bill Schelly, published in Fantagraphics in 2017, which pieces together Stanley’s transformation of Little Lulu into the beloved, iconic figure she is today. I’ve never felt the need to have female characters to relate to, yet Lulu’s a great role-model for mischievous little girls who can pitch a mean snowball as well as any boy!
Marge’s Little Lulu Tubby Annual no. 2, March 1954. Cover by Irving Tripp from a layout by Stanley. Tubby’s series is an offshoot of Lulu’s.
Page 8 from « Guest in the Ghost Hotel », from Tubby no. 7 (January-March 1954). Looking for ghosts, ghouls and monsters? Look no further than Stanley comics.
John Stanley took a stab at Krazy Kat stories when Dell revived the comic in 1951. Krazy Kat Comics lasted for 5 issues (presumably poor sales doomed it), all published in the same year. This is Krazy Kat no. 1, 1951.
How do Beatniks while away the hours? They compose nonsensical poetry, noodle it out… and dig girls, of course. Kookie was John Stanley’s creation; the series was written and laid out by him. Unfortunately, it was very short-lived, running for a grand total of 2 issues. This is Kookie no. 1, February-April 1962. The handsome painted cover is by Bill Williams from a layout by Stanley. You can read the issue here.
Dunc And Loo no. 6, April-June 1963. Cover by Bill Williams from a layout by Stanley.
Lou (of Dunc & Lou) was apparently destined to be a newspaper strip, but never made it.
Melvin Monster no. 2, July-September 1965.
O.G. Whiz no. 1, February 1971.
An inside page of O.G. Whiz, with very typical madcap Stanley action.
It’s not all fun, though: « The Monster of Dread End », written by John Stanley for Ghost Stories no. 1 (Dell, September-November 1962), is genuinely scary. Art by Ed Robbins.
And I haven’t even mentioned Stanley’s Nancy, nor her friend (and my favourite character) Oona Goosepimple. Next time… pick yourself up a copy of Drawn & Quarterly’s Nancy: The John Stanley Library, and happy reading!
« The marine life is crushed and broken by its own atoms — which cannot reduce as fast as the water. »
I’ve been sitting on this particular entry awhile, having realized that the most opportune time to share it would be today, March 22, which happens to be World Water Day*.
In comics, few if any creators have generated so many explosive, pulse-pounding images as did Jack Kirby (1917-1994). And yet… this solemn, understated scene has likely haunted me most of all. The visuals are splendid, sure, but it’s the nature of the situation, the conceptual ramifications of the thing, that make it stick.
This splash appeared near the opening of OMAC’s final adventure, one that pitted him against Sandor Skuba, a rogue genius seizing and hoarding the planet’s water in view of controlling humanity. Threat-wise, all the adversaries that the One Man Army Corps had tangled with were mere preludes to this impressive madman. As Kirby left DC before he could wrap up the storyline as he intended, no-one walks away from this skirmish**, notwithstanding the final panel, subsequent revivals and reboots and corruptions of Kirby’s ideas by (inevitably) lesser hands and minds (and conversely bigger egos).
This is OMAC no. 7 (Sept.-Oct. 1975) and « The Ocean Stealers! », scripted, pencilled and edited by Jack Kirby, inked and lettered by D. Bruce Berry.
In light of the current practices of certain corporations, notably the Swiss transnational Nestlé, Kirby was sadly prescient and clear-eyed again. As evidenced by recent events, given the technological means, today’s robber barons would not hesitate.
Writer and comics historian Mark Evanier, who spent some years as Kirby’s assistant in the ’70s, writes, in his foreword to the DC’s exemplary reprint collection Jack Kirby’s OMAC: One Man Army Corps (2008): « So consider this fair warning: the last issue comes to a whiplash-inducing sudden stop. Jack had been setting up something big for number 9, but since he was gone and there wasn’t going to be a number 9, a new last panel (not by Kirby) was inserted to remove the immediate cliffhanger.» … a panel created, at that, with the finesse of 10-year-old unburdened by a sense of pacing. “Wharoom” to you too.
-RG
*Don’t buy the duplicitous hype, though! A perfect example of the fox guarding the henhouse.
Where there be pirates, there be treasure; where there be treasure, there be a displeased octopus, irritable after being roused by some foolish fortune-hunter. I’d like to dedicate this Tentacle Tuesday to the murderous marauders who, in bold search for immeasurable treasure, have to tackle tentacles (and survive, hopefully).
Weird Terror no. 2, November 1952. Cover by H.C. Kiefer. Note the dead pirate’s hook embedded in the diver’s shoulder, while the former’s other hand is severing his umbilical cable… I think the octopus is the least of this treasure-hunter’s worries. By Weird Terror standards, this cover is actually pretty tame; this green octopus is not responsible for Fredric Wertham‘s nightmares.
Any octopus action inside, you may ask? Just two panels.
AAAGH-BLUB! Panels from « Wrath of Satan », pencilled by John Belcastro and inked by Joe Galotti.
I never thought I’d be posting something Garfield-related, but in Roger Langridge‘s hands, even the insipid orange cat acquires some charm.
A panel from « Pirate Cat », written by Scott Nickel and illustrated+lettered by Roger Langridge, published in Garfield no. 34: His 9 Lives Part 2, (KaBOOM!, February 2015).
Melvin the Menacing Sea Monster isn’t just a pretty eye; he’s got at least one excellent pitching arm, too.
All this proves is that there’s a simple solution to an inane plot and pedestrian characters: hire Langridge to illustrate your story, and it will magically transform into a fun yarn.
Our next selection doesn’t technically feature pirates, but it features sailors, Spanish smugglers, swindlers and cheats, as well an epic battle with an octopus and stolen treasure buried at the bottom of the sea, so it damn well qualifies.
Classics Illustrated no. 56, February 1949; cover by August M. Froelich. For one thing, I never knew Victor Hugo had written anything squid-related. As it turns out, Toilers of the Sea (French: Les travailleurs de la mer) is a novel from 1866. How educational! Classics Illustrated was created by Russian-born Albert Kanter (1897-1973), who wanted to use the power of comics to introduce young readers to “great literature” that they might not otherwise have deigned to read. “Classic Comics” began publication in 1941, with the name of the series changed to “Classics Illustrated” in 1947. The series lasted until 1971 for a total of 169 issues; various other companies reprinted its titles. I don’t know whether this series really made a difference in the edification of youth, but many of its issues are highly collectible, anyway.
As a little bonus, here’s a cover that’s somewhat lacking in swashbucklers, but boasts some decent treasure and (quintessential ingredient) some tentacles.
If Rex the Wonder Dog (created by Robert Kanigher and Alex Toth) can ride horses, show off as an expert bullfighter, use cameras, defeat a Tyrannosaurus Rex and swing on ropes (among his many other accomplishments), I don’t see why he wouldn’t be able to effortlessly fend off some pink tentacles. This is The Adventures of Rex the Wonder Dog no. 42 (Nov.-Dec. 1958). The cover is by Gil Kane on pencils, Bernard Sachs on inks, and Jack Adler on tones and colours.
A panel from « Return of the Swamp Beast! », story by Jane and Bob (RL) Stine, art by Stephen R. Bissette, originally published in Weird Worlds no. 3 (Oct. 1979, Scholastic.) This is the colour version from the one-shot Bissette & Veitch’s Fear Book (April, 1986, Eclipse.) Colours by Brendan McDonough.
Ah, that old Earth’s taken another whirl, and so today, the wonderful Stephen Bissette, that most erudite master of terror *and* one of the truest, most steadfast gentlemen the medium has known, observes another birthday. He first breached this plane of existence in the wilds of Vermont some sixty-odd years ago today, on March 14, 1955. Let’s wish him all the best, shall we?
The original art of this silk-spewing splash was reportedly acquired, by proxy, by erstwhile Calvin Klein Jeans model Brooke Shields. I like to envision it occupying a place of honour in the dining room of her favourite mansion. Or perhaps in the bedroom, right above the headboard?
This is from Saga of the Swamp Thing no. 19 (December, 1983, DC.) Quite respectably co-plotted and scripted by Martin Pasko (with Mr. Bissette), this predates epochal game-changer The Anatomy Lesson, but the Bissette/Totleben dream combo was already scorching eyeballs, en attendant Mr. Alan Moore’s accession.
Newlyweds Rich and Jamie meet this dusty fellow, for the first and final time, in Egyptian Graffiti, story by Jane and Bob Stine, art by Stephen R. Bissette, originally published in Weird Worlds no. 2 (March 1979, Scholastic), also collected in Bissette & Veitch’s Fear Book , with colours by Michele Wrightson.
-RG
*George Carlin may have said that, or something to that effect. Who knows, these days?
Who's Out There? 