Book and Comic
Reviews
(4/24/06)
Donald Duck Adventures #17
(March 2006). The third tome is the "charmer" in this particular
issue. Michael T. Gilbert and Flemming Andersen serve up a sturdy
time-travel epic with a somewhat macabre twist in "The Bathtub on the
Edge of Forever". When Donald accidentally activates a "100 zigga-watt"
bomb he'd found on Gyro Gearloose's discard pile, then uses Gyro's
"Time-Buster" to send the potentially world-ending gizmo back in time to
the days of the dinosaurs when Earth's ecosystem was even less
equipped to handle the trauma he and HD&L must follow it in Gyro's
"Time-Buster Return Unit" a gimmicked-up bathtub. (Scrooge funded the
research, which explains a lot.) Gilbert amusingly interstices the
Ducks' travails in 75,000,000 BC (which include the obligatory bonding
with a cute baby dinosaur who helps save the day in the end) with Gyro's
desperate attempts to construct a rocket to dispose of the recovered
bomb in the face of Scrooge's endless gripes about the "expense" of duct
tape and cheap rivets. The Ducks succeed in their mission but not
before the "Gilbert Proximity Syndrome" (don't ask) causes the
modern-day Earth to literally crumble beneath everyone's feet. Comical,
but also rather spooky (and in that sense, very reminiscent of the race
to save the world from turning to gold in the last DuckTales
adventure, "The Golden Goose"). This appears to be one of Andersen's
earliest art jobs for Egmont, and his sketchy style is still a little
crude at this juncture, but it works well here.
The other two tales aren't much. Terry
Laban and Andersen's "The Search for Bigfoot" is as uninspired as
its title and casts Donald in an extremely bad light as he
schemes to win a million-dollar reward for evidence of the Sasquatch,
using phony Bigfoot disguises and playing his enthusiastic Nephews as
dupes. Don ends up paying a heavy price when he falls in with an
amorous female Bigfoot who has a jealous boyfriend, and
well,
you can probably write the rest of the story yourself, right down to the
somewhat sappy ending. Pat and Carol McGreal and artist Jose Gonzalez
do rather better by Mickey Mouse in "Hoopla." On a trip to
Hollywood, an annoyingly overenthusiastic Mickey becomes the personal
assistant of action hero Brick van Dratt, who's not that bad of a guy
but seems to think that he should act like an action star all the
time, even when performing such mundane tasks as signing for
autographs. A group of Ninjas, acting on the orders of Brick's
ex-teacher, seek to ruin the showoff's career by humiliating him in
public. It's not a great plot, but at least the McGreals avoided the
obvious clichι of having Mickey discover that his movie hero is a great
big phony, a la Major Courage of DuckTales' "Where No Duck Has
Gone Before."
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Little Lulu Volume 9: Lucky Lulu
(Dark Horse). There's nothing as gloriously goofy in this latest
collection (which bundles stories from Little Lulu #33-#37
[1951]) as the "Flying Turkey" sequence in Volume 8, but there are
plenty of funny moments to savor nonetheless. A particular favorite of
mine is the Tubby backup story "Tub's Big Moment." Bereft
of funds to buy a ticket to see Little Rita Rosebud, his favorite child
movie star, who's making a personal appearance nearby, Tubby falls in
with a tomboyish girl who resembles nothing so much as an anticipation
of Peanuts' Peppermint Patty. The kid drives Tubby crazy by
outdoing him in various activities, then challenges him to a foot race
to the Paradise Theater. The ego-bruised Tubby wins at last, only to
learn that his tormentor was you guessed it. The really weird thing
about this story is the following: Rita Rosebud has delicately slender
legs, yet the tomboyish version of the same character wears conventional
chunky overalls. How can the two characters possibly have the
same leg volume?? Was the tomboyish Rita wearing balloon pants??
Elsewhere in this issue, Lulu becomes a ghost at least, it
appears so and does the seemingly obligatory "shrinking" and "Western
hero" routines (the latter two in a pair of her Alvin "story-telling"
stories).
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Donald Duck and Friends #339
(May 2006). In a recent issue of Uncle $crooge, Gemstone
Editor John Clark recalled how the late Carl Barks story "Isle of Golden
Geese" was THE story that hooked him on Barks' work for keeps.
This issue reprints "Ancient Persia," one of the four
stories that introduced me to Barks and, along with "Luck of the
North," this was the story that made by far the strongest
impression on me. "Persia" and "Luck," along with "The Mummy's Ring"
and "The Pixilated Parrot," were reprinted in Walt Disney's Comics
Digest #44 (1973), a copy of which I somehow acquired in the late
70s (and eventually misplaced). In spite of the poor printing quality
and the reformatting of the panels to fit the three-tier digest format,
the power of these tales was obvious. For someone used to reading
Richie Rich comics, Peanuts reprints, and little else, it was
a heady experience. "Persia," which first appeared in 1950, went one or
two steps beyond that. Many fans have commented that this epic,
in which Donald and HD&L are shanghaied by a mad scientist in search of
a lost city and a chemical agent that allows people to be freeze-dried
for eternity, is rather more straightforwardly "Gothic" in tone than
other Barks tales in this genre (despite the comical subplot of Donald
being a dead ringer for a revived prince who got himself dried just to
avoid being married to King Nevvawaza's hideous daughter). For sure, it
contains one of the most sinister undertones of any Barks story; you
really believe the bad guy when he says that he's willing to dry out
all of the people in the world just to be left alone. (In general, I'm
not crazy about Barks' use of human characters in his stories of the
early 50s, but this is one instance in which it seems absolutely
fitting; the audience would have found it impossible to take the
scientist's schemes and threats seriously had he sported the usual
"berry" nose and floppy ears.) Barks made heavy use of the National
Geographic, his standard reference, to add verisimilitude to the
setting, and, for all the slapstick business involving Prince Cad Ali
Cad, the underlying story is dead-pan serious. The ending is enough to
put chills up one's spine to this day. Suffice it to say that rarely
did Barks play "for keeps" with such starkly delineated
straightforwardness. The ending "clinch" between the reunited Donald
and HD&L has rarely seemed so heartfelt and meaningful.
The short Beagle Boys story
"Payback" provides a pleasant palate-cleanser after Barks' deadly
desert doings. The Beagles pose as Junior Woodchuck troop leaders in
order to recover a valuable Woodchuck trophy that they'd buried after
their first-ever heist. The Woodchucks, of all people, really should
have recognized from the get-go that the Beagle-chucks were still
wearing their masks, but they wise up quickly and foil the plot.
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Mickey Mouse and Friends #288
(May 2006). What is it about this week's comics and
universe-altering powders? The Phantom Blot takes a turn at attempting
to control mankind (or, at least, Mickey, Mortimer Mouse, and Prof.
Dustibones' archaeological expedition) with sinister silt in Donald D.
Markstein and Fabrizio Pedrossi's "The Power of the Gods." Using
a powder found in an ancient amphora to control the wills of others, The
Blot is planning to synthesize more of the stuff and he's got plans as
to what to do with an enslaved Mickey, for starters. (Of course,
it's nothing so obvious as simply having Mickey kill himself. This is
The Blot, after all.) The filthy-rich Mortimer, who's agreed to help
Mickey on this caper in order to show him that money can make Mickey's
brand of gung-ho adventuring much easier and much more convenient, tries
to bribe The Blot to no avail. All ends well, of course, and Mickey and
Mortimer admit to one another that their two conflicting methods of
attacking problems each have their points. The story makes very good
use of the obnoxious-yet-enthusiastic Mortimer as an antagonist
rather than as an out-and-out villain, which I believe is the only way
to render his character truly palatable.
The "Gods" tale brackets a long-awaited
Donald Duck sequel, the McGreals' and Vicar's "Battle for the
Battle Beasties." The Pokemon-esque critters, who are
actually creatures from another dimension that a Duckburg entrepreneur
has been able to "contact" via a "dimensional window" and subsequently
market in trading cards and on TV shows, were introduced to general
acclaim in MM&F #259. The sequel finds Donald and HD&L entering
the world of the Beasties themselves and fighting an equally ambitious,
but somewhat less scrupulous, alien entrepreneur who's training the
Beasties to fight one another in gladiatorial combat for the edification
of his pacifistic brethren. Vicar outdoes himself in rendering several
dozen brigades of Beasties, including a literal "hammer-head" and a
twiggy, thorn-throwing creature with a head that looks exactly like
Daffy Duck's. I wouldn't call the sequel inspired, exactly, but the
basic concept is still appealing enough that the tale coasts along on a
wave of good will
and Donald, who had to be won over to the pro-Beastie
side in the original story, gets to engage in a nice bit of re-bonding
with the puffy little Beastie he'd previously befriended.
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(4/3/06)
Uncle $crooge
#352 (April 2006). No Easter Rabbit (Lars Jensen/Vicar
version) in this issue, but plenty of stories centered on eggs and
bunnies, requiring varying degrees of suspension of disbelief.
The issue leads off with "Isle of
Golden Geese," a Carl Barks story from 1963, and not one of my
favorites, I'll admit. To accept the veracity of this adventure,
you have to buy into the notion of an incongruously Bo Peep-type
character on a distant island guarding a clutch of geese, including some
golden ones (which she believes to be inferior, not grasping the concept
of monetary value any better than the natives of Tralla La once did).
Sure, Barks asked us to comply some pretty far-fetched ideas over the
years, but this one has always struck me as, well, just a tad childish.
Scrooge, Donald and the boys get wind of the place and head there,
pursued by Magica De Spell, who appears to have moved to Duckburg and
forgotten her obsession with Scrooge's Old #1 Dime for the purposes of
this story. (In an odd foreshadowing of the DuckTales
episode "Send in the Clones," she even has the Beagle Boys helping her.)
The tale isn't actually bad Barks keeps it lively and clever but the
premise is only slightly more bearable than the notorious notion of
super-tall Venusian teenagers in "Interplanetary Postman." John
Clark notes in his Editor's Column that this was the story that hooked
him on Barks' work as a youth. I guess timing really is
everything.
Scrooge and Donald are once again
scrambling in hot pursuit of eggs in "The Great Egg Hunt," a
Disney Studio story from about 1967 or '68 (I'm guessing that date since
Dick Kinney's script makes a reference to "the happiest millionaire," a
Disney live-action film of the time). Burning up at a bum's
constant references to him as "a vulture," Scrooge determines to save
some endangered condor eggs and make people "realize that the name
'vulture' means something rare and precious." Why Scrooge should
get that bent out of shape over the damage a hobo's heckling may do to
his "image" is more than I can say, but the slapstick tale, drawn by Al
Hubbard, is executed nicely, and Scrooge ends up profiting from the wild
adventure in a completely off-the-wall way.
In "Say Uncle!" by Lars Jensen and
Davis Gerstein and Manrique, Fethry Duck, with assistance from a book on
"how to cope with children," "scrambles" as only he can to keep the
Nephews out of danger when they try to earn more Woodchuck merit badges
helping people across the street at Duckburg's most dangerous
intersection. To no one's surprise, he ends up crushed like an
eggshell. (I had to stretch to get the egg references in there,
but it worked, I think.)
"Magic's Missin' Magica," an
Egmont story drawn by Daniel Branca, features the prose (dialogue)
stylings of Thad Komorowski, a regular contributor to the Gemstone
letter columns. Believe it or not, this, too, contains a
hidden egg reference, in that Scrooge is literally "cracking up" as a
result of paranoid worry over Magica De Spell's imminent arrival in
Duckburg. Poor Scrooge hasn't been this much of an (Easter?)
basket case since the "Firefly Fruit" serial in DuckTales.
I love the way Branca emphasizes Scrooge's addled emotional state by
drawing the paranoid McDuck with startling blue eyes. Komorowski's
dialogue is good, too.
In "The Bunny Song," by Gorm
Transgaard, Tony Isabella, and Vicar, I don't have to stretch very far
to pinpoint an Easter theme -- but the story itself stretches credulity
to the breaking point. To the writers' credit, it never quite
snaps. After Donald accidentally processes an order for 10,000
bunny suits at Scrooge's costume factory, the enraged tycoon grits his
beak and tries to convince the public to buy them using celebrity
endorsements and the like, but he reaps nothing but ridicule.
Handed the bill by an irate Scrooge, Donald vows he'll sell them all by
himself and, amazingly, does so, thanks to a "bunny song" he's been
cooking up on the side. Don gives away bunny suits with his "hip-hoppity"
CD and sells out the lot, thereby obliging Scrooge to wear a bunny suit
for a whole month. Zany stuff, but funny nonetheless.
The only gag in the issue is a one-page
Launchpad McQuack laugher in which LP makes a milkshake in a flying
plane. (Could it be an egg cream, please, so we can make it a
clean Easter sweep?)
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Walt Disney's
Comics and Stories #667 (April 2006). This issue
doesn't start promisingly, as the lead Donald story, "Taking
Things Litterly" by William Van Horn, can be charitably described as
uninspired. You can see the punchline of this one coming a mile
away. The Li'l Bad Wolf story "Musical Eggs" also
holds few charms for me, primarily because I didn't care for the artwork
(by Dutch artist Dick Matena, whose style is a little too loose and
rubbery for my taste). "Gadabout Gadget," the second
chapter of the Formula One saga and the last story in the book, is OK,
but the actual racing part of the story is over and done with in
a matter of four panels on the final page. Before that, we must
endure a long "pit stop" wherein Donald and HD&L traipse back to
Duckburg for a rare and necessary auto part, only to crash in the
Brazilian jungle on the way back and promptly run afoul of a grungy
band of river pirates. Gladstone Gander, of all people, having won
a sweepstakes to attend the Formula One races (and taken advantage by
cozying up to Daisy), saves the day in usual fortune-favored fashion.
Gladstone is then welcomed to Scrooge's F1 team, raising the question of
whether other characters might not do the same in future chapters,
thereby turning the saga's already unwieldy cast into a mob. (I'd
accept Launchpad, since he could spell Donald at the wheel, but aside
from him
) To me, the main reason for doing a Formula One series
in the first place should be the notion of seeing the Ducks
operating in a novel environment. Absent that, it's simply a
string of globe-trotting incidents hung on a rather flimsy thread of a
"common theme." I'm hoping for more "track action" in the next
chapter.
The first major reprinting of a Floyd
Gottfredson continuity in the Gemstone books (as opposed to the brief
"Picnic" sequence of a while ago) is the true highlight of the issue.
"Pflip's Strange Power", a 1948-49 continuity, has never been
reprinted in the U.S. until now. By this time, Bill Walsh had
taken over the scripting of the Mickey comic strip, and this tale
bears his stamp through and through: outlandish plot contrivances, sharp
gags, and just a little bit of an "edge" to make the reader uneasy.
Pete's brainwashing of Eega Beeva and his later kidnapping of Pflip,
Eega's pet, don't sound all that threatening, but the pre-Walsh Pete
wasn't known to use poisoned rings and nerve gas as weapons. John
Clark describes Pete's plot as "insidious"; I'd up that to "dastardly,"
myself. (In just a few months' time, Walsh would reveal that Pete
was a Soviet spy: coincidence???) The tale is a little more
fragmented than a typical Gottfredson-plotted continuity a common
occurrence in Walsh's stories, I've found but I liked it, and I would
love to see more continuities from this era.
Sarah Kinney and Rodriques are up to
something rather outlandish themselves in the Goofy story
"Esteem for a Day," which sees a perturbed Goofy, convinced that his
pals won't take his advice seriously, wandering onto a spaceship and
accidentally traveling to a distant (I guess) planet where his lookalike,
"The Great Reasoner," once doled out directions to dogfaced followers
(who all look like they belong in crowd scenes from a Mickey cartoon of
the mid-30s). This is, to say the least, an extremely contrived
way of delivering a "message" story, but Kinney's dialogue has rarely
been cleverer, and the story works if you're capable of buying into it.
The 1959 Scamp story "Making Like a Mole", which follows
the
Goofy epic, is anything but outlandish, but it perfectly
captures the spirit, panache, and humor of the best of the old Al
Hubbard-drawn tales. More to follow, I hope.
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