Tagged: Humor: Analysis Of

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Bogart Creek, Vol. 1 by Derek Evernden

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Names are not unique: I need to remind myself of that every so often. Today I have a book of comics from a small Canadian publisher called Renegade Arts Entertainment, and, at first I thought, “Renegade? Surely it’s not the same one?”

It’s not. The Renegade I was thinking of – Renegade Press, the mid-80s enterprise from Deni Loubert – shut down more than thirty years ago. This is a newer company, founded in 2008, that publishes comics, graphic novels and audiobooks out of Canmore, Alberta. So it’s mildly amusing there were two comics publishers from Canada with sort-of the same name, but there was a good twenty years between them, and they were from close to opposite ends of that large country.

What I saw from Renegade Arts is the first collection of Derek Evernden’s single-panel comic Bogart Creek  – from looking at the Renegade site, I see there are two more collections.

The book isn’t clear on where these comics originally appear – there is a Bogart Creek site that Evernden runs, but it’s mostly a contact-me and buy-my-books operation; it’s not a home for new comics. My guess is that possibly there’s a newspaper or three where they occasionally appear, and/or that Evernden just posts them on Instagram . In any case: he’s been doing this for a few years now, and has built up a body of work.

It’s pretty consistent: dark humor with more gore than most of us would expect in a single panel, full of dark wordplay and distinctive ideas. I don’t know if I’d say there’s anything obviously Canadian about it, but it does seem like the work of someone likely to get stuck snowbound on a frozen dark prairie more than once in any given year.

I do mean dark humor, though: Evernden’s jokes are about death, in one way or another, a good third of the time. It’s often zippy, amusing moments before the inevitable death that he cartoons about, but, still: death. Lots of it. And plenty of big black splotches where something violent and final just happened.

Bogart Creek is one of the many single panels that follow Far Side – “weird” humor has tended to go that direction for the past two or three decades. It is distinctively its own thing while also sitting solidly in that tradition, if you know what I mean: it might not have existed without Far Side to show that this was a viable medium, but Evernden’s ideas and jokes are very different from Larson’s.

I hesitate to recommend Bogart Creek widely, but it is funny. Evernden has a distinctive point of view and makes good gags. He’s also a working illustrator, and you can see that in his work: his style is mostly consistent, but he mixes up his look a bit to suit particular jokes. If you like dark humor, check out Bogart Creek.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

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Adulthood Is a Gift! by Sarah Andersen

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So it looks like I discovered Sarah Andersen’s comics in late 2021, and read all of her books within roughly a year: Adulthood Is a Myth , Fangs , Big Mushy Happy Lump , Herding Cats , Cryptid Club , and Oddball . That’s always fun – discovering a new creator and reading all the way out to the walls – but, unless the person you suddenly love is Wodehouse or Simenon, there’s only going to be so many books, and you’ll find the end.

And then you’re in the same place as all of the older fans – waiting for the next book.

Andersen had a new book this fall, the confusingly-titled Adulthood Is a Gift!  It is not, as I first thought, a gift-book edition of Myth; it’s not a repackaging of Myth at all. It’s two-thirds a brand-new “Sarah’s Scribbles” collection and one-third prose-and-comics retrospective of her career to date. It’s somewhere between a tenth and fifteenth anniversary celebration – the first book was in 2016, her first cartoon published online was in 2011. But why should we have to wait for round numbers?

(Parenthetically, as a Marketing Guy, I would have argued against having a book with a title so similar to an existing book, especially with the “crossed-out” title style. My bet is that sales on this one will be slightly disappointing, just because at least some people will be confused and think they already have this. On the other hand, creators typically hate Marketing Guy, and I do understand why.)

The new stuff is prime mature Andersen: goofy gags, largely about cats and introversion and how your body parts start to betray you much, much earlier in your life than you expect. There’s about a hundred of those, in her precise minimalist style – seeing her older work later in the book really emphasizes how clean and funny her line has gotten over the years. (Down to the little things: her people’s eyes are usually just a little off – too big, absolutely, and also just a hair wall-eyed all the time.)

The older material is presented as “essays and images” – Andersen shows an old comic, and then writes about it. Sometimes it’s about who she was at the time, and what she was trying to do; sometimes it’s about how the outside world caused trouble, as when she was attacked and harassed systematically by a group of online neo-Nazis in 2017.

So this is maybe for Andersen’s fans more than her other books – at least for people who don’t mind reading about process and thinking about how art is made. She’s got impressive chops, and is insightful at writing about how she got to where she is now, too. So, if you like funny cartoons about Millennials, or hope to someday make your own funny online cartoons, Adulthood Is a Gift! could give you enjoyment and/or pointers.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Spy Superb by Matt Kindt

Matt Kindt has been making stories about spies since the beginning of his career – but he’s found a new take this time.

Spy Superb  has a title that echoes his early success Super Spy (and its loose Lost Dossiers  follow-up), and that is definitely intentional – but Kindt is substantially less serious this time out than he was in his previous stories of spycraft.

This, instead, is a take on the James Bond idea: the suave, omnicompetent operative who can go anywhere, do anything, and always wins out for his side. (Which is, as it must be, our side, the side of freedom and democracy and English-speaking peoples.) Like so many other people doing James Bond takes over the past few decades – most obviously Austin Powers – Kindt makes that idea an obvious fake: no human being could actually do that, so what’s the real story?

In Kindt’s version – and this is explained in the first pages; no major spoilers here – the “spy superb” was constructed from the beginning in WWII as the perfect operative, by the fictional Half-Huit organization (co-run by the US OSS and their French equivalent). There was an original Spy Superb, but he died, stupidly, in his first mission, an immediate failure.

No matter: the organization realized they didn’t need a Spy Superb: they needed the idea of a Spy Superb, and a series of patsies to do the actual work – each one handled by career spies, generally given one small task to do, usually not even aware they were doing spycraft, and often liquidated afterward for maximum secrecy. Then all of the successes of Half-Huit would be attributed to their immortal, unstoppable premier agent.

Fast forward several decades. The most recent Spy Superb has been killed by someone unknown. And a disk he had, containing details of all the previous Spies Superb and other damaging details of the program, is on the loose. So all of those other spy agencies could learn the secret: it was all a trick.

To respond, the masters of Half-Huit activate the most delusional patsy possible: Jay, a wannabe novelist who is the guy on the cover. And their adversaries, sensing something big, send their best operatives: a Russian codenamed “Roche Chambeaux” and a Chinese woman who turns out to be a double (triple? quadruple?) agent, to kill what they still assume is a deadly super-agent.

Jay, of course, believes he is the best at whatever he does: he’s the kind of guy who mansplains absolutely anything at the drop of a hat, even though (no: entirely because) he knows nothing about it. He wanders through assassination attempts and globe-hopping adventure, surviving due to luck and his unassailable belief that he’s actually good at all these things.

There’s a good fight scene early where Jay accidentally kills three highly-trained Russian agents in his kitchen, just by trying to talk to them. After that, the random luck quiets down: I would have liked to see more of that, more of the clearly ludicrous silliness. Kindt instead mostly plays the action scenes straight, having Jay accompanied by a competent agent who wants him alive for most of the rest of the book, and so Jay mostly survives because of someone else’s ability rather than his own stupid incompetence.

That’s my overall take on Spy Superb: it’s fun, but doesn’t go quite as big or silly as it could. Jay is an idiot: that’s very clear. But we only see his idiocy save him once or twice – it could have been a lot funnier if it happened more often, more obviously, more blatantly.

There’s no reason there can’t be a sequel, though: even if Kindt doesn’t want to use Jay again, the concept means there will always be more Spies Superb, someone else even dumber and less connected to reality. And what we have here is funny – and having it in the same scratchy, rough art style that Kindt uses for his serious spy stories makes it that much funnier.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Relationships According to Savage Chickens by Doug Savage

It’s not quite tripping myself up, but…I sometimes specifically pick really short books to read so that I can have something to write about here the next day. (More often when I’m doing a Book-A-Day run, but at other times, too. Like right now.) But then I usually find that the really short books don’t provide a lot of material to write about, because – and here may be the point where I’m stating the blindingly obvious – they are really short.

Now, that could be a feature: if I’m just trying to get done quickly, I read a short book, I write “hey, this book is short and is a really obvious thing” and go on with my life. But I feel like I’m short-changing you, my faithful reader.

(I address you in my head like that, when I’m feeling puckish, as if there actually is anyone who goes out of their way to read this random book-blog with no real theme and possibly the worst circa-2010 Blogger layout imaginable, in this the year of our lord twenty twenty-four. We all have our crotchets.)

Anyway, here I am again. Relationships According to Savage Chickens  is a short collection of “Savage Chickens” strips by Doug Savage, one of a clump of themed books that came out around 2012 and only available digitally. (Well: now that I look more closely, this one and Zombies  came out in ’12, and there were three more last year. That’s a good sign for the health of the ongoing Savage Chickens project, which I like to see: it’s still a funny strip, and I like to see funny things stay successful.)

When I say “short,” I mean “fifty single-page cartoons.” That would be tiny for a book with a square binding, though about twice the side of a modern comic book – so I guess it all depends on perspective.

We start and end with “Romeo and Juliet” jokes. Savage is modern and at least mildly edgy; this isn’t glurge in any way. I still like his rounded line: his chickens are just funny, with their big round eyes, their little wattles, and the way they look just a bit too big and ungainly for any possible situation.

As always, tastes in humor will vary. I think Savage is funny, and I wish he had more books that were somewhat longer (so I didn’t feel awkward trying to write about them). I hope you will have a similarly positive reaction to his work.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Fungirl: You Are Revolting by Elizabeth Pich

I’ve gotten out of the habit of reading individual comics issues – because I first got out of the habit of buying them. There were a lot of factors there, but an already-ebbing stream turned to nothing after the 2011 flood destroyed all of my existing floppies. Since then, if it’s not in book form, I basically don’t read it.

But my library app – Hoopla , another silly name because everything Internetty is required to have a silly name – includes individual issues, all mixed in their general “Comics” section in a way that sometimes makes it hard to tell if something is a book or a floppy. (Well, they all have page counts: that’s a big clue. When I forget to check that, it’s entirely on me.) So I now can read floppy comics, at least some of them, about as regularly as I want.

I still haven’t really done it much.

But I did read the big collection of Fungirl  comics by Elizabeth Pich recently, and noticed there were two other newer “books” – both fairly short – and decided to give this one a go on a recent busy Saturday.

Fungirl: You Are Revolting  is 32 pages, so I’m pretty sure it was a floppy comic in its corruptible, mortal state. It calls itself a “one-shot,” which is mostly a floppy-comics term. (Books can be in a series, but rarely see the need to announce that they’re not.) And it, like the first book and all things Fungirl, is resolutely not for younger or more impressionable readers.

There’s one story here, following from the end of the big book. Becky, Fungirl’s roommate, is off at med school in another town, so Fungirl is looking for someone to rent Becky’s old room. Quirkily, Peter (Becky’s boyfriend) is both lampshaded as “not living here” – so he’s not going to take over the sublet – and also there all the time, including first thing in the morning in his sleeping clothes, looking like he is living there. But that’s the premise, so no complaints.

A potential roommate arrives, after a portentous dream of Fungirl’s. She’s dressed all in pink, Fungirl immediately lusts for her, she takes the room, and she never gives her name. The plot from there is mostly sex and jealousy: Peter is trying to quell his worries about Becky, away in a distant city with people who are not him, and Fungirl starts screwing New Girl, who is crazy, or has a big secret, or something like that.

It all escalates quickly, and New Girl is not what she seems. I’m not sure what she is – after the dream opening, the whole thing might even be a dream – but she is something, and Fungirl has to Stop Her. I won’t spoil the way Fungirl does stop her, but it’s both very on-brand and very adult.

Fungirl is still wild and wacky, her stories boundary-pushing and frantic. I’m glad to see there’s one more book: this is like nothing else and very funny in its demented, deeply female-centric way.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Buni: Happiness Is a State of Mind by Ryan Pagelow

This strip isn’t exactly new to me – I’ve seen a bunch of Buni  cartoons over the years, all over the place – but it’s not one I ever made an effort to read regularly. So I’m coming at it as a mostly-uninformed reader: I know it’s wordless, that the title character is happy and positive in a world that very much tends to the opposite direction, and a vague bit about the other characters.

But if there’s a serious Buni discourse going on, I’m unfamiliar with it. So, as I often do, I need to signpost here that I could be wrong, and that I know it.

Buni has been running – I think consistently three days a week – since 2010, written and drawn by Ryan Pagelow. Buni: Happiness Is a State of Mind  is the first, and I think only, collection of the strip so far: it came out in 2018. 

Buni is the main character – that happy-go-lucky guy on the cover. He’s a bunny – hence the name – in a world mostly of teddy bears. He’s also a happy, positive person in a world where pretty much everyone else hates and attacks and eats each other. (This is not the kind of world where sentients avoid predating on each other – rather the opposite, actually.) His main character notes are that he is almost always sunny, and that he has a unreciprocated (and never will be) crush on BuniGirl, who has a boyfriend.

(Here I might note that all names, besides Buni himself, need to be discovered outside of the comic itself, because of the whole “wordless” thing.)

This seems to collect the strip from the beginning, so we start with Buni himself, see him crushing on BuniGirl (and her instead spending time with the hulking fellow I guess we should call BuniBoyfriend or BuniRival?), see his father (BuniDad) arrive by breaking out of prison and immediately become a ray of gloom and nastiness in Buni’s world, and the two bunnies adopt a crippled dog, whom I understand is called either Dogi or BuniDog.

Most of the strips are one-offs, though, in which Buni finds happiness in an unusual way (imagining he’s riding a unicorn in a fantasyland while actually on a kiddie ride in a horrible alley), Buni finds his world is sadder and creepier than expected (the sushi restaurant serves body parts of the staff), or – and, as I noted before, this is more common than I expected – someone tries (and often succeeds) to eat another clearly-sentient person in the strip.

There’s a fun one, about halfway in, where BuniDad and the next-door neighbor (a bull) hate-eat members of each other’s species at each other, which is a pretty emblematic Buni strip. It’s about spite, and performative nastiness, on that level, with the title character himself floating above that like a visitor from some happier, sunnier, massively-licensed strip.

It’s an interesting combination, and making Buni central is really important: the world would be too much of a one-joke premise for a long-running strip otherwise. It sets up a gigantic, very central conflict that gives Pagelow a lot of room to work with, while also allowing strips that are just quirky odd bits about either Buni or other characters – this world is dark, but it’s cartoony dark, and not dark all the time everywhere.

So this is fun, and there’s more depth than you might expect for a wordless strip – or that you might realize, seeing one random strip once in a while float across your social feed. (That’s how I previously saw Buni: I’m not saying you are me, but I’m assuming it’s typical.) And if you’re looking for a comic strip way more centrally about cannibalism than you suspected was possible, it’s really your only choice.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Groo: Friends and Foes, Vol. 3 by Sergio Aragones with Mark Evanier

The modern era of comics is built for short attention spans, all miniseries and limited runs and hot new creators, emphasizing new “jump-on issues” and trying to ignore that vastly more people are jumping off, every chance they get.

Some of that is effect, some of it is cause; it’s been a spiral since the ’90s crash fatally injured the viability of the long-running series. Frankly, long series always tended to dip and (if they were lucky) rise over time – it’s just the “rise,” unpredictable as it used it be, got eliminated from those calculations forever sometime in the early Aughts. [1]

So a comic that’s published anything like regularly doesn’t look regular. There’s this twelve-issue series and that thrilling relaunch and the other one-shot tying into something else. And each one of those “new” things has to be new enough for the fabled “new reader” to start there, which means we get a lot of repotted origin stories and returns of fan-favorite characters and “here’s my favorite Batman story from childhood, done totally awesome!”

This is tedious for anyone who isn’t an utter neophile, but it’s the world we live in. In the case of Groo, it’s why the big series for 2015-16 was Groo: Friends and Foes, a twelve-issue extravaganza in which each issue saw one of the idiot adventurer’s most popular secondary characters returned to do the same things that character (and Groo) does every single time.

Now, Groo was always formulaic: it’s a comedy, and comedies are all about the bit. Groo‘s bit is that the title character is deeply stupid, though well-meaning, and that everything he touches goes wrong and gets broken. It’s usually heavily narrated by The Minstrel – that guy with the jester cap on the right of this cover – in verse that is usually almost as funny as it aims to be. And it’s been running for about forty years now, so there are a lot of recurring characters and running jokes (cheese dip, mendicant, and so on).

That all sounds unfriendly to new readers, but it’s still a light comedy: running jokes are still jokes, and you don’t realize they’re running until it runs into you for the second time. Groo was always built so anyone could drop in anywhere and get basically the same experience; it still is.

So there’s only a thin through-line for this miniseries: it’s basically ten mostly standalone issues, with a recurring character in common, and then a two-part finale. Volume 3 , the book I just got to, has the finale. (See my posts on the first two books for equally random musings about Groo, comics, and comedy.)

This time out, the special guests are: Pal & Drumm, a swordsman nearly as dumb as Groo (though beefier) and his handler/friend; Taranto, the scheming leader of a bandit band; The Minstrel, who I’ve already mentioned; and the recurring new character for this series, whose story gets wrapped up and whose name I won’t mention here to give some very slight suspense for anyone who might read these books. As I said, the first two issues are just like the eight that preceded them, but the last two see the subplot turn into main plot, all of the guest stars for the whole series return for several grand melees and finales.

Like all Groo stories, it’s more good-natured and sentimental than you would expect from a series of stories about a deeply stupid murder-hobo. I’m not a huge Groo fan, so I may seem lukewarm here – and, frankly, I am lukewarm – but this is just fine for what it is, and as dependably Groo-esque as it could possibly be. So those of you who like Groo will be very happy.

[1] Apropos of nothing: in a recent piece I wrote for work and was adapting for UK use, I learned the standard term on that side of the pond (at least according to my organization) for the first decade of this century is “noughties.” I had to believe this out of organizational pride; I can’t require that you do the same.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Oddball by Sarah Andersen

So I kinda like Sarah Andersen’s cartoons, as discerning readers may have noticed [1]: she writes funny, she draws funny, and she has a quirky sensibility that means she tells goofy “I am an introvert” jokes that are familiar and relatable but not obvious. Just really good at the being-funny-in-public thing, with a distinct sensibility and viewpoint and art style.

Also, her books are short and breezy, which means they’re easy to pick up on a day when you feel like reading funny cartoons and not like diving into a whole thing of a graphic novel.

So: I think I’ve read all of her books in the past year, and am now caught up. (They’re all short, so it’s not like it was difficult in any way – and, again, each one is fun and breezy and funny.) Cryptid Club , which came out about a month ago, was the most recent, and I just caught up with the fourth collection of her main “series” Sarah’s Scribbles, Oddball .

This book is very much like the previous Sarah’s Scribbles collections – Adulthood Is a Myth, Big Mushy Happy Lump and Herding Cats – with a little over a hundred single-page comics about a cartoon version of Sarah doing her daily-life thing, presumably just that big more awkwardly and amusingly than the real Andersen does. If you like any of them, you’ll like all of them. If you can’t stand any of them – I could characterize why you don’t like them, but humor is a taste, so it could be any reason – then you’ll probably dislike them all.

This one is the Pandemic Book: it was published in 2021 (though there’s at least one cartoon with a looming “2022” in it, so I think it came out late in ’21 and some of it was done right near deadline) and some of it deals with the expected “I hate having to go out in public and see human beings, but now I am forbidden to do that and have mixed feelings” stuff. But that’s a minor strain – it’s mostly the same kind of jokes, focusing on the Sarah character, who as always I hope is a really exaggerated-for-effect version of Andersen herself. (If any of us were the ways we try to amusingly portray ourselves, the world would be even wackier than it is.)

Anyway. I like this. I think it’s funny, and that Andersen is a big talent. I’m excited to see her do more tightly-themed books like Fangs and Cryptid Club, since I think those will give her more runway to do more complex jokes (and even story-like things, if she wants to), but her core funny comics are still swell, too. This is a good book for a day when you just want a pick-me-up.

[1] Assuming you’ve seen my posts about (in reverse chronological order) Cryptid Club , Herding Cats , Big Mushy Happy Lump , Fangs , and/or Adulthood Is a Myth .

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Goldilocks and the Infinite Bears by John McNamee

Discovering something creative that you like is fun. Learning that it’s over is sad. But what if you’re not sure if it’s over or not?

Pie Comics was (is?) a strip by John McNamee. It used to be on GoComics . It used to update regularly on Tumblr . The Tumblr page mentions a website that doesn’t resolve. But there have been three collections of the series, all of which seem to have come out after the last update to the Tumblr page.

My theory – which is mine, and what it is too – is that McNamee did this strip regularly in the mid-teens, and collected it mostly after it ended, and that there will be no more. But I’d be very happy if that theory were wrong.

(I also can’t find anything else by McNamee since the last Pie collection in 2020, so I hope he’s working on a bigger story that will come out very soon and make us all happy and laugh and rejoice.)

I’m thinking all this because I recently found the first collection, Goldilocks and the Infinite Bears , semi-randomly in my library’s digital-reading app and just read it. (The other two, unfortunately, are not also in the same app, so I’ll have to search for them elsewhere.)

So: yay! This is funny and neat, in a vaguely Tom-Guald-ian way – McNamee’s art style and his tone are both in the same vague space that Gauld has been working – and collects a hundred or so comics, mostly single-pagers (with a few epic two-pagers), mostly four-panel, and entirely about fairy-tale, folkloric, and other fictional creatures.

(Note: the Judeo-Christian God does show up a few times. I stand by my immediately previous statement.)

McNamee has a simplified, fun style that makes everything more amusing, and his writing is zippy and smart, too. I am happy that there are two more books to search out, and mildly optimistic that McNamee (who seems to still be pretty young – he references being in college in the Aughts) will do more Neat Stuff in the near future. If you, too, like funny comics about fairies, wizards, Godzilla, zombies, dragons, demons, Death, unicorns, Superman, and their ilk, you’ll want to check it out.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Fowl Language: Winging It by Brian Gordon

If there’s only three books of something, and you read the first two and enjoy them, you’re gonna come back and hit the third one. It’s just one of those things.

I may not have anything new to say about Winging It , the third book collecting Brian Gordon’s online comic strip Fowl Language, since I’ve already written about Welcome to Parenting  and The Struggle Is Real  since March.

Gordon’s been doing this strip about a decade, and it’s entirely about his family life: he draws a family of ducks (viewpoint father, mother, older boy and younger girl) who match, as far as the reader can tell, his actual family, although the ducks have (very sporadically) had their own names, which don’t match Gordon’s family’s names. By the point of the strips in this 2019 book, the two kids were tweens: the obnoxious, demanding, argumentative years. (They’re all obnoxious years, as parents come to learn – it’s just different kinds of obnoxious as you go along.)

This one is more structured than the first two were, organized into a dozen thematic chapters, each one of which has a short intro by Gordon, laid out in a font that looks like the lettering in the strip so it’s “handwritten.” Those chapters loosely follow the kid-development timeline – at least as far as Gordon’s own kids have gotten – starting with “Babies” and running through things like “Food” and “School” on the way to “Growing Up Too Fast.” The intros are pretty close to the standard American “kids are wonderful and horrible” line of discussion, and don’t really add much: I’m sure Gordon means all of it and is being sincere and honest, but we’ve all seen this a million times before. His strips are more distinctive and original, since they have to be quick and precise and funny.

As someone who has assembled books and planned out publication schedules, I have suspicions about this book. In particular, I would bet a medium-sized sum of money that it includes all of the usable early strips that didn’t make it into the first two books, as a semi-housecleaning measure, along with some then-newer material. It was the “we have just enough for a third book, so we’re making a third book” kind of third book, is what I think. And the intros were partially an effort to hit the sentimentalist sweet spot of the market and partially a way to generate new content for the book fairly quickly. (I would not be surprised if Gordon knocked them all out over a weekend.)

So this is the least of the three books to date, but it’s still fun and funny. If you find it next to a cashwrap, or in a pop-up in your favorite online store, as your own kids are squabbling in the background, you will likely enjoy it only incrementally less than the first two. And that’s just fine.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

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