One panel from... Calvin and Hobbes

It's been nearly two years since I did one of these — a look at a single standout panel from a comic strip or graphic novel.

Calvin and Hobbes (1985–1995) by Bill Watterson is one of the most successful comic strips of all time. I've read just about every Calvin and Hobbes strip ever drawn, because it was a staple in The West Australian when I was a teenager. It still is, even though the strip ended over 28 years ago. 

How many strips did Bill Watterson draw? Well, the complete three-volume hardcover collection published by Andrews McMeel contains a total of 1,440 pages, so you can work that out in your own time. Let's just say it's a lot, alright?

The dailies were your standard three- or four-panel gags, but where the strip really stood out was in its Sunday strips, with innovative and unconventional layouts and detailed renderings of things you wouldn't normally see in a typical gag strip: it might be two dinosaurs fighting, or a giant bee, or a speeding plane about to crash. 

The protagonist Calvin is a six year old boy who has no friends and so frequently escapes into flights of fantasy, which allowed Watterson to let loose with his cinematic visuals. Nothing was off limits (within publishing guidelines, that is) and it all made sense in-world.

So, you're probably thinking that the panel I've singled out is one of those Sunday strip colour panels. Probably one depicting space or a Martian landscape, or even a stately winter scene. Well, it is from a Sunday strip, but it isn't any of those. It is, in fact, this!

When you see this, you instantly know that Calvin's dad, who is being seen as a slug-like creature with one eye, is talking to Calvin in his regular voice. While his dad sits there reading, Calvin imagines his parents and objects in the room becoming various monsters. Except Hobbes, who is absent from this strip. Would he just stay a tiger? Anyway, this panel sums it up for me — the little kid whose life is usually so dull that he has to literally make something abnormal happen just to stay sane.

The whole thing is great. I particularly like how the mounted monster head (where a picture frame was before) has a different expression in the next panel, and that the creature the lamp and table has turned into is now holding a little umbrella. The dad's facial expression is perfect. Surreal and bizarre moments like these in newspaper comic strips today are pretty much unheard of.

Strangely enough, the book of collected strips that this strip comes from...

...is Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat, published in 1994. Calvin and Hobbes was on hiatus for most of that year, as Bill Watterson was taking an extended break. 

Well, my local library's copy of the book has an unusual label in it:

Hmmm. Well isn't that ominous.

One panel from... Dork

Welcome back, action wizards and sexy robots, to my latest look at a single panel from a remarkable body of work. This time, I'm looking at the comics of one Evan Dorkin, from New York.

Dorkin's comic Dork ran sporadically throughout the 1990s and lasted 11 issues. It was built around what he called 'inventory material': one-off gag strips as well as lengthier stories, and other work done for various comics anthologies and magazines.

Most of what appeared in the first ten issues of Dork were collected in two volumes, Who's Laughing Now? and Circling The Drain, which I bought from Quality Comics in Perth in 2005, on the strength of the back cover gag of Dork issue #6. They wrapped all their books in plastic, but from what I saw in that one issue, Dorkin's style and sense of humour appealed to me.

Because I liked issue #6, it was disappointing that nothing from that issue appears in either of these two volumes. However, I only had to wait a mere sixteen years before I got the bumper Dork compendium seen below. Oddly enough, nothing from issue #6 appears in here either, except its contents page. There are colour reproductions of all the front covers too, except #6. So what gives? Was it omitted for legal reasons or because the publisher didn't like it or what?

Anyway, there's just about everything else Dork-related in here apart from Milk And Cheese – Dairy Products Gone Bad and The Eltingville Club, which are collected in other volumes. There's the three-panel comic strip Fun! wherein we meet such characters as Phil the Disco Skinhead, Myron the Living Voodoo Doll (seen on the cover of Who's Laughing Now?) and Seiji Nakimushi, World's Worst Kamikaze Pilot.

My favourite bits though are The Invisible College of Secret Knowledge, in which a character known as the Devil Puppet (that's him on the cover of Circling the Drain) nestles itself on someone's hand and begins to tell tall tales of how certain historical things came to be, such as the KISS Navy and Wertham's comics code. In one memorable story, he talks about how in 1928 the department store Macy's started releasing the inflatables at the end of their Thanksgiving Day parade, offering cash rewards for their return, the amount determined by the size of the balloon.

At the parade in 1932, everyone wanted that year's largest balloon, the comic strip character Fritz Katzenjammer. After one man dies falling from the balloon's ropes, scores of balloon-hunters chase the drifting balloon into New Jersey, and then, this happens:

There are a few of Evan Dorkin's trademarks on show here: smarmy New York City dialogue, plenty of detail on the characters (some great facial expressions), and jibes at comics fandom (although rather subtle here — chasing one of the Katzenjammer Kids for big bucks seems like a precursor to the nebbishy practice of buying first-issue comics just to make money off them later, eh?).

So that's that. Oh, and apparently the German word 'katzenjammer' (literally, 'cat's misery'), is their word for 'hangover'. So that's another piece of useless trivia for you.

One panel from... Punk Rock And Trailer Parks

Welcome back to "One panel from..." where I examine single panels from comics I hold dear. This time, it's My Favourite Graphic Novel Which Was Not Written By Hergé Or Larry Gonick. I had never heard of this book, or its author, when I found it in an anarchists' bookstore in Seattle in 2011 (where it had been remaindered from the Seattle Public Library). I hadn't intentionally sought out an anarchists' bookstore. They had lots of second hand graphic novels, that's all. I was a tourist and had to rescue some good gimcrack. Look, just never mind, okay?!?

Punk Rock And Trailer Parks by Derf, released in 2008, is the story of the long-limbed fellow on the cover above: 19 year old Otto Pizcok, a shy trombone-playing dork who is passing his last waning days of high school by going to punk rock shows, watching lame beach party movies and peeping on certain well-endowed female classmates through binoculars. He eventually becomes a hero in the local punk scene, even fronting a band for a while, and meeting such luminaries as Joe Strummer, Wendy O. Williams, and The Ramones.

The story is set in 1979 in a deadbeat Ohio town called Richford, and as it happens, this is the same place the author Derf (real name John Backderf) comes from, and around the time he finished high school, too. But it's not autobiographical – his next, momentous, follow-up graphic novel would see to that. This book deals with the burgeoning Rubber City punk scene and the promise of escape it signified for small-town kids like Otto and his mates Pete and Wes.

This is the only graphic novel I know whose author has supplied a 'soundtrack' to read along to, with a playlist containing 43 songs. Artists in this list include The Clash, Talking Heads, The Pretenders, and of course Ohio's own new wave heroes Devo.

Now let's check out the panel I chose:

I think this sums up a lot of what the book is about, actually. Apart from one tragic incident towards the end, Otto remains upbeat throughout. This despite the fact that he looks to be about two metres tall and still gets insulted and pushed around by various thugs around the school, because he openly hates their football team and is a band geek (though he disavows the term 'nerd'). Speaking of hating the school team, Otto has a line that I quote often: "The worse a beating they receive, the happier I am!"

He also, as you might infer from the dialogue here, has a propensity to quote Tolkien. I like Derf's hand-lettering a lot. He puts a lot of words in bold, and his speech bubbles have wiggly stems that often seem to grow out of characters' faces. 

This panel also shows Otto, who calls himself The Baron – his extroverted, after-hours persona – driving Pete and Wes to a gig in his '68 Cougar and making them sit in the back seat. His reasoning? Because The Baron likes to chauffeur, and only the chauffeur sits in front. I wish I'd known about that when I was at uni.

There's one more thing in this panel that figures prominently in the storyline. Look close. See it yet? Yes, it's the cassette recorder and microphone on the front seat. Otto is documenting his entire final school year in farts. Whenever the urge for flatulence strikes, he hits the record button and lets rip into the microphone. And, spoiler alert, he gives Pete the tape at the end as a keepsake. Well, it's nice to keep a journal, I suppose.

So there you have it. Being in a band, living in a town of inbred hicks, and losing oneself in indie music. That was pretty much my high school experience, too. Except my car didn't have a really small steering wheel. And also, I didn't have a car. And I didn't go to a concert until I was 22. And there were no girls at my high school. And all the— (Continues to ramble incoherently as reader closes browser window)

One panel from... The Cartoon History Of The Universe

Have you ever been drawn to a single panel in a comic or graphic novel? It could be a splash panel or an inconsequential small panel, but for some reason it stands out to you. Perhaps it's because of a particular action pose, character design, rendering of some object or another, the way it's coloured or shaded, or indicative of a particular skill on the artist's part.

What I'll be looking at here are single panels from comics I admire that I keep coming back to. In this case it's for none of the above reasons: it's a single human hair. I know, right? It sounds stupid. But bear with me here. Once you see the context of said hair, you'll know what I mean.

Here's the book I'll be looking at.

It's called The Cartoon History Of The Universe, Book 1 by Larry Gonick. This was a series that he did that was published between 1978 and 2008, comprising some 1,460 pages across five volumes – a mammoth project detailing the history of the world from the Big Bang onwards.

The above volume isn't one of those five volumes. It's a separate edition from 1982 containing the first four comic book installments that were published by Rip Off Press between 1978 and 1980. (Quite a bit of it was altered for the first Cartoon History volume proper.) Anyway, my mum gave me this book sometime in the late '90s. Her school's library was going to chuck it out and she rescued it and gave it to me. 

The 'Date Due' slip inside the cover, where the librarian had to stamp the due dates in the olden days, is completely blank, suggesting that no one ever borrowed it. But the book itself is creased and obviously well-thumbed. So evidently it was read by plenty of people – though perhaps not by any of the kids at the Beehive Montessori School.

Incredibly, given that this is one of my favourite comics of all time, and Larry Gonick one of the cartoonists I most admire, I let the book sit in my cupboard for about two years before I got around to reading it. I probably gave it a cursory flip-through when I was given it, but once I read it, I read it so many times that it was even more dog-eared than an actual dog. The whole book is full of amazing and funny drawings of humans, animals, dinosaurs, single-celled life forms, and even strands of DNA.

Anyway I'd better stop waffling and show you the panel in question.

It comes towards the end of the book, as part of a story about King Solomon (of Old Testament fame). Now it must be said that I don't think this little panel is the best drawing in the book. Far from it. It's just a dude in a chair. But look at the detail there. The whole book was drawn with a brush and Winsor & Newton drawing ink (I know this because I emailed Larry Gonick in 2006 and asked him.)

Gonick's human figures are, while cartoony, expertly rendered with few solid blacks and many fine parallel brushstrokes for shading, something I have always tried to do and failed every single time. Looking at the panel, you see tiny yet important details: notice the eyelid and eyelashes as a simple L-shape, the thicker line on the back of the crown, the fold lines on the sleeve, and the stroke forming the top of the nose terminating instead of joining up with the crown.

And then there's that hair. Just a wiggly line, but look at the uniformity of the curves in it, and how it thins out at both ends. That's the kind of effect you really only get with brush and ink, and he nailed it there.

So that's one panel from one book I like. There will be more in future posts, so look out for those. Tintin included. Although trying to single out just one panel from Tintin would take me longer than it took Larry Gonick to draw five volumes of Cartoon History. I might save him until last.