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.

Eurovision 2022 Wrap-up

Ciao, ragazzi! It's that Eurovision time of year again! Three days of blinding stage lights, long-haired rocker dudes, singers in weird masks, and 2020s sad girls. This year's Eurovision Song Contest comes to you from the city of Torino, or Turin if you're a bit of a bore. Italy previously hosted the event in Napoli in 1965, and Rome in 1991. This time, the city of Fiat, The Italian Job, and burial shrouds of dubious provenance got its turn to play host.

Like last year I got up at idiot o'clock to see the final live, after watching semifinal 1 on streaming (dodgy) and semifinal 2 on TV the preceding two nights. It's a punishing schedule of Euro-viewing but someone's got to do it.

The first semifinal was somewhat disappointing. After the grandiose 2021 contest, the abstemiousness was evident in several understated entries – someone unkinder than I might say 'flaccid' – getting through to the final, while superior entries did not. Perhaps this is yet another side effect of the dreaded COVID. The second semifinal continued in a similar vein. I know, I'm hardly in a minority here. Everyone wants to see their favourite entries progress to the final. But come on. When Georgia and Denmark are overhauled by morose rubbish from The Netherlands and (particularly) Greece, how can you not get just a tad sceptical.

You see, when you reach the point in life when you start to become a jaded old cynic – which typically happens when your age begins with the number 4 (and boy, are those 400 year olds as cynical as they come) – you really couldn't give a toss when some singer half your age wants to vent their feelings about how tough life is (Greece and The Netherlands again). You just want to yank them off stage from behind the curtain with a hooked stick.

It wasn't all bad news though – my favourite entries from each semifinal, Moldova and Serbia, made it through. Both of these were unconventional songs, Serbia's being just plain weird. But you should know by now that 'weird' always ranks very highly in my book, especially at Eurovision. It was titled "In Corpore Sano" and was kind of a spiritual successor to the almighty "Shum", Go_A's 2021 entry from Ukraine (stylistically, if not thematically).

On to the final. And yes, I have to mention it.

Now of course, there has been a pall of unease hanging over Eurovision proceedings for nearly three months. The atrocities taking place in Ukraine could not go unacknowledged. Following the Russian invasion several broadcasters called for Russia to be removed from participation, which it was, as well as from the European Broadcasting Union itself. This means Russia has lost broadcasting and participation rights for the foreseeable future (as far as I know).

In a similar vein Belarus was out, too. They received a three-year ban from the EBU for their broadcaster being used as a propaganda tool. The other no-shows were for the same reasons as in previous years: Liechtenstein (not enough money), Bosnia-Herzegovina (ditto), Andorra (stuffing around), Turkey (still fiddle-faddling) and Luxembourg (who the hell knows).

In one sense I'd like to think of this situation as the Eurovision family banding together when one of its brothers is being bullied and attacked, but of course it's infinitely more complicated than that. 

If you read my wrap-up of the 2021 Eurovision you'll note that one thing stands out in my list of observations and that's Russia and Ukraine conspicuously not awarding any points to each other during the final jury vote. We will never know how many points the Russian jury would have awarded Ukraine had they been able to participate. As it was, Ukraine's entry, a folk-rap group called Kalush Orchestra were able to perform their upbeat but melancholy song "Stefania" with Russia absent. And so the big question was, would they receive enough sympathy votes to win the contest?

Well, of course they would!

I was pleased to see the United Kingdom come 2nd after a seemingly interminable run of lousy results. They also came 2nd in 1998, the year I started watching Eurovision, but since then it's been nearly always a disappointing result. They came last in 2003, 2008, 2010, 2019 and 2021, and the bottom five another six times since then. Needless to say (but I will anyway) this was a bloody long time coming. In fact, Sam Ryder and his song "Space Man" was on top of the voting tally after the jury vote phase, but was knocked off the top spot by Ukraine who got 439 votes in the televoting phase (which incidentally is the highest number of televotes ever given out).

I'm not sure if this number of votes was a collective "up yours" to Putin, a show of support for Ukraine, a genuine love of "Stefania", or a love of furry pink bucket hats. But as I suspect – maybe all of the above.

But kudos to Sam Ryder! Makes yer proud to be British, it do.

Special mention must also go to Spain, the country with the longest winning drought, who came 3rd. That's their best result since I started watching in 1998, and they've come last twice and placed in the bottom five 10 (!) times since then. Needless to say (but I will anyway) this was a bloody long time coming. Makes yer proud to be a Spaniard, it do. Not that I am. But I would be if I was.

Well, there's not much else to say except to wheel out my ESC stats map once again, and since just like last year no country improved on its best result, there wasn't a whole lot to amend – so I changed the typeface which hopefully improves its legibility.

Any trivia? Well apart from the UK and Spain getting their best results since the '90s, it was the first time none of the songs were in French. Belgium and Switzerland didn't use it, and the French themselves sung their song in Breton. I think it's also the first time Latin has been used as well. Take that, antiquated linguistic hegemony!!

Oh yeah, and I'm glad I got up at 5am to see it live for another reason: you don't get all those unfunny tweets and Tiktok videos between the songs. (See previous remark about age starting with 4)

Arrivederci!

Five things that happened 100 years ago

1922. Remember it? No, I don't expect you do. It was 100 years ago, after all. What comes to mind when you think of those days? Well? Can't think of anything, eh? Allow me to fill you in, then, on five things that took place exactly one century ago. In no particular order. Let's go.

Branston Pickle is invented

This pickled chutney was named after the village where it was first made, and not only am I a devotee of this product, I used to live in the town of Burton-on-Trent in Staffordshire which is right next to Branston. There's not a lot I can add to this, except you either like it or you don't. Oh, and happy 100th birthday. I salute you!

 

Nosferatu is released

F.W. Murnau's German Expressionist vampire horror film Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens was released in March 1922. Perhaps you've seen the above iconic scene showing Count Orlok (he's not named Dracula for some reason), played by Max Schreck, entering a room as the door opens by itself. A clip of this scene appears in the video for "Under Pressure" by Queen & David Bowie. That's actually where I first saw it.

The whole film, silent and in black and white, has an air of unremitting menace, although you never actually see any blood or explicit violence. As Drac—I mean 'Orlok', Schreck does look extremely corpse-like with his frail-looking build and hollow eyes. The film established many vampire film tropes, such as sunlight being able to kill vampires. It was also the first German expressionist film to be shot on location rather than a set.

Murnau died in somewhat bizarre circumstances in California in 1931. His skull was stolen from his grave in 2015. Of his 21 films, only 12 survive in their entirety.

 

William Desmond Taylor is murdered

Taylor was a prominent figure in the early days of Hollywood, acting in 27 films and directing 59. He was murdered in February 1922, a crime that is still unsolved; one of the oldest cold cases. His murder sold more newspapers in the United States than any news item before.

When the police saw Taylor dead in his apartment, he was lying on the floor with a bullet hole in his back, while two studio execs were burning papers in the fireplace and a comedy actress was rummaging through drawers. The servant was washing dishes in the kitchen while various randoms rushed in and out of the place. The police discovered a bunch of pornographic photos, featuring Taylor, and the director's closet was full of womens' lingerie. The murder weapon was never found. There's a lot more to it than I can summarize here, so you can read more about it on your own time – but consider yourself warned!

Vegemite is invented

Okay, I'm cheating a bit by including two popular condiments instead of one. But I would be ostracized from Melbourne and deported from Australia if I didn't mention Vegemite, the Vitamin B spread which was developed here in Melbourne in 1922 and went on sale the following year. Its invention came out of a need to find a use for the yeast extract left over after brewing beer.

It was the first product in Australia to be electronically scanned at a supermarket checkout. In a torturous bit of advertising sloganeering it was known as Parwill from 1928 to 1935, all so the ads could proclaim "Marmite, but Parwill". Because renaming your product in order to make lame puns in reference to its competitor is sooooo worth it.

 

Tutankhamun's tomb is discovered

Led by Egyptologist Howard Carter, the tomb of the legendary pharaoh was discovered in November 1922 as part of an effort to clear the Valley of the Kings down to the bedrock. Found nearly intact, the tomb established the length of Tutakhamun's reign, showed what a complete royal burial entailed, and sparked a surge of interest in ancient Egypt.

Tutankhamun himself became pharaoh at the age of 8 or 9, and died around 1323 BC aged 18 or 19. It is possible that his death was unexpected and his mummy was therefore buried in a tomb intended for someone else. The 5,398 items found in the tomb took Carter ten years to catalogue: it had taken him seven years to find the tomb. Among these items were the famous gold face mask and a solid gold coffin.

For the pharaohs of ancient Egypt, to be remembered was to live forever – hence all those grand monuments. But after young king Tutankamun died there was a concerted effort to remove all traces of him, so he would not achieve immortality. One of the least esteemed pharaohs in life, Carter's discovery of his tomb made him the most famous – where he had lain some 3,300 years, unremembered and unremarkable. But when that tomb was finally found in 1922, Tutankhamun returned to the minds of the living and took his place among the gods once again.

Every marker pen in the existence of mankind

 
Marker pens! Good golly do I ever love markers. And I've used all of them. Every single one. This is not an exaggeration. Every brand, every colour, every tip width – from the top Japanese pen manufacturers to the generic cheapo ones you get from Crazy Clark's in the crime-ridden Home Town centre (is that still there?).

My love for markers started in the mid-'80s as a little kid in London, when my uncle gave me one to draw with. I still remember sitting at the top of the stairs, drawing on paper that the ink soaked straight through. The pen was painted black with 'PENTEL PEN' in silver lettering, as you see below (Vintage 1970s Pentel Pen, 9G model, taken from blackisbeautiful.ca). The empire, long divided, must unite; long united, it must divide. Thus has it ever been. PENTEL PEN is law. PENTEL PEN is sacrosanct.

Whenever I draw with one of those black beauties (which admittedly hasn't been too often between 1984 and now), I feel like I am flying high above the clouds on the back of a condor made of marshmallow and bees. Or maybe that's just the effect of the xylene fumes.

But where I really am is sitting at the top of the steps in 65A Temple Road, Cricklewood.

When I started drawing black-and-white comics in the '90s on – old fart alert – actual pen and paper, I used markers all the time, because several of my characters had black hair and whatnot. So, each page was an inky mess as you might imagine. And over the years I built up quite a collection of permanent markers. Anyway, as you can see, I've rounded up no less than fourteen examples for your perusal. Some of them are quite old and probably no longer in production, but at least they're now xylene free!

Looking at the photo at left, I'll start with the one at the top, which is the Zebra Mckee [sic], made in Japan. I didn't actually buy this one. Not too many people know this, but if you go to Japan to teach English, you get several of these for free. They materialize out of nowhere, usually in the vicinity of your school's staffroom. It is double-ended, with both a fineliner and slightly broader tip. Hard-working and useful, much like the J—no! Must resist the temptation to make broad generalizations.

Next is the Sanford Sharpie, American made. What more can I say? Its very name is used as a generic term for marker pen by Americans, and therefore, everyone else in the world. It's pretty good, I s'pose.

Next we have the Artline 700, made by Shakuhachi, sorry, Shachihata of Giappon. A neat little fineline permanent marker. Below that is the Artline 70 with bullet tip. It's a benchmark marker. A benchmarker, if you will. I'm not sure why they made the barrel yellow. But it is 'HIGH PERFORMANCE' as it says, with a solid black that doesn't fade. I've still got comics I drew in 1998 that I used this on, and while most of the drawings have become ghosts, the Artline ink remains. Shachihata-sama-tachi, I bow respectfully in your general direction.

The one with the yellow cap is the Pilot Super Color Marker (Japan uses American spelling, otherwise I'd have put a 'u' in there sharpish). B for Broad, with a chisel tip. This pen is around 25 years old yet I used it in a drawing only two days ago, so that speaks to its longevity. Although yellow markers don't get a lot of use around here.

Next is the Sakura Pen-Touch. I don't know much about the Honourable Sakura Pen Manufacturing Concern of Ibaraki and Gunma Prefectures (not their real name), but this is the only pen by them I used. It has a fine tip (as in not broad), and can't really match the Artline 70 in robustness, I fear. Its ink is also not as indelible. It's rather delible, actually. It can be delibbed.

The Big Wally at the bottom is the bullet-pointed Bic Permament Marker, which as you might guess is made in France. Unlike the Sakura, it is low odour. A design feature unique to it is the little plastic protuberance at the end of the barrel which prevents it rolling around on the table. Very handy if you take it with you on the high seas.

Clearly coming from the POCKY and CRUNKY school of Japanese nomenclature is the chisel-tipped Uni PROCKEY from the Mitsubishi Pencil Co. They make cars, they make televisions, and they make some fine stationery as well! I don't know what ink they use but it soaks through the paper, through the desk you're writing on, through to the floor and under the carpet as well. 

The Artline 170, like the other Artlines, is made in Malaysia. Here we have a substantially chunkier barrel, good for solid blacks, shadowing and bold pen strokes. It's an all-rounder and packs a punch. Apparently it can be left with the cap off for two weeks and not dry out. I've never tried this – I always put the caps back on. What do you take me for, a savage?

Remember the Zebra Mckee? Well here we have its beefed-up upgraded model, the Hi-Mckee. This time we have a medium bullet tip at one end and a chisel tip at the other. Serves all your double-ended marking needs. English teachers in Japan must ascend to the rank of ichi-dan no eigo no sensei before the Prefectural Board will even entertain supplying them with one of these. (Don't ask where I got this one.)

The remaining four pens are whiteboard markers in red and blue ink, so your mileage will vary if you choose to use them for drawing on paper. Incidentally, the ones pictured above were all salvaged by me in December 1993, just before going home on the last day of Year 10, where I found them on the lawn after they were turfed out the door by some teacher doing an end-of-year cleanup.

Mitsubishi's Uni Easyrase was probably the widest-used by the teachers at my school – there were usually at least two of them in every classroom. The Artline 500 was used very infrequently, surprising given the success of the 70 model; and then second-most popular was the uncouthly-titled Pilot Wytebord Marker. Finally, showing that they knew how to spell, the Pentel White Board Marker with its chunky octagonal barrel, was mainly used by my classmates to draw 'swirls' on the rotating hubs of the ceiling fans.

Well, thanks for taking this long and pointless ramble with me down amnesia lane. Now go do some drawing and remember: the marker pen is mightier than the pen!
 

Old Ads and Car Colours

Do you remember when cars were painted bright, unusual colours? I sure do. As a little kid in England in the early 1980s, the bleak climate and greyish urbanized infrastructure was contrasted nicely by the warm tones and hues of the cars that trundled along the roads. Not that I made this observation at the time, of course. What, you expected me to draw mental parallels between the climate, car colours and the national mood when I'd barely started school? Are you crazy or something? But I digress. It was almost as if car manufacturers decided to brighten dull landscapes by making their cars stand out against them, rather than just metal boxes you sat in to get from 'A' to the dole office.

Take a look at this British motoring magazine, rather unambiguously titled Motor, from June 1976. Now I hadn't been born at that time, but the cars you see above were typical of what was being driven around England when I was a kid.

Phwooarr, get a load o' that son. That's what I'd probably call an autumn palette (June isn't exactly autumn, but whatever): moss green, olive green, a sort of sunburnt orange...those were great colours! Nice and vibrant. Now, you're probably thinking if all car colours stood out then none of them did, right? Well, colours like these were contrasted by the older cars in subtle pastel shades. In the '80s it was still common to see 1950s cars (and older) still pressed into service and still in use.

The cover stars of this February 1972 issue of Auto Car feature in burgundy and metallic blue, two very popular colours at one time. You could expect to see cars in just about every colour in England, but it was said that the least popular colour was brown. (Hey, what's wrong with brown, eh?) You would supposedly have more trouble trying to sell a brown car than any other colour, because it was seen as an old man's car colour. Brown is also the least popular car colour in Australia. And yet my dad's first car in England was a chocolate-brown Ford Cortina, and his first car in Australia was a tan brown Ford Cortina. So there you go.

Fast forward four decades, now to Melbourne. Here is the view from the food court — sorry, the food gallery — of The Glen shopping centre in Glen Waverley.

Rather uninspiring, isn't it? No, not Springvale Road, though that certainly has its critics. I'm talking about the uninspiring array of car colours you see there. It seems that these days, cars and vans come in nothing other than black, white, grey, red and blue. The bog-standard basics. Boring. Dull. Listless. Apathetic. There's nothing wrong with these colours, but the palette surely couldn't be limited and constrained more than this. 2020s Melbourne has several similarities with 1980s England, but I wish they'd copied their car colours as well. If you lament the demise of variety in car colours too, let me know in the comments.

Oh, and I promised you old ads, so here's one out of the above issue of Auto Car. It follows the usual 1980s trend of paragraphs of text to read through, but it also features this product shot of ye olde smug Triumph owner pulling into a service station to collect his petrol stamps. Though I think he's collecting more than just stamps here if you know what I mean, and I think you do. If you can figure out what transaction is taking place in this picture, put your answer on a postcard and send it to me at the address given in the ad, no later than March 1972.