So... about that new DuckTales...

I've considered that there's something about, well, me being me, that I owe it to... to... the world? Myself? Unseen divine forces? Not sure... that reviewing and/or commenting on the DuckTales animated TV series reboot would be the perfect, most logical opportunity/excuse to revive my blog. 

The honest truth is that it wasn't at all planned or intended that tonight/last night/this morning/whatever, I would write upwards of a dozen bulky paragraphs about the new series and expedited-ly post them here or anywhere for the world to see. But I was watching the latest episode, and was incited to post a comment to The Disney Comics Fan Group on Facebook. I added a second comment. Then a third. I had explicitly stated when I started writing that I was just going to post one comment. When I thought of a couple more things I wanted to say and hadn't yet clicked "Post" and ushered forth all the finality that it brings, I spontaneously enhanced each successively added comment as it was added with an elucidatory, introdcutory, contextualizing, additional, secondary comment announcing the addition of -- and contained within a clause of -- the about-to-be-newly-added comment proper. (I should have added a comment that I was adding a comment that I was adding a comment! Why didn't I think of that?!) Finally, and equally spontaneously, I realized, "Actually, I have a whole rant I need to go on here...!", and proceeded accordingly. The self-aware commenting on each newly-added comment was generated more or less in real time, if you will, or I guess it would be better said stream-of-consciously.

Anyway, without further ado, here it is -- it's informal, not comprehensive, and focused on giving my take on the new show's taken on specific characters -- namely, the villains, but I touch on some of the principles, too... but this is it: My Big Comeback!

 Modified revision of my Facebook post:

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A few minutes into my first viewing of "The Beagle Birthday Massacre!" One comment: We did NOT need Joker/Pennywise Beagle Boys.

Okay, a second comment: When Ma Beagle introduced "the classic originals", wouldn't it have been nice if they were Barks'?

...oh, actually, a third comment: Did anyone else suspect -- until she said her name -- that Lena was supposed to be Daisy? I thought it added up especially because she sounded an awful lot like Kath Soucie, at least to my ears. But it's actually someone named Kimiko Green.

...annnnd, well, not done yet after all, jumping back to the subject of Beagle Boys, in what I'll call a P.S.: I meant to bring this up after "Daytrip of Doom!" -- why does this show's Burger Beagle look like the original's Bebop Beagle. The new character so far hasn't evinced any particular traits of either, yet evoking both at the outset, only to come up empty.

I don't want to be the fan coming off like he thinks rules should be imposed upon the show's creators -- and certainly keeping in mind to value the spirit of trying new things creatively -- over the years, starting with Barks (Grandpa Beagle), the allusions to the Beagles' extended clan and the occasional brushes with some of its members have always pointed to there being lots of fun to be mined from that colorful lineage. But I'm kind of disheartened by the wholesale eschewing of Beagle incarnations of the past, both those of the comics and the original DuckTales.

To me, an optimal way of paying homage to Barks would be a devoted attempt to bring his Beagles to animation -- meaning one character design making all of the "main gang" indistinguishable; all of same wearing prison tags formatted _ _ _ - _ _ _ that use only the numbers 1, 6, and 7; calling each other only by those numeric IDs in full or abbreviated to the latter set of three; and lastly, the biggest area of uncertainty and the one factor that never factored in Barks' comics but would be a major consideration on screen: should they all share the same voice _in addition to_ all sharing the same visage? (Maybe give just the prune-loving Beagle a slightly different voice? But NOT a "real" name, only his numeric ID, just as with the rest, of course!)

But since they didn't go the Barks route -- which would be a risky experiment, but I'd be really interested in and supportive of its attempt -- then as this IS DuckTales, after all, not Uncle Scrooge comics! -- I'd like to basically see the original series' Beagles. Yes, we have Bigtime, Bouncer, and a Burger who appears to not eat many burgers, but so far, their characterizations have been pretty thin. Not that the originals were mind-blowingly complex or even particularly clever, but couldn't they just play a _little_more into the nostalgia of a veritable child of the '80s like myself?

Time warp: 1987 abruptly find themselves at an impasse, stonewalled by 2017. 

Painting by Mike Peraza for D23 Expo 2017 limited edition print. 

Now, I don't expect the exact replication of the designs and voices of the original. (Design-wise, that went out the window well before the new series premiered, when production art was first released!) But with the main cast -- with the exception of the COMPLETELY overhauled Webby and Mrs. Beakley -- despite the obvious aesthetic and audible differences -- and the, er, quirkier(?) characterizations -- Scrooge, Donald, the nephews, and Launchpad have been portrayed in such a way where a viewer familiar with the original is well aware these are new, distinct iterations of each, but they're consistent enough with and thus recognizable as their animation and comics antecedents alike, as well as given enough depth, where it's implicit that even though it's a reboot, these are _same_ characters, the ones we already knew, nonetheless. Think in the sense that they're myths, not modern entertainment franchises, and this is a new iteration of the myth. The new series' trio of Bigtime, Bouncer, and "Burger" have so far left me a little cold.

Ma Beagle in the role of gang leader, and moreover, the VERY CHARACTER HERSELF, were exclusively conceived in the production of -- and to date the exclusive purview of -- the original DuckTales (Ma Beagle coming into prominence with "Super DuckTales" after a few smaller roles/appearances over the course of the first season), So including and making her "Boss" once again (more Don than matriarch this time) is an inspired, well-considered way of signaling, "This IS DuckTales, after all, not Uncle Scrooge comics!" But why not go all the way and deliver the whole package: Bigtime, Burger, Baggy, Bouncer, Bankjob, Babyface, and Bebop, basically in personalty and appearance -- adjusted to the new style, but keeping the innate elements of the original designs -- the louts we know from the original? Yes, the new Bigtime and Bouncer designs basically fit that bill, and even the voices seemed based on the originals', but they're just coming off as generic cartoon thugs. (I know, I know, someone's saying, "That's all the Beagle Boys have EVER been!" :) Oh, and there's been some comedy based around Bouncer's size.... and yeah, I chuckled at his "You even buyin' this?" line to the arcade doorman.

Geez, what was supposed to be just one comments -- okay, two and one "P.S." -- turned into something else entirely, hasn't it. Didn't realize I had so much to say about this one little subject! Well, while I'm at it, I'll mention that as with the Beagle Boys, I wish they'd tried to bring to animated fruition something closer to Barks' Glomgold. Think an equivalency model: as Barks' Scrooge visually is to the new DuckTales' Scrooge visually, take Barks' Glomgold design and translate it to the sketchy style of the new show. Restore his background as being from and based in South Africa. Voice-wise, he might still be of Scottish descent, but PLEASE, don't go the bombastic, over-the-top route the new show took has taken with him in the recording booth. Or figure out what he should sound like if he _isn't_ in fact Scottish -- I'm not sure if Barks ever gave us anything to go on in this regard one way or the other, so as far as I know, there's no voice "type" one could say is adhering to the canon.

Or, once again, there's the "This IS DuckTales, after all, not Uncle Scrooge comics!" approach.They got partway with his basic, standardized clothing outfit (if I just said "outfit", would you know I was talking about what he wears?)... but why, why is he, I dunno, something like 7 feet WIDE?!!! Is it a medical condition, like a tumor or excessive swelling? Anyway, as with the new Bigtime and Bouncer, this clownish Glomgold's voice are based ostensibly on the original series'... but take this Bizzaro Flinty's aforementioned cringe-worthy larynx-generated emanations, which are a blunt aural caricature of a Scottish accent taken to all extremes, blown out of all proportion, and delivered as if on speed, compound that with the torrent of absurdity that in his two (three, depending on how you count) appearances so far (either way, the most recent appearance was a cameo, or actually, a Family Guy-style cutaway, the thrust of the gag being, "HA! He's Scottish!") has been the whole of his function. In fact, with both Gomgold and the 2017 Beagle Boy trio, it's as if they took some rudimentary elements of each characters' counterpart from the original series, but decided they were either going to be a parody (Glomgold) or stock thug (the Beagles). But we're only a few episodes in when there's more than 15 to go -- and that's just this season -- so we'll see what they'll do yet with these characters.

In the meantime, take Webby and Mrs. Beakley: I can at least understand their reasoning in thinking, "There really wasn't much to the ones from the original show, so we can do them ___a whole lot different and a whole lot better___!", and thus at least respect what they're trying to do.

More crucially -- and the end result registers in the green, I'm happy to say -- there's the classic/legacy characters. Naturally, the biggest concern in that department wis Donald. Clearly, they made it a point to get this one right/do the character justice. On the one hand, when appropriate, they run him through comedic, traditional-ish-cartoony-slapstick routines (like the stuff on the mansion-grounds-grounded houseboat in "Daytrip"). He furiously waves his arms around, stomps his feet on the ground in rapid succession, and voices his rage with unintelligible, ceasefire rants and raves. Clearly, they're paying homage to the classic-era Donald Duck theatrical shorts. But when the story beats call for it, they depict him in a more heartfelt way -- as a disgruntled, down-on-his-luck "average Joe", à la Barks. But re: Glomgold and the Beagles, the show seems to be depending on sticking to convention and archetypes, cuing a lampoon, but really just referencing genre fiction's go-to type villains, ones that we all know and recognize right offhand. I'm "not really feeling(, man!)" the spirit of these characters' earlier counterparts, whether they be those in the comics or on the original show. But again, that's only as of yet, and we're not very far out.

So... Glomgold down...Beagles down... Magica still to go... *gets a little nervous* Don't get me wrong, I don't "require" that they play her exactly as Barks did, nor exactly as the original series did, but I want her to be an ACTUAL and FORMIDABLE villain, not in a tried-and-true comedic relief capacity.

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Remember, in the above piece, I was zeroing in exclusively on very specific aspects of the new series. There's a lot I didn't cover a lot of which I quite like. Case in point: Another group member (who a lot of you know of, and some of you even know!) replied with a comment hinting at a hint -- that is, the biiiiiiiiiiig hint dropped on us at episode's end. (Said hint came in the form of an explicit, much-appreciated visual reference to a fondly-recalled early episode of the original series!) When I got there, I saw exactly what he meant, but I was already pretty excited just by what I'd gleamed from his comment.

Here's my reply... and, and at this point, I must issue a necessary SPOILER WARNING, applicable to what follows below:

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Okay, didn't catch that, but... SOLD! I _do_love how they're building a mythology and teasing upcoming big events. ("Project Blatherskite" -- you bet THAT got my pulse pounding!) A later-to-come big, knock-you-to-the-floor reveal/unmasking like you're hinting at is something I'm ALL about. (Not that anything has actually been given away -- it's all on me and how I read between the lines! [Addendum: If you've seen "Beagle Birthday Massacre!"'s ending, as I now have, IF you know what you're looking at, there's NO ambiguity about it. Thus, not a thing has been spoiled, provided this is being read post having viewed "Beagle Birthday Massacre!" I hope that no one's eyes, unable to resist and avert themselves despite the spoiler warning above -- quite possibly their temptation level significantly raised by it, I regret must be acknowledged is a not-too-unlikely possibility -- haven't fallen here, but... Lena is Magica. The teaser-reveal-coda shows this to the viewer, provided that they recognize that the shadow is very close to Magica's evil(er) shadow doppelganger of the original series' "Magica's Shadow War". (With THAT title, it wouldn't be any other episode, now, would it?) Even many those well-familiar with Magica may not be acquainted with or may not vividly recall that episode, though... so if that's not enough, née Lena refers to herself in the third-person point-blank as Magica.

Reminds me of (er, more spoilers imminent, just in case anyone needs them 20 years on...) when Owen abruptly started spinning rapidly in a Tasmanian Devil-type cartoony-mini-tornado blur, incongruous to the show's realism, only to have a certain Elven trickster emerge, announcing, "Herrrrrrrrrrre's PUCK!" Still one of my absolute favorite moments of any show, ever.

(Most of the rest are from Gargoyles, too, though!)

-- Ryan

(Some of) my assorted thoughts on: Mickey and Donald #2 (Gladstone, cover date May 1988)

For the second issue of Gladstone's first double-billed (...er, only one has a bill...) ongoing title, the proper -- much more Gladstone I-esque -- front cover title logo is introduced; in his recreation of the 1948 Firestone Giveaway cover for M&D #1, which just happened to designate itself as Mickey and Donald, Daan Jippes closely mimicked the original's lettering design.

 This time out, we're treated to yet another vintage cover -- this time, a reprinting and recoloring (with some new background effects) of Walt Kelly's cover for Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #41 (cover date Feb. 1944).

As we'd expect of Kelly, the art is full and rich, featuring very appealing renderings of the characters that are both iconic but not devoid of personality.

The gag that Kelly's drawing is based around is a variation of the familiar "Mickey as Golden Boy, whereas Donald exists so as to suffer" trope. I have to wonder, when did this whole thing actually begin? In the golden era of studio's theatrical shorts (i.e., "Clock Cleaners", "The Band Concert"), Donald was certainly the butt of his fair share of jokes, but Mickey was no charmed angel. From what I can surmise, it came about as the studio began producing fewer Mickey shorts, he -- as David Gerstein has described in his writings for the Gottfredson Library -- became more of a square, and then with the advent of the Disneyland/Walt Disney Presents/Wonderful World of Disney anthology TV series and The Mickey Mouse Club, in the way that the characters were portrayed in what original animated sequences there were, where Mickey is some sort of aloof, above-it-all ringmaster. All I can think of is the short (or was it something produced for the anthology series? That's the only place I've ever seen it, and I was very, very young) where Donald becomes insanely jealous of the nephews' enthusiasm for The Mickey Mouse Club, and hijacks the television set to replace it with "Donald Mouse!"


"The Grounded Air Taxi". 8 and 3/4 pages. Written by Call Fallberg, drawn by Jack Bradbury. From Mickey Mouse #64 (cover date Feb. 1959).

Speaking of Mickey as straight man ... no, I like this a lot more than the Bradbury story that led off #1. It features minimal adventure story trappings (unless you count a biplane), so it doesn't really disappoint. It's curious that Goofy seems to acknowledges Gottfredson continuity by suggesting that Mickey teach him to fly, but "preppy" Mickey has lost any of his plucky ambition, frequently lamenting in thought balloons things akin to, "Oh, great! ANOTHER one of Goofy's harebrained ideas!"; "I should get out of this before things go awry"; etc., even though he and Goofy mutually conceive of and pursue the ice taxi service. Mickey seems to subconsciously need to differentiate between himself and Goofy. Hmm, it seems he has a rather negative image of his supposed friend! Interesting. Very, very interesting. And telling. *takes notes*

A very simple story structure: on a couple of occasions, Mickey and Goofy (NOT Goofy alone, Mickey) lose control of the plane, and it wreaks havoc on around the lake, sending the ice fisherman and some children that had been building snowmen fleeing. Mickey and Goofy are forced to run and hide from an angry mob (who are so irate, one guy is ready to take his ax to the plane, paying no heed to racking up a vandalism charge), but everyone forgets that they were mad at them when they're able to use the plane's propeller to blow the snow off of some skiers who'd been buried in an avalanche. Interesting how the mob was out for blood, but then suddenly are so compassionate toward some complete strangers. Now, you could argue that in their eyes, the skiers were innocent, or at least hadn't "wronged" the locals the way Mickey and Goofy had, but, still, does the minimal effort Mickey and Goofy put into rescuing the skiers absolve them of their "crimes"?

On its surface, the story gives off an old-fashioned country homeyness; the aim is to instill in the reader's mind the picture of a morally black-and-white world, in which justice is so swift and prompt that if there's any sort of misunderstanding arising in animosity and conflict between individuals, someone else nearby will suddenly have their life placed in mortal jeopardy, allowing the innocent but socially-put-on-trial part(ies) to redeem themselves by coming to the rescue. And taken at face value, the plot is ready-made for a children's storybook, and charming in its rural winter setting. But it has a whole other side. The moral questions discussed above linger, and -- though fleetingly, and played off lightly -- we see man's base nature in all its rashness and fickleness. Disturbing, indeed. ...no, I'm kidding. I really did make these observations, but I'm not about to go all How to Read Donald Duck on you. That wouldn't be fair to the story's eight-and-3/4 pages, and I happen to like the old-fashioned country winter homeyness.


"A Sound Deal" by Van Horn.  4 pages. Original.

Essentially, a succession of gags each with the same motif: Donald, having taken up the job of bugle salesman, is at someone's doorstep, and each person, by their own quirk or distinguishing feature, rejects Donald or drives him away. Some of these gags are of the "Huh? Where'd that come from?" nature, but you can't say that any of them are unoriginal (except the vicious guard dog ... or is that a wolverine? Well, some sort of killer guard animal is still just as much of a cliche). The concluding twist is pretty much the very best that could be done with bugles being the sales item in question. Kudos to Van Horn, on the whole.


"Raven Mad". Story and art by Daan Jippes. Translation and script by Byron Erickson. Originally published in the 3/31/72 of the Netherlands' Donald Duck weekly. ("No. 13" on the cover, but that means its the 13th issue of 1972, which is why Inducks has it designated as "#1972-13", natch.)

Jippes doing a Mickey story! Why didn't he do this more/why doesn't he do it more! It looks GREAT! From very early in his career, so rough in comparison to his later work (especially, say, his Junior Woodchucks redrawings) -- but has more energy, momentum, elasticity, and dynamics than most anything else! The premise and gags wouldn't be much by a more limited artist, but Jippes REALLY breathes life into them. His Mickey reminds me of `40's Gottfredson ... though he's wearing the traditional red and yellow-buttoned shorts, they're "big" -- more pronounced at the bottom, bringing to mind Gottfredson's "pantsed" (I kind just made that up.) mouse. And this Mickey is no dull cipher leading a seemingly charmed existence -- he's prone to frustration, irritation, embarrassment, anger ... the story even ends with him in jail!

Just for kicks, let's look at a run-down of the comic in which this story originally appeared (cited above), per Inducks:

-- 3-page Donald story with art by Carol Voges

-- 2-page text piece using panel by Barks, Bradbury, and Strobl that seems to be some sort of faux newspaper about the Disney characters

-- Mickey strip from 2/22/62 -- I think this appears at the end of 2-page text piece

-- 4-page L'il Bad wolf story with art by Ed van Schuijlenburg

-- "The Looney Lunar gold Rush" Part Two (!!!) -- only 6 pages! They serialized it!

Only 20 measly pages. But with it being a weekly, they get more pages per month of one title than, on average, we ever have. But I would still be irritated to have the Barks stories broken up like that, and would envy Americans for getting them all in one book.


"Turkey Trot at One Whistle" by Barks -- Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #162 (cover date March 1954).

A 10-pager in which Donald is actually successful and heroic! A lesser-known story, yet with Barks, even those are gems. It's a train hold-up story with no irony intended, and its romanticism is catching. Some gorgeous scenic art.


There's two Donald Duck newspaper strips, one on the inside front cover, and the other on the outside back cover. Each is completely exemplary of its respective creators and era. Since there's only so much that can be said about them, I'll just show them to you...

Inside front cover (no letter column yet; old-school comic fans know the drill with letters usually appearing until a third issue) -- "The Bus Stops Here", 2/11/38drawn by Al Taliaferro, and Inducks says that the writing was by Homer Brightman (it seems that the original newspaper version's title was "Home, James!"):

And from the back cover (this would've appeared on all of Gladstone's books that month, so it's not really a proper part of this issue, but, aw, what the hell?) -- "The Ice Have It" 12/10/83, written by Bob Foster, art by Frank Smith:

Have a nice week, guys!

-- Ryan

(Some of) my assorted thoughts on: Mickey and Donald #1 (Gladstone, cover date Mar. 1988)

Mickey and Donald was, in a way, a quintessential Gladstone I publication; one of the Gladstone I-iest Gladstone I comics of them all. What makes that so? One factor is, of course, the combination of vintage mouse and vintage duck material, the latter -- if I'm not mistaken -- all by Barks except for various one-page gags and such, while Mickey was -- in contrast to the Gottfredson-dominated flagship mosue title -- represented by Western-derived reprints by Murry, Bradbury, Wright, and others. In fact, this premiere issue's proto letter-column', besides a preview image of #2's cover (taking up most of the page's space) and a boldface editorial introduction to all readers and boldface one-line response to the letter-writer, consists of a letter from a reader lamenting the loss of Mickey Mouse Digest and the absence of an alternative vehicle for such Western fare.

Add to the actual comic book content the familiar logo and issue price/indicia, title logo design, and Daan Jippes art on the front cover, and the familiar stoic but humble (giving the comics the dignity they deserve, but not forgetting their cartoonish nature) typeface used in for the letter column and for Cross Talk (and not to mention all of the intelligent, caring letters from fans the world over and the mastery of insight, information, and charming grace of Geoffrey Blum's Cross Talk writing), and you have a Gladstone I comic), and the wonderful texture and aroma of that newsprint, and you have a pure Gladstone I comic -- the most perfect comics ever produced.


As #1 was released in December, it featured a Jippes reworking of the cover to 1949's Firestone Giveaway #9, which Inducks credits to Jim Pabian. I have a sneaking suspicion that Gladstone scheduled this title's debut so as to be able to use this cover. For my money, Jippes' version is an improvement, with a better grasp on the characters' personalities -- esecially Donald's. The original looks like it was by a children's book author of the era who only knew how to imitate the characters' general appearances and draw them smiling.

Cover by Daan Jippes. Recreation/reworking of Jim Pabian's cover to Firestone Giveaway #9, December 1949.

"The Trail to Treasure". Art by Paul Murry. Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #242, cover date Nov. 1960. 8 pages.

I had expected to find that this was from a Dell or Gold key issue of Mickey Mouse -- I've always assumed that any Murry story originating in WDC&S would be a three-part serial. It was preceded by Murry's serialized re-drawing of "An Education for Thursday" and followed by the Fallberg-Murry three-parter "Mickey's Strange Mission" (which was in turn followed by another, "The Moon-Blot Plot" ... which appears to not have had anything to do with the Phantom Blot, alas), so perhaps it was a rare "refresher" perhaps Murry got going again ... or Fallberg wasn't available in time to start writing a new serial. (Both scenarios remind me of how creative team scheduling is done at the big modern comic publishers.)

Even as a child, I felt that Murry's stuff was benign and dull in comparison to Gottfredson's. I still have a certain respect for the serials, though. And even by that margin, this story is still toothless ... especially when you consider that its trappings, uncovered ancient hieroglyph tablets and our treasure-hunting heroes being kidnapped by pirates (led by a bland iteration of, as he's called here, Black Pete) are the making of a rollicking adventure, but instead, they're used to set up an overly cute ending gag. And the stuff on the island involving dropping the ancient artifacts down the mountainside on the opposing teams' heads is just too slapsticky for me.


"New Toys". Written and drawn by Carl Barks. Firestone Giveaway #49, December 1949. 8 pages.

All the charm and yuletide warmth of most of Barks' late `40's Christmas stories. With the nephews at first being greedy and materialistic, it's more akin to "A Letter to Santa", but in the end, when the nephews' give away their new toys to poor children sadly watching them playing, it turns out to have all of the optimism and good will toward men that Barks displayed in "A Christmas for Shacktown".


"Christmas Surprise". Art by Bill Wright. Firestone Giveaway #49, December 1949. 8 pages.

As Blum notes in "Cross Talk", by including this and the above story, this issue reprints the contents of FG #49 in their entirety. It's nice to see Wright art -- I've said before, as Gottfredson's former inker, he's the closest a Western mouse artist ever got to having a Gottfredson-like spark of life to them and a rich, flexible feel to the inking. Also, as essentially a domestic sitcom -- much like Barks' ten-pagers -- it doesn't set the reader up for disappointment the way that "Trail to Treasure" did. And there's real humor here, not cheap slapstick; Mickey's determination to keep Minnie's presents hidden and Goofy's determination not to let his friend down feel like "real" motives, and ring completely true of these characters as we generally know them. And Mickey and Minnie's discovery of Goofy in an unexpected place at the end is silly, but as a result of the character's earnest but self-complicated efforts, it's genuinely funny and endearing.


"Fir-Tree Fracas". Written and drawn by Don Rosa. Original. 4 pages.

Early Rosa. Poor Donald -- he thinks he's completely succeeded at something unique and commendable, only to have disaster fall upon his creation. Who knew that Christmas lights could be the cause of such a wide-scale disaster ... shown so effectively and striking in its devastation because, ironically, of Rosa's grid-like art, reflecting his construction background.

-- Ryan

(Some of) my assorted thoughts on: Uncle Scrooge #231 (Gladstone, cover date Nov. 1988)

Our Don Rosa cover is very much in the same vein as Barks' covers for this very same title:

“Too Safe Safe” – Barks ten-pager. Walt Disneys Comics and Stories #171. 1954.

Scrooge task Donald with removing a sole mouse from the money bin … but not because it’s grunt work; Scrooge actually considers the mouse a threat to his cash of the most serious order, but Donald works the cheapest. The Donald-Scrooge interplay is archetypal, especially in the context of Donald working for Scrooge in the bin. Going as far as back as “ , this story certainly belongs to its era; to regular readers; there is a familiarity with the setting and the relationship between its inhabitants. Scrooge, of course, looks down on Donald, while Donald, though his uncle is prone to angering and insulting him, is determined to succeed in his assignment, though he’s just as on edge about failing. In the vein of the classic opening to “Back to the Klondike”, in which Donald nonchalantly stands by as Scrooge loses his nerves, pacing, talking to himself, and forgetting what happened a moment before, Donald comes off well in contrast with his obsessive-compulsive uncle; in fact, Donald looks outright SANE. (This is more apparent to the readers, however; Donald’s self-awareness is too limited to allow him that affirmation, sadly.) The bit where Donald, for some inscrutable reason, nails a pillow to the ceiling above Scrooge’s desk chair, then – once Scrooge has questioned him as to what the hell he’s doing – informs Scrooge of the discovered mouse, resulting in a shocked, alarmed, and outraged Scrooge literally hitting the (now-cushioned) ceiling in the fashion that only a cartoon character can, is hilarious.

Another priceless moment is – Scrooge having JUST sent Donald away, without pay due to Scrooge’s entire fortune now being inaccessible, worried about how he’s going to be able to eat – Scrooge’s realization that, “Wait! What am I going to eat?!” The one-panel lapse between Donald’s departure and Scrooge’s epiphany is timed PERFECTLY. And Scrooge’s facial expression – he looks like a truckload of hardened cement just hit him – is Barks at his comic(al) best.

Gyro, in one of his earliest appearances, functions as a plot device, providing the impenetrable wax that Scrooge’s entire bin is sealed in. (You would THINK that Scrooge would have enough foresight to realize the problem this would create, but not only are Barks’ characters all too human in their flaws – in this case, Scrooge is SO focused on protecting the contents of his vault from Federal Reserve note-nibbling rodents, he is unable to see any factors of the project external to tis primary objective. Additionally, Barks’ world is just cartoony and whimsical enough where such logic breaks [thanks, Gregory] are permissible.) Gyro isn’t yet the meek, somewhat downtrodden but generally cheery, relatable tinkerer we would come to know in the Barks’ Gyro-solo stories. Here, he’s more of tertiary joke in and of himself: he’s just some crank who claims that he can only get invention ideas when he knocks himself on the head. his role here is only to be the object of this recurring gag and to facilitate the impenetrable wax’s entry into the story. Don’t get me wrong, it is a funny portrayal, and he’s not unlikable, but we’re not given an opportunity to identify with him here. The evolution from Gyro’s more angular, raggedy appearance here to the more composed and upright character design Barks would settle on seems to parallel the evolution of his characterization, which may have been subconscious on Barks part; before the reader could identify with the character, its creator had to, first.

Of course, Barks had mastered the nephews by this point (I might even take a hardline, Don Rosa-ish position and state that not only are Barks’ nephews definitive, but he actually created them, and the rowdy little brats in the shorts never existed). Although they don’t show up until the final page, their appearance is quintessential Barks’ nephews: they’re shown as having taken – virtually parental – responsibility for feeding their bungling two uncles, admonishing them for their irresponsibility.

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“Fear of Buyin” (original title translates to “Loss Day Found”) – 8 pages. Plot: Joel Katz. Script: Tom Anderson. Pencils: José Cardona Blasi. Created in 1985, first published in 1987. Denmark.

Uh oh! This story includes a non-Barks flashback to Dawson that is invalidated by the very existence of Life and Times … and worse yet, it posits a life-defining moment that Scrooge has rued ever since! If it were just a few panels showing some generic depictions of Scrooge prospecting and walking past the saloons and dance halls of Dawson, I guess that’d be relativity innocuous … but this inferior story actually has the gall to invent an important and event – and even date!!! – in Scrooge’s life. I should repent for even having set eyes on it! And … quick!!! Any and every existing copies, scans, and the original art (if it even still exists) should be destroyed, per an international mandate!

No, I’m only kidding … and not at all in an anti-Don Rosa sense, mind you; see my comment above about Barks’ conception of the nephews. I’m a self-admitted continuity nut, and if anything, I’m poking fun at myself, if not “our kind” in general. Even Barks’ own “Cold Bargain” doesn’t seem to jive with “Back to the Klondike” (Rosa even had to retcon its placing of Scrooge’s far-north prospecting days in Alaska.) But whereas I was actually annoyed an Jippes gag piece that BOOM! published because it showed young Klondike Scrooge wrassling with a bear that looked exactly like Goldie’s Blackjack, there’s nothing about “Fear of Buyin’” that bugs me. I can understand objecting to the notion that a greenhorn Scrooge even had ONE millisecond of weakness and gave in to gambling’s lure, enough emphasis is placed on it being just that – a weak moment – and that it was a result of Scrooge hitting a low point and fearing failure (remember, he had barely his first dime, let alone a fortune, at this point – he surely had to have spats of self-doubt) is well-considered and demonstrates enough understand of the character that I commend it.

And, besides, it’s only the story’s set-up! Scrooge’s staff rejoicing at actually being dismissed early, the figurative dark cloud that hangs over Scrooge each year on this date (see? This IS the Scrooge we know – if he DID actually make such a youthful indiscretion, he WOULD regard it in this manner), his anxiety over having to adhere to his vow to abstain from all business for the day’s duration, his inability to avoid anything that reminds him of money, and his frantic roping in of Donald to be his “guardian”, and Donald’s flubbing things at the auction are all prime Duck story transpirations, and are by-and-large Barks-worthy. (The work-base bickering between Scrooge and Donald compliments the preceding story nicely, too.)

Okay, the “can’t avoid anything that reminds him of money” sequence is a bit hackneyed, but nearly inevitable. Sue Daigle – credited with scripting the U.S. version, the only instance of her doing so that I’m aware of – may even improve the gags with the pun book titles that Scrooge jumps away from. Presumably, they were completely different titles in the original version, but still jokes or puns – just different ones. Otherwise, the gags just wouldn’t work.

Standard, perfectly fine Gutenberghus/Egmont art. Of course, Gladstone only accounted for Cardona Blasi with "Produced by the Gutenberghus Group". I have a feeling that Blasi could have been on Vicar's staff of "ghost" artists.

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The Beagle Boys – “Soured on Sweets” (original title translates to “A Sweet Tooth”). Plot: Neville Jason. Script: Bob Bartholomew. Pencils: Daniel Branca. Created in 1984, first published in 1987. Denmark.

The chocolate factory slapstick, the cliché of having to go through a million (actual number not stated – but odd how EVERYTHING that came off the production line went to ONE tiny local shop) assembly line products to find a misplaced, greatly desired object, and the silly coincidence of the Beagles running into not one but two other womanat the zoo each holding yet ANOTHER box of chocolates? Meh. Daniel Branca’s art? YEAH!!! I think I’ve said this before, but he pulls off the feat of drawing Barksian Beagles who are more expressive and “flexible than Barks’ (who usually were pretty stiff, but it was part of Barks’ comical conception of them, not a fault), but doesn’t fall into the heavily stylized, angular, absurdly cartoony European digest style.

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“Shaping Up” – one-page gag by William Van Horn. Original.

Van Horn still getting his feet wet. Donald comments that Scrooge, upon exiting a gym, looks healthier … not because of a workout, because he turned down all of the very expensive fitness courses that the gym had to offer. (Expensive being the operative word.) A relatively simple but tightly-paced and in-character gag.

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The entire letter column is taken up by one GREAT letter chiming in on a debate that had been going on at that time in Gladstone’s letters columns – written by a lawyer in Michigan, making a serious, monetarily complex argument but with (most notably at the end) a fantastically dry wit.

-- Ryan

(P.S. Yes, the Aladdin reviews will continue -- just trying to make sure that I don't lose my [very few] regular readers!)

(Some of) my assorted thoughts on: Uncle Scrooge #320 (Gemstone, cover date August 2003)

During the earliest months of the Gemstone era, to which this issue belongs, I was in college, and, though a few years earlier I had lost interest in comics as Gladstone II was easing into its prestige format-exclusive final leg, I was still excited about the return of the comics that I had grown up reading and loving. But, the whole reason that I had gravitated away from comics in the first place is because during high school, I got this notion in my head that the only way to be sophisticated was to like bleak music, art, and literature created by (totally never posturing) tortured souls. So, Gemstone's bright, colorful aesthetic and the light-hearted, good-natured-but-not-naive, sometimes-subtly-cynical-but-never-outright-despondent stories just didn't jive with me. Why did I remember these comics as being substantive, when now, I could only get very little out of them? 

Well, the problem wasn't the comics -- it was me. I had completely failed to realize that part of the process of growing up was getting stupid ideas and making stupid decisions, and then taking a while to figure out that they were stupid. (Some people never figure that out, I'm afraid...) I was preoccupied with image and a superficial notion of what an intellectual and "artistic" person should be. I'm grateful that in the years since, I've matured and become more well-rounded. And being more centered, I can see an issue like this for what it is: a very solid one, brimming high-quality, quietly satiric, witty, well-crafted stories. 

First up is William Van Horn's 16-page "Fools of the Trade", which is very un-Barksian in the sense that it centers around a one-shot character whose an object of completely fantasy and whim: a talking dragon. Of course, it's Van Horn's wont to engage with outlandish content ... but always with a decided sense of irony and parody, and this story is certainly in keeping. The idea is that that "high-tech" defense systems have invariably failed in staving off the Beagle Boys, so Scrooge has decided to go "old-school", and import a dragon "cloned from the claw of" one of its antecedents. (So, Van Horn has gone a semi-scientific route -- it's not like he's just having dragons suddenly romping around in abundance in the modern world. And it's consistent with his absurdist approach that this explanation is tossed at us dismissively and in passing.) To Scrooge's disappointment, the dragon -- "Figgy", "short for Figment", a clever Disney reference -- turns out not at all as expected, not much larger than one of the nephews and to have a dopey, aloof personality. This twist has a Jay Ward flavor to it.

(The deliberately anti-climactic -- turning the convention on its head -- half-page splash of Figgy nonchalantly strutting out from the darkness of the crate in which he was delivered demonstrates perfect comic timing. I think it'd have me in a slight fit of giggling if instead of exclaiming, "Howdy do, folks!", Figgy were to utter simply, "'sup?" [There's a Paul Dini-scribed issue of Detective Comics that uses basically the same gag, but with the Joker.'] However, I'd probably be adverse to the use of such overly contemporary slang.)

Writers of lesser skill might (in probably a considerably shorter story) have the revelation of Figgy's non-threatening presence be the entire punchline, and maybe, if at all worth his or salt, proceed to end on a gag in which Figgy is able to keep the Beagles away from the bin after all, just not in the way Scrooge had originally hoped. (Taking an aspect of Van Horn's superior version, Figgy's diet consisting entirely of beans, it could be Figgy's breath being really repulsive... or... well, fart jokes aren't really a part of duck comics, so...) Fortunately, Van Horn's talent has given us a much busier, more complex tale involving the Beagles' scheme to acquire Scrooge's cash with a matter transmitter going awry due to their own bungling and complications arising from Figgy getting mixed up in it, resulting in a storm of confusion on both the ducks' and the Beagles' ends. This is a first-rate, silly-but-clever, slapsticky-but-witty Van Horn spoof! The Beagles' being sick of eating beans and accidentally transporting Scrooge's bean supply to their hideout strikes me as a Barksian twist, although I can't help but think that Barks would've saved it for a master stroke a the very end. However, Scrooge does tie things in with a bean-alluding closing one-liner -- and that remark being couple with the last panel's depiction of the Beagles' punishment, and their "Should've been careful what you wished for"-begging remarks that they're sick of the very sight of money, has enough of a Barksian tinge to it that it's still makes for a strong conclusion. Actually, one could say that it's Van Horn enough to be a strong ending, or that it's just a strong ending, period.

The very idea of the Beagle Boys relocating the contents of the bin to their hideout immediately brings to mind the DuckTales episode "The Money Vanishes". The resemblance is all the more closer because in both cases, t he Beagles are using an apparently abandoned urban building (whether it had originally been used for offices, tenements, warehouse or storage, or what have you, it's not clear in either case; the one on DuckTales -- which appeared in multiple episodes -- is worn down and boarded up, while Van Horn's is merely nondescript; the DT one is three stories high, while its hard to tell if the one in Van Horn's story, and those on either side of it, are one or two stories), and in both cases, the Beagles ultimate undoing is that their building becomes overloaded with cash and it bursts out onto the street.

Oh, and I think I might know a guy whose family owns the bean company that Scrooge orders Figgy's pay/feed from! ;)

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"Fools" is very well complemented by the 15-page 1981 Disney Studio production "The Big Break-In", written by Carl Fallberg and drawn by Romano Scarpa -- an international collaboration! Unlike many of Scarpa's duck stories that have made it to the U.S., this one actually makes sense -- I guess its to be expected that a U.S. writer such as Fallberg would be more on the same page as a U.S. audience. The proceedings here are notably sillier than Fallberg's average Mickey Mouse adventure-mystery, although perhaps it's Scarpa's exaggerated, tense poses and expressions that play up the frantic energy the story projects. Taking into account the notion of Scrooge's safe combination tumblers not lining up right because the money in the bin is imbalanced and causing a tilt, and Scrooge counting on the Beagles succeeding in breaking in to solve his problem and sitting back against a tree and taking a nap while he lets them go to work, the high-strung Gyro scrambling to find a solution while the calm Helper accidentally discovers one, and Gyro blindly bringing Helper's solution right into the Beagles' hands, this is a very acutely written, original story -- basically, all of the adjectives that I used for the Van Horn story apply here! The characterization is dead-on, too ... Fallberg should've done more duck stories!

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Barks eight-page "The Madball Pitcher" from one of his Gyro Gearloose issues of Four Color (#1095, 1960) is certainly preferable to those Huey, Dewey, and Louie soccer stories that Gemstone would later feature. However, I question that Gyro never feels guilty for helping both teams virtually cheat ... but in a way where the two inventions cancel each other out! This might be explained as Gyro's exasperated, miserable, "I'm in for it either way" attitude eclipsing any moral concerns that he might have. (I also have a feeling that the way Gyro's characterized here is a reflection of his creator, who revealed a certain degree of self-deprecation fuddy-duddiness in interviews.) But notably, the ending finds both teams at each others' throats -- in a way, both get their comeuppance, but at the same time, they don't seem to have realized that they both committed the very same crime. Safe to say, one of Barks' more cynical moments!

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Geoffrey Blum's writing and Daniel Branca's art guarantee a fulfilling read, but "World Wide Witch" dares to do something I'm inherently wary of: "bring the ducks into the modern world". In fact, the technological references that this story is saturated with are now dated and quaint! Furthermore, it still feels very much like a duck story; even a Barks story. (And it's certainly more tasteful than all of those recent Italian stories that I've seen in which the ducks and mice are seen using smartphones and Facebook-type social networking platforms.) 

Blum treats us to a very thoughtful, insightful, enjoyable one-page article explaining the origins and goals of his story. Blum's observation that Scrooge and Magica "are two sides of the same coin" turns into a confession that he identifies with both on the terms that they're "self-dramatizing outsiders laboring away at specialized careers and venturing into society mainly when they need something from it". Personally, I identify to a T with Blum's self-description personified as his personal interpretation of two of Barks' creations ... which corroborates with the understanding of the characterized that I've acquired over the course of my life to date, and, by extension, to their creator. Thus, it all kind of adds up here: why Blum has always been so well-suited to writing about Barks, and while I've always been drawn to Barks, and to Gladstone/Another Rainbow's Blum-dominated contextualizing of Barks. (Perhaps it's more true than not that I've actually grown into relating to all of this.) ...hey, how did this review become so much about me?! I feel so naked now!

-- Ryan

From (one of) my bookshel(ves): Donald Duck Comics Digest #3 (Gladstone; cover date March 1987)

Though not Christmas-themed, this issue is winter-themed (as indicated by the cover, below). So, though my timing could be better, it's nonetheless befitting of the season ... especially considering that in my locale, it snowed this past week (causing me to be stuck in slow-moving traffic, thus frustrating me, for the duration of my drive home from work Tuesday ... grrr ...)

The Barks cover is from Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #149 (1953). At a glance, it looks all too stoic and inactive. Then you actually look at it, and so realize the gag and that its rendering is perfect. That's our guy.

(Cover image courtesy, as usual, of the vital boon to humanity that is Inducks.)

Like most of Gladstone's four short-lived digests, these 100 pages are comprised of a dash of Barks and several non-Barks shorts stories and a couple of gags, all originally printed by Western. Their origination spans from the `40's through `70's. Though you might think I'd regret a missed opportunity to present long-form European stories, I appreciate my copies -- they have their own little charm. A variety of material featuring my favorite characters and a heckload of pages -- what's not to like?

Let's address Donald Duck Comics Digest #3's specific contents:

Donald Duck -- "The Titanic Ants!" (Written and drawn by Carl Barks. From Donald Duck #60, 1958.) An anomaly in two regards, neither of which I know the reason for: 1. This was several years after Barks left Donald Duck (first the Four Color issues and then as its own regular title) for Uncle Scrooge. 2. Instead of Barks' (and Western's) standard four-tiers-per-page/rectangular panels format, we're subjected to the three-tiers-per-page/big square panels format. 

It's a one-off for Barks in terms of content, too: it's 20 pages, but not an adventure story. It's Duckburg park setting and the premise -- Donald and the nephews employed as "waiters and clean-up boys", as well as "ant shooters!" (emphasis Barks'), for a snooty high society gathering -- suggests a 10-pager-esque affair. It's easy to imagine Donald trying his best to impress the elites, only to unwittingly cause things to go disastrously downhill. (say, by unwittingly spilling ant poison into the main course, causing everyone to immediately fall ill). Now, it's a deviation of the formula to see the nephews are tasked with the same duties and responsibilities as Donald, he and they by all appearances intending to work as team. Usually, the nephews would not be participants. Donald would be boasting to them that he's going to excel in his performance and endear himself to the well-to-dos, only to have them stand on the sidelines and cringe at his mounting series of failures. But we still might be staying on the expected route: Donald might at any moment resentfully crow that he will outshine the nephews, and a spiteful competition would ensue, resulting in whatever means by which things go wry and chaos breaks loose. 

But, no, Donald and the nephews remain on amicable, cooperative terms for the story's full duration.Things do inevitably go awry, facilitating the inevitable total upsetting and flustering of the top hat-and-coattails-sporting, diamond-adorned picnickers. But Donald's ego is hardly a factor; there's no ultimate down-dressing for his pride, jealousy, greed, spite, etc. This isn't one of Barks' morality plays, and not infused with quiet disgruntlement, as are many of his 10-pagers. Instead, when the going-awry unfolds, Donald and the nephews simply become unnerved and hurriedly try to address and find a way to resolve the problem. This characterization is innocent, and not selfish or scheming, like we'd find them elsewhere. It's implied that they don't want to screw up in front of the elites, but it's not a driving factor. It's more basic and straightforward: they're the straight men against an outlandish occurrence. 

What outlandish occurrence would that be? The picnic is beset upon by an army of lion-sized ants. Donald and the nephews' above-noted camaraderie is, in a sense, befitting of the story's nature: it's one of Barks more bombastic, fantastical, over-the-top outings, not heavy-handed in the least. Though the giant ants are the work of a stock eccentric scientist, there's little to no science woven into the story, and clearly, no history or geography, as in many of the adventure stories. In terms of its pure fancifulness and whimsy, it's something of a kindred spirit with "The Golden Christmas Tree", as aesthetically and contextually different as the two stories may be. (Then again, Barks' later Uncle Scrooge outer space adventures stretch the limits of believability, given aspects like the uncanny fast and user-friendly space ships in "The Luny Lunar Gold Rush" or "The 24-Karat Moon". But, those stories have Barks' exquisite fable-like narratives and/or his keen sense of satire. "Titanic Ants!" is sheer spectacle.) 

Given the B-horror movie trappings, to me this is one of Barks' least appealing stories. However, it's still a satisfying read, owing to its purely Barksian traits: the comical poses and expressions of the panicking high society picnickers; and the characterizations of the overwhelmed Donald-and-nephews, and of Scrooge -- myopic due to his utter fixation on finagling some advantageous business deals, and then caught utterly by surprise (and then in turn, having a nervous breakdown) when the risks he should have perceived come to fruition, jeopardizing the what he thought were surefire investments he'd just made. Barks' Scrooge was volatile. When other Western creators tried their hand at Scrooge, he was benign.

Keeping with this not being one of Barks' disgruntled, cynical stories, the resolution works in both Donald and Scrooge's favor. The story twist that begets the ending's circumstances is clever, ironic, and funny ... unlike the attempted but cloying twist endings of some of the other stories in this issue ...

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Two Chip 'n' Dale six-pagers are included, both written by [author unknown] and drawn by Jack Bradbury;  as are two of the (grits teeth) Barks-scripted, Kay Wright-drawn `70's Junior Woodchucks stories. Though one of my biggest heroes Barks may be, those things are like the proverbial suffered root canal operation. Okay, okay, they're not that bad (...okay, okay, not nearly as bad -- now leave me alone about it! ...say, are those root canal things really as bad as they're cracked up to be?) They have their moments of humor ... but, eh, they're just so, I don't know, procedural, or something. And, yes, Kay Wright's banal, uninspired art doesn't help matters. But they do have their moments, like (re: the two in this digest) the brashness of the arrogant golfers in "New Zoo Brews Ado"; the obese Little Chickadee who uses her weight to foil the Woodchucks they're competing in a race against in "Music Hath Charms"; or, in the latter, the aloof Gyro bemoaning that his Pied Piper-evoking electronic rodent-luring musical pipe is hypnotizing and drawing children, not pests, as if that's a common problem.

But there's little way around it: Barks seemed to have phoned these in. See: "New Zoo Brews Ado"'s series of gags built around escaped zoo animals foiling the golfer's attempted drives. Kind of trite and primitive, no? ("New Zoo Brews Ado" is from Huey, Dewey, and Louie Junior Woodchucks -- um, hello, Western, why did you have such a staggering disregard for grammar -- #20, 1972). Or the utterly thin and one-note characterization of Donald in "Music Hath Charms" (HD&LJW #21, 1972 -- consecutive issues; catch that?); he hates that his nephews have so many trophies and awards, and so as to get back at them, doesn't think it that it might cast him in a bad light to muck up a children's race and stranding a bunch of the kids on an island.  (True, in many of Barks' `40's 10-pagers, he never put the gloves on when squaring off with the kids; but in those stories, there was more dynamics in their characterization and interaction. And plus, it was a different time; spanking your kids wasn't a social death sentence and a legal risk.) It isn't even implied that his disdain for the trophies is a symptom of his own feelings of inadequacy. His function in the story is no more, "RAHHHHH, I hate these trophies SO MUCH! I'm gonna GET YOU!!!"

As for the chipmunk stories ... my first instinct was to say that the art is as uninviting as Wright's. Then I remembered that this is Jack Bradbury that we're talking about ... how could it be that I would feel so negatively about his art? A quick glance at the backgrounds and incidental characters reassured me that I found his art here as pleasing as I do anywhere else ... while in any given panel, the title characters register as ugly, while everything else around them is quite fine.

You're probably thinking, "Huh? What's going on here? What's this glaring weird quirk/hang-up of Ryan's?" It's this: for some inexplicable reason, in comparison to the theatrical shorts, Western's Chip and Dale -- no matter the artist -- were off-model. Western seemed to have their own model for the duo, as their appearance was consistent between all of their stories that Western produced ... again, no matter the artist. And, frankly, the Western versions are obtuse and just plain blahhhhhhh in comparison to the official one. Add to that the baby talk dialect that Western designated as standard for the characters, and you have some pretty saccharine, tacky comics. 

Still, these stories are fairly clever and somewhat funny ... I guess. First, in order to withstand "The Cold Winter" (WDC&S #231, 1959), the pair seeks shelter, only to be evicted from every potential site by the occupants who have already claimed it. Finally, when they breach the den of a bear irate at their having awoken him, they appear to be unwanted yet again ... but then, the exhausted bear falls asleep on his feet and collapses to the floor of the cave, trapping them under him. They figure, "Well, hey, we'll be warm here until spring!" Clever, right? Ironic, no? Funny, yes? Yeah. I guess. 

About 40 pages later, "It's Snow Joke" (WDC&S #232, 1959 -- yet again, consecutive issues -- catch it this time?) finds a mischievous Dale getting a rise out of startling other denizens of the forest with snow statues of menacing animals and creatures sculpted impromtu. His first three victims are, in order, Chip, Thumper, and the adult Bambi. (The latter represents considerable thought having been given to continuity.) His fourth (and fated to be final) victim is ... the witch from Snow White, who apparently survived her plunge from that cliff at the end of the movie but when she landed, struck her head on a rock, causing brain damage -- to wit, Alzheimer's. Thus, we find her with no apparent awareness of the fact that she's actually the Queen (of...er...the present-day forest where Chip and Dale live, which, going by other stories, is in or adjacent to Duckburg?) and 100% content to wander around in the woods during winter as a disfigured elderly hag. (The preceding represents a considerable, utter lack of thought having been given to continuity.)

Anyway, everyone that Dale gives a start to (what, they couldn't tell that it was snow and inanimate?) chews him out, but he doesn't give a florg and just keeps right on doing it ... until he gets his comeuppance, when the witch animates and menaces him with his greatest achievement, a giant snow sculpture of a dragon. But then he redeems himself by rescuing his friends from the dragon, and pushing a snowball down a hill, which, as the routine goes, quickly amasses more and mor until it's huge ... and then it strikes and buries the witch. Who's left that way, with NO magical resources to free herself, I guess we're to understand. 

Okay, so "Cold Winter" is kind of dumb ... and I guess "Snow Joke" sort of is, too ... but it's kind of weird and random, so it has that going for it, making me kind of like it. What was [writer unknown' thinking? Scaring your friends with snow sculptures? Bambi and Thumper? The witch from Snow White? A dragon snow sculpture come to life? (Okay, that one's not far-fetched, once you have Dale building scary snow sculptures as your m.o. ... but it's a weird, out-of-left-field m.o., nonetheless.) (Actually, now that I think of it, I can picture the Rescue Rangers Dale doing this. That's a fluke: with Western Chip 'n' Dale stories, that isn't by any means typical: Chip-as-straight-man/Dale-as-slacker-and-overgrown-kid hadn't yet been conceived, and wouldn't be until RR went into development.)

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I consider the gem of this issue to be "The Firebugs", a Donald Duck backup story from Four Color #300 (1950), the issue that brought to the world Barks' "Big-Top Bedlam". "Firebugs" is the rare Paul Murry-drawn duck story (with inks by Carl Buettner, and the writer being unknown). Visually, it's delectable! His ducks are leaner and drawn with more pronounced curved angles. In a way, they're vaguely Taliaferro-like, but smoother -- though his art was full and detailed, Taliaferro's art had a somewhat rough edge to it. Couple his exquisite character poses with the old-timey, kind of New England-ish setting(I'm from here, and I wouldn't trade our winters for anything) -- replete with the nighttime glow of a fireplace -- setting, and you have 20 pages that, at least to me, are visually delectable.

The basic premise is fairly Barksian: Donald tries to do something that he's convinced he'll excel at, only to complete botch it and make at least a couple of people really mad at him in the process. The rift between him and the nephews established at the story's beginning, spawning Donald's determination to prove them wrong, also rings true of the stories Barks had been turning out for nearly all of the 10 years immediately preceding this. However, the way in which the nephews foil Donald is completely accidental (in fact, they're oblivious to it), leaving one -- or at least me -- with the feeling that they were overlooked as active characters in an active relationship with their uncle. But overall, a pretty damn good story (though it's certainly the art that makes it).

A couple of oddities about this story: 1. Goofy's in it. 2. Goofy's intermittently out-of-character: I don't see him as the type to get caught up in a mob mentality, the kind of grunt that bullheadedly starts chanting at Donald, who'd just won over the mob, "Speech! Speech!" But his slapstick performance in his and Donald's attempts at being firemen goes down just right. 3. Scrooge lives next door to Donald, in the same type of house. 4. Donald's incompetence irks an ornery Scrooge, a relatively decent approximation of their relationship as developed by Barks. Scrooge giddy with glee at the (apparent) sight of Donald's house caught fire? Wow, this Scrooge is COLD. But then, this was only a couple years after Barks first brought Scrooge into the world in "Christmas as Bear Mountain" as a considerably vindictive, borderline sadistic, craven old wretch. Hell, "Only a Poor Old Man" was still two years away! Knowing that, we can't blame the writer (whoever he or she was) for depicting Scrooge as reveling in the prospect of his child, outwardly cherubic three grandnephews burning to death (as you'd think he'd have to know that they'd be in bed at that time of night). The few precedents to date qualified Scrooge as a pretty nasty elderly man.

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This respective digest issue winds down with "El Toreador Grandma", a six-page Grandma Duck bit from WDC&S #145 (1952). Gladstone's credits for it read, in full, "Artist unknown", but Inducks that it was written by Don Christensen and drawn by Frank McSavage. I'm sure they know what they're talking about. McSavage's art is lively, articulate, and wholesome -- as good as Paul Murry's "Firebugs" art, really. And, it's genuinely funny. (This brings up the age-old question: does the art quality influence one's perception of the writing? If Kay Wright had drawn this, would its humor be significantly blunted? And if McSavage had drawn the Junior Woodchucks stories reprinted in this issue, would the gags and general humor come off as more inspired and insightful? Didn't Geo kind of touch on this in his Wright-Jippes Woodchucks comparisons?) At each and every story beat, every facial expression and character pose hits JUST the right note. Gus showing the left-behind business card to Grandma so as to bring to her attention that she'd just sold her beloved docile old bull to a bullfight producer plays like an exaggerated-and-ironic moment of realization from a Charlie Chaplin short or an E.C. Segar strip. And speaking of Segar, Grandma's undaunted perseverance (driving all the way to Mexico in pursuit of her bull; entering the ring mid-bullfight and taking over when the matador is incapacitated) and uncanny strength (said matador was incapacitated by her not realizing her own strength while shoving him) evokes Popeye, as well as Jeff Smith's Gran'ma Ben. 

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There's also a one-page gag and a half-page gag. They're so-so.

-- Ryan

A sampling of Gladstone's original run: Donald Duck #269 (Oct. 1988; cover date Jan. 1989)

Last Wednesday night, at my favorite restaurant, I joined my family to celebrate my 32nd birthday. Gifts included several articles of clothing and a new pair of shoes for the job that I'm starting next week, a Batman logo t-shirt from my sister, and, from my grandmother, a copy of Gladstone's Donald Duck #269. (She said that she asked at the comic shop for "the oldest Disney comic they have", and this is what they produced. At the time of my seventh birthday, it would've been one of the newest.)

Juxtaposed in this issue are two ten-pagers each built around Donald competing against Gladstone to win a contest: best apples at the county fair in Barks' "Red Apple Sap" from Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #205 (Oct. 1957); and best photograph of a buffalo -- the prize being a much-hyped new car -- in the Daniel Branca-penciled "Eyes on the Bison (its native Danish title being "Dream Car", per Inducks), originally published in 1980. 

A particularly entertaining angle in "Sap" is that Gladstone isn't even trying to harvest apples, and is only peripherally aware of the budding apple tree in his yard. He does give passing thought to the fact, given his luck, his apples' success come the fall harvest is a sure bet, but from what Barks shows us, from spring to fall, Gladstone never leaves the lounge chair beneath said apple tree. Donald, meanwhile, tries desperately, all season long, to tend his apples to perfection, and is dismayed to to see, again and again, every effort he make turn in Gladstone's favor. On the other side of the fence -- Gladstone, not Jones, is the next-door foe this time around  -- Gladstone's involvement never goes further than wondering what his cousin is throwing a fit about this time.

As you'd expect from the man who invented and perfected the character of Gladstone and the Donald-Gladstone rivalry, they're in quintessential form here. Not only that, but it's a unique and ingenious variation of the formula, achieving a near-fable-like perfection in its simplicity. Barks typically wrote Gladstone in ative competition with his cousin; here, Gladstone repeatedly foils Donald without even willing or trying, his mere existence the catalyst for the obstructing and thwarting of Donald's efforts. 

Better yet, the funny, ironic premise culminates in Donald's victory. On the first page, it isn't a mistake that the narration and dialogue repeatedly emphasizes that in harvest season, those who've worked hard since spring "reap what they have sown". Barks echoes said phrase on the final page, as the plot twist allowing Donald to earn the prize he'd sought and deserved plays out. This is one of those cases where one gets the feeling that the writer cheated a little to work their way around Gladstone's luck. What makes it work, overall, is that Gladstone's luck prevailed as always in the sense that he never lost what he most desired: peace, quiet, and freedom from physically or mentally exerting himself. 

Still, an argument could be made that in entertaining and favoring the notion of winning the contest, Gladstone should have kept his idleness and won best-in-show. If that's true, it would follow that given the lesser prize that he is awarded at story's end, his luck's been diminished a bit. I cannot stress enough, however, that I am quibbling over the technicalities of Gladstone's luck here. The evident pleasure that Gladstone takes in his "special" honor results from his preoccupation with "the easy life", keeping the whole unified. The farming subject matter hinting at his youth, the story's "hard work and perseverance" values are purely Barksian. Nonetheless, he didn't that often end one of his stories on a cut-and-dry "And so, the person who worked hard and persevered, naturally, won out in the end" note. However, that unambiguousness is counterblanaced by the irony and disgruntledness that runs throughout the story, with Barks' curmudgeon nature in full gear. So, why complain when Donald's, for once, given a break? I, for one, was happy from him!

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On the other hand, in "Eyes on the Bison", the world is as harsh and unfair to Donald as it usually is, when up against his good-fortuned cousin. In this case, Gladstone indeed intends and seeks to come in first place ... and, naturally (a term that can be taken very literally where Gladstone's concerned), he does, while the great lengths Doanld goes to and the pain he endures (nearly being mauled to death by a raging wild buffalo) is all for naught. There's no moral here: it's your standard Donald-vs.-Gladstone affair, replete with the expected, inevitable outcome. And it's a completely adequate application of said formula. Of course, the Branca art Geoffrey Blum script, both exquisite, enliven and add much flare to the proceedings.

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William Van Horn, in his brisk, punchy, brimming-with-outlandish-cartoonish-action five-page "The Bright Side", shows Donald being rash, egotistic, bullheaded, and stubborn ... and then punishes him for it, ending on a hospitalized Donald in a full-body cast. I was rooting for Donald to pull off what he boasted he could, but I guess I can't fault anyone for saying -- or the thrust of the narrative for being -- "He asked for it!" Either way, the story's a fun ride ... and, with its sequence of Donald and the nephews sledding on trash can lids down a mountainside covered with a few feet of fresh snow, it looks like a fun ride. 

The three Taliaferro dailies included in this issue each employ the same basic "boom, bam, done" structure: Donald is presented in a situation in which he's being a jerk and/or impatient and testy, and then "karma" suddenly bites him in the ass. If you, like me, find Taliaferro's renderings charming and rich, and his expressions, pacing, and action to be quite fine cartooning, then you'll appreciate these. 

I noticed that the author of one of this issue's letter lived (kind of) near where I live (and pretty much always have). I decided to Google his name, and found his Amazon! Wish List. Its contents -- numerous `40's-`60's western and adventure films and comedy TV series -- indicates a "boomer", which is consistent with the letter, as it was certainly written by no child (but by an adult with learned and rather picky taste).

Anyway, gee, thanks, Grandma!

-- Ryan

article about Carl Barks from another blog...

Here's an outstanding post that cuts to the chase as to how awesome Carl Barks is. (If you don't already realize how awesome he is, read it. If you already do realize how awesome he is, it's like porn.)

A coincidence, or a "missing link" found?

A few years ago, going on the recommendation of a friend who since high school has been one of my closest, I perused the work of film director Werner Herzog. This post is off-the-cuff, so to introduce Herzog, I'll cite Wikipedia: he is "one of the greatest figures of the New German Cinema", and "[h]is films often feature heroes with impossible dreams, people with unique talents in obscure fields, or individuals who find themselves in conflict with nature."

After binging on a fraction of the Herzog filmography, at some point during the ensuing couple of years, for one reason or another, my thoughts fell upon Herzog. I began turning over in my mind my memories of the several of his movies that I'd seen. Suddenly, it struck me that some of them had a difficult-to-pinpoint but distinctive air of ... Carl Barks! I'll quote again, in part, one or more Wikipedia author's characterization of Herzog's work: " ... heroes with impossible dreams, people with unique talents in obscure fields ... " Might that not be apt things to say about, say, Scrooge McDuck or Gyro Gearloose?

In particular, there were two Herzog films that I'd seen, Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972) and Fitzcarraldo (1982) -- incidentally(?) both starring Klaus Kinski -- that stood out as Barksian. Especially Fitzcarraldo. Take into account the Wikipedia entry's (as of this writing) introductory synopses of the film: "It portrays would-be rubber baron Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, an Irishman known as Fitzcarraldo in Peru, who has to pull a steamship over a steep hill in order to access a rich rubber territory. The film is derived from the real-life story of Peruvian rubber baron Carlos Fitzcarrald." I ask you, does that not sound like a plot that would be seemlessly transposable for an Uncle Scrooge story? Perhaps in particular, given the harrowing tone of Herzog's film, a Don Rosa Uncle Scrooge story?

Tonight, I re-read Uncle Scrooge #249 (Disney Comics, Dec.1990), featuring the book-length story "The Puffer", plotted by Paul Halas (according to Inducks -- this credit is absent in the issue itself), scripted by Gary Gabner (update: per Joe Torcivia, both Disney Comics and Inducks are incorrect in crediting the dialogue to Dave Angus), and drawn by Daniel Branca -- a rare treat, indeed, a book-length Daniel Branca story! Revolving around a steamboat race pitting Scrooge and his nephews against Argus McSwine, it draws heavily from ... well, logically, Barks' "The Great Steamboat Race", originally printed in Uncle Scrooge #11 (Dell, Sept. 1955). The villain in Barks' original one of his many McSwine prototypes, here dubbed Horseshoe Hogg.

Two-thirds or so of the way into tonight's reading, I suddenly got a strong sense of an impending plot development, and my heart skipped a beat ... or I gasped in shock ... or a chill went down my spine ... well, I'm not sure if any of those literally happened, but it was like one of them had! ;) Sure enough, just as in Fitzcarraldo, the aid of a native tribe is enlisted to construct over a stretch of land to a river an extended platform upon which they'll tow a terra firma-stranded steamboat until it's asail in said river!

(See the resemblance/commonalities?) ;)

I have no idea if Halas, Angus, or Branca had seen or even knew of Fitzcarraldo. But directly inspired by the film or not, it works fantastically as a homage to "The Great Steamboat Race" and an original, well-crafted -- but still Barksian -- Scrooge story, yet also, at least to some degree, affirming my sense of an "odd couple" kinship between Barks and Herzog and Fitzcarraldo's adaptability to an Uncle Scrooge comic!

If you're a Barks fan and Herzog and Fitzcarraldo at all appeal to you, I urge you to seek it out!

-- Ryan