New comic(s, two of 'em!) review: Uncle Scrooge #417-418 (IDW, April-May 2016)

 

Left: Cover for #417 by Alessandro Perina, from Topolino #2985.

Right:  Cover for #418 by Ulrich Schroeder and Daan Jippes. Original.

"Scrooge's Last Adventure" Parts 1 and 2 (#417-418)
written by Francesco Artibani
drawn by Alessandro Perina
lettered by Nicole and Travis Seitler
new U.S. dialogue by Jonathan H. Gray
(Italy, Topolino #2985-2986, February 12th and 18th, 2013)

This is what the ill-paced, under-developed "Rightful Owners" four-parter of 2011's short-lived U.S. DuckTales comic should have been... and I think was trying to be. (Not to mention that Rockerduck unquestionably belongs in an Uncle Scrooge story, whether properly cast -- as he is here -- as one of Scrooge's arch-nemeses, whereas his comparable (unprecedented) involvement in "Owners" was... puzzling.) One of if not the most recent Italian duck stories that IDW has printed, it reveals that Italy's most popular comic is keeping pace with its American counterparts, in terms of "big", blockbuster-level stories that bask in the mythologies of the respective headlining stars and their universe, playing to a cumulative archetypal conception of them given a new spin, the figurative "money shot" being our hero faced with a harrowing day of self-reckoning and/or devastating crisis and defeat that speaks directly to and underlines their "core essence". Strictly in terms of Batman, a definitive example of this kind of thing would be "Night of the Owls"; or its slightly-less-modern (and now virtually legendary) progenitor, "Knightfall".

Getting back to the DuckTales comparison, I find it apt as even though the TV is now considerably more dated than I ever imagined it'd become, in conceit it was always a more Hollywood incarnation of the duck comics... and with "Scrooge's Last Adventure" (ahem, this 2013 Italian four-part serial, not the promising but sloppily executed 1990 DuckTales episode), that objective and approach has been reinvigorated and brought up to speed with competing popular fiction narrative-based entertainment.

Make no mistake, a part of me (a considerable part) is almost militant in my ideological inclination toward a Barksian-Rosian purism (the "-ian" part is quite deliberate -- far from rejecting anything not by the Duck Man and his celebrated #1 fan and successor, I embrace the European stories crafted by Jippes, Milton, Verhagen, Branca, Vicar, the Heymanses, etc. because of their familiarity to and with Barks' universe.

Nonetheless, how can I not enthrall to seeing my favorite characters in such a rollicking, accelerated, hyper-ized form so drastic and heightened in scope? Seeing the secretive reaching-out-and-assembling, hand-playing, give-and-take compromising that nets the super group allying of Scrooge's four unqualified hallmark arch-nemeses; the execution of their strategically coordinated, multi-front assault on Scrooge and his bin hinging on their game-changing role-switching; its paradigm-shifting success; the defeated, depressed Scrooge casting a pall over his shaken but (touchingly) supportive nephews, soon to feel the ramifications of the villains' triumph themselves; the concurring intricate clashes of wills, agendas, and statuses (the Beagles and Magica each in their own right tossed aside as tapped-out patsies "rewarded" with pointedly misfitting new trappings), exacerbated by their innate mutual distrust, forcing the web of inter-group conflict to thicken; and both fantastical, big-stage Magica-centered show-stoppers (in Part 1, a would-be-but-dud-fated Battle for the Ages over the dime in the bowels of Mt. Vesuvius; Part 2, a Tolkien-cum-Lovecraftian face-off with an apparently sugar-averse monster posted guard at the gates to the underworld of the sorceress trio comprised by Magica's superiors.

The answer? (Wuh...? ...ohhhhh, yeah! I was asking a question! Huh! Who could remember that?!) I have no choice but to -- there is no conceivable reality in which I cannot -- eat this shit up! I even -- for the first time, EVER -- not only accepted and was sold on Duck Avenger being a part of Donald's existence and Duckburg's schema... I found myself actually liking the whole deal! Hell, I was cheering him on!

Despite my excess use of flowery language, I'm absolutely not dressing up and agrgrandizing any of the scenes, concepts, characterization, or "ultimate character mythology moments" I've alluded to. I'm but recounting what's in the comics -- what Artibani and Perina are doing here, and doing in spades. The complexities of Artibani's ambitious overarching plot and its several inextricable subplots are the stuff of grand vision complemented by acute clarity and finely-honed execution. Perina's art is unmistakeably "duck comic Italian" in its late '90's/early '00's Cartoon Newtork-ness, but deceptive in its simplicity, for his action is fluid and precise, bolstered by his exacting, exceptional, original, rich-in-depth "camera angles". The latter, however, are so purely servile to the narrative, one doesn't notice them -- "cinematic" framing and composition is the post-Watchmen comics norm, but to employ this approach in a duck comic and trick you into thinking you're reading a more-or-less traditional shows the hand of an artist who in this respect is truly good.

Also and in kind, it's important to note how the state-of-the CG coloring done at Digikore Studios is as (pardon the expression) cartoonishly bright and "solid color"-predominant as we've come to expect of modern Disney comics, but the faux-shading is more sophisticated and nuanced than were these comics' four-color ancestors (even very recent one), but is subtly layered to the point where one is thinking, as he or she would in the Disney Comics era, "Hey, they're trying to be modern but its beyond their means." It blends in. It works. (E.g., the shadow that's fallen over Donald's house in the left foreground in just the opening panel of Part 2.) And it adds to that vivid, "rich", "cinematic" "depth" (quoting myself) in Perina's panels, working together for the comic, not against it.

(And those Seitler letterers, they're all on top of and "rocking it" in doing their job, too!)

A couple other "quintessential" bits/scenes that must be noted:

1. All of the duck family and a few familiar friends and acquaintances rallying around the resigned Scrooge at his and his nephews' place of refuge, Grandma Duck's farm can easily be transposed in my mind to being enacted by the "duck cast" variant that is DuckTales' cast.

2. In fact, much like the nephews, Launchpad, Mrs. Beakley, Webby, and Duckworth's visit to Scrooge's jail cell in DuckTales: The Movie reinvigorates him, quickly and decidedly resolving to double down, strike back, and WIN... in "Last Adventure" Part 2, the genuine, profuse concern and encouragement from the extended Italian comic book duck-family-and-friends lineup finally resonates with Scrooge, and he suddenly is restored to the tough-as-nails, ablaze-with-drive-and-determination Scrooge we know and love. I won't mince words: as an integral turning point crowned with an uinhibited, all-in McDuck rallying cry, it's absolutely, positively, wayyyyyyyyyyyy beyond kickass.

...oh, and before his rebound, said scene finds Scrooge pacing afret on a circular rug. Yes, there's a Barks precedent (unquestionably), but I couldn't help but let it evoke for me DuckTales' "worry room"... (I know, I know, I can't help myself...)

When I expressed to one of my grad school professors fondness for the '90's JLA arc "Rock of Ages", citing two specific intentional "quintessential, archetypes" (1. Part Two's cliffhanger ending, in which Batman -- cowl folded back, fully exposing the face of and giving way to the person of Bruce Wayne -- declares that he's going to revert Lex Luthor's thwarting of the League with something that "Bruce Wayne knows best -- corporate takeover" (sic). 2. The reveal, on a dystopian future Earth, that the elusive, anonymous mastermind running the rebel resistance from a computer terminal is a battered, hardened, aged Batman/Bruce Wayne), she remarked that the story as a whole was contrived, strung together by "those big moments", while the themes and seemingly key plot points said moments are meant to crystallize are inconsistently actualized throughout the rest of the serial. I had to admit that I could see her point, so I do at times worry that I'm letting myself be manipulated by the gimmicks that are in actuality what these"sweeps week"-type "event books" are built on. Maybe so. But in my assessment, if the plot can be looked at as a thin string of fan bait, at least with the IDW version, not one of the ultimate product's bones is lacking, thanks to the abundance of meat that is Jonathan Gray's dialogue, the numerous strengths and immense versatility of which has been praised here several times past.

By the way, here's a notably dark (for a duck comic)cover by Perina that was used on a 2014 Finnish book in which the whole serial was collected:

Pretty great, eh? Hopefully, IDW will appropriate it for either Part 3 or 4... or use it for the trade (which not only is an eventuality, but should happen, since a multi-part epic like this one presented in its entirety is originally what a "TPB" was for... and still the only purpose for which one makes sense.)

______________

"Nothing Like It" (#417)
written, drawn, and lettered by William Van Horn
(New to the U.S. First appeared in 2009 -- the April 27th issue of Norway's Donald Duck & Co., Sweden's corresponding April 28th issue of Kalle Anka & Co., and the Danish Anders And & Co. equivalent, dated April 1st but designated by Inducks as the story's "first" appearance. Must have been determined alphabetically ('cause, you know, Anders).

Given how "Last Adventure" Part 1 ends aLocationnd how the immediately-following backup story, "Nothing Like It", begins, a new reader might think the latter to be some sort of "Last Adventure" sub-chapter taking place somewhere in the near-immediate wake of Part 1. (I'm quite sure this not literal but thematic unity was not overlooked by our editors.) New (to the States) Van Horn has become rarer and rarer, so this one's appearance here is certainly a happy occasion. Though relatively simple, modest, and low-key, "Nothing Like It" is simultaneously whimsical, absurd/surreal, eccentric-ly and uniquely funny, and genuinely original and unpredictable. Yes, all odds were that Scrooge could only be experiencing a dream, hallucination, transport to an alternate universe, or anything else but a genuine, real McCoy new day in his and Duckburg's reality (such as it), I couldn't for the life of me deduce what was actually going on or how Scrooge's dilemma would work out -- I was stumped! With the "lima bean and tapioca yogurt" callback and the self-in-joke wordplay to Scrooge's "wise adage" final line, the ending hits just the right spot.

______________

 "For Whom the Belle Toils" (#418)

written by Dick Kinney

drawn by Al Hubbard

lettered by Nicole and Travis Seitler

(Disney Studio program, new to the U.S. Per Inducks, first printing anywhere was in Brazil, 1970, but my alphabetical theory holds up (O before T), because said Brazilian printing was in what Inducks cites as the October 2nd, 1970 issue of that South American nation's O Pato Donald... yet the site likewise notes that its first Italian -- and, I decree, actual first-ever -- printing was in that same year's January 18th issue of Topolino. Unless I'm misinformed, January is the first month and October the tenth month of a given calendar year.) (Trivia gleaned from Inducks: Until now, Italy, Brazil, and Greece were the only countries to use the story, in 1976.)

Belle Duck is back, I found her more endearing than last time, the comedic twist on the last page and the "new anchor" callback closing gag actually amused me and didn't feel forced, and for the most part, Hubbard's ducks aren't looking more appealing and less weird to me. Pluses, all! (I know, sort of backhanded of me, though... I think I'm just restless in wanting to finally be done with this review...)

If a Belle-versus-Brigitta-for-Scrooge's-hand story has never been done, I guess I'll go on the record as saying that it wouldn't be a hopeless endeavor. By the way, re: Belle, think Kathy Bates' Jo Bennett of The Office but with a markedly higher sum measurement of the ingredient of sweetness.

-- Ryan

New comic review: Walt Disney's Comics and Stories #721 (IDW, July 2015)

July 2nd, 2015: The Phantom Blot commanded the spotlight on the covers of not one but two comics released on this date! (I already covered the other one, Mickey Mouse #311, here.) I'm not sure if this was completely unprecedented in the history of American Disney comics, but it seems to me a pretty good wager.

Between Dave Alvarez' suave, flamboyant, slick take on the Blot fronting MM #311 and Jonathan Gray's more ominous, wraith-like Blot expressionlessly, (presumably) silently beckoning us within WDC&S #721, we have two markedly distinct Blot "essences", both of which, I'd argue, are rooted in the original Gottfredson story.

...but, wait, we haven't even touched on the rest of Gray's cover! The Blot centerpiece separates A) a busy, crowded, detailed, fiery, breathtaking, monumental, mysticism-tinged illustration featuring Mickey, Goofy and the ol' gang, from B) a rendering -- with much those same qualities -- of Donald and Scrooge in the company of their gang. (You have to squint to see both of these panoramas, though, as this cover is anything if not crammed!) Ah, well, surely, the deal here must be that the cover is giving equal space to this issue's duck story and its mouse story, right? And perhaps the Blot is the villain in both (as unusual as that would be for a duck story), hence how he's positioned at the axis point between them!

...NOPE! If you're reading this, I' going to assume that you're at least as up to speed on the subject as I am, if not more so (which, especially if you're from Europe, you may be). "Long a Disney classic in Italy" per David Gerstein's July Crosstalk, and a veritable "legendary Disney epic" per IDW's soliciting, the twelve-chapter "Search for the Zodiac Stone", originally serialized in Topolino from January to March 1990 (remember, they get twelve issues for twelve weeks), from what I gather, has quite the rep in certain circles for being an epic mouse-duck crossover that spans the furthest reaches of space and time. And as a Disney comic fan who can hold my own in a discussion about the vast sociological and philosophical truths encapsulated in the subtle craftsmanship of any given Barks 10-pager but who has secretly (okay, at certain points in my fandom record, not so secretly) always fantasized about the Disney duck-mouse comic book universe's own version of Crisis on Infinite Earths, my fanboy id is totally psyched for this story. (Though perhaps it'd be better likened to a Rocky and Bullwinkle serial, which wouldn't be a bad thing!)

The first installment is wholly functional and adequate insofar as setting the stage and getting the ball rolling. (And there are no ducks or Blot present; Gray's cover is looking ahead.) The opening, though it overtly expresses "epic", "cosmic" ambitions (unorthodoxically and boldly joining Mickey and Goofy on an already underway and [nearly] completed time travel mission; establishing a centuries-old secret society-based conspiracy that aspiring Illuminati-themed YouTube documentary filmmakers wish they had mere scraps of source material on) plays out quite procedurally and literally. The dry, step-by-step, linear progression of the detective narrative that ensues, from identifying two Zodiac Society descendants through to figuring out the real function of one of the brothers' seemingly superstitious, eccentric "good luck" rituals (...and like we didn't know that outdoor fish tank and the butler's description of his master's coin-tossing routine were brought up for a reason!) hasn't exactly left me waiting with bated breath for the next installment... but I'm actually far more of an idealist than I am a cynic, so I'm still eagerly looking forward to the remaining vast bulk (11/12ths!) of this story that's barely gotten underway. I'm in no position to talk about its craft, but from what I do know, the next 11 issues are going to be fun, especially in the trustworthy hands of Gray, Gerstein, et al. In fact, whether or not the story lives up to its "rep", under their stewardship, I am already completely confident that it is worthy enough of the Walt Disney's Comics and Stories legacy so as to absorb a year's worth of issues.

(I'm just hoping that if the serial really does stick to a "one-Zodiac-Stone-fragment-per-chapter formula, that each installment is individually strong enough to make up for such a skeletal framework.)

The afore-cited July Crosstalk promises that for the duration of its run, "Zodiac Stone" won't be it for WDC&S and that there will be room for material in the "classics" vein. As proof, #721 delivers a Walt Kelly Gremlins gag, a 1933 Silly Symphonies Sunday starring Bucky Bug at his most quaintly charming (and I mean that), and best of all, a new-to-the-U.S. 1982 Jippes-Milton-Verhagen Donald Duck 10-pager with razor-pointed art that befits all of the pain and suffering that poor Donald endures throughout, but also befits the sting his nemeses feel and the acidity with which he beams when, in the end, he comes out on top.

-- 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

Donald Duck #253 and 263 (Gladstone, May 1987 and June 1988) -- (Some) Reflections on the First Era of Gladstone; and, Spotlight on Denmark and the Netherlands

A few years ago, a conversation with an acquaintance who was something of a self-styled pop culture expert arrived at the subject of my comic book collection.  Amassed while I was growing up, it consisted mostly of "Disney comics from the '80's", I explained.

"Whitmans?" he asked.

"Gladstones", I asserted.

"Oh!" he laughed wryly, smirking.  "Those are even worse!"

I did a double-take.  "Um...no, they're not!" I protested.  I had absolutely no doubt about this, but I anticipated that I was not going to be able to diffuse the misconception held by the person whom I was talking to.

"They were mostly just reprints," he derided. 

"They were presentations of classics, and were carefully selected!" I spat back, thinking of their Barks and Gottfredson material, and the way they would be contextualzied in Cross Talk.  "That was Harvey, in the early '90's, who cheaply and lazily slapped reprints together!"  I may have also mentioned the regular inclusion of European stories that had never before appeared in North America, but I wasn't prepared to explain how Geoffrey Blum's or Byron Erickson's scripts for them were of premium-grade quality.  And this acquaintance obviously had no idea who Don Rosa and William Van Horn were -- not that that would've done any good. 

"They were just reprints," he reiterated, contempt ringing clearly in his voice.  See?  He was stubborn.

This exchange brought up an interesting point of consideration, though: if Barks and Gottfredson are not to your taste, and you're predisposed to, no matter what, never finding merit in any of their stories, then reprints of their work in traditional, mass-distributed comic book periodicals would look like cost-cutting, resulting in throwaway "rags".  I suppose...I dunno.  I'll let you mull that over.  *shrugs*

Gladstone's first run ("Gladstone I", as it's commonly known) was comprised of the Duck and Mouse comics of my childhood.  Perhaps that's why I hold them as the most perfect American Disney comics ever published. 

This is for, 1), aesthetic reasons: the inspired, brilliantly composed cover art (so very often by Daan Jippes, but I'm not excluding others) and the warm, cartoony-but-not-garish title logos, and their proportionate relationship to the aforementioned cover art; and inside, the plain black text on the plain white backdrop of the page itself, a style consistently employed in the letter columns, the Cross Talk editorials, and all in-house ads; and the subtle, careful coloring (shout-out to Susan Daigle-Leach!), which was more refined than that seen in Western Publishing's Duck and Mouse comics of the preceding decades, and -- in part because newsprint was still the paper type of choice -- not as flashy and loud as what's been done since.

And then, 2), content reasons (...which are pretty important, wouldn't you say?!): Barks, Gottfredson, Murry, et al had never before been in more loving hands.  (Something that a "non-fan", like my acquaintance quoted in the personal anecdote recounted above, wouldn't have the intuition to grasp, while it's a matter I'm partial to.)  (And not to mention that many of the Gottfredson stories that Gladstone serialized or printed in "albums" had never been officially reprinted before!)  And then there were the European stories, which didn't have the bombast of -- nor was it heralded with  the fanfare accorded -- say, a new Don Rosa adventure.  Nonetheless, the appropriation of European material for regular inclusion gave the line a certain consistency and steadiness in quality...even if they were usually used as "backup" stories...

In terms of the Duck books, I've long regarded Gladstone I's Barks reprints (whether a 10-pager or an adventure) and Rosa originals (ditto) as the main features (Van Horn?  Yes, eventually, but he didn't start off with a "big splash" the way that Rosa did with "Son of the Sun"), while the European fare, appropriately, as it tended to be more average in quality, served as filler.  And there was the matter of them being short, and I have a longstanding prejudice against non-adventure, shorter stories, that, fortunately, is eroding away.  Point in fact, very recent reading has prompted a reassessment on my part.  Let's proceed, shall we?

Between Romano Scarpa and his modern descendants like Cavazanno, et al, Italian Duck and Mouse comics are distinctly Italian: wackier, lunier, stretchier, squashier, more distorted, etc.  I may be wrong, but I believe that besides a select few prime Scarpa stories ("The Blot's Double Mystery", "Kali's Nail", "Tapiocus VI", "Amusden's Talisman", "The McDuck Foundation", "The Last Balaboo"...did I miss any?), Gladstone I steered clear of Italian stories.  And in that respect, because of the Prescott office's embracing of the Danes and the Nederlanders, the relative exclusion of Italian content, on the flipside, was equally crucial to the unity of the line that I referred to above. 

Scarpa, from what little I know, greatly admired Barks, but didn't let that force him to try reining in his own style -- which clearly had its influences on his successors amongst his countryfolk.  It has always struck me (and others have observed) that the objective of people like Jippes, Daniel Branca, Ben Verhagen, and Daniel Branca was to be as visually faithful to the world of Barks' Duck comics as possible.  Also, like Barks, the vast majority of such creators' stories are self-contained, whether they be 10-pager (or 10-pager in spirit) domestic sitcoms or adventures (at which, when some Europeans try their hand at such, admittedly, the results seem "smaller" than Barks' various cornerstones of the Duck adventure story template.  Also, Jippes, Branca, et al nearly never alluded to an over-arcing, aggrandized Barks-based continuity and mythology.  (*coughcough*whocouldibealluding to?*coughcough*)  (In all seriousness...reportedly, Jippes at one point in some interview that of course wasn't in English bashed what he saw as Rosa's artistic limitations.  Without a doubt, Jippes' is a fantastic, masterful artist.  But where are his stories?  Though, it may very well be that there are no shortage of them, but we Americans would never know it, as all we've gotten of his work in recent years has been Junior Woodchucks redrawings...)

So, take the Barks reprints.  Add the imports from Denmark and Netherland, which, in adhering to the Barks gospel, and in trying to recreate the Duckburg of his stories, seemed to exist in a permanent 1950's (something that Rosa did overtly).  Stir it all together, and what does the stew look like?  Gladstone I was, in a big way, an anomaly in its time (and certainly completely out-of-sync with its licenser, the Disney corporation!) (ARRGH!!!  There's nothing I hate more than some moron deriding me for liking "Disney", as if Bark, Rosa, or Gottfredson are the equivalents of the Broadway production of The Lion King, or Disney Channel "tween" junk like Hanna Montana).  The line persisted in exulting in an idealized, perfected version of a slice of what some other members of the human race had created 30 years earlier.  (...is it too late to find a way to go back to such a utopia, even if it doesn't exist beyond the pages of some comic books?  Yeah, I know, we can re-read the ones that already exist and that we already have, but there's just something about knowing that new ones are coming out and have a feeble presence in the world-at-large...)

These thoughts were prompted by a visit to a comics shop this past Friday...specifically, to Wonder Cards and Comics in Barre, Vermont, making sure to scope it out on my way home from my residency at Goddard.  I was approximately seven years old when I began regularly buying (or rather, having my parents buy for me...semantics) Uncle Scrooge, when Gladstone I had about 12 to 18 months left to go.  I didn't start collecting all of their titles until their last few months.  So, there's a good chunk of their output that I've never owned.  But now that I'm actively collecting again, that's changing.

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Time for specific examples, chosen from the haul I came away from Vermont with.  First up: Donald Duck #253:

As you can see...a wonderful Jippes cover.  Great facial expression; great sense of physicality/motion/anatomy.

The issue is led by a Barks 10-pager from 1950.  (I would've pegged it for a year or two earlier...shows what little I know...)  It's titled "Ski Samaritan" in the credits at the end of the letter column, but Inducks lists it as "Serum to Codfish Cove", which seems more like a descriptor than anything.  I'm sure I read this story back in the '90's (in the Walt Disney's Comics and Stories in Color albums), but I don't have any specific memory of it...so upon reading it a couple days ago, it was a revelation to me that it was clearly an antecedent of "Somewhere in Nowhere"/"Somewhere Beyond Nowhere", in that we find Donald braving unforgiving snowy regions to deliver something to people in (a) remote location(s). 

At the outset of the story, it's snowing, and Donald is bragging to the nephews that he's "the greatest skier that ever skied!"  Soon, several feet of snow have blanketed Duckburg.  When the mayor reports that "[t]he village of Codfish Cove is marooned without medical supplies", the nephews -- having eaten up their uncle's boasts -- volunteer Donald to deliver a serum to the unfortunately situated Codfish Cove.  When Donald's propositioned about the matter, he suddenly becomes skittish and reluctant, but realizes he's going to have eat his words, and dons a pair of skis to carry out his mission.  Matters are complicated when a comical, caricaturized, obviously Soviet pair of spies switch the serum with "rocket ship" blueprints, setting Donald up for a surprise interception to take place once he's en route.

Just as funny as the spies is the Secret Service agent -- replete with a protruding chin and puffed-up chest -- who alerts the nephews to the situation, prompting them to pursue their uncle in the hopes of preempting any potential danger.  We find that the trials of the impassable route that Donald's enduring are causing him to suffer, and he seems to be close breaking....  In the end, the nephews not only foil the spies, they also, unbeknownst to Donald, enables his successful delivery the serum...but Barks seamlessly integrates a reason why the nephews can't reveal their involvement.  Thus, we iris-out on Donald walking on eggshells, singing his own praises, while the nephews knowingly wink at each other.  Most creators would've had Donald receive his comeuppance.  Showing the nephews' self-satisfaction and lack of need for recognition and acclaim works as a far more meaningful, poingnant coda. 

So much has been written about Barks -- what do I really have to add?  (Especially something that I haven't said before and elsewhere?)  Needless to say, this story is fantastic.  The dynamics between Donald and the nephews; the complication (and resulting farcical antics) of the spies' involvement; and the nephews' saving Donald's hide and preventing him from the disgrace of not withstanding the storm and saving Codfish Cove, all the while keeping to the shadows...when compounded, these various factors making up this tiered scenario plays out in a matserfully constructed story.  The visual humor in only the chimneys, rooftops, and spires of Duckburg poking out from beneath the snow; the hunching, sneering, leering spies; the over-the-top "upstanding", "heroic" appearance of the Secret Service agent; and Donald freaking out and fleeing at the sound of a gunshot are Barks at his sharpest. 

This story is from what I call Barks' "romantic period".  GeoX has noted how Barks' later Uncle Scrooge stories (say from the mid-'50's on?) strayed from straight adventures and became more satirical, and even cynical.  I've never been able to put my finger on it, but I've always found that around the same time, something about his art also became more cynical...dryer, maybe.  Here, though, is Barks at a time when he drew more lushly and with more grace...oh, don't get me wrong, the poses and facial expressions are decidedly cartoony, but it's subtle.  But as in most of Barks' Christmas or winter-set stories of this period...well, I just want to be in the ducks' kitchen with them as it snows outside.  Or bunkered down and cut off from the world, spending the winter in Codfish Cove.  These places just look so warm and toasty!

Okay, so, let's move on to the rest of the issue (which is mainly what I'd meant to write about!)  Gladstone I had the curious practice of giving blanket credit for most of the European stories they printed to "the Gutenberghus Group" or "Oberon Publishing".  But, thanks to Inducks, I can cite specific creators!

"Putting on the Dog" (written by Jim Kenner; drawn by Daniel Branca): this is what's referred to as a "Donald mastery story".  I balked at the staging and props -- slapstick resulting from trying to rein in a disorderly bunch of dogs, and the silliness of giving stylized haircuts to dogs who have snooty owners, just isn't my bag.  Branca's art is nonetheless excellent.  Clearly Barks-modeled (and a close cousin to Jippes' art), but he's no mere Barks copycat, clearly able to execute anything the story calls for, and do a damn good job of it.

"Journey Through the Center of the Earth" (written by Evert Geradts; drawn by Ben Verhagen): after the "meh"-inducing dog-grooming moorings of the preceding story, hijinks involving both Gyro and Scrooge -- in addition to Donald and the nephews, that is! -- are very refreshing.  My breakdown: Gyro's sad because he's got this amazing new invention, but he can't make any headway in bringing it to the world's attention.  The nephews, knowing which of Scrooge's buttons to press, manipulate the ol' tycoon into investing in Gyro's efforts.  Soon, Donald, strapped inside a single-passenger mini-rocketship, is being ping-ponged back and forth along a narrow tunnel that Gyro bore through the center of the earth (hence the title...) (...oh!  And, also...paging Mr. Rosa, paging Mr. Rosa!) between the workshop's yard and a village inhabited by indigenous people on the surface of the other side of the planet.  When the authorities threaten to shut down Gyro's operation and he and the rest of the ducks desperately try to argue their case, Donald is forgotten, left to the torture of being endlessly flicked back and forth between the far ends of the tunnel.  Heightened, neurotic characterization; an absurd comical scenario (e.g., the bewildered natives on the other end of the shaft!), and Verhagen's sharp-edged, pointed art = a win all-around!

I noted earlier how the Danes and the Nederlanders tended to strive to recreate Barks, aesthetically.  While their devotion to him is clear, that's not to say that as creators, they had no individuality...it's just that the typically, the Italians are especially and exceptionally stylized in their work.  Compared to Jippes, Branca, or Vicar, though, Verhagen is noticeably "scratchier" (in a good way) and more fiesty/quirky (also in a good way).

 

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Next (and last, for today) up: Donald Duck #263:

Cover's by Branca.  (See?  You could've told me it was Jippes, and I'd be had...I'm really not an expert!)  The presence of Daisy and the abundance of yellow dispose me toward not liking this cover as much as I do #253's...but, setting aside my biases, I can see that in all fairness, all the nice things I said about #253's apply here (in terms of expressions, movement, poses, etc.) 

"All Washed Up" (Inducks credits "plot" to Philippe Le Bars and "script" to Jack Sutter; drawn by Vicar): This is one of those stories in which Donald tries to do something right, but his screw-ups result in a minor oversight spiraling out of control, until Duckburg is struck by some sort of wide-scale disaster.  There's a twist, though...that being the original, tantalyzing framing device: we open on a mailman making a delivery to a shack built on the very end of a rocky outcropping towering above the ocean.  This takes place in the midst of severe weather, to boot.  The cabin's occupant turns out to be Donald, who's in hiding after the latest wide-scale disaster he's caused, the story of which he then relates to the postman...and, by proxy, us.  The escalation and coincidental twists are timed and carried out as well as anyone this side of Barks has done when taking a shot at doing this kind of story.  One unfortunate finding: unlike in the Codfish Cove story, where Donald was due for some degree of comeuppance, in this story, his sufferings are completely undeserved, having gone out of his way and above and beyond to live up to his responsibilities, his mistakes being just that -- pure, honest mistakes! 

I remember some gripings in the letter columns of the Disney Comics era about Vicar being a Barks-imitating hack.  Nah.  ...I mean, yes, as I've noted here, Barks was a major (and that's an understatement) reference point for Egmont creators like Vicar, but the latter's just as good as any of his peers -- as demonstrated throughout this story, from the dramatic opening splash of the postman struggling to make his way to the dangerously-positioned cabin, to a regular-sized, procedural panel showing something as ordinary as Donald mopping the floor (though he's doing so with a determined fury, spurred by feeling the need to both show up Scrooge and keep his date with Daisy...and that's a good example, in another sense, actually, as just being able to read this stuff in Donald's face shows that Vicar's an artist who is attentive to story, which is one of the highest complements that can be paid to someone with his job description!). 

"Fly Now -- Pay Later"...an early Van Horn four-pager!  Unmistakeably more elasticy and balloony than anything else in the comic.  Donald ants "peace and quiet", so he orders the boys to stop "playing ninja" (it was 1988, when Ninja Turtles and Karate Kid were popular...so this is the rare occurence of a contemporary reference in a Gladstone I comic!)  But as he tries to lounge and read a book, Donald is irritated by the buzzing and flitting about of a housefly...which poor Donald can't bring an end to, even after successive attempts, which lead to him tearing apart the house, and making quiet a racket in the process; the irony does not go unnoted by the nephews.  Two escalation/disasters stories in a row!  This one's told with more brevity, and is sort of a miniature incarnation of this Duck comics sub-genre. 

"Double Incentive" (written by Jan Kruse; drawn by Mark de Jonge -- never heard of him!): another quickie (er, get your mind out of the gutter...)  Since Gus is so lazy, Gyro is generous enough to invent a robot-Gus to pick up the slack...but Grandma has other ideas as to how to use the robot.  (...no!!!  no, no, NO!!!!!  ...sheesh, I told you once already!!!  For crying out loud, I just meant that she's going to manipulate Gus by announcing that the robot will now be served all of Gus's meals, since it is now the robot who's earning his keep, giving Gus the incentive to finally start working hard...but I was't going to explain all this, because I thought that I shouldn't spoil the ending!  But now look w hat've you made me gone and do!!!!)  (Actually, I was just being lazy and not trying to have to write as much.  I mean, what stopped me from spoiling the ending of other stories, as I've done without discretion earlier in this post?)  A clever, if simple, little story.  The art reminded me of Verhagen; a bit distorted, and a bit quirky (but it's got nothing on, say, Cavazzanno...)

The Gus-Grandma-Gyro story is followed by a lone Taliaferro gag, here titled "His Level Best", and that Inducks says was syndicated on Oct. 2nd, 1938.  Man, those 1930's comic strip artists could really draw, right?  You know that stuff Warren Spector was saying in his introduction to Vol. 1 of The Floyd Gottfredson Library about Gottfredson's art being so cinematic?  Taliaferro was close...  And, actually, I think Donald was onto something here: securing a picture frame to the wall by [SPOILER WARNING!!!!] (see?  I'm responsible!) nailing each corner seems like a pretty darn practical idea, dontcha think?!

Finally, a Barks' 10-pager (positioned at the back of the issue this time...hmm...well, "All Washed Up" was damn good, so I'd say this was a wise, discretionate choice on Geoffrey Blum or whoever's part) from 1953 that seems to be officially known as "The Price of Fame".  (This issue's credits and Inducks are in agreement that that's what it's called, anyway.)  This story projects a decided sentiment of irritability, and frankly isn't as likeable as "Ski Samaritan"/"Serum to Codfish Cove" -- nor does it have the kind of complicated web of clashing character motivations that that story did.  Also, it's somewhere between Barks' "Romantic, lush era" and his "cynical, dry era".  Still smooth around the edges, but somehow, Donald's home, and Duckburg overall, look a bit more drab and weary.  Damnit, I know what a mid-'50's Barks' WDC&S 10-pager looks like, and, by hell, this is one of 'em!

Basically, when the nephews lament, "Unca Donald will never amount to much!" (Jerks!  After he took you in, after all the demeaning jobs he's slogged his way through in order to support you, and after you've been right there with him as he's risked life and limb time after time during all the perilous adventures Scrooge has dragged you guys into!  INGRATES!!!!)  They manage to inspire Donald to want to become a musician.  After his singing auditions are a wash (...was Barks at all thinking of Donald's voice as heard in the animated shorts?  It'd make sense...), Donald tries his hand at a series of instruments.  But the sounds that he manages wrenches from each, as we see, rattle the nephews' nerves to no end.  Basically, the story is a few variations of this "Donald makes loud, obnoxious sound and the nephews cringe in reaction" gag strewn together, with no brilliant twist or resolution at the end; instead, Donald finally gets the media's attentions with the invention of an absurd, ludicrous, lowbrow musical instrument.  Well, okay, I guess that counts as a twist, as getting on TV had been Donald's objective from the get-go.  Still, I find this ending, and the overall story that led up to it, a bit underwhelming.  But, it's really okay, because Barks is responsible for, what, how many dozens of masterpieces?

Interesting that Bark' would tell a story in the comics format that revolved around sound -- seems like something that'd work better on film.  Still, Bark really delivers in completely overcoming what you'd think would be a handicap, and succeeds with nary a hitch in showing, again and again, that Donald is producing cacophonious sounds, and that this annoys the nephews; in each instance, there was no confusion about what was taking place on this reader's part, anyway.  (Admittedly, I was imagining what Donald's efforts might've sounded like, though.)  (Also, Barks' partial deafness -- if it'd set in by this point, of which I'm not sure -- has me wondering how that would've informed his approach to this subject.)

Speaking of being irked by sounds...note the date; I'm sure I'm not the only one who at some point today thought to themselves, "I hope that wasn't a gunshot..."  (While writing the preceding couple paragraphs, I could hear an incessant barrage of fireworks being set off outside, and it was really getting under my skin.  How fitting, given the subject of the story I was writing about.)

Have a good week!