Hey, Murray. I was sitting in the jury selection room this afternoon, and I got an idea for the next comic. Have Timmy start with the pencils and the lettering, and I'll finish it up next week. Here's the idea:

In panel one, we can see Dr. Tintype's robot in the background, standing immobile up against the wall. His leg coverings are missing, so that you can see the rods and gears underneath. Doc is in the foreground with his back facing us, and we can see over his shoulder that he's reading a catalog advertising "the latest in robot fashions." (You and Timmy can play with the wording, maybe more of a "fine fashions for the discerning mechanical man" sort of thing.)

In panel two, we've got a closeup of Doc giving a handful of bills to his nephew Zeebo and saying, "Go out and buy a pair of ro-pants for Donald Duck back there."

In panel three we're back to the same room as panel one (with the robot in the back), and Zeebo has returned and is proudly holding up a pair of designer jeans with fish eggs sewn all over them. Maybe the label can also say "Beluga" or something like that. Doc is sort of jumping up with his hands on his head and little anger lines coming off his head, and he's yelling, "You idiot! I said RO-pants!" The robot has a smaller word balloon that says, "Man, it smells fishy in here."

You get the idea. We'll work out the kinks when I get back.

Eddie

P.S.--I also overheard something that you might want to pass on to Shuffy for one of his brown paper jobs. I was in the court house cafeteria at lunch sitting near two cops, one of whom as it turns out was also named Murray, and he said to the other one, "So, the other day Joe and I went out on an eviction case, and when we get into the apartment it stinks to high heaven. So he turns to me and says, 'Jesus, Murray, it's as dirty as a baby hooker in here.' " I figure he'll be able to use that somewhere.

From my portfolio:

The Toonerville Movie Review, v. XXXI, #7, Oct. 2004

The Spoils of Glamoury (a.k.a. "VIF", "A Popular Predicament")
Biograph, 1912, 10 minutes
Directed by Malcolm Bondi

Nothing excites aficionados of the early cinema more than hearing of the discovery in some foreign archive of a print of a lost silent masterpiece, with the possible exception of the restoration and release of such works into general circulation. Readers will know of my deep admiration for the work of the American Film Reconstitution Cooperative, which has brought more than thirty recently-rediscovered works to the public in its relatively-short existence, each time with truly astonishing results. Once again, the AFRC has come through with its magnificent reconstructive work on yet another of Malcolm Bondi's wonderfully-innovative short subjects produced for the Griffith-era Biograph studios. Bondi's overshadowing by Griffith has always been one of the sad but lesser-known chapters of film history, and the AFRC must be commended by all for its Herculean efforts in setting the record straight. As the reader will see, The Spoils of Glamoury was--like all of the other Bondi films recovered to date--truly ahead of its time.

The plot is as follows. On three non-consecutive occasions, a man (the delightful but also mostly-forgotten Murville McRendy) sees an office coworker with a Very Important Figure--which I, following the intertitles, will identify as VIF from here on--whom he recognizes from the press. The man (who is never named in the film) doesn't know much about the VIF, other than that he is very wealthy, and is often seen at political functions, charity events, and fancy restaurants.

Recognizing a potential opportunity, the man cultivates a friendship with his coworker. On one occasion while they are out together at the opera after work, the man sees the VIF some distance away, watching both of them intently. This excites the man, as he figures that being noticed is the first step into the exclusive world of wealth and privilege in which the VIF moves. His hope is portrayed with unusual exuberance for a mid-period Bondi Biograph film, including a series of full somersaults performed by the man in his apartment, concluding with a jump that carries him onto the fire escape and nearly over the edge. Needless to say (considering that this is a Bondi work) the slapstick, although a bit out of tenor with the rest of the film, functions very well in light of the sharp change of tone that follows.

It turns out that the VIF is the head of a rather powerful local crime syndicate, and has been following the man's interactions with his son with some concern for his son's and his own safety. Paranoia (also dramatically overplayed, including literal scenery chewing, perhaps the first ever in film) is also in evidence here. He sends two of his associates to find the man one day after work, when he is not likely to be missed for some hours thereafter. It is hinted in a final intertitle (missing in this print but mentioned in original promotional materials) that the man is then killed.

The film, though very popular with paying audiences, was debated vigorously in the press as to its sensationalism and morality. To quote T.W. Shimby of the New York Harmonian, "In the blessed name of the Eternal Verities, are we not confronted with enough of this sort of vulgar spectacle in the garish reportage of our ostensibly more reputable daily journalistic organs? Is life not disconcerting enough in its blunt exigencies for us to say, enough! and relegate such barbaric display to the tenement, where it most rightly and naturally belongs? Is not the motion picture more suitable for such light entertainments as take our thoughts away from the horrors of city dwelling and into a sylvan abode of delightful repose? Enough, sir! I say enough!" Such sentiments, however, did not prevent this film from enjoying an astounding three-week engagement at the Herald Square Nickelarium, and similarly-long runs elsewhere throughout the country.

Modern scholars, of course, will be intrigued by the VIF, as he may be the earliest extant example of a character that operates as both an individual and a symbol by the conscious intent of the director. The brilliant use of the acronym in the intertitles makes the to-date unidentified actor into something more than a dramatic player, but also a representation of the larger anxieties with which the ferment of urban life was pregnant in the early part of the 20th century, and I'm sure that the nature of this symbolic everyvillain will be debated among film enthusiasts for years and decades to come.

Finally, it should be noted that we may now be able to settle the old debate about the relation of this film to a similar but much more ambiguous 1916 Feuillade film, likely influenced by Melies, that tells the same story but features a longer prologue involving capes and strange transmogrifications of characters, and an extended chase sequence at the end that leads to the protagonist vanishing into thin air just as the assailants' guns go off. I look forward to seeing this question played out in the journals.

F**k'n*awsome!!!! I've finally managed to cut a deal with Mustache Rides Graphics to have them print and sell the t-shirts I've been promising y'all (just kidding!!!--y'all!!!!!) for so long. Three will be no-frills slogan shirts, and the fourth will be illustrated with a nice FULL-COLOR photo by my friend (and kickass artist) Oggie Pahoney.

Here are the four designs available. (Longtime readers should get a kick out of 'em.)

1) "I don't have a drinking problem: fuck you!"

2) "A shaft of light on a baby's face is my antidrug"

3) "The kingdom of God is within you; cough it up, Poindex!"

4) "Choke on this!" [lovingly illustrated with O.G's picture of a bowl of plain vanilla ice cream.]

The details on where to send the money and how much are still TBD, but we should have all that figured out in time for the next e-block party ("Fire up your web cams, 'cause the Pony Express is a-comin'!"), so update your wish lists now, before Jack Frost sheets on your parade and they all get snapped up! Whooooo!

Whooooooooo!!!

If these sell well, I'll be rolling out the following designs too:

5) "There are no stupid guestions, other than yours"

6) "I am your worst asshole"

7) Any of the above shirts, reproduced as a photo on another shirt.

La comercia es el molino de los sueños. Boom!