Category: Son of Stuck Funky

Deja Doom

Link to today’s strip.

Oh good heavens…are we all trapped in Hell, where we have to relive things over and over again, until we’re forgiven and allowed to pass into purgatory?  Didn’t we just go through all this “back in the day” stuff?  In fact–isn’t Pete’s dialogue in panel two an exact repetition of what he said before?  (I’d look it up, myself, but I’m starting to feel a distinct aversion to going through old Funky Winkerbean strips.  Life being short and all.)

How much padding does Tom Batiuk need to get to that 50th anniversary?  Wait–don’t answer that!

Well, since we must, I’m guessing the answer is…a lot.

As for today’s day-old bread, again, I posit thus:  that Pete here is merely a clerk-typist, tasked with putting the real screenwriter’s handwritten notes into proper script format.   After all, he’s never been to a script meeting, and none of the producers have ever come by to chat about the project, even though he’s in the same building and everything.

I think he was hired because Mason wanted to do Cindy a favor, and CME thought Mason was valuable enough that he could be indulged a bit.  But when they got his first draft, things went sour (“What the hell is this about sponges?  And clones of sponges?  And why does Starbuck Jones have so many soliloquies railing against short-sighted editors?”) and he was quietly moved out of the writer’s chair into something more attuned to his abilities.

As for Darin, I have no idea why he’s even here.  Storyboards are typically done when there’s a reasonably final version of the script in place; there’s no point in paying someone to draw out sequences that may never be passed out of committee, let alone see the light of film.  (Particularly for a firm that produces cable-TV movies, most of which are cancelled.)

That sort of thing is nowadays called “pre-visualization” and I think it’s beyond Darin’s abilities–after all, you have to imagine something that works, rather than assuming failure right out of the gate, and no one from Westview has that talent.

Meanwhile, In Another Circle of Hell…

Link to today’s strip

Greetings, folks, BChasm back for another round in the chair.  Let’s see if we can get it to spin!

So, The New Darin and Cindy (looking very close to her “appearance-complaints” in panel one) are leaving Westview, returning to the glamour of Hollywood.  Ah Hollywood, where Cindy works at a company that seems like someone’s thinly-veiled YouTube channel, and The New Darin stars in made-for-TV fare that is invariably cancelled.   Can’t you just smell the stardom?

As a coda, we get Pete and The Old Darin facing the reality of every town in the Funkyverse–the fact that there is no escape from the horror that pervades every moment of life.  There are always those Philistines who refuse to see genuine art for its value, and instead look to crassly commercialize it by sinking black, oozing claws into it until it starts laying deadly golden eggs.   Golden eggs full of poison gas.

Kinda looks like The Old Darin has cut off his arm, there, though I’m sure that’s just an unfortunate colorist’s choice.   On the other hand, the carefully crafted punchline is really stupid–“changes to the changes” are still changes to the script, “changes to the script” being something that absolutely every movie, TV-movie, and TV series goes through every single time one is made.

In fact, there are so many revisions to a given script that those new pages are printed on different colored paper so that everyone can know exactly where they should be “on the page.”  It’s been this way for decades…though usually this happens either during rehearsals (to iron out difficult lines, or block stage business) or on the set (a location isn’t available, an actor quits, a character is dropped, etc).  Neither of which can be the case because 1) the damned star of the movie is swooning around in Ohio, and 2) so far as we know, there is no script yet.  And they’re not going to send our a crew to do second unit stuff until they’ve got something like a completed script.

Which brings me to a greater question–apparently at Cable Movie Entertainment, they hold script meetings where revisions are discussed.  Why in the Hell don’t they invite the screenwriter to these meetings?  Why are changes to the script a complete surprise to him?  He was hired, after all, because as a comic book writer he has some expertise in the field–why wouldn’t he be at these meetings?   He’s not unavailable or living in some distant city–he’s just down the hall.  It makes no sense to exclude him, in fact it seems to piss him off quite a bit.

Pete should be at all these meetings.  He should know about all the revisions, be able to contribute, and–more importantly–he should be able to shape those revisions, if he’s smart.  Not just negatively–“Well, Starbuck Jones wouldn’t do that, he’s got a code of honor”–but also positively–“Well, if you show the approaching Zergian ship, that’s another toy you could have in shops when the movie opens–vehicles are always big sellers…my pal Darin can sketch a rough of the ship for you.”  (Good one, Pete, you’ve come up with some dollar value, they’ll listen to your opinions now.)

There’s only one real answer.  Pete isn’t the screenwriter on the Starbuck Jones movie.  He’s just one of the typists.

Anus Major

“In a spirit of generosity”, Tom Batiuk really should put down his Funky felt tip, retire “Funky” and “Crankshaft”, and free up some real estate for some new talent in the fading genre of daily newspaper comics. TB waited almost a month to squander another Sunday’s worth of ink, newsprint, and Photoshop effects on a followup to Kablichnick’s Ursa  Major “joke”. In today’s retelling, however, “Jim Twain” goes with our bobanero’s (funnier) punchline. Not so fast, teacher! Even dim Owen realizes we’ve heard this one. And it sucked. “But no, my friends,” teases Jim, in French to be extra condescending; he then recites the joke and delivers the punchline like a steaming turd before smirking blissfully and hitching his suspenders (the science teacher’s “mic drop”). Cody is appalled by this microaggression; deadpan Alex declares Jim to “comedically on fire” while visualizing him to be literally so.

Your genial host is “comedically extinguished” after serving as your host these last two festive weeks. Thank you, readers and contributors, for visiting and supporting the web’s premiere source for Funky Winkerbean snark, Son of Stuck Funky. I’m pleased and proud to preside over one of the smartest and funniest online communities I’ve even partaken in. The comedically sur le feu Beckoning Chasm takes over Monday. Happy 2016! —Votre ancien assiette en porcelaine, TFH

Age of Dulltron

Above: my rendition of Owen’s rendition of the Captain America theme song from the 1960’s cartoon. Click here to see the “real” strip, it’s a hoot.

A bunch of kids sitting around talking about comic book movies.

And when I say kids…well, Owen remains a freckle faced, towheaded kid under that smelly chullo. Cody, meanwhile, appears to be about 37 here. Don’t get me started about Alex, who has the sketchiest timeline of all: she first turned up at Pete’s book signing eight years ago (nearly two years before we were introduced to C&O). Her model sheet on the official FW site’s “Meet the Cast” page (archived for ya here!) gives no clue to her age, but of course now she’s been established as a high school chum of the boys.

And what about that big Baby Huey lookin’ “boy” with the weird hair, whom they do not permit to sit and join them at the table for whatever weird game they’re playing? He was 38 however long ago Act III began, now closing in on 50 and still hovering around teenagers and chiming in on their conversations.

Anyway, the new year is upon us, Sunday is my birthday, life in the non-Funkiverse is pretty sweet. Enjoy the weekend before we commence whalin’ away at 2016 in earnest!