Proof that video technology in the Funkiverse has indeed progressed beyond those VHS tapes that everyone hoards and cherishes. We haven’t even seen Miranda this week, but her trail of destruction extends to every room of the Winkerbean house. In the comments here yesterday, Epicus described Tuesday’s zoomed in computer monitor gag “relatable,” and I find myself relating to today’s. Some years back, my wife’s grandmother, may she rest in peace, lived with us for awhile after being flooded out of her home. And oh boy, did she love her tee vee. We didn’t (and still don’t) have a DVR, but Nana watched the tube all hours of the day and night. “Downton Abbey” and “Golden Girls” not so much, but “Law & Order” apparently can be found any time on one cable channel or another, and after awhile, that signature “DUN DUN!” sounder that gets played at scene changes drove me right up the wall.
Tag: squiggly lines
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
Epicus had a great comment yesterday, and judging by the upvotes most of you agreed. There was one thought in particular that gave me pause. He said, “A child could write it. Unfortunately though, no children were available so BatYam took a stab at it…”
When I was younger, I used to do theater. My first role, when I was 12, was the mother in James and the Giant Peach. I was eaten by a giant invisible rhinoceros at the very beginning of the show. I flung myself all over the stage screaming and dying, and I got a pretty big head by thinking I was good at it. That was, until I heard my director say, “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”
As near as Grandpa Google can tell me, the actual origins of that famous turn of phrase come from a story movie director George Seaton told about going to see his friend, the actor Edmund Gwenn on his deathbed in 1959.
“All this must be terribly difficult for you, Teddy,” [Seaton] said sympathetically.
Gwenn didn’t buy that sympathy. A smile touched his lips.
“Not nearly as difficult as playing comedy,” he answered cheerfully.
They were his words of exit. His head turned on the pillow. He was dead.
As a kid that pithy little aphorism was a revelation. Melodrama is easy. It’s easy to act, and it’s easy to write. Death hangs like the sword of Damocles above us all, and in time every sword will fall. Who do you love? Your mom? Your spouse? Your goldfish? Find the fear you hold inside knowing they are mortal, and you’ve found the massive emotional button any artist worth their paycheck can push at will. Entire genres of weepy books and Hallmark Channel movies are built on the cheap, baking-soda-and-vinegar, combination of love and death.
Twelve years ago, Batiuk pushed that button. And, go back and read those strips, he was effective.
This strip is cloying. It’s maudlin. And yet, it is 110% more real than anything we’ve seen in years. A mother won’t see her daughter grow up. A father struggles to explain. A child tries to comfort a loved one they can hardly realize they’re about to lose. Death is taking a knife and cutting to ribbons the story of a happy family just as viciously as Rose stabbing a precious comic book.
We’ve gotten none of this in Bull’s death. None. We didn’t see Linda calling her children. We didn’t see the pain of Jinx thinking about how Dad wouldn’t be there to walk her down the aisle. Or Mickey realizing her own kids would never know a Grandpa Bushka. We didn’t linger on Linda’s pain as she sits through a funeral full of terrible secrets, as she comes home to an empty house, as she has to do laundry that will only remind her of her dead husband’s illness.
It should have been easy. A child could have done it. But Batiuk decided to give us a death without really showing the love that death was cutting off.
Instead Batiuk decided to end this arc (for now?) with a week of strips where Linda gets down on her knees in front of his author avatar so she can fellatiate Les Moore’s metaphorical ego-dick.
In the past, I’ve tried to cut Tom some slack. But not today. Please insult this man.
“Why, yes! Yes you can!”
“It just so happens, Linda, that I have some copies of my Lisa’s Story trilogy out in the car! Since you’re a grieving widow, I can give you a discount of twen…uh, twelve percent, and I’ll be more than pleased to autograph them!”
You know, hot coffee tends to heat up a coffee mug. That’s why they have handles, so you don’t have to grab a hot coffee mug and burn your hand. So what is Linda doing in panel three? Is she trying to burn Les’ hand? If so, she’s my new favorite character.
It’s also cool if she’s saying, “I’m going to drink both of these coffees. I hope you got something from the drive-through.” Even cooler would be if she’s going to throw both cups in Les’ face. I’m going to stop now because reality will be too disappointing.
ADDENDUM: I just now noticed…Batiuk has finally corrected the spelling on his webzone! It no longer says “Bantom.”
Swings and Messes
Linda, you heartless, Brillo-headed bruja. Bull’s mood swings are part and parcel of his illness. and not anything that he can control. I’m sure it’s no picnic having to deal with him, but at long last, have you left no compassion for your poor husband? Hiding the car keys was a dick move, but can be seen as being motivated by safety concerns. Suggesting that Bull’s moodiness is intentional, and doing so with that smirk, is just so fucking tone deaf.
Ask Me Weather Eye Care
comicbookharriet
September 9, 2019 at 12:13 am
Buck is still the only person who visits Bull. Les has completely abandoned his old tennis partner, and the man who personally rehabbed his daughters traumatic knee injury. Wish I was surprised.
I know that she’s a retired teacher, but not even a tweed-jacketed, pipe-clenching Ivy League professor would drop a phrase like “keep a weather eye” into normal conversation. TB finally gets around to reminding non-readers of SoSF, and himself as well, that Buck was (somehow) diagnosed with CTE shortly after Bull was. But while Buck has yet to manifest any of the symptoms we’ve seen in Bull, he is apparently crippled by survivor’s remorse.
Son of Stuck Funky 
