1988: Betsy’s Buddies

Betsy’s Buddies (1988) by Harvey Kurtzman and Sarah Downs

This book (in European album format; printed in Portugal) collects mostly one page gag strips that had originally been printed in Playboy. The book doesn’t really say much about who did what, but it sounds like Kurtzman and Downs are both writers on this thing, and then Downs is the sole artist?

Her figures does sometimes resemble Kurtzman’s (and she was apparently his assistant for a while?), but it also reminds me a lot of European strips at the time — Reiser, Bretécher and all those people.

The indicia page says that the colour pages are reprints from Playboy — so are the black and white strips that were rejected?

Some of these strips have a more sketch book like line.

Oh, what’s these strips about? They’re about sex and relationships and stuff, and they’re supposed to be funny, I guess, but they usually just reach a level of “vaguely amusing”.

Until we get to the last half of the book, and then all the strips turn into a sort of extended sequence about Betsy hooking up with her English lit professor — and then it all pure tedium. Kurtzman was teaching at the time, so perhaps these are wish fulfilment strips or something?

Amazing Heroes #178, page 46:

I asked Kurtzman about the mak-
ing of each Little Annie Fanny comic
strip. “lt was a real ping pong game,”
he said. ’61 would write it and lay it
out, make color sketches. Willie
would transfer my tracings and do it
his way when all was said and done.
I’d get the drawing and give it to our
colorist, Sarah Downs. Sarah would
give the drawing to Willie. Willie
give the drawing to me. I’d give
it back to Sarah, back to Willie, and
so it went.”
Sarah Downs is a young artist from
Michigan. She attended Denison
University in Granville, Ohio, then
moved to New York City. She was a
student at the School of Visual Arts
from 1975 to 1977. There she met
Harvey Kurtzman. Today she teaches
a class with Harvey once a week in
the illustration department. Her first
professional work was as colorist for
Little Annie Fanny beginning around
1977. When Harvey sold an idea for
a new two-page comic to Playboy, he
asked Sarah to be the cartoonist.
Their cöllaboration was Betsy’s
Buddies, the vivid and graphic ac-
counts of a pretty blonde student’s sex-
ual athletics in the big town away from
home. Playboy carried Betsy and her
buddies from June, 1980 until April,
1985. In 1985 they co-produced the
Laurie and Versella stories for the two
numbers of a paperback comics series
called Nuts!. Those little books were
the brainchildren of Byron Preiss,
who will issue Harvey Kurtzman’s
Strange Alventures in 1990. Harvey is
scripting this volume for a number of
artists, including Robert Crumb and
Sarah Downs.
“Harvey is an incredible person,”
Sarah told me. “He is amazing. A
saint! He treats people well, he’s fair-
mindd He is very good at letting you
find your way while following his in-
structions. He always knows what he
wants. He has a definite vision, knows
exactly where he’s going. If I do
something that pleases him it gives me
great satisfaction. It’s also exasper-
ating! He’s not a linear thinker. He
thinks in a strange way. You follow in
his steps and do what he wants. In the
end it makes perfect sense.”

Amazing Heroes #133, page 220:

Making its appearance in March will
be Betsy ‘s Buddies by Harvey Kurtzman
and Sarah Downs, a collection of full-
color pages of social satire that originally
ran in Playboy during the late ’70s and
early ’80s. Publisher Denis Kitchen
describes the work as a true collabo-
ration between Kurtzman and Downs—
“they co-wrote it, co-pencilled it, co-
inked it, co-colored it, right down the
tniddle.” The 44-page collection will
include all of the, pages that ran in
Playboy, as well as several the magazine
rejected. Available in hardcover only, a
tentative price of $13.95 has been set.

This is the ninety-ninth post in the Entire Kitchen Sink blog series.

1988: Kings in Disguise

Kings in Disguise (1988) #1-6 by James Vance and Dan Burr

I remember this being a kind of big deal at the time — it’s one of the first American non genre graphic novels serialised in this way (six 32 page comics). Other publishers were also attempting to, as it were, Maus it up at the time, but most fizzled after a couple of issues, because they didn’t sell in the direct sales market, and the publishers didn’t have the funds to publish them at a loss.

Kitchen, on the other hand, has a pretty good track record in publishing these things — probably because they published many other things (Spirit reprints, tin signs, and soon chocolate bars and the like) to be able to subsidise the more serious comics.

(In a letters column, the editor says that Kings in Disguise (surprisingly) didn’t sell that badly, so perhaps that wasn’t actually a factor here.)

I had this series as a teenager, and I vaguely remember… liking it? But not loving it. I mean, I was excited to read an American non genre comic — not super-hero, not sci fi, not porn — but just a serious story from the 30s.

And the reason I didn’t love it is because it’s a bit clunky. Dan Barr’s artwork is perfectly serviceable, but it’s not very pretty or exciting, is it?

And the dialogue is extremely mannered and unbelievable. These are phrases randomly assembled from memories of how people talk on daytime drama soaps.

Still, you have to hand it to them — this book was very out of time in 1988. It does things that nobody had even shown an interest in doing: A melodrama about being a hobo (that’s what they’re called here) in the 1930s, and not done as an adventure story, but as something that feels more real.

The first four issues have guest artists doing the covers — Steve Rude, Kurtzman, Mark Schulz and Jaxon — which makes a lot of sense from a commercial point of view, but had to sting for Dan Burr.

The second issue takes place in a railway car, and was adapted from a stage play that Vance had written several years earlier. And it does read a lot like a play… but it’s good.

The series is somewhat episodic: Each issue is a distinct chapter, although the series tells one overall story. Reading it now, I did enjoy it, but I have to say that it felt a bit aimless? Like Vance had these scenes in mind, and issues he wanted to cover, but didn’t quite have all the connective tissues in between.

But some of these scenes are pretty powerful anyway.

Heh. Art Spiegelman writes in with praise (but with some caveats)… and Frank Stack and Carole Sobocinski. All the famous people are fans.

The final two issues are a somewhat separate story about setting up a hobo village, and they randomly encounter a guy who says he’s Jesse James (who turns out to be one of the main characters’ mentor)… Something slightly lacking in the segues here.

As is often the case with series like this, the final issue is published half a year after the previous issue. It’s like when the end is in sight, everybody relaxes a bit, and the issue is going to sell whatever it’s going to sell — you don’t have to worry about affecting the sales of the issue after that, either.

Vance and Burr manage to end things in a pretty satisfactory way — there’s some closure, but not so much that it feels fake.

Like I said, this series was a big deal in many ways — it won three awards in the awards season. “Best New Series” is pretty impressive.

Comics Scene CSV2S-004, page 10:

Vance and Burr are happy with the
way Kings in Disguise turned out, but
they would still make some minor
changes. “I’m enough of a nit-picker
that I can go back and point out all
sorts of things that I don’t like,” admits
Burr. “I did go back to issue #3, which
was the one I was most dissatisfied
with, and made a number of little
technical changes here and there [for
the trade paperback reprinting, now
available from Kitchen Sink Press],
which nobody will probably notice ex-
cept for me and maybe Jim, but I feel
better about correcting them!”
im Vance and Dan Burr are going
ahead with plans for a sequel to
their acclaimed six-issue mini-
series Kings in Disguise, the tale of
Freddie, a young boy growing up in an
America ravaged by the Depression
and encountering hobos, labor riots
and much more. But the storyline for
the follow-up was actually devised
long ago.
“This sequel will come from one of
the first plays I wrote,” explains Vance.
“Kings in Disguise was written years
later, although chronologically, it hap-
pens before the other one.
“The second full-length play I wrote
was in 1979. It was called On
the Ropes, and it was the first thing I
wrote about Freddie. Actually, I called
him Fred there, because that was when
he was older. I had been thinking
about how he got where he was. He
obviously had been on the road, and
had all these experiences, and in 1980
or ’81, I wrote this play called Kings in
Disguise, which in Hollywood terms
was a prequel.”

Jason Sachs writes in Amazing Heroes #188, page 122:

Kings in Disguise epitomizes Kit-
chen Sink’s quality modern comics
line. I had never heard of James Vance
or Dan Burr before this series began.
When Kitchen Sink announced they
would be publishing a mini-series
about the adventures of a young hobo
in 1932 written by two newcomers to
the comics field, I ignored the book.
I had no idea what I was missing.
Kings in Disguise is a great graphic
novel, and one of the few current
books truly deserving of being called
a novel.


This is a novel about real life. It is
easy to imagine that these people
really lived during this time. Vance is
adept at placing period details in his
story, making the setting come alive
through his use of just the right slang
and dialogue. Artist Dan Burr is also
ideally suited to this novel. His char-
acters seem to be alive through his fine
depictions of body language and facial
gestures. Burr’s art has an earthy,
realistic style that is well-suited to this
type of novel. His art is reminiscent
of Harvey Kurtzman’s finest E.C. war
comics art. There is no higher compli-
ment I can pay him.
Kings in Disguise is a great graphic
novel, ‘Worthy of inclusion in the same
breath as Art Spiegelman’s Maus.

The Comics Journal #291, page 141:

Clearly, Kings in Disguise stands in this tradition of
comics as literature. Comics may not really be able to do
whatever novels can, but they certainly can try. Kings tries
ecerything possible, taking its source stage play and send-
ing it on the road, passing by ewery important event Of
the Depression, like Forrest Gump without schmaltz.
well-drawn characters grow and change, and when they
find what they were looking for, the Story ends. Oddly re-
alistic and mundane dream sequences underscore Vance’s
themes. As much as I find in the book to admire, 10 years
later it seems less affecting than affected. I would like to
spend more time with the characters and less with the
literary devices they trip over.

Ron Evry writes in The Comics Journal #200, page 28:

While Burrs pencils and layout are suit-
able yet subtle, his inking styles are delight-
fully rich and varied. Most of the story is
told with a flowing, feathered brush line,
with the characters often emerging in the
night from scratchboard-like shadows on
the edges of the frames. Broad daylight
scenes feature the same rich brush strokes
against stark, bright backgrounds and small
earth shadows offering hints of depth. The
main character Freddie’s dream sequences,
except for those of the first chapter, where
one could assume Burr was feeling out his
technique, are told with a greyless outline
style that sets them apart from the rest of
the book. During the last portions of the
final chapter, Burr’s inking is utterly mas-
terful, and he deliberately punches in with
an assortment of styles for the flashback
scenes, conveying ever deeper emotion from
all the characters with visual clues. The
strength of Burr’s art comes from his avoid-
ance Of close-ups. The few
that he allows into the story
serve as emotional punctu&
tion and provide maximum
impact. Through progressive
the success of Vance’s choice
of artist becomes more and
more apparent.


Yet, to my point of
view, Kings in Disguise succeeds as art
because it is a comic book. It wouldn’t work
as well as text, film or stage drama. The
seamless integration of Burr’s artwork ex-
plicitly conveys the subtle moods neces-
sary to convey the depth of the characters.
While truly great comics on this level are
indeed overwhelmed by the sheer number
of trashy titles out there (which is not to
say that one cannot harbor an appreciation
of trashy comics on their own level), the
climate whereby comics that relate and
expound on the human experience exists
in greater measure today than ever before.
And on that basis, we can expect to see new
generations of creators willing to use the
medium as a means of serious selßexpres-
sion. When that time comes, comics like
Kings in Disguise will still be exceptional,
but not the exception.

Kenneth Smith writes in The Comics Journal #132, page 59:


Such a book, published by Kitchen
Sink in a series of six comics, is James
Vance and Dan Burr’s Kings in
Disguise. It flies in the face Of
simplistic entertainment, although it
is interestingly executed and poses
simple questions that are, indeed, the
hardest. It is a book that is the very
converse of escapism: it is an unplea-
sant challenge to hedonism in comics,
a confrontation of the hard lineaments
of what one’s life means, what mat-
ters, what others mean to oneself. It
is classic drama, the construction of
epiphanies in which the whole signi-
ficance of life is concentrated in one
acute moment — the evocation of
resources that the commonplace con-
ditions of life only hide from us.
Vance’s story captures classical
ethical issues, embedded as they
always are in the particulars of life, in
the matrix of desperate needs, acrid
uncertainties, seething injustices.

See? It was a kinda big deal back then. But is it still?

W W Norton has reprinted it:

It is so sad the pair produced so little work together, as art and writing enhance each other here in a way few comics achieve to produce a moving story that can stand up against any classic coming of age novel.

I can’t really find much chatter about the book, though, so my feeling is that it’s been mostly forgotten.

I like this review:

This is more of a 3.5 for me but I feel bad beating up on a book that’s made professionally and sides with the angels. It’s a rambling, disjointed account of a young boy’s experiences as a hobo during the Great Depression—a story that ends up both fascinating and a bit paint-by-numbers.


Anyway, I’m an asshole for not absolutely loving this, I get it.

This is the ninety-eighth post in the Entire Kitchen Sink blog series.

1987: Twist

Twist (1987) #1-3 edited by JD King

The tag line on the cover of the first issues reads “The Highblow / Lowbrow Comics Magazine”. We’re in 1987, and Maus had opened up a lot of doors the previous year, so by the sounds of it, editor JD King is going for a kind of Raw vibe?

And the introduction certainly seems to point in that direction — he namechecks a whole bunch of fine artists, and also a bunch of pop culture people.

The contents of the first issue does not live up to the promise of the introduction much. Sure, we have Basil Wolverton…

… but the contemporary contributors are basically all familiar faces from humour anthologies around this time, like Mort Todd and Daniel Clowes.

And, of course, Peter Bagge dissing moronic comic book people.

The Friedman brothers did appear in Raw, but that’s the only connection in the first issue.

Hey, that’s a nice page by Patrick McDonnell.

More typical is this John Holmstrom piece, which is all about how nice it’d be if all non-lowbrow people died.

And, of course, some ribbing of the contributors by JD King.

So what gives? I don’t think there’s a single piece in the first issue that could be called “highbrow”. (Except possibly the McDonnell page.) Was that tag line meant to be just a dig at Raw?

Things change quite a lot with the second issue, and we get people like Richard Sala…

And Fougasse.

And Jenny Holzer! Now we’re talking.

Kaz delivers a single page.

These comics are brisk reads — most of the pieces are only one or two pages long, but nothing’s very dense.

And then we have the third issue, which reprints a Kurtzman/David Levine strip from Esquire from the 60s. (It’s not that funny?)

JD King ends the series with the longest strip of the bunch, and his target here is… beatniks. Very 80s, very modern.

I do really like his art style here (and throughout the series).

So there you have it: I’m not sure this is a very successful anthology. It’s basically (I think) JD King and his friends, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but it feels a bit aimless?

That’s the ad the ran in The Comics Journal. “No filler.” I guess that’s accurate…

It’s a pretty good anthology; quite cohesive. But it didn’t live up to its own hype.

I was unable to find any reviews of the book.

This is the ninety-seventh post in the Entire Kitchen Sink blog series.

1987: Male Call

Male Call (1987) by Milton Caniff

This book reprints Caniff’s weekly strip that he did for the US military during WWII. We get a bunch of background material, and strips by others for the military.

The strip started off as a version of Terry and the Pirates, but as a weekly gag strip with a focus on a character called Burma. The syndicate didn’t like that, so Caniff changed the name to Male Call and carried on.

As gag writers go, Caniff is a good artist.

There’s a consistent theme to the strips, at least. None of them are actually, you know, funny? But they probably did their job.

At least they look good.

We also get strips that were rejected by the editors for being too risque.

R C Harvey writes in The Comics Journal #119, page 115:

Daring for its day, Male Call nevertheless seems
a model of good taste. Still, Caniff had trouble
with censors and would-be censors, chaplains and
the wives of the upper echelon.

But the problem was the pose not the prose.
The explanation: Caniff could do a pin-up Lace
but not if she lay on her back. Reclining was too
suggestive. “I tried every way I could to get her
to sit up in the strim” Caniff laughed, “but I could
never manage it.”
The drawing for the scotched strip, however, he
was able to use in promotions, and the rendering
Of Lace recumbent was eventually so widely circu-
lated that it became the most familiar picture of
his convivial camp follower.
Despite the prominence Of Lace’s figure in Male
Call, only about half the strips deal with sexual
subjects. And lace herself appears in only 95 of
the 160 strips, and only 53 of those appearances
involve sexy innuendo. Some of the unlaced in-
stallments humorously air traditional G.I. peeves
or light-heartedly moraliæ about the soldier’s lot
in the Army or his worries in wartime.
The theme Of G.l. loneliness with Lace as the
antidote pervades the strip, but lace ministers to
all kinds of hurts as well as homesickness, and
she squeezes in occasional lectures on simple good
citizenship or patriotism. By careful design, she
attended to more than the serviceman’s libido
during the run of Male Call; she nurtured much
more than erotic daydreams.
When he was Air Force Chief of Staff a decade
after WWII. General Nathan IWining still remem-
bered lace and the special contribution she and
Caniff made to the war effort: “I don’t know
anyone, at any level, in any service, who didn’t
fall in love with Miss Lace in World War II. She
was everything we’d left behind—a pal and a pin-
up and a laugh when we needed One. She was
Milt’s gift to sevice morale.”
With the publication of the Kitchen Sink book,
we can see for the first time the complete dimen-
sions of that gift—all the strips, plus some fill-in
articles CNS ran about Caniff. (And, for the bene-
fit of historians on the matter, all the strips are
dated, too.) Lace’s final bows in Male Call are
also recorded here—the last strip (March 3, 1946)
and the drawing Caniff did for the Editor
Publisher article announcing her retirement. But
Lace has come Out Of retirement Occasionally since
1946 to grace the covers of programs for Air Force
Association events and other such special occa-
sions, and a sampling Of these encore appearances
concludes the volume.
The book is a richly textured vision of an impor-
tant and unique page in comic strip history, a page
that puts the final touches at last on the portrait
Of Milton Caniff as America’s Kipling.

I think the dialogue is fine:

I’m not saying the dialogue is bad, mind you; the style simply takes some getting used to. It is also easy to see why the wisecracking approach that sustained Caniff so well during the 1930s and 1940s turned off so many people during the Vietnam era, when Caniff’s STEVE CANYON began hemorrhaging readership.

This is the ninety-fifth post in the Entire Kitchen Sink blog series.

An Entirely Ill-Advised Reading of all Comics Published by Kitchen Sink Press