I remember exactly where I was when I heard that Jack Kirby had died.

When I was in high school I watched a television show called Prisoners of Gravity hosted by Rick Green of the comedy troupe The Frantics. The premise of the show was that a space-stranded nerd by the name of Commander Rick would high jack the broadcast of a typically Canadian wilderness show and replace it with a program devoted to various forms of speculative fiction. Despite its loopy framing device, the show was wonderfully deep, with topics that rant the gamut from Alternate Histories and Cyberpunk to Feminism and Race, utilizing plenty of interviews to draw from by far too many people to list here.

I was settling in for that week’s episode when the broadcast was genuinely interrupted, this time by a grim Rick Green in a suit and tie sitting behind a desk. I was so used to seeing the comedic opening sequence and Commander Rick rocking a jumpsuit that the entire thing threw me off-kilter. Rick Green issued a statement that Jack Kirby had passed away, and that they would repeat an episode dedicated to him in his honour. And the world tilted just a little bit further.

The next day at school I bumped into my friend Will in the hallway. Will and I rarely hung out, but he was one of my go-to guys when I wanted to talk about comics. He asked if I had seen it, without saying what ‘it’ was. I said that I had. It was one of those moments I’ll always remember, in the days before the internet when you couldn’t just find like-minded people to commiserate with at the touch of a button. It was good to know that I wasn’t alone in my dismay.

When the program aired I still had the presence of mind to throw a tape into the VCR and record the tribute. In the subsequent months, I would show it to friends of mine who weren’t initially interested in Kirby’s work. By the end of the program there wouldn’t be a dry eye in the house. As a result, it became progressively difficult to track down Kirby back issues at comic conventions I attended with my friends over the years. That’s the kind of problem I’m happy to live with.

It’s been fifteen years since The King left us. Long live The King.

Illustration by Jack Kirby, as found in Dark Horse Presents #103.

If you read enough Archie stories, patterns emerge. Not just the obvious things like Archie mistakenly taking both Betty and Veronica on dates on the same night or Hiram Lodge getting Smithers to kick Archie to the curb, but lesser-known sub-categories like Jughead’s effortless mastery of various sports, Archie accidentally pulling women out of the water with a fishing line and the Riverdale gang’s obsession with Real Dolls.

One of my favourite types is the prop gag, where an incongruous object is introduced to Riverdale, like a giant baloon or, in this case, a birdcage strapped to Archie’s head. Lullaby Of Birdbrain, a five-pager drawn by Harry Lucey (?), is one of the more surprising examples of this story, if only because it plays against expectations.

It’s as if everyone has grown so used to Archie wandering around with something attached to his head that it isn’t even a thing anymore. Mr. Weatherbee finally gives up. Archie has enough savvy to use the birdcage against Reggie. And in a surprising finale, Reggie comes out on top.

More examples of Lil’ Coffin Joe can be found at Steven Weissman’s sketchblog.

Following up my previous post on the Scott Pilgrim movie staying true to its Hogtown roots, a Toronto casting call has been posted on Craigslist looking for slim, young, indie-rock types. Damn.

Image by Bryan Lee O’Malley and nabbed from the Annotated Scott Pilgrim Flickr set.

Happiness is a thieving Herriman kittycat. From Don Marquis’ the lives and times of archy and mehitabel.

The only casting concern I had for the Scott Pilgrim movie was which city it would be filmed in. Toronto is such a huge part of what makes the graphic novels that setting the film anywhere else would probably be a deal-breaker for me. That might sound like more fanboy posturing, but seriously, you cannot find a suitable replacement for the sheer insanity of Honest Ed’s anywhere but Hog Town. So it makes me ridiculously happy to see that director Edgar Wright has been prepping in T.O., testing the wire-fu, and partaking of our homegrown slasher movies.