SCREAM (1996) costume design by Cynthia Bergstrom.
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SCREAM (1996) costume design by Cynthia Bergstrom.
The book Tintin picks up in Professor Topolino’s house, in THE CALCULUS AFFAIR (1956), is completely real. Written by Leslie E. Simon (a Major General in the US Army), it was published in 1947 under the title German Research in World War II: An Analysis of the Conduct of Research. The rocket depicted on the cover isn’t a fantasy design, it’s a German V-2 rocket, which was the world's first long-range guided ballistic missile. When Hergé, Tintin’s creator, made DESTINATION MOON and EXPLORERS ON THE MOON in the early 1950s, he based the iconic red-and-white checkered design of Professor Calculus's moon rocket directly on the V-2 rocket.
(This image comes from the original Belgian magazine publication, my go-to edition.)
Flashback! I'm 4 or perhaps 5 years old. My brother, some two years older, is in hospital. Why, I don't know. This hasn't been explained to me. Nor do I ask; I’m just happy to stay at my grandparents' castle, safe from the darkness I sense around me. (Castle? Yes. Because this isn't a house. It's an old, slightly unreal construction, an enclave of the 19th century, built by my ancestors. It sits slightly elevated, comparing to the other houses in my village like an eagle compares to a chicken.) When my brother returns, he brings some things with him: a strange hospital smell that vaguely frightens me, stories of other kids--some who have become one with the Force (bless their souls)--and a few comics. There are two in particular that catch my eye. They look more luxurious than the others. More adult. They are: DESTINATION MOON, and EXPLORERS ON THE MOON. They intrigue me. Has my brother been to the moon? I open one of the books--but yikes, that's a lot of text. Lots of techno-babble, too. The art looks kind of sterile, traced. This isn't a comic; it's some kind of illustrated manual for astronauts, apparently. I put it away.
For years, this would be my attitude toward Tintin. The art is too polished, too perfect. The stories feel like excuses to show off plane models and tech specs. And Tintin, blech, he isn’t a character, he is just a bland collection of virtues. Also, there aren’t any women in it. Well, only Bianca Castafiore, but she’s a drag queen.
This all changes when I come across some of the original facsimile editions of the books, and see the difference between this:
and this:
Or, say, this:
and this:
And then I got it.
The first one I read was THE CRAB WITH THE GOLDEN CLAWS (1941). What struck me was how well the characters act. A favorite would be THE CASTAFIORE EMERALD (1962), because of how Hergé plays with conventions and clichés. ("Mercy! My jewels!")
In CRAB, you'll come across this panel:
Hergé himself considered it one of his best. The narrative progression in a single, static image, Haddock’s curses flying out over the armed men’s heads like rotten fruit—he’s not in the frame, yet he’s dominating it—those are the kinds of touches that make Hergé’s work so enjoyable, so memorable. When you first read Tintin as a kid (or a casual reader), your eyes glide riiight past panels like this because the storytelling is so seamless. But when you stop to look at how Hergé achieved that effect, the experience changes from just reading a comic to Appreciating Fine Art (yes yes).
I still never really got into the MOON adventure, however… Although I admire its ambition. And I've always been fascinated by its ending. I won't spoil it, so I'll just say: "Perhaps by some miracle I shall escape too."
PS. Shout-out to Leslie Lonsdale-Cooper and Michael Turner, who collaborated on the English translation of Tintin's adventures, and did it so well.
From: HOW TO READ A PERSON LIKE A BOOK (1971), by Gerard I. Nierenberg and Henry H. Calero.
If you grew up watching ITV in the early 1980s, you likely remember a kind of “magic” that happened when a program ended early. Those awkward schedule gaps were filled with the sounds of Rondò Veneziano’s "La Serenissima,” the unofficial soundtrack to British "dead air" time.
Spider-Man, drawn by Stan Lee.
I Couldn't Smoke the Grass On My Father's Lawn (1966). Autobiography of Charlie Chaplin's son Michael, details the massive generational gap between a Victorian-era father (Charlie) and a counter-culture son (Michael).
Design sketches by Albert Uderzo for ASTERIX. Uderzo originally wanted Asterix to be a tall, muscular, and shirtless warrior—it was actually René Goscinny, I believe, who pushed back, insisting that the hero should be small, puny, and rely on his wits rather than his muscles. This was a pretty subversive move for 1950s comics, which usually featured "mighty" heroes. You can see the transition in the bottom sketch of the first page, where he’s starting to shrink into the “clever little Gaul we know today” (cliché TV voice-over).
I’ve read somewhere that Uderzo was obsessed with noses. He believed that in caricature, the nose is the center of the soul. In these sketches, you can see him testing different nose-to-mustache ratios.
(I’ve posted Asterix design sketches before; there is some overlap here.)
Watercolour illustration of Sauron by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Mexican painter, Alfredo Castañeda (1938–2010).
Brigitte Bardot (1934-2025). Her magnificent spirit is now free.
Paul Watson (Sea Shepherd):
The Misunderstood Compassion of Brigitte Bardot
““I am not what is called a civilized man, Professor. I have done with society for reasons that seem good to me. Therefore, I do not obey its laws.”
— Captain Nemo (Jules Verne)
Who was Brigitte Bardot?
To appreciate who she was, we must first reckon with the authoritarian, anthropocentric world we inhabit.
To the animals of the world, we humans are Nazis.
We may not all knowingly participate in cruelty, but we are all collaborators unless we choose to become resisters.
Brigitte Bardot understood this. Her contempt for our species’ indifference was not something she kept to herself. She did not quietly mutter her disgust at a world oblivious to abject cruelty; she raised her voice against a hypocritical culture that cherry picks its causes, a world that often exploits figures like her merely to rationalize its own bigotry, discrimination, and violence.
Like Captain Nemo, she decided at 39 to be done with society for reasons that seemed good to her. She turned her back on adoration and stardom and walked away to begin a more meaningful life of resistance—practicing compassion for the innocent.
At the same time, she understood the power of her celebrity and chose to aim it at making a difference for the suffering multitudes of non humans enslaved to our species for food, sport, and labor. For her part in ending the brutal slaughter of white coated baby seals, I am forever in her debt.
When a group of fishermen on Réunion Island brutally pierced live puppies’ noses to use them as shark bait, she called them savages. For that, she was fined for a “racist” remark. But was it racist to describe a savage act as savage?
When she was young, she was exploited for her beauty, and she acknowledged that she had taken part in that exploitation—until she chose not to.
Brigitte was my friend. In all our years, I never heard her make a racist remark, nor did I hear her denounce Islam any more than your average Jew, Muslim or Catholic might denounce a rival creed. Her voice, however, carried farther than most.
Why did she support Marine Le Pen? The answer is simple: she appealed to politicians across the spectrum, and Le Pen was the one who told her she understood the need for animal rights. The Left could have had her support had they shown compassion beyond their fixation on prioritizing exclusively human demands.
The truth is that Brigitte had little use for Left or Right. Her concern was singular: what was good for animals. She also had little patience for the opinions or criticisms of hypocritical humans.
Some critics say you can’t love animals unless you love humanity. Of course, you can—and precisely because of humanity’s inhumanity, she loved animals so fiercely.
Every day, millions of newborn male chicks drop onto a conveyor belt and into a grinder mere minutes after hatching. Every day, thousands of male calves are torn from their mothers, isolated in dark crates to produce veal. Every day, thousands of geese are force fed until their livers become diseased to make foie gras. Racehorses shatter their legs; dolphins languish in captivity—both for human entertainment. Calling ritual slaughter barbaric and cruel is not racist; it is descriptive.
She believed, as I do, that there can never be any cultural justification for inflicting pain and death on a sentient being.
When Brigitte Bardot condemned the dolphin killers of Japan, the pilot whale slayers of the Faroe Islands, the bullfighters of Spain, and the baby seal clubbers of Canada as barbarians, she was not being racist—she was naming immoral, egregious behavior. She was honest in a world where cruelty is ignored and animals are treated as objects to be owned, exploited, brutalized, and terrorized—in a contradictory world that dotes on puppies and kittens while slitting the throats of pigs and lambs.
Brigitte did more to defend, protect, and care for animals than all the saints, and I have no hesitation in speaking of her in saintly terms. She leaves a legacy with the Brigitte Bardot Foundation and in the hundreds of thousands of animal lives saved.
In our conversations, it was clear her worldview was biocentric. She saw the connections among all species, not just the social bonds among people. To be sane in a world of mass cruelty and senseless slaughter is to be judged crazy by those who lack compassion and kindness.
The truth is that it takes great courage to face and confront the trauma we witness each day in a world starved of empathy.
We live amid a collective psychosis—anthropocentrism—that grants us a seemingly infinite capacity to rationalize and justify cruelty and killing.
Brigitte inspired and educated tens of thousands. She was outspoken, blunt, passionate, courageous, and unafraid to hold strong opinions. She leaves the world kinder for animals than the one she was born into, and she compelled many to confront the contradictions and hypocrisies that shape how we view life beyond our narrow human self interest.
At 39, Brigitte Bardot radically changed the course of her life—a decision that brought her personal happiness even as she gave happiness and compassion to countless living, sentient beings.
At 91 she has left us and many of us are sad for the loss of a wonderful woman, a legend and an angel of mercy.”
From Anthony Greenbank’s panicky SURVIVAL IN THE CITY (1974). (Stumbled upon it HERE.)
Chewbacca with his record collection. A promotional image for the Holiday Special, I’m guessing? I spot… The Story of Star Wars LP on the right and, bottom right, the Close Encounters score. Far left: Meco? Can anyone identify the others?
Droodles by Roger Price (from his 1953 book). Droodles (a blend of “doodle”, “drawing”, “riddle”) are simple drawings with a witty, often absurd, caption. The first one, as some of you may know, was used by Frank Zappa for his 1982 album, Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch. (Zappa, a fan of Price's work, lived just a few miles from the artist and personally sought permission to use the image.)
These come from the 1972 edition of the book.