Look, it's a gorilla with a machine gun! (The origins of Gorilla City and Congorilla, from 1989's Secret Origins #40)

If one is interested in the origins of one of DC Comics' ape characters, it stands to reason that one might be interested in others, so I suppose it is well worthwhile to examine the two stories that preceded the Detective Chimp origin in 1989's Secret Origins #40. 

These are of Gorilla City (though the cover says Gorilla Grodd, who is of course featured in the tale) and Congorilla. While both stories are quite fantastical, perhaps even more so than that of Detective Chimp, they are presented in a much more straightforward and realistic art style and with a far more serious tone.

The first story under Bill Wray's iconic cover (the text of which the Grand Comics Database attributes to editor Mark Waid, who must be the "I" in "Because I Demanded It!") is the 19-page Gorilla City/Gorilla Grodd one, entitled "Gorillas in Our Midst: The Secret Origin of Gorilla City". It is written by Cary Bates and Gary Weisman, penciled by Carmine Infantino and inked by Mike DeCarlo. 

It opens with a six-page sequence in which a mysterious white ship crashes in a lush jungle and is immediately surrounded by variously colored gorillas. They make various gorilla noises "OOGA", "CHEE" and "AH", each of which appears as a sound effect, sans dialogue balloons, and these are among the many letterer Augustin Mas fills the sequence with, other sound effects including those related to the ship itself and a crystal it contains.

The gorillas also find a tiny humanoid in the fetal position within. This flesh-covered creature looks like a human baby crossed with a Hopkinsville goblin, and it attempts to speak when pulled from the vessel, although the alien language is as unintelligible to me as it would have been to the gorillas. It's a nice visual depiction of an alien language, though; not sure who gets credit for it, DeCarlo or Mas: 

Ass for that crystal, a group of apes surround it and lay their hands on it, and then it emits rays in every direction as the apes flee, one of them apparently learning to think in English as it does so, as a thought cloud appears above the ape, containing the words, "...Ruh...Ruh...Run away...!!"

The scene then shifts to 1873 London, where a man in what is apparently an insane asylum of some kind is restrained to a chair while a reporter interviews him (As for that date, I suppose it is worth mentioning that the gorilla was only discovered and described by white scientists a few decades previous to that year, and the mountain gorilla wouldn't be officially recognized until 1902). 

The restrained man, Albert, then shares his "remarkable story" with the journalist, one so strange that it seems to have gotten him branded a mad man and confined within a madhouse. 

That story is, of course, how he and his fellow explorer and adventurer Hughes were in Africa and stumbled upon "a glorious metropolis beside which our own London pales," which Infantino draws like the sort of high-tech, fantastical city he might have drawn for Marvel's Star Wars comics, here colored all golden yellow. It was, Albert says, "a city of beasts: A city of gorillas!!"

The gorillas take them to the little humanoid from the earlier scene, which resembles a wizened baby, and it talks to them telepathically, its dialogue punctuated by nouns with dual meanings, as when it refers to itself as a "prisoner/god" of the gorillas.

It explains the story we already saw unfold and could intuit ourselves, given that the DC Universe has included a secret civilization of super-gorillas called Gorilla City since 1959. The crystal "exploded/enhanced", making the gorillas smarter, and the little alien, referred to as Mentor, further instructed the apes. Because they destroyed Mentor's ship with rocks, it is now stuck here on Earth, worshipped by but also captive to the gorillas.

Mentor further explains that, before it exploded, the crystal emitted two beams, one "straight/pure" that struck Solovar, the other "warped/dangerous". It doesn't know which gorilla the second beam struck, but readers should be able to guess pretty easily.

Solovar tells the men he wants to soon reveal the gorillas' city to the rest of the world, and perhaps the two could serve as ambassadors between the two civilizations. Mentor, meanwhile, wants them to help it escape, and bathes all of them in invisibility to do so. 

A familiar-looking gorilla with a fringe of sideburns dangling from the sides of its head has other plans, too; said gorilla, putting his fingers to his temples, seems to psychically possesses Hughes, who draws his pistol, shoots Mentor dead, and then shouts, "Death to the Mentor!! Death to Solovar!!" 

The gorillas witness this last bit, and administer their own gorilla justice upon the killer:

Albert manages to escape, but no one believes his tale. Given this betrayal by the first human beings to see Gorilla City, Solovar decides to cloak the city and hide it away from humanity. 

I suppose Albert would be long, long dead before The Flash Barry Allen discovers Gorilla City anew, and before the long-lived Solovar decides to finally reveal Gorilla City to the rest of the world. 

That story is followed by the 10-page "The Legend of Congorilla", a retelling of the story from 1958's Action Comics # 247, which was republished in 2004's Weird Secret Origins one-shot and which I detailed in the first and, before now, only EDILW post all about Congorilla.

This newer, 1989 origin is the work of writer Tom Joyner and artists Fred Butler and Kez Wilson. It retains the basics of the original origin. Adventurer Congo Bill receives a magical ring from his African friend Kawolo which, when rubbed, allows him and a large golden gorilla to exchange minds, which proves quite convenient when Bill finds himself trapped in a cave by rubble. 

Despite that, the story is here more complex, and involves treachery and a big gun battle, which, of course, allows Butler and Wilson to draw that panel of Congorilla with a machinegun I posted above.

Here Kawolo is murdered, and the doctor tending him gives the magic ring to Congo Bill, who has heard the story about exchanging minds with the golden gorilla, the creature being the totem of Kawolo's tribe. He's heard it, but he doesn't believe it. 

Investigating the murder with an off-panel group that is apparently the CIA, although Bill refers to them more cryptically throughout, he tells Kawolo's nephew N'Solo that the bullet that killed him had apparently come from an old Russian army rifle, of the sort being regularly smuggled to local guerilla groups. 

While the pair set out to avenge Kawolo's death, Bill asks N'Solo why he didn't inherit the ring from his uncle. He responds:

I suppose I scoffed at him once too often. My years at Oxford anglicized me. Uncle didn't approve.

He used to say, "You are more white than Congo Bill!" Ha! Ha! Uncle saw you as...an elemental force, Bill. White but with Africa's blood in your veins. He was quite poetic about it.

As it turns out, it is N'Solo who killed his uncle and he then tries to kill Bill. In this version of the story, Bill is exploring a cave, tracking the killers, and N'Solo, waiting outside the cave mouth, tosses a grenade in. The explosion doesn't kill Bill outright, but it does cause a cave in, seemingly dooming him...unless that magic ring really does work.

And we already know that it does, right?

Bill-in-the-gorilla's-body heads towards the cave entrance to free the-gorilla-in-Bill's-body, but along the way he comes across an ambush set up by the gun smugglers and gives way to his gorilla instincts...although with Bill's ability to aim a machine gun and pull a trigger, I suppose. 

After the battle, Bill is able to use the gorilla's body to free himself.

The issue, which I found on Comixology, then contains the short Detective Chimp origin we discussed the other day. It also contains what the Grand Comics Database refers to as "4 explanatory articles", devoted to the "secrets behind" the cover and each of the three origin stories.

I kind of wish Comixology included not just the comics content, but also the letters column and other material then, as the cover asks a direct question, "Why Is This Chimp Crying?" in reference to Bobo, and beneath it says, "See Letters Page For Details."

Alas, I could not do so, and thus even after reading the issue, I still don't know why that chimp is crying...

How Detective Chimp got so smart and solved his first case (at least according to 1989's Secret Origins #40)

In a previous post about Detective Chimp, we learned how it was that he and his fellow 1950s animal hero Rex the Wonder Dog gained their remarkable longevity (Spoiler: It was the Fountain of Youth). 

But how did Bobo get so smart in the first place, and when did he solve his first crime? Those questions are answered in a nine-page strip in 1989's Secret Origins #40. Interestingly, it doesn't contradict the "Whatever Happened to Rex the Wonder Dog?" back-up from 1981's DC Comics Presents #35 nor "Meet Detective Chimp!" from The Adventures of Rex the Wonder Dog #4, so all three stories would seem to be canonical. It's not until 2005's Day of Vengeance that any real revision happens in Bobo's history.

Of course, this Secret Origins story is a rather silly one, perhaps befitting a character like Detective Chimp, and its focus is thus more on being entertaining than on providing important information about the history of its star, a character who wasn't exactly appearing regularly in comics at the time.

If you want to read the story for yourself, I should note that DC has—quite unfortunately—not yet collected the 50-issue, 1986 to 1990 Secret Origins series. This particular short was collected in the 2020 DC's Greatest Detective Stories Ever Told, however, and that's where I found it. You could also resort to Amazon's Comixology too, of course.

The story is drawn by Mark Badger, who actually gets the first credit here, it is scripted by the suspicious sounding "Rusty Wells" and it is plotted by Andy Helfer (Actually, his credit reads "plot & tardiness.") 

If you've been reading comics very long, you probably know the names Mark Badger and Andy Helfer. But who is this Rusty Wells character? Well, according to comics.org, it's a pseudonym shared by the book's editors Mark Waid and Dan Raspler. 

The story opens with a spaceship approaching Earth, which the aliens in heavy spacesuits piloting it call "Sol-3." The ship is a very weird design, looking as much like abstract sculpture as it does a vehicle, and it presages the jagged, chunky, loose art that will fill these pages. Badger's art here is far from realistic, but it's also not what we generally think of when we think of "cartoony" art, either. It has a sketchy, dashed-off look to it.

These aliens are named "Y-Nad" and "K-Ram", easily unscrambled into "Andy" and "Mark", and the former alien, who continually refers to himself as "surfer on the waves of thought," is on a mission to "take a native's puny mind and alter it, enlarge it... ...so that it may contemplate its existence in this cold, empty universe."

On the second page, we see just how unusual these aliens are, when their ship flies into the open mouth of a chimpanzee: The ship is tiny, about the size of a bug.

That chimpanzee is, of course, is the one that will eventually come to be known as Detective Chimp. A page and a half later, the aliens have made their way from the chimp's stomach to its brain, and Y-Nad has done whatever he does to brains to ensmarten them (He uses a tool that looks a little like a jackhammer that emits lightning bolts).

Meanwhile, outside of the chimp's skull, somewhere in Africa, a round man with a huge gray mustache and a pith helmet named Gus is lamenting the failure of his expedition, the apparent result of a constant stream of disappearances among those he is working with. His assistant, Randolph, smiles while eating an apple and listening.

And then things suddenly start to look up for Gus, as the pair see a chimpanzee—the chimpanzee from earlier, of course—using a sharp stick to draw what looks to be a portrait of Blue Beetle on the side of a crate.

When Radolph dismisses the chimp as "a dumb animal," the chimp responds by grabbing the apple from Randolph's hand and then throwing it at his face ("THOK"), thinking his first lines of dialogue in his thought bubbles: "sigh" and "Speak for yourself, butthead."

From this point on, we're privy to the chimpanzee's thoughts. Or, I suppose I should say, Bobo's thoughts. He flees the enraged Randolph, finds a Kaye Daye mystery novel entitled Murder in the Museum and retreats to the edge of the camp to read it (Here's a bit of evidence that Waid co-scripted this story, by the way; Kaye Daye is a deep cut of a DC character, having been introduced in a 1964 issue of Batman in which she was part of the Mystery Analysts of Gotham City).  

Seeing someone dragging a body into the sparse, Doctor Seuss-looking forest and then proceeding to bury it, Bobo strides into Gus and Randolph's tent the next morning and points at Randolph, thinking "J'accuse!"

As it happens, Randolph's murder spree and motivation pretty perfectly match the plot of the mystery novel, and Bobo points this out to Gus and, when Randolph pulls a gun on him, chucks the novel into his chin, knocking him out (Luckily it was a hardcover, I suppose).

"You're coming to America with me," Gus tells Bobo. "Just wait till the world sees you!"

So, Bobo's smarts? The result of tinkering by tiny little aliens operating secretly on his brain. And the solving of his first murder mystery? Well, that seems to come down to more than a bit of luck, but, once he gets to America and partners with Sheriff Chase of Oscaloosa County, Florida, well, he'll get better and better and crime-solving, as seen in the Detective Chimp strips collected in 2023's The Detective Chimp Casebook. 

Bookshelf #17

We finally come to the very last set of bookshelves that I have in the downstairs of my house. Again, these contain my most recent comics collections and graphic novels, those acquired between 2012 and 2014. I have plenty more bookshelves upstairs though, and those are all filled with books I acquired far earlier, probably between 1991 and 2011 or so.

Because this is my newest set of shelves, it is also that with the most room left for new books on it.

The organizing principle for this particular shelf? Well, here size was a big factor. 

To the left, you will find a bunch of Drawn and Quarterly books of a bigger size, from the fancy shmancy 2014 Moomin: The Deluxe Anniversary Edition still in its shrink wrap (I'll get to it one day, I swear!) to a couple of Little Lulu hardcovers. There's a wide variety of books between them, the one thing they all have in common being their size and the fact that they are from D+Q...with the exception of an AdHouse collection of Jay Stephens' Welcome to Oddville, which I guess I stuck there because, like those D+Q books, it was far too big to stick with the other books from that particular publisher that I have. 

On the right? Well, these are mostly collection of comics strips. Nancy is well represented, by the quite recent Nancy Wears Hats from Fantagraphics, a very old 1988 copy of The Best of Ernie Bushmiller's Nancy (published by Henry Holt, edited by Brian Walker and purchased at 2024's Nancy Fest at OSU's Billie Ireland), The Nancy Show published in conjunction with Nancy Fest (and a book any fan who couldn't make it in person should have on their shelf), a couple of collections of Olivia Jaimes' Nancy and Bill Griffith's superior Bushmiller biography, Three Rocks. (Sadly, The Nancy Show is a little too horizontal for the shelf, so it juts out further than the spines of all the other books, which naturally bugs me a bit every time I look at this shelf.)

There's also a collection of Tony Millionaire's Maakies, Charles Addams' cartoons and Jeff Smith's crowd-funded Thorn: The Complete Proto-Bone College Strips 1982-1986, collecting OSU student Smith's comic strip for the school paper The Lantern, which he later transformed into the influential self-published comic Bone. (This too is wider than the shelf is deep and thus it also juts out past the spines of the other books.)

Finally, and more randomly, are a couple of books placed there for size more than content: And old and battered The Encyclopedia of Comic Book Heroes Vol. 2: Wonder Woman that I saved from the weeding at a library (in the time before Wonder Woman Chronicles and the DC Finest collections, the next best thing to reading the old William Moulton Marston and H.G. Peter Golden Age Wonder Woman comics was reading about them), Yoe Books/IDW's Alice In Comicland (a part history, part anthology devoted to four color adaptations of and riffs on Lewis Carroll's Alice books) and Yoe Books/IDW's Super Patriotic Heroes (a part history, part anthology devoted to lesser star-spangled heroes like The American Crusader, Captain Fight, The Fighting Yank, Man of War and the like...even MLJ's The Shield and Quality's Uncle Sam put in appearance, the latter in a strip by Will Eisner). 

Art Adams' Creature Features, a great book you probably won't be able to find.

I had read most of the contents of this 1996 trade paperback collection before, having found the 1993 Arthur Adams-drawn Creature from the Black Lagoon adaptation in a back issue bin, and having read his 1992 Godzilla Color Special a couple of times in a library-borrowed 1998 Godzilla: Age of Monsters collection (where it appeared, ironically, in black and white). 

Researching Godzilla comics of late, I learned that Adams, maybe the best Godzilla artist ever, had once collaborated with Alan Moore, maybe the best comic book writer ever, on a Godzilla story (of sorts) in the pages of 1990s anthology series Negative Burn, and that the story was collected in Art Adams' Creature Features. 

And so I was curious to find a copy of the long out of print book. The consortium the library I work at shares materials with did not have a copy in any of its 40 libraries. Neither did the consortium that my local library belongs to. I only saw one used copy for sale on Amazon, and it was selling for the rather expensive (and oddly specific) price of $43.67. 

That left me with two options. I could visit Ohio State University's Billy Ireland Cartoon Library & Museum in Columbus and read it there (a three-hour drive, so more a thing I could do when visiting the city rather than a reason to go visit the city), or I could hope that my library could find a copy on WorldCat that would be willing to share it with us. (The "Cat" stands for "catalog", and it's a resource that connects libraries to one another; it's my last resort for finding books often, but the library that might own the rare book I want might not be willing to share it, so it's never a sure thing). 

Luckily, a library in Roanoke, Virginia both had a copy of this now 30-year-old trade paperback collection and was willing to mail it to Mentor, Ohio, so I was able to read that short—like, three splash panels over four pages short—Adams/Moore collaboration, as well as see the Godzilla Color Special in color (So now I know that G-Force's matching jumpsuits were orange, for example, and that Godzilla's ray weapon was electric blue in color).

Given how hard it is to find this collection, I thought I would take a few moments to break it down here for readers (Although, if you live near Columbus or Roanoke, you should be able to get your hands on a copy). I should note that regardless of how great the book is, it's unlikely to ever be reprinted. Not only is it from Dark Horse Books, but the two stories that make up the bulk of the book star licensed characters, and not only are they no longer licensed to Dark Horse, they are now licensed to two entirely different publishers. 

IDW of course has the Godzilla license, while that for the Universal Monsters (including the Creature) is held by Skybound/Image. The book also includes eight pages of Monkeyman and O'Brien comics, originally published by Dark Horse but I assume owned by Adams (that's what the fine prints says here, anyway), and the Negative Burn short by Adams and Moore. 

I suppose it's possible for IDW and Image and Adams to all get on the same page to republish this book, but it seems unlikely. I feel it would be more likely that these stories might appear in new, different collections from various publishers.

THE COVER

Adams' original cover is dominated by three figures: Godzilla, the Creature and Adams himself, all of whom ae roughly the same size, and all seem to be teaming up against the reader.

Along the bottom we see Adam's Monkeyman and O'Brien in an inset, and Adam's version of Julie Adam's Kay swimming by in her iconic white bathing suit. All three seem to be reacting to Adams and his monster friends above.

Note the strings of saliva stretching between the top and bottom of Adam's mouth. While I don't think most of us think of Adams when we think of the various excesses of 1990s mainstream comics art, such depictions of saliva are a very '90s thing, so it's interesting to see Adams drawing it, and drawing it in a self-portrait. 

THE INTRODUCTION 

This is from Geof Darrow, who is now probably best known for his Shaolin Cowboy but, to 1990s readers, would probably be better known for Hard Boiled, The Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot and his many covers and illustrations. 

He pens a one-page prose introduction, and I'm afraid I can't tell how serious it is. 

He starts out by saying he asked Adams why he liked Godzilla, and Adams replied "Nick Adams." Nick Adams (1931-1968) died about a decade before I was even born, so I'm not expert, but I think he might be best known for starring in the TV show The Rebel...? I've only seen him in his two Toho movies: Frankenstein Conquers the World and Invasion of Astro-Monster, the latter of which Art Adams discusses with Darrow in a conversation relayed in the introduction. 

That seems reasonable. It's easy to imagine someone of Arthur Adams' generation seeing that movie at a young age and being impressed by it enough to fall in love with the genre and, perhaps, to be taken with Nick Adams' portrayal of a dashing, heroic, Western astronaut. 

Darrow then says he asks Art Adams what he liked so much about Creature of the Black Lagoon, and he replied "Julie Adams". Again, that's reasonable, especially if Arthur Adams saw it at a certain age; certainly, Fay Wray is why a pre-teen Caleb first fell in love with the movie King Kong. 

Of course, you'll have noticed that Arthur Adams shares a surname with Nick Adams and Julie Adams. 

Is this all a gag of Darrow's, and he's making up these conversations with Arthur Adams...?

Darrow continues:

Art went on for some time, ricocheting between the film credits of Nick and Julia Adams (no relation, I think). As he continued, it occurred to me that Bryan Adams was playing on the stereo and that Art's shelves held numerous books by the likes of Charles Addams and Richard Adams, and videos of films like Adam's Rib, Deep Inside Tracey Adams, The Best of Buck Adams and countless more where the name Adams figured in  either the title or credits.

Now if this were anyone else, I'd have said this was a bit egotistical. But I know Art to be as modest as he is talented; I ruled out ego and put his interests down to mere coincidence. But if it had been an enormous ego at play, I knew few others who'd have as much right as Art Adams.

So yeah, it seems like a long—too long—riff on the fact that Arthur Adams shares a surname with a Godzilla actor and the heroine of Creature to get to the point where he could note that Adams is enormously talented. 

In the final three paragraphs remaining, Darrow notes how influential Adams is on the "hot" artists of the day, and makes a joke about how Adams was often criticized for his speed ...including by those same artists. ("I think the main reason they are concerned with Art's rate of production is because they've run out of Art Adams material to pay 'homage' to and are on their third or fourth Adams retread work, and their editors are at last staring to complain about being billed for the third or fourth time for the same material.")

He also notes that this trade paperback is well worthwhile because the comics within it were "hopelessly under-ordered." 

I assume he's not joking about that, although it does make it unfortunate to readers in 2026, who might want to read these comics now...

UNIVERSAL MONSTERS: CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON 

Scripted by Steve Moncuse and drawn by Adams and Terry Austin (the latter presumably handling the inks, although in this collection both Adams and Austin simply share an "art by" credit), this is exactly what it looks like: A comic book adaptation of the 1954 black-and-white horror film.

Comic book adaptations used to be far more popular, perhaps even common, in years past, although they seem to have long been out of style. In fact, I'm not even sure what the most recent such comics might have been. Those that pop up immediately in my memory are the 1989 DC Comics adaptation of the original Batman film by Denny O'Neil and Jerry Ordway (which got a "Deluxe Edition" hardcover release in 2019), the 1990 Archie Comics adaptation of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles film (by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird themselves, oddly enough, and just re-released in a 35th anniversary hardcover by IDW last month) and 1992 Topps Comics adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula (penciled by Mike Mignola, which is almost certainly why it saw a hardcover collection released by IDW in 2018). 

Surely others have been published since though, right?

Anyway, the odd thing about this one was, of course, that it was released almost 40 years after the original film. 

While over-sized at 49 story pages, it's still relatively short for an adaptation of a feature film, I think, but it's quite complete, the creators managing to get it all in there thanks in large part to the man tiny panels on each page, maybe 12 per page or so. 

In that respect, the comic feels a little old, a little small and a little crowded. It certainly doesn't read like a comic book of the 1990s. 

The creators do a damn good job thought, and this is basically the seminal film translated pretty directly into the comics medium, nothing really new or unique added...aside, I suppose, from seeing Adams' renderings of the various characters, and seeing just how awesome the Gill-Man design could be when it's not limited by having to be made out of rubber to latex or whatever and fitted over a human actor.

That is, the monster looks much more monstrous, and more realistic, too.

The only downside? According to Wikipedia, this wasn't the Creature story Adams most wanted to tell. Here, listen to this:

When Adams learned that Dark Horse would acquire the rights to the Universal Monsters, Adams lobbied to them to illustrate the comics sequel to the 1954 film Creature from the Black Lagoon, but Dark Horse wanted to produce and adaptation of the film first, and told Adams that if he illustrated that, that he would be able to illustrate a future sequel. 

Unfortunately, the article goes on to say, the book suffered from low sales and the Universal Monster comics ended up costing Dark Horse money, so we never got that Creature sequel Adams had planned. 

Of course, that means there's a Creature from the Black Lagoon sequel by Arthur Adams out there somewhere, even if only in his head, yet to be published. Hopefully Skybound has read Adams Wikipedia entry, and is in the process of contacting him to produce that comic for them now...

If you can't find this issue in a back issue bin or get your hands on Creature Features, it was also collected along with Dark Horse's Dracula, Frankenstein and Mummy adaptations in the 2006 trade paperback Universal Monsters: Cavalcade of Horrors.


GODZILLA COLOR SPECIAL 

This 1992 comic was co-written by Randy Stradley and Adams and drawn by Adams. The 40-page one-shot was one of the earliest of Dark Horse's Godzilla comics, following 1987's Godzilla King of the Monsters Special and a 1988 mini-series republishing a manga adaptation of 1984 film Return of Godzilla.

Aside from being totally awesome, it's notable for introducing G-Force, a team of jump-suited Japanese adventurer scientists based on the Fantastic Four (The team consists of a brilliant scientist, his wife, his wife's kid brother and his best friend, a big guy who is also their pilot). A military force by that name was introduced in the 1993 film Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla II; Adams and Stradley's G-Force came first, although given the lead time it takes to make a movie, it's possible the two G-Forces were created simultaneously. 

In this story, Godzilla is approaching a fictional island off the coast of Japan, one whose inhabitants have cut themselves off from modern culture (and thus communication technology) in order to lead a medieval style of life. G-Force and the U.S. military arrive during a storm to evacuate them before Godzilla can get there, but it turns out the islanders have their own plan for dealing with Godzilla: A large statue they believe to be a petrified oni, which, under the right circumstances can be brought back to life.

And that's what happens. Though the statue is far smaller than Godzilla, every time it is destroyed, it magically rebuilds itself, bigger and stronger than it was previously. So here we have two seemingly unstoppable foes.

I think this is probably among the better Godzilla comics I've ever read, and, reading it, you'll see why I think Adams is perhaps the best Godzilla artist. Its relatively short page count finds time and space for Godzilla battling warships and Godzilla battling a giant foe, the exact likes of which we've never seen him fight before, and the human action occurring underfoot is fun and exciting. 

This story also includes this funny sequence, in which Godzilla is as petty as I've ever seen him. In a dramatic moment, he stomps on a character, in a big panel that fills two-thirds of a page. The bottom third of the page features a series of three panels. In the first two, other characters react to the death of the character, one shouting "No!" and the other his name. In the third and final panel, we get a medium-shot of Godzilla, who goes on to keep stomping on the clearly already dead character, "THOOM THOOM THOOM" sound effects letting us know he did so three more times in rapid succession, as if to rub the other characters' faces in what he just did. 

There's one line of dialogue here that will seem like an odd throwaway if you read this special anywhere other than Creature Features. "Remember how he helped us defeat The Shrew-Manoid's monsters?" one member of G-Force asks another. Here though, one of the short stories to follow will introduce us to said Shrew-Manoid.

As I said above, this story was also collected in 1998's Godzilla: Age of Monsters, which is another place you can try to look for it. 

MONKEYMAN AND O'BRIEN

In referring to the contents of the trade, the back cover refers to "two rare Monkeyman & O'Brien stories," which, in 2026, seems ironic. That's because, as far as I can tell, all Monkeyman & O'Brien stories are rare now. 

All of the comics are from the '90s, and, as far as I can tell, the only collection was published way back in 1997. Which is unfortunate, as the two super-short stories collected in here made me want to read more about these characters, a super-intelligent gorilla and a super-strong woman, respectively.

The feature was part of Dark Horse's creator-owned "Legend" imprint, where Mike Mignola's Hellboy originated (Indeed, Adams' feature occasionally ran as a back-up in Hellboy comics), and the characters appeared in a two-issue crossover with Image's Gen13 in 1998, a series I'd really like to see.

The two stories here, "The Shocking Case of the Brief Journey" and "Trapped in the Lair of the Shrewmanoid", are both four-pagers. One is from 1993's San Diego Comic Con Comics #2 and the other from 1994's Dark Horse Insider #27. 

The first opens with a full-page splash, making its short page-count feel even shorter, and the story plays more like a scene than a story. The leads are running a theropod dinosaur hot on their heels while O'Brien narrates a little bit about them and what's going on. Before the dinosaur, a brown-ish one with plates on its back the same shape as those on Godzilla's, can gets its jaws on them, they reach "the D-gate," a little glowing device that opens a portal and sends them...somewhere, presumably the present. The dinosaur satisfies itself by carefully sniffing and then eating the D-gate projector. 

And, um, that's it; it's just 11 panels total. Not much to it, obviously, but it allows Adams to draw a gorilla, a dinosaur and a beautiful woman, all things that he apparently likes to draw and he's exceptionally good at drawing. 

The second is 18 panels but manages to feel more like a complete—albeit quite short—story. It opens with our heroes bound in very substantial looking manacles and chains to a large pillar underground, menaced by The Shrewmanoid, who was mentioned in the Godzilla Color Special (Although here there's no hyphen in his name). 

It's clear that he's meant to be an analogue of Marvel's Mole Man, whom he rather exactly resembles, only sans glasses and with a different color scheme. He also has a horde of humanoid followers, although these are little rat people that kinda sorta resemble Rizzo and friends from The Muppets, and commands at least one giant monster. 

In the opening panel, a large one that fills three-fourths of the first page, is filled with these rat people, and, like so many of Adams' drawings, this one seems to be one that he must have labored over for a while, as he draws the hell out of the crowd. It rewards scanning closely too, as the rat people all wear clothes, and some of them seem to be cosplaying familiar comic book characters. One, for example, seems to be dressed as Doctor Doom, only with a red cape rather than a green one, and another wears a trenchcoat and seems to have sanded-down horns like Hellboy.

As for that giant monster, that is K'Nog, a giant naked mole rat. Using their great strength, our heroes escape and prevail, O'Brien tearing down the pillar and using it like a baseball bat to clear the crowd of rat people, and Axwell Tiberius (aka "Monkeyman") grabs K'Nog by the teeth and flips him onto his back with a "WHAM!"

Living as we do in a time when it seems almost every comic ever is readily available, it's kind of frustrating to know there are all these Arthur Adams comics about a gorilla and a beautiful woman fighting monsters out there but not readily available. (At the very least, I would hope DC might publish that Gen13 crossover, maybe in some kind of future Gen13 collection or another...)

Ah well, hopefully someone gets around to collecting it eventually. In the meantime, I am glad that Creature Features provides a bit of an introduction to the concept and characters.

"TRAMPLING TOKYO"

The final entry isn't from a Dark Horse book, but rather from Caliber Press's Negative Burn anthology. As the images are copyright Adams, and the words copyright Alan Moore though, I guess all Dark Horse needed to reprint it int this collection was the permission of the creators. What's perhaps most interesting about it is that while it features Godzilla, or at least a version of Godzilla, this one, unlike the Godzilla Color Special or any of Adams' other Godzilla work, this is not an official Godzilla story, so the version of the character Adams draws here is a unique, original one—Godzilla-y enough to suggest the character, but not so Godzilla-y as to actually be Godzilla (In this respect, the characters' appearance here is similar to the way he might appear in newspaper comic strips, New Yorker cartoons or parodies in Mad magazine and elsewhere.)

The short strip is one of Negative Burn's ongoing features, "Alan Moore's Songbook," in which various noteworthy comic artists would illustrate lyrics written by Moore. “Trampling Tokyo” is told from the perspective of a weary Godzilla who has tired of his life destroying cities and now longs to retire to the peace and calm of Monster Island.

The strip consists of just three panels spread over four pages. An opening splash page featuring the title “Alan Moore’s Songbook: Trampling Tokyo”, a two-page splash featuring two verses in boxes before another illustration and a final splash page featuring a third and final verse. 

Adams’ monster here looks an awful lot like what Godzilla might look like if he were a real creature, one that might exist in nature, rather than the one of Toho's films.

Adams gives us three images of his new, off-brand Godzilla. The first, a splash pages, shows it from the chest up, apparently mid-roar, while smoke fills the background.

The second, a double-page splash, shows the creature’s entire body as it stands in an urban setting, its dorsal plates crackling with energy (electric blue, in the colorized version) while a beam of explosive yellow-orange energy pours from its jaws, destroying some sort of high-tech vehicle, while another such vehicle swoops above the blast, avoiding it.

In the third, another singe-page splash, the monster stalks off, away from the smoking city; in the sky, we see images of its fellow monsters’ faces. One looks exactly like that of the larval Mothra, another looks like it could be a similarly off-brand Rodan, given its beak and suggestion of wings (although it has a mane of spines, unlike Toho’s Pteranodon-like monster), and the other two are distinctly dinosaurian; one could be Gorosaurus, I suppose, given how much like a standard theropod dinosaur that monster looks, while the other is a unique design of Adams’).

Adams' “Trampling Tokyo” version of Godzilla's body looks much like that of Toho’s, especially in the deep grooves of the scaly skin and the plates along its back, but the face is more bestial and dinosaurian, with an elongated snout and deeply-set eyes, on the sides of the head rather than the front.

Its posture is similarly that of a real dinosaur, as it is hunched forward and balanced by a long, whip-like tail. Its arms are short and held close to its body, folding up like those of a Jurassic Park raptor in the last panel, and its legs look as if they are bent backyards, as it stands atop its clawed toes.

This is not a monster that a man in a suit could play...at least not most men, and not easily.

In fact, it would have made a perfect design for the monster that starred in the 1998 American Godzilla; for that film, the creators clearly wanted a more dinosaur-like, more “realistic” version of Godzilla, and here Adams provides one, while still giving the monster just enough Godzilla signifiers that he suggests the original without looking all that much like him.

Moore’s song is short enough that I could probably quote it in its entirety here, but I will instead just note that, among the nuclear age imagery (X-Rays, Hiroshima and Robert Oppenheimer are mentioned), there are a few references to Toho’s filmography.

When Godzilla first mentions Monster Island, he says “The tiny twins hold hands and sing/while Mothra plays guitar”, the “tiny twins” referring to the Shobijin introduced in 1961’s Mothra.

The song ends with another mention of the idyllic nature of Monster Island, “where the luminous lagoon night never ends/and all my monster friends/ are singin’ Gojira! Gojira! Go!”, before repeating the title.

And if Moore’s Godzilla was tired of trampling Tokyo way back in 1995, I can only imagine how exhausted he is of doing so now, over 30 years, some 15 feature films and dozens of comics later...

“Trampling Tokyo” has been collected several times since it was originally published, not just in Creature Features but also in 1998’s Alan Moore’s Songbook and 2005’s Negative Burn: The Best from 1993-1998. 

The first appearance and original origin of Detective Chimp

Detective Chimp first appeared in a seven-and-a-half-page back-up strip in 1952's The Adventures of Rex the Wonder Dog #4, the work of writer John Broome, pencil artist Carmine Infantino and inker Sy Barry. That short story was entitled, simply enough, "Meet Detective Chimp!" and was thus devoted to introducing the character to readers.

That's the first page of it above. As you can see, the story is being told by a lawman, one Sheriff Chase of Oscaloosa County, Florida. He would serve as the narrator for this and all future Detective Chimp stories in the pages of Rex the Wonder Dog, and he would then return to do so in the "Whatever Happened to Rex the Wonder Dog?" strip from 1981's DC Comics Presents #35. 

On page two Bobo wanders on-panel, wearing a bright orange ball cap and crying "Ooo--Eee!", which we are told is "Bobo speak" for "You" and "Me." While Bobo proceeds to peel a banana, the sheriff relates the story of how he came to meet Bobo.

Animal trainer Fred Thorpe, of "the famed Thorpe animal farm", has called the sheriff out to visit him one afternoon. While there, the sheriff sees Bobo riding a bicycle with food in its basket. Bobo then begins measuring out the milk that he will feed to Tombo, the gorilla. Are there other animals on this famed animal farm besides the two primates? Perhaps, but these are the only two we see in this strip.

When the sheriff leaves, he says aloud to himself how strange it was that Thorpe had called him out there to tell him something important, but then just ended up talking about Bobo the whole time. Later at his office, the sheriff gets a call from Thorpe's niece, Alice: Thorpe has been shot and killed!

The only witness to the crime? Bobo! 

The chimpanzee seems all excited, and when he takes the sheriff by the hand and leads him back to his car, the sheriff thinks that Bobo must be trying to take him to the killer. Once in the car, Bobo points directions, and he ends up leading the sheriff back to the office he had just left from.

There's no one there but the sheriff's secretary, Pete Drummond, who laughs about it. 

"Those monks are dumb," Pete says while loading a revolver, "Always up to silly tricks!"  

It's outside the sheriff's office that Bobo gets his first line of dialogue in English. While he vocalizes "Ch-Chk!", a thought balloon tells us what he's really thinking: "If only they would listen to me-- But they won't!"

This is how Bobo will continue to communicate for the next 40 years or so, making chimpanzee noises out loud, and thinking in the English language, often in quite simple sentences. 

What Sheriff Chase and Alice failed to understand is that the reason Bobo had led the sheriff back to his own office is because that's where the killer was. Pete Drummond is the one who shot Thorpe. (This isn't that mysterious of a mystery, really, as Drummond is the only other character in the whole story. But then, it is only seven and a half pages long, so it's not like Broome had room to introduce any other suspects.)

Realizing Bobo can actually finger him, Drummond returns to the farm to silence the ape once and for all...with a bullet. Bobo is on to him though, and he escapes his cage and leads the killer on a chase through the nearby forest, where he continually frustrates him—pelting him with coconuts, leading him into quicksand, slapping him with a bent back branch—before the chase ends back at the farm. 

Seeing the sheriff had also arrived there, Drummond tells his boss that it was Bobo who had killed Thorpe...and that the ape had then tried to kill him, too. 

Bobo, meanwhile, opens Tombo's cage, and the much bigger, scarier ape grabs Drummond and forces a full confession from the killer.

In the very last panel, we see Alice handing Bobo a bunch of bananas from a crate marked "For Bobo, Sheriff Chase", as she tells him the sheriff plans to send him such a crate every month for the rest of his life.

"Ch-- Ch--" Bobo says, while thinking, "Boy oh boy!" 

It sure reads like it's meant to be a one-off story, and that Bobo had returned to the Thorpe farm to live out his days with Alice, enjoying crate after crate of bananas. 

But someone must have wanted more Detective Chimp stories, be it DC Comics, or Broome and Infantino, or Rex the Wonder Dog readers. 

Because while the sheriff and Bobo took Rex #5 off (according to the Grand Comics Database, that issue's non-Rex story was "The Saga of Leapin' Lena," starring a kangaroo), they returned in issue #6, and a Detective Chimp story ran in all 40 of the remaining issues of the series.

That second Detective Chimp story in Rex #6 was entitled, appropriately enough, "The Return of Detective Chimp!" 

In it, Bobo dons his Sherlock Holmes-style deerstalker cap for the first time, the sheriff saying he had bought it for him. He also starts referring to Bobo as his assistant...perhaps Bobo took Drummond's job...?

Once again, there's a murder with relatively few suspects, and while the sheriff investigates, it's Bobo who ultimately solves the crime. 

This would be the basic pattern of all the Detective Chimp shorts from the pages of Rex. If you would like to read them for yourself, DC collected them all in 2023's The Detective Chimp Casebook (which also includes the DC Comics Presents back-up in which Bobo and Rex team-up, and takes its cover from 2007's Helmet of Fate: Detective Chimp #1, the only other comic in which Bobo's name is in the title). 

Some non-comics books I've read recently.

Flywheel, Shyster, and Flywheel: The Marx Brothers' Lost Radio Show (Pantheon Books; 1988) What an unexpected treasure this book was. I forget exactly how I came across it. It was either mentioned in Noah Diamond's Gimme a Thrill: The Story of I'll Say She Is, The Lost Marx Brothers Musical, and How It Was Found (BearManor Media; 2016), or it came up in a library catalog search for Diamond's book (You'll note the titles share the words "Marx Brothers" and "lost"). 

The book consists of the scripts for the 26 episodes of a 1932-1933 radio show starring Groucho and Chico Marx entitled Flywheel, Shyster, and Flywheel, wherein Groucho played lawyer Waldorf T. Flywheel and Chico played his shiftless assistant, Emmanuel Ravelli (The show was originally, briefly called Beagle, Shyster, and Beagle, until a real lawyer named Beagle complained).

While radio was of course extremely popular at the time, the industry wasn't in the habit of recording each episode of each show for posterity, and so Flywheel was never recorded. Hence the show being lost. As to how it was found, the scripts were submitted to the copyright office of the Library of Congress, where they were put in storage...and apparently unearthed by this book's editor, Michael Barson. 

As to why it was just Groucho and Chico, well, Harpo's silent schtick obviously wouldn't have translated to radio very well. It's possible to imagine him in the show, I suppose, making the occasional honk on one of his horns to let the audience know he was there, but his character would have mostly been talked to and talked about, with the actor not actually having much of anything to do. (As for Zeppo, he was technically still part of the act at that point, but I guess they didn't need a regular straight man for the show.)

That means the entire show was, for the most part, like the occasional Groucho/Chico scenes from the Brothers' filmography. Lots of wise cracks and lots of puns—the latter usually followed immediately by Chico declaring "That's a some joke, eh?", preempting groans. The book may just constitute the longest and most dense example of Marx Brothers humor, certainly of the verbal variety. It's also among the densest comedies of any kind I've encountered, with almost every line of dialogue containing a joke of some kind; they are not all great jokes, mind you, but they sure are frequent. 

The basic law office premise lasts for a while, but as the show goes on, more and more often the characters find themselves in different situations and settings, some vaguely related to the legal business, others not so much (taking a walking trip vacation, going camping, stowing away on a cruise ship ala Monkey Business, etc.). 

It is thus a rather unusual sort of situation comedy, one in which the particular situation rather frequently changes, while the characters remain the same; it is the characters, after all, from which the humor emanates, rather than the particulars of the situation.

And for anyone who has seen much of the Marx Brothers' filmography, the characters here are extremely familiar. Groucho and Chico, of course, don't play Flywheel and Ravelli so much as they play Groucho and Chico, the same characters they play in all of their films. (If one hasn't seen any of their films, I wonder what they would make of the scripts in this book, as familiarity with the Marx Brothers' work makes it easy to imagine them physically in the stories of the show and to hear their voices in one's head; of course, if one wasn't a prior fan of the Marx Brothers, I'm not sure that one would even have any interest in reading this book.)

Some of the jokes will also sound awfully familiar to Marx Brothers fans. Again, the show was on the air from 1932-1933, which means after their Broadway success and their films The Cocoanuts, Animal Crackers and Monkey Business, during the same years as Horse Feathers (1932) and Duck Soup (1933) and before A Night at The Opera (1935) and A Day at the Races (1937).

Some specific jokes heard in their films, both those released before the radio show and those released after, show up, with whole sections of The Cocoanuts and Animal Crackers being repurposed for the show, accounting for about two and a half whole episodes. (If you've seen those films dozens of times as I have, these episodes of the show will read somewhat tediously, although it is interesting to see the familiar routines slightly tinkered with, as with new stand-ins for the films' characters appearing, or with Chico assuming lines previously spoken by Zeppo or, more oddly still, Groucho himself.) 

The show works both ways, though. While jokes from some films are repurposed here, some of the specific gags used in the show appear in later films...and an entire film seems to have been based on the scenario of an episode of Flywheel. 

In one episode, Flywheel and Ravelli take over the management of a failing department store for one of their clients, who goes on vacation and leaves it in their care. This, of course, tracks pretty closely to the premise of 1941's The Big Store, wherein Groucho and Chico's characters are also named Flywheel and Ravelli, respectively. 

Though the Marx Brothers are, of course, immortal in the world of comedy, not all of their jokes are timeless, and this show contains some that have aged especially poorly.

The Brothers' treatment of women in their comedy is well known and, perhaps, even notorious. There's only one recurring female character in the show, Flywheel's secretary Miss Dimple, who is mostly there by necessity. When she's not serving as the occasional straight woman to bounce gags off, she's there to set the scene and move the plot along. Most shows open with her at her typewriter answering a phone; in the later episodes where the Brothers' characters are in a setting other than the office, she answers the phone and tells whoever is on the other line that they are not in, and where they are, setting up that scene.  

Almost all of the other women to appear are Margaret Dumont stand-ins (sometimes quite literally, as some of these characters take on her role from the sequences lifted from The Coconuts or Animal Crackers). They are of course subjected to barbs about being old, unattractive, overweight, lacking in intelligence or otherwise undesirable, the inherent cruelty of these jokes somewhat mitigated by the class differences between these ladies, who are inevitably rich society ladies, and the Brothers' characters, who are (here, especially) low-class, poor and even criminal (Especially Chico's Italian immigrant persona).

There are a few rather unfortunate, even ugly sections of racial humor too, of the sort that never really made it into the movies (two examples to the contrary to follow). There are two sequences that make some fun of Indian characters, and by "Indian" I mean both those from India (as in one episode where the characters are thrown off a train in their nightshirts, and are thus mistaken by a society lady as Indian spiritual leaders in their ceremonial robes) and Native Americans (as in a scene from an episode where Flywheel and Ravelli go camping and have an "Indian guide" named Chief Pain-in-da-Face). One joke in the latter scenario, a pun based on smallpox, actually shocked me.

There are also a few more fleeting racial jokes, including one about a Native American and another that refers to the yellow skin of Japanese people. 

The most interesting of them all, however, is a Groucho joke that echoes a rather notorious punchline of his from Duck Soup. 

After mentioning he may have been a little "headstrong" to another character in that film, he continues: "But I come by it honestly. My father was a little headstrong. My mother was a little arm strong. The headstrongs married the armstrongs and that's why darkies were born."

The reference to "darkies" here often comes up in discussions of the Marx Brothers' more controversial humor and whether it could be racist or not (The other scene pointed to by critics? The brief scene in 1937's A Day at the Races where they smear grease all over their faces and try to blend into a crowd of Black characters. There are certainly some other cringe-worthy moments in their oeuvre, but these two seem to be the most cited).

It's not hard to see why Groucho's reference to "darkies" would be offensive, especially coming as it does following a line about two families mixing, suggesting miscegenation. In fact, it seems the only way to read it. For years it was censored during television rebroadcasts of the film. 

The actual reference is probably lost on most people hearing it today (and long was to me until I read more about the Marx Brothers in adulthood), but Groucho was, rather nonsensically, referring to a now mostly forgotten popular 1931 song, "That's Why Darkies Were Born." That song, by the way, sure sounds pretty racist, its lyrical content evoking the problematic image of the happy slave. It was also originated in a Broadway revue where it was performed by a white singer in blackface.

The reference may still be racist, of course, but, at the time, it wasn't as completely random as it now seems.

Anyway, Groucho again makes a reference to "That's Why Darkies Were Born" in one of the Flywheel episodes. In this particular scene, Flywheel and Ravelli are acting as movie producers, and they pitch a scenario about a young woman's tragic story to a studio man named Blitzen.

CHICO: Boss, da rest of the story comes to me like a flash. Da wife, she feelsa very bad. She goes into mourning. She sits in da house all day long playing da piano. 

BLITZEN: In mourning and she plays the piano? 

CHICO: Well, she plays only on da dark keys.

GROUCHO: Certainly. That's why dark keys were born.

The joke doesn't really make any sense unless you're familiar with the song, as the radio audience of the time would have been. Today, it makes no sense, as the phrase isn't at all common. In fact, I only recognized it as a joke at all because I've read so much discussion of the Duck Soup reference. 

The Monster's Bones: The Discovery of T. Rex and How it Shook Our World (W.W. Norton and Company; 2022) As the sub-title states, David K. Randall's book is about the discovery of the first  Tyrannosaurus rex skeletons in 1900 and 1902, and naming of it in 1905. But it's a 235-page book, so it covers a lot more ground than that.

Randall bookends his novel-like non-fiction story meditations on "the monster" of the title, a prologue set at the American Museum of Natural History, and an epilogue about its place in our culture. 

Between them, is what is essentially the biography of the man who discovered those first skeletons in Wyoming, Barnum Brown, who led a big, bold life full of exciting adventures that spanned the last decades of the 19th century and most of the 20th. Travelling the world in search of dinosaur fossils and those of other prehistoric creatures, a writer could hardly ask for a better subject. 

And it also contains quite a bit of set-up, retelling the story of European science's discoveries of the true age of the Earth and of the first dinosaurs and other prehistoric animals, and the gradual grappling of such concepts as deep time and extinction after centuries of accepting the Bible's Book of Genesis as authoritative.

Thus, readers who have previously read books on the early years of the discovery of dinosaurs and early paleontology will encounter plenty of old friends within this story of Brown and the T. rex, a diverse set of historical characters that includes Mary Anning, P.T. Barnum, Edward Drinker Cope, Arthur Conan Doyle, Georges Cuvier, Charles Darwin, Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins, Thomas Henry Huxley, Charles Knight, Othniel Charles Marsh, Richard Owen and more...even Merian C. Cooper and Willis O'Brien, both of whom we will get to in a bit.  

While all of that is quite interesting, Randall's focus remains on the life of Brown and the discovery of the T. rex, the latter put in the context in various philanthropists and museums racing one another for bigger and better dinosaur bones to exhibit to the public, a race which initially seemed focused on the huge sauropods...until Brown found the biggest carnivore that ever lived. 

In this respect, Randall's book is both a thorough, well-written and quite readable retelling of the story of humanity's discovery of the dinosaur that is simultaneously the story of Brown and his most historic discovery.  

Quite surprising to me, as I neared the end of the book, I found that it dovetailed with something I had spent a lot of time thinking and writing about over the course of the last few years, the giant monster movie. See, for all his other accomplishments, Brown also advised "a former newspaper cartoonist turned marble cutter named Willis O'Brien." 

Today we know O'Brien for his later career, as a film special effects maestro who bought the title character and his dinosaur neighbors to life in 1933's King Kong. 

In 1914, O'Brien wrote to Brown for advice on dinosaurs, and the latter advised him on the subject, for what became O'Brien's The Ghost of Slumber Mountain, which Randall says was "the most realistic dinosaurs yet displayed on film" and was also the first time that a T. rex was "a screen villain."

O'Brien would later bring dinosaurs to life for 1925's The Lost World (in which Arthur Conan Doyle's allosaurs from the book are replaced with a T. rex) and then Kong, which famously featured the giant ape battling a T. rex. 

While Randall doesn't say so in his book, I think it's safe to say that the T. rex played an integral role in the development of the giant monster genre, given its prominent appearances in foundational films King Kong and Lost World...and, as I've read in another book during my research of giant monster in film, the T. rex also played a role in the development of the character we now consider the genre's standard-bearer. Along with the stegosaurus and the iguanodon, the bipedal T. rex, especially the upright standing one conceived and popularized artist Charles Knight, was an essential element in the creation of our old friend Godzilla. 

The Paranormal Ranger: A Navajo Investigator's Search for the Unexplained (William Morrow; 2024) In some parts of the world of paranormal investigation, a witness who has had multiple sightings or encounters can sometimes raise a red flag. After all, if creatures like Bigfoot or mysterious flying vehicles with inhuman pilots are so rarely seen, what are the chances that a single individual may do so twice, thrice or a half-dozen times?

Stanley Milford Jr., a retired Navajo Ranger who had spent over 20 years in law enforcement before writing The Paranormal Ranger, is one such individual who has had many encounters of various kinds. 

He has seen UFOs and, as a child, experienced unusual, equivocal phenomenon in his house that he attributed to the supernatural. He also saw what he believes was a skinwalker running alongside his car one night, and, years later, a strange, shadowy entity that confronted him while he was sleeping. He saw Bigfoot. An investigation into a haunted office building yielded plenty of activity, including a strange phenomenon that followed him around for years. And, most troubling to me, one night he awoke paralyzed in his bedroom to find a creature meeting the classic description of a "Grey" alien standing at the foot of his bed, apparently after it had examined him (He noticed his clothes were on inside out after the encounter).

That's...a lot, even spread out over a lifetime. But does Milford having experienced all of that himself necessarily provide reason to doubt him? Well, he was actively investigating the paranormal throughout much of his career, and if one goes looking for Bigfoot and ghosts and aliens, is it really that unusual that one will eventually find them? 

Among his other law enforcement duties, Milford and his partner Jon Dover pretty much accidentally became his department's go-to investigators of paranormal activity, a sort of real-life, southwestern Native American answer to The X-Files. 

Apparently, at one point an older woman had called the rangers regarding a Bigfoot sighting on her property—the creature apparently stepped into her sheep corral and walked off with one of her sheep in its arms—and the rookie officers sent to follow-up with her didn't treat her particularly well. She ended up filing a complaint with the department about them.

During a meeting, Milford writes that the chief stressed the proper behavior of Navajo Rangers as public servants. "From now on, reports like this are going to be investigated properly, and you two guys," he said, pointing to Milford and Dover, "are going to oversee these cases."

So this was their first investigation of the paranormal, following up with the woman, searching her property for signs of the creature and, above all else, making sure she felt heard, believed and cared for. 

Many other such investigations would follow, Milford breaking them up by subject throughout the last two-thirds or so of the book ("The San Juan River Bigfoot", "Cryptids, Curses and Cons", "The Old Man and the UFO", "The Window Rock Haunting"). 

Not all of these yielded tangible results for Milford. In fact, in some cases, he is relating the sightings or encounters of others that he investigated well after the fact, and what they did afterwards. In the case of the San Juan River Bigfoot, for example, they launched a large manhunt—er, Bigfoothunt, I guess—for the creature multiple people in the area had seen repeatedly, but no one from law enforcement managed to lay eyes on the creature, nor come up with any more compelling evidence than the same sort of incidental evidence typical of such searches. 

In the case of "The Old Man and the UFO," they mostly just listened to his amazing story, about a UFO landing near his house, and its occupants seemingly searching for something around his property. 

I'm of two minds when it comes to believing Milford, as I so often am when I am reading books about the paranormal, particular of UFOs and aliens, which, for whatever reason, have always scared the hell out of me.

Part of me wants to believe him. He certainly sounds reasonable and sincere and, after all, giving one the benefit of the doubt seems to be the polite thing to do. Besides, Milford repeatedly stresses that part of the reason he wrote this book, and part of the reason he shared his own encounters with the paranormal (particularly in the case of the being in his bedroom), is that so often people who have had such experiences feel particularly troubled and alone, feelings that are only compounded by the fact that no one seems to believe them (and/or they fear no one will believe them), and he wants to stress that this is not the case. In other words, these things really happen to people, and their experiences and feelings are valid.

Another part of me though, a selfish part, wants to dismiss the experiences of Milford and some of the witnesses (again, particularly in the case of the being in his bedroom), because I don't want such sanity-strainingly terrifying experiences to be real. I don't want anyone to have to suffer such otherworldly fear and helplessness, and the thought of it happening to me fills me with an overwhelming dread. (I confess that, for the first few nights after reading that passage about the invader in Milford's bedroom, I was a little nervous going to sleep, repeatedly opening my eyes and glancing to the foot of my bed.) 

For that reason, I sincerely hope that Milford didn't actually have that experience, and perhaps instead had been suffering from sleep paralysis accompanied by a particularly vivid scary dream (He does mention sleep paralysis in that chapter but dismisses it as an explanation for what happened to him). 

Essentially a memoir centering on his own, personal encounters with the paranormal and his professional investigations into that world, The Paranormal Ranger tells of Milford's childhood, his parents' divorce leading to him being raised in two worlds, the more heavily Navajo world of his father (with its attendant superstitions and beliefs and practices regarding the supernatural world) and the more Western world of his mother, his early interest in law enforcement and his journey to qualifying for a career in it, and then, ultimately his experience with the paranormal, much of it secondhand, some of it firsthand.

One gets the sense that Milford probably has many other stories to tell (and thus other books in him), as this book focuses on only a handful of the more colorful investigations, in several broad categories of the paranormal.

Interspersed throughout Milford's life story at regular intervals are tales from the Diné Bahaneʼ, or "Navajo Emergence", a creation story that details the people's journey through several worlds. This will take on greater relevance in the final chapter, "Theories of a Navajo Ranger", wherein Milford outlines his own, personal unified theory of the paranormal. 

Essentially, he believes the universe consists of multiple dimensions occupying the same space, and that these dimensions can intersect with one another...or at least that particular entities can travel between these dimensions. 

This would explain how Bigfoot, for example, can seem to come and go without necessarily having the same sort of physical presence of other animals, or necessarily leaving the same sort of evidence behind that they do. In fact, Milford uses his own personal sighting of Bigfoot, in which the creature is unquestionably there in front of him, but then suddenly disappears, as an instance that solidified the idea for him in this chapter.

This theory is, of course, not a unique invention of Milford's, but his culture's creation story as well as his own experiences have reinforced this, and contributed to his current worldview, that, when it comes to the paranormal "there is no line," and that it's not so much a matter of belief, but of reality.

"Clearly, something in our human culture has gone wrong," he writes.

These paranormal events—UFO visitations, Bigfoot sightings, and hauntings—are happening at unprecedented rates for a reason. I have come to see them as a wake-up call for humankind—an awakening. Our planet is in crisis, multiple countries are at war, we have mass drug-overdose epidemics, and so many people are suffering. We must recognize how out of balance our world and lives are, how grotesque our treatment of the earth and one another is. And we must live better. We must do better. We must come back into balance with our environment and find clarity of purpose.  

I'm unsure to what degree I agree with this assessment, as, for the most part, it sounds like something one could have said about our planet at any time in the last century, maybe century and a half or so (Although it is true that the earth is in greater danger than ever before now, thanks to global warming and the climate crisis).

But then, I haven't had the experiences Milford has—thankfully; hopefully, I never will—and trying to find meaning in them seems to be a natural, healthy response. 

Given Milford's personal perspective, both as a Navajo and as a member of law enforcement, his take on the various phenomenon discussed in the book is particularly interesting and his book offers something of a new point-of-view not commonly written about realms of the paranormal, be they cryptozoology, ufology, ghosts or witchcraft. 

Weirdumentary: Ancient Aliens, Fallacious Prophecies, and Mysterious Monsters from 1970s Documentaries (Feral House; 2025) Well it's probably not hard to figure out what attracted me to this book. I mean, just look at that cover!  The title of the book or the subject of the book could have been just about anything, and I would have still paused to investigate given the presence of a Bigfoot-like silhouette...and that's before we even get to the old-timey UFO and the pyramids!

Writer Gary D. Rhodes tackles a very specific, but surprisingly large, genre of documentary film, that addressing some aspect of the paranormal, a genre which seemed to boom in the 1970s (And likely had a lot to do with all of the Bigfoot sightings of that decade). 

Though the credulousness of the filmmakers and the rigor with which they approach their chosen subject varies wildly from film to film, they are all essentially taking the posture of telling a "true" story. That might mean investigating or interrogating a subject, or it might seem to take the form of revealing something, but in each case, audiences were meant to at least take the possibility of the reality of something incredible like, say, aliens visiting Earth thousands of years ago to influence human development, or that there's something in the North Atlantic off the coast of Florida that endangers planes and ships, or that an unrecognized species of large, hairy humanoids might roam the wilds of North America.

Rhodes himself is not very credulous, and his writing in this sort of field guide to a particular type of film is filled with jokes about the subjects, questioning the likelihood of their reality and questioning those that may believe in them. Despite the often jocular tone, though, Rhodes is obviously a knowledgeable fan, and he's incisive in his analysis, admiringly discussing the gravitas of some celebrity hosts (Orson Welles, Rod Serling, William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy), the sometimes impressive quality of the cinematography and the effectiveness of the music (In some instances, his references to a film or series' music were compelling enough that I found myself seeking taht music out online to hear it for myself).

In his introduction, Rhodes talks a bit about his thought process for what to call these movies, and how he landed on "Weirdumentary"; apparently, he had considered "Crockumentary," which, in addition to having the benefit of rhyming with the word documentary, offered an assessment of how reliable they might be, but decided it was a little too judgmental. 

The book offers a brief look at some 45 weirdumentaries, from 1970's Chariots of the Gods (based, of course, on Erich Von Daniken's book about ancient aliens) to 1981's The Man Who Saw Tomorrow (about Nostradamus and his prophecies).  

Rather than tackling the films chronologically, Rhodes breaks them into sub-genres that he explores in chapters devoted to each, including ones on prophecies, the Bermuda Triangle, monsters, speculative (often Biblical) history, ancient aliens and UFOs (And yes, those last two each get their own chapters).

Each gets a full-page illustration, of either a poster or image or images from the film, and then at least a page's worth of a write-up. 

The format thus encourages flipping-through and grazing perhaps more than reading straight-through. That, coupled with its size—it's eight-by-eleven inches—makes it a good coffee table book, or perhaps one you leave in your car or bag and turn to when you need something to read in a restaurant or on a lunch break or something.

The section I was most interested in was, of course, that on monsters. And here "monsters" just means the Himalayas' Abominable Snowman or Yeti, North America's Bigfoot or Sasquatch and Scotland's Loch Ness Monster. Other than that popular triumvirate, the only monsters mentioned in these films seem to be the Fouke Monster (which, of course, mostly sounds like a Bigfoot-type creature, save for some reports of three-toed tracks) and a couple of North American lake monsters. 

What a change from today, when cryptid creatures are apparently numerous enough and well-known enough that they can fill books, command a TV series like 2007-2010's MonsterQuest and the likes of Mothman are now pop culture icons (I think it was when Build-A-Bear started selling Mothman plush toys that I realized the West Virginia monster had officially gone mainstream).

In addition to the official weirdumentaries that account for the bulk of the page count, Rhodes begins his book with a chapter on what I guess we'd consider the proto-weirdumentary. These stretch back as far as 1923's Is Conan Doyle Right?, and include a discussion of the extremely unsavory-sounding but apparently quite lucrative 1930 pseudo-documentary Inagi, which involved a passage in which gorilla-worshipping African natives are said to sacrifice human brides to gorillas (A film which may or may not have had some influence on King Kong; it certainly seems like Inagi could have been one of the films in the back of Merian C. Cooper's mind while imaging his plot...or, perhaps, on the minds of the studio executives who greenlit Cooper's woman-imperiled-by-a-gorilla film). 

The book also includes a comic book connection that surprised me (despite, I noticed later, it being noted right there on the cover; I guess I was distracted by the Bigfoot). Weirdumentaries contains a lengthy foreword from Stephen Bissette, who is a film critic and scholar with particular affection for and expertise in weird low-budget horror films and Vermont films...although we know him best as a great comic book artist, having drawn much of Alan Moore's seminal run on Swamp Thing and created the masterful dinosaur comic Tyrant (Soon to be resurrected in an oversized collection, apparently).  

I was born in 1977 and thus missed what Rhodes dubs weirdumentaries the first time around, although I certainly saw (and was scared by) some of these in TV rebroadcasts and, curiously, played for us in grade school in the 1980s. I clearly remember the In Search Of... episode on the Loch Ness Monster, anyway (And I distinctly remember seeing something that discussed the Kecksburg UFO incident, but looking it up now, I think that might have been an episode of Unsolved Mysteries, one of the TV series that seems to be pretty directly descended from the weirdumentary).

Therefore, I was quite thankful to find this book, and to now be able to benefit from Rhodes' work. I might not have been around for the genre's boom decade, but at least now I have a catalog of sorts to guide me in pursuing its more interesting entries.