Review by
1136
Sergio Aragones' *The Groo Jamboree* is one of the best examples I can put forward of taking what should have been a one-joke idea and turning it into a story you can care about-- even while you remain aware that the whole thing is preposterous.
Groo, for those of you who never wandered into Aragones and wordsmith Mark Evanier's fond mockery of Conan-style ancient barbarian worlds, is a wanderer, a barbarian, and an idiot. He is also, for all intents and purposes, either invulnerable or possessed of such fantastic karma that he might as well be. A loveable, rotund, longhaired nomad who inexplicably carries a pair of samurai swords, Groo wanders from kingdom to kingdom looking for work, food and excitement. He rarely remembers exactly what it was that brought him to any particular place, (although it's always bound to be one of those three,) and in fact will forget any and every prior desire if his favorite thing of all is in sight: a *fray*.
Consider the fray, now. We've all seen *Braveheart*. As a fantasy novelist I've spent more time than I care to imagining what a real, muddy, blood-and-steal battle would be like, and it's nasty enough to make *Saving Private Ryan* look like *Picnic at Hanging Rock*. You've got a crush of hundreds, maybe thousands of bodies slamming into one another, mud flying, limbs falling, screams echoing. But one imagines that in a world where sword-wielding bloodshed was the order of the military day, just as there were plenty of enthusiastic kings to profit from them, there surely were one or two people who could have wandered into battle and back out again and thought, "that was *great.* Whatever might have been wrong with them, such a one is Groo. He yearns for the stench of battle.
In story after story, Groo spots armies fighting, or even armies standing around, and hurls himself towards them, often slaying every living thing around. He might be really useful to a king who could press him to service, but for the fact that Groo hasn't a lick of sense. He's Homer Simpson if Homer came from Krypton, landed in the Hyperborean Age, and found a katana.
The ongoing joke of *Groo* is that after awhile, Groo's reputation precedes him, and not only will no-one want to hire him, but whole kingdoms will quake in fear at his coming. The world *knows* Groo is stupid, and as such is unpredictable enough that they can't confidently bribe, cajole or frighten him.
In *The Groo Jamboree,* we're treated to a quartet of stories that play off of the possibilities of Groo's reputation and stupidity. These tales originally appeared in the late 30's of the original Marvel/Eclipse *Groo* series, and it's a testament to Evanier and Aragones that rather than having the one joke fold in on itself and fail to remain funny, the scenarists instead continued to find new extrapolations on the character they'd created.
In the first story, "The Village of Miggledy," the mere mention of Groo's name causes gigantic changes in a village whose people have heard he is coming. Groo has come up with the idea of selling animal skins for money, and chances to tell a citizen of Miggledy that he'll do that the moment he has some to sell. Brilliantly, Aragones and Evanier leave Groo to his task-- trying to trap animals-- while the whole village falls apart. The government raises taxes in anticipation of Groo damage. Goods rise in price. People begin to move out. Carpetbaggers from other towns arrive to buy up property. A whole civilization collapses while Groo fails again and again to figure out how big a rock he'll need to stun a buffalo. Does Groo ever make it to the town? The wonder is that there's a town left at all for him to make it too.
The next two stories, "Mealtime" and "A Groo's Best Friend," tell a whole story that manages to be hilarious and genuinely heart-wrenching at the same time. Groo, you see, has a dog, Rufferto. The spotted mutt is one of the finest creations of the series because he's not what you'd expect. You'd *expect* that Aragones and Evanier would go for the old joke of the dog being the smart one who always gets his master out of trouble. Instead, Rufferto is the smart one (in as much as he's smarter than Groo) but he's still a *dog*, gloriously, deliriously devoted to his master. In the eyes of Rufferto, Groo can do no wrong. If he takes longer to perform simple tasks, surely some hidden wisdom is at work in Groo's mind. At one typical juncture as Groo suggest Rufferto stand before a stampede of animals, the dog intones, "This does not seem to make sense… but he must know what he is doing." We all need a Rufferto, but none more than Groo.
Groo loses Rufferto here, in a sort of distant early warning of the brilliant *Groo & Rufferto* mini-series. Here, Groo thinks Rufferto is dead, and in a horrible twist of events, thinks he's actually accidentally eaten the mutt. Groo becomes a shell of his former self, haunted by the memory of his beloved dog. Meanwhile Rufferto, stolen by bounty hunters (there's a ransom on Rufferto's mangy head), keeps telling himself, "my master will come for me." And whose heart is so stony that the climax won’t move them, as Groo and Rufferto, long past hope, find themselves on the same battlefield, unaware of one another's presence? Mark Evanier, who supplies the sly dialogue of *Groo*, says that he and Aragones considered stretching the story out another couple of issues, but that they judged it too painful. They're right. The story as told hits just the right note.
After that we have a final tale, *The Glass Carafe*, that simply exists to let the reader breathe and to teach the reader that Groo, lest we forget, has the intelligence of play-doh. But the dog loves him.
And although I describe *Groo* as if it had the weight of *Watchmen*, it all stays silly even when it hints at deeper structure: that's the amazing accomplishment in Aragones and Evanier's work. *Groo* is the cartoony tale of a stupid barbarian who knows only his own desire for battle, love for cheese dip, and the friendship of his dog. But in *The Groo Jamboree* the reader finds a fine example of storytelling that even the most serious comics creators could learn from. Beneath the cartoonish art and silly situations lie tales of genuine, human heart.
Written by Sergio Aragones and Mark Evanier
Art by Sergio Aragones
Lettering by Stan Sakai
Color by Phil DeWalt & Janice Cohen
Trade Paperback from Dark Horse Comics