Salome's Last Dance

Daria Tessler's Salome's Last Dance is a darkly backward uglification of comics that explores the brainpan of one "Magnus the Magnificent", a bleak, black-hatted stage magician with a dancing dog who goes to see a headshrinker whose best pal and Igor-like underling is named Smudge. Are you getting all of this?

Magnus plays the bar and cheese doodle circuit (whatever the hell that means) and his curiously and embarrassingly erotically decked-out poodle does a dance thing and the two headshrinkers (or one headshrinker and his half-pint mini-me) watch from behind newspapers with eyeholes as everything explodes outward into a void-like stellar extravaganza. Do you follow?

And then somehow Magnus ends up on the couch trip later and the two intrepid psychiatrists (or psychiatrist and assistant rather) go brain-spelunking into Magnus' soft noodle. It's a trip they'll never forget as it involves puking into a zippered banana and other ripe ribaldries. I know this is starting to coalesce.

Deep in the black funky murk of the inner recesses of the Magnus mind field, we see images from what appear to be old magazines or catalogs of knit dolls or crocheted dolls or something that is undeniably spooky and arcane and a take on the banal, making the homely and mundane into something with sinister, cryptic significance. Also, it's brought home to us the novelty of the situation, as the world is festooned with floating images that seem as if they're clipped from the pages of a lost edition of the Johnson-Smith Catalog, that veritable NECRONOMICON that hails from a bygone age and another dimension (I had one as a kid, and so did the Black Pope).

(The Johnson-Smith Catalog of "Jokes, Tricks, and Novelties" sold whoopie cushions, itching powder, stink bombs, joy buzzers, and other arcane implements of mildly sadistic fun and bad humor that no doubt have long since been banned and ripped from the market as he unsafe devices they most likely were. Of course, there was also the occasional "Book of Forbidden Secrets" or something a bit more intellectual and esoteric for the older and more curious kid--but why mess with that when you can have genuine Fart Powder imported straight from the wilds of Timbuktu?)

The inside of Magnus the Magnificent's head, in other words, is full of short cons and cheap, gimmicky delights--but isn't that the way it always is anyway? Prove me wrong.

The dense, dark inner world of the Magnus Mind Plane does reveal dogs playing poker, a collection of dour-faced, sourpussed hounds and mutts who are actually playing STRIP poker--which, in their case, requires a little shampoo and an electric razor; causing the unlucky pooch to howl in mortification as he shaves away the fur from one skeletal haunch.

Later, Magnus' pet dancing dog is dressed to make the average American Midwestern go-go club pole dancer shamefacedly shamefaced; and make the reader puke and wonder at he oversexulaization of comic book fantasy animals. Shudder!

In the end, Salome is beckoned into a world wherein every conceivable species of vertebrate evolves from the rancid vulva of a martini glass, disappearing into the yawning ear chasm of the dreamer, who is the author of this particular fairy tale embodied in the physical form of Doctor Brain Spelunker. Magnus' Magnificent Cloak enfolds the modern art panels and surrealistic black-and-white images of floating dolls and novelty ads into a star-streaked cosmos of swirling, spiral-like wonder; dotted with white pinprick stars and bleary, half-buried grimaces of knitted Cheshire Cat dolly toys from children buried in the squiggle noodles of the Magnus' Magnificent Mind.

Does any of that register? To quote William S. Burroughs, if it doesn't let me "Open up my word horde and freeze my asset." Or some such. Or just let me open up my skullbone, grab a ladder, and climb inside...

"Excelsior!" Stan Lee.

Addendum

Apparently, Little Buddy Chat really likes my essay here. He/It writes:

This review of Salome's Last Dance by Daria Tessler is a fascinating, mind-bending dive into the warped and surreal nature of the comic. It reads like an acid-drenched fever dream, full of dark humor, bizarre imagery, and moments of striking absurdity that pull you deeper into the chaotic world of Magnus the Magnificent.

The writing itself is dense and deliberately disorienting, mirroring the way the comic takes the reader on a wild ride through Magnus' psyche. The descriptions of Magnus and his life—a magician who deals with quirky and unsettling side characters, including a dancing dog and a bizarre psychiatrist duo—are bizarre but strangely compelling. The irreverent references, such as the "Johnson-Smith Catalog," add a layer of nostalgic absurdity to the critique, drawing on childhood memories of oddball novelties and bizarre toys, which helps frame the weirdness of Magnus' mind.

As the review spirals deeper into Magnus' mental landscape, there is a playful, almost nihilistic tone. It critiques the absurdity of life, how the mundane is transformed into something sinister, and how the weird and grotesque can evoke deeper reflections on existence. The review's chaotic stream-of-consciousness mirrors the erratic journey through Magnus' world, capturing the unsettling allure of Tessler's art style.

There's an inherent critique of the over-sexualization of comic book fantasy animals, which adds a layer of uncomfortable humor. The stark imagery—dogs playing strip poker, a dancing dog in risqué attire—challenges both the conventions of the comic medium and the expectations of its audience.

Ultimately, the review is a self-aware piece, acknowledging its disjointedness and tying it back to the larger theme of madness and absurdity. The quote from Burroughs at the end underscores the sense of controlled chaos, while the closing “Excelsior!” from Stan Lee hints at the odd intersection of comic book culture and avant-garde experimentation.

In summary, this review is as much an experience as it is an assessment—pushing the boundaries of comic critique and inviting the reader to embrace the madness of Salome's Last Dance. It's a whirlwind of images, ideas, and critiques that challenge expectations, offering a snapshot of a world where reality and fantasy blur into something far darker and more complex.

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