Every Wednesday we take turns to delve into our trusty longboxes, pluck out a dusty back issue, and give you our thoughts. We’ll also try and place it in the context of the time it was originally published.

Released in 2006, this volume collects the bulk of the Landridge brothers’ work staring the occasionally psychotic tuxedo wearer. Although Roger Landridge is better know these days for his award-winning Fred the Clown cartoons, there’s a real feeling of freshness to these strips, with Andrew’s razor sharp dialogue perfectly complementing his brother’s pencilling.

The long suffering D’Ecco and his Baldrick-like companion, Gump, are certainly versatile. There’s a considerable number of tales here, from one-page shorts that invariably conclude with violence towards Gump to sixty page epics, despite the fact that the series is only intermittedly able to retain a plot from panel to panel. Although the subject matter is pretty much what would be expected from the book’s title, with its antihero becoming embroiled with issues of art censorship, religious cults and the very origins of civilisation, the course of each story is never obvious. Art’s clash with a Mary Whitehouse figure is disrupted by the revelation that they previously starred together in piece of dentistry-themed softcore pornography. Intermittent appearances from the eccentric Art Nouveau occasionally enliven proceedings, and a wide array of supporting characters is slowly built up across the course of the trade. A particular highlight is a story original to this collection, in which Art attempts to track down the original issues to sell on Ebay. On one occasion he visits the widow of an incidental character, briefing expressing regret for his off-panel execution of her husband…

The main selling point of the series is the constant stream of pitch-perfect sight gags and visual put downs, which never dip in quality. The caption “A picture of Siobhan on her motorcycle” is accompanied by the image of that vehicle with a small framed photo atop it. A particular highlight is the final strip, “Quizmaster Gump”, in which Art hones his constant put-downs of his companion into an unstoppable verbal onslaught. There’s little subtext here, and despite the psuedo-pretentious one, this is a book that’s very comfortable with being laugh-a-minute dumb fun. The lack of topical elements has certainly aided the series, the earliest instalments of which date from the early eighties, with D’Ecco’s ire being solely aimed at his insufferable companions rather than the world in general.

Roger Landridge’s conceptually-similar Doctor Sputnik adventures are available for free on the creator’s website, but there’s little reason not to pick up this collection as well, which offers near-unbeatable value for money.

Tags: Andrew Landridge, Art D'Ecco, Roger Landridge
Publisher: Dusting Off, Other Publishers