Book Review: Bloom County the Complete Library Volume 1: 1980-1982 (2009)

When I was 7 years old, in 1988, I could open the funny pages and read Peanuts, by Minnesota’s own Charles Schulz, Garfield, by Jim Davis, which was permeating pop culture in a way few comic strips ever have, and a host of other long-running strips that were usually good for a chuckle. And then there were my three very favorite comic strips, the golden trio that never failed to bring about genuine laughter and amusement: Calvin and Hobbes, by Bill Watterson, The Far Side, by Gary Larson, and my favorite of favorites, Bloom County, by Berkeley Breathed. For me, the worst year for comic strips was 1995. During that annus horribilis, The Far Side ended on January 1, Calvin and Hobbes ended on December 31, and in between Breathed’s Bloom County spin-off Outland ended on March 26.  

Something about Breathed’s inspired mix of politics and pop culture, with more than a dash of silliness, has made me laugh for close to 40 years now. I have numerous punchlines from Bloom County memorized, thanks to my frequent re-readings of collections of the strip. While Bloom County is full of memorable characters, the heart and soul of the comic strip is Opus the penguin. 

Bloom County the Complete Library Volume 1: 1980-1982, was published by IDW Publishing in 2009. Breathed had drawn a strip called The Academia Waltz when he was a student at the University of Texas, and this drew the interest of The Washington Post, and they recruited Breathed to draw a nationally syndicated comic strip. Breathed was just 23 years old when Bloom County debuted on December 8, 1980, the last day of John Lennon’s life. Volume 1 ends in September of 1982, and throughout the volume we see Bloom County slowly come to life.  

It took a while for Bloom County to get going. Volume 1 might well be subtitled, “Waiting for Opus.” There are numerous false starts and detours as Breathed tries things out and figures out what the strip is really about. Breathed makes no bones about the fact that when he started drawing Bloom County, he was not familiar with any other comic strips besides Garry Trudeau’s Doonesbury. The way in which Breathed was suddenly thrown into having a nationally syndicated comic strip has a certain similarity to Conan O’Brien’s sudden elevation to late night talk show host. I recently saw a video where Conan talked about suddenly getting the opportunity to host Late Night. I’m paraphrasing him here, but what Conan basically said was “You can second-guess yourself, is this the right time? Am I ready for this? Maybe I should wait. But the ship is leaving the port, and so you jump on. And maybe you’re bruised and battered, but you’ve made it onto the ship. And you figure it out as you go.” Drawing a daily comic strip is similar to hosting a show five days a week. You can’t be too precious about one single strip, or one single show, because you’ve got to do it all over again the next day. What you’re really doing at the beginning is getting your repetitions in, figuring out how to do this successfully, day after day.  

Throughout 1981, we see Breathed slowly gathering his cast of characters. Precocious schoolboy Milo Bloom was there from the beginning, but eventually we get self-absorbed ex-frat boy lawyer Steve Dallas, paraplegic Vietnam vet Cutter John, Milo’s teacher Bobbi Harlow, and Milo’s classmate, the neurotic Michael Binkley with his closet full of anxieties.  

In June of 1981, Binkley gets a pet. He thinks he has bought a German Shepard, but his father quickly informs him that it’s a penguin. Binkley’s penguin then disappears from the strip for six months. When he reappears in January of 1982, he can talk, and we learn his name is Opus the penguin. Breathed writes in a side note, “Opus. Center found, the fog clearing. The strip had found its voice, its tone and its point of view. People and comic strips are alike in needing this.” (p.179)  

The fact that Opus spoke, and that humans could understand him, was a novelty within the comics world. Snoopy and Garfield have amazing adventures, but their speech is in thought bubbles, not speech bubbles. (Although their human owners often seem to understand them.)  

Opus is kind, well-meaning, and more than a bit naive. Opus is a bit of an “everyman,” or “every penguin,” if you like, and he becomes an easy entry point and character to identify with. 

Bloom County also focused on the pop culture of the time, and because it was 1981, that means we get a decent amount of satire about Prince Charles’ wedding to Diana Spencer. It’s not the funniest material, and we get even more when Charles and Diana had a son in 1982, Prince William.  

Much funnier pop culture humor occurs when Milo Bloom books the Rolling Stones to play his middle school dance. Upon seeing their promo photo, Milo says “These shmoes look almost forty years old.” And it’s always hilarious when Binkley wakes up his dad with anxieties in the middle of the night. Sometimes these are political: “Dad! Do you think Mondale can revitalize the Democrats or will they still lack identity in 1984?” And other times they are focused on pop culture: “Dad! Will Burt Reynolds ever find ‘Miss Right?’ Or is he just too wild and fast for any real stability in his life?”  

Milo gets a job as a reporter, which gives him an excuse to torment Senator Bedfellow. “Senator? This is Milo Bloom at the Beacon. Will you confirm that you sunk Jimmy Hoffa in your backyard pond?” This also allowed Breathed the opportunity to poke fun at the “gotcha” tactics of investigative journalism of the time.  

Bill the Cat is introduced, as a very obvious parody of Garfield. Milo and Binkley attempt to sell Bill the Cat merchandise to make some quick money, but this doesn’t work very well, as Bill is anything but cute and cuddly.  

Berkeley Breathed is still drawing The Bloom County Boys on Patreon, with Opus, Steve Dallas, and Milo Bloom, and it brings me quite a bit of joy to subscribe and know that a comic strip I enjoyed so much in my childhood is still out there, commenting on the many foibles of 2026.  

Bloom County Volume 1 is very funny, but there are even bigger laughs to be found in the volumes to come. 

Movie Review: Le Cercle Rouge, starring Alain Delon and Yves Montand, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville (1970)

Jean-Pierre Melville’s 1970 heist movie Le Cercle Rouge (The Red Circle) is often described as a masterpiece of French crime cinema. Le Cercle Rouge stars Alain Delon, Yves Montand, Gian Maria Volonte, and Andre Bourvil. I’m a big fan of Melville’s previous film with Delon, the stylish 1967 movie Le Samourai, so I had high expectations for Le Cercle Rouge, but I just didn’t enjoy it as much as Le Samourai.   

In Le Samourai, every aspect of the production, from the sets to the costumes, was stylishly designed and seemed to be the product of a singular artistic vision and imagination. Le Cercle Rouge, in contrast, felt more run of the mill and less individual. Maybe that was a deliberate choice that Melville made, but it made Le Cercle Rouge less interesting to watch. Both movies are not really about the plot and the story, so when the artistic and design choices are uninteresting, like in Le Cercle Rouge, there’s not much to hang onto.  

This lack of stylishness can be exemplified by the cars the characters drive in Le Cercle Rouge. Delon buys a nondescript black Plymouth Fury III sedan. Yves Montand drives a green Mercury station wagon with fake wood paneling on the side. Maybe this was cool and ironic for French audiences at the time to see these French film icons driving big American cars, but for me I just see how totally boring those cars were, even in 1970. Speaking of the car scenes, the scenes with Delon, Montand, and Volonte in the car were all done with rear projection, rather than real driving, which was disappointing.  

There are no significant female roles, and I’m not even sure if there are any females who have speaking roles in Le Cercle Rouge. It’s a man’s world, to paraphrase James Brown. But look for Delon’s girlfriend Mireille Darc in a non-speaking role as the woman who gives him a flower.  

While I enjoy Melville’s visual style, I found the numerous wipe edits in the second half of the movie distracting. They also struck me as surprisingly amateurish, given Melville’s status as a veteran filmmaker.  

Italian actor Gian Maria Volonte, notable for his many roles in Spaghetti Westerns, plays a character who is sort of a double of Delon’s character. The theme of a character doubling for another is a frequent theme in Delon’s movies: Plein Soleil, La Piscine, Mr. Klein, and Spirits of the Dead, to name a few. I thought Volonte delivered an excellent performance, but Melville did not like working with Volonte.  

From the 1971 book Melville on Melville, excerpted in the Criterion Collection liner notes, Melville had this to say about Volonte: “He never at any moment made me feel I was dealing with a professional. He didn’t know how to place himself for the lighting...I can tell you, I won’t be making any more films with Gian Maria Volonte.” Ouch. Volonte had been a film actor for 10 years and made more than 25 movies by 1970, so Melville’s characterization of him as unprofessional seems surprising to me.  

Delon plays a man just getting out of prison, which was almost a cliche for him at this point in his career. Suffice it to say, he is not able to stay on the straight and narrow path. He encounters Volonte’s character when he stows away in the trunk of Delon’s car. Volonte is on the run, having escaped from the custody of police inspector Bourvil. Delon and Volonte quickly team up, and Volonte introduces Delon to Montand’s character, an ex-police officer and a crack shot who they will need for the heist they are planning.  

The supporting actors all give superb performances. Francois Perier, who played the obsessed police detective in Le Samourai, is here as a nightclub owner. Andre Bourvil, often known as simply Bourvil, was best known for his comedic performances and for his singing, but here he gives an excellent performance as the methodical police inspector. Sadly, it was one of Bourvil’s final performances, as he died from multiple myeloma just a month before the release of Le Cercle Rouge. Bourvil’s performance was probably my favorite in the movie. 

Le Cercle Rouge is most famous for the long heist sequence at the end of the movie. It’s a dialogue-less sequence that unspools in basically real time, and it accounts for about 30 minutes of the film’s 140-minute running time. It’s a triumph of technical filmmaking, to be sure. And that’s exactly the problem with the heist sequence. Because the three actors, Delon, Volonte, and Montand, are all masked for the whole sequence, there’s no opportunity for them to do any acting. There are hardly even any close ups where they have to act with their eyes. The sequence thus becomes stripped of any human engagement, and instead of being thrilling and tense, it becomes a fetishization of the process, the procedure. This fits with the whole masculine vibe of Le Cercle Rouge: things happen; the plot progresses, but emotion is left out of the equation.  

I’m glad I watched Le Cercle Rouge, it’s still an interesting film, especially for anyone interested in French cinema, but ultimately it left me feeling slightly empty, much like one of Melville’s protagonists.