Can we talk about how instead of questioning Natsume and making him feel any bit uncomfortable, Touko was really sweet about it. Even though she was very confused at first, she just smiled because her friend was never really alone. Natsume was happily smiling with her and pointing out something she could not see, but she just smiled at the boy at she always had. This woman needs protected. She is the light of my life, and I maybe, just maybe, more than probably, would cut a bitch for her.
Haha, but what if, instead of secretly collecting Ladybug merch and obsessing over her, Adrien likes to collect little presents that he thinks she’ll like, but he’s just never had the courage to give them to her
A while back I pointed out Greg’s individually-segmented teeth–as opposed to Wirt’s, which aren’t delineated–speculating that this detail might have been intended to suggest baby teeth. While I still adore this idea, I’ve been on one of my old-school animation kicks recently and I think I may have found a more immediate reason for this particular design choice.
This was how the mouths of the singing characters were most commonly portrayed.
Look at the graves! Malevolent little Greg-faces! It isn’t just the teeth: it’s the round eyes and the button noses, too.
This isn’t just a fluke, either; it’s everywhere. The Fleischer cartoon above is from 1930. In the same year we have the Oswald the Lucky Rabbit cartoon “Africa,” featuring these singing pyramids:
And only a year later, we have the very first Merrie Melodies cartoon, “Lady, Play Your Mandolin!”, starring this foxy chick:
The animators of Over the Garden Wall deliberately echoed these tricks, lending the “Potatoes and Molasses” number its familiar style.
This show, of course, has a tremendous range of stylistic influences–everything from Dante to American kitsch–but I’ve noticed that the references to classical animation tend to tie back to Greg, from this little number all the way to the dazzling “Cloud City” sequence in Episode 8. This is perfectly natural if you want to conceive of the Unknown as a shared vision. Wirt is the poet, the thinker of dark thoughts; he’s the one bringing all that moody sturm und drang stuff, all that symbolism we learned in English class. Greg’s the kid who, if he were a real little kid, would be left in front of the TV set on Saturday mornings. He just wants to watch cartoons.
But all speculation on the nature of the Unknown aside, Greg is a cartoon, in a sense that nobody else in this cartoon is a cartoon. It’s no wonder Wirt doesn’t feel that they’re related. Wirt, even animated, is a real person–or at least a character in a book (he’s got “Hero’s Journey arc” written all over him). Greg’s a cartoon, specifically a vintage cartoon of the 20s or 30s–a lighthearted, single-minded scamp who solves everything with a song and a dance. And the way he’s drawn carefully reflects this fact; it’s in his DNA.
“Good Evening. Oh, Who’s a lucky girl? Jimmy scores a nice little thing for his neck. All I get is a pencil. Perhaps it’s because its Led. Hey. Alright you lucky guys and girls. Ladies and gentlemen, a very serious part of the night has now arrived , where I nip off to the dressing room to get a blowjob. We’d now like to feature ah, how coarse, how coarse these English people can be, as England sinks into the British channel, here we are in North America. Right Vancouver, we give you an experience you’ll never forget, more stunning than Lysergic Acid Diethylamide titrate, a man over there has just had diarhea. Ladies and gentlemen, the man with only two cavities, John Bonham. Moby Dick.
Pacific Coliseum, Vancouver, BC, 1975, before “Moby Dick”