Shark vs. Train (review)

A pair of spiky-haired preschoolers ransack a toy box in the opening panels, grabbing up their favorite tokens of aggression. By the time we reach the title page, their chosen toy shark and train have anthropomorphized, and they are trash-talkin' with backs arched and teeth bared: "'I'm going to choo-choo you up and spit you out.' 'Ha! I'm going to fin-ish you, mackerel-breath.'" As Barton quickly demonstrates, though, the arena determines the victor: in the ocean Shark has the upper fin while Train sinks like an iron ingot; in a marshmallow roast-off, however, Train rules, toasting the treat over his glowing smokestack as Shark drips on his pathetic little stick fire. The set-ups run on and on with excessive length—longer, perhaps, than audience enthusiasm may last—and listeners are apt to forget that there are human buddies directing the action. Intergalactic travel, sword-fighting on a tightrope, and distance jumps off of ramps even begin to weary the protagonists: "'Okay, this is getting ridiculous.' 'Now would be a good time for a break. . . . '" Then it's lunchtime, the little guys reenter the scene, and toys are tossed back in the box awaiting a postprandial rematch. Lichtenheld renders some of the most comically muscle-bound entities since McMullan's trucks and tugs (I Stink!, BCCB 6/02, et al.) and the pugilists' clever adaptation to each preposterous new setting mitigates the daunting largeness of the number of smackdowns. Time to raid the toy chest and make some noise.