These guys are the best example of a kind of humor I ordinarily don't like much. It's the humor of young guys who think they're being clever by saying things like "I am unable to stop kicking you at this time" or "chaos ensues" (neither appears here, though Max complains if Sam ever says "ensuing"). That ordinary stuff is freshly dug-up ore, but this is more like a giant cast-iron slice of toast that's cheerfully rusting while it waits for the butter.
How does it work? The regular ore goes to a refinery, which starts with the smart-aleck humor of a Coen-brothers villain who won't shut up. This is then put through an interrogation and attacked with a remote-controlled tarantula. Ok, walk back the randomness a bit... Right there. Stop. Stop!! Good. The stories make sense (mostly), and the urban / highway / crime world feels kind of like The Blues Brothers and Indiana Jones and The Ghostbusters crossed with Superfly and Hunter S. Thompson, but somehow realer than most of that—like traveling through the US of the 70s and 80s to see gas stations with the world's largest statue of an ice-cream cone or T-rex, and hillsides where magnetism fails. It's got a "Ripley's Believe It Or Not!" undercurrent but in a different era. It's true Americana. The flavor is consistent and unique.
I just adore the art and the junky, kitschy world Sam & Max crash around "defending"... or at least chewing through, wearing down, denting, and leaving bullet holes in. Sometimes they change their whole reality in small, lasting ways, thanks to poorly-explained leaps through space and time. For example, the present-day Sphinx incorporates Max's face after their trip back to Ancient Egypt. It's a running gag that Max's head shows up in weird places. It's at different times removed, set on fire in a dogfight, hidden in a jack-o'-lantern in a picture frame, and used to plug a giant meat grinder operated by aliens. Continuing this fetish: a mafia boss has no head—it's a fishbowl with water and a goldfish in it. This condition is why he holds a grudge against Sam & Max. Besides, Steve Purcell was working for a certain Fishwrap Productions at the time and publishing the comic through them. Actually, I didn't really like the mafioso goldfish bowl story, which was the second ever and is fortunately short. (Edit: after reading more about the duo's origins, I stand corrected. Sam & Max go way back to Purcell's childhood, and were co-created by him and his younger brother, who actually started the rabbit + dog team off.) If things were constantly so wacky, it wouldn't work, but a certain balance allows enough of the gags to be shocking, so you keep asking yourself if a story can do that, and why not.
Sam & Max is less like an animated cartoon than you'd think from some of the crazier jokes (I don't want to give away too many of the better ones), but unsurprisingly the concept later turned into the well-loved adventure (story-and-puzzle) games and a cartoon. Steve Purcell eventually went on to work for Pixar on various movies like Ratatouille, Cars, and Brave, as well as one of their shorts, Toy Story that Time Forgot, which he directed. In between, he worked on a number of games for LucasArts and Telltale in various capacities: writer, artist, animator, voice actor, consultant, producer, and designer. His voice can be heard in the movies I mentioned.
Oh, introductions. Let's square that away. Sam is the big one. Max is the little one. S is for soft. Sam's a burly hound who presents as a hard-boiled and acerbic PI, but you know how it goes in the trope: hard-boiled on the outside... Sam's a big softy who takes care of little Max. (Sam actually tucks Max in at night, at least sometimes: "And that's the story of the little engine who gave up because nobody loved him. Goodnight, Max!") Max, on the other hand... Max is for maxed-out, amped-up, maniacal, or maybe just maximum-security prison, which often seems like where he should be. Max is like the vorpal bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, only he's hopelessly sarcastic and identifies as a "lagomorph." (That would be the taxonomic umbrella for rabbits, hares, and pikas. At one point Max says "Seriously, look it up." So I did. But don't listen to him. Officially, he's "a hyperkinetic rabbity thing.")
Most of the book is in black & white, and the drawings are super bold and clean and full of cute little details that set up and pay off their own little jokes. But the additional color drawings in the Anniversary Edition are gorgeous. And going through the whole sequence of 12 brief episodes in color for The Adventurer (they're all over the web, and this is where I first met the characters, in a pamphlet), I was amazed by dimensions I'd never noticed before. For flat cartoons, these images can certainly use a vanishing point for spatial depth. Max's blanket in one feels soft to look at. A drenched Sam is obviously wet in another, even without dripping or rumpled clothes. Maybe it was seeing them on a large page that put me in a rapture over the artist's karate chops... I mean, well, you know what I mean.
It occurs to me I haven't quoted them much, so here are a few more examples of the style:
Sam says with his usual irony: "I can see the murky outlines of terrible immense beings lumbering through a nightmarish cityscape." Soon the two of them are standing under the gigantic insects. He looks up and continues, "It makes me feel so... so... insignificant." Max says, "I always feel that way about you, Sam."
On an activities page where you're supposed to cut things out, there's a shirt with a little foldy tab at the bottom so it can stand up: "Secretly Encoded Hawaiian Shirt: Sam's seductive, writhing native dance could convey a significant message in the right circles. Or inspire a shooting." (This sounds drastically worse now, especially after the Orlando nightclub tragedy. And don't expect me to brush that aside - I was two buildings away from the Virginia Tech mass shooting, just leaving Nervous Systems & Behavior and stepping onto the quad from the psychology department when we were called back in for a lockdown. We watched ambulances and police cars wailing by in the dozens for the next hour, losing count. Everyone I knew knew someone injured or killed. A thing like that affects you deeply. For better and occasionally somewhat worse, there's no way you can miss that the humor is intentionally edgy. This was a laugh-and-grimace. Wow, these parentheses got serious fast.)
Sam & Max talk to a giant floating rat's head, and Max chimes in while waving goodbye: "We'll keep an eye out for the rest of your body." Until now the missing body hasn't come up... except when Max was saying, "A pest problem? A townload of rats has a pest problem, Sam. That's pretty funny. And from a flying head. Amazing." The punchline is that Max loses his own body later.
Asked for their orders at a bar, Sam says "How 'bout a root beer popsicle and an orange julius?" Max says "DISHWATER! And put it in a dirty glass!"
I could spend a lot of time picking quotes, but the best way to think about this is as a fictional scrap book. It isn't a graphic novel. It's the opposite. Maybe (the pandemic's on everyone's mind) it's a vaccine? It's this niche-but-not-really-niche comic that does all kinds of things: skits, one-page strips, ads, PSAs, plot arcs, kids' scissor-and-glue activities that are not at all for kids, science fiction, fantasy, film noir, Americana, gonzo (the drugs are popsicles and M&Ms and Snickers and the like), self-consciously excessive gun violence that I think satirizes the NRA, etc.
I really can't do it justice, and having read quite a few of the strips and played Sam & Max Hit the Road way back, I'd say that, much as I love all those, individual pieces don't do it justice either. "More than the sum of its parts" is not exactly how I'd characterize the sense I get, though. These comics are so restlessly inventive. You don't see it by looking at one.
It took a while to stop expecting them to tell a story the way I expected, and to stop expecting Sam and Max to talk substantially differently from each other. They sound alike, a few verbal tics aside (for example, it's like Max to pipe up with a "Lookie, Sam!", and Sam routinely says "You crack me up, little buddy" or "You bust me up"). To be fair, Sam & Max have similar names for a reason: they're two sides of a coin. Their similar names make a throwaway joke in one episode, and they inhabit the same body in another. They're best buddies and partners in crime(-busting), and they have their own chatty cadence. It feels like Sam is the grown-up sibling, and Max is his embarrassingly/dangerously psycho much younger brother. Sam is not particularly responsible at all, but next to Max, he seems positively parental. Anyway, as comically puffed up as these two can sound (and that's part of the joke...), voice actors actually can and do make their lines sound natural, not to mention make the two sound very different from each other. But still, back to the paper page: it can be a bit frustrating. Which-furry-guy-is-saying-what comes up in half the panels. It's small, but it's my biggest complaint. Different lettering would have been enough.
My favorite stories are "Bad Day on the Moon" (they drive to the dark side of the moon, the 'how' happily glossed over of course) and the three chapters in the "On the Road" arc. In the first of the latter, they're basically just stocking up for the road trip, but it's hugely entertaining. In the second, I especially love the way Max is obsessed with stopping at every Stuckey's he sees, like a little kid, and Sam either downright ignores him or finds some ruse to distract him. Those have the best stories, but to leave it at that would be to miss most of what's original in here.
I'll just say I was expecting to give this 3 stars when I was half-way through, even though I love the characters. But as you go through time (publication date, irreverently depicted epoch) and pages, I don't know... something happens. The fragments draw together and unite. I saw that I'd been looking for one thing and missing another. These guys are just enough and way too much, chasing after the subtly absurd with the absurdly absurd. The same can be said about their book: not many pages for a complete works, and correspondingly packed to the gills.