Once upon a time (which is when all the best stories begin), my mom and a couple of friends of hers started a tearoom. It was a pretty little place decorated with the kinds of things you’d expect to find in a Victorian parlor, but what I remember most are the teapots. I defy you to look at a teapot and not feel the need to speak to it. They have big, round faces and long, spoutlike noses and personalities all their own. And whenever I’d see one sitting on a table surrounded by cups and saucers and plates, I’d have the distinct impression I was watching a family out for a picnic. I’d completely forgotten about those days and probably would’ve never given them another thought—then I met Elder Kettle and Mugman and Cuphead.
I haven’t looked at a table setting the same way since.
I’m profoundly grateful to Chad and Jared Moldenhauser for bringing Cuphead to life, along with all the other inhabitants of the amazing, magical Inkwell Isles (a clever little homage to another team of visionary brothers: founders of the legendary Out of the Inkwell, Inc.,) Max and Dave Fleischer. Working on this book was like leaping into a television screen and strolling through the great cartoons of history. So I owe an enormous debt to the Fleischers, Tex Avery, Walt Disney, Walter Lantz, and a slew of other early animators. Without them, dishes wouldn’t dance, anvils wouldn’t fall, and the world would be a lot less fun.
Speaking of fun, I had way too much of it on this project, and I’m completely okay with that. After all, if you can’t have fun working with Brandi Bowles, Rachel Poloski, Samantha Schutz, Eli Cymet, Tyler Moldenhouer, and the phenomenal artists at Studio MDHR, then you’re incapable of enjoying yourself and probably need to get a dog. As for how I got mixed in with this ridiculously talented group of people, all I can say is that sometimes the universe smiles at you for no good reason at all, and it’s best not to ask any questions. The truth is, I’d have been lost without their guidance, patience, and spontaneous bursts of brilliance, and I can’t thank them enough.
I also want to thank those friends and family members who served as guinea pigs while I experimented with various ideas for these pages. They listened longer than they needed to, laughed in all the right places, and pushed me through the word jungle and out the other side. Oh, and a special thanks to my nephew, Noah, who showed me what a spectacular experience the Cuphead video game is when it’s played by someone with actual skills. I especially appreciated his advice (“Stop dying.”) and have taken it to heart. A rematch awaits.
Finally, a tip of the hat to Boody Rogers, who told me stories years ago about working as a cartoonist in New York in the 1930s. They were always exciting and always funny and occasionally true, or at least true enough to make me wish I’d been born a few decades sooner.