A rant, part III

…wherein I become a little less ranty. After part I and part II, lets look at a couple of New Yorker cartoons that I actually really like.

But first, to respond to two comments I've received about this extended bout of vitriol: (1) Yes, I'm sure the cartoons were in general much better in the golden age of The New Yorker, the '50s and thereabouts. Makes sense. All the more reason why the magazine should go the extra mile to hire worthy talent today. (2) Of course many of the cartoons lack timeliness because they were drawn months earlier; I know all about evergreen features and articles in the magazine business. But something about Bernie Madoff, or any newsworthy figure, necessarily has a timeliness element to it. If Roz Chast can't draw it when the topic is still a fresh one—or The New Yorker can't run it—then it should be killed.

Now, then, onto goodness. I love these cartoons:
The basis of most humor is the conflict between expectation and reality (which is why the best way to make a baby laugh is to surprise him), and this cartoon is a pretty stark example: That comically over-the-top stereotypical prison goon is this guy's mom. If the word "Mom" were instead "Dad," or "Phil," there'd be no joke here, of course (or at least not a good one). "Susan" or another female name would be okay, by "Mom" nails it. Clever enough, but what really makes me laugh is the drawing. Not just the boilerplate-scary ex-con, but the blandly cheery look on the driver's face. He doesn't look scared or concerned that his mother has turned into Mr. Zsasz; he seems to just be making friendly, typically parent-pleasing conversation. This really works.I have a little more trouble putting my finger on why I like this one so much. First of all, I think it's extremely well drawn; this writer has a terrific, clean yet light style that's perfect for the dry wit that suits New Yorker cartoons best. Also, and maybe this doesn't say anything good about me, but I find inherent humor in hosptials: the surgical masks, the gas tanks, the prone woman on the table; I like dark comedy. Plus, "Feldman" is just a funny name (sorry, chief). Finally, I suppose it's just the clever juxtaposition of surgery and getting lost on the road that this artist synthesizes so skillfully. Another example of what every cartoon in The New Yorker should be like. Perhaps, maybe, someday: I will continue to dream.

A rant, part II

Two days ago, I complained about The New Yorker's "famous" cartoons, about how most of them drive me insane with disgust. A rant, if you will. Today, part II: Why am I so pissed off?

(1) They're lazy. One of the primary philosophies of my life is that hard work is itself a good thing: Even if the result is disappointing, I like to give an A for effort. This is one of the reasons I loved The 39 Steps; not only was it a good time, those guys worked their asses off. It's also part of the reason I admire Jimmy Carter; the dude was a flat-out lousy President, but dammit, he really tried, and for that I respect him. (That's not to say I hate anything that doesn't involve hard work; let's trade Jerky Boys quotes sometime.)

But too many New Yorker cartoons foist clichéd, tossed-off concepts accompanied by poorly drawn pictures onto readers and call it art. Not a lot of effort here.And what's most galling is that most of the journalism in The New Yorker is excellent, full of outstanding reporters and writers putting in a herculean degree of effort. I mean, really: Does a napkin scribble and a banal observation about waiting in line really deserve to sit side-by-side with a rigorously reported, 3,000-word essay about the modernization of rural China? The answer is no, and I wish The New Yorker's editors realized that.

(2) They're elitist. As you may be aware, for most of my life, I was big comic-book fan. Mainly mainstream, superheroey stuff—I was a DC fanatic, I wrote my thesis about Batman, although I have an appreciation of the tentpoles of the underground and alternative scenes. And the underdog in me always bristled at how, until recently, comics were basically dismissed by the mainstream. (With age, I've learned just how much of the comics canon is utter shit, but isn't that true of all art forms?)

The New Yorker's cartoons never had that problem. They're routinely hailed as paragons of humor and cartoon artistry. I think it's because for decades, the very medium of comics was debased; so standards were lower, and anything with a shred of an adult viewpoint was regarded as an exceptional example of the form (deserving work has benefited from this as well, of course). And the imprimatur of being in The New Yorker granted these cartoons that dignified shred. But the truth is, most of these cartoons are lousy, and a lot of "juvenile" comics are much better. You want to talk about humor? Try Ambush Bug, or even this:

This ties in with the laziness: New Yorker cartoonists seem to think, "Hey, it's just a cartoon! No one's expecting genius, so a poorly thought-out trifle should get the job done." Wrong: Open your eyes, Mr. Cultural Commentator. There is good comics work, even if it's outnumbered by the crap. Besides, comics is a medium, not a specific genre, marketing strategy or philosophy. Scott McCloud has made this point well: A medium can't in itself be good or bad (though the advent of Twitter has me reconsidering that).

Next post: I lay off the vitriol and show you some examples of New Yorker cartoons that I actually like.