The Statement of the Century: The Cartoon Body of the New Yorker

By James Spica

On a daily basis, graduate students in anthropology departments across the nation slave away writing complicated thesis papers and monographs in an attempt to theorize about our cultural leaps and bounds, the ever-changing technological and behavioral puzzle that is the human species. Philosophers and scientists are often in the same quest, studying behavioral and social psychology and other such subjects surrounding human cultural growth. Even art critics ‘review’ our habits and tendencies in wordy, multiple page studies.

It is strange, therefore, and consequently more poignant (not to mention impressive), that the crew of witty cartoonists at the New Yorker do the same work in a simple drawing and short caption. Any cultural statement worth saying about the our culture has been worked somehow into a cartoon at the magazine that has since it’s inception been hailed as being at the forefront of high society.

The most essential aspect of a cultural statement in a humor cartoon is that humor omits (or ignores) the gravity of cultural problems to expose the real truth: life is totally and completely absurd, and we, as humans, make it worse for ourselves.

Take, for instance, Ed Siegel’s critical piece in the Boston Globe (11/23/02) entitled “Off the Wall”, in which he describes how we, as a society are “fixated” on celebrity drama and culture, using Michael Jackson’s gradual downfall as the key example, and saying in conclusion that “the last laugh, though, is bound to be on a society that pays so much attention to Jackson.” It is a critique of the societal magnetic attraction to People Magazine, Star, and US.

Alex Gregory’s cartoon in a 1999 issue of the New Yorker does the same work, but in far fewer, more cleverly, and with added critique and perhaps a little scorn. The cartoon frame is a television, and on the screen a reporter stands in front of some firefighters fighting a fire in a city building. The cartoon’s caption is the reporter telling us “Luckily, none of the people inside appear to be celebrities.” This pokes fun at our society in several ways—our faces being glued to our television screens, our obsession with celebrity culture, and the humor in it shows that in an absurd life, and to boot, we make it worse by our interest in completely irrelevant things.

The electronic, technological stairway that our society is climbing at an ever-growing pace is a staple subject of New Yorker cartoons. A new iPod™ is released every few months it seems, and the internet is completely re-defining our daily lives.

David Sipress curtly and cleverly describes this cultural phenomenon in a simple drawing (from a 2000 issue of the New Yorker)—a man, sitting in an armchair in his library or study, clicks a button on his remote when he wants a book down from the shelf, and it comes right to him.

The cartoon doesn’t even have a caption, and it manages to describe the way in that even a person clinging to older ways of gaining information (books) has allowed technology to permeate his daily life to make it easier, simpler. At the same time, it mocks the fact that most of society’s commonly used electronic implements are, in a way, completely useless. Why would the man use the remote for a book when he could use it for a more advanced pursuit of information?

Arnie Levin’s cartoon from 2001, depicting a tightrope walker in a circus balancing on what seems to be thin air while an audience member turns to his partner and says “It appears to be some sort of wireless technology” notes that technology works its way into the least likely areas of our lives, especially if it’s not really needed.

Bruce Eric Kaplan, of whom Robert Mankoff (the cartoon editor for the New Yorker) wrote “the New Yorker’s Cartoons have often been dark… …but [Kaplan’s drawings] make the Addams Family look like the Brady Bunch”, drew a cartoon in 2003 for the New Yorker of Cupid being irked at the fact that on-line dating has put him out of business—“Fine—if they all want to meet online, screw them.” This critique of the internet’s part in our culture is another classic example of the New Yorker cartoonist’s up-and-coming sense of societal absurdity. Kaplan is joking about both the fact that the internet kills tradition, but might also kill jobs.

These above-mentioned cartoons are simply isolated examples of the great variety and depth of humorous cultural derision found in the form of the single-panel, single caption cartoons on the pages of The New Yorker. This intelligent bunch has no need to write an essay or monograph on culture—they make their statements in a more clever, more humorous, and more compact way. They have chosen the medium that can truly depict the absurdity of life and of modern human culture, and this places them at the forefront of anthropology, sociology, and humor—they certainly are a talented bunch.

Critical Response to Robert Mankoff’s short profile of Bruce Eric Kaplan in The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker

by James Spica

In a time of great upheaval in political, social, and technological circles in the United States, there is much food for cynical cartoonists. Robert Mankoff, editor for the New Yorker, writes of Bruce Eric Kaplan, in The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker, “the New Yorker’s Cartoons have often been dark… …but [Kaplan’s drawings] make the Addams Family look like the Brady Bunch.”

Mankoff praises Kaplan as being “the most convincing and funniest portraitist we have of a postmodernist psyche still stumbling out from the shambles of the fading 20^th century.” This is to say that he critiques and recounts the spirit somewhat dazed and problem-ridden United States moving into a new era.

Mankoff clearly believes that Kaplan is on the cutting edge, and rightly so, as he embodies this “view is more widely held among [the New Yorker’s] readers than one might imagine, or, rather, hope.”

The Statement of the Century: The Cartoon Body of the New Yorker

By James Spica

On a daily basis, graduate students in university anthropology departments across the nation slave away writing complicated thesis papers and monographs in an attempt to theorize about out cultural leaps and bounds, the ever-changing technological and behavioral puzzle that is the human species. Philosophers and scientists are often in the same quest, studying behavioral and social psychology and other such subjects surrounding human cultural growth. Even art critics such as Michael Hastings ‘review’ our habits and tendencies in wordy, multiple page studies. It is strange, therefore, and consequently more poignant, that the crew of witty cartoonists at the New Yorker do the same work in a simple drawing and simple caption. Any cultural statement worth saying (worth, in this case, referring to the statement’s truth as a phenomenon) about the United States’ culture has been worked somehow into a cartoon at the magazine that has since it’s inception been hailed as being at the forefront of high society.

The most essential aspect of a cultural statement in a humor cartoon is that humor omits (or ignores) the gravity of cultural problems to expose the real truth: life is totally and completely absurd, and we, as humans, make it worse for ourselves. Take, for instance, Ed Siegel’s piece entitled “Off the Wall”, in which he describes how we, as a society are “fixated” on celebrity drama and culture, using Michael Jackson’s gradual downfall as the key example, and saying in conclusion that “the last laugh, though, is bound to be on a society that pays so much attention to Jackson.” It is a critique of the societal magnetic attraction to People Magazine, Star, and US. Alex Gregory’s cartoon in a 1999 issue of the New Yorker does the same work, but in many less words, more cleverly, and with added critique and perhaps a little scorn. The cartoon frame is a television, and on the screen is a reporter standing in front of some firefighters fighting a fire in a city building. The cartoon’s caption is the reporter telling us “Luckily, none of the people inside appear to be celebrities.” This pokes fun at our society in several ways—our faces being glued to our television screens, our obsession with celebrity culture, and the humor in it shows that in an absurd life, we make it worse by our interest in absurdly irrelevant things.

The electronic, technological stairway that our society is climbing at an ever-growing pace is a staple subject of New Yorker cartoons. A new iPod™ is released every few months it seems, and the internet is completely re-defining our daily lives. David Sipress curtly and cleverly describes this cultural phenomenon in a simple drawing (from a 2000 issue of the New Yorker)—a man, sitting in an armchair in his library or study, clicks a button on his remote when he wants a book down from the shelf, and it comes right to him. The cartoon doesn’t even have a caption, and it manages to describe the way in that even a person clinging to older ways of gaining information (books) has allowed technology to permeate their daily life to make it easier, simpler. At the same time, it is mocking the fact that most of society’s commonly used electronic implements are, in a way, completely useless. Why would the man use the remote for a book when he could use it for a more advanced pursuit of information? Arnie Levin’s cartoon from 2001, depicting a tightrope walker in a circus balancing on what seems to be thin air while an audience member turns to his partner and says “It appears to be some sort of wireless technology”, notes that technology works its way into the least likely areas of our lives, especially if it’s not really needed.

Bruce Eric Kaplan, of whom Robert Mankoff (the cartoon editor for the New Yorker) wrote “the New Yorker’s Cartoons have often been dark… …but [Kaplan’s drawings] make the Addams Family look like the Brady Bunch”, drew a cartoon in 2003 for the New Yorker of cupid being irked at the fact that on-line dating has put him out of business—“Fine—if they all want to meet online, screw them.” This critique of the internet’s part in our culture is another classic example of the New Yorker cartoonist’s up-and-coming sense of societal absurdity. Kaplan is joking about both the fact that the internet kills tradition, but might also kill jobs.

These above-mentioned cartoons are simply isolated examples of the great variety and depth of humorous cultural derision found in the form of the single-panel, single caption cartoons on the pages of The New Yorker. This intelligent bunch has no need to write an essay or monograph on culture—they make their statements in a cleverer, more humorous, and more compact way. They have chosen the medium that can truly depict the absurdity of life and of modern human culture. Without them, we would be nowhere.

Playin’ the Blues (a response to Jon Pareles’s review “Finding Their Way Home, Or At Least To The Garden”)

By James Spica

Legendary rock groups of yesterday, at some point many years after their breakup, will almost certainly re-unite to play the hits once again, setting all differences aside to please an eager audience. Almost every band does this at some point, from the Rolling Stones’ comeback to Billy Corgan’s re-joining the Smashing Pumpkins. The more celebrated half of Blind Faith, Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood, , paid homage to their roots and their short lived partnership in a concert at Madison Square Garden this past Monday.

Jon Pareles, in his New York Times review of the concert notes that whereas most post-band single artists such as Clapton and Winwood would pepper their sets with their big radio hits, the two instead spent their time “cherishing old Americana”, in other words, playing the blues.

The musicians were, Pareles says “just doing their job”, not preoccupied with stardom and showing off. Such modest behavior is in the spirit of the blues in all possible ways.

Pareles also notes that “It was, despite all the musicians’ previous experience, the first full length set together in decades.” This is also different from most reunions—the re-forming of a band isn’t usually more than two decades after the last album.

No Country For Old Ceremonies?

by James Spica

When hosting the 2008 Academy Awards, John Stewart continually referred to the year’s being a time of change. He blatantly and frequently infused his speeches with examples of political change, especially critiques of party platforms. At one point, he, in speaking of the un-popularity of Iraq war documentaries, suggested that war documentary film makers must “stay the course [in spite of the low interest in their films]” or else “the audience wins,” a blatant jest at Republican view of the war. He spoke of the extreme importance of the next election. This political humor, Stewart’s staple and the theme of his Daily Show, about the changing world, contrasted greatly with the fact that the Oscars have not changed in quite a while.

The 80^th Academy Awards ceremony was almost identical to the previous few. Elaborate sets (this year’s included rising pillars) in sparkly colors (especially gold, as usual), red carpet introductions (Regis Philbin conducting most of the impromptu interviews this year), the fashion show aspect of the red carpet (Versace, etc) among female stars, and of course, the movie awards honoring those actors that truly deserve them and the production crews who never seem to.

Daniel Day Lewis, an actor with incredible scope and depth, received the award for Best Actor in a Leading Role, which was a predictable (though deserved) outcome. The Best Picture went to No Country for Old Men, another predictable choice considering its revolutionary quality (among aspects, this film has almost no music at all) and seasoned acting and directing (the Cohen Brothers received Best Director as well). This was much the same as last year, with seasoned and clever director Martin Scorsese receiving both Best Director and Best Picture (for The Departed, a stylistically brilliant film). Best Female Actress in a Leading Role was awarded to Marion Cotillard who played the moving role of famous French Singer Edith Piaf. Best Supporting Actor went to Javier Bardem for his role as a bizarre assassin in No Country. In short, there were no surprises.

The sound production awards went, in large part, to the third film in the Bourne series, the Bourne Ultimatum. The award seemed, as always, rather arbitrary, because proficient sound mixing, editing, and recording, in the days of glossy effects-laden movies, are both fairly guaranteed. The Ultimatum also won Best Film Editing. The costume design award went to Elizabeth: the Golden Age, as the award always goes to the most elaborate period piece (last year’s went to Marie Antoinette).

The documentary, foreign film, short film, and animation awards, though clearly known to the Academy, was probably a little lost on the general TV audience, as these movies are oftentimes difficult to see if one is not in the right city (or country). This, as those who have seen many Oscars ceremonies will attest, is old hat.

The Academy Awards hardly change from year to year, as seemingly every other aspect of American life fluctuates. Perhaps this is some of the appeal—tradition can be comforting and welcomed.

“Oddly Delightful”

The amount of Les Pauls that are thrown about today is depressing—a guitar that beautiful and playable should be reserved for the few that can play them well, such as Jeff Beck or Jimmy Page. But nowadays, anyone and everyone plays one, including guitarists for pop-punk bands such as the new German phenomenon Tokio Hotel.

Kelefa Sanneh, in Wednesday’s New York Times, reviews the band’s American debut at the Fillmore last Monday. Much like A.O. Scott’s review of “Rambo”, she wants to crush the band on any number of it’s absurd and ridiculous aspects, but in the end concedes that the concert was good—describing it as “oddly delightful.”

Most of this “odd delight”, according to Sanneh, comes from the antics of the “gender-bending” frontman and the “surprisingly restrained” songs. Goofy as the band may sound, it seems that the concert was rather a success.

In the day when “teen-pop… …goth-punk boy bands” play Les Pauls, anything is possible.

Almost There, but Not Quite

A Review of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf”

By James Spica

It is considerably difficult to find good local art. By local art one means visual art in small town galleries; performances in hole-in-the-wall theatres on Main St; art made for locals by locals. Most of the difficulty comes of lack of true culture—many towns are far away from the established cultural influence of large cities such as Chicago or New York. Budgets are smaller, as the size of classic fine arts grants dwindles along with public appreciation. The Whole-Art Theatre’s production of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” is a great example of bad local art.

This play is a rather long piece (at 3 hours or so), with absurdist, almost existentialist undertones. The hopelessness of the situation of the older couple (George (played by Richard Philpot ) and Martha (played by Martie Philpot ) spend most of their time bickering with each other, jabbing at each other with names like “snake” and “monkey” in a belittling but childish manner) is reminiscent of Samuel Beckett plays. Many of Beckett’s works are set in single rooms, in which two or four people spend the entire play saying absolutely nothing (they speak, but their conversation goes nowhere). Do not for a moment assume that this play or the performance thereof is in any other way like Beckett, who is quite clever with language. The message does remain similar, though—the absurdity of everyday life is constant.

The acting in this piece left a great deal to be desired—the performances of the younger couple (played by Carol Zombro and Trevor Maher) especially. They overacted their parts in a way that suggested a combination of overexcitement at being cast in a non-school play and inexperience. The girl, in her shrieking and weaving was too goofy for believable intoxication, and the boy, in his drunken bravado and intellectuality, were both rather painful to watch. Also, the pair fell into the trend of budding actors to raise their voices more frequently. This piece was rife with this—too frequently for feigning-drunk to allow.

The older couple, though comparatively adequate actors, were rather boring. This is probably attributable to the play itself—the characters are meant to be very boring people. All the same, during the first act, George was a delight to watch–he did a great job of portraying a man driven to the brink of insanity by a dreadful woman (and a little help from a Mr. Johnny Walker). During the second and third acts, by contrast, he just seemed to drone on incessantly. Again, the play may be at fault here. Whether or not that is the case, the impression doesn’t change.

In short, the performance was brought down in part by the play itself and in part by the actor and actress playing the younger couple. It is not the type of play that leaves a lasting impression—it lacks depth and good acting in a way that deprives one of the desire to see it again. This, unfortunately, is the usual situation with local art.