S, Storyteller Spectacular

Maurice Sendak’s name didn’t mean a thing to me growing up, but his books sure did. An essential piece of my early childhood in the late 70’s, they left a vivid impression for many different reasons. I didn’t know the man behind it all, until the Colbert interview, and it was then that I grasped the extent of his awesomeness. Then and now, he kept it real.

“Where the Wild Things Are” was the one to pick up and get lost in the pictures. What young child couldn’t relate to escaping banishment to your room through fantasy? They say some found the Wild Things too scary, but I never did. Terrible? More like big doofuses with googley eyes. I wanted to be in there rumpus-ing it up. “Wild Things” is called a parable about anger, which Sendak rightly recognized is intense for children. Imagination is indeed a valuable tool for working through that very strong emotion. And how comforting that Max is free to be as bad as he wants, but when he decides he’s ready to come back to reality, his supper is waiting for him and is still hot.

“Pierre,” on the other hand, was unsettling to me from the get-go. Telling everyone and everything to f*** off, without provocation? Oh yeah. If you’re under 5, been there, done that. But it seems far more sinister here. Is Pierre just testing his limits, or is he some kind of psychopath? Could he really be so heartless to not “have to bother with a mother and a father?” Does he have some kind of death wish? Even the lion is like, “Look, dude, I don’t really want to eat you, but if you insist.” The neat and tidy happy ending is little consolation, because it’s not clear whether Pierre actually learned to care, or if he’s just giving lip service, like so many of us when we’re told to say “sorry.” All the while, we see Pierre’s mom and dad displaying patience, never losing their temper as they put up with all his crap. If his words are hurtful, they sure don’t let him see it. These people are saints. Charles Hatfield explains the kind of love they show:

“I’m not talking about ‘love’ earned through some disciplinary calculus that seeks to impress its grinding lessons on the child - apologize, say you’re sorry, don’t act out - but love given openly in spite of our essential f***ed-up-ness.”

I’m thinking that's the essence of what it means to be a good parent. Especially when you have a child on the spectrum. Landon Bryce speculates that Pierre might qualify for an autism diagnosis. In any case, his story serves as a reminder of one of the most difficult lessons of growing up; to learn empathy for others and realize your words have consequences. And, a reminder of the goodness of parents. There’s something to ponder this Mothers’ Day.

The most lasting impact of Sendak’s work on me wasn’t through books, but music. “Really Rosie” was the soundtrack to a 70’s animated special, which by the way, I never even saw, till I Youtubed it this week. But we had the vinyl LP, and I wore it out until it scratched and popped. So much so, that when I remember the words, I remember where the skips were.

K, keeping, K, keeping, K, keeping kangaroos…

The music by Carole King and lyrics by Sendak were instantly connectable, about jungles, and soup, and vampires. Thematically,  it celebrated imagination, dreaming big, and being able to be anything you want to be. A star in your own movie.

“Such Sufferin’” seems to be the track I come back to the most. It bridges the gap between child and grown-up, as Rosie realizes that dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, and she needs to stay grounded in reality. Somehow this doesn’t diminish the optimism of the record at all. As a child, I puzzled over what was so hard about being a grown-up that you needed to pop a Bufferin. And years later, I can say, oh yeah, now I get it.

Money, success, I’d settle for less,
If I’d just stop this sufferin’.

Sendak himself said much the same thing in his own words, “There must be more to life than having everything.” And it’s true, being a grown-up can suck. But it’s okay, because you can have your reality and your fantasy too. Sendak was undoubtedly a believer in the need for fantasy into adulthood.

He was not on the spectrum, presumably. He was not a parent. He was a marginalized outsider whose greatest pleasure seemed to come from creating his art, his way. Childhood is wonderful and terrible all at once. Maurice Sendak understood that, and he encapsulated it like nobody else.

Sweet Animation Fixation

I have a confession to make. See, lately, I’ve been venturing off to this fantastic, alternate universe… where baby ducks karate chop rattlesnakes, and viral video stars are held captive in the sky, and somehow I find myself rockin’ out to Kenny Loggins. But don’t be alarmed, its all good. Yeah… I’ve gotten hooked on Regular Show.

I’ve obsessed over many a cartoon before. Back in the day, it was I who was mad for Ren and Stimpy. Then, I went totally insaney for Animaniacs. And most recently, I went pure wild animal crazy over Fantastic Mr. Fox. But it’s more of a joy, this kind of obsession. It sneaks up and pounces. I wonder sometimes, where does it come from? How does it find me?

Regular Show, as they say, is anything but. It tends to leave me cheering at my TV. It is culturally literate, imaginative, nostalgic, utterly ridiculous, and so, so quotable. It stars one of the all time great animated duos in Mordecai and Rigby, whose genuine if dysfunctional friendship is the kind we wish we all had. The Regular universe is the creation of one JG Quintel, who writes, draws, and voice-acts, and I have no doubt this creator-driven quality is what makes the toon so good.

So where does my obsessive joy come in? I think it’s when I start finding this fantasy world and its characters living inside my head, insinuating itself into my daily life. The workday doldrums are so much more bearable, picturing my boss as a gumball machine, and threatening that if I don’t get back to work, I’m SO UNBELIEVEABLY FIRED!!! Ah. Try it. It’s so much fun.

From little moments like that, my fixation grows. Soon, all is just right with the world. Obsession, at its best, is a natural high. Like riding a wave of exuberance. A feeling of coming home, when I didn’t even realize I left. My inward buzz can’t help but manifest itself outwardly, and other people take notice.

“You sound much more jolly these days!” my friend said to me the other day. What, me, jolly? But it’s true, I am. Truth be told, there are other things in my life making me happy right now. But life just becomes more fun, when I’m obsessed.

Maurice Sendak appeared on the Colbert Report recently. “Why write for children?” the pundit asked the legendary author and illustrator. “I don’t write for children,” he retorted. “I write! And somebody says, ‘That’s for children!’”

Art that finds devoted fans is often created without intention to please an audience. The artist who is true to himself doesn’t choose his audience, it chooses him. I see this personal quality in Regular Show, as I did in Ren and Stimpy, which was also a creator-driven show. I try my best to follow that principle in my own work. I don’t write for Aspies. I write and I doodle for myself, and you wonderful people come along and say “That’s for me!”

Still, as personal as my creations are, I share them. Art brings us together, even more so in the digital age. I love being able to touch others with my drawings and words, to invite you into some fantastic inner universe uniquely my own.

A word about bronies, if I may. Here’s a community created around a cartoon, that has now crossed over from internet meme to veritable social movement. I work for a children’s charity, and earlier this week, a Brony Society contacted me. They offered to fundraise for us as their community service project, by shoveling sidewalks and collecting donations. I had to smile, and think, “What fine, civic-minded adults, brought together by their obsession over ponies.” I can never diss the Bronies again. They’re good people. I tell you, cartoons… they’re good for us.

One more quality of cartoons that inspires fascination: their spontaneity. The nuances they express with ease that words alone cannot. Exploding with immediacy upon the page or the screen, the pencil captures inspiration for posterity, like lightning in a bottle. A little piece of the artist that lives on forever. As Ian Frazier of The New Yorker says:

“A cartoon is a remark made by hand and eye instead of breath… that doesn’t vanish in an instant but remains its original spontaneous self indefinitely… The more you examine it, the better you see its live, black-on-white drawn lines vibrating forever like just-plucked strings.” Not so far fetched, is it, obsessing over a cartoon?

So, maybe that’s where my joy comes from. I dunno. Probably best to not to think about it too much. Better to call it magic, and sit back and enjoy.

But this much I know: I love escaping inside the universe of Regular Show. Maybe some of you like crawling inside my weird universe too. So go ahead, find your own obsession. It just might do you good. Cause it’s not just the children who need a good bedtime story. Hm! Hm!