The Art of the Comic Strip and Woody Allen

Photo by James DeShawn Ludwig III

Aspen is a place for revelations.  And the third in our series that occurred there, as we continue our brief hiatus from the sports world, (sooo sorry baseball... but not really) came from a simple book found in the condo where we were staying.  Theatre Aspen had rented it for Jimmy, presumedly from a winter-dweller who makes like a tree during the summer months, and one day (in between tennis matches... Check out Kisha in Mid-Air!?) I spotted something curious sitting on his bookshelf.  Right there in plain view on the shelf was a book entitled Dread and Superficiality; the Best of the Classic Newspaper Cartoon from 1976 to 1984.  The strip was called Inside Woody Allen.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  It was a twilight-zonian experience for me to discover this artifact.  It's what it must have been like when those archeologists found Lucy, back in '73.  It's been here this whole time!  Waiting to be discovered!!!  I was positively astounded that I had not been aware of the existence of this comic strip!  Why?  Two reasons.  First, Woody Allen is my favorite filmmaker and has been one our most prolific writers and performers of stage and screen.  And second, I have long considered myself something of a comic strip aficionado.

When I was a kid I was an adamant follower of many comic strips.  It was important business.  Every morning there were dozens of new comic strips inside the newspaper just waiting to be checked out.  So intriguing, so consistent.  Something you could count on.  Then I started clipping them out and putting them in books and up on the fridge (and, well maybe it got a little out of hand :) but the important thing is that it quickly became one of my favorite art forms.  Yes, an Art Form.  It eventually became clear to me though, that most people didn’t think of them in this way.  Almost everyone I knew took them for granted or subconsciously disparaged them.  I was shocked to see how casually people would dismiss these works after glancing over them, either chuckling to themselves or giving the obligatory, “eh” – as in, “ I could have done better than that.”  In this way the Newspaper Comic Strip has to be one of the most disrespected art forms in history.  Infamously proven by the degrading and despicable euphemism that somehow became synonymous with this art form early in the twentieth century: “the funnies.”  Ugh.  And it stuck!  What kind of artistic credibility can one expect with that label? 

Naturally there were many artists that accepted this menial position and directed their work to the lowest common denominator.  Churning out strips featuring simple archetypical characters in mindless crude situations, the likes of Beetle Bailey, Hagar the Horrible, Andy Capp, Snuffy Smith, Family Circus, and Garfield rose to prominence through the years.  Sorry Garfield lovers (if there are any left) but really what is there in that strip?  Garfield hates Mondays, loves lasagna, and Jon’s a loser.  That’s pretty much it.)  Honestly, for years these strips have given the Funnies a bad name.  A collection of works fit to wrap a fish in.  Beetle Bailey has been running from Sarge for 60 years, Andy Capp gets drunk every night, and does anyone ever read the Family Circus??? 

That's not to say that simple is bad.  Many simple strips have a legitimate place in our hearts because of the comfort of their consistent predictability.  Much the same way that you can miss three years of All My Children and still pretty much know what’s going on when you finally tune in.  I enjoy a lot of strips that fit this model, like Blondie, BC, Zits, Dilbert, Rose is Rose, The Wizard of Id, and, of course, the immortal Peanuts (So popular that they still run every day, ten years after the passing of the legendary Charles Shultz.)

But there were some artists that broke the bounds of the typical and raised the bar for the art form by challenging their readers with continuous storylines, more sophisticated philosophical messages, or in other bizarre ways.  Among these are some of my favorites: Crankshaft, Non Sequitur, The Boondocks, and my personal Comic-Strip-Mount-Rushmore of Doonesbury, Bloom County, The Far Side, and For Better of For Worse.  But standing on a cloud, about a thousand feet above Mount Rushmore, is the greatest comic strip of all time: Calvin and Hobbes.

While this example of Calvin is devoid of Watterson's considerable artistic ability it
is probably apropos of how I feel about comic strips as an art form.  Maybe I should get some help.   

I’ve long held that Calvin and Hobbes’ paramount position among comic strips is an absolute certainty.  I don’t think it can be debated.  The sheer creative output by Bill Watterson, for ten years starting in 1985, cannot be rivaled by any other strip; and maybe any other art form altogether.  Far more versatile than any strip before or since, Calvin could play at any speed and any style.  Watterson’s incredible imagination (brilliantly illustrated though Calvin’s constant day-dreaming) could go from one side of the world to another in one strip!  At the height of his popularity, Watterson was so powerful that he even forced newspapers to change the way they formatted Sunday strips, which were artistically limiting.  This guy was Lennon and McCartney and Elvis to the world of comic strips.  No one else even came close.  And comic strips have never been the same since he departed the field.  After rejecting all licensing and marketing opportunities for Calvin and Hobbes (all the stickers and shirts are illegal by the way) Watterson left Hundreds of Millions of Dollars on the table and retired from cartooning in 1995.  He shunned the money and effectively vanished into thin air.  No one even knows where he lives!  How’s that for artistic credibility?

If you need to be reminded, go pick up a Calvin and Hobbes collection or check out some strips online.  Gems like this...

and this...

and then there's this...

     

So anyway, back to Aspen (no... not to tennis!) to this book on the shelf.  Unbelievable.  As I mentioned, I think of Woody Allen as one of the most prolific writers ever. He's written articles, books, plays, screenplays, directed, acted, released stand-up albums, two musical albums, and has performed internationally with his Jazz band. 

I have seen all of his films and absolutely love his style of storytelling.  He basically is his own film genre. His characters, while usually of an urban ilk, run the gamut of the philosophical world (and not only the ones he plays, ALL of them.  It’s trippy to remember that they all came from his mind.)  And with this amount of productivity there are sure to be a couple of “clunkers” in there so I understand how people can be critical, but even in my least favorite of his films (Anything Else and The Curse of the Jade Scorpion anyone?) there are always a few dynamite intimations sprinkled in that only he could have conceived of.  Like “Don’t worry, we can walk to the curb from here.” from Annie Hall, or “I had a great evening; it was like the Nuremberg Trials.”  From Hannah and Her Sisters, or “I don’t want to bad mouth the kid, but he’s a horrible, dishonest, immoral louse.  And I say that with all due respect.” from Broadway Danny Rose, or my personal favorite from Deconstructing Harry when his character Harry Block tells his brother-in-law, “I don’t think you’re paranoid.  I think you’re the opposite of a paranoid.  I think you go around with the insane delusion that people like you.” 

Woody Allen’s 46^th film You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger opens tomorrow here in the U.S.  46 films written and directed!  Does anyone else even come close to this guy’s overall body of work? Seriously, akin to Shakespeare has been this guys contribution to the creative world.  It is mind-boggling.  Not that I worship the ground the guy walks on or anything. Certainly many people have sordid opinions about Woody Allen’s personal life or decisions he’s made, but I’ve never been a person that values the artist above the artwork.  I don't know the guy, but his creative contributions have had a profound impact on my life.

Me with Woody back left on Clarinet

Last year for my birthday present the Lady Underdog, Lakisha, took me out to The Carlyle on the Upper East Side where Woody plays with his Dixieland Jazz ensemble on most Monday nights as his schedule permits.  We had great seats.  The place is tiny (or as we say in NY, intimate) and he even sat right next to me at one point before the band took the stage.  And when they did get up there, they treated us to some world class New Orleans style classics.  It was kind of amazing to see him up there, completely separated from his comic persona, he appeared to be simply jamming out with his friends and having a blast. And he is actually quite a good clarinetist too!      

As we sipped our wine and nibbled on desserts, they played for about an hour and then most of the guys left the stage, and I thought, "Oh that's cool... you can't expect him to play for too long."  But then he stayed up there with two of the other guys and they played for at least another 45! And each time you'd think the set was done, Woody, with a mischievous grin, would quickly start up a new song to see how long it took for his startled band-mates to join in.  Honestly, he looked like a little kid up there, having the time of his life.

So it now comes to my attention that the man who has done all of these things artistically was also the subject of a comic strip?  It was like two of my worlds colliding unexpectedly.  I suppose I had presumed  that this was one medium he had never dabbled in, and I should have known better.  It was the early persona of Woody Allen as a comical hard-luck loser that first inspired cartoonist Stuart Hample to give him a call in 1975 to see if he would allow himself to be the subject of the strip.  To his surprise Woody agreed and even gave him permission to use any of his previous material as fodder.  The result was Inside Woody Allen, and at a time before the Internet or cable TV it must have been a huge publicity coup for Woody to also be in millions of homes in the newspaper everyday.  Stuff like this:

While not directly involved, Woody oftentimes would send Hample letters with ideas for storylines, character development, and to encourage him to avoid the lowest-common-denominator jokes (like the previously mentioned cellar-dwellers among comic strips.  Born Loser I'm looking in your direction!)  And of course he wanted Hample to push the envelope and challenge the readers with deeper and darker content.  Around the same time Woody was having similar troubles with how his films were being received.  He didn't want to be only a laugh man.  In his 1980 film Stardust Memories, his character, Sandy Bates (coincidentally also a filmmaker) is greeted by a fan who says "I love all of your movies, especially the early funny ones."  Needless to say, this put Hample in a tough spot between Woody and the Associated Press who were naturally pushing for only “non-offensive” material.  And in the end he was writing a comic strip after all.  Sometimes it's nice to just be funny.

Reading through the collection, I think the results were a mixed bag.  It appears that Inside Woody Allen peaked solidly in the second tier of our Comic Strip Hierarchy.  Fun and interesting, but without a solid commitment to secondary characters or their relationship development.  But really, that's not a bad place for a cartoonist to be.  We can't all be like Calvin.  Overall I found Hample's work to be very enjoyable.  Although I'm sure that my opinion is slightly biased.  If it hasn't already been blatantly obvious based on this installment of the Underdogs, I should mention that both the subject matter and the art form are near and dear to my heart.

This last strip is from a week before I was born, and illustrates another thing I like about Woody.  He’s a Knicks fan.  And c'mon, who among us hasn't dreamed that they were magically seven feet tall? :)

Next up… back to sports! :)   

Thanks for reading.

Underdogs OUT!

The John Denver Sanctuary

One of Aspen’s most peaceful and pensive places to go and just enjoy the peace and tranquility of the Rockies is the John Denver Sanctuary located just north of the Roaring Fork River. Of course the sanctuary bears the name of that unique and soulful singer/songwriter who defined himself within the neighboring mountains and touched millions with his music.  It is really a beautiful spot.  The garden by the creek is scattered with giant rocks, many of which are engraved with some of his most famous and poignant lyrics, and one bearing his name that also reads: “I am a song.  I live to be sung.  I sing with all my heart.”  Designed as a fitting tribute to honor the spirited artist who left us much too soon, it is indeed a sanctuary and not a mortuary or true memorial.  It is simply a place where people can sit, reflect, sing, play, or do whatever they want.  Seems like that’s the way he would have wanted it.  The John Denver cannon, rooted in the majesty of nature’s awe-inspiring splendor and the celebration that it can create in the human heart, is undoubtedly a natural fit in this place.  So it makes perfect sense that he made Starwood in Aspen his home for many years.  

In the early sixties, Henry John Deutschendorf Jr., the son of an Airforce Pilot, dropped out of Texas Tech in Lubbock (the town where I was born, although the last time I was there was when I was two years old… because I am also the son of an Airforce Pilot and we moved a lot :)  Eventually John changed his last name to Denver, because he said he “always wanted to live in the mountains”; and also presumably because it would fit better on the marquee.  Like countless artists before him and since, he became a traveling musician, struggling to find his place in the national music scene.  Eventually he had some success in LA and New York, but it was clear even early on that he really belonged in the mountains of Colorado.  

Jimmy and Lakisha, all smiles at JD's Sanctuary

I have to think that the Rocky Mountain High lyrics, “He was born in the summer of 27^th year, coming home to a place he’d never been before.” is almost certainly an autobiographical reference to his own creative and spiritual rebirth that came when he finally made Aspen his home in the early 70’s.  He must be telling the story of his own elation after finally realizing his dream.  According to his book Take me home: An Autobiography, John and his wife Annie were hanging with friends in the mountains one August night during the Perseid Meteor Shower.  When the shooting stars finally lit up the sky (causing them to cast a shadow) the idea for the song formed in his head, he later recorded it, and it became one of the most recognized songs in history.  According to local legend the first time he played it for an audience was in 1973 at the Red Onion tavern right downtown in Aspen.  By 2007 it was the official state song of Colorado when the Colorado General Assembly declared that “Rocky Mountain High reflects the strength and beauty of the Colorado Rocky Mountains and the importance of preserving the natural beauty of our state.”  It now shares the distinction with the old classic Where the Columbine’s Grow.

Somehow JD fit right in with those Muppets!

In addition to his musical achievements, John was an environmentalist and activist, an actor, a writer, a pilot, and the official Poet Laureate of Colorado, but I remember him most as a kid from his Christmas album with the Muppets.  I still have this album and consider it one of the best Christmas albums ever (Seriously, check out Dr Teeth and the Electric Mayhem’s version of Old Saint Nick; they put the Beach Boys to Shame!  Or John and Ivory-ticklin dog Rowlf’s amazing duet version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.)  I am a little too young to remember his great Muppet Show moments, but I'm sure there were many.  John Denver and Jim Henson at the height of their art forms and popularity coming together in 1978.  Seems like a natural fit right?

Kisha looking for the triple-word

Over the years I had listened to my fair share of John Denver, especially since he was one of my Mom's favorites.  I remember often hearing her playing and singing his folky classics and I wonder how many times I "accidentally" caused one of his old records to skip on the turntable while I was bounding through the living room.  Listening to his stuff as an adult, I always considered him a truly incredible singer, but as a songwriter a lot of his music seemed to be too overly simple and predictable.  After all no one calls JD a musical genius.  But while his musical prowess might not have been as refined as some, listening to his stuff now in Aspen, either while playing Scrabble in his sanctuary or while watching some shooting stars of our own from the hot-tub, it actually makes a lot more sense to me.  It is Simple, honest, and filled with pure ecstatic love for this magical place in the Rockies. I get a sense of how he must have felt when he first came here.  How it healed him, taught him and gave him hope for the future.  It’s hard to think of a more fitting match between artist and setting.  Like they were always meant to go together. 

And nearly thirteen years after the tragic passing of John Denver, one of our great storytellers, his music lives on.  And you can feel it come alive, here in Aspen.  His muse, his bliss, his peace of mind, his friend, and his home.