When Blood is Cute

Freedoms and Boundaries in Cartooning

By Adrienne Jones

Did you ever wonder about those post cards your dentist's office sends to remind you to make an appointment? You know. The ones with the little cartoon tooth that looks so happy? In reality, the prompt should be a graphic photograph of a decaying canine wrought with putrid discoloration. But the dentist, like any salesman wants to impel comfort. And in
advertising, satire, drama, and even violence, nothing can do this in a better medium than a cartoon.
    Since that first anvil we saw trained on the Roadrunner from atop an animated cliff, we learned. When born of sketches and ink, and in modern times, pixels, we need not fret. The cartoon imparts a serenity zone, where the dereliction of societal taboos does not apply.   As artists, we can share our sorted views and present our unorthodox visions with unparalleled
freedom. The viewer is soothed by memories of comic books consumed under the covers with a flashlight, and Saturday mornings spent in pajamas before the television. But with all freedom comes boundaries. Whether one chooses to
apply them or not, they exist. Here erupts a careful balancing act between personal intent, target audience and the desire to bridge the barrier between the anarchists and the moderates.
    Some time ago, my partner and I started Dare Cards, alternative greeting cards and comic cartoons, with custom advertisements available to businesses. Our goal was to express our own surreal humor, while tiptoeing delicately on the tightrope of political correctness. We foresaw our toons being snatched up by offbeat humorists like us, and we were right. But beyond the Newbury comic's junkies and Far Side fanatics, a different breed of customer arose, much to our dismay. Through personal acquaintance, Dare promo packets began to circulate into the mainstream, and suddenly we had
orders from people we knew to be the stuffiest of turkeys.
    Catholics ordered the Jesus Soufflé card, hospital administrators bought the cannibalistic grandma cartoon, and a snobbish historical magazine praised the Vlad the Impaler satire, victim figures included. With such diversity of acceptance, I was sure we'd hit one out of the park. But then the ball came back, taking a vigorous wallop from the other side. Scathing
judgment blew through in a heated torrent, turning all of our positive reinforcement to ash. Family members called with cautious, distressed tones. Weren't the cards a bit harsh? And what about that possessed bunny, waving a knife at that poor little girl? Did we not worry about that cartoon inbred character, the one with an arm growing out if its forehead? Surely incest victims would find it offensive. Our cartoon serenity zone had been raided by the prudent police.
    That our contrived characters manifested in such a real way was a compliment to our cartoons, yet an insult to our character. But these sporadic judges had not been present at our conception and design meetings, where we agonized over detail and subtlety. On a political front, we aired questions as to whether or not Jesus, had he existed, would be offended that Marge had made a soufflé in his image. We pondered the myths of Vlad the Impaler, and if he had been dead long enough to make light of his atrocities, finally concluding that Vlad was notorious enough in history to exploit. On the artistic front, we argued over colors, dimensions, once having a two day debate as to the proper width of urine stream in the
Showered with Blessings card. And dozens of ideas were cast out for lack of appropriate humor, or for crossing the line and not walking it.
    Though requests from businesses assured us that our product was alluring, the polarity of opinions bled into this as well. A successful plumber requested a humorous advertisement to send to prospective and existing clients. With the client's cooperation, we designed a cartoon image of the plumber swooping in like a super hero to rescue a disgruntled yuppie with
toilet overflow. On behalf of Dare, we suggested adding the cliché of‘plumber's butt' to the cartoon, exhibiting a hint of butt-crack above the super hero's trousers. While the client loved the idea, his wife, and two of his employees did not.
    During the final meeting, the debate became as heated as a British Parliament session. While the business owner insisted that his clients would have a sense of humor, the opposing factions felt it would retract from the professionalism of the organization. First and foremost servants of the client, we neutralized after presenting idea. But it took on a life of its
own, spawning a three hour debate; to butt-crack, or not to butt-crack. The ultimate decision was to print the cartoon sans butt-crack, and reportedly the ad has brought in business as such. Ultimately it made no difference. The whimsical nature of the comic advertisement instilled tranquility and trust, taking us back to the disarming effect of the illustrated art form.
    Cartoons endure, and they have their place. They may not grace the walls of city art museums, but they grace society. People suspend the morning headlines to skip to the comic pages of the newspaper. They scour the greeting card aisle to find the card that will bring the biggest laugh at the birthday party. And with bright colors, exaggerated features and clever
captions, we can make them look at the reality of life with unobjectionable candor. And until the day when that anvil actually succeeds in crushing the Roadrunner into dinner for the Coyote, we know that it is safe.