The Timelessness and Agelessness of the Cartoon Genre
When I was younger, I was obsessed with cartoons of all kinds. I distinctly remember coming home from school in the first grade and sitting down in front of the TV with my bowl of tuna salad and crackers. PBS was my station of choice back then, and I would sit at the table as episodes of Clifford the Big Red Dog filled the screen in front of me. But Clifford was merely a prelude to the show I loved most of all: Dragon Tales. To have watched the show so long ago, I still remember a lot of strange details about it. Max and Emma are two siblings who have a special, rainbow stone that allows them to be transported to a world of dragons. Inside that world, they help solve problems and restore harmony to the magical community. Two dragons in particular, Zak and Wheezie, were always my favorites because, beyond being loud and boisterous like I was, they were also conjoined twins, a concept which fascinated me.
Sometimes, when I’m sitting bored in class or hearing the tinny music of a passing ice cream truck, I remember the upbeat cadence of the Dragon Tales theme song. I used to always sing it through mouthfuls of tuna: “Dragon Tales, Dragon Tales, it’s almost time for dragon tales. Come along, take my hand, let’s all go to Dragon Land!” For me, the half-hour episodes truly were magical. I remember being captivated by the colors and sparkles, by the complex and recurrent personalities, and by the concept of dragons in general.
When I watched this opening scene back after researching for this discourse, I was surprised to see that the animation is actually pretty simplistic compared to the depth provided by modern cartoons. The colors almost seem like watercolors, losing sharpness in some places and blending into the colors around them. In many ways, this is an adequate metaphor for growing up--the things I once thought lively have become dull in retrospect, but the joy they brought me remains veiled in memory. So, although I now see Dragon Tales a bit differently when viewed through adult eyes, I still appreciate the world of imagination it introduced me to.
I feel the same way about the other cartoons I enjoyed as a kid: Cat Dog, Cow and Chicken, Dexter’s Laboratory, PB&J Otter, Johnny Bravo, Doug, Rocket Power, The Fairly Odd Parents, and too many others to list. In the video below, short segments from the opening sequences of a lot of these cartoons appear. When I watch them back, I always feel a sense of chora welling up inside me. There’s a nostalgia attached to the songs and familiar images because I spent so much time engaging with them as a child. In fact, I’m amazed by how many of these cartoons I remember. I’ve seen at least a few episodes from each of the shows included in the video, and several episodes (if not all episodes) from most.
One of the strangest things about cartoons is the way they draw viewers in and the audiences they serve. What is it about an artificial, exaggerated image on a flat surface that commands so much attention? And why do we associate these types of images with children? Perhaps that second question is even more interesting. We rarely show children realistic shows including in-the-flesh actors, preferring instead to show them cartoons. Additionally, when children mature into adults, there comes a time when we transition them from cartoons to more “realistic” media. Society screams for us to “keep our kids young” by censoring what they watch, but tells older children at the same time that they are “far too old for cartoons.”
Perhaps one reason for the association of children with cartoons is the fact that we want to feed their imaginations and encourage them to connect with a more abstract world. Cartoons, we think, do this job best. In other words, animated series seem like the stuff of childhood simply because they require a certain suspension of disbelief that many adults, unfortunately, are too rational to possess once they mature. We assume that children will and should enjoy colorful images with cheesy music, but also expect that there is a time to put imagination away (namely, once the responsibilities of the “real world” set in.)
This association of cartoons with juvenile imagination might also go back to Scott McCloud’s outline of “closure” in which cartoons expect us to fill in the details left in the spaces between their multiple abstract images. To McCloud, cartoons should be simple to allow for higher degrees of closure and self-identification with characters. Cartoons avoid over-complications and too many nuances. However, their simplicity does not negate the inclusion of complex themes. On the contrary, because cartoons are not as concerned with set, wardrobe, side-plots, and other details characteristic of other television genres, I would argue that their focus remains impressively on the lessons included within each episode.
In high school, to the surprise of many of my friends, I enjoyed watching shows like Handy Manny and The Higglytown Heroes. I specifically remember an awkward lunchroom conversation in which an acquaintance tried to defend my television choices by saying “I know what you mean about watching all those shows, Rachel; I have younger siblings too. Cartoons aren’t totally awful.” This defense would have been really appreciated, had I actually had younger siblings. But I wasn’t viewing these shows as a way to bond with five-year-old brothers or sisters. I genuinely enjoyed watching them in the mornings before I had to enter the harsh reality of high school. To me, few things were more beautiful than seeing Manny’s genuine kindness and willingness to help or witnessing a nesting doll’s struggle to find his or her voice as a hero. It probably sounds like I’m saying these praises in jest, but I assure you that I’m not. I’ve always valued the simplicity of cartoons because they bring me back to a place of innocence, a place where kindness provides the rule.
I also enjoy cartoons for their historic origins, and for the irony that a medium now associated almost exclusively with children was originally used to cover extremely mature topics. During the Second World War, for example, Disney created several anti-Nazi propaganda films using its classic cartoon characters.
In the above cartoon, we see Donald as a member of the army, deploying in enemy territory and suffering in the midst of heavy gunfire. Though rife with moments of humor, this cartoon carries strong messages about the nature of WW2 and our relationship to “the enemy.” Additionally, it has some extremely racist elements from which most parents today would shield their children.
I’ve also noticed a tendency to create a separation between types of illustrated and animated media linguistically as a means of rationalizing certain age groups’ draw to it. For instance, “cartoons” are different from “animated films” and “comics” are different from “graphic narratives.” Though all of these forms use abstract images of some kind and seem very similar, we have created new terminology to make our entertainment choices seem more acceptable. Even today, in a world in which so many different forms of media are acceptable, many individuals try to shield themselves from judgment by employing hedging statements like “I enjoy political cartoons,” “I’m fascinated by graphic narratives,” or “Animated series compel me.” Rarely will an adult proudly admit that he or she is into cartoons or comics (though the latter seems less “geeky” to claim.)
However, there are artsy folk across the globe seeking to change this mindset and reclaim cartoons as a viable art form for all ages and themes. One of my favorite films of all time, Waltz with Bashir, is composed in an animated, comic-style format that only enhances its narration of the war in Lebanon. When I watched the film for the first time, I was in the basement of Willy T. in a closet-like private viewing room. By the time the ending credits began to roll, I was sobbing in little ball, gasping for air and hoping no one would walk by the door and think I was crazy. Against my expectations, director Ari Folman twisted my stereotyped perceptions of cartoons into something that was extremely dark and powerful.
Seeing Waltz revolutionized the way I viewed animated works, and gave me the courage to speak out more about my love of cartoons and animation as a mode of storytelling. I’m in the minority who prefers animated works to films/shows with real actors, and I’m now more okay with that stance than ever before. There is a power inherent to cartoons that grabbed me when I was younger and still seizes me today.
When I think about why I love cartoons so much, the ideas come back to one central point: in stripping away the frivolity and distractions that accompany realistic works, animated art is able to focus more on the story at hand. When I see a cartoon, I’m not distracted by the way a character is smiling or the fly-away hair that was by their face in the first frame but not in the second. I don’t really care about the depth of the set or trying to orient myself in this strange, highly-realistic world. With a cartoon, I am free to relax and absorb the details as I see them. The story floats to me, then stays firmly planted in my mind. As a writer, I’ve always been extremely image driven, and a lot of that tendency, I know, stems from my early exposure to cartoons. No matter how old I get, there is a timelessness to them that always manages to find its way back to me.
C.S. Lewis once said: “Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” My only hope as I grow older is that I always grow closer to the stuff of childhood that first sparked my fascination with language, writing and, above all, stories. In America, we’re always so eager to grow up; fortunately, I realized early on that there are some art forms for which age has no limit.
