SCRAWL SPACE

You’ve probably come across “Jackys Diary,” the comic strip by Jack Mendelsohn (Age 32 1/2), contributor to Mad, Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, and the screenplay for the animated Yellow Submarine. Its conceit is that it’s drawn by a little kid, from a kid’s perspective, but the drawings (and observations) are more sophisticated than its naïve approach would lead you to believe.

It was prefigured more than half a century prior in “Master Charlie: Painter, Poet, Novelist and Teacher, With Numerous Examples of His Work” by C. Harrison and S.H. Hamer (the former responsible for these “picktures,” as Charlie calls them; the latter wrote “akummpennying teckst.”) This collection, published in 1899, was culled from its appearances in a magazine called “Little Folks.”

You’d swear that 20th Century Jacky found a time machine: he and his predecessor share the same heavy, chiseled line. What really gives “Charlie” and his game away is the self-confident ability to see depth, and to create rooms and streets you can walk around in. It’s a precocious kid who sees the picture plane as anything but flat or horizontal.

Mature hands are at work in both strips. But they both bring to mind those first uninhibited steps in drawing: looseleaf, Bic ballpoints, and military campaigns drawn to the accompaniment of self-made sound effects.

CLEVELAND ROCKS

You may be aware of an old Second City improv dictum, one that Stephen Colbert has been known to quote from time to time, that suggests one should “play at the top of your intelligence.” In “The Second City Unscripted: Revolution and Revelation at the World-Famous Comedy Theater," its author Mike Thomas suggests that this was “to keep lowbrow laughs at bay.” Yes, the audience responds to cheap shots, but that’s no reason to indulge them. Instead, don’t be afraid of an obscure reference. Severn Darden can name a character after Walter von der Vogelweide, a Second City show during the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago can be titled “A Plague on Both Your Houses.” Don’t condescend, and the audience will respect the appeal to its better instincts.

These panels from “The Educated Woman in Cartoon and Caption”, published in 1960, brought to mind that Second City from the same period: bright beyond belief, yet a bit rueful and resigned. Funny, with a bit of melancholy, but one that’s only as severe as the sniffles, the kind of troubles you take to an analyst. Anne Cleveland, and her collaborator Jean Anderson, certainly employed their Vassar educations to create these. They’re as thick with literary references as the O.E.D. The ink line is just as thickly applied but incisively descriptive.











For archaeologists, the drawings document the period well: cocktail dresses, cocktail shakers, cocktail glasses, harlequin glasses, pipes, pearls, pumps, petticoats…the sort of sixties details that make “Mad Men” fans’ hearts beat faster.

Those details enhance the characterizations and make the rooms they inhabit places I'd like to linger and continue to eavesdrop. I'm in no hurry to turn the page for the next gag. I enjoy being in the company of bright people: maybe they'll say something else that's funny. Some of these are well-rounded enough for a one-act play, something Feifferesque, perhaps, or a Nichols and May bit.

You’ll think I’m making this last one up.



Cleveland died in 2009. Tom Spurgeon’s impressive memoriam and summary of her career at his website mentions that she and Jean Anderson had, as a result of the success of the 1940’s cartoon collections on Vassar, got to see their work in Life magazine in its third year of publication. In the June 6, 1938 issue, you can see two full pages of cartoons about their alma mater "with its hair down," preserved at the Google books cache of the magazine. That issue, cover-blurbed "Youth Problem: 1938," is worth checking out in its entirety. You'll enjoy finding out that "Youth's favorite pastime is reading the 'funnies,'" "Youth's favorite hang-out is the corner drugstore," as well as "Youth gets about in jalopies." While quite a lot in the magazine reinforces the Archie Andrews archetype, other photo essays surprisingly defy it.

Life didn't pick the most cerebral specimens of the Cleveland/Anderson canon, but it wouldn't be the first time Ivy League graduates were overqualified for a position.

The cartoons are copyright (c) 1960 Anne Cleveland and Jean Anderson.

Postscript: When I was at the Toronto Fan Expo last August, the Second City outpost advertised its latest offering, entitled “Show Us Your Tweets.” Yes, it’s the top of your intelligence, but apparently, sometimes you’re encouraged to take your top off.