Doonesbury Encounters: Howard Cruse in Heavy Metal, April 1983

 

Alongside writing about the history of Doonesbury and posts about Trudeau’s ongoing work, I’ll also write about Doonesbury’s appearances in other media, starting with this look at Howard Cruses’s review of a Doonesbury collection that ran in Heavy Metal’s April, 1983 issue.

 

Recently, my rereading of Doonesbury intersected with another long-term comics reading project I’m doing, namely reading the full run of Heavy Metal magazine. Heavy Metal debuted in 1977 as an English-language spin-off from the French comics magazine Metal Hurlant, and played a key role in exposing American audiences to the work of European comics artists such as Moebius, Crepax, and Phillipe Druillet. While much of the magazine’s content can rightly be strongly criticized for its extremely limited vision of women as little more than objects of male sexual desire (a question that was regularly debated in the letters column from very early on), the magazine is packed with amazing – and historically important – comics art. When I was in tenth grade and devouring every Doonesbury book I could get my hands on, Heavy Metal ran an awesome little review of one of those books.

In the early 1980s, Howard Cruse, the creator of Wendel and Stuck Rubber Baby, wrote some short strips for HM. In April 1983, HM featured Cruse’s short graphic review of the Doonesbury collection Unfortunately, She Was Also Wired for Sound, which, among other episodes, chronicles Mike Doonesbury’s Uncle Henry’s brush with the law, Dick Davenport’s attempts to protest Reagan-era Secretary of the Interior James Watt’s anti-environmental policies. Cruses’s strip is great example of how comics can do so mush in a small space: in eight short panels, Cruse balances a positive review, a political contextualization of Trudeau’s work, a response to some critiques of Trudeau’s work, and some great humour at the expense of everyone’s favourite scapegoat, Mike Doonesbury.

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“Cruse Reviews,” Howard Cruse, Heavy Metal, April 1983. 

Cruse believed that Doonesbury, then in its thirteenth year, continued to provide insightful commentary on its times. Trudeau had recently begun a nearly two-year-long hiatus from writing and drawing Doonesbury (an unprecedented move for a mass-market comics artist), but Cruse sees no sign of burnout in Trudeau’s latest collection: waving his hands, he enthusiastically emphasizes GBT’s “humane but skeptical sensibility” which, during the Reagan era, captured how the “pathologically misguided bozos” acted like they were “shilling for a cake sale” and evoking a “jargon of decency” while leading a nation through crisies of a fundamentally existential nature, including a heightened Cold War and mounting environmental catastrophes. Cruse, like Trudeau, understood that the 1980s were a deeply cynical time, when an avuncular president sold America on the notion that a new day was dawning after a decade-and-a-half of moral decay while simultaneously hollowing out many of the protections that people had fought for over the previous two decades. One only has to look at current Environmental Protection Agency director’s Scott Pruitt’s disdain for the organization that he leads to see Reagan’s wicked vision for America’s future playing itself out.

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James Watt, environmental exttremist and a model for current American environmental policy. Doonesbury, 5 September 1981. 

As somebody who is only beginning to learn about the unique visual language of comics in an informed and analytic way, I get a lot out of reading comics creators’ analysis of other artists’ work. Cruse briefly discusses some of the technical aspects of Trudeau’s style, applauding his skills and responding to a persistent critique of GBT’s work. Trudeau’s relatively static style in Seventies and Eighties led to accusations that he was simply photocopying the same drawing over and over again; Cruse dismisses these by pointing to the subtleties – bits of body language, visual gags – that were a hallmark of Trudeau’s work in the late 70s and early 80s. The review ends with an appreciation of GBT’s drafting skills, as Cruse faithfully reproduces GBT’s fine lettering (still done by hand in those days), noting that he would never be able to work in a similar style without ending up “a bunch of loose jabber” confusing the panel.

What makes Cruses’s review truly noteworthy is that it is presented as a dialogue between himself and Mike Doonesbury. Cruse portrays himself as an enthusiastic fanboy meeting his favourite celebrity, gushing and then manically raving as the object of his affection grows increasingly uneasy and annoyed. But in true Doonesbury style, Cruse reminds us of Mike’s initial role in the strip – to be the butt of jokes about his incompetence and unlikeability. Mike “[doesn’t] get to be funny at all,” but still “draws a salary.”

This review was a fun thing to stumble across; like a lot of people part of one fandom or another, I’m a sucker for a crossover. More importantly, it showed me how a masterful comics artist like Cruse can convey a lot of information and emotion in a confined space. In less than half a page, these eight panels not only tell readers what Cruse wants them to know about Trudeau’s work, they show us just how geeked Cruse was about his subject – and if you haven’t figured it out yet, his excitement about and love for Doonesbury is something I share.

A Screaming Herd of Females: Women and Misogyny in the Early Doonesbury Strips.

Until I got to graduate school, I had learned more about modern feminism from reading Doonesbury than from anywhere else.

This may be an exaggeration, but there’s a truth behind it: the social and political dimensions of post-World War Two feminism are a central thematic element in GBT’s work, and he has long made it a point to bring feminist messages to the funny pages by featuring strong, independent female characters and using their voices to advocate for policies that support women. Doonesbury’s cast is male-centred, built around what I think of as a “Core Four” of Mike, B.D., Mark Slackmeyer and Zonker. Notwithstanding that, characters like Joanie Caucus, Ginny Slade, Lacey Davenport, Ellie, Honey Huan, Kim Rosenthal-Doonesbury, and Alex Doonesbury reveal Trudeau’s dedication to making smart, independent, competent and complex women a key part of his work. Even Boopsie, written for decades as a stereotypical “bimbo,” was shown to be smarter, more resourceful and wiser than she had previously been portrayed when faced with the challenge of B.D. losing his leg in Iraq. Beyond populating his strip with a diverse cast of impressive women, Trudeau has consistently pointed out how the deck is stacked against women and put their struggles against sexism in the foreground. Doonesbury has been a vehicle for exploring issues facing women including sexism in the classroom (from kindergarten through Berkeley law school), access to abortion, pay inequality, sexualization, and widowhood.

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Nichole, Doonesbury’s first feminist character.

But before I get too far into Doonesbury’s feminist dimensions, I have to deal with an uncomfortable truth: in the first year of Doonesbury’s run, Trudeau did not embrace the feminist outlook that defines much of the strip, but instead reproduced the misogyny that was common in many of the underground comix, and youth culture of the 1960s and 1970s more generally.

In my last post, I wrote that Doonesbury brought some of the style and energy of underground comix, themselves an expression of the youth cultural/political rebellion of the 1960s and 70s, to the mainstream American newspaper comics page. One element of that movement was a tendency to portray women not as fully-developed human beings, but as potential targets of sexual conquest. As Margaret Galvan writes, a “whole set of misogynist underground comics [featured] sexually attractive women drawn for the purposes of objectification in sexual situations.” Beyond that, comix artists often portrayed women as targets of violence. As comics creator and herstorian Trina Robbins notes, it was “almost de rigeur for male underground cartoonists to include violence against women in their comix, and to portray this violence as humour.” [1.]

Reading the first year of Doonesbury, we can see how Trudeau drew on this dimension of the underground comix to bring a harder edge to a tendency in newspaper comics, seen in characters such as Beetle Bailey’s Miss Buxley or B.C.’s Cute Chick and Fat Broad, to portray women as objects of desire and/or ridicule. Throughout Doonesbury’s first year, we encounter strips that are impossible to reconcile with the idea of Trudeau as a feminist voice in the funny pages; overwhelmingly, the women we meet are presented as potential sexual conquests or as objects of derision because they are too ugly or stupid to count as such.

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Bull Tales, date unknown.

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Doonesbury, 16 January 1971. Some things don’t change, some things do.

A few examples: In a pair of strips from January 1971, a female college applicant embodies a middle-aged man’s sexual fantasy about liberated co-eds. (In the original Bull Tales version of the strip, things are even more risque; she walks into the office wearing nothing but the beret). These strips are part of a consistent thread in the early Doonesbury, as Trudeau repeatedly portrays relationships between men and women as a competition in which the goal is for the man to “score.” This is a situation that, for Mike, required professional help in the person of Sam Smooth, a precursor to the “pick-up artists” of our times. B.D., of course, as quarterback of the football team, needed no such help, having his own “screaming herd of females.

The women Mike and B.D. pursued were quite often nameless and always devoid of any defining characteristic besides their sexuality. The only thing we know about one of Mike’s girlfriend’s is that she is a “nice-looking chick.Once successful, GBT’s male characters show little interest in forming any lasting attachment to these women, preferring to “recycle” them when things get stale.

When women aren’t desirable, their role is to show us how that lack of desirability marks men as failures and losers. The third strip introduces a running gag: Mike is a laughing-stock because he dates unattractive women. One strip from December 1970 shows Mike being set up with a woman who is portrayed as more animal than human, maybe not the kind of violence that Robbins was referring to, but a dehumanizing and thus rhetorically violent move on Trudeau’s part.

Feminism came to Doonesbury in March 1971, not as the core value, but as an emasculating threat that needed to be ridiculed. Mike is on a date with a woman whose dialog is limited to shouting caricatures of feminist slogans. Note that she is drawn differently from the other women who had thus far appeared in the strip: she has the eyes that in Doonesbury’s visual language signify an alert and reasoning adult (Rounded eyes signify, depending on the context, being high, shock, childhood innocence, or cluelessness and stupidity; GBT usually drew women with these.). But her sharp eyes are not a sign that she has something to say that is worth listening to; rather, they warn us that she is a threat to masculinityalbeit one that is relatively easily disarmed with a little bullshit Mike probably picked up from Sam Smooth.

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Doonesbury meets feminism for the first time, 4 March 1971.

If that episode set readers up to expect the stereotype of the man-hating militant feminist to be a recurring theme, a strip from a week later featuring Mike and campus radical Mark Slackmeyer watching a televised interview with Gloria Steinem foreshadowed a shift in how Trudeau would deal with feminism. Steinem calls for an end to “sexual oppression” (a term I’m willing to bet had never appeared in the comics pages before then), and Mark notes that Steinem is “[telling] it like it ought to be.” Mike replies, with a shit-eating grin, that she has “nice legs.” To me, this feels different from other cracks Trudeau’s characters had made about women. Steinem’s words read as more reasoned and reasonable than the gross simplifications of the week before; I see the joke here not as lying in Mike’s objectification of a woman, but in Mark’s amazement at and disgust in this display of cluelessness on his friend’s part.

Mark’s disapproving glare hints at the emergence of a completely different handling of female characters that took root with the appearance of Nichole on 29 September 1971. Nichole’s position as a feminist icon in Doonesbury eventually became overshadowed by the centrality of Joanie Caucus’s story in the overall narrative arc, but she was the first character that confronted the sexist attitudes shared by many of the male cast members. If Mike’s date from the week before was crude caricature of feminism, Nichole is the real deal; she is smart (and knows it!), self-assured, and more than willing to call out male characters for not thinking of or treating women as their equals – or betters. From this point, GBT puts the joke on characters like Mike who are too slow to understand that their frat-boy attitudes are no longer relevant to Doonesbury’s emerging feminist ethos.

Most of the strips I’ve written about here were carryovers from Bull Tales, the Yale student newspaper strip that was an incubator for Doonesbury. As much as they reveal the energy and desire to break boundaries that defined alternative comics/comix of the day, they also reflect the hatred that was, and remains, a part of comics/comix culture (see the criticism being levelled at Howard Chaykin’s The Divided States of Hysteria for just a taste of the issue.) Moreover, seeing as most of the strips mentioned here originally ran in Trudeau’s Yale newspaper strip, we have to see these early strips as reflecting the deep-seated misogyny that remains a part of campus culture.

As we move through Doonesbury’s history, we’ll see that in the weeks, months and years following Nichole’s debut, Trudeau did important work in bringing feminist characters and ideas to newspaper comics; as I learn more about that history, I will also be learning and writing about female comics creators and how they worked to challenge the boy’s club mentality of the funny pages. That said, the first year of Trudeau’s run reminds us that the rebellious era that GBT documented was both progressive AND deeply rooted in, and reproduced, profound anti-woman sentiment. That’s something that historians of the era still need to fully come to terms with.

 

Character Tracker:

First appearances mentioned in this post: Nichole, 29 September 1971.

[1.] Margaret Galvan, “Feminism Underground: The Comics Rhetoric of Lee Marrs and Roberta Gregory,” Women’s Studies Quarterly 43, no. 3/4 (2015): 203–22.

October-December 1970: “Dispatches from the Front”

I’ve been a huge Doonesbury fan since sometime in the early 1980s. A few weeks ago I had the idea to re-read the entirety of the strip’s run 47 year run and to use the exercise as a way to learn more about comics. The plan is to read Doonesbury alongside comics scholarship and criticism so I can indulge myself in a strip that I have loved since I was about twelve years old while learning about the history of comics and the theory behind how they “work” – topics I’ve always been curious about, but never really pursued.

Then, I decided I should write about it. I’ve never written about comics before, and I’ll be learning as we go along. Adjust your expectations accordingly.

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Doonesbury, 26 October, 1970. Things Garry Trudeau apparently couldn’t draw in 1970: mouths, feet, hands.

Garry B. Trudeau’s Doonesbury made its debut on 26 October, 1970. Most of the strip’s first few months consisted of jokes about campus life as experienced by two college roommates who were selected by a computer system for ideal compatibility but who have nothing in common: B.D., the quarterback of the football team (named after Yale QB Brian Dowling) and Michael J. Doonesbury, a clueless nerd who sees himself – all evidence to the contrary – as an irresistible chick magnet. Most of the early strips focused on the everyday humour of college student and athlete life. There are some great football jokes, bits about Mike’s dating failures, and “Odd Couple” gags about Mike and B.D.’s slowly-developing friendship .

Yet even when exploring these fairly standard themes, Doonesbury was different from anything else appearing on mainstream American comics pages in 1970. For this first post, I want to focus less on themes that Trudeau was beginning to explore and more on how his style announced a generational challenge to the orthodoxy of the comics page, a medium that was a key part of mass culture in twentieth-century America. While maintaining the basic structure of the comic strip medium – images and text arranged in sequential panels building up to a punch line – what Trudeau rendered within those panels eschewed accepted aesthetic values in favour of a roughly-drawn scrawl that might have appeared like a middle-finger salute to the form’s middle-class, middle-American ethos.

Trudeau says his early work “… didn’t fit anyone’s idea of what a mainstream comic strip should look like. It was written on the fly, crudely executed, and ignored pretty much every convention of the craft.” Sharp-eyed readers in 1970 may have noticed a hint of the work of cartoonist/illustrator Jules Pfeiffer in Trudeau’s drawing, but readers tuned into changes in the comics medium would have no doubt seen the first Doonesbury strips as following in the footsteps of underground comix artists like Robert Crumb and Gilbert Shelton or the strips in their own campus newspapers. Doonesbury was, in effect, one of those campus newspaper comics: Trudeau got the Doonesbury gig on the strength of Bull Tales, a comic strip he had been drawing for the Yale Daily News beginning in 1968, and many of the first Doonesbury strips were redrawn versions of Bull Tales strips.

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Jules Pfeiffer, The Phantom Tollbooth. Though he draws with a much finer line, the influence on GBT is easy to spot.

I’m currently about halfway through Douglas Wolk’s Reading Comics: A History of Graphic Novels and What They Mean, a history and critical evaluation of what Wolk sees as our contemporary “Golden Age” of comic arts. His brief analysis of the underground comix of the sixties and seventies helped me understand Trudeau’s initial rough drawing style in a broader context in three different ways. First, Wolk argues, comix artists strove to be “as transgressive as possible.” Beyond that, Wolk argues that by embracing a style that was “deliberately ugly” comix artists, instead of giving the audience to a chance to participate in a shared sense of joy rooted in perceiving something beautiful, instead prompted in readers a sense of alienation by having them enjoy something that was repulsive, or that at least failed to meet commonly-shared aesthetic standards, thus forcing the individual reader to see herself as an outsider. As Wolk puts it, “the meta-pleasure of enjoying experiences that would repel most people is, effectively, the experience of being a bohemian or counterculturalist.” Finally, Wolk points out, comix artists, reflecting a culture grounded in an ethos of “do your thing,” put much more emphasis on “the quirks of their drawing style” than their predecessors had, seeing the comics they drew as “as artifacts of their artistic personae and creations of their hand, rather than as specific pieces they happened to have made.” 

While acknowledging that there are important differences between underground comix and mainstream comic strips, I find Wolk’s analysis useful for understanding the early Doonesbury and its place in the history of the comics page. Doonesbury might not seem terribly transgressive when compared to, say, Zap Comics, but if we focus on Wolk’s use of the words “as possible,” and limit ourselves to the what was possible while working in the context of daily newspaper funny papers, there’s no doubt that Trudeau’s style and subject matter pushed boundaries that Charles Schultz or Mort Walker never came close to approaching. Furthermore, young readers, by choosing to read Doonesbury first when opening up the comics page instead of like Blondie or Hi and Lois were in a small, but every-day manner, underlining the generational divide being experienced in many American households and reminding themselves how out-of-touch with the new culture their parents were. And, no doubt that Trudeau’s refusal to adapt his style to the conventions of the medium, and his continued success while doing so not only reflected his individuality, it allowed him to develop his artistic persona in a distinct way over the following years and decades.FabulousFurryFreakBrothers

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Gilbert Shelton’s Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, and Robert Crumb’s Mr. Natural: two of the most enduring bits of the underground comix movement. Trudeau found a way to bring some of this craziness to the mainstream funny pages.

What set Doonesbury apart from virtually every other mass-market comic strip in 1970 was that it roots were firmly planted in the youth and campus culture of the time. Like Walt Kelly’s Pogo before it, Doonesbury brought pointed political and cultural satire to the funny pages. What was different about Doonesbury, however, was that its style, as much as its content, reflected contemporary values of youth rebellion. Trudeau jokingly referred to the “urgent scrawl” that defined his early strips as evidence that he was producing “cartoon vérité.” [1] Trudeau sees his early work as not merely a commentary on its times, but a product of them: “If Doonesbury looked like it had been created in a stoned frenzy,” he maintains, “then that was evidence of its authenticity. The strips were dispatches from the front.” Trudeau, after all, was part of the generation he was writing about, a generation, he notes, that had “effectively hijacked the culture” by the time of Doonesbury’s debut. Doonesbury brought this cultural hijacking to the comics page. Until then the butt of jokes about long-haired, dirty layabouts in the strips of their parents’ generation, the hippies and the peace freaks seized a patch of turf on the funny pages and made it their own. On that piece of turf, Trudeau became a spokesperson for the Boomers and a critical chronicler of his generation and the generations that succeeded them.

In the next few posts I will focus on how a comic that came into the world as a gag-a-day strip about college kids who play football, goof around and try to get laid became one of the most consistently insightful bodies of satire in any genre in American history by looking at how Trudeau began to introduce some of the themes – politics, war, racism, feminism, inter-generational and intra-generational conflict, and others – that he would focus on for the next five decades.

Character Tracker:

In each of these posts, I’ll be tracking new characters’ first appearances as we meet them.

Mike Doonesbury; B.D.: October 26, 1970

1: All quotes are taken from Brian Walker’s essential study of Trudeau and his work, Doonesbury and the Art of G.B. Trudeau

Reading Doonesbury

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Doonesbury, 26 October, 1970: Mike and B.D. meet for the first time.

I’ve been reading G.B. Trudeau’s Doonesbury since I was in eighth grade; I’m turning fifty this year. Doonesbury is, aside from my family, the thing that has been a consistent part of my life longer than anything else. I’ve grown up, and grown older, learning about American politics, society and culture through the eyes of Mike Doonesbury, Joanie Caucus, Zonker Harris, Mark Slackmeyer, and B.D.

I recently decided to re-read Doonesbury from its first published strip. A few days into reading, I realised that I had ideas about the strip and what it had to say about the world that I wanted to explore; hence, this blog.

My plan is to offer a running commentary on Doonesbury as it unfolded and write about the strip’s development and what it had to say (and continues to say) about its times.  Alongside individual strips and arcs, I’ll be zooming out to see how Trudeau’s take on particular themes evolved over the years. What sets Trudeau’s work apart from every other English-language mass-market comic strip is how he has remained insightful and relevant for nearly half a century. Most comic strip creators have a fairly limited repertoire and end up repeating themselves over the years; Charles Schultz was still writing Citizen Cane/Rosebud gags in the 1980s. Trudeau’s work has always been very well tuned to its times, and while he may be sometimes be guilty of the kind of anti-Millennial bashing that is increasingly common in our times and among his own Boomer generation, he’s largely managed to stay in tune with changing social and cultural dynamics and able to address new ideas and practices on their own terms.

I also hope to offer critical commentary on any Doonesbury scholarship I run into as I set out to learn more about the strip, and to also write about comics theory more generally. While I’ve been reading comics my whole life, I’ve never really studied their history and how they work; I’m hoping this project will force me to learn more about something that has been an important touchstone for so long.

Thanks for stopping by.