Monday, October 13, 1997
‘South Park’ is an example of
TV parodying the real world
COLUMN: Cartoon’s satire rivals ‘The Simpsons’ and ‘Beavis and
Butt-head’
I visited a great place for the first time last weekend: South
Park. For those of you who have already discovered its poorly
animated genius, bear with me. If you haven’t, check out Comedy
Central on Wednesdays at 10.
"South Park" is home to a flock of cute little cartoon boys with
round Charlie Brown heads and the vocabulary of longshoremen.
There’s Stan, the proud owner of a homosexual dog; Cartman, a
mouthy fat kid; Kyle, who converts his friends to Judaism when he
reveals that Hanukkah equals eight days of presents; and Kenny, who
dies in every episode.
The show is every classically trained, mouse-ear-wearing
animator’s worst nightmare. The characters’ movements are jerky at
best and all their squeaky, profanity-laden voices sound
suspiciously similar.
So why do I have to turn the volume up on my TV set so I can
hear the show over my own laughter? Why, after viewing a mere three
episodes, have "South Park" quotes already become part of daily
dialogue with my friends while all I ever got out of "Pocahontas"
was a spiteful desire to never paint with the colors of the
wind?
The clear answer here is that "South Park" is aimed at an adult
audience. Disney and friends are certainly no "Barney" — how many
eight-year-olds were amused when the genie in "Aladdin"
impersonated Joan Rivers? But "South Park" and its counterparts
("The Simpsons," "Beavis and Butt-head") have refined a very
difficult-to-use comedic tool to brilliance: satire.
For example, in a recent episode, Stan discovers his dog is gay.
As they prepare for the upcoming pee-wee football game, Stan’s
buddies make fun of Sparky’s pink bandanna, so Stan tries giving
the pooch a series of instructions: "Sit. Shake. Don’t be gay."
Sparky runs away to "Big Gay Al’s Big Gay Animal Sanctuary," until
Stan (realizing he misses his best friend) embraces his dog’s
lifestyle choice.
Besides the obvious difficulties in getting a non-cartoon dog to
fill this Emmy-worthy role, there are many reasons such an episode
wouldn’t work in a live-action television show. The same reasons
are behind the episode of "The Simpsons" which features a bowling
team called "The Stereotypes" (Apu and Groundskeeper Willy are star
players). It’s why South Park’s sportscaster can rattle off a
string of cringe-inducing un-PC jokes over the loudspeaker.
Cartoons suspend reality while simultaneously hyperbolizing
society’s biggest flaws.
If a character has a human face, we expect him to act
"realistically," so even when he doesn’t, a certain part of us
believes this is reality. A generation of baby-boomers are probably
still suffering the repercussions of "Leave it to Beaver," but the
equally syrupy Flanders family is just funny. Really funny. We see
Ned’s big-haired offspring climb into bed singing "I got that joy,
joy, joy, joy down in my heart …" and we laugh because no one
really acts like that, right? But countless TV shows did and do try
to make us believe that families are a series of warm smiles and
zany adventures with happy endings.
But the cartoon genre of which I speak shatters traditional
half-hour plot structures as well as cultural myths. On one
oft-aired episode of "The Simpsons," everyone’s favorite
dysfunctional family abandons an unproductive counseling session.
They solve their problems by purchasing a TV instead. Compare this
to the episode of "The Brady Bunch" where those macho boys and
golden-haired girls finally come to the same compromise after
debating whether to buy a boat or a sewing machine (guess which
faction wanted which).
But both "The Simpsons" and "South Park" point out the sheer
randomness and oversimplicity of such endings by making their
endings even more random and simplistic.
Live-action television has attempted satire too, sometimes with
success. But after years of not-so-funny ratings, "Saturday Night
Live" added cheesy animated sketches to its format. Coincidence? I
think not. I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that many of TV’s
most hysterical cartoons could be drawn by seventh-graders.
I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say that humor and bad
animation are inversely proportional, but Beavis and Butt-head’s
big heads and large nostrils more closely resemble most of us as
teens than doe-eyed, pencil-waisted Princess Jasmine. And more
importantly, absurd simplistic animation enables us to step back
and see the absurdity of social phenomena that would otherwise be
blocked by a forest-for-the-trees effect.
Consider this: Little girls worship the seas Ariel swims in; we
all find Homer Simpson’s backwards oafishness kinda loveable; but
by the time we sink to the level of Beavis and Butt-head’s
wobbly-lined personae, we actively don’t want them to score with
the chicks.
This is not to say that traditional animation will be or should
be phased out, even for older audiences. Personally, I just can’t
wait for Simba to be king either. Yet the capabilities of computer
graphics and current comedic trends may build a fork in the cartoon
road.
Hercules, Anastasia, Feivel and pals will swaddle themselves in
lavish illustrations and rockin’ musical numbers — in the worst
cases, they’ll do this at the expense of good writing. Still,
they’ll capture the kids and find their way into toy departments
everywhere. And anime — with its sleekly campy figures — will
also rely on art and action-packed plots to secure an older flock
of viewers.
Stan, Bart and Beavis, though, will remain balloon-headed,
spiky-haired and zig-zag-browed, respectively. Worst-case scenario
here? They’re vulgar, occasionally offensive and only debatably
"art."
Yet they also represent a depth of comedy hardly explored by
your typical sitcom. And though the characters are no intellectuals
(Homer has been known to head-butt to get his way), the programs
themselves are nothing short of genius. (OK, so "Beavis and
Butt-head" relies a tad too heavily on the humor of "Don’t be a
dumbass, Beavis" to merit the genius label, but I stand my ground
on the other two).
If you look at the demographics of "South Park" and "Simpsons"
fans, you’ll see what I mean. College students rally around the one
TV set on the entire dorm floor — poised on bed rails and crammed
into corners — when it’s time for the staple of life that is the
7:30 re-run of "The Simpsons." These are not the Beavises of
society, or even the Pattys and Selmas. They’re educated young
people who are beginning to notice the ironies in their own
society, but can still appreciate a creative use of the F-word.
And by the way, Stan becomes the hero of the football game. They
don’t win, because that’s not this show’s style, but they beat the
spread and appease the gamblers in the crowd. Stan uses his moment
of stardom to give the people of South Park an uber-preachy talk on
the importance of loving everyone, even your gay dog. It’s fuckin’
hilarious.
Cheryl Klein