Krazy Kat: A Cartoon Called Life: Difference between revisions
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You may or may not have heard of Krazy Kat, but odds are heavy that you're a fan of someone or something that was inspired or enamored by it. Chuck Jones of Looney Tunes fame, Cyndi Lauper, the film ''Pulp Fiction'', Bill Watterson of Calvin and Hobbes, Charles M. Schulz, and Michael Stipe from the rock band R.E.M. all come to mind. This isn't accidental. There's something about the surreal American southwestern atmosphere—that abandoned, barren, hopeless desert—the existentialist and Dadaistic philosophy, and the comedically sadistic writing that no one with an honest sense of humor can say no to. In these highly politically correct times it's become more and more difficult to find fans, but such is life. Those who are buffs for comic strip history, or just plain up recognize that cartoon sadism is not an advocate for real life brutality, appreciate it and will likely continue to do so as long as historical landmarks are archived and ritualistically celebrated.
Well, that is to
To get to the short of it, it later became a cartoon, in 1962. There were animated shorts prior to it, in an era closer to the comic strip's historically renowned newspaper run. I say later because the comic strip dates back to 1913. Odds are that you consider the 1960s to be a very, very long time ago, and no one can blame you, but that approximately 50-year gap between initial printing and television debut of 50 episodes by King Features is nearly as long as the time that passed since the cartoon's debut and the time that I am writing this. How did Krazy Kat retain such long-term popularity? After all, those who are inspired by famous works have a tendency to usurp their predecessors. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it can, but it usually just makes people forget.
And how could I forget to tell you why it is sadistic? I would argue masochistic, too. You see, Krazy Kat stars an anthropomorphic cat and mouse duo named Krazy and Ignatz. You might think of something cute like Mickey Mouse (as you now know him—he was actually a rather rotten character in the ''Steamboat Willy'' days), or hopelessly violent like ''Tom and Jerry'', but the truth lays somewhere in the middle. The titular character, Krazy Kat, is so labeled by the peculiar rodent who rejects her romantic courtings in favor
pelting her in the head with bricks. Or him with bricks. Or it. Really, the answer is it. Strip creator George Herriman confirmed that Krazy was sexless, describing it as "something like a sprite, an elf. They have no sex. So that Kat can't be a he or a she. The Kat's a spirit—a pixie—free to butt into anything." During the final five years of the series, Ignatz and Krazy become friends of sorts in collaboration against a police dog named Officer Bull Pupp, but he never truly embraces Krazy in a romantic sensibility.
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"Oh, Ignatz! You are my starlight, my moonshine, my hopes and dreams in a beautiful little mousy bundle!", practically sing-sang Krazy, clasping her hands in blissful ignorance while hearts swirled around her head.
"I don't know about starlight, but I know how to make you see the light of stars!", predictably retorted the sociopathic little mouse, tossing a brick at a 45-degree angle smack dab into Krazy's cartoon cranium. As per usual, the hearts became cartoon stars—the sort you see when a character gets hit or is otherwise hurt, symbolizing a mild concussion in as innocuous a manner as possible. "So
Just then, I heard the sound of what must have been a large truck or similar roaring away from my house and a loud slamming, like metal scraping against concrete by magnified a dozenfold or more. This was before kids were warned to never answer the door due to stranger danger, so curiosity got the best of me and I got up from the television set. Outside was a rather gruff man who I barely knew, and
All I remember is the sight of my dear aunt'
A single brick. Oh, it was drenched in vital fluids, organ matter, you know the rest. But all that. From a single brick? Curious how that took priority over my grief. I put on a pair of leather gloves in case the police asked me some questions and wanted to dust for fingerprints. I ended up burying it in my backyard. I'd do it again, really. He told me to.
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