Category Archives: Seal Barks

Friday Afternoon Guest Post: Cartoonists Under the Microscope

Martin Schneider, our trusty Squib Reporter, writes:
Peter Carlson of The Washington Post looks at the selection process for New Yorker cartoons. (I should have remembered Emily’s mention of it; in any case, Kottke jogged my memory.) Like everything else about The New Yorker, it seems to boil down to an emphasis on quality while policing the boundaries of good taste.

New Yorker
cartoons stand for something in a way that not even the magazine itself always does. Speaking only of public perception here, I think they stand for a certain kind of ineffable gnomic brilliance—that’s if you like them. If you don’t, they’re all incomprehensible non-jokes in which people who look too much like Dick Cavett make non-quips about Connecticut—hey, we’ve all been there. I think somehow Richard Cline got singled out as representing the insularity of the magazine’s cartoon culture, which is unfair both to Cline and the rest of the diverse cartoonists (think of Glen Baxter, for one).
Cartoonists mentioned: Roz Chast, Matthew Diffee, Bruce Eric Kaplan (BEK), Sam Gross—indeed, we “see” the editors evaluate a new one of Chast’s. The piece even comes with a cartoon by Mankoff of the selection process! Surely a first. We may need to hold a caption contest or call to arms the Radosh street team.

San Francisco Event: Rejection Collection Show at the Cartoon Art Museum

From the SF Chronicle:

A current exhibition at the Cartoon Art Museum in San Francisco affirms that something good can, indeed, come from rejection. “The Rejection Collection: Not in the New Yorker Cartoons,” which runs through mid-March, features 30 single-panel cartoons that got no bites when submitted to the magazine.
 
A cartoon graveyard of sorts, the exhibition showcases those cast-aside gems that “never see the light of day,” says Matthew Diffee, 36, the show’s curator and a prolific contributor to the magazine.

For each weekly issue, the New Yorker receives at least 500 cartoons but can accept only about 20. That means every year, thousands of cartoons are cast aside, many deemed too risque, silly or just plain weird for a mainstream publication. Read on.

Cartoonist Spotlight: Mick Stevens

Earlier this week, Emdashes featured an interview with Carl Gable, the amazing three-time winner of the New Yorker cartoon caption contest. Of course, the caption would be nonsensical, in fact, bonkers, without the funny drawing that inspired it. It’s by Mick Stevens, a regular at the magazine, and he’s answered a few of my characteristically inane questions for you lovely people.
The New Yorker cartoon staff seem to have differing opinions on the cartoon caption contest. When it comes to the contest, are you a Grinch or a Who?
I was a Grinch at first, then more of a Who. Now I’m, like, Whatever.
Did you have a caption for this cartoon originally? Was the drawing from a regular batch and just wasn’t used for some reason? What about it in particular lent itself to the blank slate of the, probably, thousands of caption entries?
I’ve done some drawings especially for the contest, but in some cases the Eds will take a cartoon idea with a strong visual element and take off my original caption (the dogs!). The piano-playing chairman of the board was one of those. I have to admit the original caption probably wasn’t so great: “This one’s for all those board members out there who have ever profited and lost.”
Were you surprised by Carl Gable’s caption? Amused? Bemused? Aghast?
I laughed myself sick!
Have you ever had a supervisor who either sang or commanded you to?
No, but I’d be happy to play something on the saxophone if commanded. (I don’t think I’ve ever had a supervisor, unless you count Mom.)
Which Radosh anti-caption tickled you the most?
I liked the one that mentioned the cross-hatching. Sort of a cartoonist in-joke thing.
Are you ever tempted to enter the caption contest yourself?
Thinking up the first caption was hard. Once is enough. This Carl guy, though! He’s an animal! There’s no stopping him!
Whose paintings are in the piano-themed boardroom?
Mine, actually. They’re from my Diagonal Lines Period. I have some for sale if anyone’s interested.
Gable’s won the contest three times now. Is there a secret number of wins after which he’ll be tapped for the secret caption-writing society?
I’m sorry, that’s a secret.
In ye olde New Yorker years, Charles Addams & co. often had gag writers doing the word work for them. If you were part of a cartooning-writing team, who in the world, past or present, would you choose to do the captions?
I actually started out doing captions for Charles Addams (no kidding!). This was back when I first started. The Eds then were rejecting my drawings but keeping the captions. Ironic, isn’t it?
Which of the following songs from Mick Jagger’s solo discography best describes your life as a New Yorker cartoonist, and why? “Lonely at the Top,” “Primitive Cool,” “Ruthless People,” “Satisfaction,”* “Dancing in the Streets,” “Wired All Night,” “Memo From Turner,” or “Old Habits Die Hard”?
I’m tempted to say “Satisfaction.” (Oops. I just said it.) But only on certain weeks. Mick never did a cover of “It’s a Wonderful World,” the Satchmo song. That one could cover the good weeks.
Mick Stevens’s books include Poodles From Hell, If Ducks Carried Guns, and Other Ifabilities, and the drawings for The Complete Neurotic: The Anxious Person’s Guide to Life.
∗ I know, it’s not a solo Mick Jagger song, but I just couldn’t bear to leave it out.

So What Do You Do to Write a Winning Caption (or Three!), Carl Gable?

Congratulations, Carl Gable of Norcross, Georgia, for winning not just two New Yorker cartoon caption contests—the most recent of which is #75, “Hmm. What rhymes with layoffs?”—which is already a new record, but, as it turns out, three. Read on! I asked Blog About Town‘s indefatigable David Marc Fischer, who covers the caption contest like nobody’s business (not to mention a slew of other riveting things), to contribute the first two questions.
I think you said that you’d won another caption contest—a third one. Details? Was it the yearly caption contest? Or another one?
Yes. I won what I think was the first of the yearly contests. It was maybe 7-8 years ago. The cartoon is by Jack Ziegler (my favorite) and shows two robots working at a factory conveyor belt feeding odd-looking parts into the toothy maw of some fierce-looking machine. One robot has just gotten his arm chewed off and is speaking to the other robot and a human supervisor. The contest was co-sponsored by the Plastics Council, and so my caption read “Yeah, the arm may be plastic but that was a $100 watch!”
The prize at that time was a trip for my wife and me to New York as guests at a cocktail party with several cartoonists present as well as Cartoon Bank bigwigs. They presented me with two framed versions of the cartoon. One was the Ziegler original, and one was a print with my caption below it.
And of course I got to meet Jack Ziegler. If that short meeting meant half as much to Jack (he prefers “Mr. Ziegler”) as it meant to me then he must think about it daily. While bathing. There was a comic he did years back that showed a dog spastically preparing to greet his owners at the door. He says to the goldfish: “They’re back! They’re back! How do I look? Oh, never mind! Never mind!” That is brilliance. My favorite.
Do you submit in any particular way—early in the week, in the middle, at the end of the week?
No, but I have often wondered if early in the week might be a good idea. Maybe the judges get overloaded with submissions early on and by Wednesday are all just drunk and throwing darts at emails on a corkboard. I suppose after they weed out all of Roger Ebert’s aliases there are many fewer, but the total still must be massive. Overall I think I tend towards earlier in the week just because I usually can’t wait to see the new cartoon on Monday.
[Back to me now.] You’ve won three caption contests. This is more than most mortals can hope to achieve in a lifetime. How much more can one person do without fear of angering the gods? Is that a risk you’re willing to take?
I suppose I am going to tempt the gods’ anger. Screw ‘em. If I can get them to hold off on the smiting (through flattery, church donations, and avoidance of idolatry) until I have found a way to make money out of this whole caption thing then it’s all worth it. I suspect that deep down they all appreciate a good joke anyway.
The two weekly contests you’ve won so far featured drawings by Harry Bliss and Mick Stevens. What about their work do you think provides such an excellent counterpart to your captions? If you could ask them anything about these two drawings, what would you ask?
Oooh. Excellent question. I always love the absurd drawings. Sometimes a cartoon drawing will be pretty cliché or mundane (two guys sitting at a bar, etc.), but these two cartoons both had ideas that were hilarious in and of themselves. Inspiration to silliness.
If I could ask them anything about the drawings? Honestly, if I ever had the chance to talk to them I’d be all business. I hope to send in a couple of cartoons of my own someday, and I’d love to know about their materials, paper, use of computers in illustration, and so on. Then after they were flattered and off guard I’d ask for money.
In “Well, that was abominable,” the smoking (and smokin’) postcoital lady seems not just disappointed, but quite angry. The employees in the Steinway conference room are surely on the verge of similar feelings. Is rage an essential part of humor?
I don’t know about other folks, but some of my best captions come to me after I kill a hitchhiker.
What are the books on the bedside table of the abominably performing snowman? Which one should he have read before getting intimate with the woman to be played by Catherine Keener in the film version? Should they possibly not have left the lights on?
I think he was probably reading John Irving and got some bad visual artifacts regarding the “older woman” thing. Also he may have been trying to read Memoirs of a Geisha. The woman in the cartoon read it with her book club and she swore it was really good. Pretending to enjoy that book is the only reason he even got her in bed. Unfortunately, not only did it suck, but it dropped his testosterone level through the floor. He should have read Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk to even things out, or maybe just turned the lights down a bit and fantasized about the Christmas special where Frosty got married. Yup. Lights out.
Similarly, what’s on the papers in front of the disgruntled, possibly non-musical employees? Or are they expected to jump in on the chorus? How could they have been better prepared for this meeting?
I think they were blindsided. They thought their boss was sane. He did get naked and pretend to be a turkey at the office Thanksgiving party, but they thought that was alcohol doing the gobbling. This particular morning they were sitting around the new conference table doodling on their copies of the yearly report and all of a sudden Mr. Zeldman starts in with the show tunes. If they had pulled a Hewlett Packard and done a bit of spying they might have seen the way things were going and showed up in costume, ready to act out Porgy and Bess.
For this tuneful C.E.O, what does rhyme with layoffs? What’s he revving up to? A couplet from his (I mean their) swan song, perhaps?
Maybe it’s all just a test. Some kiss-up will raise their hand and suggest “Payoffs, sir!” and Zeldman will shake his head sadly and proceed to fire him first. Or maybe he’ll just wing it with the rhymes, trying “hat doffs,” “wet coughs,” “burns off”…maybe “Smirnoff”?
Have you ever worked somewhere where singing was mandatory? Do you agree that tuneless humming in the workplace should be punished by the stocks, which should be brought back solely for this purpose?
Mandatory singing? Let’s see. I had a terrible job at a movie theater once. That wasn’t so much singing as crying. And it was only me. And it was frowned on.
If you dislike singing and humming, does that include my playing the bass line to “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” with my armpit? I have been told it is “memorable.”
If any New Yorker cartoonist, past or present, were to draw your home city of Norcross, Georgia, who would it be? How would your caption for it read?
Hmm, can I go with Gahan Wilson? It would show a horde of alien creatures looking like giant slugs devouring the city, the mayor looking on and speaking to his aide. He’d say “Hmm. What rhymes with layoffs?” No? Doesn’t work? Crap.
What’s your favorite line for the singing boss from the diabolically inventive, or inventively diabolical, anti-captioners at Radosh.net?
“I’m glad to see you all brought your lighters, as requested.” Posted by “Francis.”
Of the following Clark Gable movies, which best describes your life as a writer of cartoon captions, and why? Possessed, Teacher’s Pet, The Misfits, Manhattan Melodrama, One Minute to Play, Chained, Run Silent, Run Deep, Sporting Blood, Complete Surrender, Lone Star, To Please a Lady, Any Number Can Play, The Call of the Wild, Laughing Sinners, Gone with the Wind, or After Office Hours?
I’d have to say Gone With the Wind. I’m from the South. It’s the law.
What’s your favorite musical question of all time? For example, “Do you know the way to San Jose?” “What’s love got to do with it?” “Do you believe in magic?”
How about Aretha Franklin: Who’s zooming who?

***

Other Emdashes caption-contest interviews:

  • Robert Gray, winner #106 (“Have you considered writing this story in the third monkey rather than the first monkey?”)
  • David Kempler, winner #100 (“Don’t tell Noah about the vasectomy.”)
  • David Wilkner, winner #99 (“I’d like to get your arrow count down.”)
  • Richard Hine, winner #98 (“When you’re finished here, Spencer, we’ll need you on the bridge-to-nowhere project.”)
  • T.C. Boyle, winner #29 (“And in this section it appears that you have not only alienated voters but actually infected them, too.”)
  • Adam Szymkowicz (“Shut up, Bob, everyone knows your parrot’s a clip-on”), winner #27, and cartoonist Drew Dernavich interview each other in three parts: One, Clip-On Parrots and Doppelgangers; Two, Adam and Drew, Pt. Two; Three, Clip-On Parrots’ Revenge
  • Evan Butterfield, winner #15 (“Well, it’s a lovely gesture, but I still think we should start seeing other people.”)
  • Jan Richardson, winner #8 (“He’s the cutest little thing, and when you get tired of him you just flush him down the toilet.”)
  • Roy Futterman, winner #1 (“More important, however, is what I learned about myself.”)

Carl Gable of Norcross, Georgia, Please Get in Touch

It’s time to revive the Cartoon Caption Contest interviews! (Like this one, or this, or this.) As our comrade at Blog About Town has pointed out, and as the Atlanta Journal-Constitution has loyally reported (Newsweek, too), Mr. Gable not only won a previous caption contest—think of the odds! Especially since the winning caption was, in fact, funny!—but is now a finalist in another. If anything merits bringing back the interviews (which several readers have been asking about, in any case), this is it. I googled you, Carl Gable, but I find this method is often easier. Can’t wait to hear from a legend in the making! I see you’re also a graphic designer, so we can chat about that, too. Three cheers whether you win or not; seriously, you’re clearly some kind of super-evolved caption-man, destined to outwrite and, indeed, eclipse us all. Except, of course, for Roz Chast.
 
Update: Look for some Gable goodness later this week. And I see I’ve mentioned him before, after his abominably good first win. This’ll be fun.

Dedicated to Penny, Dick, and My (Dear and Departed) Grandparents, Who Lately Find (or Found) New Yorker Cartoons Totally Baffling

A tongue-in-cheek cartoon by New Yorker cartoonist-in-waiting Roy Delgado. More about the frighteningly good CGI, or Completely Good Issue, that is the Dec. 4 magazine on Monday, when the Pick of the Issue will be awarded. I keep laughing and laughing at Margaret Talbot’s line “Somehow, I don’t think she meant Princess Anne.” Oh man that is funny. More culture pieces from Talbot, please.

The Strangest Response to the Chris Ware Covers I’ve Seen

From The Opinionated Marketers:

Singled Out: The New Yorker’s Cover Switcheroo
 
No, I am not going to give up my New Yorker subscription because of it, but the November 27th edition (last week’s mag) had an odd bit of something-or-other surrounding their cover. As everyone knows, the New Yorker covers are works of art unto themselves. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has a framed cover or two around, and I’ve certainly been in plenty of bathrooms that had a cover on the wall. (The guest bathroom at one college friend’s house was papered in NY covers.)
 
If the November 27th edition had shown up with no comment on the cover, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. It wouldn’t have been my all time favorite, or the all time worst. Just kind of middlin’ blah. But on the inside, the editors reveal that there were four different covers for the week. I just happened to luck into the kind-of-boring one that was the most like a traditional NY cover, but not as interesting as the ones that someone, somewhere got.
Even that wouldn’t have irked me until… Read and be amazed.

My Interview With Roz Chast for Newsday

New Yorker Cartoonist: These Days, She’s Changing Her Toon
By Emily Gordon
Special to Newsday
November 26, 2006
For a public humorist, Roz Chast is admirably discreet. She laughs often and may occasionally say, “La la la la la,” as the people in her New Yorker cartoons do, but her humor is also decidedly ironic. The New York Times has described her as “small, blond, bespectacled and self-deprecating—equal parts Mia Farrow and Woody Allen.” In person, whether she’s onstage reading her cartoons to a fanatically attentive audience, casing the umbrella rack at an upscale drugstore or considering the oddness of eyebrows, she’s an appealingly diplomatic personage.
Racing through the 400 pages of her newest and biggest collection, Theories of Everything: Selected, Collected, and Health-Inspected Cartoons, 1978-2006 (Bloomsbury, 400 pp., $45), Chast fans will see her irony in all its dimensions, as well as her sympathy with many (though not all) of her fellow humans—especially put-upon children and parents. Theories of Everything, which documents the best of Chast’s creations over nearly three decades, demonstrates that her range far exceeds the surreal living-room drama and the ominous doily. “For a while I was doing more domestic-type cartoons, when my kids were younger,” she says. “I still do them, but not as much.”
One of the persistent delights in Theories of Everything is Chast’s precise—if not precisely accurate—documentation of peculiar objects. Outer space and amoebas make many appearances in this book, too (Chast also contributes drawings to science magazines), as well as pointed political cartoons. Mortality and melancholy often loom, as does a cheerfully narrated sense of foreboding.
Chast was born in Brooklyn in 1954. In an unusually personal cartoon, she recounts how the kids in her neighborhood would explore only as far as a certain street; she’s more or less the same way now when driving in Connecticut, where she lives with her husband, humor writer Bill Franzen. When she needs directions, she says, she takes a map in which every street is labeled and enlarges it: “Ideally, I’d like to enlarge it so that each street was exactly the same size as the real street, and so you could follow along. One mile equals one mile!” In the stories of her drawings, “Writing is always patching together stuff that happened, stuff that never happened, stuff you wish happened, stuff you would dread happening, somebody you knew that lived in your building, somebody you’ve never met.”
After growing up as the best artist in the class, she became one of many such artists at the Rhode Island School of Design. It was at the Art Students League in New York that, she says, she learned more of her technique. Cartooning seems to have been in her blood from her early years, when she worshipped the work of Charles Addams (her parents subscribed to The New Yorker) and devoured “Krazy Kat” and “Nancy.” She still lives pretty close to the page: “I love the medium [of drawing] because it’s so simple, in a way; it’s just pen and paper,” she says.
She has mastered the elaborately painted Ukrainian Easter eggs known as pysanky, and loves their controllable scale: “When you look at books of pysanky decoration, they all work with geometry.” Many of her cartoons, and her preoccupations, similarly end up being about (slightly awry) organization. She loves the crammed surfaces and spaces of New York City, and recalls one Upper East Side coffee shop: “I loved how everything looked behind the counter. Everything was just crammed in—a turkey roasting on a spit, cereal boxes, pickles and then the water glasses. Every square inch was used, and I just loved it.”
When Chast draws, the light from the bulb illuminating the drawing at hand is almost all she can see; cartoon figures emerge with their own ideas and hilariously formless wardrobes. She relishes talking about the key moments in the cartoons—the tidy, complete worlds they make on a panel or a page—more than chatting about her actual life. When ABC Family animated some of her work not long ago, she was delighted to see one of the classic Chast ladies “walking” across the screen. Ultimately, though, the involvement of a slew of executives and committees took too much of the fun out of the world she had created. In the end, “It’s just about telling the story—and it sounds so cheesy to say it, but communicating a very specific feeling or thought, hopefully a funny one.”
Some of the standout cartoons in Theories of Everything are multi-page, autobiographical tales that she drew first for DoubleTake magazine. They involved adventurous traveling, and she’d love to take more trips, but still has a teenage daughter at home, “so I have to be really careful with projects so that I don’t take on more things.” (She also has a son in college.) Meanwhile, she and Steve Martin have collaborated on a children’s alphabet book to be published in 2007. If some of Chast’s life has to be lived outside the bright circle of her pen, it’s a safe bet that hers is the life to have.
Note: This version varies slightly from the published story.

Cover Boys, and What These Categories Mean

Barry Blitt’s “Deluged” cover (Sept. 19, 2005) won best cover of the year, and Mark Ulriksen’s Brokeback Cheney (Feb. 27, 2006) best news cover, in the new annual contest run by the American Society of Magazine Editors and the Magazine Publishers of America. (Seth got second place in the fashion category for “The Skinny on Fashion,” March 20, 2006). I saw and cheered the news yesterday, but balked at the thought of finding and formatting the images in the middle of my own mag’s close, so hooray for the Times (typing that despite my rage at last Sunday’s book review), since they have a nice collage with two of the New Yorker covers and an article and so forth.
Why is this under “Seal Barks,” by the way? This category is for everything related to artwork in the magazine—spots, cartoons, covers, and other illustrations. If you click on the category names on the green bar above, you can trawl the archives for other items about artwork, or about the magazine’s editors-in-chief so far (“Eds.“). My and other contributors’ reviews of things related to but outside the magazine itself go under “Looked Into,” and for a veritable Katz’s Deli of links in further pursuit of the details in a New Yorker story go to “Eustace Google” (I love that illustration). I play favorites from the previous week’s magazine in “Pick of the Issue.”
 
Ask the Librarians,” of course, is the deep research and sharp insight of the New Yorker librarians Jon Michaud and Erin Overbey, who answer the best questions sent in by Emdashes readers (here’s the email address to use) about the components (big and small) and personalities (famous and forgotten) of the magazine (past and present). “Headline Shooter,” which is also the name of a movie in which Robert Benchley played a radio announcer in 1933, is a quickie without commentary. In “On the Spot” either I or a trusted delegate (applications welcome) go to something New Yorker-related, like a reading, a talk, a gallery opening, a musical event, a play, &c., and report back. I also use “On the Spot” for announcing events I can’t go to, because they’re in Alaska or something. At parties I tend not to feel like taking notes, so you’ll have to rely on others for that sort of scuttlebutt.
The “Jonathans Are Illuminated” category concerns all Jonathans of letters, the ones you know well and the ones who have yet to leap into Bright Young Jonathanness; “X-Rea” tracks sightings (mine and yours!) of and inquiries into the famous typeface and the other work of original New Yorker team member Rea Irvin, whose name, as you can deduce from the category title, is pronounced Ray as in Sugar, not Ree as in readerly. In “Letters and Challenges” I provide challenges (with prizes!) and print your letters, but only the ones you’ve explicitly given me permission to print, since I don’t use mail without permission. I’m happy to print things anonymously, and often do, since many writers and critics who otherwise dream of being ubiquitously and inescapably in print would rather not be named on a blog, even if their letter concerns nothing scandalous or bridge-burning. And that’s OK with me. Finally, “Hit Parade” collects the posts that, for whatever reason, got people all whirled up like soft-serve ice cream.
Later, almost forgot: Here’s all my coverage (still ongoing, can you believe it?) of this year’s New Yorker Festival, and in Personal, you can read my Innermost Thoughts, or at least the ones I choose to share with The World. It’s where I get to be a blogeuse.