DEAR MR. WATTERSON (review)

Review by Guy Benoit

Unlike Peanuts, with its adherence to minimalism, both in geometric artwork and languid, late-afternoon pacing, cartoonist Bill Watterson’s Calvin And Hobbes was a powerfully messy creation.
The drawing style was busy and energetic, and the writing subscribed to an impenetrable internal logic.

Calvin’s wild transmogrifications from frustrated elementary schooler into Spaceman Spiff, Stupendous Man or Safari Al occurred without explanation; one of the reclusive Watterson’s favorite tactics was to drop readers into the middle of the outlandish adventures and expect them to get their own bearings.

The premise of Dear Mr. Watterson seems to be that this trust is precisely what resonated with readers.

Joel Allen Schroeder’s documentary is composed almost entirely of interviews with artists who were sufficiently impressed by Watterson’s creations to either a) try their hand at their own strips, or b) seriously analyze work they’d been doing for years.

Two things upon which all parties can agree are that Calvin and Hobbes was a short-lived /long-lasting revolution in pen n’ ink storytelling, and that Bill Watterson was steadfastly intent on doing things his own way. 

Watterson had, and evidently still has, no interest in merchandising his characters.  No mugs.  No bumper stickers.  No stuffed tigers.  No nothing.

One remarkable scene features Berkeley Breathed, the man behind the mighty Bloom County, who appeared to have both a friendly and mildly adversarial relationship with Mr. Watterson.

Communicating mostly by mail, Breathed got used to seeing himself sharply caricatured in personal letters he received from Watterson;  one piece of post contains a depiction of Breathed as a maniacal sea captain kicking Mickey Mouse off a boat for failing to bring in sufficient merchandising revenue.  The fact that Bill Watterson is not interviewed – or even physically seen – in Dear Mr. Watterson means that his motives for not selling out are left to speculation… and sometimes there’s plenty of speculation in the flick.

The filmmakers have wisely utilized the gap left by the hermetic Mr. Watterson to provide viewers with a history of groundbreaking newspaper strips:  Pogo, Little Nemo In Slumberland, Terry & The Pirates and Krazy Kat are fondly introduced to younger readers.  Each of these is subtly presented as a precursor to Calvin and Hobbes, whether it’s through the humanizing of animals or the development of imaginary worlds that exist exclusively on their own terms.

There are a few minor miscalculations in Dear Mr. Watterson:  a digression about the roles of ‘high art’ and ‘low art’ would have been mildly interesting in 1992, but now seems annoying and naïve. Interviewees later grouse about the saturation of Peanuts characters in popular culture, and inadvertently undermine their point by showing off a very cool vintage lunchbox.  High art vs. Low art, indeed.  Also worth mentioning:  conspicuous in its absence is any substantive mention of The Far Side, perhaps the only contemporary strip to rival Calvin and Hobbes in originality.  Ah well…

The title of the film, Dear Mr. Watterson, indicates a certain amount of unfinished business, a distance.  Much of what makes this documentary so provocative is how little we learn about the development of the celebrated characters, or the life of their considerably-less conspicuous inventor.

Dear Mr. Watterson concerns itself far more with the ongoing effects the towheaded 6-year-old boy and his striped pal had on comics, and the wonderful effect comics have on popular culture.  It’s a fun watch that’s much more devoted to the wondrous possibilities of the future than to the bland comfort of nostalgia.  Dig it!