What with the release of the latest “Spike & Mike” festival, I’ve decided to do an examination of the work of animator Don Hertzfeldt. Don’t know who Don Hertzfeldt is? He’s the guy who does the psychotic little stick figure cartoons that make you cringe with bittersweet delight. Yeah, that Don Hertzfeldt.
I was first introduced to this man’s work at my first “Spike & Mike” fest back in 2002. I was just a lowly freshman with no friends and nil in the way of social life, a pathetic dorm rat who spent every available moment watching movies (by myself) or feeding my “Diablo 2” addiction (for which I have since entered a 12-step program). I had been
hitting the Bijou pretty often, getting to know the insanely large cat who lives in the lobby and feasting on the only snack food I could afford, i.e. water.
“Spike & Mike” seemed like just the thing for me. A collection of cynical, depraved cartoons created by nerdy, disgusting little people in dark rooms. I could so relate. I laughed, cheered and cringed along with the rest of the late night audience through the festival. And then at the very end, something came on the screen that I could not have seen coming. Opening with a title card that labeled the work “Rejected,” the film detailed the life and mental breakdown of one Don Hertzfeldt, an animator trying to get his work aired on a number of commercial cable stations. His work is a series of stick figure animations that have little if anything to do with the products they are supposedly advertising. The absurdly minimalist characters come on screen, utter twisted non sequiturs and walk off, followed by a picture of the product (complete with labels such as “Now with lard.”)
Finally, as the animator suffers a complete mental deterioration (including a stint where he begins drawing with his left hand instead of his right) the cartoons become even more violent and absurd. As he slips into total madness, the cartoons go down with him and a complete animated apocalypse takes place. In one oddly disturbing moment, a stick figure bangs helplessly on the frame, crinkling the paper with its small black fist as it tries to escape.
This cartoon was a revelation. Here was an artist as bitterly cynical, as wonderfully imaginative and as hopelessly untalented as any I have ever encountered. This was Dada. This was punk rock. In short, this cartoon was the Boss.
Since this first introduction, I have seen a number of Hertzfeldt’s other pieces. While none of them are the equal of “Rejected,” which has so far remained his masterpiece, they each are brilliant in their own way. The deeply cynical “Ah, L’Amour” is the story of a man attempting to woo various women he is passing by. Each woman meets his greetings (which range from compliments about their hair to queries about what time it is) with rage and violent retribution. Its closing punch line is a wonderful kick in the gut. Though the film could easily be taken as misogynist, its self-effacing humor and depressed world view move it a step beyond such categorization.
Another great work from Hertzfeldt is “Billy’s Balloon,” which depicts a young boy mercilessly attacked by the balloon wrapped around his wrist. The terror slowly spreads into an ending much like the lunatic Armageddon’s of 1970s horror films. The timing and camera placement of the short is some of the best Hertzfeldt has done to date. The film is funny the same way watching your grandma falling down a flight of stairs is funny.
Also in the Hertzfeldt canon is a trilogy of shorts done for the first entry in “The Animation Show,” a touring festival Hertzfeldt put together with Mike Judge. If nothing else, the festival is worth it for these shorts alone. I have yet to see two of Hertzfeldt’s earlier shorts, “Genre” and “Lily and Jim.” I have also not seen his most recent work, “The Meaning of Life,” though these are all on my to-do list. Currently I am waiting for “Bitter Films Volume One,” a collection of Hertzfeldt’s work which comes out sometime later this year.
What I enjoy about Hertzfeldt’s work is both the absolute minimalism and the personality that is conveyed through it. His cartoons are existential in their approach to reality, creating a bizarre mental state that is simple yet unique. He is the Samuel Beckett of animation, and if you get a chance to see anything by him, take it immediately.
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