The Genius of Calvin and Hobbes
BY KYLE MCMILLAN I APRIL 24, 2009
CALVIN AND HOBBESMagic comes in many forms. It is at constant play in the world around us, every day, simply waiting for the eyes of the observer to find their way to it, open up, and truly see once again. It can be found, always, in nature; science begins to resemble it more and more everyday, and for the strongly attuned it exists even in the mundane world of humankind's dense constructs, where industry was thought to have long ago extinguished anything but a cheap replica of what we once knew of it.
But it has never left — it's simply gotten harder to find. So rare has it become in the modern world that one needs to be a child to find it at all. Adults will often try to pull some form of it through, but to do so — no matter what medium they're working in — they need to possess the creative tools of a child. From engineers to playwrights to theologians, when one is trying to create magic in their given field, they need to go back to the source.
This is what Bill Watterson managed to do nearly twenty-five years ago when he sat down and put pencil to paper, sketching the first few images that would go on to become the comic strip known as Calvin & Hobbes. He went straight to the source. Somehow, in the process of divining, he hit a wellspring of alchemical brilliance that lasted almost ten years — fully flowing — despite all of the deadlines, complications and restraints that are, without a doubt, part of the landscape in an industry of daily syndication.
If you're someone that has ever tried to do this — to go mining for that original creative spark in the hopes of finding it and tending it to flame — you'll realize what a gargantuan feat it really was. In ten years — the entire life of the strip — there were no truly weak moments. Even today it remains a direct valve back to the foibles and voracity and beauty of youth, a timeless capsule with characters that bring unmistakable depth to the page, for readers of any age.
Whether it's a joke about frozen boogers or the existence of God, the humor works on a number of different levels, as is often the case with great art — the more you revisit it, the more you find. When you're eight years old, you get the baseness of it all, and you kill yourself laughing. When you're an adult you see even more of the framework, and you kill yourself laughing.
Watterson knows his stuff. Calvin was named for the 16th century theologian, John Calvin, the founder of Calvinism (as much as that sounds like something the six-year old Calvin might come up with), which is a philosophy that states there exists a predetermined, unbreakable line between good and evil. Hobbes, on the other hand, was named for Thomas Hobbes, a 17th century philosopher who believed in the inherent selfishness of all humankind. This was the backdrop for the entire series. As you get deeper and deeper into the strip, there are references to environmentalism, postmodernism, commercialization in all its forms, and even Marxism. And every time Calvin and his tiger get on a sled or mount that little red wagon, you know it's time for a serious existential conversation.
All of this comes as no surprise if you're familiar with the struggles that Watterson experienced to retain the rights to his own creation while the comic strip was in full swing. The personal income that could have been generated by simply allowing his characters to be commercialized would've been undoubtedly massive. Both his initial refutation of the idea as a whole and his unending resistance to the commoditization of Calvin & Hobbes in any form — from simple stickers or coffee cups to full-blown commercials — speaks volumes about his devotion to the work itself as well as the inherent quality, authenticity and integrity that comes with such a stance.
And this is where we find the heart of it all. One wonders about the connection between such a devotion to artistic values and the reality of the magic that finally greets the page. Just how well, exactly, do the pure intentions of the process transmute into the final product?
Well, if taken ostensibly, it works fine. Yes, Calvin is a self-centered, insolent and unpredictable six-year old, as are most. And yes, his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, only seemingly comes to life in his own world — a world where they romp and play and fight like maniacs, explore the ends of the earth and charge through the cosmos; where they take the twisted mirth of film noir sci-fi and horror to ungodly limits, but it is an imaginary world nonetheless. And that, of course, is where the line is drawn. There's make-believe and there's reality. Grown-ups understand the difference quite clearly, and each one — whether in the world of Calvin & Hobbes or our own — will be quick to point out the difference.
But how boring is that? Who among us, reading this, truly remembers what it's like to be six years old? This is of what I speak. Calvin does not possess an imagination, it possesses him. Therein lies the real magic of the truly creative child's world. Most imaginary friends are someone an average youngster gets along with, but Hobbes is a constant challenge to nearly every paradigm that Calvin has set up, and though they love each other greatly, they often fight bitterly. Dinner time is repeatedly interrupted, uncontrollably, by some manner of glop-grown monster or rift in space-time; math studies often give way to dinosaurs in rocket ships and miscreant aliens intent on having their way with our hero, beyond anyone's — let alone a grown-up's — control. And sometimes, if you're paying real close attention, you find yourself wondering: if Hobbes is stuffed, how is that possible?
And there you have it. The further you go, the more you quietly become privy to the world that is Calvin's, and the more the taut edges of the reality we've all had to "grow up" to find begin to loosen. As you laugh and muse and puzzle, slipping ever deeper into the dream that Watterson has cast for us, you begin to realize that ultimately, it's about the subjective nature of reality, which is one of the oldest debates known to our species.
Beyond that, it's just damn funny.
Comments
