Dear Mr. Watterson
The term “feel-good documentary” is not often bandied about, but Dear Mr. Watterson is just that. It’s a love letter and a tribute to cartoonist Bill Watterson and his renowned comic strip, Calvin and Hobbes.
For those unfamiliar with the strip, (A) shame on you! Go find a collection and read it now! And (B) some history. Calvin
and Hobbes first appeared in print on Nov. 18, 1985. In four simple panels, rambunctious six-year-old Calvin, his spiky yellow hair hidden beneath a safari helmet, tells his dad he’s off to check his tiger trap, which has been baited with a tuna fish sandwich. Tigers like tuna fish? “We’re kind of stupid that way,” Hobbes says between mouthfuls, hanging from a tree.
Over the next 10 years, Calvin and Hobbes (a real tiger to him; a stuffed toy to everyone else in the strip) would deal with monsters, girls, parents, homework, bullies, aliens, baths and other terrors real and imagined (sometimes it was hard to know which), peppered with philosophy, irony, commentary and wisdom seemingly far beyond Calvin’s years.
In 1995, Watterson drew a final, poignant strip that ended with Calvin and Hobbes tobogganing into the sunset. (“Let’s go exploring!”) Then he withdrew into an almost Salinger-like anonymity. Fellow cartoonist Dan Piraro calls him “the Sasquatch of cartoonists. People have seen his footprint but nobody’s ever got a photograph of him.”
To his credit, first-time director Joel Allen Schroeder makes it clear he’s not out to track down Watterson. It’s not that kind of film. He’s content to interview fans, and they are legion. Celebrities, cartoonists, curators and more discuss their enjoyment of the comic. The librarian in Chagrin Falls, Ohio (Watterson’s idyllic hometown), shows off some of his early editorial cartoons.
We hear from those who have been influenced by his work, but also of those who came before him, so that
Calvin and Hobbes takes its rightful place in the continuum of the art form, neither the first nor last word in comics.
The final third of the film discusses Watterson’s intense dislike of merchandising, which put him at odds with the creators of such strips as
Garfield, Bloom County and especially Peanuts. Charles Schulz’s gang not only adorns coffee cups, clothing and Christmas ornaments, but helps MetLife sell insurance. But with the exception of a few bootlegs and knockoffs, you won’t find any Calvin memorabilia or a stuffed Hobbes.
That hasn’ t diminished the allure of the strip, however. Educators and parents c o nt i nue to pass it along to the next generation, all of whom seem to click with its combination of anarchy and philosophy. Calvin and
Hobbes continues to appeal to outliers, loners and anyone who has ever felt excluded or different. Which is to say everybody. ΣΣΠ½
Dear Mr. Watterson opens in Toronto on Nov. 15.