#MeToon, Literally Separating Art from the Artist

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Leah Drayton

Let’s just get the embarrassing stuff out of the way. I am a complete animation nerd. 

As an artist and writer, I’ve always seen animation as the marriage of multiple, beautiful forms of storytelling. From Bruce Timm’s razor-sharp lines on Batman: The Animated Series to the way Glen Keane’s Disney characters just have weight and liquidness to them, from the unrelenting talent of voice actors like Mel Blanc, Tom Kenny, June Foray andCree Summer. From the way Rob Rezettis’ backgrounds look like UPA cartoons and UPA cartoons just make me feel like it’s a rainy Sunday morning and I’m 5 years old. Animation is the culmination of the things I love about good, strong visual storytelling and a well of unbound inspiration when I can not leave my house.

Now faced with the endless time vacuum that is quarantine, I have a lot of time to study the things I love and the lasting legacy it has on me – especially when that means taking an uncomfortable dive into how some of this media is made and who is making it. 

Those who aren’t fans of the art form don’t think of cartoons as anything but cartoons – but fanatics know the names and the personalities behind the work and live and breathe the lore of cartoons as much as their plots. 

I think this special connection is often not considered for the animation fandom, because you aren’t physically seeing the artists and because cartoons have been trivialized as “children’s entertainment” for so long, even though seasoned professionals create them.

I think it speaks for any fandom that investing yourself in the work of others, whether that be a video game or a Youtube beauty community, comes with endearing the creators behind the things you love and when they do something wrong, holding them accountable for it. Once the mentality of “cancel culture” kicks in, we are challenged to consume media with a serious ethical lense. 

How far will we go with our love for a piece of work when the artist is morally corrupt?

Anyone and I mean anyone who loves animation knows The Ren & Stimpy Show and the tumultuous artist behind it – John Kricfausi. For anyone talking about the power of censorship in animation or the rise of adult cartoons or just the history of original animation in the ’90s, it’s impossible to ignore it. The hailstones of the program were a fluid, crude and beautiful art style, a cult-like following that would launch the popularity of shows like South Park and Beavis and Butthead, and dark humor that would inspire a generation of artists (specifically my generation).

And with all that said – we can’t celebrate the man who is (seemingly) – behind it all. 

In 2018, Buzzfeed broke that John K. had allegedly groomed underaged girls for sexual relationships. Note, that John K. gave a pretty flimsy apology for this and that the instances of sexual misconduct happened nearly two decades ago – however, the pain and voices of these survivors and victims are real and validated. 

Since the 90s, John K. has had a documented history to be a curmudgeon and a terrible person to work with. Ren & Stimpy artists have cited that John K. would often redo their work if it wasn’t perfect – pushing them behind deadline and making them feel invalidated as collaborators. His hatred for authority resulted in a deep dislike for writers and the Nickelodeon executives, who went through hell and back to allow the raunchy Ren & Stimpy humor to pass censorship standards, just for John K. to disrespect them when they said “no” to him. (Note that these were mainly female executives too).

John K.’s work on Ren & Stimpy is influential and is a cornerstone of any current animation fans’ knowledge of cartoons in the 90s and 2000s and the current industry of censorship. So, can you separate art from the artist when the art is so influential and the artist has done something so despicable? If I continue to credit the art as an inspiration, am I ignoring the pain of the victims? How do you “cancel” a work or denounce the actions of the creator when the work (as collaborative as the animation is) is not completely their own?

Animation makes drawing the line harder than usual.

In the case of an animator’s work like Ren & Stimpy – one must take in account that yes, it’s the creation of a person as morally corrupt as John K., but it’s also come to fruition through a team of really good artists (who John K disrespected), great executives and writers (who John K. disrespected), voice actors (who John K disrespected) and has influenced countless artists.

It has John K’s name attached to it, but to cancel and remove the merit of the work also cancels the work of amazing artists who went through hell and back to finish deadlines (which John K disrespected) and create this work animation nerds love. Also, if it wasn’t clear enough, John K treated a lot of the people who worked on or greenlit Ren & Stimpy really badly. 

Just using Ren & Stimpy as an example – “canceling” and demeriting the work in general also cancels the fantastic work of voice actor Billy West. 

At the beginning of the run, West was originally hired to do the voices of both Ren and Stimpy. However, John K. took the role of Ren and leveraged Billy West’s talent as the voice of Stimpy (and sometimes recording Ren’s iconic laugh) as incentive for the show to get picked up.

In 1993, John K. had been fired from the show. He had a history of ignoring executive deadlines and had been booted after delivering unairable episodes. So West took on John K’s role instead and voiced both titular characters himself from 1993-1996.

The early 90s marked the beginning of Billy West’s phenomenal career in voice acting – voices that he made iconic and would build on to create a staggering catalog with 30 years in the game. West loaned his voice Doug Funnie, Philip J. Fry, Professor Farnsworth, Dr. Zoidberg, Zapp Brannigan, and others on Futurama, the Red M&M and took on the legacy roles of  Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, Popeye, Shaggy Rogers, and Woody Woodpecker.

Billy West responds to one of John K’s victims. 

Canceling Ren and Stimpy altogether also cancels the work of Lynne Naylor, John K.’s former girlfriend, who has done arguably as much work on the show as John K. himself. She’s part of the iconic imagery of the “Stimpy” character. In a male-led industry, she rises as an under-credited pioneer. Many know John K.’s name (mainly because of his personality) but Naylor’s design work is impeccable. And honestly, most of the “John K.”/ “Ren and Stimpy” style art people rave about is easily seen in her work. 

John K. isn’t the only animator who’s behavior ended up invalidating a phenomenal piece of work. Nearly 30 years later, we will see the same thing in the literal cancellation of “Twelve Forever” – created by Julia Vickerman. Her previous Tumblr posts revealed how she followed a 14-year-old boy around a circus while he was with his mother and attempted to take his picture multiple times without the minor knowing and had written some inappropriate things about minor boys.

Vickerman’s case is notably uncomfortable since the age of those boys are around the age of her characters and her potential audience.

But I find Vickerman’s case even sadder than John K. Not for her at all, but the people who worked with her.

John K. created his legacy before people knew about him being gross, cemented himself as an animation giant, and still rises large and looming in every conversation about 90s animation. Some people even see him as a renegade and ignore the creepy stuff. *Which is gross*

Vickerman’s actions got “Twelve Forever” canceled before it could even garner attention or acclaim. Executives made the reasonable decision to remove the show from Netflix all together – as it was still her creation and any praise or acclaim of the show would still benefit Vickerman.

As a result, a very good premise, concept, design, and the work of several talented artists and voice actors (including a breakout voice acting performance from Kelsy Abbott and Jaylen Barron) was scrapped because of a creator being disgusting. 

Now to be clear – I think Vickerman and John. K should in themselves be canceled. I stand with their victims. I believe they have demonstrated predatory behavior towards children. And they aren’t the only cases of deplorable people who exhibited predatory behavior that ended up hurting the legacies of their work and the people who collaborated with them.

As animation’s #MeToo movement (#MeToon) is championed by the community, how can we acknowledge what we love about the artform, praise influential work, and still call out this behavior and not give power to the people who prey on others?

And since Vickerman and John K.’s actions only reflect predatory behavior towards children, how do we continue to keep fighting against animators who are homophobic, transphobic, misogynist, racist, and fatphobic?

We give credit where credit is due. 

I feel like being a fan of animation is one of the hardest artforms to separate the person from the art. Most people who are casual fans of animation have their favorite shows and characters and that’s all good and fine. But animation and art nerds often attach the personhood of creators to their work with a sense of fondness and connection. Whether that be Rebecca Sugar’s whimsy ukulele-plucking quirkiness that you can see in Steven Universe or Jhonen Vasquez’s trench-coated spooky aloofness mirrored in Invader Zim’s Dib. As a disciple of animators, we find these quirks endearing. They are trademarks of these artists’ personalities embedded in their work.

And even through the arduous, collaborative production, where many hands have processed the work, I still love to spot those moments where the life of the artist sparkles through (Steven Hilliburg’s love of studying marine life on Spongebob,  Arlene Klasky’s gentleness and love for children in Rugrats, Aaron Mcgruder’s wit and dry humor visible in both Huey and Riley of The Boondocks, John Dilworth’s delightful madness sprouting through his little town in the middle of nowhere).

Whether we like it or not, the personalities of these people are melded into the work they create. I still see John K and Julie Vickerman’s personalities leaking into their work – which makes it hard to enjoy. The fantasy is broken and I’m reminded of the real-life issues behind the art.

It’s the same conversation we have about musicians who are predatory or violent or writers who are racist – you can see their implicit biases and you don’t want to make excuses for them or endear them. It’s the reason Sherry Pie was cut out of Rupaul’s Drag Race Season 12 or the fact the Bill Cosby show isn’t syndicated any more. You don’t want to endear those who have taken advantage of, preyed upon, or inappropriate fetishized others – and enjoying their art brings you a little closer to them.

The cancel culture question is hard in this sense. You want to keep supporting these artists who have worked tirelessly but you don’t want to support the disgusting person whose name is the largest on the bill. The Ren & Stimpy Show is unfortunately synonymous with John K. and not the fantastic other people who worked on the project. Twelve Forever is connected to Vickerman and not the other creatives who lost their chance to work on a Netflix animated project that would have honestly done well.

So what do we do, animation nerds?

We have the ultimate power to create an actual dialogue around culture. We are storytellers and lovers of hard work, integrity, and craft. We take the same energy we save for conversations around frame tracing, character flaws, animation unions, and stealing concepts and we apply that to a nuanced conversation around this problem. We credit people and we understand when to not credit people. We adapt our tastes and understand that homophobia, transphobia, sexism, racism, and pedophilia (or John K.’s love of the word “r*tard”) have no place in our influences and note that when we take things away from the art. We do this whenever we look at those old racist WWII Disney cartoons. So we can do it now.

I think what makes the animation industry ready to have this conversation is the fact that we understand the key players of who makes the things we love. We can look at each television show, movie and short and say what we like and who it came from. 

When we champion our real heroes, not just those who were crude for the fun of it but those who worked hard and lifted up others along the way, we build a legacy of art founded by ethical, hard work and respect for the craft. There’s no place in the barrel for bad apples – because we consume what we want and note when something is wrong.