THE TRUE PROBLEM WITH POWER
What To Do with the Art from Problematic Artists
In the He-Man and the Masters of the Universe episode “The Problem with Power,” He-Man is duped by his nemesis into believing his actions killed an innocent man. Accidental or not, the hero is mortified by this, and nobly gives up his power so that no other innocent lives will be lost.
Prior to the Filmation cartoon, He-Man existed as a barbarian in the original 1982 mini-comics lushly illustrated by Alfredo Alcala. Even that nascent version of the character was crafted in Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster’s altruistic Superman template.
It would later be adults who labeled super heroes “power fantasies,” but when those two teenage boys created the genre, the fantasy was to better the world; imagine possessing all of the power, and using it, without question, for good.
Would you?
Another Filmation program of that era that included educational advisors and imparted moral lessons to its viewers was Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids, based on Bill Cosby’s comedy routines growing up in Philadelphia.
Cosby was a ubiquitous television presence since the 1960’s. In addition to Fat Albert, he starred in multiple successful comedies bearing his name, was a highly sought after commercial pitchman, visited Sesame Street, was a lead on Children’s Television Network other hit show, the Electric Company, and lent his celebrity to causes such as the United Negro College Fund. Even appearing in a Hopalong Cassidy documentary didn’t feel out of place, as Cosby was considered “America’s Dad.”
And all the while, he was a serial rapist.
Late-in-career Bill Cosby presented himself as a mentor during speaking tours, being especially harsh to young black men for using the N-word, he would criticize, walking around with their pants hanging down, and generally not appreciating the gains of the Civil Rights Movement. Yet, it was at one of those lectures where Cosby befriended a university employee he would subsequently drug and rape. She reported the crimes — and was eventually believed, beginning the entertainer’s downfall.
Cosby is not unique in abusing the power celebrity afforded him. The Today Show’s Matt Lauer had a secret door lock installed to keep females trapped inside his NBC office. Musicians such as Steven Tyler proudly boasted of their debauchery in autobiographies, which have come back to haunt them. Harvey Weinstein, like other movie producers before him, thought he could attack women and be above the law, going so far as to hire former Mossad agents to spy on his accusers.
And on, and on; from CEOs to a Subway sandwich spokesman, men use their power to secure sex, and push the limits of cruelty and humiliation such implied authority grants them.
Yet, to the public, accusations of sexual harassment against then-Fox News chairman Roger Ailes did not carry the sting of hearing the same about Bill Cosby, who we welcomed into our households night after night.
When Robin Williams died, it was as though people all over the world entered into a week of mourning — such is the impact art has on our psyches, especially from those who can shake off the burdens of our lives by eliciting the primal joy of laughter; those moments, or a song, or a childhood memory, all become part of our lifelong emotional DNA.
That is why when artists are revealed to be predators, it feels like a personal betrayal.
What, then, should become of their art, such as Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids? Filmation head Lou Scheimer was sincere in his belief to educate through shows like it and He-Man.
In the documentary Animation Maverick: The Lou Scheimer Story, the producer lamented he wished Fat Albert, not Star Trek: The Animated Series, had won the studio an Emmy. Ironically, it was Cosby who consoled him, knowing the racism of the era would not have given an award to the only cartoon with all African-American characters, no matter how well produced or intended.
Today, however, how can the lessons of Fat Albert hold water, when Cosby himself presents the morals?
Again, the comedian was not first man to use power to fulfill his lust; and even if we limit the scope to animation, he would not be the last.
The brilliantly frank documentary Happy Happy Joy Joy: The Ren & Stimpy Story, recounts how the toon went from the top-rated program on cable to suffering from the self-sabotage of creator John Kricfalusi. Most parties are interviewed, including a-then underaged woman Kricfalusi groomed. Not interviewed was the second underage woman he groomed.
The 2020 film acknowledges the cultural and artistic influence Ren & Stimpy had, but as for the show itself, Richard Pursel quoted fellow writer Vincent Waller, saying, “Now the characters are covered in shit paint.”
Watching clips of the show within the context of the documentary, the filmmakers direct the viewer to consider that Ren & Stimpy was about an abusive relationship between the two characters, one that resonated emotionally deeper than the cartoon antics of other antagonist duos, such as Tom and Jerry, or Wiley E. Coyote and Road Runner. The psychological abuse of Kricfalusi’s overbearing father left lifelong scars in the animator, who, in turn, became a tyrant to his staff, and enfant terrible to executives at Nickelodeon.
Further diminishing the 1992 program was the 2003 (quickly canceled) revival in which Kricfalusi was given complete creative control, letting his id for cartoon raunch and violence run full-boar. Despite that 2003 footnote and grooming revelations, parent company Paramount Global still produces Ren & Stimpy toys when marketing Nickelodeon nostalgia, and offers the cartoon on its streaming service.
Should people watch it, though? Robin Byrd was 14 when Kricfalusi first responded to the aspiring animator’s fan mail. She stated in the documentary:
“[If] someone is really conflicted about it, then I would say, ‘Look, just don’t think about him. Think about how when you were a kid and would watch Ren & Stimpy, draw Ren & Stimpy.’ I don’t really find anything good in it for me anymore, but I don’t see why someone would have to pull out part of their childhood just because of what’s in him.”
Vanessa Coffey, the show’s executive producer who developed the program with Kricfalusi, tearfully stated, “It hurt that he used Ren & Stimpy that way. To lure girls into his fold.”
And that is the problem with power, as it relates to creatives. Their art is the means by which they fulfill their abusive fantasies.
Prince Andrew was accused of raping underage girls provided by his friends the convicted pedophile Jeffrey Epstein and convicted human trafficker Ghislaine Maxwell. The public can absorb this news because Prince Andrew has not contributed anything to society, unlike artists of every genre.
Keeping the focus on animation, does Cosby negate Fat Albert? Does Kricfalusi negate Ren & Stimpy?
Yes.
However terrible for the people who worked on the shows, and for the sincere intentions behind each, both programs are irreparably “covered in shit paint.”
Along with other creatives who have negated their work, I no longer find enjoyment from Cosby and Kricfalusi’s projects, and will never revisit them. Wherever you land on the sliding scale of moral relativism, you cannot divorce the artist from the art.
As with disclaimers airing before racially insensitive cartoons, I believe the episodes need to be preserved and archived for historical and research purposes — and, when publicly shown, when sold on home entertainment platforms, be done so only with full context.
That context matters because the double-edged sword is that, by watching each series, you appreciate the talent behind it… but talent criminally wasted, used only to serve their own selfish, hurtful desires in the end.
