In Caricature, his collection of shorts, Clowes parades his usual losers. With faces chiseled from the detritus of Mount Rushmore, each character is a leftover of the American Dream. Middle-age crisis, suburban self-disgust and adolescent angst all rear their ugly mugs here. In its finest stories such as "The Gold Mommy," his character is cast adrift in a somnambulistic trek across a city both familiar and alien to him, much like the Night-town of Leopold Bloom. He revisits old haunts from his childhood finding everything stranger and sad: his old home already a fast-food joint with his sister employed as a cashier. Despite the conventional setting, everything is suffused with a certain tinge of unreality like dialogue in a David Lynch film. There is no reason for the character’s journey other than his wish to kill time yet he moves as if he’s being followed. The anxiety is genuinely felt with each footstep, each panel a vent of a private hell that glows like neon on a hot night.
On the other side of the spectrum, "Like a Weed, Joe" captures the customary ennui that sets in whenever summer rolls in, the oppressive heat and friendships founded on nothing more than boredom and banal conversation. (Of course, a dirty joke was always a killer icebreaker.) Despite the absence of color, it paints well a picture of loneliness that, at that age, one might mistake as romantic.
Depressing stuff? Yes, but one must hasten to add compelling, dramatic and – surprisingly – funny. (In another story, the protagonist is a balding and introverted superhero with no apparent powers except for being impervious to the fact that he wears his underwear over his pants. A scream, right?)
"The main rule you have to learn as a caricaturist is very simple and basic: flatter the customer," says the character in the title story. Clowes does not heed this advice. His picture of America ain’t pretty: a paradise with the burden of Vietnam, Richard Nixon and Reaganomics pulling south its cloud. (One eagerly anticipates Clowes reaction to George W. Bush.) But neither does he resort to painting grotesques: Life is unusual enough. Much like the cinema of Todd Solondz and the photography of Todd Hido, he finds the drama in the domestic enough.
It is also an example to Clowes’ integrity that he never condescends to his readers by tacking false hope sentimentality or platitudes to his stories. (If you really must need that, it’s recommended that you stick to books like Chicken Soup for the Soul or Paolo Coehlo’s The Alchemist.) He’s far too sympathetic to his subjects for that.
Rather, he leaves you with impressions, fleeting glimpses that gather humor and poignancy on reflection. Perhaps the biggest compliment one can pay Caricature is that no one will be laughing out loud or staining its sheets with tears while reading it.
That comes later.
Unfortunately, it’s the Gweilo’s Hour on NU 107.5. Reportedly the weirdest and most chaotic (i.e. amateurish hour) on radio, it features all the music you should know but don’t… yet. Plus, there’s boring banter between this columnist and Marius so get your tape decks ready. (The wise should leave it on pause but what do they know?) It’s on from 9-10 p.m. and is brought to you by San Miguel Beer, Frenzy Condom and Jack Daniels (which goes to show why the hosts always sound intoxicated and horny).
Gweilo’s Bar and Restaurant is located at Carlos Palanca St., Legaspi Village in Makati. Happy Hour all night on Mondays with DJ RO spinning the hits from Wipe Out to Whole Lotta Love, Purple Haze to Blue Monday. Every Wednesday, the best British band from Bulacan, Orange & Lemons plays songs from Gene, The Smiths and their very own hits like A Splendid Love Song.