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<text id=89TT3382>
<title>
Dec. 25, 1989: Interview:Berke Breathed
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Dec. 25, 1989 Cruise Control:Tom Cruise
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
INTERVIEW, Page 10
A Hooligan Who Wields a Pen
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Cartoonist Berke Breathed thinks reporters are "bloodsucking
geckos." But then again, he says even his relatives believe his
brain went out with last week's meat loaf
</p>
<p>By Daniel S. Levy and Berke Breathed
</p>
<p> Q. Why did you discontinue Bloom County?
</p>
<p> A. I'm 32. That's too young to coast. I could draw Bloom
County with my nose and pay my cleaning lady to write it, and
I'd bet I wouldn't lose 10% of my papers over the next 20 years.
Such is the nature of comic strips. Once established, their
half-life is usually more than nuclear waste. Typically, the end
result is lazy, rich cartoonists. There are worse things to be,
I suppose...lazy and poor comes to mind.
</p>
<p> Q. What is your new strip, Outland, about?
</p>
<p> A. Silliness. Friendship. Escape. Doorways in the sky. A
little girl. A big mouse. Crimson skies. Blue clouds.
Liposuction. Love. Death. Trump. Disney. The usual things.
</p>
<p> Q. What are its chances of succeeding?
</p>
<p> A. Slim. I am competing with the readers' affection for a
dead strip whose body is still warm. The readers and editors are
mad and don't seem to be in a mood for anything but the old
meadow and dandelions. But until I am booted off the page, I am
having a ball. My relatives, of course, think my mind went out
with last week's meat loaf.
</p>
<p> Q. You are also writing a humorous column for Boating
magazine. What is it about?
</p>
<p> A. It's about doing to boaters what I tried to do to
everyone else in Bloom County: reveal the lunacy we pretend
isn't there. I, of course, would normally have nothing to do
with things like boats, but for research reasons I had to buy
one. Four, actually.
</p>
<p> Q. In Bloom County, you portray reporters as lecherous,
scurrilous, lying fiends. Do you really think they are that bad?
</p>
<p> A. I never said "fiends" per se. "Bloodsucking geckos,"
I've said. Look, the Russians are wimping out and we're running
out of bad guys. If the alternatives are mullahs, drug lords and
the press, I'll always go with the ones who dress the funniest.
Have you seen George Will's little bow ties?
</p>
<p> Q. Whom would you rather associate with, boaters or
reporters?
</p>
<p> A. I would rather associate with dogs.
</p>
<p> Q. Does making fun of the political system change anything?
</p>
<p> A. Only the size of cartoonists' egos. Nowadays political
commentary, especially satirical commentary, is usually ink
wasted. Eighty years ago that wasn't the case. At that time a
political cartoonist could turn an election around. Before TV,
before movies and radio, a drawing of a weasel with the
Governor's name on his butt went a long way in a public's
imagination. Our political power today is illusionary. A Johnny
Carson monologue is today's real influence brokerage.
</p>
<p> Q. You have made a difference, though, when it comes to
animal testing. After you ran a series on the torturing of
rabbits at Mary Kay labs, the cosmetic manufacturer announced
a moratorium on animal testing. Were you surprised?
</p>
<p> A. Totally. But note the distinction. With the issue of
horrendous animal abuse within cosmetic testing labs, all that
was needed was to illustrate the facts. When I drew a rabbit
with clips pulling its eyelids open, it was effective precisely
because of its accuracy.
</p>
<p> Q. How do you see the environment as an issue?
</p>
<p> A. I find the environment far more exciting to the future
than politics. Politics is shockingly transient. The issues that
we are so concerned with today are nearly forgotten in three
weeks. Environmental issues are not going to be a moot point ten
years from now. They are getting more acute. Discovering how to
make them funny is a distinct and irresistible challenge.
</p>
<p> Q. Why do you make fun of the environmentalists you support?
</p>
<p> A. It is like my writing about boating in a satirical way.
Extremists are extremist, no matter what. They are always
funny. There are people who think I am the James Watt of the
animal-rights movement because I still wear leather shoes and
eat the occasional McNugget. They may be heading in the right
direction, but they can act pretty silly during the journey.
</p>
<p> Q. People have complained that your work is offensive. Some
papers have refused to run various strips, and some people,
like the Rev. Donald Wildmon, have demanded that you be fired
for slandering Christians. What do such reactions tell you about
your work?
</p>
<p> A. People are reading, especially Donald Wildmon. They are
probably angry, they are probably insulted, sometimes they are
offended, but they read you every day just to find out how they
are going to be offended for tomorrow and for the next day.
Indifference is the enemy. When I've lost Don, I've lost the
war.
</p>
<p> Q. You have said cartooning is the last refuge of the
mediocre and the stronghold of the lazy and strange. Why?
</p>
<p> A. Probably because I was feeling uncharacteristically
honest with myself at the moment. There are some of us being
paid millions to do essentially the same thing that used to get
us sent to the principal--drawing our authority figures in an
unflattering light, which in those days probably meant in the
nude.
</p>
<p> Charles Schulz said it once: you only have to be a halfway
good artist and a halfway good writer to be a cartoonist. I know
my limitations. I could never make it as a writer, and I could
never make it as a fine artist. Thus the world of cartooning was
waiting for me to come along. I have plenty of partial ability.
</p>
<p> Q. What do you think about the current state of the comic
strip?
</p>
<p> A. The comic page is bogged down in tradition; it is
weighed down with expectations. What I find so exciting is the
possibility for gentle subversion, to be friendly and dangerous
at the same time, like kissing your first cousin hello and
lingering.
</p>
<p> The comic strip is the Andy Griffith of literature. It is
conservative, it is homey, it is comfortable, and it is in no
hurry to reveal how smart it really is. My fascination is to see
what Andy would look like in a thong bikini. Traditional and
friendly, but dangerous at the same time, which is a likely
description of Bloom County.
</p>
<p> Q. What accounts for your warped view of the world?
</p>
<p> A. Eating lots of broccoli. You know, it's not the weirdo
cartoonist that warps. The real warped view is on TV every
night. Sanitized reality. Our job is to unwarp as best we can
by reflecting the truth back into your eyes. It's not warped
that Opus (the penguin) gets a buttock implant. On the contrary,
I think it's pretty trendy.
</p>
<p> Q. You make fun of almost everyone. Is there anyone you
like?
</p>
<p> A. Oh, I like the people I make fun of. I like Jeane
Kirkpatrick. Where would we be without Jeane Kirkpatrick? We
needed a character on the political scene that looked and
sounded like her.
</p>
<p> Q. What, if anything, do you want to be remembered for?
</p>
<p> A. I delight in the thought that I would be remembered with
all the qualities that Opus has, knowing deep down that I am a
total hooligan. I would be delighted if I were as innocent, as
naive and as unconcerned with worldly matters as Opus is. But
the fact is that I am not. So maybe that is what he is. I am
drawing him as my ideal. If I could choose my personality, it
would be his.
</p>
<p> I also want to be remembered for taking a voluntary 92% cut
in my income for the sake of my cartoons. I figure attaining
immortality as an artist is a long shot. But I'm a shoo-in as
a martyr.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>