Review - More Old Jewish Comedians by Drew Friedman
March 1st, 2008 John Posted in Art, Books, Reviews |
If there is one current artist who deserves more serious attention from the world, it is Drew Friedman.
Drew Friedman plies a creative trade that falls into the realm of cartoonig, but also pulls from the often disdained field of caricature. There are important differences between Friedman and that guy who sets up a stand next to the water front though and shills sketches of, say, Sylvester Stallone with a humongous head. One is that while Friedman might well want you to laugh at his interpretations, he probably wants you to cry simultaneously. Another is that for all the simplicity inherent in the field of caricature — focusing in on obvious elements of a person’s face and then accentuating them — Friedman focuses in on the less obvious parts worth noticing. He’s famous for his liver spots and warts and such.
The most important difference, though, is his subject matter. He would probably never draw Sylvester Stallone, though he would probably do a great one. Friedman prefers subjects like Morey Amsterdam — and you can trust Friedman to have not only studied Morey Amsterdam, but to do approach him in such a way that you look at Friedman’s portrait of him and you will know Morey Amsterdam, you will understand Morey Amsterdam, you will weep for and snicker with Morey Amsterdam.
Friedman’s latest collection of artwork “More Old Jewish Comedians” is all about that — Morey Amsterdam is in there, sure, but so Jan Murray, Bill Dana, Bert Lahr , Joe E. Ross and multiple others. And while the familiar comedians are delightful — his Jerry Stiller is both joyful and mind-boggling, while Marty Allen dares you to look away and not be able to marvel at the details that record every strand of hair on the man’s head — it’s the portraits of those less known that are fascinating. Herbie Faye, for instance — I have no idea who he is, but the image of him, cocked head, bar and grill in the background on a New York City avenue, is the epitome of old style, show-biz cool. Equally, there’s a sadness but also a mischievous vigor in the eyes of of Bert Gordon — also unknown to me — who sits in a striped polos shirt, next to his walker and his Florida condo, slacks pulled up to his chest. These are loving portraits of people who do not fit the bill of classic American loveliness, drowning in the sweet, brotherly joy of Herbert and Milton Marx (that is, Zeppo and Gummo), as well as examining the mysteries in the alarmingly manic face of disheveled Larry Storch. This is celebrity artwork that really gets inside the skins of the people being captured, even as it meticulously reproduces the aging faces that protect the spirits within.
It’s a territory that Friedman has walked forever — a Friar’s Club world dominated by a Borscht Belt mentality, with a garnish of after hours bars and intoxicated one-upmanship. Friedman came into prominence in the 1980s, with magazine work appearing everywhere from Spy to National Lampoon and beyond — he often collaborated with his brother, Josh Alan Friedman, a writer. Their stomping grounds were the back alleys of grade-z showbiz — he had captured Ed Wood’s gang in cartoon form long before the likes of Tim Burton ever had the opportunity to make a big movie about them. Friedman’s presentation was like some sort of sleazy tabloid underworld, where reality and fantasy mixed into something that just seemed real. Did Bill Cullen really skulk around the sleazy streets of New York City? Who knows? Probably not, but Friedman made it seem so possible.
Friedman has always had an eye for the absurd and one incident in particular illustrates how on the mark he was. One of his most famous cartoon stories involved New York City talk show curiosity Joe Franklin. Unlike Howard Stern and Morton Downey, Franklin was a local celebrity who remained so, with his oddball amateur talk show on NYC cable TV, built around meandering reminiscences of old time showbiz with his various guests. Franklin became fodder for the Friedman brothers’ cartoon wit, but Joe Franklin didn’t find anything funny about “The Amazing Shrinking Joe Franklin,” a satire depicting Franklin as actually physically shrinking, and sued. Did Franklin object because of the obvious symbolism? No. Franklin was apparently seriously concerned that his fans would believe he was actually shrinking. And maybe that’s the irony of it all — years later, I don’t remember Franklin himself too well, but the vivid image of a little tiny version of him sitting on a chair on a TV set is etched in my brain. Such is the power of Drew Friedman.
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