Fritz the Cat (1972)

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Ralph Bakshi’s first animated feature is an X-rated adaptation of Robert Crumb’s Fritz the Cat. Fritz is a college student who likes to have a good time by way of weed and women, but manages to cram a lot of philosophical and existential musings between vices. After an orgy is busted by the pigs (the police are all actual pigs in this world), Fritz embarks on an episodic journey, spending time with a series of characters who represent different cultural movements. But like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, he comes to learn there’s no place like home — if home was sex.

The ‘shock value’ audacity of Fritz the Cat wears off early, which may disappoint anyone looking for surface-level comedy. The film is more meaningful as a cultural time capsule, borne of ’60s social movements and serving as its own sort of artistic protest. Bakshi takes things to the brink of pretentiousness, especially in a few non-sequitur background conversations that were surely unscripted recordings from smoke-filled coffee joints. But as soon as Bakshi threatens to preach, he always pops a hole in the seriousness — often with a grotesque stereotype or bouncing furry boobs.

The one time the seriousness is allowed to haunt us without comic interruption is an all too timely riot between crows and pigs. The overly PC among us may get caught up in racial depictions that surely wouldn’t be made today. But I think Bakshi means well with this riot that ends in bloodshed, possibly indicating to Fritz that not everyone has the luxury of choosing their life philosophy. Could we call it ‘cat privilege’?

Loose, episodic storytelling usually bothers me, but Fritz the Cat holds together thematically as a quest for meaning and morality. I was especially entertained by Fritz’s experiences as a buttoned-down and bossed-around husband-to-be, juxtaposed immediately with a creepy stint in a nihilistic cult of swamp creatures. After all that, maybe Fritz the Cat is even deeper than we think. Maybe sex is the answer.