Tales of Mere Existence (Review)

Tales of Mere Existence is a cartoon series mostly about life. Made by an American artist called Lev Yilmaz, the Youtube series follows the life of the artist’s alter ego as he goes about living life the best he can. But this cartoon Lev, however, is no one’s idea of a role model; far from living a life of brilliance, this Lev is simply an ordinary guy living an ordinary life, which when compared to casting spells at Hogwarts and catching ‘em all, does look pretty humdrum.

It is the trite side of life that Lev looks at in his 84 or so cartoons, each of which conveys a mix of disenchantment and bafflement. These feelings are evidently well-known to the sensitive young man, whose idealism is in constant conflict with the less than ideal world he finds around him. Indeed, as an outsider who occupies a different wavelength to everyone else, his eye for the mundane in life is unusually sharp. Lev’s withering portrayal of the superficiality of most conversations is chronicled in the video Shut Up, which explores the trouble he has with expressing himself. When talking to people, no matter what Lev says, he cannot, for the life of him, finish a single one of his long-winded sentences, before someone interrupts him. Alas, it seems everyone he knows is piss poor in the listening department. While walking with a friend one day, Lev observes, “You know, I think it’s sort of interesting to think that if a 22-year old John Lennon were to sing Twist and Shout today, he almost certainly would have been eliminated from Britain’s Got Talent.” To which his friend replies, “Yeah, you see that dog over there? It’s a Pekingese.”

Besides his offbeat sense of humour, Tales of Mere Existence is notable for its creator’s unique, low-fi approach to making cartoons, using only paper, pen, and a glass table as tools. Drawing on a piece of paper placed above a transparent table, he captures every pen stroke on the camera placed directly below it. The result is that his characters and objects appear on screen as incomplete silhouettes who are still being brought to life as we look on. Ever so simple, this technique gives the videos a carefree aura that helps make his less-than-flattering thoughts seem that little bit more humourous.

In My Successful Friends, Yilmaz talks about three friends of his who, unlike him, have gone on to lead successful careers. So while the cartoonist faces up to another day of making coffee for his café’s bonkers clientele, his high school buddies are living the American Dream. Not that Lev is jealous or anything. He claims to be proud of these “terrific guys” and hopes that no terrible misfortunes ever befall them, “like coming down with the bubonic plague, or stepping on a landmine, or being attacked by a mountain lion, or driving off a 500 ft cliff into the Pacific Ocean.” Of course, in listing so many highly imaginative and sadistic ways his friends could kick the bucket, Yilmaz suggests he may be a tad more envious of them than he’s willing to let on. Indeed, there are some things money can’t buy; for everything else,there’s schadenfreude.

From the time he tried crossing his legs on the bus while still trying to “sit masculine” so that no one would think he was a girlie man, to the times he tried to be a hipster, to the typical conversation he has with his mother, the sheer variety of stories that inhabit Lev’s inner world is simply staggering. In the age of social media, Tales of Mere Existence is pure entertainment gold, certain to make your life seem that much more spectacular by comparison. Or perhaps not.

La vieille en plein délire de sénilité

22nd March 2012: The day before I attended two free concerts put on in the capital by a certain American band whose name I shall not disclose, I made a video at the Sorbonne. I had for some time been wanting to film inside the Sorbonne, because I have always been fascinated by historical edifices. There is something about old things that appeals to me. A building that has outlived revolutions and generations of students exudes a kind of charm that is all but lacking in concrete-and-glass skyscrapers. It goes without saying, the Sorbonne has a unique stature and history that is simply unmatched. Few buildings constructed in the Middle Ages still exist; and of the ones still standing, few are of great importance to contemporary life. Perhaps only Notre Dame has a greater imprint on the public consciousness; but aside from the waves of tourists seeking her out everyday, the Old Lady is arguably less meaningful to the daily lives of locals.

In addition, the fact that only students and staff know what the Sorbonne looks like on the inside serves to increase its prestige. Not knowing what is going on inside the ivory-less tower, tourists can only look upon its golden-hued slabs and blue, oval-shaped roof  in awe. For students, entering the building presents its own rewards: showing your I.D. to the patrol officers standing guard at the entrance, you cannot help but feel a part of an exclusive club, as if you were a political type frequenting No. 10 Downing Street. Cameras that flash as you pull open the wooden door and make your way inside the building must surely secure your place in countless albums of international travelers. Of course, none of these facts are intended to boost the ego of students, but it’s still nice to think of oneself as being important.

On this day, however, I was not looking just to show off; I was also trying to show off the university to friends and family. It’s hard to describe a place to someone who has never visited it, so why not film it? Granted I knew that filming the Sorbonne could pose quite a challenge, I visited it a few times and tried to find a time when the building would be quiet. Based on empirical evidence, a weekday afternoon seemed a safe bet, as there didn’t seem to be any lectures on in it at the time. So on that Thursday afternoon, I went up to the patrol officer and asked him if I could film inside the building. He replied that it was forbidden to do so. Undeterred, I waited at the foot of the Place de la Sorbonne, where all the free massage workers and the tourists sitting at the cafés were. I then got out my camera and began filming myself as I walked up to the Sorbonne. But as I saw the patrol officer, I hid my camera in my pocket, and then made my way inside the building.

I was inside! I then got my camera out and followed the path I had traced in my head. From the main hallway, I took a right turn and then a left, before I proceeded up a staircase to an old lecture hall where a maths lecture in Paris I was taking place. I didn’t want to get caught filming there, so I didn’t actually enter the room but instead proceeded down the stairs. My filming was jerky as I had trouble keeping my hand stable. There was something of a first-person shooter about my filming; I hoped the people I would come across didn’t think of themselves as victims.

I then headed towards the drink dispensers, as if to show that Sorbonne wasn’t completely old school. But right at that moment, I saw a patrol officer directly in front of me. A little apprehensive, I placed the hand that was holding my camera down to the ground; and remarkably enough, the guard didn’t stop me. I kept going, but had to hide my camera in my pocket on occasion so as not to spark any suspicions with the staff and students congregating around the vending machines. I then proceeded up the staircase that led to the English department before getting to the top floor. On that story, I had access to a beautiful and exclusive view of Paris. I could see Rue Saint-Jacques and the top of the recently blossomed trees of Place de la Sorbonne; the Eiffel Tower stood firmly in the distance. I then headed down the staircase, taking care to film the peeling underside of the stairs. Before leaving the main entrance, I put my camera securely in my pocket. I then walked  down the street to another part of the building and showed my I.D. to the officer. Then, when I had made it inside, I took my camera out again to film the wall showcasing Renaissance-style paintings, and the porticoes looking out at the enclosed square and the main tower.