"The year is 50BC. Gaul is entirely occupied by the Romans. Well, not entirely . . . One small village of indomitable Gauls still holds out against the invaders. And life is not easy for the Roman legionaries who garrison the fortified camps of Totorum, Aquarium, Laudanum and Compendium . . ."
Forty-two years after their first appearance in the French magazine Pilote, Asterix and his Gaulish friends are still gamely resisting the all-powerful Roman army, aided by Getafix, the venerable druid whose magic potion is available to all in the village (except Obelix who, as everyone knows, fell into a cauldron of the potion when he was a baby). Asterix and the Actress, the latest instalment in the adventures of Asterix, Obelix, Getafix, Vitalstatistix and Cacofonix, is the 31st book in the series, available in almost 100 different languages, from Afrikaans to Welsh. Since the death of Rene Goscinny in 1977, the Asterix illustrator, Albert Uderzo, has continued to produce new adventures for the character, despite the predictable complaints regarding loss of quality.
Uderzo's latest offering might lack something of the complexity of the earlier books, but it is still very funny. The matchmaking schemes of the mothers of Asterix and Obelix, Vanilla and Sarsaparilla, falter in the face of their sons' stubborn commitment to the bachelor lifestyle. Asterix and Obelix fall out because of the machinations of the Roman actress Latraviata, masquerading as Obelix's femme fatale, Panacea. Getafix concocts a potion for Asterix that causes him, in the indignant words of his mother, to think he is a giant flea. Getafix responds defensively: "Listen, Sarsaparilla, I may have invented a potion which gives people superhuman strength and another which turns them into granite and makes them revert to childhood, but do you expect me to work miracles?" Moreover, the script maintains high standards in its references to current issues and events. Following the usual "Kerplonk", "Craaash", "Bif" and "Bong" meeting between our heroes and the massed Roman guards, Obelix reflects: "A little tough love never hurt anyone." Latraviata accepts a golden statuette in recognition of "her histrionic genius", leading Caesar to comment: "Give a woman a trophy for acting? That's ridiculous."
While cartoons in general are often seen as the preserve of children and the uninformed, Asterix is impressively erudite. (You can't accuse a cartoon of insulting the intelligence of its readers when many of its punchlines are in Latin.) One review of the enduring appeal of Asterix ended with the assertion: "The difference between the cultured person and the non-cultured person is that the cultured person only picks his/her nose when nobody can see. There's another difference: the cultured person doesn't read comics when others can see either - with the notable exception of Asterix!"
While Mickey Mouse has come to serve as a synonym for all that is trivial and worthless, the plucky little Gaul has managed to maintain high academic standards. At the University of Amsterdam, one professor teaches an ancient history course using the Asterix books as set texts. General readers can consult a website dedicated to annotations, translations and explanations of the more obscure jokes. At the 1978 Celtic Consciousness Symposium at the University of Toronto, Derrick De Kerckhove explained that, in reading Asterix, "we are witnessing yet another performance of the Apollonian versus the Dionysiac, or rather, the contest between two types of blends of both". Indeed. And could the same be said of the struggle between Garfield and that dumb dog he keeps kicking off the table? I think not.
Asterix's humour works across an age range. As a child, you read for the storyline, the funny names, the characters and the appeal of the drawings. As an adult, you finally "get" some of the more obscure names, pick up on more of the references, and recognise the storylines as parodies. In Asterix, more mature readers claim to see an allegory for the Second World War, with the Romans as Nazis and the Gaulish village as the French Resistance. Others claim that the Gauls represent the modern French, gamely holding out against the relentless attempts at cultu- ral assimilation made by the all-encompassing Roman/American empire.
The idea of Asterix as a non-American hero was always an important part of his raison d'etre. The initial impetus for the stories came from the frustration of the publisher Francois Clotaud that his children had only American comics to read. The guiding principle of Pilote was that it was to revolve around French culture. As a specifically French hero, Asterix has been a hit - the first French satellite, launched in 1965, was named after the shrewd, cunning little warrior. Indeed, many French people are puzzled by the success of the series outside France, given both the number of references to French politics and history, and the number of caricatures of French figures. Obelix and Co, for example, is a brilliant explanation of economics and the stock market, as manipulated by the Roman economist Caius Preposterus, a caricature of Jacques Chirac. However, Goscinny and Uderzo never limited themselves purely to poking fun at the French. Other caricatures include the Beatles, and Sean Connery as a top secret agent. Moreover, the excellent translators (Anthea Bell and Derek Hockridge for a British audience) ensure that the humour of the puns and names of the characters is matched, if not bettered. Obelix's small white dog, obsessed with the well-being of the forest trees (introduced at the beginning of each book as "the only known canine ecologist"), was named "Idefix" in France. The English translation manages to combine this character summation with a neat pun, naming the pet "Dogmatix".
Asterix is not so much French as non-American. And we are just as much in need of this non-American hero today as in 1959. As the American empire tightens its grip, Asterix is our last hope. Only he can unite Europe in resistance against these Roman legionaries in casual polyester leisurewear. Parc Asterix offers disgruntled Europeans the opportunity to boycott the Disney empire yet still keep the children happy - a vital but frequently overlooked factor in the blueprint of many a revolution. Across Europe, people may have qualms about the idea of a European federal state. But rename it "the Gaulish village", and they'll be flocking to its wooden fence. Add the obligatory lavish banquet of roast boar under the starry sky, and European integration is assured. Soon we'll have nothing to fear - other than the sky falling on our heads ("by Toutatis!") - because we all love Asterix.
Except the Americans. The Norwegian comics magazine TEGN explained: "It seems as if Asterix is firstly a French comic, and secondly a European comic. At least it has never been accepted in the homeland of comics, USA." By and large, Americans just don't appreciate Asterix. The series was criticised by Maurice Horn, in the American-dominated World Encyclopedia of Comics, as containing "a few good things . . . but the basic plot is tiresome and Goscinny's endless stream of bad puns and chauvinistic asides make this quite unpleasant as a strip". In the United States, the Asterix series enjoys only modest sales. It is hard to explain this lack of success without resorting to crude stereotypes about the American lack of understanding of irony or sarcasm. Perhaps it is the historical setting of the story that confuses the Americans, who wouldn't recognise a menhir if one hit them on the head. The series is well drawn and intelligent, the characters curiously endearing, the endings all happy, but still the Americans just don't get it. They seem inexplicably to prefer the mindless antics of an overgrown, overly sentimental mouse and his stupid doggy sidekick. Not to mention a strange assortment of ducks in coats. These Americans are crazy.
Asterix and the Actress is published by Orion (£9.99)
Helen Laville is a lecturer in American studies at the University of Birmingham
