The director does not shy from exploring the violence, despair and addiction that often accompany a life on the streets. “Most of the Chicano art comes from out in the streets, from the revolution, fighting for their place in the community.” “A lot of great art has come from struggle, struggle in people’s own lives, in their community and in their head-space,” Oriol says. Along the way, as “LA Originals” shows, Mister Cartoon and Oriol keep it, in a word, real. Mister Cartoon even supplies imagery for the video game “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.” And they were executive producers on the 2017 feature film “Lowriders,” set in East L.A.’s car scene. Oriol and Mister Cartoon team with top-tier brands including Nike and T-Mobile and Hollywood producers like Brian Grazer. … That’s big.” Generous self-homageĪ striking theme that runs throughout “LA Originals” is how true to their roots the artists remain, no matter how big their profiles become. “This is a young woman in Beijing, so far removed from L.A. “I’m like, dude, how do you know that’s Mister Cartoon?” Bryant says.
The employee who stopped him then asked if his ink was by Mister Cartoon. He describes being told that he could not leave his tattoos uncovered in a Beijing hotel gym facility. The late Kobe Bryant is also interviewed. “Now I’m brothers with 50 Cent and Eminem and Beyoncé and everyone else,” says actor Ryan Phillippe in the film, referring to his ink by Cartoon.
Dre, B-Real, Sen Dog, Michelle Rodriguez, Nas, Xzibit, Big Pun, Travis Barker, Danny Trejo, Rick Ross, Kim Kardashian, Eva Longoria, 50 Cent, Pharrell, Paul Wall, Christina Aguilera and a host of others. In “LA Originals,” the list of cameos and in-person interviews is astounding, rivaling any marquee awards telecast of the past couple decades: Beyoncé, Dr. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a Mister Cartoon tattoo, and everyone also wanted to have a portrait taken by Oriol. Celebrities across the spectrum took notice. In their heyday, Oriol and Mister Cartoon embodied the essence of 1990s West Coast urban culture: graffiti, hip-hop, lowriders and tattoos all merged with them and their creative circles.
His distinctive style was thus born, a sort of cholo baroque aesthetic that is finely detailed, strict in its parameters: he never uses colored ink, only black and gray. He made a breakthrough when he merged prison-style drawing with graffiti flourishes and changed his primary medium to human skin. Meanwhile, Mister Cartoon was transcending his roots as a graffiti writer (his early tag was Flame). Often, his lens was the only one documenting the wild scenes of the rap groups’ road lives. Along the way, he began taking pictures with a camera that his father gave him, a vintage Minolta SR-T SC-II (now Oriol uses a Canon AE-1). Dre’s seminal album “The Chronic” Snoop Dogg’s “Doggystyle” followed in 1993, two key moments in West Coast hip-hop history.Īs the documentary details, Oriol by then was building connections as a bouncer at Hollywood clubs, later becoming a tour manager for the rap groups Cypress Hill and House of Pain. riots marked the year, but so did the release of Dr. “It was a good time to be alive in ’92,” Mister Cartoon says. Mister Cartoon, born Mark Machado, hailed from the L.A. Oriol had grown up on L.A.’s Westside and moved to Hollywood at age 19. Upon viewing it in a period of pandemic-forced lockdowns and isolation, the film becomes an especially urgent celebration of life in Los Angeles, acknowledging its ups and downs. The film is a raw, often jarring portrait of one of the richest creative partnerships in this town’s history. On Friday, Netflix is premiering the documentary “LA Originals,” directed by Oriol, which charts the two artists’ lives and careers. street art and Chicano culture into the boardroom - and into your living room. There they began fomenting a cultural movement.īy bridging the gap between cultural gatekeepers and the urban landscape, Oriol and Mister Cartoon brought the roughest realms of L.A. Studios at a complex of warehouses on the edge of downtown Los Angeles’ skid row. In the early 1990s, the artists set up shop as S.A. This remarkable transformation in the city’s cultural DNA is due in part in two figures who’ve not gotten nearly as much credit as they’re due: photographer-director Estevan Oriol and “ tattooist to the stars” Mister Cartoon. became known as a playground of art walks, stellar restaurants and whiskey bars. Graffiti as a form can command handsome corporate commissions by its most heralded artists. Today, arm sleeves of elaborate ink are embraced by media moguls and suburban moms alike. There was a time in the recent cultural history of Los Angeles when tattoos were strictly the markers of bona fide gangsters, when graffiti was vandalism - little more - and when going downtown at night was considered a definite no-no.