South Park's cutout look is what happens when two guys assemble a cartoon from torn construction paper on a photocopier and refuse to hide the seams. Everything is a flat opaque shape — circle heads, rectangle bodies, snap-jointed limbs — pasted onto a snowbound mountain town under a pale robin's-egg sky. The charm lives in the wrongness: visible paper edges, slightly-off registration, a hard seam where kelly-green grass meets white snow. It is deliberately, gleefully crude, the anti-Disney. A fourth-grader's diorama that learned to swear.