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Porky’s Picnic

“Well…” “Here…” “We are!”

Porky’s day out.

Supervision by Robert Clampett; Animation by Robert Cannon and Vive Risto; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on July 15, 1939.

Porky is off to see his girlfriend. I’ve heard that it’s something you do when you are part of a couple. I really don’t know what to make of the faces he’s making, though. What exactly were you two planning to to today? Does it require privacy? I could talk about Pvt. Snafu if need be. Haven’t done that in a while.

Aww, what the heck. I’ll turn off my disgusting adult brain for the day. At least in terms of sexual innuendos. Porky and Petunia are just a couple of cherubs. Nothing more saucy planned than that titular picnic. (Porky nervously asking if Petunia wants to go to the pic for a parknic is extra adorable.) Always prepared for any activity her sweet chubboo wants to do, Petunia needs less than a second to get a basket and hat. And Pinkie can look after the house!

Yessir, he’s back. I don’t know who he’s related to this time, but Petunia really was going to leave him behind. Maybe she knows how most viewers feel about him? Even I have to admit he’s not as cute today. Chubby piggy bellies are always preferable to those odd nightgown things babies were always shown wearing in cartoons. (The bonnets were never cute.) The adults don’t make too much headway before the kid catches up on his paddle-bike. (I’ll be honest, I don’t know what that kind of toy would be called.)

Their plan for alone time foiled, they bring the piglet along. Porky even promising him a story should the kid behave. It’s that classic one about three bears and a peroxide blonde, as Porky calls her. Which is way less wimpy and childish. Porky tells tales that would make the Grimm’s proud! Pinkie doesn’t give a dang. He pulls at the spike keeping the sidecar he and Petunia are in attached to Porky’s bike. Porky is unaware his guests are traveling down a different road, and a lady never screams for help, so Petunia decides to just let fate take its course.

This road goes parallel to some train tracks, so while Pinkie giggles with glee, Petunia prays that their car will run out of steam before they reach a crossing. No such luck. Good thing in these modern times, the blocking parts are designed to keep the train from crossing the cars path. Not like there on a timetable or anything. And the two make it safely back to Porky just as his tale finishes. (It was really good too! I liked the part where the bears explained how they stole their house from a human couple.) Petunia decides to keep everything a secret, because she doesn’t want Porky to know she is too dainty to safe her own life. Makes her less attractive. (And yes, I saw that sign stating Looney Tunes are playing at the community hall. Best town ever!)

The trio arrive at the park. Porky knows what he’s going to do first! What anyone spending time with their soulmate and a young kid would do: nap. I’m learning some great tips on how to be in a relationship! Pinkie decides to amuse himself by participating in squirrel decapitation. Why no, that wasn’t a poor attempt by me to be funny by suggesting barbaric murder attempts are something the kid would naturally do. He grabs some scissors, and tries to separate head from neck. He doesn’t succeed though. Not like the Haye’s code would have a problem. It’s an important skill kids need to know.

Petunia punishes the brat by telling him to nap as well. But Pinkie would rather partake in his favorite pastime: treating Porky as his personal piñata. My pal laughs it off, but makes it well known that Pinkie’s days are numbered. Maybe even less than that, seeing as how the kid isn’t making another appearance after this. What better way to spend your last day on Earth, than by visiting a zoo? Preferably one where the animals aren’t in cramped cages. So I guess Pinkie will die unhappy unless he can make it to the mid aughts.

Petunia alerts Porky to the problem. She’s just a woman, so she can’t do anything useful other than popping the kids out. May our country join a war and give the girls a chance to prove themselves to prove me wrong. Porky is up to any challenge, and finds the kid napping amidst some cougar cubs. The zookeepers are all on strike until the animals get actual habitats, so Porky enters himself. Mother cougar isn’t pleased to see Porky so near her offspring, and stealing their dinner. Chase time.

She’s a fair feline. When Petunia is about to faint, she patiently waits until Porky has attended to his lady. But this noble gesture just reminds the cat that her mate never did anything of the sort, and resumes the chase enviously angry. But Porky is smart! He decides to just exit the cage, and the murderous mama crashes into the bars. Porky crashes into some mud, but Petunia is more than just a lady, she’s a pig, and she gives the hero the kiss he deserves. Don’t let the mud getting on her and suggesting black face distract you from how cute they are together. It’s hard believe she started as such a bit*h.

Pinkie tries to get his squirrel head trophy again, but the rodent Conker’s his @$$ with a plank of his own. I’m sure Pinkie’s tears are somebody’s favorite part! But as for me…

Favorite Part: Porky catching Pinkie with the plank and asking what he was going to do. Well, it’s just common courtesy to explain and demonstrate, isn’t it?

Personal Rating: 3. I suppose I’m being too nice, but nobody ever tries to debate me over my scoring, so I must be correct. It’s little touches that I think make it work. (Porky commenting on his “stutter”, combing his “hair”…) And I am a sucker for my favorite couples in fiction, just like all nerds. At least this one is canon!

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Hyde and go Tweet

“You bad ol’ putty-tat!”

Directed by Friz Freleng; Animation by Art Davis, Gerry Chiniquy, and Virgil Ross; Layouts by Hawley Pratt; Backgrounds by Tom O’Loughlin; Film Editor: Treg Brown; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Milt Franklyn. (The credits have visual images with them that show something the different crew members would’ve used for their contributions. I think it’s neat.)

Third time now Freleng’s unit has done a “Hyde” story. They running out of ideas, or perfecting them? Well…

Sylvester sleeps outside the building where Dr. Jekyll works or lives. The doctor has grown more hair and lost more irises since he tried adopting Bugs. He also has no hang-ups about drinking his weird juice anymore. Sylvester misses the transformation, and Jekyll is leaving. Nobody around to explain, nobody around to hear you shriek. But the life of a cat isn’t all naps and more naps. Eating sometimes happens too.

Tweety enters the picture, struggling to fly. He comments on how flying isn’t perfect, which is a weak answer. How about the more logical “flying is exercise, and like any exercise, will eventually use all your energy”? If there’s one thing I watch cartoons for, its the scientific accuracy. Sylvester gives chase, and Tweety enters into the Doctor’s room to find a place to hide. That bottle says “Hyde” on it, and Tweety doesn’t understand homophones, so it will work as well.

Sylvester searches, but is found first. Tweety has gotten the juice, and its made for quite the memorable design. You may not have seen the short, but you might have seen Tweety-hyde. A perfect rep for Halloween decor. Sylvester collapses to pieces before pulling himself together to pull himself away from his pursuit. I don’t know how much of the original Tweety is still in there, but the creature knows its the predator now and starts the chase in reverse.

While Sylvester bangs on the nearest elevator, the beast almost gets him before the arbitrary yet funny timer kicks in. The chase resumes in reverse of reverse, until starting in reverse of reverse of reverse. Verse and repeat. But don’t think Tweety is helpless in his helplessly adorable form. He uses his brains to open and shut a door without entering, knowing that Sylvester’s mind will naturally assume he’s in there. Which he could’ve been, seeing as how his wings would allow him to be okay in an empty elevator shaft. (Why even bother putting a door up?)

Another kick in the juice gets Tweety juiced up once Sylvester returns. He opts for out the window. Cats land on their feet regardless of how hard gravity is pulling, which means in cartoons, cats don’t splat. And very large birds don’t fly. Especially the ones that are designed like a sausage. Except when they do, and Sylvester is grabbed by the tail by the bird. You know what would be funny, don’t you? If the juice wore off again!

Luckily for Sylvester, Tweety doesn’t take back his feathers this time, and Sylvester is able to slow his descent and prolong his inevitable death. With Tweety coming in from above, all Sylvester has to do is open his mouth. Comedy striketh! Sylvester is squished. Wearing off immediately gives Sylvester his chance. He grabs his prey, heads back inside and locks the door so lunch stays in, and threat stays out. Now, in the spirit of hospitality, Sylvester is going to make Tweety a sandwich.

Sylvester reprimands Tweety for being a poor loser, which really makes you think how hard it is for predators who just want a little sustenance. I don’t have to worry about such thoughts because as a scavenger, I only eat what someone else already killed. (I’ve made myself hungry.) When Sylvester turns his back for ketchup, Tweety juices up a final time and in the spirit of hospitality, has Sylvester for dinner. Fleeing once more, Sylvester realizes his fatal error in locking the only escape from the inside… does it not keep anyone out, then?

Luckily in this picture, the whole thing was like life: but a dream. Well, the Tweety parts anyhow. Hyde is still lurking around somewhere. Would’ve been cool to se the two monsters fight over the cat. Speaking of Tweety, he actually alights near Sylvester for real. Being awake and aware, Sylvester runs screaming for help from the “killer” making a couple of other cats berate him for his cowardice. Oh boys, if you only knew…

If you only knew…

Favorite Part: Sylvester threatens to jump then turns to us: “I’ve got a choithe?”

Personal Rating: 4. I really think this is the best Hyde short. It’s not a repeat rehash like “Jerkyll” and uses established characters unlike “Hare”. And I really dig Tweety’s monster form. With his limp wristed arms looking to grab, delightfully devious cackle, whiskers(?), and maniacal smile. He kinda reminds me of a Minion that won’t make you lose your animation historian cred by enjoying.

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Sandy Claws

*Tarzan Yell*

Directed by I. Freleng; Story by Arthur Davis and Warren Foster; Animation by Art Davis, Manuel Perez, and Virgil Ross. Layouts by Hawley Pratt; Backgrounds by Irv Wyner; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Music by Carl Stalling. A Looney Tune released on April 2, 1955.

I really don’t understand the Oscars. Not that I’ve really tried to, but this short was good enough to be a nominee? It’s good, but not great. If I had to pick from the choices for that year’s best cartoon, I’d have gone with “Crazy Mixed up Pup”. I’m digressing.

Granny is an odd bird. Well, she’s not a bird, but if she was she’d still be an odd one for resembling a human. She’s odd for bringing an actual bird to the beach. Not that canaries shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy the beach, but it screams “The grandchildren want nothing to do with me, so I shower my love and will all my belongings on the only creature that does.” She sets Tweety down on a rock, promising to return once she’s gotten into her bikini. I know half of you started reaching for tissues and the other halfs’ brains threw up. You’re both in for a surprise.

What isn’t surprising is Sylvester not being too far off. He’s fishing for his food today. The worm seems hesitant to sacrifice its life, but Sylvester’s gun forces its (suddenly appearing) hand. Bait and baiter are swallowed by a tuna. Sylvester manages to get free, but loses all that valuable sashimi. He needs something easier to eat. He is all American after all, and we are satisfied to put as little effort as possible into our meals. Just as long as it’s warm and tasting of salt.

Tweety meets those requirements. Sylvester makes to nab him, when he gets swallowed again. This time by a wave. He escapes again, but Tweety wasn’t so lucky. That wasn’t just a wave. In fact, I’d say it was fit to be tide! (I don’t like myself.) You can’t spell ‘catfish’ without ‘cat’ but Sylvester isn’t going to swim out to eat. He tries lowering himself via his fishing pole, but runs out of line. Hey, since you’re halfway there now, it’d be stupid to return to shore, right?

Right. So he steals a boat. Being tied to the dock makes him lose the sides via momentum. The three words that best describe him are, and I quote, sink, sank, sunk.  Attaching skis and an outboard motor work better, but he crashes into Tweety’s island. Hey, since you’re all the way there now, it’d be stupid to return to shore, right?

No, because then he’d be stuck waiting for the tide. He finally decides to just swim out via water wings (that’s what those are, right?) but that’s when the sharks show up. We don’t see more than the dorsal fins, but they’re obviously dogfish. (I really don’t like myself.) Too bad the tuna got Sylvester’s gun. Granny finally exits the changing room. Poor dear is really out of touch. Her “bikini” could only get away with such a label in the 1890’s, perhaps. Just for that, there’ll be no more Bea Benaderet voicing you. Somebody tell June to show up early this year!

As any pet owner would be, Granny is upset to find her bird lost at sea, and easy octopus pickin’s. Sylvester the lifeguard to the rescue! I love his little outfit! (I say “love” too much. I should really switch it up.) Granny loves him too, mistaking this for an act of heroism. He crashes, and she plans to revive him via bucket of water. Both end swallowed by the ocean. (This might be the record of times Sylvester was swallerd.) Time for a team-up.

Granny mans the pumps while Sylvester treks out in a diving suit. (Makes me wonder if she can understand him in this short.) Too bad they took too long, and Tweety just decided to save himself by rowing back to the beach. (Would his cage really float?) So elated at finding her darling unharmed, Granny leaves her post to reunite. With no one at the pump, Sylvester begins suffocating. Granny remembers him though, and does to her best to compensate. That’s more air than Sylvester can breathe and it has to go somewhere…

He bails from the now floating suit, somehow anticipating this very situation, seeing as he has a parachute. Granny has lost sight of him now, and is upset because she really feels like the cat deserves a reward. He gets the exact opposite, drifting into the institution you always find near the beach: the dog pound. It’s just good manners to give them one day of fun before they have to be put down.

Favorite Part: Honestly, the team-up. It’s funny to think Granny is unknowingly abetting in attempted murder. In fact, they really should have made it last throughout the picture.

Personal Rating: 3. Good. But Oscar worthy? I don’t see it.

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Streamlined Greta Green

“Mama!”

Supervision by Isadore Freleng; Animation by Cal Dalton and Ken Harris; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Merrie Melody released on June 19, 1937.

Today’s short takes place in an odd world where automobiles are the dominant life-forms. Post “Maximum Overdrive” they’ve revealed their plans, but pre-“Cars” every meat based creature has been eradicated. It’s a nice middle ground where we’re still sharing the planet, but we humans know our place in this car-dominated society. And the segregation doesn’t stop there. Witness the hall where only Taxi cabs are allowed to dance.

Okay, I did my research and now know what the joke is. It’s just literal now. You know, this world is kind of weird! The cars aren’t limited to driving on all fours; sometimes they get up on two. Tires are rubber, so they can shape themselves to be feet and hands. But boy, does it look unnatural and painful. I’d hate to imagine what the copulating must look like. Of course, I’ll be wondering from now on, since our main character is the result of that. I don’t know enough about vehicles to give him a clever name, so I’ma call him “Royce”.

Royce longs to be a Taxi, because I guess that’s the cool job in car town. I figured the race cars would be the rock stars. And the ambulances make more. So, how do the garbage trucks sell themselves? While I puzzle that, Royce’s mom find him planning for his future. Most parents like to see that, or at least tell their kid to not worry yet. She reacts with anger. No son of hers is going to be a taxi. He will be a touring car, like his dad who doesn’t exist on screen.

Royce refuses and his mom drags him home by his… part of him that the tires go under. (I don’t care.) He’s not to be punished, it’s just time for school. Was he playing with her lipstick? Why are his lips, (or just mouth I guess,) so red? She fixes him some lunch for later: a can of oil maybe?, a jar of traffic jam, (heh) and a thermos of gasoline. (A slightly color-changing thermos.) It’s sweet. I really can’t help but love scenes of parents loving their children. Royce should be grateful to have her.

She puts the meal in his seat, (How is he supposed to get that out?) sends him off with a loving pat, and gives his daily reminders about staying away from traffic and railroad crossings. (Her right rear axle keeps disappearing.) I do love Royce’s pouty face. On his way, he comes to what many of us only come to figuratively in our lives: a crossroads. One way goes to school, the other, the city. He hardly hesitates before choosing the latter. It’s closer! Maybe if his mom left his gas where he could actually get it, he could make longer trips.

The city is louder and less friendly. Royce should be glad there are no cops around. He shouldn’t be on the sidewalk. (Why even still have those?) He waits for the light to turn red, then gets on the road himself. Cars don’t have as many complex emotions as we do, so when the light is green, those behind him drive as if he wasn’t there. Good thing he just slides over them. Seems traffic was as dangerous as mom said. He manages to take refuge in a marked safety zone and gets a brilliant idea: carry it with him to be invincible. Gravity is the only foe he can’t conquer with that, so he falls into an open man-, excuse me, I mean car hole. (Egotists.)

Royce decides to make a stop at a service station for a drink. The human slave manning the place has many delicious flavors on hand: rose, violet, ethel. (Shouldn’t that be ethANOl?) Royce selects the Hi-power stuff. Probably not the best drink for minors, but the slave is not allowed to talk back to his overlords, and just comments on how strong the stuff is. And how! He basically gave the kid steroids. Royce is so fast, he could win a Piston cup before they’re even invented!

This speed stuff is great! In fact, disobeying his mom is what got him full of it, so he might as well go against her other wish and screw around by the railroad tracks. (The trains don’t seem to be sentient yet. Do you really care why?) Driving alongside it, he darts ahead and just barely passes in front of it at the nearest crossing. That was fun! Again! Wow, twice as fun that time! Again! Ah, if only poor little Royce listened to his body. He’s burning through that fuel faster than he’s traveling and he runs out right on the tracks. No fake-out crash for him. The train mows him down.

Now we see why the cars continue to keep us around: our fingers make us excellent mechanics. Royce’s stricken mother can only wait outside while her baby possibly gets patched up, possibly gets rebuilt as her daughter. Not to worry though, the surgery was a success! Royce leaps with a sudden jump into her loving wheels. (Was a cel lost?) She’s happy he’s still running, but like any good parent, scolds him for disobeying her. Royce doesn’t want to hear it, and runs off to race the next train.

Even though he’s out of speed juice, he makes it through unscathed. (Just ignore his bandage disappearing and reappearing. I’ll notice it for you.) He taunts, unaware that he’s on more tracks. And he’s mowed down again. This time it really is a fake-out! Those mechanics have earned another week of life, seeing as how the train ends up looking like I expect Royce did earlier.

Favorite Part: Royce encounters a road hog when racing the train. It’s a literal pig. Only adds more confusion to what this world is, but I like swine.

Personal Rating: 2. The world is still weird! And isn’t even able to function without humans, so the immersion kind of shatters for me. Not to mention the cars uncanny appearance when they walk. I gave it an extra point for the imagination it did have, and the mom car. Royce doesn’t deserve her.

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Run, run, Sweet Road Runner

HOLD IT


“I taut I taw a *mbeep-mbeep*!”

Directed by Rudy Larriva; Animation by Hank Smith and Tom McDonald; Layouts by Erni Nordli; Backgrounds by Tony Rizzo; Film Editor: Lee Gunther; Musical Direction by Bill Lava. A Merrie Melody released on August 21, 1965.

Ugh. That title. Too long.

Wile E. may be a famished predator, but he’s not above playing with his food. I don’t know who drew a hopscotch board on the road, but it was nice of them to give the future roadkill a pleasant distraction before fate claims them. I must admit, I never was one for this game. You hop. What fun. If I’m forced into physical activity, you gotta distract me from the effort. The Road Runner hops the course no problem. And that was even with suspiciously conspicuous fog on the screen. The road missing?

Yes, but the course ends right before that part. Still brittle though, and Wile E.’s weight breaks it off. Down he goes. Another one of these days. He decides to set a trap, since chasing worked so well. It’s a mess of spikes he has to sharpen, but when dropped, he should have a tasty mess to lick up. (I mean, he’s still an animal, right?) He hoists it into place, (wow, those sound effects aren’t annoying at all.) and sets out the bird seed, and enticing signs. I do wonder why he hasn’t tried using shade as a selling point more often. Not drinking doesn’t mean you’re immune to the sun.

The problem with this scheme? Wile E. just waited too d*mn long! Didn’t even attempt to cut the rope! I’d be more mean, but I don’t want him to ban me from his movie. (Eight months to go!) He goes to rebait the trap and it comes down in a pretty smart way: the suns rays get focused through his binoculars and burns the rope. The way the bird interacts with his pursuer in these non-Chuck pictures, I figured he’d cut it himself. Next.

The phony hen ploy! Proven to work on at least one out of two species in the desert! This time, it will be a decoy. Just gotta paint some eyes on… a little dab of black for the pupils… don’t worry, the whites will just appear as you work… Beautiful. I bet that would attract everything from shrikes to queleas. She’s planted and Wile E. waits with an axe. The roadrunner just steals a kiss as he passes by. He knows he belongs to one of those bird species where the male has to do just as much rearing as his mate. Oh, why couldn’t he be more like the other cuckoos?

No point in wasting a good hen. Wile E. sets up again, this time while he’s dressed in Native American garb. (They revered you as a trickster and you repay them by depicting them the way Hollywood did? That’s showbiz for ya.) His aim this time is to do a rain dance. This will generate lightning, she will work as a lightning rod, and the Road Runner will be cooked internally. Just pluck’n and tuck in. As for why that bird would actually stop this time? It’s a well known fact that female types become significantly more attractive when wet. Probably could have just dolled her up in a damp t-shirt.

It’s working! The storm is brewing, the bird is in place, and the coyote can practically taste the side dishes. His mistake? Opening an umbrella. Now he’s got the tallest metal structure around, and the lightning zaps him. Wah, Wile E. C. hates this!

Favorite Part: Wile E. wagging his eyebrows at the camera. The limited animation made it funny.

Personal Rating: 2. I’m being generous. There were a few good faces in here to bump up a weak score. The main problem is the gag length. Chuck made his gags quick and punchy, so the cartoon could hold twice as many here. And stretching them out didn’t make them any funnier.

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A Fox in a Fix

“Ooh! You evil genius, you!”

Daffy dog and egg head.

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Tedd Pierce; Animation by Rod Scribner, Phil DeLara, Charles McKimson, Emery Hawkins, John Carey, and J.C. Melendez; Layouts by Cornett Wood; Backgrounds by Richard H. Thomas; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Merrie Melody released on January 20, 1951.

The lights on the farm are out, which makes it the perfect time for sneaking. A fox I’m calling Chum descends down with a sack. Either he’s prone to hyperventilation, or he comes to pillage poultry. It’s the latter, and it’s hard to blame him. Freshly snatched hens taste way better than the dead ones at your local grocery stores. They’re also susceptible to fainting spells, so there’s hardly any struggle. There’s also the old ‘chickens wearing bloomers under their feathers’ bit, but it’s barely on screen, so I barely laugh.

As he leaves, he gets caught by that bulldog who features in McKimson shorts, with a great bit of reaction animation. (Although the fog is a little distracting.) In his usual passive-aggressive tone, he talks to Chum. He understands that foxes like chickens, but seeing as how he’s the watchdog, it’d look bad if he didn’t do his job. Chum was just lucky he didn’t trespass on one of those places where he’d be slapped around. (As the dog thusly demonstrates.) All things considered, he gets off relatively unharmed, with just getting tossed off the premises. (Caniformia privilege means no penalties.)

Chum vows to get his dinner and comes up with a brilliant idea! Sharing a common ancestor means it will be easy to disguise himself as a Canis familiaris. Then, the watchdog won’t automatically evict him on site. Just got to shave some of the bushier bits, and WHAMMO! Instant foxhound! To really sell the illusion, he’ll have to prove he’s not nocturnal by entering during the dangerous daylight hours. Then, he’ll play up a sob story of being a hard-luck dog who is dying of starvation, thirst, and rabies.

It doesn’t work, but it does. That means that the watchdog knows exactly who it is because he operates on smell rather than sight. Whoops. However, he doesn’t let on, and invites Chum to stick around for a while. Even offers to share his food pellets. Being domesticated is worth it alone for the “meals”. The chickens seem to like him; being creatures that operate on sight rather than smell. Love the tension on Chum’s face as he tries his darnedest to fight his predatory urges.

Now one of the pack, Chum tries getting what he came for. The watchdog stops him with an offer: why not become a watchdog himself? He could get a real home, with a real purpose, and all the pellets he could eat! The watchdog even offers to train him. They’ll start with lesson one: watchdogs attack burglars. Teaching will be taught via role play. Chum will be the dog; dog, the burglar. Chum complies and learns lesson two in the process: burglars carry bits of lead pipe that they crush dog craniums with.

Lesson three is one anyone could do, even you: fetching a stick. A very important part of watchdoggery, to be sure. How else would you know to bring back whatever is left of a burglar after you’ve massacred them? Makes excellent fertilizer. Chum passes with flying colors, of course. His reward is to do it again! The best teachers are the ones who can disguise the fact they’re teaching you at all. Thus, the watchdog sends Chum after a lit dynamite stick to demonstrate lesson four: burglars will trick you if you don’t kill them fast enough.

Chum has survived his first day of training, so it’s time for well deserved rest. That watchdog must be very sure of his safety, if he’s willing to share his sleeping quarters. But then, maybe Chum can’t revenge murder on an empty stomach. With his nemesis bedding down for the night, Chum goes to the coop once more. He gets his prize, but the watchdog is always on duty and stops him again. Chum decides to literally pull the ‘somnambulist card’ which states that you DON’T wake a sleepwalker. He could be very embarrassed.

Chum exits the premises, and now I love the chicken’s “what’s the use in struggling/is this real” expression. Chum lets her go when he eyes a much meatier prize: one of those cassowary sized birds that isn’t even a cassowary. Boot camp WAS worth it! But lesson five is to not be greedy, and he failed that one. Non-silent chicken is dog! (Chum’s shadow disappears. I know that’s common at night, but I still felt it worth mentioning.) Knowing there’s no way out of this, Chum flees and hitches a ride before he has to hear any more lessons.

Turns out lesson six was really important. It’s to not hitch rides with strangers. Otherwise you might find yourself a fox in a furriers truck. They operate by smell too you know.

Favorite Part: Chum’s run when he has to play along with the lesson plan. It’s reluctant, disgusted, humiliated and really sells the image of a child who is being forced to play with a younger sibling.

Personal Rating: 3. High 3.

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Daffy Doodles

“I hate that d-d-duck.”

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Warren Foster; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on April 16, 1946.

The first for Robert! And you know what? He deserves it. He’d been there since the beginning and would stick to the end. With that said, I do have to admit he’s my least favorite of the “big” directors. He just didn’t have many pictures that really wowed me the way the others’ did.

There’s a demon on the loose in the city. Their words, not mine. The narrator isn’t even sure what they look like. It could be me, but it isn’t. It could be you, but you’re better than that. What little information we do have is what the fiend is up to: putting mustaches on all the ads. I’d say that’s minor at best, and pretty childish. But it is graffiti. Funny graffiti that would probably make the populace notice your sign more, but I’m not the law.

The title was on to something! Daffy is indeed the one doing this. We’ve all got our purposes in life. Mine is to make people glad they’re not me, yours is to tell me I’m more than that, and Daffy’s is to paint. It’s niche, but it’s what he’s good at. You wouldn’t ask Dali to paint a still life of ham and swiss and not expect him to make each hole on the cheese a mouth and the meat covered in snails that have crab shells, would you?

The city’s finest better be called in to deal with this. And that means a guy who is a pig literally and figuratively. Porky fits. (And I’m sorry if you find me calling a cop a pig rude. You must not know how I feel about pigs.) His plan is to hold a picture frame around his face, and not move. No blinking, breathing, swallowing or twitching. At least he’s mastered not sweating. Daffy isn’t so easily fooled, being a master of his profession and all. He just leaves a box in front of Porky with the typical “Do not open until Xmas”. But that’s this week, and Porky won’t be around then, so it’s logical to look now.

Daffy was in the box and gives Porky a ‘stache. And it looks amazing! Rugged, manly, sexy, tough… these are all fine words, but I chose ‘amazing’. Porky gives chase, but Daffy is able to lose him by playing porter and getting Porky into a subway car. Now that he’s gotten a taste for painting flesh, Daffy holds out his brush to give every passenger a lip tickler. Daring choice giving an infant the Hitler look. Poor Chaplin. You will never be anybody’s first guess unless they’re trying to misdirect others.

The downside to Daffy’s hobby is that he’s easy to track. Just follow the latest line of mustaches. They’re on the pictures of the stars at the theater. (The one on Bugs is a nice touch. And a hint of their relationship in the future.) Daffy then sees the largest billboard ever. Don’t point me to a bigger one and ruin my amazement. This will be great. Bigger is better! And better art is a masterpiece! Daffy sets to work, but Porky spots him up there and gets in position. As Daffy swings about painting, Porky pastes him on the head with his club. That’s more success than Wile E. ever had!

Daffy threatens to jump off if Porky comes nearer. Porky comes nearer and Daffy jumps. When Porky peeks over, Daffy, on the ledge just below, paints him again. It really suits you, man! Either grow a real one or pay the artist for his service already! The chase resumes along the building. Nice camera work! Daffy is even willing grab a hold of his pursuer when he loses his balance. Of course, that’s so he can turn the tables and chase Porky on a motorcycle. It’s great exercise!

The chase leads back on to the roof and the two fall through a skylight. In the rubble, Porky lends new meaning to the term “handlebar mustache”. Daffy makes his escape via the mail tube, and Porky goes looking for him at the corresponding mailbox. Being Daffy, he comes back to berate the officer for looking through the mail and slaps some cuffs on him. Now right where Porky wants him, he gets another bonk on the head and is taken to court.

Daffy pleads to the judge. He’s made some mistakes in his life, but isn’t the guilt punishment enough? He’s willing to make a fresh start if the law will just give him the chance. It’s all up to the jury. Said jury is a hive mind of Jerry Colonas. Maybe they’re convinced, maybe they’re just trying to indoctrinate more vessels to feed his majesty, the Jerry-rig. Whatever the reason, Daffy is grateful and vows to never paint another mustache. He’s got to keep up with the times, and fashion says beards are in!

Wait a minute! It didn’t say anything about fourth walls! HHEEAALLPP!

Favorite Part: Daffy pleading with the judge and remarking that he too might be a maniac someday. If I’m ever on trial, I’m going to try that.

Personal Rating: 3. Welcome aboard, the U.S.S. McKimson! We’ll be having plenty of chicken and visits to Australia!

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A Squeak in the Deep

“Well whaddya know? A yah-chit race.”

Always wanted to do a sea epic.

Directed by Robert McKimson; Story by Sid Marcus; Animation by Bob Matz, Manny Perez, Norm McCabe, George Grandpre, Ted Bonnicksen, and Warren Batchelder; Layouts by Dick Ung; Backgrounds by Tom O’Loughlin; Film Editor: Eugene Marks; Voice Characterization by Mel Blanc; Musical Direction by Walter Greene. A Looney Tune released on July 19, 1966.

That’s ‘yacht race’ for those of you who don’t speak Daffy. A race TO Hawaii. Liability waivers are included, right? You really think every entrant can sail that good? Not to mention the provisions needed… It sounds like a bad idea to me. And really, there’s no need for me to enter. I’ve been to Hawaii before. Well, the state, not the island. It still scratched any tropical itch I might have had. I’ll sit this one out. Not like I’d have any use for 6,000 pesos anyway.

I’m not talented at math, but I also get the feeling that getting a watercraft, and those previously mentioned provisions would cost more than the prize. But Daffy plays for the love of the greed. Speedy also plans to enter, but he’s got a more practical reason: money buys cheese, and a goodly amount of money buys a greatly amount of cheese. You’d think Daffy wouldn’t take Speedy seriously, but he knows by now the mouse is crafty. He shoves him into a can and kicks him away, saying he won’t be competing. Speedy’s competing, then?

Race Day! And are there any rules? I mean, that entrant is using a motor whereas the most of the rest are using sails. And don’t you need sails to be a yacht? Yacht’a know, right? Daffy’s craft is humble. That’s not me being too polite. No, calling Speedy’s ride humble is too polite. It’s a bathtub! How’d he even get that here? How does he get his nose to change color like that? The contest begins and Daffy actually manages to get a good lead. And he’s one of the sail users! Toon wind is powerful stuff!

It’s not long before Speedy outpaces the duck, so Daffy pulls his plug, making a sub out of the tub. Because there are plenty of carp-enters under the sea, Speedy returns in a paddle boat. (It’s a cartoon, are you really going to point out carp are freshwater? When that’s my job?) He runs along the paddles to make it go, which is really smart with his speed. And the little flag is adorable! The only thing it lacks is an anchor, but Daffy allows him to borrow his. It’s not on the proper scale, so it works too well.

Speedy next utilizes our pollution to aid him. One of the myriad of helium balloons that end up in our oceans carries him back to Daffy’s craft. We really do use too much plastic, though. Don’t buy a 3D printer. He tells Daffy that they should team-up. If they do, then they can split the prize! Daffy has no need for that, his head cel is already split from his torso background! Wow. I really mean that. You can interpret it further if you wish. Speedy hides from Daffy in a pipe, and sprays Daffy off the boat when he peeks in.

When Daffy’s had enough, he chases Speedy with a baseball bat. Speedy keeps taking it away and bashing him from different portholes. (They’re still called that on the starboard side, right?) Daffy tries entering one of the holes to get him, but gets himself stuck. Speedy paddles him good before stating his deal once more. Daffy refuses, so Speedy bats butt again. Daffy gives in, but he’s not budging on the 50-50 part. Speedy can have a smaller share and like it! Speedy still holds all the cards though, and Daffy is soon agreeing to his terms.

Partners help partners, so Speedy gets Daffy out of the hole, and Daffy can use his flippered feet to propel them along. I like their odds. That shark is great for motivation!

Favorite Part: When Daffy is thrown into the water, a curious fish needs to be shooed off. The second time this happens, he gets rid of it with a face that is so ridiculous and childish that it evolves into genuinely funny.

Personal Rating: 2.

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Calling Dr. Porky

“This’ll fix you up.”

Porky knows the bear facts.

Supervision by I. Freleng; Animation by Herman Cohen; Musical Direction by Carl W. Stalling. A Looney Tune released on September 21, 1940.

In the past, Porky had terrible luck with hospitals. Whether he need medical attention or not, he’d wind up with some looney trying to saw open his stomach without anesthesia. His choices were either never see a doctor again, or get his own M.D. and show them how it’s done. I think you know what he went with.

New Rightus hospital is a great place! And I’m not just saying that because I break my leg constantly to stay in the same building my beloved buddy works. I’m saying it because they capitalize on space by sticking patients in file cabinets. If all you’re going to do here is lay around, you don’t get to complain about lodgings. Shut up and heal.

Our latest patient looks like a waste of canine space, but he’s got a real condition: a disappearing collar! And a hangover. This doesn’t really sound like our jurisdiction, but Dr. Porky never turns anyone anyway when they are in need. And he can fit many patients in a single day because he cures people the same way Mario does: pills. I don’t know what the ‘Pink pills’ do, but boy are they tasty! He’ll see the drunkard, now named Dru, and the nurse sends him to the proper room.

He is not alone. As one should expect in cartoons, being pixilatedly plastered presents a person with a petite, pink, proboscidean, poltergeist posse. And yeah, they’re unnerving me. Maybe its because they’re ghostly transparent, or because they’re stalking somebody. Dru isn’t happy to have them around, but he can’t escape them, so he might as well let them tag along. Of course, once he gets the doctor’s attention, he devolves into a terrified, blubbering mess.

Porky has seen this all before, so he knows exactly how to remedy the situation. All Dru has to do is sit down and wait. Then, guess who shows up. Right. It’s Pinky, Pinkey and Pinkquay. They’re sporting medical hats now because they’ve outgrown their cute innocent baby phase. Now, they’ve come to torment. As if doctors aren’t already scary enough. They belay instructions for Dru to follow, and he does because, what other choice does he have? Angering them could cause them to evolve into their final form. You don’t want to see that.

Their poking, prodding, pestering and pulverizing has led them to the only viable solution to save Dru’s life: operation. Not the annoying board game, the real kind with saws and organs. It’s in their best interest too, because they only exist as long as Dru is alive. (There’s an idea for a short film: a drunken hallucination trying to make the short time they’re alive awesome.) Once he’s in the operating chair, they can get down to brass tacks.

First: question time. Treating him like he’s on trial, they ask everything; not caring if they get any answer. We don’t find out where Dru lives, or his marital status or even his name. I was really looking forward to finding out who he voted for too. You know, I think the little gremlins are messing him for their own amusement. Any sympathies fall on deaf ears and are returned with mockery and laughter. They sound like rumors mixed with Tress Macneille. Combined with their diabolically, evil faces… yeah, they’re unnerving me. I’d be screaming for Porky along with Dru, too.

Lucky timing. The cure is ready! And if you had any doubts, they should dissipate along with those fuchsia freaks. Dru is back to how he was meant to be: sober, confident, well groomed. (Are you allowed to call someone that anymore?) He leaves the hospital ready to face the world. And the world spits in his eye. There’s a circus parade outside, and guess who is at the end of the parade of elephants. They had to go somewhere! Dru runs back to the comforts of New Rightus, vowing to never again step foot outside into the cruel, cold, uncaring world.

He hops in bed, only for those pinker stinkers to throw him out. They’re just not his problem anymore.

Favorite Part: You gotta love how even Dru’s stupor stooges wince at his brew breath.

Personal Rating: 2. I applaud for making those drunken terrors look more non-corporeal, but being in grayscale makes them blend into the backgrounds more often than not. It almost makes he want to recommend the ugly recoloring version, and I feel like I should cut out my tongue and eat it for saying so. Porky barely features as well.

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Buddy of the Legion

“Don’t never do that!”

Supervision by Ben Hardaway; Musical Score, Bernard Brown; Animation by Bob Clampett and Charles Jones. A Looney Tune released on April 4, 1935.

Ye Olde Book Shoppe is hiring. For a boy, specifically. Anyone care to fill us in on what that entails? Obviously, its for males, but are they supposed to be minors so they can pay them less? While I puzzled, Buddy decided to accept the offer and apply. The owner has him go through the application process: removing his hat. I don’t see any lice, and his biceps are almost visible. He’s hired! He can start with some light dusting.

Buddy utilizes his power to rub a feather duster over the sitting parts of lady statues and cat anuses. Buddy belongs on a list. He also likes torturing small animals, as he takes a fish out of its bowl to give it the same treatment. Buddy belongs in hell. His boss is stepping out. Lunch I guess. Maybe brunch. Maybe she’s leaving right as brunch is almost up, so she can order that, then stay for the lunch menu. Women eat. I actually find it attractive when they’re not worried about their weight. But this isn’t about me.

Buddys next task is to put some of the books away. Why were they left out at all? Did the boss get them out of a box, then decide she was too important to place them on a shelf? Was it those rambunctious teens who’s idea of a good time is to take books off shelves, but NOT read them? Are they just books she set aside to give Buddy something to do that isn’t perverted and cruel? Trying to get them all in one handful sends them flying out of his grasp. I feel this pain. Try the vertical stack. You can’t see your destination, but the books are more stable.

Cue insect. I see stripes and a proboscis, so I’ve narrowed it down to bee, fly or bee fly. Eh, narrow it down further to the last too, as Buddy isn’t afraid of potential venom injection. Swatting at the innocent creature makes him lose his grip and the books are on the floor once more. One opens to a picture of a foreign legionnaire, and Buddy is interested. Forgoing his duties, he reads on further of exotic African lands full of sexy ladies and Amazons. Wait… Were they an actual threat out there?

Imagination make existence better! Buddy sees himself as leader of the troops and marches them through the sands. I’ve never been to Africa, but I’m guessing marching in its deserts aren’t nearly as fun as cartoons make them out to be. Unless you find solifuges. But I’m still wondering about dangerous Amazons. What are the odds of them being- There’s an outpost of them right over there, isn’t there? They’re big and brawny, and not too attractive. To me, at least. That doesn’t mean they don’t have fans.

Their prisoners are not among those fans. They have men captured and are forcing them to do the most demeaning, dehumanizing, demented, task imaginable: laundry. A toast to my mother who always did that without losing her sanity. She was my favorite superhero until I discovered the Powerpuff Girls. If the book hadn’t given Buddy reason to imagine this setting, I’d be thinking he had major hangups with his boss that he’s known for less than a moment. (90 seconds.)

These ladies spend most of their time smoking. It’s all they’ve got when the solifuges aren’t around. Their outfits alter on their bodies, and their hookahs change color, so they can comfortably be considered ‘bad guys’. I don’t make the rules, I just create them. Apart from coloring their lungs, they keep lookouts for more victims. They lose so many due to extreme thirst making them take a gulp of lye water. But what are the odds- There’s a fresh batch within telescope distance, isn’t there?

The leader knows how to get the males to her lair. She has what a lot of straight men consider attractive on her side: a curvaceous woman without girth and zero language. And in the desert, lust always beats the hookah juice out of love. To keep this beauty fresh and ageless, she is preserved as a mummy when not in use. I don’t get it. Were we supposed to think she was going to sic an actual mummy on them? I was too busy looking at the guy in blackface. How come he doesn’t have to wash? (And if you say it’s because she doesn’t want her whites mixed with colors, I swear…)

The trap flies out via magic carpet, (Buddy, your imagination is getting cultures confused.) and she starts her stuff. Her dancing is entrancing, and she’s probably giving off pheromones as well. The Hayes code won’t be able to tell what we’re suggesting if we have the soldiers’ necks extend. One by one, Buddy’s troops fall out of rank, and follow the beauty. Buddy was immune, because he’s just a boy and thinks girls have crabs.

When the flies enter the spider’s parlor, they are punched to put them in their place. Although Buddy seems to appear mere milliseconds later, he finds them all at work, washing as if they’ve been at it for days. Buddy makes use of his small stature to trick his pursuers into too small holes, and to hide under things that are at the perfect height to smack the Amazon’s in the face. And all this time, I was wondering why you weren’t imagining yourself taller. Then the sneak attack gets him, and he is lightly shaken.

Because in reality, his boss has returned and isn’t pleased to find him reading the wares. You’d think he’d get a smidge of leeway on his first day, but no. Not at all. He is kicked from the premises but couldn’t give less of a crap. There are plenty more places to get fired from, and he’s not going to find them sitting on the sidewalk.

Favorite Part: I didn’t mention that Buddy’s brigade also has a camel. It’s also punched in the lady lair, but has enough to stamina to throw some punches in retaliation. Before just laying down with a ‘Why am I even trying?’ expression.

Personal Rating: 1. Why isn’t Buddy just part of the legion? I guess it makes it a bit different from other pictures in this location, but that gets you so far and not farther. Add in some sexism, offensively gay undertones, and a bland character and you have something that doesn’t age well. (Good thing the leader doesn’t use those as preservatives.)