“I’m practically sold already!”
Supervision by Charles M. Jones. A Merrie Melody released on September 5, 1942.
A man sits alone in his cabin. Vulnerable and alone. And some sort of wild animal is heading in his direction. A wolf? Nope, too small for a wolf. It’s a fox! And that thing could cause rabies or chicken famines! But the man is lucky this time, for the fox just takes his radio back to the forest and proceeds to hack it to bits. Two crows are stumped to this very un-foxlike behavior. He tells them his tale.
You see, whilst he was scrounging through the trash cans for food, he overheard the radio saying that foxes are what is “in” at the moment. They’re going to be everywhere and every lady will want one around their neck. This pleases the fox very much, as he imagines what a wonderful world it would be if there were foxes walking freely amongst the humans. (I want to live in such a world.) The radio doesn’t go into details about how these foxes will be in such locations, but it probably expected only humans to be listening, and they’d know.
The fox heads to location the radio said the foxes were coming from: Sterling Silver Fox Fur Farm. He gets himself trapped fairly quickly, but the owner turns him away. It’s fairly racist, but they’re only accepting silver foxes like their name says. Red ones are o-w-t, out. The fox that we will call ‘Fawkes’ is thrown into the garbage. (Which ironically, is where the racist man also belongs.) Amongst the scrap metal, he finds just the answer to his problem. Not a gun, but silver paint. He gives his coat a good coat and badda-bing, badda-boom, Fawkes is welcomed into the farm.
He’s brought to his “room.” (It is darkly hilarious to see Mr. Sterling escorting him by the paw, rather than just carrying him by the scruff. These foxes lives in luxury for their remainder of life.) Just as he gets settled, the next door fox informs him of the jailbreak that is planned for tonight. And Fawkes is either participating with them, or dying early. His choice. He plays along, but being smaller than the others works to his favor, as he is able to lose himself in the rush and backtrack to the “comfort” of his “suite”. Look, he’s even got a tag attached to his “door”. I mean, door.
It’s here that he learns the awful truth: this place wants the skins of foxes! And I do love his childish naivete. “How will they… get it off of me?” The grindstone knows! Fawkes decides that maybe this place isn’t so great after all, and flees. The hounds are sent after him, chasing him through log and pond alike. But what’s this? The miracle of water has reverted his fur back to its original red! He happily shows the dogs that he is not silver and they have no need to chase him. They’re not racist though, they’re speciesist and pound him for daring to be born vulpine.
And that’s Fawkes’s story. Upon hearing all this, the crows join in and help the little guy smash that problem box that started it all. A kind of relationship I’m not used to seeing between these two animals.
Favorite Part: The next door cellmate is pretty bass. He makes a key by biting one out of his nail file. In one chomp!
Personal Rating: 3. A hilariously dark premise that thankfully doesn’t end like this:
