“Oh, I dream about being Bugs Bunny, but when I wake up, I’m Daffy Duck.” –Chuck Jones

In Chuck Jones’ hands, the Daffy Duck of the 1930s and 40s–loopy, zany, whooping loudly, flipping out–went through a bit of a personality overhaul in the 50s. The zaniness was still there, to be sure, but this Daffy was much more calculating and jealous, more prone to fits of rage than crazed lunacy. The change wasn’t completely out of the ether, as there had been indications of this aspect of the character in previous incarnations–for example, in the 1940 black-and-white live-action/animated short You Ought to Be in Pictures, Daffy schemes to get resident star of the time Porky Pig off the studio lot so he can take his place as the headliner for Warner Bros. [Incidentally, this cartoon features a brief on-camera appearance by Chuck Jones, as well as fellow Warner director Bob Clampett and Jones' longtime writing partner Michael Maltese. Definitely a curiosity, definitely worth viewing!] But most animation directors at the studio tended to focus on Daffy’s … well, daffier qualities over his more ambitious traits.

Starting in the late 1940s, Jones took that somewhat repressed ambitious side of Daffy and brought it to the forefront, engaging the character in an outright rivalry with Warner’s tried-and-true superstar, Bugs Bunny. To Jones, though, it wasn’t just about turning Daffy into an adversarial character; as he recounts in Chuck Amuck: The Life and Times of an Animated Cartoonist (1999), he always viewed Daffy more as a “self-preservationist” than a truly selfish character. Jones’ philosophy regarding Daffy was that the character’s avarice and self-absorbed nature are universal traits that everyone who watches his cartoons will recognize–and one that he saw even within himself: “Daffy gallantly and publicly represents all the character traits that the rest of us try to keep subdued. A social amenity to Daffy Duck is simply an unfair block to his desires. To desire, in Daffy’s rationale, is to need–as it was to me at six; to need is to acquire, and acquisition is the essence of living. To achieve his ends, he cheerfully and always rationally chews up moral codes by the yard.” And yet Daffy’s self-important self-service is never off-putting, in part because we, the viewers, are so easily able to relate to him, at least on some level.

It’s a delicate balance to maintain, but Jones and crew adeptly portray their Daffy as both frustrating and endearing, “dethpicable” and lovable all at the same time. Jones’ version of the character really lets loose in three popular and ultimately influential cartoons (all written by Maltese) that are familiarly known as the “Hunting Trilogy”–Rabbit Fire (1951), Rabbit Seasoning (1952), and Duck! Rabbit, Duck! (1953). These shorts feature Bugs and Daffy squaring off with Elmer Fudd, who is determined to shoot one or both of them–if he can only figure out which “hunting season” it really is. Daffy continually tries to throw Bugs into harm’s way–whether to protect himself (because it’s really duck season) or to cause trouble for his rival in the midst of rabbit season. Bugs, for his part, manages to skirt out of that trouble at every turn, usually at Daffy’s expense, while Elmer essentially stands around waiting for his cue to fire. The result of all of this madness is a trio of witty, entertaining cartoons that set up a winning dynamic of co-mingled friendship and rivalry between Bugs and Daffy that remains a vital ingredient of their animated relationship to this day.

[FYI: Videos of the cartoons discussed below are hyperlinked in the title of each section, so you can re-watch each one and enjoy them for yourself!]

Rabbit Fire

The first cartoon of the trio begins as previous Bugs-and-Elmer cartoons have begun: Elmer creeps through the forest with his rifle, pausing to shush the audience with his familiar catchphrase, “Shh! Be vewwy, vewwy quiet. I’m hunting wabbits. Hahahahaha.” There is a brief flash to a shot of Bugs’ feet leaving tracks on the forest floor, which Elmer quickly discovers, and we soon discover that “Bugs” is actually Daffy, wearing a pair of bunny slippers (so to speak) to draw the hunter to Bugs’ hole. Daffy’s reasoning behind his deviousness? “Survival of the fittest,” he snickers, adding with a couple of his trademark hoots, “And besides, it’s fun!” But Daffy’s shenanigans are turned around on him when Bugs catches on to his scheme and neatly turns it around on his feathered nemesis.

Rabbit Fire (like its two successors) is somewhat unique for Warner Bros. in that it relies heavily on the wordplay and dialogue (the infamous “rabbit season”/”duck season” exchanges) between the characters instead of the wild action associated with most of the studio’s shorts. As the first cartoon to feature both Bugs and Daffy in starring roles, it might be expected that one or both characters would be short-changed in some way to make room for the other; instead, they are given equal stature–though to me, at least, Daffy is the true focus of these shorts (if anyone comes off as a third wheel here, it’s Elmer, whose only function is to provide the catalyst for Daffy’s punishment). The formula for the characters’ future encounters is pretty much set: Bugs is the wiseacre winner, and Daffy is the defiant loser.

Indeed, Daffy really can’t win. Even when he tries to flip the script, disguising himself as Bugs, his rival outwits him by dressing as Daffy, and the “real” Daffy takes another bullet to the face. His moral outrage in the wake of that incident is marked by a side-splitting stream of ranting dialogue as Daffy verbally lambasts Bugs:

“Yes, you’re dethpicable! And … and … and picable! And … and … you’re–you’re very definitely dethpicable! How–how a person can get so … so dethpicable in one lifetime is … is beyond me! It isn’t as though I–I haven’t met a lot of people! Goodness knows, it isn’t that! It isn’t that–that! Goodness knows! It isn’t … it’s … dethpicable …”

The scene is marked by a brilliant delivery by voice actor Mel Blanc that fully demonstrates the depth of Daffy’s frustration. This is a duck that is ready to snap (which he does, eventually, by the time the third installment in the series rolls around).

It’s important to note that Bugs and Daffy aren’t entirely antagonistic toward one another in this short; when the opportunity arises to have some fun with Elmer, the two team up as a comely female hunter (because, seriously–does Bugs ever pass up the chance to dress in drag?) and her “naughty bow wow.” But even then, as the plan fails and their disguises fall apart, they immediately slip back into rivalry … until the absolutely perfect denouement, when they team up once more to partake in “Elmer Season.”

[Before I move on, I have to mention one of my favorite moments of this cartoon: when Bugs retrieves a book of recipes from his hole, called "1000 Ways to Cook a Duck," and starts reciting them in an effort to entice Elmer. Not to be outmatched, Daffy reaches into Bugs' home ... and inexplicably pulls out a book called "1000 Ways to Cook a Rabbit." As a kid, I always wondered why Bugs owned a cookbook devoted to cooking rabbits--it really made me wonder about him for just a minute ...!]

Rabbit Seasoning

The second cartoon of the trilogy is my personal favorite (as it appeals to the grammar nerd in me). It opens with a multitude of signs pointing the way to Bugs’ rabbit hole. Daffy appears, once again forging rabbit tracks in the ground to entice Elmer further. His motive this time is similar to the previous cartoon: “Awfully unsporting of me, I know, but what the hay–I gotta have SOME fun! … And besides, it’s REALLY duck season!” Once again, however, Daffy’s grand scheme falls apart as Bugs escapes danger and Daffy endures a series of indignities. The cross-dressing trope reappears–this time without Daffy’s involvement in the charade–and, as in Rabbit Fire, this one has a great ending.

The focus of the cartoon is once more on wordplay, and features a delicious exchange in which Daffy finds himself in a bit of “pronoun trouble”:

Bugs: “It’s true, Doc. I’m a rabbit, alright. Would you like to shoot me now or wait ’til you get home?”
Daffy: “Shoot him now! Shoot him now!”
Bugs: “You keep out of this! He doesn’t have to shoot you now!”
Daffy: “He does so have to shoot me now! [to Elmer] I demand that you shoot me now!”

When Elmer–after a brief, quizzical glance at the audience–acquiesces to Daffy’s demand and shoots him in the head, an infuriated yet strangely calm Daffy returns to Bugs and demands that they repeat the scene, which they do rather matter-of-factly:

Daffy: “Let’s run through that again.”
Bugs: “Okay. Would you like to shoot me now or wait ’til you get home.”
Daffy: “Shoot him now, shoot him now.”
Bugs: “You keep outta this, he doesn’t have to shoot you now.”
Daffy: “Ha! That’s it! Hold it right there! [turns to audience] Pronoun trouble. [turns back to Bugs] It’s not, ‘He doesn’t have to shoot you now.’ It’s, ‘He doesn’t have to shoot me now.’ Well, I say he does have to shoot me now! [turns to Elmer] So shoot me now!”

And bang.

Rabbit Seasoning demonstrates the tenaciousness of Daffy’s 50s persona–even when he knows that he’s in too deep (exclaiming, “Not again!” when he realizes he’s about to be shot once more)–he cannot let it go and move on. He is forever trying to win, and forever losing to someone cleverer than he, and the frustrating cycle just goes on and on with little relief. It’s somewhat reminiscent of the situation with the (non)performing frog in Jones’ masterpiece One Froggy Evening (1955), in that Daffy’s constant striving reflects an inescapable sense of futility from which he cannot extricate himself–and in the end, it’s yet another way in which the character is made more relatable to the audience, because who hasn’t been there? In many ways, it’s the very nature of human existence, encapsulated in a six-and-a-half minute cartoon.

Incidentally, Rabbit Seasoning is the only one of the “Hunting Trilogy” to have been voted onto the list of the 50 Greatest Cartoons–it ranks at number thirty (it’s worth noting, however, that its predecessor was given an honorable mention on the list).

Duck! Rabbit, Duck!

The conclusion of the trilogy changes the scene to the midst of winter, but otherwise follows the same formula as the first two: it’s the middle of duck season, Daffy is “a duck bent on self-preservation-um,” and thus he tries in vain to convince Elmer that it’s actually rabbit season, with old pal Bugs as the target. But this time, when Bugs turns the table on him, both Daffy and Elmer eventually lose their ever-loving minds.

The reliance on wordplay is again intact: for instance, in a winking nod to the “pronoun trouble” in the previous entry of the trilogy, Daffy demonstrates his lack of spelling prowess when asking Bugs to spell “fricasseeing rabbit.” Instead, Bugs spells out “fricasseeing DUCK,” which results in Daffy getting shot once again. But the best gag in the cartoon involves a series of signs designating different hunting “seasons.” Every time Daffy inadvertently likens himself to an animal, Bugs holds up a sign saying it’s that animal’s “season,” and Elmer takes aim on the hapless duck:

Daffy: “You’re a dirty dog.”
Bugs: “And you are a dirty skunk.”
Daffy: “I’m a dirty skunk? I’m a dirty skunk?”

Bugs immediately holds up a sign reading, “Dirty Skunk Season,” and Elmer fires.

The ending of Duck! Rabbit, Duck! employs some seriously dark humor, as the other two characters crack under the pressure of dealing with the unconquerable Bugs. First, Daffy loses his marbles–understandable considering he’s been shot in the head multiple times and lived to tell about it (kids, don’t try this at home)–and demands that Elmer shoot him again and again and again: “Shoot me again! I enjoy it! I love the smell of burnt feathers and gunpowder and cordite!” Soon after Daffy’s breakdown, a frustrated Elmer also succumbs to the madness after three years’ worth of go-rounds with the zany pair. When a disguised Bugs informs Elmer that it’s actually BASEBALL season, something snaps in the hunter, and he sets off chasing a baseball over the snowy hills, shooting it gleefully as he runs. And even after Elmer runs off and Daffy comes back to reality, Bugs still manages to get in one last shot (literally) at Daffy. The rabbit’s victory is nothing short of complete.

Together, the three cartoons that make up Chuck Jones’ “Hunting Trilogy” are undeniable classics of the animation genre. Not only are these shorts absolutely hilarious, but they are intelligently composed, with an attention to dialogue and detail that was far from the norm at a time when action shots and slapstick gags reigned supreme. And while these cartoons feature their fair share of physical humor, it’s the verbal interactions between the characters that really drive the action and make these such memorable entries not only in the career of Jones, but in the history of animation itself.

*Want to enter our contest to win two Looney Tunes compilations on DVD? Leave a comment on this post to be automatically entered into the drawing at the end of the week!*

The 1950s were arguably the most prolific decade, artistically speaking, of animator/director Chuck Jones’ career. It was the decade that saw Jones take the stock Warner Bros. characters to new heights: he took Daffy Duck and made him an open antagonist to Bugs Bunny (and vice versa, at least in the uproarious Duck Amuck); he directed Bugs to the pinnacle of his success with a pair of duels with longtime foe Elmer Fudd, Rabbit of Seville and What’s Opera, Doc?; he presented the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote repeatedly matching wits in an endless series of painful, Acme-enabled gags. But one of the best Jones-helmed cartoons to come out of that decade featured two original characters–an ageless and deceptively simple cat-and-dog pair–that were not of the typical Warner milieu. They didn’t crack wise and trade insults, nor did they chase one another around a la the typical cat-dog dynamic. Instead, through beautifully expressive animation and an endearing storyline that stops just short of sentimentality, Marc Anthony and Pussyfoot, the stars of 1952′s Feed the Kitty, carved a place for themselves among the best of the best that the Golden Age of animation had to offer.

Feed the Kitty was the result of the longtime collaboration between Jones and screenwriter Michael Maltese. Maltese created the stories for some of the most memorable cartoons to emerge from the Warner Bros. studio, among them the aforementioned What’s Opera, Doc?, Duck Amuck, and Rabbit of Seville, as well as Duck Dodgers, Rabbit Seasoning, Rabbit Fire, From A to Z-Z-Z-Z, and many, many more. Maltese’s stories tend to share common elements of cheeky humor, biting dialogue, a “slapsticky” physicality, and a touch of sheer irreverence. And while, at first glance, something like Feed the Kitty, with its relatively simple premise, may seem somewhat pedestrian compared to those other cartoon masterpieces, there is an interesting, slightly subversive element at play here.

It’s found in the relationship between Marc Anthony and Pussyfoot (who was not named in the original cartoon). He’s a dog–a big dog; she’s a cat–a very tiny cat. Put them together, and it’s a dynamic filled with absurdities; after all, if “history” has taught us anything, it’s that cats and dogs just flat-out loathe one another (obviously, you people have never met MY cat, who thinks he IS a dog). Initially, the relationship between these two characters is a parental one, with Marc Anthony taking on a maternal-type role and essentially “adopting” the kitten as his own. He laughs indulgently and cannot bring himself to punish or chastise her (she’s just too cute for words, you know). He does everything he can to protect her; having been told not to bring “another thing” into the house, he hides the little kitten in increasingly creative and frantic ways. When the situation is finally revealed to his owner and he’s told he can keep his new friend, the joy is palpable–even when the dog realizes just how much responsibility he’s taken on (like any horrified, exhausted new parent).

But there’s another level to the relationship between these two that is far from parental. Marc Anthony is the prototypical tough guy bowled over by sheer cuteness, who willingly emasculates himself in the interests of his adorable little foundling. The relationship is not entirely “motherly” on his part; as Jones himself once reportedly said, the interaction between the dog and cat in this cartoon is like an encapsulated version of an entire male-female (human) relationship: the early infatuation, the “settling down” period, the little irritations and troubles that crop up, and the (hopefully) happy denouement. In other words, the dog falls in love with the kitten, and acts not only out of a “motherly” instinct, but a romantic one (shades of Daddy Long Legs …?). And what’s more subversive than inter-species love, I ask you?

Like One Froggy Evening, which would debut three years later, Feed the Kitty largely relies on pantomime to tell the story. There is a speaking character (Marc Anthony’s owner), but this cartoon works much like some of the MGM Tom and Jerry shorts, in that the human characters are the only ones who speak. The stars of the cartoon are, with the exception of occasional purrs, groans, and dismayed noises, virtually silent, conveying everything we need to know through facial expression and movement. This short shows just how far animation had come in two short decades, ever since Disney animators first revealed the potential for animated expression with the character Pluto’s battle with some flypaper in 1934 (for more details about that, see our detailed post on Pluto from earlier this year).

The most expressive moments belong to Marc Anthony. His facial expressions are over-exaggerated; his movements unrestrained by logic or reason. He walks on his hind legs, dancing across the floor waving the kitten as a powder puff to distract his owner. He nails the wide-eyed innocent look. When he thinks Pussyfoot is being baked into cookies, he peers through the window and, in a series of pantomimes worthy of a silent-film comedian, rolls his eyes skyward and slides into a dead faint, not once, but three times. When he believes the kitten has been placed in the oven, he rolls onto his back, grabs his hind legs, and rocks back and forth, howling in a display of pure, unadulterated grief.

All of this results in the absolutely brilliant moment when his owner hands Marc Anthony a kitten-shaped cookie and, tears still welling in his bloodshot eyes, he gently places the cookie on his back and walks away. It’s utterly ridiculous and hilarious all at the same time–a difficult balance to maintain, to the say the least, but it works beautifully here. Because we know Pussyfoot is fine, we can laugh at the otherwise disturbing implications behind this scene. This brief moment of black humor is a perfect example of how sophisticated Jones’ cartoons really were under the surface.

Marc Anthony and Pussyfoot only appeared in five cartoons together, and are not well-remembered today (although Pussyfoot has had a resurgence as a marketing tool in recent years). But there’s no denying that Feed the Kitty is an influential piece of short animation. It’s been recognized as such by Jones’ peers in the animation field: this cartoon was one of ten Jones shorts voted onto the list of the fifty greatest cartoons (it placed thirty-sixth). And if you need further proof of its influence, just check out the hilarious homage to Feed the Kitty in the 2001 Pixar film Monsters, Inc., in which the character Sulley believes his little human friend, Boo, has been processed in the garbage compactor. Sulley’s facial expressions (especially the trembling lips) and theatrical fainting fits perfectly mirror Marc Anthony’s horror at Pussyfoot’s “demise by cookie” in the earlier cartoon. If anything, this moment is a fitting tribute to a cartoon that shares the movie’s theme of an unconventional and ultimately fulfilling relationship.

After all (to borrow a phrase I’ve borrowed before): if a dog and a kitten can find love in this crazy, mixed-up world, there’s just that much hope for the rest of us, right?

*Want to enter our contest to win two Looney Tunes compilations on DVD? Leave a comment on this post to be automatically entered into the drawing at the end of the week!*