Tag Archives: warner bros.

Celebrating 100 Years of Chuck Jones: From A to Z-Z-Z-Z (1953)

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, classic cartoons, animation, kiddie faves, saturday morning cartoons, animated shorts

Ralph Phillips is bored, bored, bored. While his schoolmates mindlessly chant their math lesson (“Two and two is four. Four and four is eight …”), Ralph stares dreamily out the classroom window, imagining himself as a bird, flipping and flying freely through the sky–until his reverie is rudely interrupted by his teacher. She, for some inexplicable reason, expects Ralph to pay attention to his lessons, but how can he concentrate when there’s a whole new world to be explored through his oh-so-vivid daydreams …?

From A to Z-Z-Z-Z was released in 1953, at the height of Chuck Jones’ career with Warner Bros., and introduces a brand-new character to the studio’s animated roster. Ralph Phillips is an amalgamation of practically every child–male or female–to suffer through an endless school day. More than that, he is a childish take on the Walter Mitty archetype: an inconsequential dreamer who escapes reality through his imagination. In many ways, Ralph’s adventures are reminiscent of the adventures of another imaginative, Mitty-esque Ralph–Ralphie Parker, the child at the center of the seminal holiday classic A Christmas Story (1983): both characters engage in daydreaming to escape their boredom in school; both imagine themselves as brave conquerors of that which troubles them; both of them are in danger of “shooting their eyes out” (one from a series of makeshift, though imaginary, weapons; one, of course, from the infamous Red Ryder BB Gun).

The animation is this cartoon is utterly fantastic, as Ralph moves from scenario to scenario in his imagination. He floats through the sky with an impish grin; his chalk outline does battle with the day’s math lesson; an array of colorful arrows fly at him as he races across the desert to deliver a letter for the “Pony Express”; he single-handedly fights a “saber-toothed tiger shark” and raises a sunken Navy sub back to the surface; he enters the “boxing ring” and takes down a man four times his size with nary a bead of sweat. The backgrounds of the imaginative vignettes are beautifully detailed and appropriately exotic for each new scenario, contrasting with the bland, institutional design of the classroom scenes. The underwater scenes are particularly incredible (and strangely familiar–in some ways, they remind me of the backgrounds of the Nickelodeon cartoon Spongebob Squarepants).

It’s also worth mentioning that the majority of the voice work in this cartoon was not done by Warner Bros. stalwart Mel Blanc: the teacher is voiced by Bea Benaderet (the original voice of Granny before June Foray took over in 1955), and Ralph is voiced by Dick Beals. This was Beals’ first role as a cartoon voice-over artist, and his knack for capturing children’s voices (due in large part to a glandular problem) turned into a lucrative career (he would later go on to voice other memorable characters, including Davey in the Davey and Goliath series in the 1960s). Blanc, for his part, voiced the incidental characters in the cartoon, making the noises for the numbers, the Indians (a part of the cartoon, incidentally, that is still sometimes censored in broadcast airings, due to its perceived insensitivity toward Native Americans as well as the violence involved), and Ralph’s “fellow” Navy men.

This cartoon was always one of my favorites as a child, if only for that scene in which a chalk-outlined Ralph attacks the daunting math problem on the blackboard–literally, it turns out, as the problem-solving turns into a physical jousting match with a very determined number “5.” It’s a gentle yet effective poke at the struggle some of us have with math (it was always my worst subject, anyway), and Ralph’s “victory” over his numerical foes is nothing less than satisfying to watch, especially since he uses letters to ultimately conquer them (writer Michael Maltese was obviously a fellow word nerd. Die, numbers, DIE!).

From A to Z-Z-Z-Z was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film; in fact, it was the first nomination for the Warner Bros. studio in four years, since the Chuck Jones-directed For Scent-imental Reasons won the prize in 1949 (still, it lost to the Walt Disney educational cartoon Toot, Whistle, Plunk, and Boom). Jones and Maltese brought Ralph back once more in the 1957 short Boyhood Daze, in which the character again indulges in multiple flights of fancy after being sent to his room as punishment. Additionally, around the same time as that second childhood appearance, a grown-up Ralph starred in two recruitment films that Jones directed for the Army–90 Day Wondering (1956–voiced by Blanc) and Drafty, Isn’t It? (1957–voiced by Daws Butler, the “Mel Blanc” of Hanna-Barbera). And in 1970, Ralph even had a vocal cameo in Jones’ theatrical adaptation of The Phantom Tollbooth (this time around, however, he was voiced by Foray). While Ralph may not be nearly as memorable a creation as many of his Warner Bros. brethren, From A to Z-Z-Z-Z remains an indelible portrait of the power of a young child’s imagination–and a very entertaining one, at that.

 

 

Today is the last day to enter our drawing for two Looney Tunes compilations on DVD! Leave a comment on this post (or any of our Chuck Jones posts from the past week) to be automatically entered for a chance to win!

Celebrating 100 Years of Chuck Jones: The “Hunting” Trilogy

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, classic cartoons, animation, kiddie faves, animated shorts

“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!*

Celebrating 100 Years of Chuck Jones: Rabbit of Seville (1950)

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, classic cartoons, animation, kiddie faves, animated shorts

Seven years before Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd dueled their way through a hilarious take on the music of Wagner in What’s Opera, Doc?, the duo tackled Italian composer Rossini in 1950′s Rabbit of Seville. 

Rabbit of Seville is the brainchild of director Chuck Jones, writer Michael Maltese, and frequent Warner Bros. composer Carl Stalling. Stalling was, on occasion, criticized by some (including Jones) for his habit of quoting modern or popular melodies in his scores, and it is true that his scores featured repeated use of certain musical cues for similar situations from cartoon to cartoon–for instance, the recurrence of Rossini’s William Tell overture in chase scenes (particularly those in Western-themed cartoons), or the use of “We’re in the Money” (from Gold Diggers of 1933) in scenes featuring the sudden acquirement of wealth. Stalling’s penchant for musical puns aside, he was nonetheless an incredibly talented musician, and the Stalling scores are among the most memorable in the Warner Bros. animated canon (for a pitch-perfect example of Stalling’s unparalleled talent, see 1943′s A Corny Concerto, directed by Bob Clampett, which Stalling completed with his eventual successor, Milt Franklyn).

In Seville, Jones takes full advantage of Stalling’s musical abilities, as the composer manages to incorporate a slightly abridged version of the overture to Rossini’s opera The Barber of Seville at an accelerated tempo that still manages to capture the essence of the original tune. Additionally, he works in a bit of the “Wedding March” from German composer Mendelssohn. Maltese composed new lyrics to accompany the sped-up tune, and aside from Bugs’ final line, the song lyrics are the only dialogue to accompany the cartoon–and really, no dialogue is needed when the lyrics include such brilliant lines as, “There, you’re nice and clean … although your face looks like it might have gone through a machine!”

There are little touches throughout this cartoon that heighten the humor: a sign in the opening scene advertises a “Summer Opera” performance of The Barber of Seville starring “Eduardo Selzeri” (producer Eddie Selzer), “Michele Maltese” (writer Maltese), and “Carlo Jonzi” (director Jones); the stage is set for a scene at a barber’s shop, yet in Rossini’s opera, there is no such scene (despite the character Figaro’s titular position); Bugs (naturally) gets the chance to don drag, as Elmer’s alluring “little senorit-er”; Elmer deals with multiple indignities in Bugs’ Sweeney Todd-esque barber chair o’ horrors, not the least of which is having a hair tonic treatment that results in a patch of red flowers sprouting on his otherwise bald noggin; to bring an end to the madness, Bugs proposes marriage, and Elmer zips offstage briefly and reemerges in a white wedding gown; Bugs’ final, mischievous nod to the audience. The result is a sort of insane mash-up of so-called high and low culture, audaciously combining cartoonish antics and high-brow musical accompaniment in a way that, by all logic, should not work … and yet totally and completely does.

Is Rabbit of Seville as effective a cartoony operetta as What’s Opera, Doc? In truth, not quite–though both cartoons have their strengths, the more satirical bent of the latter cartoon trumps the relentlessly slapsticky nature of Seville. Opera functions as both a parody of its musical source material and an incisive comedic homage to it, while Seville concentrates more on just generally garnering laughs. Not to say that there’s anything wrong with that, for Rabbit of Seville is truly hilarious, and undoubtedly its success enabled Jones, Maltese, and crew to embark on the much more ambitious (and much more expensive) Opera in later years. And its influence has not gone unnoticed; Rabbit of Seville is, like its operatic cartoon brother, on the list of the 50 best cartoons of all time, placing at number twelve, and it remains one of the most popular ‘toons to emerge from the Golden Age of animation. Perhaps most importantly, this cartoon is among a number of memorable Warner Bros. shorts that helped introduce new generations to classical music in a fun, engaging way that, if it didn’t exactly foster new fans of the genre, at least created a lingering awareness of the great compositions of those grand old masters.

*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!*

Celebrating 100 Years of Chuck Jones: Feed the Kitty (1952)

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, classic cartoons, animation, kiddie faves, animated shorts

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!*

Hello! ma baby, hello! my honey …

Posted on by under brandie's faves, hahas, classic cartoons, animation, kiddie faves, blogathon, announcements, animated shorts, contributed post, pioneers of animation

The ongoing Comedy Countdown at Wonders in the Dark is in full swing, and my second contribution to the event is now up on the site!

By sheer coincidence, number 69 on the countdown is the 1955 animated short One Froggy Evening, directed by none other than the subject of our week-long animation celebration, Chuck Jones!

Head on over to Wonders in the Dark to check out my thoughts on this classic cartoon! The comments section over there can get quite animated (see what I did there?), so please feel free to add your two cents to the conversation!

*Want to enter our drawing for two Looney Tunes compilations on DVD? Leave a comment on this post!*

Chuck Jones: An Animated Life

Posted on by under classic cartoons, animation, animated shorts, pioneers of animation

It’s been said that artists, like all creative people, draw from what they know in creating their artistic visions. This is particularly true for animator Charles “Chuck” M. Jones, who parlayed his experiences growing up with a quixotic father and an indulgent, supportive mother into a career that is virtually unparalleled for its influence and noteworthy output.

Like many animators who emerged during the “Golden Age” of Hollywood animation, Jones was influenced by the work of pioneering cartoonist Winsor McCay. When McCay’s groundbreaking effort Gertie the Dinosaur premiered, Jones was two years old, soon to move from Washington to Los Angeles with his family as his father sought better business opportunities. As recounted in the documentary Chuck Jones: Memories of Childhood (2009), Jones’ father founded–and lost–several businesses during Jones’ childhood, and with each closure, the Jones children were given massive amounts of company letterhead and pencils to use as they pleased. The children drew hundreds upon thousands of pictures over the years, an exercise that greatly prepared Jones for his later career. In the documentary, Jones also gives much credit for his creative development to his mother, a creative woman in her own right whom he says “would never criticize a drawing” and was endlessly encouraging of his abilities.

Jones eventually attended and graduated from Chouinard Art Institute–a school that also saw such notable students as Mary Blair, Ollie Johnston, Bill Melendez, and Hollywood costume designer Edith Head (among many, many others) pass through its doors over the years. His ascent through the ranks of the animation elite started slowly, as he worked his way up from the bottom, one job at a time. After a brief stint as a commercial artist, Jones’ first “real” animation job, in 1931, was as a cel washer for recent Disney escapee Ub Iwerks, and he soon became the assistant animator for Grim Natwick (best known as the creator of Betty Boop for the Fleischer studio).

In 1933, Jones moved on to Leon Schlesinger Productions, which produced cartoons under the Warner Bros. banner. It was the most important step he would take toward cementing his status as an animation pioneer in his own right. In 1935, a brash new arrival to the studio, Frederick “Tex” Avery, convinced Schlesinger to give him a shot as a director. Avery did not have all that much experience, and he was a bit of a renegade, but Schlesinger believed that this was the man who would finally help his studio compete with the big boys (i.e. Disney). He “gave” Avery some animators–Jones, Bob Clampett, Virgil Ross, and Sid Sutherland–and assigned the group to a small, bug-infested building on the Warner Bros. backlot, which the crew affectionately nicknamed “Termite Terrace.”

The Termite Terrace crew in 1935 (from left): Ross, Sutherland, Avery, Jones, Clampett.

Soon, this small band of eager young animators began producing a popular series of shorts for the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies imprints, and in the process, redefined the rules of animation. Avery did not ascribe to the belief that animation should strictly reflect reality; instead, he believed in the zany promises of freedom that animation offered. Though Jones would never fully give himself over to the anarchy that reigned in much of Avery’s work–Jones was a proponent of believability with his animation, if not strict “realism”–he was nonetheless greatly influenced by Avery’s insistence upon the limitless possibilities allowed by the form. As Hugh Kenner explains in Chuck Jones: A Flurry of Drawings (1994): ”What Tex Avery did establish–though for Chuck Jones the lesson took time to stick–was simply the autonomy of the Director’s created world. The world of the transcendent Jones cartoons–think One Froggy Evening or What’s Opera, Doc?–has no firm connections with any world outside itself … It doesn’t seem too much to say that Tex Avery’s presence … underlaid the great period when Warner cartoons … paced the cartoon industry, and also fostered Chuck Jones. Jones needed Avery’s example.”

It’s true that Jones’ best work took time to develop. His cartoons throughout the remainder of the 1930s and the early 40s are not particularly memorable, and not particularly funny. What could be called the Chuck Jones “ethos”–a mixture of energetic action, brilliant animation, and unexpected humor–first emerged in 1942′s The Dover Boys at Pimento University, a rowdy, satirical take on the popular Rover Boys series of children’s books. The unique animation style of this short–which is so vastly different from the typical Warner Bros. output that it reportedly almost got Jones fired–would later influence the artists behind the heavily stylized UPA cartoons (among them Mr. Magoo and Gerald McBoing-Boing) produced in the 1950s and beyond.

The 1940s brought an important collaboration for Jones, when he teamed up with children’s author Dr. Seuss for a series of animated cartoons featuring a character named Private Snafu (the character itself was dreamed up by Hollywood director Frank Capra). These cartoons were created exclusively for the United States Army, which had quickly discovered that straightforward, live-action educational films were not very adept at holding the soldiers’ attention. The Private Snafu shorts were thereby devised as a way to engage soldiers and humorously educate them about the rules and regulations of service. The partnership between Seuss and Jones would be a prolific one; Jones eventually produced and directed the perennial holiday special How the Grinch Stole Christmas, based on Seuss’ popular book, in 1966.

By the end of the 1940s, Jones had found his footing as an animator and director. Starting with 1948′s Scaredy Cat, featuring Sylvester and Porky, Jones produced an almost unbroken string of hit cartoons, featuring some of the most beloved shorts ever created. His 1949 Pepe Le Pew feature For Scent-imental Reasons was Jones’ first ‘toon to win the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film. That same year, he introduced a newer take on the Daffy Duck character in The Scarlet Pumpernickel; Jones’ Daffy was less loopy and zany, and more fame-hungry, jealous, strident, and insistent, eventually forming a rivalry with the perpetually-popular Bugs Bunny that saw a hilarious trio of hunting-themed cartoons opposite Elmer Fudd in the 1950s (Rabbit Fire, Rabbit Seasoning, and Duck! Rabbit, Duck!).

1949 also saw the debut of one of animation’s most enduring cartoon pairings: that of the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote, in Fast and Furry-ous. The cartoon also featured the debut of one of the most legendary cartoon tropes–the Acme Corporation, which provides all of the gadgets that never seem to work quite right for the constantly-frustrated coyote. In Memories of Childhood, Jones explains that he named the infamous “Acme” company somewhat ironically after a childhood habit: “Whenever we played a game or we had a grocery store or something, we called it the ‘Acme Corporation.’ Why? Because, in the Yellow Pages, if you looked, say, under ‘drug stores,’ you’d find the first one would be Acme Drugs. Why? Because A-C was about as high as you could go. It means the best, the superlative.” In creating the dynamic between the carnivorous coyote and his would-be prey, Jones went so far as to craft a series of inviolate rules to maintain consistency with the characters–a list that included such tenets as preventing the Road Runner from actively harming the coyote and maintaining the setting of the Southwestern deserts.

The 1950s were arguably the most successful decade of Jones’ career, as he directed almost two dozen cartoons during that period. Eight of these cartoons would eventually be voted to the 50 Greatest Cartoons list in 1994; four of them–What’s Opera, Doc; Duck Amuck; Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2 Century; and One Froggy Evening–appear in the top five of that list. Jones is the most-represented animator on the list–with ten total entries, his work comprises a full TWENTY PERCENT of what is considered the “best” animation of all time. No other artist comes close.

Jones was undoubtedly the biggest asset to the Warner Bros. animation empire, and he was locked into an exclusive contract with the studio. But in the early 1960s, Jones collaborated with animators from UPA to produce the feature Gay Purr-ee, which he co-wrote with his wife, Dorothy. Ironically, Warner Bros. won the distribution rights for the film; when Jones’ role in its production was discovered, his now-violated contract with the studio was terminated in 1962. The Warner Bros. animation department was shut down the following year.

Jones subsequently formed his own animation studio, Sib Tower 12 Productions, and rehired his old unit from Warner Bros. (which has been disbanded after Jones was fired). The studio was contracted to create new cartoons for the Tom and Jerry series for MGM; two years later, Jones’ studio was purchased outright by MGM and renamed MGM Animation/Visual Arts. Jones produced nearly three dozen Tom and Jerry shorts throughout the 1960s, and also created the Oscar-winning short The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics in 1965 as well as MGM’s final animated short, 1967′s The Bear That Wasn’t, and the studio’s final animated feature, the 1970 adaptation of Norton Juster’s classic children’s book The Phantom Tollbooth (which mixed animation with live-action). The MGM animation studio was closed soon after that film’s release.

Again, Jones went the independent studio route; he formed his own company, Chuck Jones Productions, and continued to produce cartoons for television and film, including the 1979 compilation film The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie, a couple of Raggedy Ann and Andy specials, and several animated adaptations of Rudyard Kipling’s work, including a memorable version of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi narrated by legendary actor Orson Welles. He even delved into comic strip work, creating and maintaining the comic Crawford for two years in the 70s.

Jones was still animating and directing up until his death in 2002; his final project was the self-titled The Chuck Jones Show (2001-2002) for Cartoon Network. He never seemed to tire of creating; quite simply, he loved his job. In Chuck Jones: Conversations, author Maureen Furniss perhaps puts it best: “A dominant narrative heard in … interviews [with Jones] is that, lacking sufficient pay or even a boss that recognized his value as an artist, self-fulfillment and his love of drawing kept him at work. This scenario is a familiar story of the ‘American way’ that only strengthens our admiration for Jones as a cultural icon.”

And an icon he remains: Jones is, without a doubt, the most celebrated animator of all time, outshining even the master of self-promotion, Walt Disney himself (who, let’s face it, wasn’t exactly known for his personal prowess with pen and ink). His influence is virtually unmatched, his talent unparalleled as both a creator and a director. Jones was the ultimate cultural ambassador for animation, promoting the work of talented, young animators and continually educating people about the importance of animation as not only a field of entertainment, but an art form. Over the years, his work was nominated for eight Oscars (three of his cartoons won the award, and he personally won one–for producing The Dot and the Line–as well as an Honorary Award in 1996); he also won the prestigious Winsor McCay Award for lifetime achievement in the animation field in 1974 (along with former boss Avery, fellow Warner Bros. stalwart Friz Freleng, and Disney animator Art Babbitt). All things considered, though, the prizes didn’t matter to Jones; in Memories of Childhood, he even jokes that all it means is that “during that year, you were considered by your peers to be the best of that particular year. But it may be a very bad year. You still accept it!” Still, he adds, though he was “glad” to receive recognition, “The road is better than the end.”

Chuck Jones’ road was one any person would love to travel, and through his cartoons, we get a little glimpse of what that journey must have been like for him. When Jones died ten years ago, he left behind a legacy of laughter and beauty, inventiveness and inspiration, that continues to touch us and, most importantly, to move us to gales of chuckles. And it will always be this way, because thankfully, there will never be a day when a Chuck Jones cartoon is anything less than thoroughly enjoyable.

 

*Want to enter our drawing for two Looney Tunes collections on DVD? Don’t forget to leave a comment on this post!*

“Looney” happenings this week …

Posted on by under classic cartoons, animation, announcements, animated shorts, pioneers of animation

Friday, September 21st marks the 100th birthday of animation pioneer Chuck Jones, and in honor of this memorable natal day, True Classics is dedicating the next week’s worth of posts to the life and career of this cartoon genius.

Several events marking the occasion have been scheduled in California for the upcoming week, but seeing as how we’re clear across the country, we decided to stage our own little celebration of the man here in our humble corner of the blogosphere. So, starting tomorrow, we will delve into Jones’ oeuvre, highlighting some of the most well-known and beloved products of his time at Warner Bros., as well as other career milestones. It’s going to be a lot of fun to revisit these ‘toons, and we hope you’ll join us throughout the week and share memories of your favorite Chuck Jones productions!

But enough about all that … who wants to win a PRIZE???

This week, one lucky reader will win the Looney Tunes Spotlight Collection, Volumes 1 and 2, on DVD! Together, these compilations feature 58 of the best and most entertaining shorts to come out of animation’s Golden Age, starring such popular characters as Bugs, Daffy, Porky, Pepe Le Pew, Sylvester and Tweety, and many more! The sets include a number of Chuck Jones-helmed cartoons–including what many consider the best animated short ever produced, 1957′s What’s Opera, Doc?–among many more memorable classics. These discs are a great way to start or supplement your personal animation library (and I can tell you, my sets get broken out for frequent viewings around here!).

All you have to do to be entered into the drawing for these DVDs is to leave a comment on any of the Chuck Jones pieces that will be posted here at True Classics between tomorrow (Monday, September 17th) and Saturday (September 22nd). And yes, you can increase your odds to win by commenting on multiple entries. The winner will be notified on Sunday, September 23rd, and will have forty-eight hours to respond before another winner is drawn. Note: this contest is for residents of the United States and Canada only (apologies, international readers!).

For now … that’s all, folks!

Happy birthday to one scwewwy wabbit.

Posted on by under classic cartoons, hahas

Happy birthday, Bugs!

Today being the 70th birthday of one of the most iconic characters in entertainment history, it’s only appropriate to celebrate by watching some of the crazy rabbit’s best. For anyone interested, Bugs Bunny shorts run rampant on YouTube, including the best of them all–1957′s What’s Opera, Doc?

I’m also partial to Duck Amuck, from 1953; though it stars the ever-irascible Daffy Duck, Bugs plays an important part in the story …

I have loved this one since I was a kid: 1946′s Hair-Raising Hare.

Note that great “faux Peter Lorre” cameo and the first appearance of Gossamer, the hapless orange monster who always seems to be getting his hair or (in this case) his nails blown up by “beautician Bugs.”

And finally, one of my very favorites, 1947′s Slick Hare, features “cameos” by some of the biggest names in Hollywood at the time, most notably Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, as well as Carmen Miranda, Ray Milland, Frank Sinatra, and Sydney Greenstreet. Click on the picture below for a link to the video clip.

It’s a shame that these classic Warner Bros. shorts are not played on television very much anymore. I remember watching The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show every Saturday morning when I was growing up, and the annual “June Bugs” event on Cartoon Network was a must-see. In November of last year, CN started playing an hour’s worth of Looney Tunes shorts every afternoon, but those disappeared from the network after only a couple of months on the air. Thankfully, most of the classic Looney Tunes shorts are available on DVD in five “Golden Collection” editions, each running around $30 on Amazon. And while that might seem steep, it’s well worth the investment to own the uncut, uncensored original cartoons.

In the meantime, we can only hope that Cartoon Network (or Boomerang!) will bring Bugs back to the airwaves soon!