Film Freak Central

Looney Tuesdays - "The High and the Flighty" (1956)

*½/****
directed by Robert McKimson

by Bill Chambers Inexplicable, tone-deaf Looney Tunes pairings are legion in post-Termite Terrace revivals of the brand, but rare is the Golden Age head-scratcher quite like The High and the Flighty, an otherwise pro forma Foghorn Leghorn cartoon guest starring...Daffy Duck? Introduced joyfully bouncing a ball towards a mysterious "rope limit" that turns out to be the reach of the leash holding Barnyard Dog in check, Foghorn starts another war with his canine nemesis that travelling salesman Daffy Duck espies and decides to capitalize on by selling both parties his wares from the Ace Novelty Company, double agent-style. Once Foghorn and Barnyard realize that Daffy's exploited their conflict to line his pockets, they turn the tables on him. It's really that simple. There's a reason Daffy works for Ace and not Acme--because his products work, more or less; that's something, I guess, and as usual Foghorn Leghorn, thanks to Mel Blanc and writer Tedd Pierce, is immanently quotable ("We have been flimflammed!"), though his relative size is even more all-over-the-place than usual. But Daffy Duck is an insuperably odd presence here, with Pierce and director Robert McKimson seemingly recognizing Daffy's inherent dissonance in this milieu by casting him in a generic huckster role that suppresses his persona--they've only tailor-fitted the comeuppance gag for him, which consequently feels mean-spirited--yet cannot eclipse his iconic baggage. Punning the name of John Wayne's proto-Airport sudser The High and the Mighty, the title doesn't make much sense, either. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Vol. 2 [Blu-ray] (Running Time: 6:39)

Looney Tuesdays - "Dough Ray Me-ow" (1948)

***/****
directed by Arthur Davis

by Bill Chambers When Bob Clampett left Termite Terrace in 1946, his unit was assigned to Arthur Davis, who had years of experience behind him as the industry's first in-betweener (the person who draws the steps that get a pose from point A to point B) as well as a director in his own right, having helmed a number of cartoons for Screen Gems, where he worked closely with the great Frank Tashlin. (The two migrated to Warner Bros. together.) But Davis's name never became synonymous with Looney Tunes like so many of his colleagues' did, perhaps because his style is so unorthodox as to seem discontinuous with, even supplemental to, the studio's general output. Comparing Dough Ray Me-ow to the previously-reviewed Porky Chops also suggests that it's because Davis did better with characters denied immortality by their one-and-done status. Louie the Parrot and the gloriously stupid Heathcliff the Cat, who has to be reminded to breathe, are like Tweety and Sylvester reconfigured as Of Mice and Men's George and Lenny--a familiar-enough trope/dynamic, unconventionally applied to natural enemies and almost immediately upset by the intervention of a will that makes Louie next in line for a big inheritance in the event of poor, dumb Heathcliff's "disappearance." A clever running joke has Louie's fiendish murder plots inadvertently prevent Heathcliff from committing certain suicide, while the grand finale must be the ne plus ultra of dynamite-as-birthday-cake-candle gags, as the fuse stays lit for two whole minutes--a Hitchcockian eternity. Only the cynical button Davis and writer Lloyd Turner put on it feels rote; from its bulbous, anti-cute figures to its frequent dusting-off of the z-axis, Dough Ray Me-ow is a restless tweaking of the form that explains at once the brevity of Davis's stint as as a Warner director and his current cult reputation. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): In a research-dense commentary, CARTOONRESEARCH.COM editor Jerry Beck credits specific animators with specific gestures, trainspots the musical references, and discusses the audition process by which Turner became a writer for Looney Tunes. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Two [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection Volume Four (Running Time: 7:04)

Looney Tuesdays - "Honey's Money" (1962)

**½/****
directed by Friz Freleng

by Bill Chambers Napoleonic quickdraw Sam--who went by several aliases, such as Chilkoot Sam, Seagoin' Sam, and, most popularly, Yosemite Sam--was story man Mike Maltese's burlesque of the Missouri-born Isadore "Friz" Freleng, who appeared often as the butt of in-jokes in Warner cartoons, some of which Freleng himself made. Freleng subsequently became the character's custodian, and he was the only one foolhardy enough to give this most hostile and venal of Bugs Bunny's adversaries a solo outing, rising to the challenge not by neutering Sam, per se, but rather by identifying Bugs as essentially extraneous in their conflicts: Sam is already his own worst enemy. In Honey's Money, Sam plays a kind of Bluebeard who marries a rich widow to take advantage of her millions (his plans for the money include tearing down orphanages and old-age homes as well as dismantling the police force); one look at her gorilla features almost sends him out the door, but as soon as she mentions her bank account his wilted bouquet is not-so-subtly erect again. Unfortunately for Sam, "Honey" expects him to keep house and be a playmate to her overgrown son, Wentworth (one of Looney Tunes' patented sweet but not-so-gentle giants, voiced by child actor Billy Booth), whom Sam repeatedly schemes to murder, just to make life easier. At the end, suitcases in hand, Sam walks out on his new bride because his self-respect is worth more than material wealth...only to turn around because, no, it's really not. From concept to execution, Honey's Money is captivatingly perverse (or perversely captivating), though the corner-cutting animation--a harbinger of Freleng's '60s work in television--and inelegant shift in focus from Honey to Wentworth make Sam's first and last starring vehicle an uneven one at best. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): CARTOONRESEARCH.COM editor Jerry Beck interviews the great June Foray, who used her "Marjorie Main" voice for Honey. Beck's geeky line of questioning about recording for Warner Bros. alas squeezes Honey's Money itself out of the conversation. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 6:20)

Looney Tuesdays - "Bunny Hugged" (1951)

***/****
directed by Charles M. Jones

by Bill Chambers Rabbit Punch's simian pugilist "Battling McGook" returns in Bunny Hugged as wrestler "The Crusher," such a fearsome opponent in the ring that his challenger--Gorgeous George parody "Ravishing Ronald," who's introduced with a bang on the J. Arthur Rank gong (suggesting a subtext of British politesse vs. American might) and hilariously announced as "a denatured boy"--is rolled out on a platter. When the Crusher uses RR's hairnet to turn him into a human punching bag, mascot Bugs Bunny ("It's a living") takes matters into his own hands. The prototype for a certain pyramid-shaped beefcake in which director Chuck Jones specialized, the Crusher is unique among Bugs's antagonists in that he serves as some kind of Toon reckoning, completely pulverizing Ravishing Ronald, who holds up sad little "S.O.S." signs, and violating the first rule of Bugs Bunny cartoons, which is that the house always wins. Bugs ultimately triumphs, natch, but the outcome looks bleak until he stops trying to outmuscle the Crusher and turns theirs into a battle of wits. While the violence in Bunny Hugged is mildly traumatizing, perhaps giving it the potential to turn children off the supposedly imitable behaviour of Golden Age slapstick, the enduring appeal of this one is that it's Revenge of the Nerd. (The image of Bugs proudly flexing a drooping arm seems almost pandering these days.) Dynamic character poses throughout. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): Sound effects and Carl Stalling's score are isolated on a second track. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 7:15)

Looney Tuesdays: "The Big Snooze" (1946)

****/****

by Bill Chambers Given Bob Clampett's less-than-amicable departure from Warner Bros., not only is his final cartoon for the studio, The Big Snooze, a particularly loaded one, it also suggests a key influence on the evolution of Freddy Krueger's mythology. When Elmer Fudd tires of Bugs Bunny repeatedly steering him off the edge of a cliff in a cartoon-within-this-cartoon, he tears up his contract with Jack Warner and dances on the confetti. The delicate ecology of Looney Tunes thus upset (what is the hunted without a hunter?), Bugs disrupts Elmer's life of retirement by coating his pleasant dreams with "nightmare paint," alerting Elmer to the fact that there's no free will in cartoon purgatory. Clampett's reputation has taken a hit in recent years thanks to rumours of credit-glomming (ironically, he would not receive any billing here), and one can understand his colleagues' frustration that he didn't seem to be adapting to the evolving house style. Indeed, The Big Snooze looks defiantly "old-fashioned" next to other Bugs Bunny shorts released the same year, such as Chuck Jones's Hair-Raising Hare or Friz Freleng's Baseball Bugs; the characters are cherubic, the scenery painterly. Still, it's a crowning achievement that showcases every unique touch Clampett brought to Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies, including his genius for puns ("Sleeping Pills: Take Dese and Doze"), his Dali-esque flights of surrealism, and the cheeky, unpredictable way he makes rubble of the fourth wall. And it ends with Bugs declaring his love for Elmer in an oddly tender fashion--Clampett was one of the few artists to invest their dynamic with real history, time and again. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): The late Bill Melendez provides vivid descriptions of the working conditions at "Termite Terrace," having actually been employed there prior to overseeing the animated incarnations of "Peanuts" and "Garfield". Unfortunately, all he says about The Big Snooze is that it's pure Clampett. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 7:25)

Looney Tuesdays: "Slick Hare" (1947)

**/****
directed by I. Freleng

by Bill Chambers Old Hollywood may possess a timeless quality that prevents Slick Hare and others like it (Hollywood Steps Out, Hollywood Daffy, even 8 Ball Bunny) from becoming an instant relic à la the Michael Jordan-fronted Space Jam, but celebrity cameos in animation nonetheless have a habit of accelerating the ripening process. Gags like Ray Milland paying a tab with a typewriter--and getting change in the form of mini-typewriters--straddle the line between obsolescence and posterity, today only earning laughs among the movie-minded while also presenting a valuable snapshot of the pop-cultural consciousness circa 1947. Thing is, Carl Stalling's music, a smorgasbord of timely references, tends to already carbon-date these cartoons in an arguably wittier, more whimsical way than does straight-up parody. Slick Hare finds Dave Barry reprising his Humphrey Bogart impersonation from Bacall to Arms as Bogie, here gangsterish in a way that actually would've seemed a little archaic by this point, gives "Mocrumbo" waiter Elmer Fudd twenty minutes to prepare fried rabbit, and...you know the drill. Best joke? Maybe Leopold Stokowski conducting the house band--they really had a hard-on for Fantasia over at Termite Terrace. Bugs Bunny disguising himself as Groucho Marx, on the other hand, might be putting too fine a point on it. One of the more colour-saturated Looney Tunes, in any event. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): Michael Barrier tells us the filthy kitchen seen in Slick Hare was, eek!, modelled on that of the real Mocambo, a West Hollywood nightclub that was popular among the glitterati. Perhaps its health-code violations aren't surprising, since the place lined the walls with live caged birds! Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 7:45)

Looney Tuesdays: "Little Red Riding Rabbit" (1944)

****/****
directed by I. Freleng

by Bill Chambers The Shrek movies dream of being this renegade. Little Red Riding Hood (a brilliant Bea Benaderet, using a halting squeal that suggests the '40s equivalent of uptalk) is on her way to Grandma's house with a picnic lunch: Bugs Bunny. The Big Bad Wolf gets there first, of course, though he has to kick other wolves out of Grandma's bed. (Where's Grandma? "Working [the] swing shift at Lockheed." Wartime audiences must've howled, pardon the pun.) When Red arrives, the Wolf can't hustle her out fast enough in his desire to eat Bugs, and both he and Bugs grow impatient with formal niceties as Red keeps interrupting the ensuing farce to try to fulfill her outmoded narrative function. Introduced belting out Glenn Miller's "Five O'Clock Whistle," this Red is a bobby-soxer by definition, and the combination of her cute figure and abject brattiness create a seductive-repulsive push-pull that is damn near Lolita-esque--honouring, in a roundabout way, the erotic component that is essential to any retelling of the original fairy tale. Red, for what it's worth, meets a less grisly yet somehow more subversive end here than she does at the hand of Charles Perrault; punchlines or "release gags," as they're called, weren't necessarily director Friz Freleng's forte, but this one's ingeniously grim and worthy of Tex Avery, whose style is emulated throughout. Unfortunately the Blu-ray and DVD releases offer no isolated audio for Little Red Riding Rabbit: As animation curator Andrew Farago posits in The 100 Greatest Looney Tunes Cartoons, "what makes this cartoon stand head and shoulders above the 300-plus others Freleng directed is the music." Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 7:06)

Looney Tuesdays: "Gorilla My Dreams" (1948)

**½/****
directed by Robert McKimson

by Bill Chambers Bugs Bunny floats in a barrel to the ape colony of Bingzi-Bangzi, where Mrs. Gorilla, in the throes of baby envy, mistakes him for a delivery from the stork. A sympathetic Bugs goes along with it, but her husband Gruesome--an obvious relative of Bunny Hugged's The Crusher--is vexed by the impostor, and opens up a can of whup-ass on "Junior." Although Bugs's pantomime of a gorilla brings down the house (Robert McKimson's paunchier Bugs really lends itself to the gag), ultimately the central conflict is too esoteric to sustain a 7-minute cartoon, as evidenced by a non-ending that has Gruesome simply wearing himself out. Also, Mrs. Gorilla's emotional fragility is almost unbearably poignant and palpable; sometimes the folks at Termite Terrace didn't know their own strength. Loosely remade eleven years later under Friz Freleng's direction as the considerably less charming and more literalminded The Apes of Wrath--a spoof title that appears on a book cover in Gorilla My Dreams (along with "Our Vines Have Tender Apes") in a tableau of an ape family sitting together reading that bespeaks postwar ideals. Alternate Audio (Blu-ray/DVD): Jerry Beck, co-author of the indispensable Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies: A Complete Illustrated Guide to the Warner Bros. Cartoons, sheds light on the pop-culture references destined to sail over the heads of young viewers and takes inventory of McKimson's stylistic hallmarks. Available on: Looney Tunes: Platinum Collection, Volume Three [Blu-ray]|Looney Tunes: Golden Collection, Volume Two (Running Time: 7:25)

Looney Tunes [Platinum Collection - Volume One] - Blu-ray Disc

by Bill Chambers It's been fun to skylark about a Blu-ray release of vintage Looney Tunes since the format's inception, but until Warner announced this "Platinum Collection" box set, I don't think anybody truly expected it to happen. And while the DVD transfers that graced the "Golden Collection"s were more than adequate, the truth is that a taste of Bugs, Daffy, et al in standard-def--via recycled "Behind the Tunes" featurettes--after seeing them in all their HiDef splendour is a lot like Dorothy's unintentionally depressing return to Kansas at the end of The Wizard of Oz. Presented pillarboxed in their original 1.37:1 aspect ratio, these shorts pop like never before but have not, unlike Disney's animated features, undergone a digital repainting--though I remain skeptical of a radioactive shade of green that crops up in Daffy's Robin Hood outfit and on the bars of Tweety's cage in Tweetie Pie (to cite two examples), because it looked so revisionist when applied to the title character of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" on Warner's Blu-ray version of same. Nevertheless, the restorers use a gentle touch, dustbusting and correcting damage to the prints while leaving grit trapped between the cels alone. The dark Scaredy Cat is dotted with so much white you might think the background plate doubled as a coke tray.

Looney Tunes: Reality Check (2003) + Looney Tunes: Stranger Than Fiction (2003) - DVDs

LOONEY TUNES: REALITY CHECK
½*/**** Image A Sound B Extras B-

LOONEY TUNES: STRANGER THAN FICTION
½*/**** Image A Sound B Extras B-

by Travis Mackenzie Hoover So it's come to this: after decades of revelling in the hair-trigger-timed, artfully-drawn, beautifully lush fruits of the old Warner Brothers animation stable, we are now reduced to badly animated web broadcasts slapped haphazardly onto DVD. This cynical cash-grab has nothing to do with the craft of classic-Hollywood Looney Tunes and everything with trying to muscle in on an animation market largely dominated by Disney. But the iron that forged the greatness of the old shorts has largely run cold, replaced by the pathetic brandishing of the only other big cartoon trademarks in town--making for something from which only the very young or the very easily amused could derive any pleasure.