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Release Date: October 24th, 1942
Series: Looney Tunes
Director: Norm McCabe
Story: Tubby Millar
Animation: Cal Dalton
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Daffy, Little Beefer, Horse, Brave), Sara Berner (Daisy June)
(You may view the cartoon here.)
As regrettable as it is to announce, the wretched day that has cloaked all of us in fear and despair at its arrival has finally come to be: Norm McCabe's Daffy has finally warbled his swan--er, duck--song.
Despite only having three chances to work with the character, McCabe's efforts have indicated an immediate and intimate understanding of the character. "Charismatic" is a term innate to all shades of Daffy, but is perhaps most all-encompassing of McCabe's handle on the duck. There's a chummy, friendly warmth about him, whether that's through his frequent asides to the audience, the continued theming of him as a scruffy underdog, or even the occasional bouts of cynicism that are perhaps easier to relate to than a click of the heels and crossing of the eyes.
Daffy is still a HOOHOOing maniac under McCabe's care, but that's not all he is. Rather, audiences are treated to a more intimate glimpse of what buds into the HOOHOOing maniac. And, perhaps most different than the other directors, McCabe's Daffy likewise offers a glimpse of the HOOHOOing maniac after he settles. There's a patience, comparative maturity and calm with his duck that allows us to get closer and more personal with him, if only in a casual sense. In McCabe's cartoons, he's able to stand still enough for us to have a pleasant conversation with him.
But, of course, Daffy is still Daffy, and McCabe's duck lives up to his name in numerous ways. Rest assured that the mania and impetuousness that we've so revered him for is still plenty apparent.
This metaphorical pass of the torch in eras is gently cemented through the implementation of a new title card. The Hep Cat ushered in the start of a new production season of cartoons--with it, it's armored with fancy new title and, in the case of the color cartoons, end cards. For the first time since the early '30s, the design of this new title card--Porky and Daffy, their dynamic duo status emblazoned on the front of every Looney Tune short regardless of their presence--would remain the same throughout multiple seasons.
Daffy's inclusion in this literal double header is particularly telling, as it demonstrates he's now of enough status to don the start of every single cartoon released under the Looney Tune name (sans the rare Bugs Looney Tune), up through mid-1944 or so. Observations of Daffy's growing maturity, in this analysis and others, feels consistent with this development.
Fittingly, this farewell for McCabe's duck bakes the idea of a farewell into its very premise. Daffy is framed as a beloved Hollywood actor--for his native studio of Warner Bros., natch--leaving the rat race of the film industry, settling instead for the wild and woolly west. Hollywood stereotypes of said wild and woolly west thusly intervene with his quest for peace (which in itself is a sign of his growth!).
In spite of his name’s absence, layout artist David Hilberman is as much of a star as Daffy in this cartoon. Even the lamentably shoddy condition of this print can’t hinder the striking stylization of the cartoon’s title card. All throughout, the cartoon is bathed in a sleek, stylistic sheen—simple, bold shapes and colors, striking diagonals, a firm handling on value and hue that make the monochrome vibrant. His stylization is a major point of appeal for these later McCabe cartoons. It’s certainly true of this cartoon.
Graininess of this VHS print may obscure some of the juicy details and Hollywood gossip buried on the expository newspaper, but the bold headlines and backing track of “Hooray for Hollywood” do a fine job of filling in those lapses. Daffy, hailed as a beloved movie star, has announced his resignation in favor of heading into the old west.
The actor angle being so prominent in the exposition is intriguing. Duckaroo now marks the second short to explicitly paint him as such; unlike its predecessor of You Ought to Be in Pictures, the entire story doesn’t hinge on this occupation—it’s merely a way to motivate Daffy’s presence in the desert and offer some sort of depth to the premise. Regardless, it’s significant to note, considering the acting angle has become such a well-known fallback in contextualizing the meta angle frequently taken by these shorts.
Discussions of this meta angle and the common misconceptions therein (such as these characters always being intended as actors) will be more relevant in the shorts surrounding The Bugs Bunny Show era. Nevertheless, personal pedanticism wins out, and so albeit perhaps annoying, the reminder is useful: it should be understood that, generally, the characters are not actors unless they are painted as one for the needs of the cartoon. That applies here.
Such a "synopsis-dressing" is intriguing, just as Daffy's relation to it is intriguing. Daffy, as has been discussed before, is a naturally metatextual character. He was born out of the very desire to break the boundaries between what we perceive to be on-screen; even since his conception, he's been defying the confines and conventions of his 4:3 bounding box. McCabe's duck leans into this natural dissolution of boundaries quite heavily with his frequent asides and attention to the audience. So, it only seems fitting that this sly, meta wink to Warners' role in the film industry and attaching that same glamor and notoriety onto its cartoon stars, be associated with the most naturally meta character.
An additional dose of "meta" is the headline: Daffy being billed as a crooner only inspires questions rather than answers. Audiences are invited to question the films that Daffy had put out, and on what basis is are "crooning" abilities evaluated. A great tongue-in-cheek topping that prevents the actor angle being too self-fellating.
Not only that, but it invokes genuine intrigue in the cartoon's premise. Naturally, we're invited to ponder why Daffy would give up such a sweet gig and what relevance he has to the wide, open west. Doing so makes the cartoon feel more interesting, dimensional, elevating the investment beyond the hook of a western set-dressing.
Layers upon layers upon layers of autoreferential humor coat the opening: even the newspaper transition and utilization is a direct burlesque on the common expository technique in filmmaking. A lovingly used cliche, as it were. This second and final headline is skewed atop a pile of papers, inflating the importance of this story and pinning it as a real, big hit--that's seconded through the pride in Stalling's music score and the anticipatory drumroll that accompanies the action of the paper spinning into view. A slight angle skews this second headline, injecting a natural flow of motion that translates into dynamism, which translates into intrigue.
Here, this second headline reiterates what we've already been privy to. But it proves that Greta Garbo jokes were still hip with the kids in 1942: Daffy's byline of "I want to be a lone...... ranger" is a direct play on Garbo's frequently parrotted catchphrase of "I want to be alone". The real intent is a quick, punny jab to grab a laugh and contrast the pompous tone of this opening, but the pop culture cribbing seems fitting, given Daffy's own frequent embrace of the latest pop culture happenings and figures.
With printing presses run dry and exposition heartily lodged down our throats, we are now free to segue into the meat of the cartoon.
"Meat" used loosely, as opening on a song number is really just a more nuanced continuation of this introduction. That poses no problem with a song as catchy and cumulative of Daffy's entire being as this one.
Praises for Mel Blanc's (and Daffy's) performance of "My Little Buckaroo" cannot be shouted into tall enough heavens. Blanc's vocals manage to be both smooth as butter and rustic at the same time--the music itself is perky, peppy, an immediate boost of energy that draws the audience in with ease. A plethora of sight gags and character beats keep the song engaging, entertaining, and truly, utterly, inarguably daffy.
You'll note Daffy's entrance, in which he enters the scene diagonally before settling into a rolling, horizontal pan. This additional step, rather than fading in on the pan already in progress, strengthens the depth and livability of the staging. It makes it feel as though this is a real environment that Daffy is traversing. Cacti indicated on an overlay in the foreground maintain this idea, offering the illusion of dimension.
A brief bit of background. The song, recorded in March 1937, was first heard in the film The Cherokee Strip through the mellow intonations of one Bing Crosby. It's a slow song, sung in the context of a lullaby; Daffy playing it as vibrantly and upbeat as he does--and in broad daylight--is stunningly indicative of his personality and innate tendency to turn everything on its head.
That extends to his stage presence as well: one can't imagine ol' Bing being too happy to see the heartfelt lullaby sung by a cartoon duck drowning in a Stetson.
This, too, is part of the coy commentary on Daffy's status as a Hollywood actor. Daffy's miniscule, authority-weakening burro and colossal cowboy hat muffling his singing are both far removed from the grandeur of gun slinging and wide open spaces alluded into the preceding headlines. A great dose of expectation versus reality--and, in contrast to later shorts, Daffy is completely content with the reality of the situation. If anything, the viewer is the odd one for questioning it. He doesn't fight against his scruffy, underdog appeal that is a very potent source of appeal in McCabe's duck shorts, even if it directly contradicts any authority established in the newspapers. What's it to him?
Standalone, the song is fantastic. Blanc's vocals are infectiously human. The jauntiness of the score, similarly so. Though the diminutive donkey is meant to be a bit of a jab at Daffy's authority as a cowpoke (as if a horse is too big a responsibility and symbol of respect for him), the design and its musical head bobbing struggles to elicit any other reaction than adoration. McCabe could have played this song completely straight, and been fine.
But, this is a Daffy cartoon, and playing something straight is antithetical to Daffy's very being. Thus, the song is filled with interludes, visual gags, and other interruptions, as alluded to above. Filling a song with non-sequiturs and gags can quickly become distracting and reek of insecurity--see any song number in a Ben Hardaway cartoon for proof. It can indicate distrust of both the character to entertain, and distrust of the audience to be entertained.
Somehow, McCabe completely avoids the burden of overcompensation. The gags are amusing and some even tailored to Daffy's needs--but never compensatory.
Comedic security is perhaps most felt in the cut following Daffy's first verse: he takes a break from his guitar strumming duties to unearth a matryoshka of cowboy hats all on his head. The gag itself may only arouse a polite laugh now, but its execution is inarguably competent. McCabe and Cal Dalton, whose presence is immediately recognizable once Daffy's face is visible, vary the timing to induce an accelatory rhythm. The first hat is taken off with a comparatively long, sweeping gesture, hat in hand as the audience suddenly parses the presence of another hat beneath it.
The next hat--helpfully labeled as a 10 gallon, yet--follows a similar rhythm, though Daffy is quicker to toss that hat away.
Pauses grow shorter as Daffy sheds more Stetsons with increasing fervor. In real time, viewers realize that the labeling on the 10 gallon actually serves a literal purpose of measurement, which telegraph that there are 9 remaining. What could be a groan inducing snoozefest of a sequence is lithe and quick and fun thanks to the push in momentum. McCabe doesn't linger on this any longer than he has to.
Likewise, Stalling's music score lends a considerable hand in the tangibility of the act: the first few hats removed are accompanied with a sweeping trombone blare, melodically immortalizing Daffy's movements. The backing track accelerates its rhythm with a staccato echo of Daffy's earlier lyrics, driving the growing speed of Daffy's movements and vice versa.
In fact, the rhythm is so swift that audiences are intended to miss the transition from 5 gallons to 2 gallons; the amount of hats are subtly cheated to avoid monotony and literality. Something that can easily be achieved with the rapid pacing of the sequence.
Two gallons goes to one quart goes to a half pint, which is an apt encapsulation of Daffy's small yet wily underdog appeal.
And it's through this amusingly undersized chapeau that Daffy is able to make his formal introduction to the audience. Emphasis on formal: his declaration of "Howdy, you all!" is deliciously stilted.
"You all", as opposed to "y'all", beautifully illustrates this undercurrent of a commentary that Daffy is merely playing dress-up. His role as a cowboy begins and ends at cliches. Cowboys say howdy, y'all, so, thusly, he will, too--even if his overly synthetic delivery clearly exposes his lack of "experience". That in itself contributes to the repeatedly aforementioned underdog appeal; in a way, the audience is inclined to humor his cowboy antics through his enthusiasm alone. Authenticity be damned.
More importantly, it serves as a pedestal for Daffy's tendency to roleplay. A sponge of tropes and cliches, his eternal quest for a fulfilling game of dress-up has started as early on as What Price Porky--even if that looks radically different than the more beloved "dress-up duck" cartoons revered today, such as practically any Chuck Jones Daffy cartoon from the '50s onward. Daffy is a character who perpetually radiates the idea that most of his morals are based off of what he heard on the radio or saw at the movies last week. This extends even to casual mention of celebrities or fictional characters, as is such a common impulse for him.
Such fanaticism makes him more relatable, giving the idea that he's seeing the same movies and radio plays and tropes and cliches that we are. Thus spawns a meticulous and amusing balance between reality and fantasy, which we're seeing straddled right before us: the reality is that Daffy makes a pretty lame cowboy, but the enthusiasm of his fantasy is too warm and endearing not to encourage. Especially when Daffy directly addresses the audience as he does here, inviting them in to share his gentle mythopoesis.
A few more observations on this scene before continuing: Daffy standing on the donkey's back is a nice way to fill the negative space in the staging, left to accommodate this change in posture. Not only is it conscientious of the composition's balance, but it's again indicative of Daffy's impulses--a repeated theme throughout this song number (and, really, his character as a whole), he cannot, for the life of him, remain still. He sings, he stands, he spins, he scats. This song number, as we shall continue to explore, is a culmination of his most rudimentary impulses strung together. That, as alluded before, is a creative and believable way to depict his occasionally frayed lucidity beyond relying on the usual stock tropes. There's also the slight commentary that Daffy is small enough to stand on his equally small donkey, neither of them breaking a sweat, which contrasts any familiarly majestic imagery of "normal" cowboys. Normal cowboys who probably aren't standing on the backs of their donkeys horses with an average of 10 hats on their heads.
To get him back down on the donkey, a drybrushed spinning flourish is used. It's quick and effective and swift, condensing the action so as not to bore the audience with a meticulous sequence of Daffy properly straddling his mule. Just the same, it's starkly representative of Daffy's high strung, neurotic energy and impulses. Just before the spin, Daffy pulls the hat down over his face, which reverts it back to its proper size--with it comes a brief burst of crazed catharsis. A flash of the '30s duck ekes through the cracks in this condensed moment. It's very quick, motivating the spin which motivates the coming idea--a great way to display his daffiness without stringing along a belabored HOOHOOing fit (which, to describe such as belabored is an oxymoron, but it would be a bit obtuse for the pacing needs of the song).
Abstraction of the drybrush enables his guitar to be cheated for the needs of this coming scene: sticking with this "variety show" format of a song, Daffy's next utterance of the verses are scatted, with a drum solo on the guitar serving as his musical accompaniment. The spin transition allows for the guitar to already be turned backwards and enable him to launch right into his solo without missing a single beat. With how many contrasting ideas there are in this song number--and quickly, at that--McCabe's ability to keep the pacing and ideas coherent is pretty remarkable.
A Coy Decoy presented a relatively similar format for Daffy's song number in that cartoon. Daffy's singing--and screaming, and shouting, and at times braying--was all over the place, frequented with sight gags and transformations and other dissolutions of convention that are not incomparable to the same here.
However, the Daffy of Duckaroo seems, if not more mature, then somewhat more in control of his impulses. His guitar slapping and spinning and hat shedding feel like a motivated playfulness rather than a symptom of sheer insanity, which the newly pubescent duck of Decoy seems to be exhibiting. The fragmentation in pacing and ideas here is definitely daffy, but there's a sense of purpose, awareness and drive behind them. He's consciously having and sowing his own fun. His screwball, manic catharses featured in the likes of Decoy aren't nixed--just broadened in their depth.
Those starving for familiarly frenetic movements will be satiated just the same: Daffy's drum solo involves his entire body, bucking and convulsing and even hopping into the air at one point. He has too much energy than he knows what to do with. All in the name of alleviating that catharsis, which is relieved here through his manic slapping and clapping.
This drum solo calls a little bit more attention to Blanc's vocals, as the rhythmic guitar strumming is sacrificed for slapping instead. Truly, the charm of his singing can't be overstated. Daffy's performance is hammy, but authentically so--joy for the performance and the thrill that it gives him, rather than hammy in an attempt to impress or endear the audience. Amazingly, Blanc easily straddles a very fickle line between honoring Daffy's personality and having the song sound genuinely good; "human", as used to describe the vocals earlier, seems to be the winning phrase.
In fact, this song sequence is so charming that it really only has one flaw (a term used very liberally and a consequence of obsessive note rather than actual error): the transition between scenes could be more coherent. Following the drum solo, Daffy bends low, moving into an antic that'll be answered by the arrival of the coming scene. However, cutting to the next scene has him sitting completely upright. Dalton's animation is timed and spaced to have Daffy moving in a swooping arc, motivating the tug of the object he's lugging behind him--the switch to a different animator doesn't complete the arc, which makes it feel like the idea is left hanging in mid-air.
Thankfully, this is all extremely neurotic note and has no actual say on the broader coherency nor enjoyment of the sequence. To get a bit colloquial, the purpose of pointing these "errors" out is really just to note what would likely get noted in my own experiences working in animation. It's not to judge them on the standards of an entirely different landscape and home for animation some 83 years later--if anything, it's born out of playful jealousy. Likewise, some of these things do make a difference; completing the arc would make for a greater impact on the reveal and relinquish a more satisfying transition, which would lend itself to the filmmaking feeling slightly more coherent... but it's certainly not going to make or break the cartoon. Theatergoers in 1942 likely didn't have much of an idea of what an antic even is, much less care. Still, sometimes these things can be felt subconsciously. Just a little over-explanation, as I am exceedingly aware of how pedantic and, again, neurotic I can say by pointing these things out.
Besides--why nitpick on hook-ups, when Daffy has just unloaded a saloon piano from the back of his trailer, which we had no idea was even present until now? This is not a vital filmmaking gaffe from McCabe, but a victim of circumstantial contrivances. According to historian Matt Hunter, there was a cut scene towards the top of the film that panned to reveal Daffy's trailer. The trailer was smothered in all sorts of Warner Bros. signs and paraphernalia, running the acting shtick home--extremely close to home, that is.
TV broadcasting rights have made for very interesting and very frustrating history. The Daffy Duckaroo is one of nearly 200 cartoons--almost the entire studio's black and white catalog of cartoons--sold over to Sunset Productions in the 1950s, a subsidiary of WB. References to Warner Bros. in the Sunset package cartoons were scrubbed, supposedly to avoid confrontation with exhibitors, who would likely feel cheated to see the WB name used in their rival medium. Thus, every single cartoon had its opening and ending titles replaced with a generic "Sunset Productions" title card, consisting entirely of drawings from various lobby cards of pre-existing cartoons. Not only that, but any gags referencing WB in the shorts--the Dodo riding the WB shield in Porky in Wackyland, for example, were likewise nixed.
Most of these cut references have thankfully survived and made it out of the 20th century. Considering that the only circulating print of Duckaroo--beyond the '60s redrawn colorized version, which is also victim to the cut--is a VHS copy, and considering the content of the cartoon makes chances of a (public) restoration extremely unlikely, fate hasn't dealt a kind hand.
Sure enough, at the very top of the scene, there's a sliver of a sign at the very top of the trailer; the signs make a reappearance in shots towards the end of the cartoon, albeit obscured through a distance shot or close-up, but they are intended to be there.
What has been preserved is Daffy's extremely charming piano interlude. He's milking this song dry for every single drop its got--if there's a way to subvert it, he'll do it again twice over and turn it on its head for a third. We've gone from singing in a giant hat to abandoning the guitar in lieu of revealing about a dozen different hats, then using the guitar as a makeshift drum set, and now unveiling a saloon piano, complete with a complimentary beer to embrace the atmosphere to its fullest. So much is happening, and Daffy engages in it all with complete and utter enthusiasm. We, the audience, are the crazy ones for even thinking to question the logic behind all of this.
For Daffy, there's simply no time to question anything--that's counterproductive to the fun he's having and the catharsis he's expelling. Likewise, his interludes are all armed with a comfort and self assurance. The contented expression on his face as he pounds at the ivories reek of security in his logic of the illogical. Even the piano itself is bounding with elastic, bouncy energy mimicked by its owner. Everything bends to, and is intoxicated by, Daffy's whim.
The same is true for the mini tribute to Spike Jones (or thereabouts) that follows. Bringing out an entire saloon piano is still not subversive enough--Daffy's fragmentation is furthered through a brief trombone interlude, fittingly chased by a few squeaks of a car horn. More subversion on top of subversion, executed with full confidence. What sounds like an incoherent disaster on paper is extremely fun, smooth, and just plain charming. McCabe doesn't linger on any one part too long, because that would deflate the confidence, which would deflate the very precarious momentum upheld throughout this number. Daffy's actions simply speak for themselves. A trust in the character, and a trust in the audience.
Daffy abandons the piano as quickly as he pulled it out. It's served its purpose, but the tempo of the song keeps going strong; there are more paradoxes and interruptions and surprises to be had. Daffy has a stream of consciousness to maintain.
Another extremely apt demonstration of his innate talent for boundary breaking is his following scat-solo. One gets the idea that his resumption of guitar strumming is just to give him something to fiddle with, rather than any concern for actual musical interlude: that notion is carried in a brief close-up of his finger twirling and flicking the strings. It's like a toy to him. The lyrics don't matter, the guitar doesn't matter--it's almost as if Daffy is aware that Carl Stalling is directing Milt Franklyn's orchestra, and that he's thusly entitled to have them do the heavy lifting for him.
All throughout the sequence, a certain "Daffy devil may care" attitude prevails. As mentioned before, Daffy garbling the words, abusing his guitar rather than playing, and interrupting himself with piano and trombone solos sounds like an unfocused disaster on paper. In a lesser director's hands, it very well could have been. McCabe does gently lean into an affectionate annoyance with Daffy's nasal scatting and over-the-top demeanor, but there is a poignant emphasis on "affectionate". For Daffy, this song number liberates his impulses, and the audience is swept up into the same catharsis through how intoxicating his energy and warmth is. Having him regard and tease the audience--again, a staple of McCabe's duck--is certainly a helpful factor.
None of this is "right". Daffy isn't a proper cowboy, his burro isn't a proper steed, him abandoning a presumably illustrious career doesn't make sense and neither does any one aspect of this song number. But, just like Daffy, the audience has learned not to care. The confidence and sheer joy that he radiates reassure and soothe any stragglers questioning the illogic of it all. Convention is for squares anyway.
John Carey animates the last cut of the song, which is starkly cumulative of the exhaustive analysis poured into this song number thus far. Daffy may have hit the climax of the song melodically with his scatting, but his energy refuses to succumb to a falling action or resolution. In fact, it keeps rising so much that he flies too close to the metaphorical sun--or, more realistically, too close to the donkey.
Strutting and ambling along his burro's back prompts him to take a tumble. He manages to pick himself back up and make a recovery, even with a smile on his face; not a single beat is skipped. As if to compensate for last time, segueing into his signature appropriated Laurel hops indicates that he's in full on catharsis-relief mode.
Said hops melt into a split, which then melts another whirling spin transition. That then takes us to the end of the song, reverting Daffy back to a rather photogenic, "normal" pose taking us right back to where he started. Now his peak has been hit, his obligation for song met.
All of this occurs extremely quickly. So many contrasting actions, one right after the other, and so much to keep track of on top of it--remember, the donkey has to maintain his strutting cycle, and the background rolls in a continuous pan. McCabe and Carey's timing is absolutely seamless. Carey's animation is in no shortage of character. Frenetic and deranged in all of the right ways, but not to a degree of distraction or incoherency.
There are consolidations made to prevent these very pitfalls. For example, when Daffy falls, he keeps on singing, his expression hardly faltering beyond the initial impact. Doing so makes the animation consistent and prevents getting too attached to details: the bigger picture of the idea is preserved, making it easier for audiences to digest and track this animated information being thrown right at them.
"Joy" and "charm" are two words thrown liberally in dissecting this entire song number. Carey's cut of animation here embody these two aspects. If there's a scene that can be described as intoxicating in its energy and zest for playfulness, it's this one. Carey's drawings of the character are extremely appealing in their own right, and he refuses to let his solid draftsmanship hinder the elasticity and litheness of his animation. A perfect casting choice to wrap up this extremely memorable spotlight.
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A fade to black serves as a powerfully polite mic drop on the whole thing. The gentility of the transition divorces itself from the frenzied happenings of the past 40 seconds or so. It puts this song number to rest, providing a bookend to the fade-in from black that it all started with. Using the same transition for each end makes the song feel like its own standalone spotlight slipped comfortably within the cartoon. Just a straight cut or even a cross dissolve would be too soft, too loose, too tangential of an ending. There's security in the fade to black, which is embodied by Daffy's polite, accomplished smile at a job well done. It seems that Carey even gave him eyelashes for an additionally amusing coyness, noting on how sudden Daffy's gentility seems after all of his thrashing and tripping and spinning.
The question then becomes: how the heck do you follow that up?
Sadly, the disclaimer at the top of the review becomes relevant from this point on, which can lend itself to a feeling of it being all downhill from here. Thankfully, there's still plenty of humor and charm unique to Daffy's character to carry us through--not to mention some sharp comedic timing, dialogue, and boundary testing situations independent of any derogatory racial humor.
McCabe answers the question above through some eye candy circa layout artist Dave Hilberman. Dirtied and grainy and at times inarticulate as this film print may be, the sleek, abstract stylization of Hilberman's layouts refuse to be contained. His sharp, geometric shapes and bold values make for a very striking effect, even and perhaps especially within the limits of monochrome. The tag team of John McGrew and Eugene Fleury is rightfully celebrated when discussing the budding stylization of Warner cartoons, but Hilberman's name seems to be one that slips under the radar quite frequently. Before there was Maurice Noble, there was Dave Hilberman. Even McGrew wasn't entirely committing to flat, blocky shapes in his layouts to the extent that is shown here. My Favorite Duck is on the horizon, which does have some very simplified shapes, but there's a comparative literality that isn't entirely reflected to the same extent in Hilberman's layouts here. This will become more apparent as the cartoon stretches on.
Daffy does not share the same appreciation for Hilberman's stylistic talents that we do. Instead, realizing he's stumbled upon a reservation, he and his donkey break their calm facade and make a scrambling break for it.
In spite of the circumstances (that is, Daffy shrieking "INDIANS!? LEMME OUTTA HERE!!!" completely unprovoked), said scramble take results in a nice visual gag. Animation of the scramble is rightfully hurried and frantic, timed on one's for additional freneticism, Daffy turning his body in multiple different ways as he can't decide which way he wants to move. Drybrushing on the donkey's hooves complete the arc of his winding, frozen gallop, giving coherence to an incoherent action. The cycle keeps on going for a few moments more after Daffy has finished shrieking, intentionally inducing a creeping monotony...
...so that upon a high pitched coo off-screen, Daffy and his donkey can freeze right in the middle of their cycle, calling greater attention to the interruption. A beautifully timed abstraction that feels comparable to the similarly "frozen movement" that would dominate a lot of Frank Tashlin's upcoming cartoons. Like Tashlin's cartoons, there's no settle or antic into the pose or any other flourish to soften the movement. Harshness of the transition is by the design and makes up half of the joke itself. Likewise, one could interpret it as another symptom of Daffy's innate overzealousness: even when he stops doing something, he does it to its fullest extent.
A cut introduces us to the source of the coo. Dozens of cartoons flaunting a parade of Native American stereotypes typically flaunt the archetypal coy seductress: the "Pocahontas" figure awaiting to be swept off her feet by the white savior cowboy, much to the chagrin of some other rival authority figure--usually her father, which ends up being the chief of the tribe, and that's always trouble for our white savior cowboy.
Duckaroo is among those cartoons involved in the stereotype parade, working within this general template. Stereotypes are stereotypes, of which this cartoon is very complicit in, but there are some subversions or other nudges of boundaries that somewhat distinguish this cartoon from the rest, arousing laughs from the circumstances around them rather than with the sole mission to disparage and alienate a group of minorities (though that, too seems to be an unfortunately inescapable byproduct).
All of that is to say, McCabe doesn't follow the aforementioned "wrapping" to the letter, and we will soon see how. Likewise, much of the comedy is sourced from Daffy's reactions, and there is much comedy to be had in the way his libido violently guides him forth. Never one to fear hypocrisy, Daffy--who had just been shrieking to get away at the mere sight of a tipi--is now shrieking a lovelorn serenade as he literally rockets towards his target.
McCabe's comedic timing of this switch-up is utterly brilliant. The pause is just long enough for the audience to take in the introduction of our mistress, which is just long enough to imply Daffy laboriously parsing over the same information in his head. It's also just short enough that the switch from screaming to singing is still on the same general idea, calling full attention to his hypocrisy and getting laughs at just how quickly and violently he changed demeanors.
The solidity of the girl's construction and gentle, prolonged eye blinks indicate John Carey's hand yet again. And, yet again, he proves the perfect casting choice--he's able to bestow an authentic gentility to her movements, playing into this self aware portrayal as the archetypal Indigenous mistress (which is important to establish, for reasons soon to be apparent). Likewise, this saccharinity in her movements and demeanors allows for the abrasiveness of Daffy's own energy to juxtapose ferociously, thereby gaining more laughs from the sheer contrast in tone.
And abrasive, Daffy most certainly is. Channeling his inner Jerry Colonna, the long, nasal, prolonged note he holds out before launching into his serenade is more like a warning call--a sort of Doppler effect to indicate that he's getting closer and closer before rushing right into the scene.
Daffy's entry is conveyed through drybrushing, momentarily reducing him to an abstract object rather than a person. There are only three frames of him rushing in before he begins to solidify--when he does, he's already strumming his guitar and singing. Great consolidation of actions that's snappy and streamlined, not missing a single beat. A benefit that's shared both in the directing and conveying the humor that is Daffy's preparedness to seduce.
For as much action as there is happening, McCabe's employs a certain amount of restraint that deserves to be congratulated. It's all too common a compulsion to cut to a close-up of Daffy after seeing the girl. Heart pounding, tongue hanging, or any other sort of cliche to immediately convey his lust. McCabe cuts out this middleman, allowing the momentary buffer between scenes to speak for Daffy's implied reactions. It's much funnier that way, and more trustful of the audience to piece together their own conclusions. No spoon feeding necessary.
Moreover, beating around the bush just simply isn't in Daffy's nature. He's a force of nature and rushes to confront what he wants, when he wants it, with no conditions necessary. The presentation of the gag is more manic this way and more attuned to his naturally rapid pace of life.
His "libido-forward" attitude here isn't incomparable to similar reactions in--yet again--A Coy Decoy. Both displays are shameless and overzealous; Daffy is a bit more stream-of-consciousness in Decoy, whereas the Daffy of Duckaroo has a more centralized point of focus and comparative maturation. McCabe's pacing of this routine is likewise about twice as fast, as Decoy does demonstrate some of the aforementioned hemming and hawing with ponderous reaction takes.
Here, Daffy possesses has the energy and speed he displayed within his earliest cartoons, but is able to filter it through a more "sophisticated", mature shell. McCabe entertains a very strong balance that maintains Daffy's manic, crazed charms, but in a way that still has him feeling like a person we can relate to and laugh at and with, rather than a mindless drone displayed for our entertainment.
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Of course, the best aspect of this entire scene is yet again Blanc's singing. His Colonna-esque introduction melts into a warm, pleasant rendition of "Would You Like to Take a Walk?", settling into a comparative musical normalcy just as quickly and confidently as he settled into his guitar playing. There really is no other word to describe Blanc's vocals and, really, Daffy's character than utterly charming. Like his singing of "My Little Buckaroo", there's a homely charm native to Daffy's singing abilities--that fickle line between having the song sound good and have it remain true to his character is skillfully straddled.
Particularly the voice crack as he hums; this slight imperfection is so full of character. It reflects his hungry zeal to seduce the girl and indulge in his impulses, just as it reflects his role as a lovable underdog. To sing the song perfectly would feel too sterilized for him. Rather, the voice crack and scoops of his voice make it perfect in his own way. The sheer amount of character is truly overwhelming.
That same sense of organicism and warm exuberance extend even into his line of "How about a sarsapa... rilla?". Spoken tepidly, his singing drops off upon the sight of a beckoning finger from within the tipi. Processing the meaning behind the gesture in real time, Daffy gets distracted from his attempts to seduce, thrill broiling within him as he realized it is he who is going to be seduced.
Such produces another amusing commentary. Daffy was so eager to display himself as a cowboy crooner and to impress with his talents, only to immediately abandon it when he realizes he's getting what he wanted. His fickleness contributes to the overall feeling of lovable disingenuousness surrounding his actions. Moreso, he's just such a ricochet of neurons, firing from one stimuli to the other as quickly and as passionately as possible.
More drybrushing convey this with great aptness. Audiences have plenty of time to chew Daffy's pause as he winds down from his song, creeping realization taking its place--thus, his entry into the tipi is positively springloaded, mimicked through Treg Brown's ricocheting sound effect. It's all too easy to take these displays of speed for granted, but they deserve to be complimented, as this was still a relatively new form of caricature. Especially considering McCabe's cartoons aren't always known for their need for speed. Daffy's urgency is palpable.
Butchered English gags are in no shortage in this cartoon, but the innuendo is at the very least appreciated. It'll only get more blatant from here.
Admittedly, McCabe lingers on this innuendo for much too long: there's about a 6 second hold, with half of that dominated by Daffy's voice-over. 6 seconds may not feel like much, but the voice-over makes it feel longer than it is--there's a desire to question why we aren't following the source of his voice, which leads into the feeling of missing out on something. The intent seems to be a transition of "privacy"--privacy that will be breached momentarily--but something as simple as a camera truck-in and cross dissolve into the scene would be helpful in bridging the gap and giving more artistic motivation to the transition. As it stands now, it just feels like a somewhat noticeable way to save pencil mileage.
Some more beautifully abstract Hilberman layouts escort the viewer into these private matters. Sharp, angled, geometric shapes dominate the background environments--whether it be the sloping negative space in the topmost corners centralizing the focus (helped through the differentiation of value) or little details like the jagged lining on a pot--offer the illusion of motion, dynamism, and intrigue. Given the sensitive acting on both characters, this may seem antithetical. It's nevertheless fitting; we're encroaching upon some comparatively steamy territory here, and the dynamism in the shapes seem to mimic the "blush" that viewers are surely feeling as the feeling of audience intrusion overwhelms.
Another carry-over from A Coy Decoy are Daffy's means of seduction. Like Decoy, he adopts the tried and true French lover routine--a recurring side hustle with his character, as it so seems. For as clearly excessive and disingenuous as it is, the only thing funnier than his extent to woo is its rate of success. Unlike Decoy, where Daffy was coming onto a decoy that could not react or move in any way, as it was a literal decoy, his lover reciprocates his actions with open arms.
Blanc's voice acting for Daffy's performance would be amusing in any context, but it's particularly funny given that we just heard multiple shades of Daffy in the previous scene. Daffy when he's having a freak-out, and Daffy when he's trying to put on airs through a song. French accent completely devoid in both. From one farce to the other, Daffy employs every trick he has up his feathery sleeves. Not out of deception, but a genuine eagerness to indulge in absolutely everything he can. We get the suspicious feeling that romantic pursuits aren't a frequent indulgence for him--at least, in terms of reciprocation--so his card deck of personalities here isn't out of a nefarious desire to trick. Rather, he's just so overjoyed to have the opportunity presented to him that he decides he's going to exhaust every possible route he can take and enjoy all of the rewards at the same time. Perhaps the only thing more attractive to him than his company is his desire to indulge.
Carey's presumed animation--it's a bit difficult to make out the details, but the style of movement and grace in the motion, as well as spherical solidity on both characters, seem to point to him--continues to stun. Both characters uphold a certain sensitivity and even elegance in their movements that help "commit to the bit", which makes said bit even funnier through its dedication. If Daffy were to immediately slobber all over her, the build-up would be lost, and the disingenuousness wouldn't reap any sort of reward; if everything is ironic, nothing is. Daffy may be struggling to adapt to one line of focus in his romantic pursuits, but he does genuinely want them. It just so happens that pretty much everything he does comes off as lightly ridiculous.
With this in mind, McCabe's tone and directing is largely sympathetic to Daffy's perspective. Daffy really does think he's doing something here. We know that he's just a small-fry, fish out of water, voice cracking cowboy in name only. But the whole charm of this cartoon and much of his character in general stems from his convictions--he does see himself as this Don Juan-type, he does see himself as a traveling troubadour. A huge point of intrigue from this cartoon stems from its lack of innocence, which will only ramp up from here, but there is an innate innocence to Daffy's conviction in his delusions pursuits. Especially considering that he now has another party willing to reciprocate and indulge those same pursuits, which is quite a rarity for his track record.
McCabe's cartoons were very good about humoring Daffy. There's plenty to laugh at him for in all three of his cartoons, but never do they come off as ridicule. He doesn't have to spoon-feed the irony of the situation to us. Instead, there's a certain endearment that stems from observing his reactions, as overplayed as they are. McCabe's Daffy cartoons seem to direct a certain fondness towards the character, which translates to an incredibly likable end product--even when one could argue that McCabe's Daffy has embraced some of the most unlikable traits to be associated with the character yet, what with his occasional bitterness, distrust, cowardice, or, as we see in spades here, lechery. McCabe's duck has a surprising nuance about him.
As utterly brilliant as this scene and its animation are, there is a slight nitpick. Emphasis on slight; Daffy repeatedly caresses her, but his hand could adhere to her contours a bit more firmly. At times it comes off as though he's petting air rather than actually touching her body. Nevertheless, the grand idea of the motion is conveyed, and the particulars aren't as important. The appeal of Carey's drawings is able to leap off of the screen even in spite the quality of the print.
Likewise, audiences are moreso concerned with absorbing the cheese of Daffy's pickup lines rather than studying the anatomy of his movements. It's hard not to focus on lines such as "You are dee-vine, my leetle prairie flower...", which are most certainly a byproduct of Daffy's roleplaying philosophy. It's hard to believe that he would ever come up with those lines himself--hearing it from a movie that he saw at some point, more plausible. Truly amazing how such a disingenuous attitude can be so endearing; there's a certain relatability that comes when parsing out this logic. Daffy's won over by cliches and has established himself to be a sponge of pop culture, just like we have a tendency to be, ourselves. (Or, perhaps the author is merely indulging in a bit of projection.)
The asininity of his lines and the fond grandeur of his voice acting meet in a beautiful marriage, come the end of the scene: his line of "So timid... so shy... so re-ti-ring..." is armed with that faltering lucidity--something he's done a fine job of maintaining so far, considering his track record. Daffy is certifiably sane in this short compared to some of his earliest efforts, but there are little flickers of mania discreetly peppered through the short. This is one such instance; the hunger and sheer derangement in his wide eyed stare, no matter how brief, is perhaps the one signal of sincerity in his entire act throughout this scene. That is, beyond his earnest pleasure in indulging in his innocently disingenuous act.
All of this leads to what may be the greatest punchline in the entire cartoon. McCabe's pacing of this scene is deliberately slow, ginger. There has to be some caution and reticence to compliment Daffy's threatrics--likewise, a slow burn makes the inevitable climax all the stronger. But after all of this hemming and hawing, through these coy theatrics from both parties, McCabe's close-up on Daffy's girl completely breaks the tone:
"Oh, gee, kid, ya really think so? Honest injun?"
Sara Berner's nasal Brooklyn accent, the suddenness of the transition, and Carl Stalling's brash, aptly reflective music score of "She's A Latin From Manhattan": all three combine to make an incredibly memorable reveal whose execution can hardly be described as anything other than perfect. The voice, the colloquialisms--such as affectionately and somewhat patronizingly referring to Daffy as "kid", which is usually a patronization that's quick to come out of his own mouth--and the sudden broadness of her acting--there are multiple parts that factor into the success of this gag.
This bait and switch is so effective because of the aforementioned build-up; one would have assumed that, had they known this "persona" was present all the time, that she would have cracked much sooner. There's absolutely no such indication that her personality and demeanor is drastically different than the transparent stereotypes she herself has been putting on--that, again, is what makes this so good. Great dedication and restraint.
And yet, somehow, McCabe continues to top himself. The only thing funnier than this complete role reversal is Daffy's absolutely stupefied reaction--not at her, but right at us.
One would assume that Daffy would be smitten with the idea of someone who jabbers just as much as he does. Instead, he has absolutely no idea how to react. Another byproduct of his fantasy roleplaying world--this certainly has never happened in any cowboy picture or radio play that he's seen before, and, thusly, he's at a loss with how to cope. This certainly doesn't play into the Pocahontas stereotype that he and we have been so accustomed to.
Moreover, it's another great addition to the consistent commentary of his fickleness as displayed so prominently in this cartoon. Just as he was quick to go from shrieking to singing, and singing to seducing, he almost seems ready to go from seducing to stranding. It's certainly indicative of how powerful yet fleeting his attention and affections can be, depending on the circumstances that best serve him.
McCabe employs a comparatively drastic change in tone as the camera cuts to the Beefer in question. His name is a burlesque of the character Little Beaver from the Red Ryder series. What started as a comic strip spawned into a franchise of radio shows, film deals, and eventually television shows. The irony of the Beefer character here, beyond the butchered name, is that Little Beaver is the cute, juvenile sidekick to Ryder. There is very little that could be considered cute nor juvenile about Beefer--if not for his hulking, menacing build or his angry stare, then the fact that our first glimpse of him arrives through the courtesy of a mugshot on a wanted poster. Emphasis on the mugshot part, indicating that he's already been captured for his crimes--always has to be a scalping gag in these cartoons--once before.
There’s also the little matter of the girl freely cheating on her boyfriend. She doesn’t resist Daffy’s charms because she has a boyfriend (and, in fact, doesn’t resist them at all), but because her boyfriend won’t “let” her. Likewise, this doesn’t hinder further pursuits from Daffy. This cartoon delves into some relatively scandalous material; cheating, unambiguous sexual charge from multiple parties, and other relevant matters. It’s easy to take it for granted, especially when the racial humor produces its own shock that can often take priority, but the bawdiness is refreshingly and amusingly provocative.
Back to Beefer. The ticket scalping gag comes with a topper, receiving all of the mileage it can as his girl explains
"He shaves their heads...
...off."
The pun is corny at best, again submerging us into the deluge of stereotypes that will carry us through the cartoon, but is made salvageable in terms of execution by its timing. The pause between "heads" and "off" is wonderfully thick, calling more attention to the pun but in a way that feels casually calculated rather than wholly cornpone. Ditto with the camera swiftly panning to a tomahawk right as she speaks: the convenience in the timing is half the gag. The hair remover pun is similarly corny, but resists belaboring.
Daffy is all too happy to enable the cycle of infidelity. If an "Ahh, phooey" doesn't make his rejection of risk known, then going as far as to turn Beefer's portrait around and avoid prying eyes does. This is a more ferocious point of rebellion than if he were to ignore the portrait (which, therein lies another great gag, in that the only portrait she has of her boyfriend is a wanted poster, lovingly framed to connote a certain sentimentality). Engaging with the picture amounts in a direct acknowledgement and refusal of Beefer's metaphorical presence.
Thus spawns a rather McCabe-brand non-sequitur: the back of the portrait is animated, with Beefer expectantly twiddling his thumbs. One would almost expect him to come out of the portrait and bust Daffy right at the scene of the crime... but he never does. This little gag is merely an odd but amusing metaphor to foreshadow Beefer's presence and demonstrate that Daffy's actions will have consequences. The quirkiness of this aside feels distinctly McCabeian in tone.
In fact, the layout is arranged in a bit of a split-screen effect when Daffy advances on Daisy June. He occupies the bottom left half of the screen--Beefer, the top right. Such balances the composition and narratively hints towards the battle of affections that will soon brew.
Granted, balance in scene composition is pretty difficult to focus on in comparison to the distractingly manic grin slithering onto Daffy's face. Beautifully deranged, beautifully depraved, a bastion of his potent sexual lunacy: that last point is particularly conveyed through his slow sweep of the hand across his hat brim. This is yet another brilliant way to portray Daffy's insanity in a way that isn't reliant on all the stock tropes of crossed eyes or Stan Laurel hops. There's more nuance and more risk--such a palpable eagerness to engage in this infidelity feels more risky and, again, insane than Daffy directly declaring to the audience how crazy he is. McCabe continues to let his actions speak for themselves. And, being Daffy, they speak incredibly loudly.
"Gee, kid, he's li'ble to be here any mi-nute!"
Repeatedly establishing Beefer's role and metaphorical presence inflates the danger and conflict of the scenario. In spite of Daisy June's own unambiguous affections for Daffy, she demonstrates an increasingly clear concern of getting busted. Not even for her own sake, but for Daffy's. Thus, the stakes of the cartoon are inflated.
Her repeated warnings almost tap into that same underdog appeal that's been mentioned before; we get the sense that she doesn't believe Daffy can hold his own against Beefer, should their paths cross, thus warranting her warnings. Likewise, Daffy doesn't reflect this same sense of concern; we're pretty attuned to the emotions of McCabe's duck, which is one of his biggest charm points, but there is a dissonance between what he's feeling and what we feel for him. That is, concern. That disconnect only feeds into the conflict and pathos surrounding it--Daffy should be scared, and he isn't, and that spells trouble.
McCabe counteracts the alarm in tone through another politely corny but innocuous sight gag: a sundial ticks just like a watch, literally scoring Daisy June's point. Brown's ticking sound effects are a particularly nice touch to give the gag the tangibility it needs. Corny, but quick and to the point. Likewise, the contrast in tone from serious to tongue-in-cheek is rather effective.
That's bookended through more gravity in tone--something reflected even in the staging. Staging a character in the foreground and another in the background was pretty unconventional for these shorts, which always seemed to prioritize flat, vaudevillian staging as the default for conversation. Especially with the shadow on Daisy June, the composition is more comparable to a comic book. In doing so, it gives the scene a geographical depth that is embraced by the mood: this is unconventional and thusly interesting, engaging. So are the ripping and tearing sounds in the background, which prompts a panicked Daisy June to tell Daffy that Beefer is approaching. This unconventional staging heightens the drama of the moment.
Not only that, but it arrives with some clever, subconscious symbolism: Daisy June has the security of the shadows to hide in. Daffy is exposed, right out in the open, and makes a conscious choice to confront the approaching danger. If wishing to get technical, the perspective is a bit off; Daisy June should be much bigger than she is if she's meant to be close to the camera, which is certainly indicated by her shadows. There's likewise a pause at the top of the scene that's just a touch too long. Nevertheless, these are all vastly irrelevant nitpicks that are easy to dismiss. All eyes are on Daffy as he begins to march out of the tipi.
Discussions of McCabe's "bitter duck" become relevant once more. Daffy brushes off both Daisy June's warnings and condescends Beefer's significance at the same time. The old Daffy of yore may not have been scared of Beefer, either, but that would have been out of sheer ignorance. Perhaps he would see him as a potential "chum", or would be too out of his gourd to process that he's in any danger at all.
Here, Daffy's ignorance is entirely out of ego and condescension. Daffy continues to operate in stereotypes. Surely Beefer is just another harmless byproduct of stereotype that'll bend to his whims--Daffy is supposed to be the macho, manly cowboy who has an actor's credo, yet. He'll either intimidate Beefer into submission through this imagined star power, or through other such means. The cowboys always "win" in these types of pictures, right?
Of course, by operating in this logic, he would still have to assume Daisy June is another Pocahontas type. Perhaps that's still true to some extent. But Daisy June has established herself to be her own character whose purpose is to contradict set stereotypes (within certain limitations, as this short remains complicit in a lot of what it's seeking to subvert). Daisy June isn't another elusive Pocahontas type, and, through the same logic, Beefer won't be the "little ol' Indian" that Daffy is making him out to be. Daffy's ego and gentle delusion forbids him to assess this truth.
The truth consequently addresses him instead. Cal Dalton animates the grand confrontation, as noticeable through the wrinkles that furrow the corners of Daffy's mouth, his smile all too quick to meld into a frown. This reveal mimics a rather similar scene that he also animated in Porky Pig's Feat with McCabe's directorial successor: both use very similar staging, with the character having to pan up to reveal a character about five times as big as our star subject and the feelings of overwhelm that come with them.
Just like Feat, the sheer sense of scale is the a vast priority of the scene. Daffy is immediately overwhelmed by Beefer's size, who displays himself to be not so "little" after all. Through the length of the camera pan and his hulking size, audiences instinctively brace for an angry confrontation.
That doesn't come. Yet. Instead, keeping with this gentle flow of subversion, McCabe introduces Beefer as a bit of an upstanding gentleman. The bowler cap and feather combo is meant to make him look distinguished and get polite a laugh out of the unlikely combo (because, of course, surely all Native Americans only wear feathers and beads).
More noticeable is the bouquet of flowers--that he even has them is already a strong indictment of his seemingly gentle nature, but that gentility and sentimentality is amplified by having him smell them. Daffy's quick to swallow his words, because Beefer is much more intimidating and big than he assumed, nullifying one stereotype he had in his mind... and then that stereotype is counteracted through his apparent saccharinity. This peaceful, quaint image of docility is a bait and switch on top of a bait and switch.
In another McCabe brand idiosyncrasy, Beefer is formally introduced by way of a radio reference: the nasal, particularly whitebread "D-D-D-D-Daaaaai-sy June!" is a nod to Red Skelton's character of Clem Kadiddlehopper, in which Daisy June was his girlfriend. Beefer lacks the hick accent so memorably maintained by Skelton's persona, but audiences are already parsing that his first line of dialogue isn't some variation of a grunt--that comes later. Antithesis after antithesis.
Speaking of stereotypes, more sight gags are in due order. A doorbell conveniently branded in broken English serves as "insurance" for the coming gag: said doorbell being a powwow drum. As mentioned before, this cartoon does subvert a lot of expectations, but it does ultimately stoop to the same stereotypes and gags that are a dime a dozen for these types of cartoons. This short is at its strongest when it's dealing with character first and foremost. Nevertheless, the contrast of the metal doorbell plate--as well as a tipi even having a doorbell installed, loose as the definition may be--is effective.
The screen direction does become a bit broken here. Daffy and Beefer have switched staging positions, the flow of the action suddenly reversed. It's assumed that the doorbell gag would be an effective buffer, allowing for a more feasible reset in staging, but the gag itself is pretty quick. Quick enough to disrupt the flow just enough to be felt (albeit pretty inconsequential).
Daffy now being fully inside the tipi may also exacerbate this feeling of a harsh cut--though the camera deserted him for Beefer, he was last seen with his head poking out. Even having him back inside the tipi to make way for Beefer would solve all of the aforementioned issues. Granted, most of the shots inside the tipi have been from the opposite angle. It could be this initial indulgence in a new angle that's prompting the jolt in the flow.
Though the stage direction may be a bit ambiguous, Daffy's all-talk, no-walk attitude is not. His fickleness now extends to the bravado--or lack thereof--he puts on against Beefer. Without a word, he disappears into a duck shaped plume of smoke. This action would have been scored with frantic HOOHOOing only a few years before. As lengthily covered in our analysis of The Impatient Patient, Daffy--and particularly McCabe's duck--has been expanding his awareness to danger. Had this short been made about two to three years prior, the comedy would come from Daffy's complete ignorance of any risk posed. Daffy's hypocrisy and overt acknowledgment of the danger posed is what gets the laugh now.
Beefer's pleasant, docile nature fades upon Daffy's exit. Blanc puts on a stereotypical grunt in butchered English as he demands to know "who here".
Cal Dalton is a nice casting choice for the following scene, in which Daisy June feigns ignorance at Daffy's whereabouts. His natural penchant for ugliness--which isn't intended to be a backhanded compliment!--really conveys the guilt and sheepishness of her expression, exacerbating her disingenuousness as she lies through her teeth. Any implied pleasantries are completely absent.
The short continues to earn its reputation for raunchiness: it's difficult not to interpret the gag of Daffy bumping his head beneath the bed, hitting Daisy June right in the crotch and launching her into the air with a notable exclamation, as anything but. It's certainly an apt representation of the clandestine duck affair currently occurring--DJ lying after such a noticeable interaction only makes this set-up all the more farcical. How far removed we've come from the cutesy burros and happy songs at the top of the short.
We follow the "mice", as indicated by Daisy June, under the rug and beneath a dresser. For what seems like a bread and butter sequence in getting Daffy from point A to point B, it's actually quite impressive visually. Tracking the stripes as Daffy moves beneath the rug and believably adhering them to his contours--vague as they are--is no small feat. Likewise, Daffy's movements are refreshingly seamless. He remains completely obscured as a vague lump. No literalities in transition between furniture to get in the way.
Some slight movement on the fringe of the dresser is nicely indicative of his end location. Just in case the halting of the camera and the clutter of vases next to the bureau, thereby closing off any additional escape exits, wasn't clear enough.
Tracking Daffy's movements isn't just for show: it's to help set-up for a bait and switch against both Beefer and the viewer. Beefer's inspection of the fringe below yields nothing...
...but neither do the drawers.
Timing of this routine is refreshingly deft--not incomparable to Daffy's hat shedding sequence, Beefer's opening and closing of the drawers quickens in pace and ferocity, rising in a crescendo of action. So much so that other props become involved: the jars, for example, aren't just to fill up negative space, but entertain the idea of Daffy lingering within them. Likewise with the plate atop the dressers (as if Daffy would be so small as to fit). What could feel monotonous is instead energetic and just the right amount of urgent. Especially considering Daffy's whereabouts are as much of a mystery to us as they are to Beefer.
And, as it just so happens, the dresser offers Daffy dual convenience. A hiding spot, and an opportunity for him to slip into an all-too-convenient disguise.
Given the established pattern, one expects for Beefer to open the winning drawer and summon a sheepish duck. Instead, just as Beefer begins to pull on the drawer, Daffy literally beats him to the punch and smacks him out of the way. It turns the tables and makes it seem as though Daffy found him, instead, offering a commentary on Beefer's soon-to-be-showcased ineptitude.
The actual motion of Daffy smacking Beefer could be a little stronger, and doubly so for Beefer's "put 'em up" reaction. Cutting some frames and making Daffy's entrance quicker would arouse the necessary aggression to really catch us by surprise. Nevertheless, the general point is clearly conveyed.
As you may have guessed, Daffy's short-lived drag career is another notch in the bedpost of this short's bawdiness. Perhaps this is easy to take for granted in a post Bugs Bunny world, but Bugs was still a relatively new phenomenon at this point. At the time of this short's release, he's only been in drag twice--one of those appearances being his prototype. This actually proves to be a bit of a thorn, comparing Daffy's performance to a Bugs that hasn't exactly existed yet; hindsight-foresight bias is always tricky to navigate. Is it fair to say "this feels more like something Bugs would do" if he hasn't done it yet?
Those are comments reserved for further antics. Bugs is important to mention here because we haven't yet been accustomed to his drag routines. Daffy dressing up in a disguise to seduce Beefer into submission--and emasculate him plentifully--not to mention said methods of seduction, is pretty shocking for the time. There's certainly a lot of boundary pushing embedded in this cartoon, and not just the frequent nudging against the fourth wall.
One key difference between Daffy and Bugs' performances is that Daffy's outfit is extremely disheveled and hastily put together. Much of the effectiveness in Bugs' bits come from how elaborate and available his costumes are, and how he's able to stick to the bit so swimmingly. Daffy looks like he threw on a wig in two seconds and a dress in one... because he did just that. There are little touches to enunciate this: the hairs on the wig to give him a scuffed up appeal, as well as the exposed shoulder to indicate that he hasn't even finished dressing. That in itself could be interpreted with scandalous attempt, considering he makes no attempt to fix himself. Here, the comedic priority is how ill-fitting the disguise is on him rather than the other extreme of how well someone like Bugs would adhere to the costume.
Even beyond the principle of "laugh at the man in the dress", there is a purpose to Daffy's slapdash disguise: Beefer is wooed by it anyway. An imperative note, as the next few minutes of the cartoon are reliant on it. Likewise, it's a great way to indicate that Beefer is a bit of a dope. The coy hand to the mouth as he mulls over his sudden liking of this development is a wonderfully disingenuous touch from McCabe's directing.
The taboos continue. There's been so much talk about what Beefer would do if he discovered Daisy June had a "fella"... and now he's indulging in his own infidelities.
McCabe maintains his pattern of relationship building between viewer and star. Beefer's knowing whistle and tooth click, winking directly at the audience, is an attempt to get us momentarily endeared to him. This isn't something you see very frequently in the Bugs cartoons--the stooge taking a candid moment to share with the audience to gawk over their "prize". Usually, those self aware asides are reserved for the star, i.e. Bugs. Constructing the relationship from the other end offers an amusing and unique perspective that more fully embraces the irony of the entire scenario. Good devotion from McCabe.
Yet again, Cal Dalton nails the humanity of the situation in his animation. Daisy June's expression of undistilled panic is a hilarious concession: rather than feeling any sort of reassurance at Daffy's quick thinking, her sweat drops and throat grabbing convey a unanimous expression of "he's toast".
So much so that her first instinct is to bolt out of the tipi before making a somewhat obligatory return to introduce the two together. This is a great way to uphold the cynicism that can find its way into McCabe's cartoons and make them sing--especially his Daffy shorts. Her acting and body language radiate sheer distrust in Daffy and in Beefer alike.
"Little Beefah meet Princess Gitche Gumee Gitche Gumee meet Little Beefah g'byyye now."
Dalton's animation continues into the next scene, in which we get some more "set dressing" (i.e. stereotype) gags. Beefer appears to be putting on some lipstick, puckering for his compact--certainly an effective shorthand at indicating his intentions...
...only to don himself with face-paint instead.
The timing of this could be quicker. There's a long pause as he puckers his lips that turns into a bit of dead-air; it seems to telegraph that there will be a change, rather than follow the opposite of its intent. Regardless, the intent of this entire scene is all about contrast, and that is conveyed unambiguously. We're introduced to this hulking, threatening man, made out to be such a threat that even his girlfriend has to flee the scene... only for him to be smitten by Daffy's incredibly shoddy disguise, and in a way that's very juvenile and coy.
Daffy is certainly aware of this dissonance, too. Beefer flirts with him in a clumsy, antithetically coquettish manner; Daffy, unlike Bugs, allows his mask to slip and shows a reluctance and at times contempt that would be crystal clear to anyone--anyone who is not Beefer, that is. The "-ugh" suffix jokes are exhausted at their absolute best with these shorts, but the timing of "You like-um Little Beefer? Ugh?" and Daffy's calculatingly repulsed ".........ugh," could not be more perfect. Brilliant delivery after an equally brilliant pause further scoring his disgust.
Especially considering that the line delivery is ushered through more beautiful John Carey animation. After Beefer talks, the camera hones in on Daffy, who brandishes his unambiguous expression of said disgust. The scenes actually don't hook up together very well, as Daffy appears coy and placating right before the cut, but it manages to work well despite this. Particularly considering that this scene functions as another unifying moment between Daffy and the viewer. There's an intimacy and candidness with his aside here, especially considering that he gives the line right straight to the audience; it allows this scene to feel more tongue-in-cheek and wry--a privilege exclusive to us, thereby making Daffy more charming.
His rejection of Beefer's advances marks a first for him. There have been a handful of shorts enunciating his lustful pursuits, whether it be one-off gags (as is the case with Daffy Duck and Egghead), or an entire focal point, as with A Coy Decoy. Never has the shoe been on the other foot, and Daffy the unwilling target. Granted, he's never been targeted by a man who he's cheating out of his girlfriend with, either, but Daffy being the one victim to someone else's pushiness further scores his role as the scrappy underdog.
Especially considering his behavior at the top of the short--we know how he behaves when he's the one doing the pursuing, so that inverse makes for a strong means of comparison and accentuates his hesitance and repulsion further. You'll also note that during his attempts to woo Daisy June, he funneled all of his attention strictly on her for a change. He took a break from his glances and winks and acknowledgements from the audience, as, for the first time, we'd be an unwelcome distraction--a liability. Now, the side-eyes and silent commentaries and general air of knowingness is in full return. The audience offers a respite for him. Even if we can't do anything about his situation, he at least has the safety of knowing he has someone to "perform" to and share some semblance of candour--and, by proxy, normalcy--with.
Sharpness in the timing and acting continues as Beefer comes in for a kiss. Daffy takes a very quick and reluctant moment to regard him, out of obligation--another indication of his expanding lucidity, as the younger Daffy certainly wouldn't have known nor cared about any obligatory pleasantries--before turning back to us with a grimace. Very spontaneous and hasty timing that's rooted in believability. Another great indication of how "real" McCabe's Daffy feels.
The composition of the scene is due for some praise as well. Beefer occupies half of the screen space with his face alone. His line of action is horizontal, whereas the much smaller Daffy fills up the remaining space with his vertical line of action. The feather on his disguise makes clever use of the remaining negative space, offering a very attractive compositional balance.
In a join proclamation of his feelings and advertising stint, Daffy makes his thoughts on the matter known: his low, growling "Beeeeeeee--oooooooh," is a direct nod to Lifebuoy's radio ads for their soap, with the ad believed to have popularized the term B.O. This, too, as tame as it may seem today, seems relatively envelope pushing for the time. Body odor jokes seem as if they'd nudge against the squeaky clean standards of the Hays Code.
Daffy refuses to go for it. The gentle head turn as he faces Beefer is nice; with his lipsync still as an o-shape, the viewer anticipates for him to at least indulge in a quick peck. Instead, he begins to push Beefer away with some incredibly tactile drawings. One can really feel him pushing his face away, with his hands feasibly interacting with Beefer's anatomy.
That fakeout is then chased by an even bigger fakeout. The camera cuts wide, always an indication that something is about to happen and warrant this expansion in space:
Like using a moose head as a last minute stand-in.
Beyond a gently clunky surprise take--whose clunkiness comes from the redundancy, as we know that he knows Beefer is advancing in on him; the take before he leaps into this bait and switch makes it seem as though he only just realized that Beefer is trying to kiss him--the change happens with great speed and consolidation. Daffy jumps up, timed on two's, but the delivery of the moose head is on one's for greater urgency.
Having him jump up while the camera moves in also embraces the spontaneity of the moment. We don't wait for the camera to make its move after Daffy makes his move--there's no luxury of waiting. Daffy has to move--and think--quickly. The delivery of the moose head is as much of a surprise to us that it is to Beefer, briefly unifying the audience with his perspective; telegraphing Daffy's thinking, such as him looking at the moose head, thinking, and then grabbing it, would dampen the urgency of the moment.
And, beyond the humiliation of Beefer unknowingly making out with a moose head, it also prompts another visual gag: Beefer's makeup is now transferred onto the moose's, who shares a strikingly similar facial construction. The execution of this transfer is cheated just a bit: the paint pops onto the face with only a frame, rather than actually feeling like it's being put on. It doesn't really look like Beefer is interacting with the moose-head, reducing some effectiveness of the gag, but it's the grand visual idea that really matters most.
The moose head bears some subtle anthropomorphization. When Beefer holds out the mount, realizing that he's been duped, the moose's pupils are cautiously aimed towards him.Obscuring its mouth likewise lends itself to a feeling of hesitance regarding Beefer's overzealous affections; even inanimate objects are wary.
Amusingly, this beat of realization is armed with a certain innocence rather than aggression. It's certainly disproportionate to the aggression that Daisy June seemed so anxious of--Beefer seems naively shocked rather than enraged. The pause that accompanies this realization is perhaps a bit belabored, benefitting from a shaved second or two, but is ultimately harmless.
His attentions are soon nabbed by something off-screen. Daffy has since progressed his means of distraction: now, he engages in his own bastardization of a war dance. Hilberman's layouts continue to offer candy for the eyes--the low angle of the camera is immersive and striking, a refreshing change from the default, neutral staging having dominated the last minute or so.
Said war dance goes on for perhaps a bit too long--the idea is perhaps more "amusing" than the actuality, though that very well could be said in response to the moral weight of the situation. Even so, the cartoon almost seems aware of this.
Daffy revels in the opportunity to be an obnoxious pest. Not only can he keep Beefer occupied through a dance (and convincing him of his own "authenticity"--surely he's Indigenous, he's doing a war dance! Or an unreasonable facsimile!), but it's an opportunity for Daffy to alleviate that catharsis that so rages inside him. He isn't bounding in whooping hysterics, but there is a felt release of energy in conjunction with all of his other motives. A way for him to rebel against the stuffiness of his predicament... while being complacent in it at the same time.
There is, obviously, the entire idea of disrespect that comes with this, both intentionally and unintentionally. It certainly does no favors in perpetuating stereotypes, but that almost seems to be the point; Daffy could be seen as mocking him, flailing around with no rhyme or reason, blanketed beneath the security that Beefer is stupid enough to eat it up regardless.
An intermission in which Daffy bangs on a marching bass drum seems to assert this point. The music score--a droning, fierce drum line--adopts this burst of colonization in a brief interlude. It asserts the culture clash of the entire situation, as well as being Daffy's way to directly show to Beefer that he's belittling his practices. Everything is a means to an end with him--all in the name of a gag.
Obviously, many of the stereotypes presented in this cartoon are intended to be taken as they are. Even those used tongue-in-cheek, the cartoon is complacent in a lot of what it's riffing. Nevertheless, there's something to be said about the layering of this sequence: Daffy engaging in a shallow performance concocted entirely out of the stereotypes he's acquainted with, mocking it halfway through, and the ever-dull Beefer ignorantly devouring it regardless. This scene isn't entirely "look, isn't it funny how Indigenous people flail around?", but also a wry commentary on Beefer's dullness in taking this at face value.
Cutting to his reactions show this best. In time with the drum beat, he claps in dutiful rhythm.
A tomahawk gives his accompaniment an additional flourish.
Upon impact, the camera cuts close to enunciate its oomph. It's a jump cut, as the registry in camera isn't all that different between scenes, but the jolting sensation that follows is a great way to communicate the jolt of surprise that comes with this murder weapon. The maneuver here is especially effective given how long the camera had been lingering on Daffy's dance, unbroken by transitions. The surprise accompanying this act is genuine. It certainly puts Daffy's mocking and now nefarious motives in clear perspective. This, too, differentiates his means of drag from Bugs'; Bugs never seduced to explicitly kill, and with dripping resentment for the other half.
Beefer's stoic reaction is well handled. It enunciates his--and the audience's--suspicion more effectively than if he were to engage in a wild take of some kind. Remaining so still and suspicious gives more time for both us and him to digest this information and the gravity of Daffy's actions.
That segues into the next reveal, which blatantly mocks the cartoon censors in addition to Beefer: Daffy beating the drum with his ass.
All through this sequence before, the drum beat was implied, relegated strictly to the backing score. A pause accompanies Beefer's furtive assessment of the tomahawk--then, the beat resumes. We assume this is still a part of the backing track and, thusly, seeing Daffy as the perpetrator--much less how he's doing it--comes as a well-earned surprise.
It's certainly an unambiguous demonstration of just how provocative this cartoon is. Sure, in many ways this is tame, particularly now. But the raciness of the war years still has yet to really settle in and seep through. Bob Clampett's cartoons dabbled in immature and boundary nudging humor much earlier than he's given credit for, but even so, his gags were usually strategically subtle, coy, or a fleeting one-time thing. Raciness is a domineering aspect of this short. With it comes a blatancy that sets it apart from the aforementioned examples.
Daffy's knowing stare takes the cake. The slowness of his head turn, the sheer motivation and knowingness--it couldn't be more well handled. It's as if he's directing this sly glance towards the Hays Office rather than Beefer.
Hilberman's layouts continue to warrant due praise. Drums and a totem pole cluster the foreground, creating a visual frame around Daffy that pops through their dark values. Such a little but poignant touch offers significant depth and appeal to the composition, bolstering it beyond another "standard" horizontal shot.
The camera makes a dutiful cut back to Beefer, who seems to have forgotten or disregarded his brooding suspicions.
At least until the second tomahawk lodges him in. The tomahawk lands at a different angle than the first, inducing a natural feeling of symmetry through its inversion. There's a balance between both of them, but one that is interesting to look at. It likewise gives the scene and action a feeling of progression--something mimicked in the slight shift in acting from Daffy. There's a back and forth rhythm, but one that is gradually building into something more.
The cut is a bit harder this time--the pause is shortened, and Beefer's reaction time quicker. His suspicions are likewise magnified, as he takes the time to move his head and explicitly glare at Daffy. The momentum continues to grow.
Enter a culmination of drum beating, eyelash batting, and tomahawk slinging. Through the rule of three's, the next cut to Daffy has him engaging in all of his tricks at once, slamming on the drums with an absurd amount of tomahawks.
In truth, this whole sequence is a bit directionless, as it doesn't really go anywhere: it ends with Daffy slamming a hanging drum out of view before segueing into the next, unrelated piece of business with Beefer. Especially because the final drum slam is a bit difficult to see, easily blending into the background and the camera focused on Daffy at centerstage, that may contribute to the feelings of directionlessness.
Even so, the sequence does its job: through this, we're witness to Daffy being a pest and mocking Beefer in a litany of manners. And isn't that the entire point of the cartoon?
His sly mocking continues into the next sequence. The camera cuts to a close-up, where a jubilant-turned-coy Daffy eyes a confrontational Beefer...
...and gives him what he's been waiting for.
This almost feels a bit odd at face value--it's as though Daffy has fully lost himself in his routine, had a change of heart, and is happy to entertain Beefer. In actuality, it's just because he's figured out an adequate means of both escape and screwing with him: Beefer won't get suspicious if Daffy keeps him at bay.
Another Bugs Bunny-ism before Bugs Bunny was doing Bugs Bunny-isms. Considering the extent of Daffy's disgust moments ago, the switch-up almost feels a bit too spontaneous. It seems like there should be a smoother transition from his marked repulsion into coy complacency. Then again, Daffy doesn't exactly have the luxury of time--his actions have to be quick considering Beefer's growing suspicion (and Daffy teasing said suspicion). This critique very well could be a product of hindsight-foresight bias in assigning it to a "Bugs thing". Is it fair to judge Daffy for acting too much like Bugs, when Bugs wasn't even acting like this yet?
Additionally, Daffy's kiss arrives with due haste: he rockets out of frame almost as soon as he smooches him. The release and snap of Beefer's nose--and, with it, Daffy's exit--is timed entirely on one's, enunciating the franticness of the motion. He feels no desire to linger around nor savor the moment. Freeze-framing even reveals some slight smearing and distortion on Daffy to further embrace his rapid means of exit.
Just like Daffy's war dance, this incoming sequence dutifully abides to the rule of three's: Daffy kisses Beefer, and each time results in a gleeful declaration of "WAHOO!" that climaxes in its intensity. Another rather blatant sexual metaphor--it seems ridiculous to point out on paper, but Stalling's tense, rising music stings in conjunction with Beefer's own build-up, at times literally trembling before his release of the "WAHOO", is pretty clear in what it's doing. Of course, this entire scene is shrouded in asininity, allowing such a metaphor to skirt by with comparative ease. It's too ridiculous to take seriously or even be shocked by.
In terms of filmmaking, the direction of this scene skews a bit loose. The camera suffers from some aimlessness in its movement: after Beefer's first "WAHOO", the camera begins to drift down and then across as Beefer approaches Daffy, lips and arms both open, slowly getting closer to the camera. Then, a jump cut of the same action. There's a certain floatiness to both the camera movements and Beefer's movements that seem to soften the direcing of the scene. Then again, Beefer's build-up to his yelling felt springlocked and tense--perhaps the shift felt is more one that is tonal.
At any rate, the main idea of the sequence is clear: Daffy suddenly pops out from the totem pole hiding screen right to give him another kiss. Him being at a distance--that is, only revealing a portion of his body, hiding behind the security of the totem pole--is both nice for the staging and nice for the scene's intent. Him popping out at random embraces a greater feeling of surprise, and one that justifies Beefer's pending reactions. There's also a bit of a commentary in that Daffy's distance could represent a distance of his own affections: he only mingles with Beefer when absolutely necessary, and tries to stay separated from him where he can.
Another somewhat directionless camera movement telegraphs Beefer's second windup and release. The changing in staging is fine and even necessary, as there's a lot of energy and movement that the scene needs to possess to accomodate Beefer's acting. However, starting the scene at this wide angle would have been better--the jump cut wouldn't feel as much like a jump, because the shift in staging would be more noticeable and thusly more motivated. Likewise, even the 1-2 seconds it takes for the camera to pan out contributes a gentle bloat to the pacing. This scene is built on the idea of a crescendo, so it's not as though rapidfire cutting is necessary--it just feels like the directing could be a little more tidy.
Following the second "WAHOO!", the camera cuts closer for the topper. The spin transition on Beefer is a literal caricature of just how wound up he is--another drop in the bucket for the sly innuendo of the sequence.
Now, with this being the third and final part of the sequence, all the stops are pulled out. Daffy makes the full commitment to Beefer on the lips. Stalling's music score reaches its peak in its staggered, furious, climaxing crescendo, caricaturing the tenseness that comes with awaiting Beefer's reaction. At this point, viewers brace for Beefer to practically explode...
...only for him to give a very controlled, tongue-in-cheek "Wa-hoo," instead. Contrasted against the preceding theatrics, this punchline works very effectively. It's all about the execution, the timing, the inflation of tone, only for it all to completely--and knowingly--collapse with an endearing aloofness. Beefer looking directly into the camera really sells it.
Still not quite satiated, Beefer literally takes matters into his own hands. This action of him grabbing Daffy happens incredibly swiftly; as soon as he makes contact with him, the camera already starts on its trek to pan left so that when it stops, Daffy is already resting in his arms. A great consolidation of acting--especially considering that the pacing of both this sequence and last have been drawn out.
Cal Dalton passes the animation torch to John Carey, who somehow manages to toe the line between gracefulness in Daffy's acting where applicable, and the clumsiness of Beefer's own affections. The tactility of his drawings is particularly helpful when Beefer is literally pawing at Daffy--the overwhelm of his size and movements is very much felt. His draftsmanship and solidity are a good fit for the needs of this scene, which is very character-centric and intimately so--both literally and compositionally.
Camera movements continue in their aimlessness, but are harmless in the long run: the scene starts by favoring Beefer, with Daffy dipping off-screen more than what's necessary--the camera nevertheless fixes itself and gives both characters feasible real estate in the frame. As mentioned before, these nitpicks are extremely minor, especially considering that they work themselves out. Nevertheless, they do subtly detract from the shot flow, and that does affect how the viewer ingests the information on-screen.
Beefer's pawing is actually a plot development, too, rather than just a hilarious acting choice from Carey. His sweeping movements prompt Daffy's wig to loosen, thusly thwarting his disguise; the mildly surprised expression on his face as he attempts to maintain composure is a fantastic touch. It's quick and subtle, but incredibly natural and leans into some of the cynicism and "reality" of Daffy's disguise. Something that's been sorely missed.
Nevertheless, he tries to retain his act, mild bewilderment quickly turning into a delightfully coy expression. The slow eyelash fluttering and gentle head tilts could not be funnier nor appealing to look at. This again falls into the accidental Bugs Bunny philosophy, feeling like it fits Bugs more than it does Daffy with how calm, collected and dedicated to the role he is.
However, one could interpret it as a part of Daffy's thrill to mock. He knows that he's making an ass out of Beefer. This exposé is as humiliating, if not moreso, for Beefer as it is him, and he's content with such. Not only that, but it makes the tone around the reveal more tense. It's suspicious that he isn't freaking out--viewers are naturally inclined to ponder his next course of action.
Being shoved to the ground seems to reinstate his humility, as noted by the sweat drops and generally nervous and farcical demeanor he adopts. Daffy making a production out of lifting his skirt and yanking it down in front of him is another last gasp of provocation.
Power imbalance through size is commentated upon once more: Daffy's wig fits perfectly on Beefer's single finger. In addition to this threat, the move also denounces the disguise further and enunciates its flimsiness.
Even so, Daffy remains sheepishly optimistic. Returning his wig to his head, an act of utter futility, is engaged in one fell swoop. It comes after a brilliantly timed pause, enunciating the urgency behind the maneuver and the guilt therein. Stalling's surprise music sting embraces the suddenness well. Daffy's expression remaining consistent throughout the entire affair bridges the two ideas together--the before and after--and also gets a laugh from that. Beefer's expression of poignant disgust is worth special praise as well.
We thusly return to our regularly scheduled programming. Beefer's growing aggression prompts a surprise take from Daffy, who, doing so, hops out of his disguise at the same time: a nice way to consolidate that burden.
Daffy has never been a character known to take a hint; even in times of danger, the impulse to poke the bear wins out. One gets the sense that he just can't help himself as he pulls Beefer's bowler cap over his head--a final bit of mockery to ensure he has the last word.
Taking off in a running start likewise loses him his wig. Kudos to McCabe and company for finding a way to consolidate these actions, as showing Daffy undressing out of his disguise would be cumbersome and actively detrimental to the pacing. This is a fragile moment in the directing--the base feeling of urgency and alarm needs to be maintained, as it winds us up into the cartoon's big chase. Even a single detour, such as Daffy actually taking the dress off or removing the wig, can break this completely.
The grand chase arrives with the same comedic and directorially sensibilities as has been constant through the entire cartoon. That is, Daffy's running start out of the tipi manifests in a double-sided visual gag. The most obvious visual is he splayed duck silhouette cutting right through the center--the tipi is deliberately barren in design to call attention to this. However, it's also revealed that the tipi has wood paneling that Daffy cut through. That stresses the sheer strength of his alarm and urgency, but is also another dose of "modernity" against something seen as "antiquated"--a comedic philosophy that shorts of this nature love to hinge on.
A change in scenery means a slew of attractive Hilberman layouts. The streamlined, abstract simplicity of the backgrounds and the consideration of angles continue to impress. Considerations, such as the slight up angle in this shot of Daffy's exit; it renders the scene more dynamic, more dramatic, fitting with this sudden burst of a climax. Likewise, it distances itself from the comparatively more pedestrian staging within the tipi. It's off to the races.
Likewise, the next cut revealing Daisy June standing nearby connects smoothly into the previous scene. It feels like both layouts feed into each other, allowing for a smooth transition. Noticeably, the camera focuses on her and her stagnancy rather than Daffy, who zips right past...
...for a moment. McCabe's timing of this sequence is very well done, made up of the same precarious pauses that has been dominating this short and making for a powerful comedic effect. The pause and Daffy's absence is just long enough for us to question it, and his re-entry is so quick that it both feels like a logical extension of what was set up and a surprise reveal.
Daffy's libido wins out. Despite the circumstances being dire, the desire to indulge in one last bit of pleasure overwhelms--even, and perhaps especially at the risk of his own safety. His impulse-forward personality remains consistent.
To enunciate the shock of this reveal, the camera cuts in right before Daffy kisses her. It's a sudden, abrupt maneuver that catches the viewer off guard in the same way Daisy June is caught off guard, embracing the suddenness of his return. That's likewise found in Daisy June's head bobbing animation, where she wobbles back and forth from the sheer force being implanted upon her. It certainly isn't a romantic moment--especially considering Daffy's wide eyed, objective star seems amusingly loveless--but that in itself curates its own comedy.
Lack of intimacy in this scene is also due to the gradual reappearance of Little Beefer. He approaches steadily and with a scowl, which is infinitely more menacing than if he were to run after him with a tomahawk. Especially considering that Daffy never takes his lips off of Daisy June, who is too lovelorn and oblivious to warn Daffy of the danger he's in. Brown's continued kissing sound effects throughout the entire scene are a brilliant topper, illustrating Daffy’s reluctance to part and the threat that poses to his safety.
A brief side note: there's a cycle error on Daffy's pupils. His eyes slowly slide up to track Beefer, only for that cycle to reset as the camera pans upward, his pupils jumping down before panning back up again. Very minor, and the camera move helps to mask the error, but still of intriguing note.
The reason behind the camera pan is to give Beefer more focus and enunciate his presence. That, and to make room for Daffy's own obligations to Beefer: with surprising composure, he gives a pleasantly resigned "Oh well. You too," and charitably kisses him on the schnozz.
Beyond the novelty of Daffy's ambiguous sexuality, the gag works through its nonchalance. Daffy seems to do it out of complete obligation, or perhaps as something to remember him by from his earlier performance. There is likewise the benefit of further emasculation on Beefer's behalf, and in front of his "girlfriend", no less.
It moreover ushers in the opportunity for more nose gags, which have been rife in conjunction with Beefer's presence. Daffy stretches out his nose until the eventual release, which sends Beefer off-screen and gives Daffy an in for an out. It's quick and sudden and flashy, in the case of the bursting pop effect, which juxtaposes against the gradual buildup and general pedestrianism that's dominated the scene--out of necessity--thus far. Note the error in the second screenshot in which Daffy isn't drawn to the edge of the screen.
We cut to another low angle layout, showing Daffy's loyal steed in waiting. Hilberman's layout, while minimalist, refrains from blandness. The values of the black grass in the foreground, sloping up with prongs of grass sticking out to identify it as such, contrast boldly against the milkier grays of the sky and mountain. Ditto for the splash of white tipis, arranged in perfect, geometric symmetry with one another. As mentioned before, Hilberman really is quite the underrated figure.
Daffy embarking on the donkey arrives through a car metaphor: grabbing the donkey's ear and shifting it like a gear, and the ever-appropriate slew of engine sound effects from Treg Brown. Goofiness contrasting urgency continues to be a recurring motif in this short. Neither manage to cancel the other out.
A parallel arrives through Beefer employing his own steed. He has the dignity and advantage of an entire horse to ride, but that's about the extent of it, as we shall soon see. You'll note that the staging of this scene is much less dynamic than the previous scene, primarily made up of horizontal angles.
That's due in part to the lack of a dynamic outcome: after employing one of the first uses of the "follow that car" gag in a Warner cartoon, both man and horse take off in a running start.
Emphasis on start. The horse, still tied to the post, sends Beefer flying and is, rather calmly, ricocheted back into place. Plasticity of the animation keeps the tone playful rather than painful, and McCabe and company are even able to slip in an additional visual gag: Beefer and the horse use the side of the screen to launch forward, which is a gag that Bob Clampett has used in his own cartoons. It’s a very subtle but effective fourth wall break--or, in this case, push.
The windup of the horse contrasts against the eventual release, which is rapid in comparison. Since this action is so fast, it’s largely conveyed through sound effects; the horse whinnying, and the elastic twang of the restraints as they're stretched. Our only visual clue for context is the stake stretching in the ground. Obscuring all of this information not only saves pencil mileage, but invites the audience to imagine the inevitable outcome off-screen, which is powerful in its own right.
Given the ferocity of the violence implied, the nonchalance of the horse as he slides back into scene, visibly beat up, is well delivered. The humor of the scene is again born from contrast. Not only does the horse seem unphased, but he seems bored--a bit tired, but not scarred. Audiences are invited to question this and wonder what standing this has on the eventual punchline.
"Is there a first-aid student in the house?"
Cordial apathy drenches his vocal delivery. Again, contrast reigns supreme for humor: the horse is neutral to the beating he just took, and even asking for first aid in an effective fourth wall break, his tone is calm and much too formal. There's a lot of restraint in the animation and delivery. The scene and punchline is much better for it.
In a much less leisurely scene, the camera cuts to an airborne Beefer. He also demonstrates hardly any reaction; particularly because he lands squarely on a bike and takes off running--er, pedaling. It's such a proudly contrived move, having both the bike available and Beefer able to get a riding start so quickly, and McCabe seems aware of this. He doesn't linger on the point. Instead, Beefer's huge, hulking physique on this teeny little bike is similarly coy and tongue in cheek. Everything happening here is supposed to be ridiculous.
When Beefer eventually catches up to speed, the bike is drawn at a slight slant forward to indicate its speed and momentum. A welcome touch that is again made more effective through observing Beefer's start before hand, in which he bounded onto the bike and took half a moment to settle. Him settling into a rhythm and pace feels starker and carries more gravity (in that he has a viable means to catch up to Daffy now).
More due praises for Hilberman's layouts. Beefer passes beneath a rock overpass at one point, making the environments tangible. The bold, black values are eye catching and give this desert wasteland some visual identity. A nice way to mix up some of the staging and reaffirm that these characters are both in and taking up a space.
The introduction of the bike marks an escalation in both momentum and now violence, as Beefer soon begins to fire arrows. As much of an escalation as this is, it's still treated with the playfulness embedded in this cartoon's DNA. Pathetic, juvenile "boing" sound effects accompany each arrow--that, in conjunction with his little baby bike, hardly paint a picture of a true threat. Even the directing mimics this, as one would assume that the music would crescendo, there would be more clarity on him getting the arrows, and perhaps there would even be an insert of a reaction shot from Daffy if this were intended to be a true turning point. The nonchalance in directing is almost suspicious.
That's because it's reciprocated by Daffy. The camera cuts to a close-up of him firing a gun: no build-up, no shot of him actually pulling it out, no gravity in filmmaking. A gun without a purpose will do that. In "firing" the gun, Daffy is actually just making spurting sounds with his mouth. He holds the gun somewhat strategically so that it's slightly off-screen, concealing the lack of bullets.
"We don't use any ammunition, folks," he tells us, as if sensing our suspicions. "We save it all for the Army."
Another extremely charming dose of McCabian Daffy meta humor. This gag feels much more like a fourth wall break than the usual asides found in conjunction with McCabe's duck, with the meta humor being the focus rather than Daffy. Nevertheless, the same baseline of friendliness and charm is maintained. Even as gratuitous as the jingoism may be, the familiarity of Daffy's character and his tendency to converse with the audience allow it to go down a little smoother. Especially considering the dissonance between his statement and the comparatively urgent tone.
Likewise, a bookend in action is helpful in masking any preachiness, his return to shooting isolating that little quip. Doing so makes it feel like a deviation from the metaphorical script rather than him preaching.e
If it hasn't yet become obvious, puns are a recurrence in the McCabe cartoons. Introduction of a "slide area" is taken to a literal degree--instead of a threat of a rockslide, both Daffy and Beefer descend a long slope like a literal slide. Daffy's jubilant "Wheeeee!" completes the metaphor.
For as zany as the action is, it doesn't discredit the established drama. Stalling's frantic music score remains hurried. The pacing of the chase is brisk--no pause as Daffy nor Beefer mull over the sign. Hilberman's layouts continue to be comprised of diagonals and angles that convey movement and dynamism. There certainly is an endearing conflict in tone, but not one that actively betrays the climax.
The "end of slide area" sign that the camera cuts to is probably arbitrary, as the audience can gather the same through the way the ground "evens" out.
"Evens" in quotations, as a slew of rocks and stones in the ground provide a rather bumpy landing for Beefer. The camera pan follows only him as he attempts to navigate with his bike; Daffy is implied to be a bit ahead, and thusly avoids the wrath of the rocks. Traversing this rough terrain is more difficult with a bike than a donkey. To follow Daffy first and then pan to a struggling Beefer would only bloat the momentum.
Moreover, the rocks function to give the chase some additional stakes. It's an obstacle for Beefer, ridding him of his bike and playing on the audience's curiosity as to what will become of him. Actually seeing his bike explode in real time--as much of a stretch as that is--rather than implying it inflates the conflict.
For as much of a cheat as the bike exploding is, it's the best way to segue into the oncoming reveal: Beefer using a gear and pedals as an involuntary unicycle. After colliding into a boulder, the bike explodes, a cloud of dirt covering the screen. It soon clears, only to reveal an empty landscape--the camera dutifully pans right to find our struggling trapeze artist. Brown's fishing reel noises are a great touch to Beefer's pedaling, enunciating how dinky it is.
Still struggling to maintain balance, Beefer even wobbles and turns around, now pedaling backwards. Doing so gives him a greater vulnerability and articulates his lack of control. Ditto with him eventually pedaling off of the road. Good consideration of physics in the animation that gives an urgency to this very inane predicament.
Even the chase sequence isn't immune from politely awkward cuts. In the midst of Beefer's literal backpedaling, the camera cuts to a much calmer scene: Daffy's donkey crunching on something--the quality of the print makes it impossible to tell, but considering the context beforehand, the best guess seems to be parts of Beefer's bike. It's certainly a perfect condescending, arrogant topper if so, with the donkey destroying Beefer's already destroyed property for an additional sprinkle of salt in the wound.
It almost feels like there was something cut between this scene and last. Beefer marches into scene, completely devoid of his "bike"--this is much too quick a feasible recovery time. Likewise, the act of Daffy's donkey finding the broken parts and chewing them could be more clear. Part of this is due to the poor quality of the film, but there are some lapses in directing that weaken the flow and clarity of the scene.
Speaking of lapses and things that are missing, Daffy is nowhere to be found.
Seemingly, that is.
As Beefer approaches the apathetic donkey, a black, feathery arm signals to the adjacent boulder formation. The cel of Daffy's arm is not correctly anchored--instead of it wrapping out from behind the donkey, it seems to be bursting right through the donkey in a 1940s prequel to Alien. Again, a generally minor error in the grand scheme of things; the intent of the scene rings clear, with Daffy attempting to throw Beefer off his trail, but it is one of the more distracting errors of the cartoon.
Thankfully, clarity does arrive--in the form of a duck and a pistol. Objectivity of motives don't get more clear than that.
"Stick 'em up er I'll blow yer brains out," is a particularly aggressive line from Daffy. In any context, but especially considering he just professed his lack of ammunition. Even so, this too feels like an extension of the aforementioned roleplaying philosophy. That Daffy isn't speaking truly within the context, but mirroring something he heard in a film. In fact, it's almost as if he's getting his wires crossed, as such a line befits a gangster picture much more than a western--a charming and feasible gaffe for this pop culture obsessed duck who's always at the ready to prove his cultural know-how.
Indeed, Daffy then kicking Beefer in the ass and striking a (rather effeminate) pose reeks of panache and an awareness of stage presence rather than a logical reaction in the moment. It's not dissimilar to synonymous flourishes in Daffy's Southern Exposure among synonymous circumstances (including the same kick in the rear). He's a showboater. Even this far into the climax, this is all a game to him.
It's worth noting that Beefer completely disappears with the kick. Blinding impact lines mentally fill in the blanks and imply that he rocketed through or above the rocks. A great caricature of motion that makes Daffy's violence feel much harsher--cutting frames in moments like these tend to fare better than over-articulating the action. Abrasiveness counts.
A giant sign advertising Arizona's Painted Desert may as well have a "who didn't see this coming" sign with it. Even so, Hilberman's striking abstraction helps elevate the literality of the soon to be revealed pun. The contrast in values and patterns is very effective, with the diversity in design and value making the desert feel more populated and like an attraction worthy of its sign. Some additional paint buckets and brushes would be nice to really allow the metaphor to breathe and live, but the wet paint signs grant the same security. That, and add some depth to the scene by populating both the foreground and background.
McCabe and Millar seem sensitive to our "who didn't see that coming" impulses: such is the entire purpose of the next gag. We engage in a gag that was old hat even in Tex Avery's travelogue shorts: a Los Angeles City Limits sign in a random, far removed location, accompaniment of "California, Here I Come" at the ready. McCabe goes through all of the motions...
...until the camera pans to reveal the adjoining sign, picking up where the signmaker got tired in the previous one. Stalling's whiny, wah-wah ironic music sting compliments the playful cynicism of the gag well, rather than suffocating it in the obvious. McCabe liked to do these wah-wah stings, and they can often feel too on the nose; here, the rugpull is fitting, especially with the musical sincerity in the first half of the gag.
Further preventing this gag from being just a cheap pun is that two rushing streaks dart out in front of the signs. Suddenly, the viewers are reminded of the chase unfolding, which hasn't halted just to make time for some puns. Having Beefer and Daffy run through this scene, tangentially as it is, is a successful and natural way to gradually shift focus back to the climax. Doing so makes the slew of puns feel less random and more like a byproduct of their environment.
An important note, too, considering they're far from over. This next bit of punnery is slightly more high concept--introduction of the Petrified Forest, which is actually geographically consistent with the Painted Desert, has its visible half petrified into stone. There's a split-screen effect between the desert and forest, so that the gag of the petrification stands out more against the "control" of the regular desert. The gag is funnier seeing what came before it and warranted it.
The real "high concept" stuff is that this gag actually alters the cadence of the chase: Daffy's entry into the forest yields predictable results.
It's a clever enough gag through its broader effect on the chase. Daffy's stop feels as though it could be a bit more "loud", however; perhaps an overshoot into his frozen position, or him reverberating into place like a tightly wound spring. Here, he simply freezes amidst his run cycle. There's certainly power and comedy to be had in doing so, and is something we saw pulled off very effectively when Daffy first encounters Daisy June. The literality is amusing, but feels a bit weak. Perhaps that's due to the angle of the camera, which is further away from Daffy than before and is thusly more fragile with issues of clarity.
In any case, more comedic security arrives (that is, demonstrating to audiences that Daffy is frozen solid) when Beefer slugs him over the head with a tomahawk. Hint: it's not the duck that breaks. A hard cut is made to Daffy in the middle of this action, creating a jolt that makes the impact more violent.
And, just in case audiences still aren't laughing, McCabe engages in the philosophy of his former director: when in doubt, add a radio reference. Little Beefer now adopts his best impression of Red Skelton's Mean Widdle Kid, sobbing about how Daffy "bwoke [his] 'iddle hammer". Astute readers may remember that McCabe made the same reference in The Impatient Patient; its usage does feel slightly more cluttered here, like a last minute addition to secure a laugh, but doesn't detract from anything the scene is trying to do. Much of the joke stems from Beefer's emasculation and infantilization.
Just as suddenly as he freezes, Daffy--almost inexplicably--is able to free himself and run off. The execution here seems a bit haphazard and random, as he isn't clearly pulled back over the boundary line nor even exhibits any sort of dethawing. Regardless, the quickness and suddenness of his departure is welcome in its own right. It prevents the pacing from getting too pedestrian or stale.
Another benefit is that Daffy's speed makes Beefer's lumbering much more lugubrious. He takes a few laden steps off-screen, which, admittedly, seem as though they could be cut. The audience doesn't gain much from watching him bumble about. It's dead air.
Though, that just as well could be a misfired critique at the next scene, which feels like a slight jump cut. Beefer's walking speed is different between the two scenes with no buffer time between them, and the angles at which he walk are differentiated, too. That's obviously due in part to the contrasting layouts. Regardless, McCabe may have had more success with flow and clarity by cheating Beefer to just walk off horizontally rather than into the camera. The added dimension is always a nice benefit, but the two scenes could flow more cohesively than is represented.
In another bait and switch gag, the telephone booth that Beefer sulks into is actually a cultural mismash: smoke signals are sent like telegraph signals. It's not a completely unique gag, but the additional dedication of the phone booth is an admirable dedication. If nothing else, it can goad the audience into a laugh through the surprise of the transformation rather than the transformation itself.
Smoke gets out quick. In practically no time at all, an entire cavalry is headed in Daffy's direction. McCabe and Millar seemed to understand that as hulking and overwhelming as Beefer is, he isn't that much of a threat. So much of the cartoon has built itself upon demonstrating that very fact. Daffy's been able to disarm and escape him through a variety of methods. An entire army, however, is too much even for our slippery duck.
There's a brief fakeout to make the introduction of the army more sudden and interesting. At first, only one lookout surfaces from the horizon. Stalling's gentle flute music score matches the hesitance and furtiveness of the moment. Likewise, Hilberman's layout is deliberately stagnant. Behind such restraint is a feeling of unease and tension.
McCabe embraces that for a moment before launching into an explosion of men and horses. What seems like a flat and barren landscape actually turns into a rather dynamic shot, with horses galloping right past the camera. Faces of their owners are obscured, which feeds into the feeling of unanimous overwhelm. There's no identity nor independence--just the grand idea of a single mass of violence headed in Daffy's direction.
If there's one benefit to be had, it's that we now receive a full glimpse of Daffy's trailer. Not that the beaten up print does it much justice, but one can somewhat clearly see a "WARNER BROTHERS" sign adorning the very top.
Daffy's trailer is but a slightly tangential part of the layout. Praises all through this analysis about scene composition and purpose certainly apply here as well. A line of rocks gently guide the viewer's eye towards the trailer, where Daffy and his burro seek shelter. The values are well varied and eye popping, and are especially helpful in bolstering the clarity of this poor film copy. If the short is to be in such poor condition, then we can at least be thankful that it's a short with such bold layouts that easily guide and catch the eye.
Enter the climax of the climax: a full blown shoot-out. Daffy having a rifle feels like a rather sudden addition, but can be excused through this being such a precarious and high octane moment. Laboriously showing Daffy pulling out a rifle during such a high stakes moment would only deflate the momentum. Even just the slightest hook-up (like Daffy settling after it being implied he pulled the rifle out) would be nice, but for the needs of the scene, it's safer to err on the opposite.
McCabe certainly does err on the side of rapidity and adrenaline. So much so that there's a bit of an easily missed gag--or, perhaps that's an admission on the author's behalf, who only just caught it when typing up this analysis: Daffy has been using his donkey as a shield, only for it to rebel and hide behind Daffy instead.
That in itself is a great switchup, calling attention to Daffy's recklessness and indifference at doing so, but the real kicker comes from the slightly offended and betrayed glance that he gives the burro after. Doing so reaffirms the relationship between the two and gives them a certain history and depth that makes the hook of the short more compelling. And, of course, the ethics of the entire situation being called into question is great (ignoring the greater irony of Daffy shooting at Native Americans all the while).
Nothing but the Tooth does this same gag in practically the same context, and to a greater degree of memorability. Here, the gag happens so quickly and is so buried amidst the hubbub that it's easily buried, but the unspoken--yet pointed--offense from Daffy is exceptionally funny. It's subtle, dry, coy. Very befitting of the humor and philosophies native to McCabe's dry, coy duck.
For as tight as this composition is, that doesn't restrain the cinematographic flourishes that go into completing the climax. Daffy is soon overtaken by a cloud of dust as the cavalry runs past him rather than at; again, the decision to obscure the Natives is a thoughtful one, as the anonymity works to the effect of them being one, giant threatening mass, as per the purposes of this scene. It's certainly more effective than the drama being dampened by the usual stock stereotypes and caricatures built on belittling.
The only thing that could make him feel more like chopped liver is the rejection of his tires, too. There's some broken screen direction in getting to this gag--despite the cavalry heading off screen left, the straggler carrying the tires enters from screen right, coming upon the trailer rather than making a return to it. The tires and the broiling gag occupy most of the attention, and the general idea is nevertheless conveyed, but it is an odd inconsistency. McCabe's screen direction hasn't been the most cohesive in this cartoon.
"No fit-em putt putt" is bastardized stereotype speak for: the tires can't fit his scooter.
Enter the putt putt in question. For anyone understandably scratching their heads at this objectively lame ending gag, it's a wartime reference: the "keep it under 40" motif is a nod to the "victory speed limits" imposed during the war as a way to encourage gas and--where this gag is relevant--rubber rationing. Thus, it's implied the man gave away his tires for the war effort and is looking for more to adorn his gas conscious ride. Part of the intended comedy is also supposed to be laughing at this man having a scooter at all, rather than a horse or traveling on his bare feet. Indigenous peoples using modern technology? Don't be ridiculous.
So puts an end to Norm McCabe's third and final outing with Daffy. Even in spite of this short's handful of issues--racism being the no-brainer, but an accumulation of errors that can render the filmmaking rocky in parts and impact clarity, some of the gags not hitting as strongly as they could, etc.--I'm all too reluctant to bid farewell. McCabe really demonstrated an innate understanding and fondness of Daffy's character, and it's no coincidence that the best parts of this film are all related to his character acting.
It's a masterpiece of a case study for Daffy's character. For as absurd as the premise is, and Daffy's antics relevant to it, this may be the most nuanced we've seen Daffy yet. Many of his vices are on display: cowardice, impulse, hypocrisy, selfishness, fickleness, ego, lust (and even bloodlust, as proven through his failed attempts to slice a tomahawk through Beefer's skull). Many of his actions are far from noble, and is often a direct source of comedy. It's perhaps the most unfavorable interpretation of him yet... and in spite of that, nothing about his performance comes off as unfavorable or unlikable in the slightest. He oozes charisma, charm, familiarity and warmth. McCabe is somehow able to juggle these oxymoronic traits without one contradicting the other.
Likewise, in contrast to later shorts, Daffy's vices aren't meant to beat down and humiliate him. They provide the audience with a laugh, but, if anything, they perhaps make Daffy more endearing through how "human" he feels with such a conflict. He's allowed to be bitter, allowed to be hypocritical, allowed to be vain or cowardly. Not that McCabe intends for us to idolize those aspects, necessarily, but there's a refreshing lack of pretension in getting to see all of these vulnerabilities and less than desirable qualities--especially when Daffy as a character remains charming and like someone we're intended to root for. He isn't bashed or shamed for his faults. They're on display for us to laugh at, but McCabe doesn't shove it down our throats or make Daffy suffer more than what is intrinsic to said faults. It's a refreshing lack of humility in approach that would sadly become a foreign concept in conjunction with Daffy's character much later on.
McCabe's contributions to Daffy's development as a character are insultingly overlooked. Daffy, like all of the mainstay characters at this point, is a culmination of efforts and visions. McCabe's contributions are moreso adding onto what's already been established, but he really helped to fill in some of the cracks and give the character definition. Perhaps it'd be inevitable anyway, as he's continually been showing signs of maturation before McCabe came onto the directing scene, but Daffy really only feels nuanced for the first, true time in McCabe's hands. It's largely thanks to the aforementioned juggling act of traits--rounding him out to be a bit more grounded and cynical, giving him vices beyond his insanity and finding new ways to caricature that insanity.
But, as mentioned before, it really does seem like McCabe was fond of the character. The way Daffy always regards the audience like a buddy in every single one of his cartoons, with no special attention called to that. His "lesser traits" simply being a part of him rather than an identity or something to beat down on him in the name of ironic affection. McCabe's Daffy feels alive, real--he may not be as flashy as, say, Bob Clampett's duck at the same time, but the comparative groundedness embraces that chummy sensibility he has going on between himself and the viewer. It's genuinely criminal that his tenure with McCabe was so short lived, as I would sincerely include him in my top 3 favorite ducks per director.
Back to the short at hand: I've previously described it as a "guilty pleasure". Using such a phrase in conjunction with a short plagued by racist stereotypes and caricatures just seems to cheapen the harm wrought by those issues, making it a privilege to "indulge" in something "naughty" (racist). However--and, really, there is no "however"--I do think the cognitive dissonance in such a phrase sums up my feelings on this short best.
This is a cartoon that I've grown more critical of, the deeper I've analyzed it. My opinion of it hasn't lessened--simply, my critiques and awareness have simply broadened. Beyond the obvious of racism, there are more technical issues in this short that I'm able to see and get distracted by more clearly. Issues in staging, some beats that are too laborious, certain bits of animation benefitting from more oomph, the second half lacking the appeal of the first half's brazenness and Daffy-centric charms.
I likewise never quite realized just how provocative this cartoon was until scoping it from the inside out. Blatant sexual metaphors, infidelity, cross dressing, ambiguous sexuality. What may come off as tame today--especially considering that all of the above would only inflate throughout the war years--had to have been boundary pushing at the time. Again, this is a short made before Bugs was truly committing himself to his famous drag acts and all of the heckling therein.
The Film Daily's review of the short at the time paints a comparatively tepid response:
"The Daffy Duckaroo" (Looney Tune)
Warner 7 Mins. Okay
Leon Schlesinger has turned out another amusing chapter in the adventures of Daffy Duck, who this time enacts a singing star of westerns abandoning Hollywood to see what the cow country is really like. The fellow gets himself involved with an Indian maiden who has a boy friend. The heap big Indian gives the transplanted Hollywoodian a heap of trouble. The fadeout has Daffy beating it back home. The short, done in Technicolor [sic], has some good laughs.
Nondescript as the response is (and even just confusing--Technicolor?), the phrase "another amusing chapter in the adventures of Daffy Duck" seems somewhat telling. In spite of the issues that this short has, whether they be of technicalities or ethics, that isn't a dishonest descriptor. It's only a shame that we no longer have more amusing adventures from McCabe's Daffy Duck to look forward to. Even so, what we do have is a very charming, chummy, likably grounded duck. I don't think it's misleading to say that Daffy's character would've matured slower had McCabe not lent his hand.
