Release Date: July 23rd, 1938
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Tex Avery
Story: Tedd Pierce
Animation: Virgil Ross
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Danny Webb (Elmer), Berneice Hansell (Cinderella), Elvia Allman (Fairy Godmother, Sisters), Mel Blanc (Screaming Cinderella, Cuckoo Clock, Royal Guards, Cops, "Mmwwooah boy!"), Tex Avery (Radio Announcer, Guard, "Baby!"), The Sportsmen Quartet (Vocal Group)
Tex Avery is no stranger to fairy tales nor burlesquing them. Here, Cinderella Meets Fella is one of his strongest lampoons of the timeless classic. Assured, confident filmmaking dominates the cartoon and its successes: a lights-out vocal cast, gorgeous music, appealing animation and confident, convicted gags are rife. Indeed, in comparison to what we've seen thus far, Tex is at his zenith here.
Following in the footsteps of Little Red Walking Hood, the cartoon's titles here are presented in the standard storybook format. A triumphant fanfare of the cartoon's motif "Boy Meets Girl" blazes as the title card is turned to reveal an RSVP invitation to the King's Royal Ball...
...only to pan down with a cheesy post-script invitation, neon lights illuminating "They're Delicious" on the page. "About a Quarter to Nine" serves as the brazen accompaniment for the gag; already, Cinderella's exposition is twice as fast as the opening to Walking Hood, a feat in itself considering the two cartoons aren't even a year apart.
Any cartoon that displays Irv Spence's animation right at the beginning is bound to be good, and here is no exception. Like in any Tex Avery cartoon, Spence's animation is easily identifiable from its staggering appeal in juxtaposition to everything else. Cinderella is easily one of Tex's better looking cartoons of this period, and thus Spence's appeal isn't nearly as much of a necessity than it is in a cartoon like Walking Hood, where his work felt like a saving grace in comparison to the surrounding blandness.
Here, our story begins as it always does: Cindy dutifully sweeps the floors of her dingy little cottage, dressed in rags. No time is wasted getting to the plot as her identical step-sisters barge through the door, chanting in unison "We're going to the ba-all! We're going to the ba-all! But you sta-ay ho-ome!"
With that, the door is slammed as no further introduction is needed. Audiences were acquainted with the story by this time through a handful of pre-existing animated adaptations (such as Fleischer's Poor Cinderella, though Walt Disney's 1922 Laugh-O-Gram Cinderella short begs mentioning too). As such, no time needed to be wasted explaining who the step-sisters were. Their welcome is far from extended.
Regardless, there's always a little room for a radio show catchphrase. The door opens once more as the sisters stick their head in to repeat the timeless wisdom of columnist and radio personality Jimmie Fidler: "And I DO mean YOU!" A sharp ear reveals that 3 radio chimes play in the background as they give their delivery, a subtle yet clever nod at the catchphrase's radio origins.
With the door slammed shut once more, Cindy is left tearful as Tex introduces the audience to the first The Lone Ranger gag in a Warner Bros. cartoon. Horse hooves, a score of "William Tell Overture", and a signature bellow of "HI-YO, SILVER!" mark the departure of the step-sisters, putting an end to any sentimentality brought on by Cinderella's tears.
Warner cartoons of the late '30s and early '40s had a rightful fascination with The Lone Ranger. Bob Clampett made his own burlesque with his short The Lone Stranger and Porky, which won an award for best black and white one-reel cartoon of 1939. With countless variations of "Hi-yo, Silver!" and the Lone Ranger's misadventures, the Ranger's debut, even if off-screen, deserves mentioning.
Crossfade to a more forlorn scene, Cinderella appearing much less childlike in design as another animator takes over. Poor, shivering Cindy struggles to maintain warmth, heating herself in front of a meager fire.
Of course, being a cartoon under the direction of Frederick Bean Avery, modern technology implemented into antiquated objects is a must. In this case, the candle Cinderella is perched in front of has a gas lantern knob on the side, allowing Cindy to increase the amount of heat put out by the candle. The flames pour out, and Cindy is free to warm herself as much as her little heart desires. By not calling any attention to itself or its ridiculousness, the gag is a success.
Just then, Cinderella catches a glance at her cuckoo clock. One by one, an armada of cuckoo birds pop out of the sides in a swarm. Mel Blanc's yell fills the room as the birds shout in unison "IT'S 9 O'CLOCK!"
Again, the audience doesn't need the events of the story to play out for them. They and Cinderella both know that she's late for the ball--Cindy does a take from the comfort of her stool, making a dash to the telephone.
Berneice Hansell's casting as the squeaky, bubbly, hysterical Cinderella is hardly a surprise, but that's never a bad thing. Tex, as did the other directors, loved to put her squeaky, high-pitched voice to good use, trying to annoy the audience as much as possible. Here, Cinderella blathers into the phone about her missing fairy godmother.
"Gimme the police," she squeals into the mouthpiece, "Hello? Police? This is Cinderella, an' my fairy godmother is 15 minutes late, an' she's supposed to be here, an' I gotta get to the ball! In other words..."
Cue the ever famous bait and switch as Mel Blanc's manly voice bellows out of Cindy's petite little mouth: "GO GET 'ER, BOYS!!!"
Colorized animation reused from The Blow Out shows that the police are on the hunt, mumbling a chorus of "Calling all cars, pick up cars..."
The adjacent scene is less alarming and more light-hearted as Cindy prances over to the radio, underscored by a jovial and frankly beautiful arrangement of "You're an Education". Cindy giggles to the audience before echoing the advertising motto of her radio set: "No squat, no squint, no stoop!"
Indeed, the phrase was used for a real advertising campaign, the slogan for a 1938 Philco Model 38-4XX radio set. Audiences would have indeed appreciated the joke much more in 1938 than now, especially those who owned the same set, but Hansell's delivery is packed with charm and charisma for audiences today to enjoy. The animation of her squatting, squinting, and stooping in conjunction with her proclamations is a nice added bonus.
Even then, little time must be wasted reciting ad slogans. Cindy fitfully turns her radio on, listening for any hint of her missing godmother. In a routine directly borrowed from Tex's own I Love to Singa just 2 years prior, Cinderella mourns "I hope they find her!", prompting the announcer (voiced by one Tex Avery) on the radio to answer back "Don't worry, lady, we'll search every beer joint 'til we do."
Wailing sirens from outside clue Cinderella that the search may be over after all. Indeed, a gorgeous shot of a rubbery, gelatinous police van tears through the night and squeals to a halt in front of Cindy's cottage. Doors of the van open, and a copper slings the ol' fairy herself through the doors and into Cindy's humble abode before peeling away.
A disoriented fairy godmother giggles and coos as she rises onto her feet, introduced with a sardonic violin score of "She Was an Acrobat's Daughter". "Whoops," she giggles, shedding some light onto the cop's beer joint comment from earlier, "Oh, I hope I didn't break my appointment!" One of my favorite lines in the whole short. Elvia Allman voices our tipsy fairy, whose vocal talents I've really come to love. It's unfortunate that she doesn't dominate more of the Warner's catalogue.
The fairy's magic wand is aptly labeled on the old bag's bag. She reaches into the contents and pulls out her magic wand...
...her magic wand of the metaphorical sense, that is. The godmother is quick to hide the goods, her face turning red as she giggles "Oh, pardon me!"
Comparing the humor and gags of the short thus far to the humor of Merrie Melodies from a year or two before provides an incredible difference. Hooch humor was big in the early '30s, especially during Prohibition, ironically enough--the gags here almost beckon memories of shorts such as The Booze Hangs High and You Don't Know What You're Doin'!, alcohol being a key story point in both shorts. While the fairy godmother is (regrettably) a small fraction of our story here, as is her drunkenness, her scenes harken memories of the early, rowdy cartoons, now executed in a much more sophisticated and competent manner. The changes these shorts have gone through in such a short amount of time is mind-boggling.
Without further ado, the godmother presents her real wand, steel guitar sound effects and glowing sparks marking Cinderella's quaint but effective transformation.
Cindy is so pleased that she debuts an Avery-ism that would dominate these cartoons for decades to come: the fairy godmother is met with a jubilated kiss on the lips as thanks. To my knowledge, if this isn't the first usage of a "same-sex kiss on the lips gag", it's at least one of its earliest implementations.
Back to business as the fairy summons a pumpkin for the coach. Again, modern meets antiquated as the godmother summons an entire pumpkin from the sanctity of a tin can.
Next, a casting call for the mice. Memories of Gold Diggers of '49, Tex's first cartoon at WB, are beckoned as the godmother saunters over to a slot machine conveniently installed in Cindy's wall (a portrait of some fruit with a coin slot over a mousehole.)
A coin is fished out of the fairy's pocket, safe in the jodhpurs beneath her dress--once more, the matter of fact delivery of this gag and every other gag in this cartoon is to be commended. No explanation for her jodhpurs is given, and none is needed. Just blissful stupidity.
Coin is promptly deposited, and the slots are sent spinning. As to be expected, the godmother hits the jackpot. Thus, a swarm of mice blankly tumble out of the mousehole and onto the floor in a squeaking, confused, writhing mess. Perfection.
With the mice successfully wrangled and perched in front of the pumpkin, the godmother prepares to work her magic and make the carriage come to life. A flick of the wand...
A seasonal background accompaniment of "Jingle Bells" matches the godmother's embarrassment as she does a take.
More gorgeous animation at the hand of Irv Spence as we're met with a jaunty close-up of the ol' woman. "Oh, I guess I got my dates mixed!"
Attempt #2 isn't as successful either, but at least a little less incongruous. The fairy godmother admits as such, resigning herself with a "Hmm... well, I guess it'll have to do!" and a giggle.
Cindy climbs into her stagecoach, relatively unbothered by her fairy godmother's flighty incompetence. Now, the fairy godmother lifts the entire front wall of Cindy's house like a garage door to allow the stagecoach to exit.
Tex Avery himself has professed that he wasn't as much of an artist as he was a gagman, and here he's still fighting to wean free from the geometrical spheres that made up his character designs. A quick glimpse of the horses pulling the stagecoach reveals that they're synonymous in design with the horse in The Village Smithy, made by Tex back in late 1936--compare the ball and sphere shapes of the horses to the horse in Bob Clampett's Inj*n Trouble.
Nevertheless, the garage door gag is an amusing one. The fairy godmother makes her farewell bows as she declares "There they go!", waving a flag as the stagecoach darts into the night.
Quite a number of moody, atmospheric shots take precedence in this short, and the shot of the stagecoach silhouetted against a full moon is no exception. The horses appear much more sophisticated in their design, as does the coach driver. Tex stages the scene with his signature multi-plane composition, the moon unmoving in the background and trees swiping past the foreground. In all, a very pretty shot.
In accordance to the short's motif of modern meets old, the royal castle boats free parking 'til midnight in brazen neon lights. Carl Stalling's bridge between his score of "Light Cavalry Overture" and "About a Quarter to Nine" is seamless and incredibly catchy in execution.
Inside is a more tranquil scene. Truck into the castle and crossfade to reveal the ball attendees dancing to a stuffy rendition of "The Blue Danube", powdered wigs intact. Already, one begins to anticipate whatever chaos Tex intends to reap. Such a stuffy scene is bound to be broken by hysterical antics.
With that, a pair of heralds trumpet a fanfare to indicate Cinderella's arrival. Hooves clopping against the ground serves as the only auditory accompaniment; that paired with the expectant stares of the heralds prolong the audience's anticipation...
...only for every bit of integrity to be broken as the heralds dive into a discordant, out-of-tune rendition of "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain", a less egregious take on a similar gag in The Isle of Pingo Pongo, with the island natives singing a swinging rendition of "Sweet Georgia Brown". The absence of musical accompaniment here makes the performance all the more ridiculous and shrill, and it works immensely in Tex's favor.
Enter Cinderella, demure and unimposing as she stands at the top of the staircase to make her royal entrance.
Of course, any acts of cuteness or sentimentality must be immediately broken afterwards. Here, a swarm of royal guards mark their delight by wolf-whistling and breathing a shared utterance of "Ba-by!" Tex would use the same catchphrase in his iconic Hollywood Steps Out a mere 3 years later.
Cinderella remains undeterred by her onlookers, descending the staircase in another multi-layered shot as the crowd claps for her arrival. A polite bow is interrupted by yet another trumpeting fanfare from the heralds.
"Prince Charming!" No story about Cinderella is complete without a Prince Charming. Though the audience is clueless as to which handsome hunk will come traipsing down the royal stairs, his esteem and authority is established promptly as a pair of guards display a royal carpet on the already carpeted stairs.
A drumroll heightens the anticipation as the carpet continues to unfurl...
...and out pops the most handsome, charming, endearing prince one could ever imagine: one Elmer Fudd.
Seeing as Elmer made his grand debut in Tex's Little Red Walking Hood, it's only logical that he reprise his fairy tale origins and play the prince here. This time, however, there's a twist: instead of Mel Blanc providing his vocals, he's portrayed by comedian and impressionist Danny Webb, who performs his signature impression of Joe Penner for Elmer's vocals. The same voice was heard in Webb's portrayal of Egghead in Daffy Duck & Egghead, which is where the conflation between the two settles in.
Elmer is hardly an endearing character, whether voiced by Blanc, Webb, or the future Arthur Q. Bryan. In Tex's cartoons especially, his purpose seems to be to grate the audience's nerves to a fine powder. With that said, this is my favorite cartoon for the proto-Fudd--he's positively obnoxious and so un-charismatic that he is charismatic.
Flopping out of the unfurled carpet, Elmer guffaws the signature Joe Penner laugh before tipping his hat and promptly decapitating himself to bid hello. Head is re-attached, and another guffaw pillows his entrance. Like the neighboring gags in this short, the matter-of-fact delivery of Elmer's entrance (and head tip) makes the joke all the more successful.
Just then, Elmer too feasts his beady little eyes on Cinderella, who seems rather taken with him. An unlikely match made in heaven.
"What a bee-YOO-ti-ful girl!" Joe Penner trademarks commence as Elmer hums to himself "Huh, huh, huh... I can't get over it! Huh, huh, huh..." Those unfamiliar with Joe Penner's voice stylings can take a brief listen to him perform here, but should also seek out Webb's performance, whether in this cartoon or elsewhere. Despite the antiquated and obsolete references nowadays, little knowledge of Penner's stylings are needed to find humor in Webb's deliveries as Elmer.
Elmer saunters over to his date. Carl Stalling slips in a few bars of "When the Pussywillow Whispers to the Catnip" as musical accompaniment, which was Penner's theme motif. From the aforementioned reference to the NBC chimes playing as the step-sisters recited their own radio phrase at the beginning, a number of inside jokes can be found just in the music alone. The enjoyment and experience of this cartoon, as well as countless others, is made all the more rich as a result.
On the topic of music, Elmer's meeting with Cinderella sparks the song number, a saccharine chorus of "Boy Meets Girl" sung by the Paul Taylor Choristers. With Tex Avery having lamented about the trials of stuffing a song number in the middle of a cartoon, it comes as a bit of a surprise to have the number be a full-length spotlight and not just a handful of choruses.
In any case, the pathos brought on by the music is interrupted by a number of gags so as not to bore the audience (or Tex himself) too much. Cindy pecks a kiss on Elmer's bulbous proboscis, sending him kicking into the air. Close-up on his nose, where the lipstick imprint makes up for Elmer's lack of words: An utterance of "Mwooooah, boy!" in the style of singer Martha Raye.
Elmer's befuddlement at the sentient lipstick appears genuine.
Cue the dance of the sweethearts. The chorus in the background, while syrupy sweet, is incredibly charming and moody. Peppering gags throughout it heighten the incongruity of the whole sequence and reduce the sentimentality of the number while not calling too much attention to itself. In all, it creates a very nice and rather seamless effect.
One of said gags entails Elmer climbing onto a table that appears in the pan, hardly missing a beat as he maintains his dance with Cindy. The immortal catchphrase from Humphrey Bogart's Dead End is on proud display for the first time as Elmer garbles to the audience, "Look, fellas! I'm dan-cin'! See? I'm dan-cin'!"
Now, a more tender moment on par with the sweet nothings sung by the chorus. Elmer whispers in Cindy's ear, prompting her to nod as they both head to the balcony in privacy. Interestingly, the characters fade to silhouettes in real time as they approach the foreground. As such, their romantic intentions are heightened, the audience having no choice but to pay attention to their actions as they embrace in a kiss. Had they not gone to silhouettes, the focal point wouldn't have been as strong, nor would their actions be as clear. Such a seemingly insignificant decision packs a lot of weight and mood.
Fade and pan to a (you guessed it) cuckoo clock on the castle walls, in accordance to the chorus singing "Time marches on". Even the cuckoo bird in the clock knows its role as royalty, donning a neck frill. In a reprisal of the same gag from the Mutt and Jeff film A Kick for Cinderella, the cuckoo bird realizes that the clock is bound to strike 12 and does everything in its power to stop it. He puts a tremendous fight, pushing the minute hand away from the 12, allowing Elmer and Cindy more time to be intimate.
Irv Spence returns to animate Elmer and Cindy fantasizing about their future wedding. Once more, the appeal in both Cinderella and Elmer's designs under the hand of Spence deserves recognition and commending.
At last, the cuckoo bird resigns himself to his fate, heaving a helpless shrug to the audience. In accordance to the musical chorus, the clock strikes 12, sending the poor bird flying as he clings to the rotating minute hand.
Cindy breaks her kiss with Elmer at the sound of the clock's chimes in a gorgeous, flowing section of Spence's animation. The appeal and humanity in the acting is off the charts, at least for the time being. After a few blinks of alarm, Cinderella grabs Elmer away from the balcony. Elmer's blank, thoughtless stare is appealing in its own terms--there's an especially nice detail of him grabbing his derby hat as Cindy yanks him offscreen.
There's time for one more take as Cindy places her hands on her face in alarm. With that, she makes a break for it.
A quick comeback is made as the slipper business is promptly and unceremoniously addressed.
Cindy heads for the hills a final time as Elmer mindlessly picks up the slipper and stares at it--you can practically feel the gears turning in his puny little head. The song number is put to an end as Cindy darts out of the castle, pursued by Elmer in one last wide shot. In all, a very charming number with Spence's animation at the end being the undoubtable highlight. For such a sweet and syrupy song, it seldom drags on.
Transition to a more fervent and hysterical tone as Elmer darts through the streets, his nasal wails warbling through the night as he calls for his beloved Cinderella. Irv Spence's elastic animation paired with Danny Webb's nearly incomprehensible wails and sobs make for a delightful combination. Many of Joe Penner's quirks and mannerisms are given a brief spotlight as Elmer calls for a "police MAAAAAN!" and begs for his sweetie.
One of the most entertaining deliveries comes from his investigation of Ye Olde Beere Jointe, where he peeks his head under the saloon doors and utters an incomprehensible noise of buffoonish intrigue and confusion, paired with appropriate character animation. And, just like that, he returns to his hysterics, crying "Where are ya? Where are YOUUU?"
The answer to his pleas is executed in pure Avery fashion.
Remarkably, the gag manages to top itself with Elmer's dull commentary. "Y'know," he informs the audience, "this must be Cinderella's house!" The absurdity of the situation is lampooned, but in such a matter of fact manner that it doesn't reduce itself to a cliché. A shining moment indeed, complimented by a wonderful score of "Boy Meets Girl" from Carl Stalling.
Without further ado, the search continues as Elmer crashes her abode. "Yoo-hoo! It's Prince Char-ming, Cindy!" Like the beacon of intelligence he is, he lifts the bucket of coal near the fireplace and checks beneath it. "Come out, come out wherever ya are!"
Once more, Elmer's intelligence, or lack thereof, is made obvious through commentary by Cindy's multi-bird cuckoo clock. A chorus of Mel Blanc's voices chide the buffoon as he begins to search the contents of the clock: "Now you know she wouldn't be in here!"
Befuddled blinks at the audience and clock assert otherwise.
Reduced to tears and snivels, Elmer's search comes to an end as he spots a note conveniently placed against a lantern. A clue. He dares to read it...
Much to comment on in this single close-up. Elmer's gnarly, disgusting, and consequently hilarious hands, one of the most extreme examples of meta-humor that WB hasn't seen the likes of in years (perhaps trumped only by the ending to Ride Him, Bosko!), and the insinuation that Elmer took way too long to find his date. The gag holds up incredibly well, even now--imagine the reaction it got from audiences in 1938 who had hardly seen the likes of such a joke.
Elmer, on the other hand, doesn't find the comedic genius of his director, instead flopping to the ground in Penner-esque histrionics, kicking his legs and sobbing "Woe is me! Woe-ho-ho-ho-hooooooooe is me!"
After a bout of comedic kicking, pounding, and nasally sobs, memories of cartoons such as Little Red Walking Hood and Daffy Duck & Egghead are returned as a bubbly silhouette pops up in the foreground, curls and all.
Berneice Hansell's squeaks echo through the screen. "Oh Princey! Here I am! Here I am, in the fifth row!"
The rotoscoped Cindy makes her way through the theater, squeezing past the invisible patrons as she reassures him "Keep your shirt on! I'll be right out!" Tedd Pierce played the silhouette in Daffy Duck & Egghead, the role of a hapless latecomer who becomes the victim of Egghead's rifle. Considering Pierce has a writing credit on this short, it begs the question whether he plays the role of the wig-touting Cinderella before us. Once more, the visual effect is striking and effectively hilarious on a laptop screen or a phone even today. To imagine what this looked like in a crowded, dark theater on a giant screen gives one chills. The laughs must have been enormous.
Now back to her 2D self, Cinderella dashes on screen in rags and embraces her Princey, to which she's met with a kiss.
Cinderella begs the age old question: "What do we do now?"
"Let's go back in the tenth row and stay for the newsreel!"
Our love story comes to a close with a signature Tex Avery iris out gag, Elmer pulling his sweetie from the confines of the iris as they dash off-screen. Elmer heaves one last signature Penner laugh as the cartoon regretfully comes to an end.
Without a doubt, this is my favorite proto-Fudd film and one of my favorite Tex Avery cartoons in his repertoire at Warner Bros, as well as one of my favorite films from this era as a whole. Vocal talents from the likes of Danny Webb, Elvia Allman, and Berneice Hansell steal the show, Carl Stalling's music score is consistently infectious, and the animation by Avery's standards is in great shape.
Through the sheen of witty lines of dialogue and sardonic burlesques of a cliched fairytale, a love of cartooning and filmmaking shines bright in this short. When Tex enjoys himself and a cartoon he's making, it's strongly felt, just as the opposite is felt in more uninspired numbers. Here, Tex is in his wheelhouse, his inspiration strongly felt and infectious. Feel-good is a vague description for such a jolly and loaded cartoon, but it is indeed a fitting one--this is a very feel-good cartoon.
This is about as appealing as proto-Fudd ever gets, and in a way, I've made peace with that. This is a fantastic cartoon to hit your peak at. Largely, his success is due to Danny Webb's vocal performance. As I mentioned previously, one doesn't need to know exactly who Joe Penner is to find Webb's deliveries amusing. That, paired with hilarious character animation and genuine, matter of fact mannerisms, his befuddlement and stupefaction read as authentic. He isn't reduced to some guy interrupting the flow of a scene, strutting across the screen as he whistles. No longer does he sputter at the narrator and ask if it's time for him to shoot the sun out of the sky. Here, he's in his short-lived spotlight, and a worthy one indeed.
Complaints with this short are minimal from my end, if not non-existent altogether. It's so strong, confident, and energetic in its conviction--comparing this to the likes of Little Red Walking Hood, which is by all means another incredibly amusing Avery short, illustrates just how quickly and strongly Tex has improved as a filmmaker. No noodling with gags, no overstaying welcomes, no half-heartedness. This is undoubtedly one of Tex's greatest films thus far and in my opinion one of his greatest films at his tenure during Warner Bros.
I'd absolutely say it warrants a watch, and implore you to do so. Be charmed by the Penner-esque guffaws of Elmer, the drunken antics of the fairy godmother, the squeal of Cinderella's voice, the orchestrations of Carl Stalling's accompaniment and the overall witty yet enthusiastic tone of the short.
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