247. Scalp Trouble (1939)

Disclaimer: As can be surmised by the cartoon's title, this review contains racist stereotypes, caricatures, content and imagery. Though presented purely for informational and historical context, such defamatory stereotypes are wholeheartedly condemned. With that said, it is encouraged to speak up if I accidentally say something harmful, ignorant, or offensive--it is never my intention to do so and I aim to take accountability should that occur. Thank you.

Release Date: June 24th, 1939

Series: Looney Tunes

Director: Bob Clampett

Story: Ernest Gee

Animation: Norm McCabe

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling

Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Daffy, Guard, Dog, Natives)

Porky and Daffy mark their first official outing together of 1939, as indicated by a swanky new title card (regrettably) lasting a whopping 2 cartoons, Clampett's Wise Quacks being the other. Such demonstrates that even as early on as mid-1939--with only 4 other outings together previously--audiences and directors alike recognized the potential of the duo, their partnership solid enough to pose their billing as an attraction in itself. Their faces greeted theatrical audiences for years when serving as the default Looney Tunes opening title card, regardless of their involvement in the selected cartoon.

Yet another short riddled with defamatory anti-Indigenous stereotypes, Friz Freleng would remake this shot in 1944, rebranding it as Slightly Daffy and tracing a majority of the footage with the addition of color. There have been rumors (particular emphasis on "rumors", not fact) that Clampett originally started Slightly himself but got behind and had Freleng finish, which doesn't entirely seem baseless. For simplicity's sake, comparisons between this short and that will be more concentrated in the review of Slightly Daffy when we get to it. 

Here, Daffy takes on the role of general, supervising the barracks where Porky and company occupy. When Native Americans hone in on the barracks, it's up to Porky and Daffy to save the day, especially after Daffy mistakenly swallows ammunition and becomes a real live assault weapon.

Per Clampettian tradition, a string of calm establishing shots lull the audience into a deceptive sense of security. Dick Thomas’ background work is lush and dimensional, a solid understanding of value scales granting shots depth with the foreground articles painted darker than the middle and background. Camera movements are still jittery upon their truck ins and dissolves, but not enough to be jarring.

Focusing on a sign advertising Post 13 (always a favorite unlucky number for cartoon makers), the “No dogs allowed around the post” addendum tracks with Clampett’s later concession that the sign gags were used as a cheat in the early days to get laughs when the motion of the characters itself wasn’t sophisticated nor funny enough to stand on its own. 

As such, the dissolve to a literal guard dog pacing around the barracks makes for a subtle yet amusing tongue-in-cheek antithesis. While the inclusion of a dog in the post—directly refuting the adage on the sign—isn’t necessarily the point of the spotlight on either end, it certainly serves as a subtle bridge between the two. The sign is funny. The dopey dog pacing mechanically is funny. One could draw the connection between the sign and dog and get a laugh out of that, but it’s not necessary. A bonus is a bonus.

If the guard’s purposefully slow, aimless, weightless movements weren’t a solid indication of his stupidity, Carl Stalling’s discordant, childish accompaniment of “In the Army Now” certainly is. John Carey is the animator tasked with the dog’s introduction, the perfect casting choice thanks to his elastic, dimension animation. He could capture the weightlessness demanded by the dog’s demeanor that few others could, particularly strong in a rather aimless and arbitrary twirl from the guard, his ears smacking him in the face.

Carey’s elasticity and depth are each given their own highlights through wild head shakes and dialogue shots.

“Have you folks seen any Indians around here?” Blanc’s dopey drawl is perfectly on the nose, and Carey’s draftsmanship is infinitely appealing thanks to the tall, big eyes and soft, round face. 

Clampett’s timing is slow enough allow the joke of the Natives filling up the scream and declaring in jovial unison “No, no, no, no, NO!” to be digested, but prompt enough to be abrupt and unpredictable. The mechanical head tilts seem to work in tandem with the artifice of their words, as though even their movements are disingenuous to reflect the lie. And, in spite of the mirrored animation for simplicity’s sake, the designs are varied enough to mask the cheat more effectively. On top of that, the dog’s regrettably brief yet mindless grin at the camera is a welcome addition.

His visitors exit in the same, mechanical glide that they entered. Mirroring both the entrances/exits and the animation itself makes the symmetrical movements feel like a design choice rather than an attempt to save time.

Dopey dog continues to share his words of wisdom. “Uh, that’s good.”

His dutiful walkabout resumes as we iris wipe to an interior shot of the post.  Clampett uses a similar maneuver to one he employed in Kristopher Kolumbus Jr., where elements in the foreground are painted on their own layers and split into two opposing directions as the camera trucks in, an attempt to mimic the multi-plane camera effects most common in Disney cartoons for added dimension. 

Stalling’s muted, drunken musical accompaniment paired with the “GENERAL DAFFY DUCK” sign outside the barracks create a deceptive narrative about Daffy’s role in the cartoon. By that point in time, audiences have been familiarized with Daffy enough to be aware of his screwball antics and incapacity—casting him as a general seems like a recipe for disaster. Crossed eyes, protruding tongues, hysterical convulsions and—of course—a hearty chorus of “HOO HOO!”s seem inevitable.

As such, Daffy’s entrance is purposefully dissonant as the door is thrown open and out comes marching Mister General himself, footsteps leaden, bearing a ferocious, commanding scowl as he sports a Napoleon hat—always synonymous with insanity or incompetence in these cartoons—and sheathed saber twice as big as he is. The scabbard's decidedly phallic appearance (especially knowing Clampett's adoration and track record of juvenile, priapic humor) is clearly no accident.

While Daffy may seem far removed from the character he’d later evolve to be, there are actually, believe it or not, a number of similarities already present to the duck that would dominate Clampett’s later cartoons. That is, a duck who is so committed to whatever role he is playing that he maintains the persona with only the utmost ferocity, even (and especially) if that yields disastrous results. 

Speaking in Clampett terms, Daffy’s role as Danny Kaye and Duck Twacy in Book Revue and The Great Piggy Bank Robbery specifically come to mind, though it often extends to his own persona as a whole, regardless of imitation or lack thereof. Clampett’s duck is impulsive but impassioned, committed, and will tackle his priorities with the utmost devotion… until he either gets bored, distracted, or fearful and moves onto pursuing the next priority with the same energy. 

Though this specific portrayal wasn’t unique to Clampett, it would certainly serve as a cornerstone for his cartoons. While Daffy may not have the sophistication nor depth of emotions here that he would later on, he’s certainly in the beta stages of that development. He appears closer to that than the mindless, autopilot insanity present in cartoons such as Porky & Daffy.

Daffy’s hunger for authority is realized when he stumbles upon a guard sleeping on the job. Though he hasn’t yet said a word, only skidded to a halt and glowered contemptuously, the audience immediately anticipates a bombastic response.

Contemptuous glowers and glances from left to right as though hiding from or stalking a victim cement Daffy’s theatrical-minded intentions. By now, he could have yelled at the guard to wake up and gotten him on his toes. Instead, the presentation, the theatrics, the ego is the priority. Mentioned previously in the The Daffy Doc analysis, Daffy in the early Clampett films often feels as though he’s role playing, mimicking the clichés and behaviors he’s seen or heard on film and radio, reveling in every second that an authoritarian status gives him. 

Such is furthered when he reaches to unsheathe his saber, a rather extreme reaction to everyone but Daffy, who operates constantly at a rather bombastic, hysterical but not entirely unfounded logic. He obviously takes his role very seriously and wants everyone to be exceedingly aware of it.

Which is why—naturally—he unearths a puny dagger whose handle takes up half the length, again tapping into the phallic metaphor of his sheath. As has been seen before and will continued to be displayed throughout the cartoon, Clampett got a lot of use out of size disparity gags, especially when treating them with the same severity as its intended purpose. Indeed, Daffy struggles to unearth the dagger, the “SHING!” when it does come out demanding the same ferocity of an actual, large, deadly weapon. There is no wild reaction take as Daffy recognizes the puniness of the weapon. Maybe too long a pause, sure, but no wink at the camera or shrug at the audience. He works with what he has, and the audience is momentarily transported into his point of view, able to conceive the grandiose picture surely painted in his head.

Dreams of authoritarian grandiosity are maintained as Daffy prolongs the theatrics. Instead of stabbing the guard right then and there, he jabs the bugle hanging from his neck into his mouth and prepares to strike, armed by a climactic crescendo from Carl Stalling.

Obscuring the impact and cutting to the dog as soon as he gets hit makes the blow land all the more painfully; without seeing the dagger go directly into his behind, it’s up to the audience to fill in the blanks, purely depending on their overactive imaginations to inform the hit and imagine it being greater than it actually is. A hit or blow or impact on-screen can absolutely be dampened if the execution is mediocre, but the mind of the viewer will almost always make the hit feel greater than it is if left to their imagination, especially aided by strong sound effects or strong reactions from the receiver, as seen here. 

Likewise, such an abrupt cut to the dog purposefully creates a jolt that mimics the sensation of the dagger landing in its victim, especially when said jolt involves the dog flying into the air and blowing out a fervent, rapid, high pitched rendition of Reveille in substitution of a scream. Allowing the trumpeting to be both fast and high in pitch, not just one or the other, further elevates the severity of the reaction. Judging by the spiral train lines left on the dog’s cap, Izzy Ellis may very well be the animator responsible of his close-up, though that’s more of a guess rather than a concrete observation.

To prolong the impact of the bugler’s trumpeting, Clampett cuts to the next piece of action with the Reveille still blazing in the background rather than waiting for the bugle to cease. Daffy now opts to put his authoritarian status to use, demanding the attention of his army.

“Get up, you guys! Whaddaya think this is, a rest home!?”

Animation of Daffy pumping his fists and yelling at the army isn’t exactly attractive, its awkwardness prolonged through the dissonance of Daffy’s back half staying on one static cel layer and his torso onward moving and stretching, making for a rather inorganic end result. Luckily, Daffy isn’t the visual priority. The fleet of soldiers barreling him down in a massive, synchronous crowd, aided through comically loud footsteps from Treg Brown, is. 

As it turns out, Daffy’s ridiculously oversized sheath does provide a purpose: comedy. Once the mob finally leaves, Daffy, who has been buried beneath their trampling footsteps, reminds the audience of his presence as he reverberates back and forth, clinging to the sheath wedged into the ground. Shooting the animation on ones and employing dry brush rightfully create a relatively disorienting effect rife with energy. 

Rather than engaging in another fit of hysterics and yelling about how his authority has been squandered, Daffy instead glowers at his army (but not after a rather awkward open-mouthed smile, its intentions unclear), still hugging the sheath. Interestingly, Daffy’s legs are colored a darker hue than his beak, a trend that seems to have started in The Daffy Doc and ending with Porky’s Last Stand. It’s seldom noticeable, but does stand out when his beak and legs are so close together in this particular shot.

As has been mentioned in previous reviews, Clampett excelled with variety in character designs, particularly when characters are clustered together in a shot. The differentiation and whimsicality in design appears to hit its zenith in the slow, crawling pan displaying the various denizens of the army. One soldier stands knock-kneed, another draped in a uniform much too big for him, his next comrade sporting a tattoo and a pronounced, spherical gut creating a wardrobe malfunction. One buck toothed, ambiguous animal makes up for his lack of size with a rather imposing harpoon. Even if the designs aren’t laugh out loud funny, they’re certainly interesting and engaging, if only for this shot alone.

Nevertheless, a wild, scrambling take from Daffy signifies that not everyone is present and accounted for. The take feels oddly staged, mechanical, as he does it in the process of turning to look into the barracks rather than as a result of laying his eyes on something, but it almost seems to work with his impulsive, unpredictable nature. 

The straggler in question is none other than Porky, still fast asleep in his bunk. While the hilariously arbitrary and slightly supercilious “DO NOT DISTURB!” sign is the most glaring, other relatively subtle visual gags pepper the scene. A framed photo of a football labeled “UNCLE BUD” provides a more whimsical—if not equally cruel—spin on the framed sausage links labeled “FATHER” in Disney’s The Three Little Pigs. Likewise, Petunia’s inclusion in the cartoons grows more imminent, her photograph much more clear than the one near Porky’s bedside in Polar Pals. Porky’s Picnic, the next Clampett entry, would mark her return after a year and a half absence.

Daffy once again opts to take matters into his own hands, marching up to Porky’s bunk in tandem with Carl Stalling’s domineering yet playful musical accompaniment. A common occurrence in the black and white Clampett shorts, Daffy’s remark of “Ohhh, a slacker!” isn’t lip-synced properly in the animation. Whether or not it was on purpose or a line added in last minute, who’s to say; while it can be a distraction at times, Daffy is able to get away with it more than other characters, as it almost makes him feel a little more screwy, insane, an off-kilter choice for an off-kilter duck.

Humor in Daffy’s first forceful awakening of his bugler was derived from a physical contrast, mainly between the giant saber sheath and the puny dagger. Here, the emphasis is put on an emotional contrast. A commanding, accusing glare from Daffy suggests a verbal blow out or more violent means of waking Porky up.

Instead, he grows smitten. The eyelashes and rather pronounced, dainty fingers as he strikes an “ain’t that dear” pose are a wonderfully disingenuous and melodramatic addition. An ancillary design note: Daffy has colored irises for this scene, which were similarly present in a section from (presumably) the same animator in The Daffy Doc.

Said animator appears to be John Carey, particularly evident in Daffy’s prominently arched eyebrows, thin eyes, and glacial yet well constructed movements. A stark contrast to his earlier altercation with the bugler, Daffy’s attempts to rouse Porky are gentle and cloying as he coos “Porky… Porky…!”

Mel Blanc’s decidedly ear-shattering eruption of “PORKY!!!” is one of my personal favorite deliveries from Blanc and Daffy alike. The timing is sublime, a complete tonal whiplash that  unfolds in less than a second. His screech is a bold, if not downright violent contrast to his soft tone just seconds prior, and even the physical act of him jumping into the air is much more direct and urgent in motion than any of his previous motions.

Continuing to ride the hyper momentum, Daffy immediately resorts to repeatedly jumping up and down on Porky, who refuses to budge. There are no downtrodden pauses or moments of contemplation that were present when Porky himself struggled to awaken Daffy in Porky & Daffy. No great realization, no sign of defeat. Instead, Daffy continues to act on his impulses, resorting to both verbal and physical harassment as he struggles to wake Porky up. While this sequence isn’t a direct callback or intended parallel to Porky’s similar attempts in Porky & Daffy, it certainly serves as a succinct and fascinating means of comparison, providing insight into how each character approaches a similar obstacle in his own unique line of thinking. 

“Why dont’cha get up!? C’mon, Porky! Hurry up an’ get up! Get up quick! C’mon an’ get up, I said!” Daffy’s breathless, mush-mouthed hysterics, Carl Stalling’s comic descending, wilting music score, Treg Brown‘s repeated pap sound effects exaggerating Daffy’s hops, and Porky’s innocently rebellious expression of contentment as he refuses to stir are all necessary and very strong ingredients that make for a wonderfully funny, endearing, and energetic end product.

Ironically, Daffy himself falls victim to his own overzealousness, his rambling subsiding as he loses steam, jostles and jumps further spread apart as he tires himself out. “Dont’cha know it’s the early bird that catches the… worm…?” 

Porky’s cel changing for one single frame convey the impact he’s receiving as Daffy lands a final, weak blow is a very subtle but fulfilling and whole detail that is, in its own way, funnier than no movement from Porky at all.

Nevertheless, Daffy subscribes to the maxim “If ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”, showing little hesitation as he makes himself comfortable next to Porky. Remembering that this is a general in charge of an army (his pompous hat serving as a bloviated reminder) makes his surrendering all the more amusing.

And, as an answer to Carl Stalling’s facetious and increasingly climactic score of “Rock-a-bye Baby”, the cradle will fall. Carey’s animation of the bed buckling beneath Porky and Daffy’s weight strikes a solid balance between elastic and structured, so that the plasticity of the bed crashing to the ground doesn’t feel mechanical or lost in its weight, but not floaty and spacey either. The bed stretching before dipping out of frame, shedding one last glimpse at its occupants before crashing to certain doom, is a welcome addition.

Jointly, while the switch to a less skilled draftsman is noticeable with the rigidity of the bed crashing, the abruptness is welcome. The climax and build-up has already been shown, the suspenseful elasticity is no longer a priority. An alarming crash is. 

On the plus side, Porky is finally awake, casting naïve, nonplussed blinks at a disgruntled Daffy, entangled in the “DO NOT DISTURB!” sign with his hat askew. Ironically, having Porky be positioned on top of a pillow and beneath a blanket still makes it appear as though he’s in bed, which adds to the unintentional coyness of his “Who, me?” expression.

And, unlike in Polar Pals where he was happy to oblige and enjoy his morning activities, Porky wastes little time scrambling out of his nightshirt and into his uniform, jumping vertically into the suit while it still hangs from the bed. Crude as some of the drawings may be, the spirit is certainly present, the presiding bounciness and rubbery movements rendering the scene in a soft, round sheen, the squat appearances of Porky and Daffy indulging Clampett’s occasional craving for cute.

Apologies are profuse as Porky gives a shaky, sweat-laden salute, sputtering out a handful of commands to indicate his loyalty. It certainly proves fascinating just how much Daffy has developed in so little time—he began as an obnoxious pest that Porky first tried to hunt, then grew to be an obnoxious but lovable companion who still needed Porky to tell him what to do in efforts such as Porky & Daffy. Now, HE has the upper hand, evidently maintaining enough authority to render Porky anxious. That hunger to prove himself as one who is autonomous and in control (or at least, “in control” by Daffy’s standards) seen in The Daffy Doc is certainly expounded upon here. Nearly 3 minutes in and not a single convulsion or “HOO HOO!” yet, which is certainly a new record. 

Nevertheless, Clampett’s filmmaking grows more inspired as we cut to a shot of Porky and Daffy’s shadows projected upon the walls of the barracks. Upon Daffy’s command, the two march forward, their shadows snaking around in perspective, curving along one of the bunks in the background. While the bed is hardly in frame, obscuring the perspective tricks and saving them for last, its inclusion is appreciated and certainly gives an added authority to Daffy’s dominance. In this instance, he is clearly serious about his work—the filmmaking rightfully reflects that.

Unfortunately, even a simple march is a recipe for disaster. While Daffy merely disregards the sheath still lodged in the ground, upholding his pompous authority serving as the priority as he traipses along on top, Porky is an unfortunate victim of circumstance.

In Bob Clampett cartoons, it is law that simple, everyday objects (and characters, for that matter) must possess near lethal amounts of elastic properties. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Therefore, Porky is propelled backwards with the same exact ferocity that the sheath exhibited when propelled into his face after Daffy stepped off the scabbard. Clampett doesn’t linger on the gag of Porky’s hat landing on the sheath’s handle in his absence, but it certainly lands as a bonus. 

Thankfully—as has been harped on in previous reviews—Clampett knew not to inflict excessive pain on more endearing, sympathetic characters such as Porky, which is why the smack of the scabbard is more so a means of transportation than an injury. Still clinging to his harpoon gun, Porky flies back into the barracks, where the blade of the gun lodges in the floorboards. 

With similar plasticity, Porky is propelled out of the barracks once more, the reverberations of the gun serving as the only indication of his prior presence. Judging by the synonymous wobbles when Daffy was clinging to the sheath reverberating in the ground earlier, either Clampett or the animators were particularly proud of finding a way to successfully depict a back and forth wobbling motion that felt convincing and jovial in its execution. Likewise, the cymbal crash as Porky’s gun makes impact with the floor, sending him out the door certainly exaggerates the various blows and hits and propulsions being withstood.

Enter the payoff in the form of a forceful collision. Daffy, still enraptured in his fantasy of being an authority figure, is completely oblivious to Porky’s absence nor incoming entrance. Once again a scene controlled by the hand of John Carey, the impact is rife with vigor, minor distortions (particularly the stretching of both Porky and Daffy as they make initial contact) exaggerating both the blow and motion.

While the assistant animation work on Porky and Daffy somersaulting across the screen verges on the crude side, the motion itself is the priority, not perfectly sculpted drawings. Likewise, the movement certainly feels frenetic, disorienting, aided by the camera pan matching the speed of their tumble through all parts of the process. 

Then comes the true reveal; the somersault finally peters to a halt with Porky holding Daffy in his arms. 

Similar to his earlier coy display during his initial attempts to wake up Porky, Daffy once again grows beguiled, blinking bashfully at Porky’s “advances”. Carl Stalling’s music score feels more earnest than it does mocking. 

Daffy is the first of many to utter a catchphrase that would later become a recurring saying: “Gosh, I didn’t know you cared!” 

While the maxim would continuously be used as a sardonic punchline, the sequence here is quite the anomaly in that it is incredibly earnest and, dare one say it, heartwarming as Daffy nuzzles Porky with coy giggles. That Porky reciprocates Daffy’s embrace is one thing; that it fades to black, ending on a genuine note, is another.

Looney Tunes certainly isn’t immune to its share of earnest, genuine moments, and Clampett has had plenty in his cartoon output thus far. Porky himself in Clampett’s hands is a vehicle for unadulterated earnesty. At the same time, Porky and Daffy are the only two characters who could ever get away with a scene such as this one and have it be passed off as a testament of their kinship—virtually every other character dynamic is vitriolic, antagonistic. Especially early on, Porky and Daffy are really the only two characters whose dynamic duo status is accepted as normal and genuine, and not a surprise case of “Look who teamed up together for a change!”

Even if this scene had been made 2, 3, 4 years later, it wouldn’t exactly have the same visceral sincerity; Daffy’s compact, cute design certainly makes for a more heartwarming watch than Porky struggling to hold the much leaner, more mature, wilier design of the ‘40s Daffy and onward. Even in this cartoon’s remake, Slightly Daffy, the effect isn’t the same with Daffy’s deeper voice and slightly more mature looks. Nevertheless, the sincerity is a welcome—if not fascinating—surprise.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Porky and Daffy’s heartwarming antics serve as a bridge to more malicious endeavors as an Indigenous man crawls along the cliff side, peering down to the fort below. At the very least, the background layouts are certainly dynamic, the slant of the cliff turning inward exaggerating its steepness, and the nonchalance in which he blatantly disregards his bending of physics is welcome. Doing a wild take and plummeting to the ground is not the comedic priority.

As to be expected, a vast variety of stereotypes are weaseled into gags all throughout the remainder of the cartoon, beginning with an air horn performing a war cry with the aid of a mechanical gloved hand. That the horn starts as a regular siren for a few beats before morphing into a war cry thankfully suspends the audience’s engagement, preventing any sort of laborious gag set-up that would cause interest to be lost, even (and especially) if the gag isn’t very funny.

It certainly wouldn’t be a Bob Clampett cartoon without animation reuse. Slightly Daffy is much more shameless about its very concentrated recycling, but the shift in design sensibilities from 1939 Bob Clampett’s to 1937 Friz Freleng’s, reusing a shot of a tribe darting into battle from Sweet S*oux, is somewhat jarring.

That shift is made increasingly more obvious once a cut is made back to a scene dominated by Clampett’s unmistakably screwball design sense, buck teeth and crossed eyes a plenty. If there are any praises to be sung, it’s that the pacing and plasticity of the Natives jumping upon their horses and charging into battle establishes a rather musical, jovial rhythm, its musicality emboldened through cymbal crashes when each man boards his horse.

Understanding the hypnotism of the momentum, Clampett uses attempt number 5 to disrupt the rhythm as one man falls flat on his back.

Thankfully, his own trusty steed isn’t far behind. Here, Clampett reuses the animation of the horse sliding into position from The Lone Stranger and Porky; the remaining designs of the horses appear to take this into consideration, thankfully making for a rather cohesive end product that one wouldn’t suspect is reused. Clampett even goes so far as to color the horse black and his rider’s pants white, an inverse to the presiding color scheme, indicating the differentiation and easing uniformity.

The next reused shot from S*oux, unfortunately, doesn’t blend in as well as the previous example, thanks to a combination of more conservative, spherical designs and the stark difference in values and hues with the paint color—the Porky Pig 101 restoration, notoriously for blanching certain prints, does little to aid the whiplash. Yet another shot reused from the aforementioned is thankfully less bleached out, but the difference in design sense remains the same. It likely poses a bigger issue for historians than it did for theatergoers whose eyes weren’t trained to identify who drew what and when. 

A horizontal wipe back to Porky guarding the post almost seems like an appropriate barrier between the old and the new, shoving the recycled footage to the side rather than using a direct cut to convey a spontaneous jump in action. Wipes indicate an elapse of time.

Porky grows aware of the incoming presence and seeks to warn his cohorts through a breathless, tongue-tied series of incoherent warnings and rapid, interchangeable slurs. The staging present in the first shot where he peers over the walls of the post is surprisingly inventive, and the energy in Porky’s spastic warnings is delightfully potent, some fun cycles on his hooves as he runs and rapid, elastic distortions certainly harnessing a youthful, excitable personality well. However, such technicalities are difficult to appreciate to their full potential when slurs are being shouted and stereotypes perpetuated.

As will be dissected shortly, the second half of the cartoon possesses a great deal of energy, one that is welcome and almost admirable speaking from a purely technological standpoint—but it certainly doesn’t excuse nor alleviate any of the rampant racism unfolding. It makes seem, in a twisted way, more cruel and gruesome than it already is, dismissing very harmful depictions and stereotypes as funny cartoon antics. Just because animation of Porky shooting guns at Native Americans is energetic and spirited in its delivery doesn’t negate the fact that Porky is shooting guns at Native Americans.

Nevertheless, Porky, in the midst of his breathless warnings, accidentally continues his spiel to one of the very people he’s warning against. The gummy teeth on the man as he sneers back at Porky is almost Scribneresque, foreshadowing the dentistry that would later dominate Clampett’s cartoons.

Likewise, Porky’s eye take, no matter how mild, is an amusing addition, and the weight of the animation as he socks his visitor over the head with a barrel (particularly when his body floats up in the air post impact) is full of plasticity. Smears and distortions seem to be more heavily concentrated in this cartoon than others, which is a welcome surprise; regardless of the implications that demand such energy to be exuded from the characters, the distortions certainly elevate the freneticism of the motion.

One of the more surprising positive twists from the cartoon arrives in the form of a montage à la Frank Tashlin. Typical Clampett gag sense presides when a bugler’s ears morph into the shape of a trumpet, harmonizing his call to arms, yet those whimsical antics belie the rather cinematic, double exposed overlay of the soldiers grabbing their arms, descending stairs (cribbed from Little Beau Porky), and heading into battle. 

Many have attempted to mimic Tashlin’s montages, but the imitations often range from serviceable to arbitrary, cobbling reused footage together from the cartoon at hand in an attempt to read as artsy and fill up time. Few have successfully felt purposeful in their inclusion, as is the case here—the strategic staging, filled with dynamic composition and angles, truly does elevate the cinematography rather than serving as an excuse to fill time. 

“An excuse to fill time” becomes more obvious in the next shot of a bearded dog shooting his gun from the safety of a cabin; reused verbatim from the similarly egregious Inj*n Trouble, the inclusion of the cabin primarily serves as a buffer for the animation—in the original, his torso was cut off from the wagon he was hiding in. Rather than draw a torso or legs on him, the cabin serves as an admittedly smart cheat. Again, chances of an audience in 1939 recognizing the reuse are slim. 

When going through these cartoons consecutively, it’s easy to identify what gags and trends the crew was invested in. Porky had a towel boasting a “Grand Hotel” embroidery in Polar Pals—now, one of the Natives touts a washcloth courtesy of Hotel Ritz as a loincloth. 

Enter a pun that would continue to get its share of mileage from the Warner directors in later cartoons; the man pulls out a bottle of “Four Noses Fire Water” (as indicated by a close-up painting), a play on Four Roses whiskey.

“Fire water” is given a rather than literal meaning as he guzzles the alcohol, utilizing its metaphorical burn as a means to carve a hole (complete with a feather silhouette, in case the stereotypes weren’t landing hard enough, with “drunken Native Americans” being another.) 

Once more, if any bonuses are to be given, it’s that the animation reaches a zenith of plastic freneticism—the man’s head briefly wobbles once he skids to an initial stop outside the fort, the motion of him reaching into his pocket to grab the whiskey is needlessly exaggerated, and the brief coughs he does, though muddled through a lack of sound effects, certainly score points in terms of visual engagement. That it has to be wasted on such defamatory visuals is a shame.

Likewise with Porky repeatedly firing a cannon through a hole in the fort. With each blast of the canon (marked by a purposefully childish popping sound rather than a blast, giving the cannon the impression of a toy gun), Porky is sent catapulting against a nearby barrel through the ricochet of the machinery. Porky pops back into place, and the cycle repeats. Once more, the energy is certainly present, almost feeling purposefully mechanical in the very matter of fact delivery of the gag. It, in a sense, seems to parody itself and similar gags who make a point to drag out the ricochet gags and understand the audience comprehends them.

Elsewhere, Clampett reaches for ol’ reliable, yet again employing his fascination with height differences for the sake of a gag. All things considered, Clampett’s more exaggerated design sense somewhat alleviates the monotony of the gag.

One of the most well executed gags in the entire cartoon is also the most gruesome and insulting. A guard keeping “score”—the scoreboard labeled purely ME vs THEM—fires bullets, singing “Ten Little Indians” in conjunction with the amount of bullets shot (so, for example, he fires 3 shots, singing “1 little, 2 little, 3 little Indians” as he marks a tally). The timing is inarguably succinct, musical in its delivery (albeit the tallies grow to be inaccurate, ruining the “immersion”), but the joke itself is wholly mean-spirited, and being passed off as a cutesy little game doesn’t do it any favors. Friz Freleng in particular would get a lot of mileage from the gag, using it not only again in Slightly Daffy but in Tom Tom Tomcat and Horse Hare as well.

Unlike the previously aforementioned cartoons, the capper comes from one of the Natives himself, declaring “TEN LITTLE INDIAN BOYS!” before walloping the dog on the head with a tomahawk. 

Though unnecessary, the dog spinning around in dazed perspective before collapsing to the ground is an admittedly welcome, playful touch, as is the concession of “THEM — I” on the board. The entire sequence is undeniably insulting, but, admittedly, may be the best executed out of any of its imitators. Musical timing is sharp and a key component to its success, and the concession is also unique to this cartoon. Nevertheless, its gruesomeness prevails, and to deem it uncomfortable is putting it rather mildly.

Porky firing dual pistols also fits in that category, this time barricaded behind a barrel. Again, the composition and staging for this short is a little more inspired than other instances—figure ground composition seems to have been given a higher priority, negative space viewed more consciously as characters fire from various holes and arcs in the environment rather than straight on.

Quick to run out of ammo, the slight double take as he stares at the gun before attempting to fire a subtle but whole detail that certainly adds a lot of personality in such a small movement.

It also serves as a transition for celebrity and radio caricatures, which Clampett would continue to use as a crutch for years to come. In this case, a caricature of Jerry Colonna, previously referenced in Bars and Stripes Forever. He would grow to be one of Warner’s most notorious cartoon celebrities, a number of cartoons dedicated exclusively to him, such as The Wacky Worm and Greetings Bait. Here, he outfits one of his most famous catchphrases for the demands of the cartoon: “Greetings, Gaaaate! Let’s scalp-utate!” 

More intriguing staging, this time with the Native’s silhouette projected along the wall as Porky backs away, calling for more ammunuh-nih-nuh-nih-ammunuh-nih-nih-nit-eh-eh-eh-bullets. The silhouette framing Porky makes him feel figuratively and literally smaller, a strong way to indicate the power imbalance.

Irony of Daffy being absent for the past 2 and a half minutes is not lost, but expounded upon. Instead of doing his duty as general, commanding his army with the bravado he was so eager to exude in the beginning segments of the cartoon, he’s been hiding in the sanctity of his Napoleon hat, sprinting into position only at the direction of Porky. As arbitrary as it may be to link the more sophisticated, mature Daffy of the present to the largely single-minded duck here, one can begin to spot trends that would carry on all throughout the Clampett duck’s career—making a point to boldly exude his machoism only to completely refute that when faced with a challenge and instead hide out as a coward is the entire plot of Clampett’s Draftee Daffy. No matter how early the signs may be, Daffy is continuing to develop into the more autonomous character we know and love today.

At the very least, Daffy makes himself useful, scrambling to grab more ammunition from the powder house, a protruding tongue flapping in the wind as a symbol of his daffiness. His screwball antics have been surprisingly minimal in this short—the tongue and crossed eyes serve as a reminder that more antics are on the horizon.

Such is realized through Daffy’s exit from the cabin; rather than going in and out the exit, he instead bowls the walls of the powder house down, marked succinctly by a playful bowling strike sound effect from Treg Brown. An attempt at perspective animation, particularly with the logs, aims to cement the nonconformity of the exit.

While the repeated run cycle of Daffy juggling the various ammunition begins to grow slightly monotonous, held out for just a second too long, it rightfully traps the audience into a false sense of security, snapping them out of the gliding rhythm once Daffy trips over a tree stump. He flops to a halt…

…as do the remainder of his projectiles. One grows to appreciate both Clampett’s direction and Treg Brown’s wizardry in terms of the sound effects—to pad the gruesomeness of the scenario as a whole, sound effects range in fantastical to borderline absurd, but to the benefit of the cartoon. For example, Daffy flopping to the ground is marked with a quack sound effect, and the bullets that pile into a funnel lodged in his mouth (and thusly into his cheeks) are conveyed through tinny, hollow pecking noises, much more whimsical than the very literal translation of sound effects during the same scene in Slightly Daffy. 

Daffy manifests his screwball roots not through a chorus of shrieks or cartwheels, but by swallowing the bullets that have lodged into his mouth. He cautiously feels around his body, unsure of the consequences…

A spit of a bullet that explodes on the ground informs him of all he needs to know.

Rather than using this to his advantage, Clampett continues to embrace Daffy’s “innocent” side, depicting him as rightfully panicked as he attempts to back away slowly from the unknown entity he’s fighting. 

That too backfires once he knocks into a pole; similar to the fish’s own violent explosions in Porky’s Five & Ten after swallowing a radio that’s currently broadcasting a show riddled with explosions and guns, Daffy is rendered into a gelatinous, exploding mess as bullets are projected out of his mouth without will, sending him into reckless, explosive cavorts.

Porky overhears the commotion and opts to use it to his advantage, his motions continuing to be caricatured as he does a rather rigid scramble take off-screen, attempting to exaggerate the urgency through simplicity.

Indeed, having Daffy unwillingly and forcefully vomit explosive projectiles is a much more intriguing and inventive maneuver than having him harness his newfound abilities. It further serves as a way for both Porky and Daffy to team up; thanks to some quick thinking, Porky grabs ahold of him and transforms him into a rifle. Treg Brown’s sound effects are certainly crucial to the gag and pay off immensely.

A heave of a giant cannonball sends a nearby Native sliding into a tree, head protruding from a knothole in the top. All things considered, Clampett’s energy, urgency, and timing are spot on, action and movements still clear in delivery in spite of the rapid pacing.

Elsewhere, while one Native gets his elongated torso blown out from a cannonball, a gag commonplace in the Bosko days, another man’s shield is quickly turned to resemble a headstone as he’s sent sliding through the ground, flowers and all. A pop of the head out from the soil with a signature Clampettian dopey expression indicate that it’s all in good fun, but do very little to alleviate the gruesomeness of the entire ordeal.

A quick splice of Porky and Daffy still going at it is used as an attempt to break up monotony, as well as segue to the next gag of the Natives fleeing from the battle, carving “YANKS BEAT INDIANS 11-3!” in the canyon side. Their heads poking out from the carving feels a little gratuitous, but thankfully marks the end of the battle. While difficult to see, one of the Natives appears to be a caricature of Bobe Cannon, identifiable by the round face and large glasses.

Back to a much more temperate and sentimental scene as Daffy heaves a smoke-ridden sigh of relief. Porky covering his face from the smog is admittedly a cute touch, a welcomed attempt to breathe some life into him outside of his stock (yet nevertheless appealing) open-mouthed grin.

“I’m sure glad that’s over with!” Daffy voices the thoughts of us all. 

An orchestral, rising fanfare as Daffy moseys along on his exhausted way lures the audience into a false sense of security, edging them to expect an iris crawling in from the corners at any second now. 

Instead, the fanfare is capped off when Daffy trips over a nearby rock, prompting a reprise of the previous events at a much more hectic, fast rate, working both as a summary of his role and as a direct refutation of his wishes.

Describing the cartoon as a "mixed bag" undermines the harm and offensiveness wrought by the stereotypes and content at hand, but it is undeniable that the execution and energy in this cartoon is particularly focused. Indeed, Porky and daffy rightfully earn their status as a dynamic duo, as the scenes where they're together are some of the strongest offered by the cartoon. Daffy in particular was a perfect vehicle for Clampett's sensibilities--in spite of who he's aiming at, converting Daffy into an automatic rifle firing real bullets that reap real consequences is a rather genius move.

Clampett's timing is also particularly sharp, seldom lapsing. The caricature in Porky's movements, particularly during his warnings to his fellow guards or the sequence where he's firing the cannon is strong, the rigidity of certain movements feeling very much like a conscious decision rather than the consequence of insufficient animation. Sequences such as the Native ingesting the "fire water" directly indicate that energetic motions could be just as smooth and rubbery as they are rigid and quick.

Nevertheless, in spite of that, the cartoon is still shockingly egregious. As has been mentioned before, a well executed gag or sequence does not and should not negate the racism nor harm wrought by said sequences. Showing Natives dying and making jokes about it, even if it is "just a cartoon", nevertheless feels malicious and deeply insulting no matter how playfully the gag is executed. Certain portions of the cartoon, particularly the middle half, also feel very cobbled together, the 1937 Friz Freleng Native designs not meshing well with the 1939 sensibilities of Bob Clampett. It's also exceedingly clear when Clampett is devoted to a certain joke (the "10 Little Indians" gag) versus when he was just phoning it in (the Native getting his torso blown out from a cannonball).

The energy is undeniable; Porky and Daffy's dynamic is consistently a fulfilling addition, and, speaking from a technological standpoint, there are a lot of very strong deliveries and aspects worthy of praise. Nevertheless, it isn't a cartoon to be recommended in good conscience; the gruesomeness and maliciousness is just too potent. 

As always, I will provide a link; do view with discretion.