248. Old Glory (1939)

Release Date: July 1st, 1939

Series: Merrie Melodies

Director: Chuck Jones

Animation: Bob McKimson

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling

Starring: John Deering (Uncle Sam), Mel Blanc (Porky), Tedd Pierce (Paul Revere), John Litel (Patrick Henry), The Sportsmen Quartet (Chorus)

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On March 21st, 1939, Leon Schlesinger announced to The Film Daily that Old Glory was currently in production, a Technicolor one-reel Porky Pig cartoon supervised by Chuck Jones. On May 29th, it was announced that musical scoring was underway, arranged by Carl Stalling and orchestrated by Milt Franklyn and a 50-piece Vitaphone Symphony orchestra. It was also revealed that John Deering would be lending his voice to the film, renowned for his voice-over work in the film industry. June 1st marked the completion of the film, touting a July 1st release date "for Independence Day bookings."

With war on the rise, Warner Bros was cashing in on their share of patriotism through live action films. Warner Bros cartoons followed suit. Either mandated by one of the Warner heads or Leon Schlesinger himself, the push for publicity in the production of Old Glory rightfully garnered a lot of buzz, an attempt to prove that this wasn't just an average Merrie Melody. 

In fact, it was seen as such a grand outing that the short itself premiered at the prestigious Carthay Circle Theatre, rather than the Warner Bros. Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. To put it in perspective, the Carthay was also where films such as Snow White, Gone With the Wind, and Fantasia opened. Furthermore, ink and painter Martha Sigall recounts the studio buying new cels just for the cartoon (as opposed to reusing previously washed cels), and historian Jerry Beck claims 150 film prints were made, as opposed to the usual 50 and change. 

An anomaly in that it is a purposefully humorless short dedicated to Uncle Sam recounting American history to a young Porky Pig, the Disneyesque sensibilities that the studio has been chasing to mimic for years reaches its zenith through meticulously sculpted animation. Martha Sigall again reminisced on the animation quality, noting all of the various shadows and highlights in the coloring largely unique to this cartoon alone. Though much of the short is rotoscoped, tracing over films such as Give Me Liberty or Declaration of Independence, the cartoon is yet again another powerhouse for Bob McKimson's inconceivable abilities as an animator. McKimson worked on the scenes of Uncle Sam, all of which aren't rotoscoped, but pure flesh and blood animation from McKimson himself. As will be explored shortly, much of the praise received by critics upon its release isn't entirely baseless.

It’s only logical that a cartoon by the name of Old Glory open on a shot of its namesake. As the flag waves in a comparatively intricate, solidly constructed cycle, Martha Sigall’s account of the inking its intricacies come to mind, remarking on the difficulties of keeping all 48 stars and the flag’s stripes consistent. 

To indicate that the flag waving isn’t aimless visual grandstanding, the camera trucks out, leading into a long pan down the flagpole. Before the camera can even finish or dissolve onto a different subject, a familiar stutter is heard off-screen: “I eh-peh-peh-pledge allegiance to the-thehhh-thehhh flag…”

Truck-in and dissolve to Porky in his second in-color appearance since his debut in 1935 and his first time in three-strip Technicolor, reading a book on American history near the flag. Though he’s been seen sporting his iconic jacket and tie since 1937’s Porky’s Badtime Story, his decidedly patriotic color scheme does beg the question: is Porky’s default jacket color being blue a result of the patriotism in this cartoon? Would he have sported a different color had his first Technicolor appearance not been constructed under such special circumstances, or was it purely coincidental? Surely blue wasn’t decided as his color purely for its patriotic representation here, but one wonders how much the ramifications brought on by this short specifically played a part in his appearance later on. 

Much more notable than jacket colors, however, is his age, once again cast as an innocent schoolboy. Seeing as it was his initial role in his first cartoon, with a smattering of cartoons casting him as a youth to follow, it isn’t a surprising decision—especially given the exposition of the short—but it does seem a bit more amusing than the casting comes after a rather predominant string of cartoons casting him as a young adult. His age fluctuated much more wildly in the first year or two, but has slowly grown consistent as he rose to stardom and his character continued to be fleshed out.

Subtle tilts of the head and flicks of the eyebrows instantly revealing McKimson’s masterful hand as an animator, Chuck Jones’ own drawing style is noticeable in Porky’s design. It’s mainly concentrated in the rounded snout and black, round nostrils, correlating with Jones’ animation of Porky under Tex Avery’s direction. 

Here, Porky grows impatient, struggling to recite the pledge of allegiance without stuttering. A shot of the allegiance in the book from Porky’s point of view reminds audiences that the “under God” had 15 more years before it was included in the recitation per the wishes of Dwight Eisenhower. 

“Ohh, gosh.” Signature McKimson head tilts are in full force, accentuated through the subtle flicks of Porky’s baseball hat as he grows exceedingly impatient. “I eh-duh-dee-don’t see why I hafta eh-luh-leh-learn the old ‘eh-peh-pledge allegiance’ anyhow.”

As is typical per McKimson’s handiwork, Porky discarding his textbook is wonderfully intricate, the flow of the motion yet again strengthened through the follow through of Porky’s cap as it settles back on his head after the impact. Likewise, the beat afterwards he spends glowering at the abandoned book off-screen both ensures the action read clearly and attempts to politely stress Porky’s endearing stubbornness. 

It works well for the demands of the plot (or the establishment of), but it is interesting to note a rather deliberate mention of Porky growing annoyed with his stutter. Any frustration with his stuttering was typically for the sake of a gag (his “Oh, skip it!” when struggling to join in Porky’s Poppa’s song number comes to mind), but was very seldom regarded as an outward struggle. Blanc’s natural flow and delivery—depending on who’s voice directing—often made the impediment sound like a slight nuisance rather than a strenuous obstacle.

When in doubt, sleep it off. Porky settles down for a nap, muttering about how he doesn’t get why he has to learn the “pledge allegiance”—Jones’ inclusion of Porky’s mispronunciation does successfully further the childlike illusion and, in turn, make him read as more cute and endearing.

Porky dozing off serves as an excuse to pan right to the goods. At the discarded book fades in a figure identifiable immediately from his disembodied, striped pants. A slow vertical pan upwards sustains the theatrics, Carl Stalling’s triumphant accompaniment of “The Battle Cry of Freedom” reaching its climax upon the reveal of Uncle Sam contentedly observing Porky, cymbals and brass flourishes painting a lush, illustrative picture of Sammy’s grandeur. 

Continuously shot through double exposure (the usual flickering and minor technical gaffes remarkably—but not surprisingly—absent), the transparency of his figure furthers his ethereal fantasticality, as well as providing adequate means for the crew to show off their technological prowess. An opaque image would still be striking, but wouldn’t achieve the otherworldly quality intended by the reveal. 

Bob McKimson’s character animation of Uncle Sam admittedly reads as uncanny at times, but is much more astounding and breathtaking when realizing there was no rotoscoping to be found. As a result, Sam’s movements feel much more lifelike, solid, and confident than any mimicry of the above qualities attempted through rotoscoping. His puffed chest as he takes off-screen strides convey confidence, feeling much more imposing with his legs obscured and thusly making him feel taller. For what Jones and company were trying to pull off, they certainly succeeded in through the introduction.

Likewise, the staging of Sam crouching next to Porky preserves his imposing height as well as rendering him clear and easy to read. The height difference is very clear, and it doesn’t feel as though he’s struggling to fit into frame.

“You don’t know why you should learn the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag?” Deering’s suave, rich vocals are a perfect match for the comfort (and slight superiority) intended in Sam’s character. Casting a regular such as Mel Blanc, for all of his talent, would likely sever the credibility, so to speak—Deering was known for his velvet vocals, and his deliveries feel right at home. Comedy is not the cartoon’s intention, and Blanc’s comic background would likely have served as a hinderance. His cadence is—for lack of a better word—cartoony by nature, which is antithetical to this short’s mission.

McKimson’s intricacy pays dividends in both Sam and Porky as Sam grabs Porky by the hand and summons his conscience, milking the acting opportunities that a more youthful Porky brings to the table. His soft, cute, pudgy looks are a warm contrast to Sam’s own rigid, sculpted detailing, but not enough to be jarring. 

What varies in design is made up in gorgeously realistic movement as Porky toddles alongside Uncle Sam. McKimson’s unadulterated skill eases the saccharinity, making it more bearable purely through his incomparable abilities. 

Porky’s steps are slow, gradual at first, weaving in and out of his own footsteps and sparing subtle glances at his feet as a child would. Likewise, his gallop as he gets up to speed strikes a succinct balance between playfully youthful and out of necessity, struggling to maintain Sam’s gait. Constant glances up at his peer and a momentary loss of his hat solidify Porky’s endearing vulnerability.

Pacing of the camera is crucial to the success of the sequence—the camera mimics both Sam and Porky’s steps, deliberately gliding past Porky at times to show that he’s falling behind, reaching a momentary stop only when Sam grabs a translucent copy of the US History book before continuing on with their trek. 

Subtle details such as Porky’s jacket flapping with the motion, his outstretched hand aimlessly grabbing at nothing to cement a stronger than usual sense of naïveté, and the inquisitive yet attentive blink upon Sam’s retrieval of the book all go a long way to successfully breathe life into Porky through such deceptively menial details. 

As much as the translucency adds to the otherworldliness of both Porky and especially Uncle Sam, it would likely grow to be a distraction as the cartoon stretched on. As such, more technological finesse is executed as Sam and Porky dissolve to full opacity with seldom a hiccup as they settle down to read, Sam pulling Porky into his lap. Martha Sigall’s note about the excess shading becomes particularly clear in the wrinkles of Porky’s clothes when Sam holds him.

Courtesy of some staggeringly realistic head tilts and dialogue shots from McKimson, Sam begins to lay out his abridged version of American history. Needless to say, there are a lot of gaps and “certain topics” glossed over more quickly than the rest, attempting to paint a smooth history. Though it is important to acknowledge the Hollywoodization and glamorization of said history, the technological aspects will be given a heavier descriptive priority rather than the convenient shortcomings and revisionism. Not that the subject matter wasn't tackled nor realized back then, but given what we know from the cartoon thus far, chances of Uncle Sam detailing mass colonization, genocide, and oppression to a child seem slim.

A shot of the book’s inside showing a map of the U.S. serves to break monotony from stagnant staging. Labeling each state seeks to maintain visual interest, heavy emphasis placed on the U.S. and U.S. alone as Mexico and Canada are colored as opaque, yellow blobs.

Likewise, Porky is given more emphasis himself upon Uncle Sam’s asking of whether he knows the meaning of “the land of the free”. A close-up of him furiously shaking his head no veers on uncanny, prominent eyelashes and bulbous cheeks distracting and almost reading as parody. Too strong of an attempt to be cute has a tendency to feel disingenuous, even though the earnest in the filmmaking is very much felt. Uncle Sam himself is comparatively less uncanny, one appreciating the detail of the shadows and contours on his face.

At the very least, the movement feels more naturalistic in the wide shots, less glacial as Sam concedes Porky isn’t alone—“but these people did!” Each head tilt, especially those from Porky so as to keep him feeling alive, moving, breathing and not a wooden prop only there to listen, rightfully adds a lot of life without feeling excessive or gratuitous. 

“These people”, as it turns out, are the colonists, the 13 colonies yet again highlighted an opaque green for the sake of clarity. It works well, allowing the audience to digest the information without being overwhelmed from extraneous, busy details on the book’s map. 

In describing the colonists and their pursuit of freedom, narration shifts from speech to typography as various hurdles are broadcasted on the screen through grandstanding titles. A live action influence feels particularly potent in the grandiosity of the zooming phrases. Carl Stalling’s brash orchestration reaches a climax upon the multiple stresses of “INJUSTICE”, double exposed dissolves flaunted once more as the words fade into the other, leaving a visual trail.

With that, a transition is made to the rotoscoped portion, sans narration. In this case, Henry Litel’s speech as Patrick Henry in the 1936 short film Give Me Liberty is the target. To have Bob McKimson animate by himself at a consistently high caliber in such a short amount of time would be a monumental and unrealistic undertaking, but there is a certain irony knowing that the traced animation of live action footage feels more artificial than McKimson’s own animation of Uncle Sam. Much of the rotoscoping has an unintentional flickering effect, feeling floaty and often formless, less anchored, which can come as a distraction at times. 

Nevertheless, theatrics must persist, and a double exposed cannon firing over a still shot of Henry’s face—furthering the uncanniness—clues yet another shift in focus. A cloud of smoke from the cannon serves as a subtle transition to the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, silhouetted against the night sky. The reflection of the buildings and night sky in the water makes for a particularly striking effect, brush strokes smooth and natural. 

Likewise, the musical accompaniment of Mendelssohn’s Athalia Overture is determined, bold, and a strong aid to the action on screen. With each “To arms!” from Revere, the horn section mimics his cries with a brief two note response. Though the rotoscoping here fares well, particularly on the horse, the music is what ties the sequence together.

Shots of the civilians waking up and flocking in the streets aren’t as grounded as the animation of Revere, at times feeling crude and weightless (particularly on a shot of a man floating idly in the doorway.) Revere himself is aided through intricate perspective animation and inventive camera angles that rival Frank Tashlin’s staging artistry—an up shot of Revere on his horse yelling “To arms!” and a vertical down shot are both of particular interest, even if the perspective in the latter instance falters through inadequate foreshortening. Revere looks as though his head swells in size rather than being an act of reaching towards the camera. 

Nevertheless, crude as some of the animation can be, the perspective remains striking all the way through, diagonal angles conveying motion and a sense of alarm. An up shot of two men peering from their windows, the pan at a dizzying diagonal angle, is yet again of interest.

One of the more peculiar shots and failed attempts at rotoscoping comes from another up shot of Revere riding his horse through the night; the inking of Revere’s features is particularly thick, opaque, and black, almost rendering him as something out of a comic book misprint rather than an attempt at realism. Likewise, the horse reads as particularly unnerving through accidental eye contact at the viewer and the smooth, streamlined, cheated teeth reading as white masses rather than a body part. Tracking the above menial details is understandably a massive undertaking, especially for a scene so short and movement so prominent, but it looks sloppy compared to McKimson’s animation of Uncle Sam. Again falls the vice of Bob McKimson—he was a very valuable asset to furthering Jones’ quest for Disneyesque quality, but he makes the remaining animators (save for maybe Ken Harris) look amateurish in comparison.

Thankfully, a string of shots showing the various townspeople grabbing their weapons and running through the streets fares much better, particularly through the perspective shots of the civilians running to and away from the camera. Close-up shots appear to fare the poorest (not counting the reuse of the uncanny Revere and his horse) in comparison, feeling as though they’re gliding across the screen and not cemented through any solid movement.

Jones continues to grow innovative in his transitions as one townsperson walking straight into the camera is used as a bridge to daytime. A musical transition from Athalia Overture to a fife and drum march of Yankee Doodle is slightly bumpy, no single note bringing the two together, but the shift in tone is nevertheless clear as disembodied footsteps march on, the music growing in a crescendo as more people join the march. Jones follows Tex Avery’s footsteps by using lighter colors and outlines for the men in the back, creating stronger depth and a visual hierarchy without cluttering or making the scene unfocused. 

A transition to a judge banging his gavel in time with the music—stilted as the perspective may be, props and foreground elements not harmonizing with the background angle—is much more coherent, both visually and musically. 

The Declaration of Independence’s signing is elevated in grandeur through displaying John Hancock writing his signature right on screen, preceded by a brief pan of the Declaration itself. Yet another superimposed shot of a cannon firing in celebration, smoke yet again providing a bridge between scenes, indicates its importance.

Enter a physical manifestation of Archibald Willard’s Spirit of ‘76 painting (sans flag and accompanying members), the fife and drum score of “The Girl I Left Behind Me” growing into a lush, full symphonic orchestration as the figures march into the foreground. Yet again, their double exposed figures indicate their ethereal presence, a dissolve to liberty bells ringing in the background completing their metaphorical manifestation rather than indicating a true flesh-and-blood presence.

Hollywoodisms are embraced following a dissolve to the Constitution, varies articles spinning into frame and manifesting overtop the rolling vertical pan of the document itself. Cheesy, sure, but the animation of the phrases spinning themselves is inarguably executed well, dry brush mimicking a motion blur and impact heightened through musical flourishes. 

With the reveal of George Washington signing the document, the music grows more reverential, muted compared to the violently patriotic explosions of brass and percussion beforehand. Washington’s animation is thankfully solid and confident, as though they understood the weightlessness riddling the rotoscoping wouldn’t cut it for such a grand reveal.

On the topic of solid animation, Uncle Sam makes a return as the camera trucks out from the current page of the book, Deering’s narration heard offscreen as he tells Porky the significance of the Constitution’s signing. Respect for McKimson’s artistic ability trumps any uncanniness on Sam’s part.

Jointly, though Porky’s eyelashes and the new addition of rouged cheeks still seem like a desperate attempt to be cute rather than allowing Porky’s natural charm to show for itself, the animation of him blinking as he asks “Thuh-thee-thee-eh-then what happened?” is inarguably solid.

Uncle Sam then describes the “vast movement to the West”, his narration coinciding with the silhouettes projected on the screen. As more land is conquered, more states begin to dissolve onto the map. The Sportsmen Quartet lend their vocals to a few snatches of “Oh, Susanna!” upon the visual of a covered wagon indicating the settling of the Midwest; a lone puppy galloping behind is indeed yet another marker of Jones’ involvement, feeling very on brand for the cutesy antics dominating his early years. 

The only part where the animation involved with Uncle Sam falters is due to an odd cut of him closing the textbook—the opaque, blue color card background makes his torso look large, square, and formless. Or, if it isn’t his torso at all, but a chance to be artsy, the confusion in its delivery certainly point for the audience to assume the former. Likewise, the succeeding shot of Sam and Porky conversing seems to jump as a result thanks to a lack of hook-up poses—even just showing Sam moving his arm to indicate movement involved with putting the book away would ease the momentum. 

With that said, focus is much more on Sam turning his head to look at something off screen rather than his preoccupation with a book. Porky’s slight take before he himself turns his head is pure McKimson, the brief inclusion of a neck rendering him somewhat similar to McKimson’s animation of Sniffles in Naughty but Mice. Similar head and eye shape further the comparison.

The “great American” referred to by Uncle Sam is revealed to be Abraham Lincoln, immortalized as a bronze statue while Deering’s narration touches on Lincoln’s accomplishments. Yet again, the painting of the statue itself is masterful—colorful, with brushstrokes clear, but not nearly enough to be distracting or abstract. The multiple hues and highlights on Lincoln’s face is particularly impressive, the clouds in the sky providing an adequate frame behind to ensure the audience’s eyes focus on him.

With that, a fade to black and back in puts an end to the dream sequence as Porky awakens. Stalling’s muted accompaniment of “Yankee Doodle” grows more playful and spirited once Porky springs to his feet, orchestrations mimicking the jauntiness of his footsteps as he tinkers over to retrieve his book. Slight distortions and smears, particularly when he picks himself off his feet and launches into a saluting stance after reading a few sentences of his book, possibly indicate this as Ken Harris’ handiwork. The movement compared to McKimson’s earlier scenes of Porky walking with Uncle Sam is certainly different, less elaborate, but the demands of the two scenes vary. 

Cue a sequence that got plenty of amusements out of the patrons of The Filmore music venue in the ‘60s, played frequently between rock acts due to the irony of a pig (slang for cops for those unaware) saluting an American flag. With minimal stuttering, Porky fully recites the Pledge of Allegiance as the cartoon ends how it started—a long pan of the flagpole, this time trucking into the image of the flag waving in the wind.

Rather than the typical “That’s all, folks!” moniker scrawled in cursive or even the concentric ring closing, a less colloquial “The End” is superimposed on top of the American flag in conjunction with the Merrie Melodies signature.

Old Glory is, if nothing else, both a fascinating experiment and anomaly in its own rite. Casting Chuck Jones, the director who adhered to the Disneyesque philosophy the most and had the team capable of living up to such a daunting task (largely thanks to Bob McKimson and Ken Harris, two of the studio's strongest animators), as well as Porky, whose engrained earnest made him a prime candidate for the sentimentality necessary for the cartoon's demands--casting someone such as Daffy would be seen as sacrilege--are both very meticulous but well-thought out decisions that benefit the cartoon as a whole.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say that the history and legacy of the cartoon is more fascinating than the short itself. According to Martha Sigall, the short was produced during a heatwave so strong that the crew could only work on it at night, when the temperature was cooler. 

Politics aside, Old Glory is certainly deserving of praise in what it excels at. It's a wonderful example of just how strong and valuable Bob McKimson was as an animator--he would soon be promoted to head animator of the studio, ensuring characters looked consistent throughout various scenes and maintaining quality control. This short playing a role in such a decision doesn't seem unlikely--the looks of Porky and Uncle Sam may vary, and at times feel unnerving, but they were both united by very solid, firm, and lifelike motion brought out through the littlest subtleties. Likewise, Carl Stalling, Milt Franklyn, and the Vitaphone Symphony orchestra did a wonderful job bringing the short to life through vibrant orchestrations and accompaniment that both informed and pushed the animation. Unconventional layouts and intricate scene composition rightfully accentuated the short's theatrics.

However, no matter how one may cut it, it's boring. It's a boring cartoon that feels exactly like it is: a patronizing 9 minute history lesson. Monotony is alleviated through the qualities listed above, but is also accentuated primarily through the rotoscoping, whose occasional crudeness feels distracting and detractive from the short's intentions. Understandably so--rotoscoping has been present in the Warner shorts throughout most of its lifespan, but has never been used so heavily nor with such a large emphasis. The stakes are particularly high here, and, especially when compared to McKimson's animation, lapses are much more noticeable.

Looney Tunes is not the appropriate vessel for shorts of this kind. There was a point in time where Leon Schlesinger and company could only dream of reaching the Disneyesque heights that they do here. Therefore, their pride and instinct to celebrate was justified, especially when met with warm reviews. However, their cartoon identity was finally forming, making a reputation for their irreverent, brash humor. While still distant from reaching their stride, the moves made to separate themselves from Disney, starting with Tex Avery's arrival in 1935 and furthered through its unconventional cast of characters has been vast. The 1939 season is, admittedly, a drop in quality compared to the heights hit in the 1937 and 1938 shorts, but the Warner identity nevertheless persisted, and attempts to be funnier and faster were still made. 

Thus, this short sticks out like a sore thumb. It has been proven before--and will continue to be proven again--that the best cartoons in the Warner Bros repertoire are the ones that purposefully disregard the Disney philosophy. The best shorts are the ones that embrace their irreverence, their eccentricity. It's why shorts such as Porky's Duck Hunt, Porky in Wackyland, or Thugs with Dirty Mugs are so wholly celebrated by fans and historians alike and not Old Glory.

As mentioned previously, Porky's casting is the sensible choice. He was a well-known animated figure loved for his sincerity, but still eccentric and funny enough to blend in with the remaining cast of characters. Adaptable, he fits well in both funny and more earnest roles, such as here. It proves difficult to fault Jones on his interpretation, especially considering his only experience with the character beforehand was animation under Tex Avery and later Bob Clampett's vision, not his own. The push to secure Porky as cute, innocent, and impressionable, however, is so strong that it instead feels cloying and unnatural. McKimson's earlier scenes with Porky struggling to recite the Pledge are a strong example of naturalistic cuteness, his appeal derived purely from his own charisma. Shiny, bulbous cheeks and enormous eyelashes feel like an approximation of cute rather than a manifestation. A vast majority of Bob Clampett's Porky cartoons serve as a wonderful example of naturally cute, endearing charm without feeling forced or insulting. Jones here just comes off as a little too strong.

Nevertheless, Old Glory is an inarguably fascinating enigma whose history, legacy, and production constitutes a watch in itself. It isn't necessarily a bad cartoon, and excels at its strong points. Yet, it is so wholly antithetical to what these cartoons represent, even as early as 1939, that it's pretty difficult not to view with a discerning or critical eye. The cartoon certainly earns a reputation for itself, though not exactly for the reasons that may be desired.