Release Date: September 2nd, 1939
Series: Looney Tunes
Director: Bob Clampett
Story: Bob Clampett
Animation: Norm McCabe, John Carey
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Dizzy, Mr. Gouty, Bee), Phil Kramer (Cuckoo Bird), The Rhythmettes (Chorus)
After hitting highs such as Porky’s Picnic and Wise Quacks, Porky’s Hotel represents a shift in the Clampett unit. For one, it is considered the start of the 1939-1940 cartoon season for Warner Bros.
Though the ‘38-‘39 season showed signs of leveling out compared to the past handful of seasons, the ‘39-‘40 season feels considerably weaker for reasons that have been listed before; Tex Avery focused primarily on insipid spot-gag and travelogue shorts, Chuck Jones’ entries were hit or miss and still slow all around, Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton were Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton, and Clampett’s Porky shorts grew stagnant through burnout and an overall lack of inspiration. The latter habits materialize heartily in this particular effort.
With Porky at some of his most pedestrian (cast now as the plucky owner of a hotel), Clampett had to seek inspiration elsewhere. As such, Dizzy Duck from Hardaway and Dalton’s It’s an Ill Wind (and, by loose extension, the blabbermouth duck from Friz Freleng’s She Was an Acrobat’s Daughter) is employed as an obnoxious bystander who repeatedly heckles a crotchety old goat. Antics ensue between Dizzy’s heckling and Porky’s attempts to keep his customers satisfied.
Per Clampettian tradition, the cartoon opens to a series of establishing shots, this time in the residence of Doughnut Center (what a hole!). Carl Stalling’s cornpone medley of both “Chicken Reel” and “The Arkansas Traveler” plainly assert the rural, Podunk atmosphere. Likewise, Dick Thomas’ background paintings make for a consistent visual treat; the trees, shrubbery and fence in the foreground of the first establishing shot ties the aerial view of the town in a neat, quaint little frame.
An anticipatory, jazzy music climax ensures that grander antics are on the rise as the camera pans down from the banner to the street corner. Indeed, reflected in the score with three corresponding music stings, “PORKY PIG’S HOTEL” is emblazoned in signage through purposefully incongruous neon lighting.
Enter a new era for Clampett’s filmography; the saccharine song number era. Though he’s had his fill of song numbers in cartoons before (Porky’s Poppa, Porky’s Five & Ten, Polar Pals), they would soon dominate his filmography. Of the remaining 24 cartoons made in the Katz unit (that is, the black and white shorts), 14 of them would have a song number in one form or another. Typically sung by a female chorus, the song numbers can both be an avenue for fun gags and bits of personality as well as a clever way to pad the cartoon’s runtime.
The syrupy sweet chorus of “Honeymoon Hotel” here falls into the latter category. While it is admittedly catchy, it does feel very surface level; a majority of the visual accompaniment entails aimless sweeping from Porky. His overzealous entrance by repeatedly spinning around in a revolving door is an amusing highlight, as is the end of the song where he sweeps the dust underneath the sidewalk by picking it up like a rug, but overall it feels rather uninspired and at times asynchronous from the rhythm of the music.
Luckily, Clampett’s timing grows sharper with the next sequence. Flaunting the broom as though it were a bayonet (each transfer from pose to pose occurring in accordance to a military-esque drum line), he segues into a number by pretending to play “The Girl I Left Behind Me” with the broom as his fife. It’s nonsensical to an almost jarring degree, but sustains the whimsy and mischief that was absent in the song number.
Rigid timing, amusing poses (the brief but pompous expressions with his chin high and eyes closed is particularly fun) and dedication to the sequence from the animation, music, and directing all make it entertaining. It certainly isn’t riotously hilarious by any means, but the sincerity in which it is executed is refreshing. Knowing the owner of a hotel is playing with his broom like a toddler right outside said hotel feeds into the natural naïveté and spirit of Clampett’s Porky that makes him so charming. It’s the implication of the gag more than the action itself that makes it so entertaining.
Car honks from off-screen quickly detract from Porky’s playtime.
“Eh-gee-gee-gosh! An automobi-eh-beh-bee-bee-ehh—an automobi-eh-bih-bee-beeeah-eh-beh-bee-beah-beh… a car!”
Porky’s first line of dialogue sets a precedent for the remainder of the cartoon. In total, he has around 9 lines for the cartoon—his next declaration of “Mih-mih-meh-meh-mih-maybe it’s a customer!” is only one of two free from the bait-and-switch structure, a staunch indication of Clampett’s burnout and lack of inspiration with the character. Though the switcheroo sentence structure isn’t an indication of a lack of inspiration in itself, using it in such repeated succession and close concentration (as this cartoon does) does indicate that Clampett was desperately trying to find ways to get laughs from the audience.
Following Tex Avery’s philosophy, an oncoming limo hugs the corners of the street (the layout of the street itself flipped and cheated from the establishing shot to maintain clarity) and parks in front of the hotel, stretching into place. Politely amusing, its delivery is almost too matter of fact—the elasticity feels very weak, especially knowing that Clampett at this time was capable of more rubbery, kinetic animation.
“Oh eh-buh-bee-beh-boy! It is a cc-eh-ceh-eh-cee-eh-cc-cc-cust’meh-eh-muh-mih…”
As he did in cartoons such as Porky’s Picnic, Porky’s exuberance is conveyed as he literally drops himself mid-sentence to dart inside the hotel for a quick change of clothes. When he rushes back to his post (now donning a bellboy uniform), his “—muh-mih-ehh-mm-ehhh… a guest!” implies that he was continuing to stutter while making the change, another amusing implication. Though the switching sentence structure does unfortunately grow old when used in such rapid succession, the equally rapid timing of the gag bestows it a slightly stronger sense of purpose. That he is actually preoccupied with another action helps.
Clampett was a fan of funny walk cycles for Porky; those are also plentiful as he struts over to meet his visitor.
Said visitor is a crotchety old goat rife with Clampett’s design sense—namely the geometric, circular proportions and prominent ring around the eyes. The perspective of the characters is slightly discordant with the intricate, down-angle layout, Porky in particular appearing somewhat flat when he begins to talk, but the effort for such a composition is welcome. Clampett would refine the layout with similar staging in Porky’s Pooch, aided with the benefit of photographed backgrounds. As an interesting footnote, “SNAPPY RUBBER CO.” can very faintly be seen on the limo’s back tire, a potential callback to the company in Porky’s Tire Trouble of the same name.
Substituting donut with “cheesecake” when welcoming his guest to Doughnut Center feels like an obvious stretch—the audience likely wouldn’t have thought any less of Clampett or Porky had he not switched the words. Clampett’s attempts to get a rise out of the audience feel at times desperate, a possibly concession to his acknowledgement that the short itself doesn’t have much substance.
Regardless, the goat demands that he’s here to have some pe-e-e-e-e-e-e-eace and quiet; his own bleating speech patterns would soon be used as a further crutch.
With a dutiful salute, Porky offers to take his eh-buh-bee-bah-eh-bih-be-eh-ss-eh-suitceh-ehh-suit-ehh-teh-eh-trun-ehh-luggage, prompting another overzealous walk cycle towards the camera.
Not something that’s been a priority with his last handful of cartoons, Clampett returns to the realm of nonsensically dual-purpose objects as the limo door is revealed to be a ramp, chains on each side rendering it more as a drawbridge to allow the goat and his injured foot through. Interestingly, his wheelchair is motorized—the first practical electric wheelchair would not be invented until 1953.
Of course, even the wheelchair itself operates through Clampett’s own sensibilities; a close-up shot of the goat entering the hotel reveals that it is actually powered by a foot that kicks off the ground and repels the chair forward. Seeing as there is no story credit, hinting that Clampett storyboarded the short himself, quirks such as these certainly speak to his tastes and solidify the notion.
One of the more inspired bits of the cartoon also follows the same principle. Porky approaches an elevator to haul the goat’s luggage to his room—whirring sounds and the light of the elevator itself indicate that its arrival is imminent.
Thus, the door parts to instead reveal a staircase. As is always the case, zero acknowledgement from the characters nor filmmaking on the absurdity help sell the gag; no surprised reaction from Porky or ironic music sting from Stalling. A fade to black cements closure and a welcome confidence to the brief sequence.
Enter now the last of the major characters in the film—Dizzy Duck. Rechristened by Clampett as Gabby (for simplicity’s sake, seeing as there is already a Gabby Goat who is in no relation to the elderly goat here, we’ll continue to call him Dizzy), little has changed from his appearance in Hardaway and Dalton’s It’s an Ill Wind—including mannerisms.
Upon spotting the goat’s injured foot, Dizzy immediately launches into a breathless tirade about his “funny lookin’ foot”. Carl Stalling does a fine job reflecting the obnoxious spiel through his equally annoying yet plucky musical accompaniment of “Concert in the Park”, adding a certain urgency to Dizzy’s deliveries. Some lines of his are amusing (particularly asking “Do you have to keep it warm?”), whereas others are direct radio catchphrases—an “I beeeetcha” synonymous with Fibber McGee and Molly’s Sis character is interjected twice.
Mr. Goat is thoroughly (and rightfully) annoyed. As such, the camera cuts to a close-up shot of the two as he beckons Dizzy to come close—his wide eyed grin reeks of sadistic disingenuousness. Dizzy nevertheless obliges.
“BOO!” The gummy teeth on the goat serve as a primitive precursor to the sort of dentistry that would later dominate Clampett’s filmography with Rod Scribner in his unit.
Now, the camera cuts to a close-up of a wide eyed, tearful Dizzy…
“Why did you go ‘boo’ at me? I was only askin’ about the funny lookin’ foot of yours and all of a sudden you said ‘boo’ an’ scared me! I don’t understand why you said ‘boo’ like that at me. Nobody ever said ‘boo’ to me before an’ I was only askin’ about your funny lookin’ foot—“
Though the teardrop could stand to be held for just a second longer to truly strengthen the abrupt transition in mood, the transition is nevertheless successful, especially carried through the shift in Stalling’s drastically differing music scores. Dizzy’s blabbermouth antics continue to foreshadow the brief early ‘40s trend of breathlessly talkative and annoying characters—not only would Chuck Jones’ Sniffles be rebranded to such, but Friz Freleng himself manifested the entire shtick into his short lived Little Blabbermouse character.
A bee catches Dizzy’s attention in the midst of his raving. Not one, but two Clampettisms would be birthed from his following of the bee with his eyes; the gag of his eyes rotating 360° as he tracks the insect circling his head would be faithfully reprised in A Coy Decoy. Likewise, jamming two pupils together in one eye would be executed similarly to the wild take in Draftee Daffy where Daffy’s eyes would pop onto the other side of his head. Easily one of the highlights of this cartoon and just as easy to see why Clampett would reprise it.
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More radio catchphrase crutches are employed as the bee lands on Dizzy’s beak—after finishing a buzzing chorus to “Shave and a Haircut”, he reprises the wisdom of columnist Jimmie Fidler as he squeaks “and I do mean [buzz]!”
Reverberating beak takes were always a Clampett favorite as Dizzy smacks the bee on his face to no avail. Treg Brown’s ringing bell sound effects compliment the motion well.
In Clampett’s cartoons, little kids must always be accompanied by dangerous instruments. As such, Dizzy goes through little trouble in summoning a hammer from off-screen. That paired with the purposefully close proximity of the goat’s injured foot clue inevitable disaster.
Or not. Instead, Clampett fakes out the audience by having Dizzy chase the bee the opposite direction through the hotel in a rather glacial, leisurely pursuit; the energy appears to be conveyed more through the music score rather than the action itself, and even then the music feels juvenile rather than playfully exuberant.
A portrait of the story of John Smith claiming he was kidnapped and nearly executed by a Powhatan tribe and saved by Pocahontas (which has notoriously been contested, as he did not risk the threat of execution) is teased as the bee circles around it, indicating future involvement of the portrait.
Dizzy now begins hammering the floor in an attempt to smash the bee. Timing on Treg Brown’s sound effects of the hammer hiring the floor are particularly nice and refreshingly quick, but the act itself feels disappointingly mild; a few cracks or dents in the floor as Dizzy recklessly wields his weapon would have added some refreshing consequences to an otherwise mild and polite chase.
Yet another more inspired bit of the cartoon comes from a miniature of Alexandros of Anitoch’s Venus de Milo (who, if you’ll notice, was given a bra—likely Clampett’s facetious nod at the censors.) As the bee lands on her shoulder, the sculpture comes to life only to smack it with her foot. Another “no questions asked” execution of the gag deems it a success, especially given the appearance of the statue itself—forced to use her foot is much funnier and more engaging visually than another statue merely slapping or swatting away with its hands.
Likewise, Porky innocently bowling Dizzy over by smacking the door open in which the bee has landed on fares particularly well from its timing. Porky’s gleefully oblivious expression and possessing no desire to check if something is amiss is the type of personality that has been so painfully absent in this short yet. That Dizzy actually begins to swing at the bee as the door opens tightens the timing and makes the impact feel twice as harsh; the same can, again, be said for the joyously blank expression on Porky’s face.
With that in mind, the camera trucks into a flattened Dizzy melded into the wall. The bee buzzing freely in front of his face adds further insult to injury.
A cross dissolve to a new scene indicates both a passage of time and tone—the former aspect serves as the foundation for the sequence. Voiced by The Joe Penner Show alumnus Phil Kramer (perhaps better known as the emcee from Hamateur Night), a cuckoo bird prepares for his big role. Script in hand, tugging at his throat, he takes a deep inhale…
Sly, nasally drawls emanate from the bird’s mouth rather than the telltale cuckoo as he orates “As my father once said… quoooote…”
Mel Blanc briefly steps in to provide an ear shattering “CUCKOO!!!”
The cross eyed jump into the air is reminiscent of Clampett’s early outings with Daffy—the same “breakout” formula he described when dealing with screwball characters is executed here. To Clampett, it must have been a catharsis; the fleeting energy coincides with a fleeting moment of dedication from the filmmaker.
An Averyesque exit and entrance by the cuckoo again followed by Kramer’s pleasantly smarmy “Unnnnn-quote,” serve as an appropriate bookend. While the sequence does somewhat drag along beyond its intended tediousness, one can at least feel Clampett’s own amusement towards the gag. That isn’t something that can exactly be said for the remainder of the cartoon; thus, the self indulgence is welcome.
Back to Porky, who continues to tout more amusing walk cycles as he approaches the goat with a brusque, exuberant sense of duty. Through the entirety of the cartoon, Carl Stalling “Mickey Mouse”s the music score—footsteps in particular are given a heavier emphasis musically in this short than in others. It grows tiring in quick succession or thick concentration—this particular instance seems a more appropriate fit, as the urgency in which Porky moves works humorously well with the overbearing woodblock mimicking his footsteps.
Moreover, courtesy of Porky the goat’s name is revealed: Mr. Gouty. An almost cruel but certainly not inappropriate title given his condition.
Gouty is promised a smorgasbord or lunch specials, all of which are again executed through the bait-and-switch sentence structure; a finishing line of “…an’ nice eh-ce-eh-ceh-eh-coconut cehh-ceh-eh-cus-eh-cuh-eh-uh-ceh-eh-ceh-eh-coconut eh-ceh-ceh-eh-ehh-eh-ceh-ceh-cuh-uh-uh... awww, try our blue-plate,” does garner more points for Porky’s mildly disgruntled dismissal, as it seems more functional through his acknowledgment than the remainder of the switches.
Gouty accepts the blue-plate offer. Though the focus is more on the dialogue and writing rather than character acting, Porky’s animation has been rather repetitive and not an incredibly appealing example of the animator’s skill. His brightening up at Gouty’s decision thus comes as a welcome change; his wide-eyed stare works well with its purposefully blank sheen and seems purposeful rather than an artistic shortcoming.
Such is furthered through the promptness in which Porky rushes in the kitchen and back out with Gouty’s lunch, sustaining Clampett’s fondness for Porky’s jubilated exits and entrances. He certainly got quite a bit of mileage out of his walks and modes of transportation.
John Carey animates a well-sculpted close up of Porky delivering Gouty’s meal, solid perspective, arched eyebrows and relatively intricate hand acting all indications of his work. Clampett indulges in more goat bleating gags as Gouty heaves a contented “A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-hhhhh,” before indulging in his meal.
Though obvious in retrospect, Gouty dumping the contents of his meal onto the ground and consuming only the plate is at least somewhat spirited and indicative of Clampett’s sensibilities. Accompaniment of “Honeymoon Hotel” morphs from domestic to brazen and jazzy as a fitting commentary on the switch.
Having recovered from his ventures with Porky slamming the door in the face, Dizzy returns with a hammer in hand as he pursues the ever tantalizing bee. Clampett attempts to tease the inevitable as the bee lands on Gouty’s foot (who promptly shoos Dizzy away from him, keenly aware of the hammer); a very subtle attempt at build-up is made as Dizzy slightly winds up to hit, a drumroll score in the background hinting towards certain doom, but the movement is too slight and short to bring on much of a threat—especially seeing as the same chase from before continues with Dizzy directing his attention down the hallway.
Just kidding. To Clampett’s credit, Dizzy does retaliate by hitting Gouty on the foot (with the bee landing there at the last second), but both shifts—away from Gouty and back towards him—read as too slow and rehearsed to really garner the desired impact. Quite a bit of missed potential.
Reconciliation is somewhat delivered as Gouty swings his cane at Dizzy with the intent to harm; Dizzy’s blank smile as he swiftly dodges the swipes are reminiscent of Clampett’s previous escapades with cute, happy characters engaging in pure sadism.
That too is confirmed as Dizzy manages to grab Gouty’s cane and smack his foot with it for a brief moment before Gouty regains control. Though the impact of the foot being hit is mild at best, the timing and motivation behind it all (there is no bee in sight; Dizzy’s grin explains it all) render it salvageable and amusing.
Noted through a slower blink, thin sweat drop lines, slight smears in his hands and generally snappy animation as a whole, John Carey animates a close-up of Dizzy coming to his senses and fleeing the scene. When juxtaposed with the previous scene, it reads as somewhat jarring—his reaction is far greater than what Gouty’s actions truly garner (which is just grabbing the cane and staring at him), but any excuse for some John Carey animation is difficult to truly dismiss.
Thus spurs on another chase, this time between a duck and a goat. Thankfully, the chase is much more spirited in comparison to Dizzy’s attempts at pursuing the bee thanks to fast pans, mischievous music, and strategical fast cutting. While the animation doesn’t appear to explicitly be traced or reused, much of the staging feels reminiscent of The Daffy Doc’s climax; Dizzy’s run cycle and barricading of a door in particular evoke comparisons.
Overarching tone of the chase morphs from targeted to involuntary as Gouty mows the door down. With the two unable to stop, Clampett treats the audience with the resulting visual: Dizzy still pushing against the door, which is now stuck on Gouty’s foot thanks to the speed in which they’re flying at.
Attempts to exaggerate the speed are executed particularly through brush streaks in the background—clarity is given a heavier emphasis more than rapid momentum, which both comes as a positive and a detriment. For a sequence prioritizing frenetic movement and action, it comes as a hinderance, but for the purpose of acquainting the audience with a visual gag it comes as a plus.
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Filmmaking slowly grows more inspired as Clampett makes an abrupt cut back to a deliberately more quaint scene; Porky hauling an elderly pelican’s luggage.
Juvenile as Stalling’s music score feels at times (particularly the xylophone accompaniment of Porky’s footsteps), it again works for the demands of the scene; the pelican and Porky walk at varying intervals, but both line up with the beat of the music. Porky’s plucky footsteps and rigid, dutiful posture (the eyelashes on his facial expression are a great way at conveying polite pompousness—his smugness feels more as though he’s trying to take his role as a bellboy too seriously to prove himself, similar to Clampett’s philosophy with his early Daffy leaning all in to whatever roles he dominates) fit the equally dainty music, which, in turn, provides a solid contrast to the raucous chase with Gouty and Dizzy.
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Repeated cutting between Gouty and Porky both hint at and exaggerate the impending collision—both the difference between the music scores, the pacing, and general disposition of the neighboring sequences establish a solid rhythm and contrast united through parallel staging.
Indeed, the inevitable does occur, delivered through recycled animation from Porky & Daffy. Though Porky and the pelican narrowly avoided being mowed down by their visitors, the impact of the speed leaves the pelican in a tailspin, having to pull herself out of her own beak. Porky and her clothes are nowhere in sight.
That too is shortly rectified.
Quick, abrupt cuts between the impending end of a hallway and Gouty/Dizzy reflect a frantic energy so sorely missed in the remainder of the cartoon; even if the movement of the characters themselves sometimes feel slower for what the music, staging, and cinematography demand, the energy is carried in the aforementioned aspects. Gouty and Dizzy outrun the camera in order for the impact to occur offscreen—such a maneuver is not only an easy cheat, but inadvertently exaggerates the collision by leaving the motion up to the audience’s interpretation.
Revealed through a close-up animated again by John Carey, the cartoon comes to a close as the John Smith painting teased from before reveals its purpose—to harbor Dizzy and Gouty’s heads. Iris out on Dizzy promising he’ll be a good boy if Gouty doesn’t chop his head off.
Porky’s Hotel is an incredibly strong example of classic Clampett burnout. Though there are certain shorts that feel like Porky is the only one holding him back, using other side characters as a means of catharsis for honing in the screwball, wild comedy he loved so much, this short very much feels lacking with all characters and aspects.
Though not without their respective amusing moments, the cast feels incredibly surface level. Much of the humor from Porky is derived from his stutter—likewise with Dizzy’s motor mouthing. A handful of goat bleating gags seem to be leaned on as a crutch with Gouty as well.
Scenes that do have a lot of comedic potential to be great (such as Dizzy’s pursuit with the bee or attempts to hit Gouty with the hammer) instead falter and feel repetitive, forced. Very few scenes feel genuine or inspired, and the pacing at times feels orchestrated in a way that is restrictive and dull rather than carefully calculated.
Moreover, though the cartoon is at times meant to be purposefully annoying, Carl Stalling’s music score possesses a juvenile quality that seems detrimental and annoying rather than playful and mischievous—very repetitive and by the books. Much of that can likely be owed to Clampett’s general lack of inspiration with the cartoon, with that seeping into his musical preferences. In all, the short feels slow and annoying, and not in a way where the obnoxiousness is particularly endearing.
Even then, there are some highlights. The Venus de Milo gag is one of the best in the cartoon, and Clampett clearly liked the sequence with Dizzy’s eyes spinning in his head enough to use it for future cartoons. Certain bits of timing, such as Porky slamming Dizzy into the wall with the door or the repeated cutting between Gouty/Dizzy and Porky/the pelican, are sharp and make for a satisfying payoff.
As a whole, however, it wouldn’t exactly be a stretch to say that this is Clampett’s weakest effort yet—though Chicken Jitters has its own plethora of weakness, it still possesses a politely playful and endearing quality with intriguing camera angles and staging that is absent in this cartoon. It grows difficult to fault Clampett for the burnout, as it’s difficult to recover from and something every cartoonist and filmmaker or artist is bound to hit (just look at Tex Avery), but the disappointment and staggering mediocrity of the cartoon as a whole speaks for itself.
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