Disclaimer: This review entails racist stereotypes, content and images. While presented for historical and informational context, such depictions are not condoned; I wholeheartedly encourage you to speak up should I say something that is insensitive or ignorant--it is never my intent, and I would like to take accountability should that occur. Thank you.
Release Date: September 9th, 1939
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Ben Hardaway, Cal Dalton
Story: Tubby Millar
Animation: Herman Cohen
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Chief, J.Q. Drizzlepuss, Kids, Worm), Danny Webb (Turtle), Bob Purcell (Narrator), Reid Kilpatrick (Salesman), The Sportsmen Quartet (Chorus), Thurl Ravenscroft (Bass)
(You may view the cartoon for yourself here.)
Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton were no strangers to seeking inspiration from their coworkers. As has been mentioned before, gags, storylines and certain bits of dialogue in their cartoons have been cribbed from previous shorts by the other directors. Borrowing ideas from each other and expanding upon them was certainly no taboo—it’s how many of the studio’s iconic characters developed and grew to stardom.
Rarely, however, have the directors cribbed whole cartoons from each other. Certain directors (particularly Bob Clampett and Friz Freleng) would borrow from themselves and remake their own shorts outfitted with different characters. Likewise, Freleng has remade a handful of Clampett’s cartoons himself (Slightly Daffy from Scalp Trouble, Dough for the Do-Do from Porky in Wackyland), but in a way that still keeps the original cartoons intact. If anything, they feel like “upscales” (even if—from a purely personal and opinionated standpoint—the originals seem to fare better) rather than stealing. Hardaway and Dalton prove to be an exception.
“Stealing” is a harsh phrase, and by all accounts Tex Avery could have been completely fine with it, but this cartoon owes its existence to Avery’s Porky the Rain-Maker from 1936. Much of the dialogue, gags, staging and animation—as well as the story as a whole—are direct grabs from the aforementioned short. Instead of Porky fetching a box of assorted weather pills to appease the drought and increase farm production from his father’s striking animals, the short here takes place on a Native American reservation, where a rainmaker must find a way to work his magic or risk execution from the chief.
Considering it’s still so early on in the filmography, we have yet to stumble into any direct “remakes”. Providing my memory is accurate, this is the first one. As such, the discussion will prioritize the differences and technical aspects between the two shorts rather than an entire summary in addition. You can find the analysis of Porky the Rain-Maker here as a means of familiarization—or, better yet, watch the actual cartoon for yourself here (or on HBO Max for those who have it.)
Both cartoons open with the aid of a narrator stressing the perils of a drought ravaging their respective settings. Here, said drought has hit a reservation in Hangnail, Oklahoma—Bob Purcell’s narration is much more straightforward and less tongue-in-cheek than Tedd Pierce’s in Rain-Maker (for example, when an apple tree dries to a crisp, a purposefully discordant chorus sing a halfhearted chorus of “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree” as spurred on by Pierce’s orations), as is the filmmaking as a whole. To depict the before and after of the drought, the camera merely cross dissolves between a grassy hillside and the now same, scorched hillside.
Whereas Rain-Maker focused exclusively on gags entailing certain crops drying up (such as eggplants cracking open like real eggs and frying on the ground), Hardaway and Dalton make use of their surroundings; mercury in a nearby thermometer comes to a boil, carvings on a totem pole fan themselves (inaccuracies duly noted seeing as totem poles are typically specific to Indigenous peoples in the Pacific Northwest, not the Midwest), and a mount of a moose inside a tipi pants from the heat.
However, certain crop gags are either reused or given a fresh coat of paint. Instead of shriveling up, stalks of corn produce popcorn, a watermelon deflates rather than showcasing boiling water inside the melon, and a worm screams “HEEEEEEEEELP!” in addition to apples on a tree drying up.
While it almost does come genuinely surprising that the popcorn gag wasn’t included in Avery’s cartoon, reusing the same boiling water gag with the watermelon would almost be more excusable than just having it deflate—likewise, a Mel Blanc scream is always funny, but its usage with the worm does slightly feel excessive and discordant from the action at hand.
Indigenous stereotypes, caricatures, and gags are employed heartily all throughout the cartoon—the first being one where the chief removes his headdress and reveals it to be a wig as he wipes sweat off of his bald head.
Nevertheless, Hardaway and Dalton don’t opt to stray from the source material for long; a line of striking animals is yet another direct reuse from Rain-Maker—while the “NO FEED — NO EGGS!” sign is recycled verbatim, the joke is further exacerbated to include the age old “chicken or the egg” question. Excessive as it may seem, it is slightly clever.
A pig touting a “NO CORN — NO HAM” sign teeters more on the darker side of things, and a buffalo ominously declares “NO HAY NO BUFFALO, NO BUFFALO NO CHIEFIE!” as a way to shoehorn more Indigenous stereotypes and gags.
Worth noting is a swastika on one of the tipis, mostly a symbol used by southwestern tribes (such as the Hopi or the Navajo). Though its representation differs between tribes, it was generally associated with good luck and well-being before its appropriation by the Nazis.
Porky the Rain-Maker entailed Porky’s father instructing him to spend their last dollar and buy some feed for the animals to help cope with the drought. Instead, Porky gets distracted by a snake-oil salesman hawking rain and assorted weather pills and spends the money on them, much to his father’s momentary displeasure before discovering their use. Here, however, the chief instead speaks to the tribe’s rainmaker himself—Hardawayesque naming conventions are in full swing as we meet one J.Q. Drizzlepuss (sprinkling systems installed.)
Through stereotypically broken English, the chief demands that Drizzlepuss do his stuff or face execution.
Perhaps one of the most interesting aspects of the cartoon (outside of it being a direct ripoff of Porky the Rain-Maker) is Drizzlepuss’ voice—he is one of many Blanc-voiced characters to have a prototype Marvin the Martian voice. Though the vocal direction in this cartoon (like most Hardaway/Dalton efforts) isn’t all that great, the historical significance of such a voice—regardless of how often it’s used—will never not be a novelty.
Drizzlepuss promises the chief that he’ll make it rain before he can bat an eye. While that would be fine in itself, Hardaway continues to possess an inability for self control and has the chief blink one, large blink before reaching his hand out to feel the rain. Its overall delivery and lack of endearing characters make the gag feel excessive and forced rather than a natural footnote.
Thus segues into another aspect of the cartoon missing from its predecessor: a song number. Much like the song in Hare-um Scare-um, the melody seems to serve more as a means of self indulgence and a showcase of every bad Hardawayian habit possible. Unlike Hare-um Scare-um, the number doesn’t have the benefit of being catchy to an almost infuriating degree. Instead, it is only obnoxious.
Structured as a rain dance, Drizzlepuss interjects loud, aggressive, incomprehensible jowl waggling after every chorus right in the audience’s face—it is as annoying as it sounds. Likewise, Hardawayisms are particularly concentrated during a brief segment of various singers feeding each other lines. One man declares “We don’t want no fog”, another “We don’t want no dew”, “We don’t want no ice,”…
“We don’t want no snew!”
The camera moving to blankness before panning down to the diminutive source is fine in itself, and in fact a fine way to accent the purposeful awkwardness of the gag. The “Uh, er, uh—snow!”, coy blinks, and generally self aggrandizing pause before moving on are what render it instead laborious.
Nevertheless, The Sportsmen Quartet do well with what they have, and there’s a certain novelty knowing Thurl Ravenscroft himself lent his vocals.
Despite their efforts, nothing happens; praises must be given for the perspective on Drizzlepuss as he looks up at the sky. Though the movement itself feels somewhat weightless and aimless, his features (particularly in the face) are refreshingly solid and constructed for a H/D effort.
Cut to the chief sharpening a knife with the heel of his shoe—Porky the Rain-Maker’s plot feels more innocent in its Depression era underdog “save the farm” motif. Here, Drizzlepuss’ motives seem much more concentrated on saving his own skin rather than the well-being of the reservation as a whole.
With this in mind, Drizzlepuss transfers his attention to a tree fort. Perspective and solid running animation are flaunted with a serviceable and necessary amount of alarm in his movements. Revealed at the top of the wooden platform is a child attempting to pump water from a water barrel…
No dice.
Comparisons to Porky the Rain-Maker grow more concentrated as Drizzlepuss gives the kid some beads to buy a fresh barrel of water (as opposed to feed for the animals with the more farm focused angle of the aforementioned cartoon.) That the kid uses a vine to swing off from the platform and land on a horse (empty water barrel conveniently in tow) feels odd and misplaced—especially with the cartoon taking place in the Midwest—but is nevertheless quicker and less laborious than a parallel scene of him crawling down the latter and running around in the same manner as Drizzlepuss.
A diagonal wipe to a salesman in the town square also segues to the most obviously cribbed portions of the short. The background and staging is directly reused from Rain-Maker, the salesman appearing more as an eccentric carnie rather than a slightly seedy snake-oil salesman (as indicated by the “Dr. Quack’s Rain Pills” touted in the former.) Reid Kilpatrick provides his vocals—he would provide a number of smattering of narrating roles for cartoons such as Rookie Revue and Saps in Chaps.
A note more than a criticism, there is slight irony that Hardaway and Dalton don’t reprise the musical accompaniment of “Rhythm in the Bow” heard in the same scenes in Rain-Maker; Rhythm in the Bow was a Merrie Melody in which Hardaway himself directed (and whose influence is particularly strong in Hobo Gadget Band.) Instead, Carl Stalling strings together a medley of both “Concert in the Park” and “William Tell Overture”.
Though the peddler went by Dr. Quack in the original, it certainly seems odd that the salesman here advertises his rain pills as “pills for all ills”, as though they have physically healing properties. As a separate staging note, Hardaway and Dalton show the kid riding into town and physically cramming into the crowd—Porky himself squeezes into the front of the crowd with much less tedium.
Staging and animation of the respective salesman showing off their products are relatively identical, though the snow and cyclone pills touted in the former are now missing.
Shooing of the kid off the platform provides the perfect example of Hardaway completely missing the gag to begin with; in the original, Porky, who is enraptured with the con-man’s hawking, subconsciously leans against the platform amidst his awe. Thus prompts the con-man to shoo him away with his cane (“Don’t lean on the platform, son, ya bother me.”) Earle Hodgins deliveries are dry and tongue-in-cheek rather than actively malicious, and Porky’s lack of a reaction make the interaction as a whole funny but innocent; his enthrallment is given a heavier emphasis.
Here, the con-man merely tells the kid to “scram” (in addition to some derogatory language)—conversely, the kid looks as though he could cry. Lacking is the dry, straightforward but nevertheless endearing qualities of the former example; here, it feels antagonistic and blunt, completely missing the charm of the original. Sympathy is a higher priority than the humor, but, seeing as the child doesn’t give much reason for the audience to feel sympathetic other than that he is a kid and got yelled at, it reads as uncomfortable. An abrupt shift in music from “Concert in the Park” to a rather stereotypical Native rhythm furthers the odd juxtaposition.
Our con-man here does not go through the liberty of passing umbrellas out to the crowd—he merely jumps straight to the “demonstra-hation”, the build-up much more unnecessary and annoyingly over the top (particularly the excessive inhale before blowing through the tube in which the rain pill is stored) rather than exciting.
Hardaway and Dalton directly recycle the shot of the pill soaring up into the air and exploding. Dramatics are attempted to be embraced as the transition between sun and rain crawls at a slightly longer pace than in the original—Stalling’s music score reflects this through a brief sting of William Tell’s “The Storm” before melting into the more pleasant “April Showers”. As a whole, the tone feels rather loose, unconfident, and ubiquitous to a detriment.
Likewise, the magic of the rain pills isn’t nearly hyped up enough as in the original. Tex Avery always made a point throughout the entirety of his career to ensure the audience fully understood the plot of his cartoons—Porky’s remarks of “Oh boy, real rain!” in Rain-Maker serve as a gentle reminder to the audience that yes, the rain is real, this is not a trick, the pills do in fact work and could absolutely be beneficial to the drought. Such a subtle spotlight is not given here—the salesman acknowledges the “honest to goodness” rain before immediately launching into his selling spree. The mystification of the rain and its mere importance in the former are not given the same acknowledgement here—thus, the stakes do not seem as high and the story not as sympathetic.
Gil Turner animates a sequence of the kid offering the salesman beads—bad Hardaway puns ensue as the salesman responds “Beads? I think you’re stringin’ me, but I’ll take a chance.” The simplicity and confidence in Avery’s filmmaking is nowhere present in Hardaway’s meandering tendencies.
In yet another twist of irony, Hardaway and Dalton appear to borrow from Avery, but in a cartoon that isn’t Porky the Rain-Maker. Rather, the walk cycle of Drizzlepuss pacing back and forth, head spinning 180° is a failed attempt at replicating the timing and overall staging of the police officer pacing in Thugs with Dirty Mugs. Caricature of motion and bodily limitations (or lack thereof) don’t exactly feel like a priority—the gag instead feels forced and incredibly awkward, especially considering he only does it for about three times before casting a glance at the chief.
All things considered, a recycled shot of the chief still sharpening his knife establishes a welcome continuity and structure to the short that has been so sorely lacking. Likewise, a genuine sense of urgency is somewhat established. That too has largely been missing.
Continuing on this incredibly small streak of “somewhat good” things, perspective animation of the kid galloping back into the reservation on his horse is refreshingly tactile, solid, and sculpted; as he skids to a halt, the barrel hooked onto the end of the horse swings past the foreground in perspective and makes for a rather engaging, immersive visual effect.
Blanc’s “Why you no bring water?” from Drizzlepuss upon the realization that the barrel is empty is funny only for how staggeringly poorly it’s directed—straightforward and monotone, the delivery feels like a joke in itself. It isn’t.
In Rain-Maker, Porky wordlessly shows the pills to his father, who grows angry upon the realization that his last dollar was spent on some measly pills rather than hay. In a fit of frustration, he throws them offscreen. Porky later explains that one of the pills makes real rain, which prompts his father to ask “Why didn’t’cha say so? Where is it?”
Here, despite the kid explicitly telling Drizzlepuss (in equally broken English) that he has rain pills that will make some water—an “I beeeetcha” tacked on for pure radio catchphrase obligation—Drizzlepuss still throws the pills away anyway. His reasoning, succinct as ever, is a mere “Phooey!” Though certain parts of the cartoon already felt forced enough as is, the contradiction here lacks any sort of substance and feels purely shoehorned. With the kid explaining the purpose of the pills outright, there is absolutely no need to throw them away (other than there’s still 3 minutes left of runtime to fill.)
Regardless, the animation of the pills landing to the ground and scattering is refreshingly elastic and tactile, one advantage over the original given the advancements and comparative sophistication in animation over the past 3 years.
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As they did in the original, various animals on the reservation consume the pills to disastrous effects. A hen gobbling down an ice pill and laying frozen eggs is exclusive to this cartoon; her “b-r-r-r-r-r-r!”s before laying the eggs feel slightly overkill but is nevertheless one of the more straightforward demonstrations. A natural disconnect between her cel animated self and the painted eggs makes their appearance seem all the more surprising and thusly more amusing.
Instead of a chicken swallowing a lightning pill, a turtle is victim to its static shock instead. Animated by Dick Bickenbach, the motion is a vast improvement to the former example (but is also probably the most well animated part of the cartoon as a whole)—even if the simplicity and boldness of the hen turning into a literal lightning bolt shape is inarguably fun.
Rather than focusing on the lightning as a whole, typical Hardawayesque lack of restraint ensues as the turtle is propelled into a tree. His dazed delivery of “Hm. Musta been something’ I et,” is not only excessive, but an indication of an overall lack of confidence, as though Hardaway was concerned that the audience still wouldn’t get the joke. Such a need to overcompensate is one of the quickest ways to kill a good gag.
Moreover, a mother ingesting an earthquake pill (as opposed to a hen in the original) and mistaking it for food feels wholly dehumanizing and insulting. While Avery’s demonstration of the same gag may be cruder, it has more spirit—like most of the cartoon, Hardaway’s version of the gag feels particularly orchestrated and by the books.
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Unnecessary toppers continue to be tacked on extraneously to each gag. Here, Hardaway’s obnoxious self-indulgence is executed through the baby heaving a handful of guttural, “hurr hurr” laughs synonymous to Hardaway’s Bugs.
“That’s fun, Ma!” His voice is that of a dopey, deep adult’s. “Let’s do it s’more.” Such a vast contrast between looks and voice doesn’t exactly hit the humorous heights Hardaway was intending, and instead reads as ill-fitting, obnoxious, over the top for a gag that was fine in Rain-Maker but now outfitted to be dehumanizing and twice as obnoxious. More does not always equal better.
Through the aid of more “I beeeeetcha”s, the previous child merely exclaims that the pills work as they should (rather than pointing out that there’s a rain pill there to begin with.) Instead, that honor is given to Drizzlepuss, who exclaims “There’s the rain pill!” If any praises are to be delivered, it’s that the animation of the kid and Drizzlepuss is snappy and rhythmic.
Rain-Maker did not posses such immunity, for lack of a better word. Many of the pill ingesting gags occurred as Porky and his father themselves actually looked for the pills rather than merely observing. For example, when a goose swallowed the rain pill, Porky shook his neck and forcefully made him regurgitate it to get it back. Not only could more gags be spawned that way, focusing on how the animals swallowing the pills is an obstacle, but it too continued to raise the stakes—all of the farm animals consuming the weather pills read as a genuine threat. If the goose had swallowed the rain pill and digested it, then they really would have been in trouble. No such urgency is indicated here.
Nevertheless, the pill explodes and dumps rain onto the reservation. Stalling continues his motif of “The Storm”, somewhat asynchronous with the tone considering said storm is meant to be a relief. That too changes as Hardaway and Dalton continue to miss what makes Avery’s short funny to an almost comic degree in itself.
In Rain-Maker, there is certainly a visceral relief that does feel very genuine. A barrage of gags depicting the crops growing back to life (and often overcompensating—an apple on one stem quickly produces eight, corn stalks double in their weight) asserts the well-being of the farm. Avery thusly pokes fun at the “everything is dandy” nature of the resolution by having all of his characters heave a simultaneous sigh in relief before striking a “ta-da” pose; the pure, rigid orchestration of the action and composition as a whole—Porky, his father, and various farm animals are all strategically arranged in the layout so that it feels purposefully staged—are all a joke in itself.
Especially considering that, not even seconds after, all of the animals go back to feeling the effects of the pills they swallowed; electrocution, violent tremors, tailspins, etc. Avery strikes a solid balance between cloying and innocent—too much of one aspect can be detrimental.
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Hardaway completely misses this by having Drizzlepuss and the kid hold hands and dance in a way that feels as though it was meant to be taken at face value. The same could be said for the men also holding hands and dancing in a ring; if it truly is meant to be coy, there don’t seem to be many indications of such.
Likewise, as has been mentioned before, the underdog nature of Rain-Maker feels more sympathetic. Hardaway and Dalton don’t provide much reason for the audience to feel sympathetic towards their cast of characters, especially considering their only semblance of personality is purely made up of harmful stereotypes. Perhaps there’s bias in knowing Porky (and his father) are recurring characters and have had more time for the audience to get acquainted with them, but even so, a one-off cast of characters—if executed correctly—can garner similar attachment. Such is not the case here.
Nevertheless, Hardaway and Dalton too indulge in their own sequences dedicated to the crops coming to life; a cross-dissolve is executed between two different paintings of corn, watermelons and apples inflate (much to the satisfaction of the homeless worm from before), and a gag dedicated to a hen laying a plethora of eggs is repeated nearly verbatim from Rain-Maker. They too lack the playfulness of the aforementioned examples—rather than having the crops be overabundant as means of overcompensation (such as one apple morphing into eight), the execution is rather flat and straightforward.
Judging by the plethora of exclamation and impact lines in the animation, it seems Dick Bickenbach may be a candidate for animating the final scene of Drizzlepuss making amends with the chief. His movements are jaunty and possess a certain joy and energy that have been so absent all throughout the cartoon, even if said joyousness is intended to be braggadocios. They shake hands, the chief pleased with his work.
One thing that does deserve praise and is genuinely funny: the rain immediately ceasing and revealing sunny, vacant skies with absolutely zero in-between drawings. As pointless and inordinate as it technically is, again divulging into Hardaway’s tendencies to keep proving himself, its miraculously abrupt delivery is anomalous for the H/D efforts.
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Of course, that is quickly rectified; the chief grows angry, grabbing a dagger and chasing Drizzlepuss down the winding hill. As insulting as that is, if Hardaway truly wanted to end on such a route, an iris out on the chief’s pursuing Drizzlepuss likely would have worked best purely from a pacing perspective.
Such restraint would be asking too much. More praises deserve to be given for the parallel structure in which the rain resumes—again, zero in-between drawings render its promptness a joke in itself.
The same could be said for the speed in which Drizzlepuss and the chief zip back into place and resume their handshaking. Of course, Hardaway is still at the helm, and so is the tendency to be excessive; the shared laughter between the chief and Drizzlepuss as the iris closes again serves as the exact behavior Tex Avery was slyly ridiculing in Rain-Maker.
I will jump ahead and spoil my thoughts on the cartoon right now by telling you to watch Porky the Rain-Maker instead. It is much funnier, much simpler, and much less racist.
The beauty of Tex Avery’s cartoons are their simplicity. My review of Rain-Maker is two and a half years old, written in February 2020, and I had written it when I knew much less about the machinations of these cartoons and their creators as a whole—in said review, I dismissed the short as being a mere string of gags. After viewing this cartoon, the digestibility of Avery’s approach is more attractive and commendable than ever.
It takes a lot of confidence to be simple. Simplicity often equates boldness. Rather than trying to prove to the audience that every single joke and gag in the short is funny and that he will spend half the cartoon asserting that to you or die trying, Avery instead moves swiftly from one to the next. If the gag doesn’t land, fine. If it does, great. There is a general sense of trust in his audience that is completely lacking in Hardaway’s appropriation of the cartoon (as well as in all of his shorts as a whole.) Watching a Hardaway cartoon feels akin to someone repeatedly trying to explain a joke and prove when it’s funny. Perhaps that may be true to begin with, but by the time the explanation is finished, said joke feels tedious and painfully unfunny.
Blatant racism aside (which is futile in trying to dismiss, seeing as the entire cast of characters are built on one-dimensional stereotypes), this is a bad short. Even if it weren’t a direct ripoff of a preexisting cartoon, it does not feel endearing, engaging, nor funny; the characters and situation prove difficult to feel sympathetic towards—outside of sympathy for being regarded so insensitively—and many of the gags feel excessive as previously outlined. There is a complete misunderstanding of what made Avery’s gags so amusing in the first place; the kid being shooed off the platform and the lack of self awareness with the ending are particularly keen examples.
To give credit where credit is due, this short isn’t a compete dud. Dick Bickenbach’s animation of the turtle being electrocuted is particularly solid, possessing a literal energy that deserves to preside elsewhere in the cartoon. Likewise the elasticity of the pills hitting the ground. Timing on the rain shutting on and off is restoratively abrupt, caricatured. However, if the cartoon were to be described in one word, it would be “unnecessary”. Unnecessarily inflated gags, unnecessarily insulting portrayals, unnecessary existence as a whole.
Porky the Rain-Maker isn’t a masterpiece by any means, even for it’s time—not because it’s poor, but because Tex’s output in 1936 was so consistently solid that there are certain cartoons of his who did achieve more in comparison. Next to this short, however, it is a masterpiece. It certainly does have the crudeness inherent in the mid-‘30s Warner Bros output as a whole, but holds up much better in comparison and possesses an endearing mischief nowhere to be found here. If nothing else, this cartoon is a fabulous demonstration in the shortcomings of Hardaway and Dalton (more so the former) as directors, especially when given such a solid means of comparison.
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