273. Africa Squeaks (1940)

Disclaimer: This review contains racist content and imagery presented wholly for historical and informational context. I ask that you speak up in case I say something that is harmful, ignorant, or perpetuating, as it is never my intent and I seek to take accountability, should that occur. Thank you.

Release Date: January 27th, 1940

Series: Looney Tunes

Director: Bob Clampett

Story: Bob Clampett

Animation: John Carey, Dave Hoffman

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling

Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Ostrich, Lion, Tony Galento, Natives, Wildlife, Joey, Cat, Elephant, Fauns, Monkey, Africa), Lou Marcelle (Narrator), The Sportsmen Quartet (Natives), Bill Days (Gorilla), Kay Kyser (Himself)

(You may view the short here.)

1940 revives a tried and true Clampett formula: Porky the world traveler. 1939 seemed to place a heavier emphasis on his working odd jobs or grappling with everyday situations, whereas out of the 11 films Clampett directed this year, 5 of them place Porky in a different part of the world or time period. Being an adaptable and versatile character, the formula allows Clampett to focus on new gags centered around the environment, with Porky either interacting with them or ushering them along—depending on how strong the Porky fatigue is for the short. 

Africa Squeaks is a cartoon where Porky is mainly a device to usher the plot along more than actively contribute to it. One can almost feel Clampett coming down from the high that is Porky’s Last Stand; it would be asinine to demand this short be of the same standard when the aforementioned cartoon is one of his best period, but the discrepancy in dedication is still greatly felt.

Instead, we channel the likes of Tex Avery as history is made—this is the first cartoon to adopt a spot-gag/travelogue format that isn’t directed by Avery himself. Here, Robert C. Bruce does what he does best as he faithfully guides us through a tour of Africa, following Porky’s expedition—including a surprising concentration of celebrity caricatures in the mix.

Interesting to note is the “Starring Porky” shot that is transposed over the title credits; rather than the typical paint over used in his solo efforts, the headshot is instead excised from the more specific “Starring Porky and Daffy” title. Likely because it looks better comparatively—the less evenly proportioned face, tilt of the head and facial expressions as a whole feel comparatively more organic and lifelike. 

Even more interesting is that the title card almost comes as a detriment to the intent of the opening. This is a Bob Clampett cartoon after all, where high-energy hijinks are fervently embraced and celebrated rather than shoved under the rug. Yet to unsuspecting viewers unfamiliar with the names on the title cards, the stereotypical travelogue opening rife is a pivotal hook—lure the unsuspecting audience and lower their expectations through Robert C. Bruce’s stolid narration and attractive, informative visuals, only to completely interrupt the format in a breach of decorum, setting the tone for the short’s remainder. 

Here, the “Starring Porky” title seems to hint ahead of itself too soon, as if inadvertently assuring the audience that this opening narration is all nonsense and the goods with Porky and company are sure to come, this is all a façade. It’s not at all a major detractor, nor is there anything really wrong with it—just fascinating to view how one simple title card can alter an entire approach. 

Little time is wasted getting to the visuals and corresponding humor curated by Clampett regardless. As Bruce orates about the “land of mystery and adventure”, the likeness of Porky in Wackyland is channeled as we reprise the expositional introduction of darkest Africa—that is, traversing through boroughs of the continent that grow darker in color value with its corresponding label.

Wackyland’s premise was a bit more specific in that there was a purposeful end goal in mind—Porky landing in the untraversed territories of darkest Africa—whereas here the gag is mainly for show. Likewise, Wackyland’s typography and topography is much more flat and stylized compared to the ridged, depth-ridden) typo/topography here—both fitting in their respective contexts, seeing as Wackyland was very derivative of newspaper cartooning and more stylized in its presentation.

In this case, the darkest Africa signaling is a means of wordplay on Bruce’s commentary, depicting a literal heart when describing its core. Simple stylization (a valentine heart much more palatable than the organ, which is humorous in its own right) and hollow thumping sound effects take some of the groan-inducing edge. 

Cartoons written by Clampett himself have a tendency to go one or two interchangeable routes: a path of self indulgence—for better or worse—and/or a path of meticulous staging and composition. Africa Squeaks follows both, with a very heavy emphasis on atmospheric environments and dynamic layouts to best highlight the setting. Such is first established through a panning shot of the African natives depicted only in silhouette, obscured by the painted overlay of various flora in the foreground.

This is a cartoon that makes prime use of its limited color palette, something sorely taken for granted in many of the black and white cartoons. That comes as a bonus and a detriment—particularly a detriment on a caricaturing side, as the natives of the jungle are colored pitch black and are incredibly egregious in their portrayal. However, and while it absolutely does not come as a pardon by any means, the environments and characters alike are easily viewed in a hierarchy, dark tones juxtaposing boldly against light tones and so on. Such engaging clarity is touted on this shot especially—deliberate placement and construction of trees and other flora bringing attention to the characters contribute greatly to the same cause. 

A gradual truck-in and cross dissolve reap a closer look at Porky leading the natives on an expedition. Mentioned previously in other reviews, Clampett’s design sense skews on a more exaggerated range of caricature, which, depending on the context of the characters or shorts themselves, can be beneficial or detrimental. Beneficial in that the disparity between designs and drawing style as a whole can be engaging and foster new life, but detrimental in cases such as here where harmful caricatures are further exaggerated and grotesque rather than engaging. 

A painstaking amount of care delegated to the background (and foreground) paintings of the jungle are enough incentive to look. Dick Thomas, who has a great knack for establishing visual hierarchies and clarity within his painting style through a keen handle on value as is, truly is given a chance to shine all through the cartoon. Paintings in the foreground are gorgeous and solid but never distracting, keeping consistent frames around the characters. 

The Sportsmen Quartet lend their voices to the natives, singing a chorus of “Congo”—they halt to turn towards the audience, and announce in meta Clampett spirit: “We don’t know where we’re goin’ but we’re goin’!”

References to the Lions Club in an early Warner short focused on Africa is just as much of a guarantee as racist imagery. Banking on the momentum of the picturesque opening thus far, Clampett and his animators engage in a move that evokes the likes of Frank Tashlin, comparable to similar shadow trickery highlighted in Little Beau Porky or Porky in the North Woods. Shadows of the natives move in perspective past the sign—not only does animating the shadows in relation to their painted, environmental surroundings bestow a strong believability and depth to the composition, the same is applicable for animating them in diagonal perspective, indicating a turn past the camera. 

So, with such a pattern firmly established (cartoon takes place in Africa, Porky is on an expedition, surroundings are pretty), it soon comes time for a disruption. Such an interruption is initiated by Porky reacting to something off-screen, skidding to a halt and causing a brief traffic jam. No vocal exclamation is supplemented in any form—all auditory clueing stem from music and sound effects.

Here is where the “self indulgent” portion of Clampett’s writing comes in. That is, a caricature of Spencer Tracy approaches Porky in all of his hunched, rigid glory. While it’s not a guarantee that a viewer in 2022 will understand the Tracy caricature nor pick up that his weighted inquiry of “Doctor… Livingstone, I presume?” stems from his role as Stanley in 1939’s Stanley and Livingstone, the antithesis in design is enough to get a laugh. His stone faced expression and tense demeanor is a great contrast to the plucky, soft design of Porky; he very much looks as though he’s wandered into the wrong cartoon.

Similar philosophies apply to Porky’s answering of the question. The unadulterated sincerity in his “No!” especially is timeless: “I’m eh-peeh-peh-pp-pe-eh-Porky Pig!” A youthful, innocent flute sting from Stalling supplies a very cute commentary and nice means of differentiating Porky’s earnest from the otherwise purposefully heavy atmosphere exuded by Tracy. 

A shrug is all that is supplemented, same comedically faithful facial expressions and all before equally amusing pacing in which Porky and the natives trek onwards. Very matter of fact, very brisk, the Sportsmen resuming their chorus as though no such interruption occurred. The Tracy caricature dejectedly lumbering out of frame is hard to dislike. 

Thus allows us to segue into the dominating spot-gag portion of the cartoon. Which, like most spot-gags, is again a double edged  sword. Helpful in that it’s very easy to see Clampett fumbling a 7 minute long plot trying to make Porky a focus. Having an avenue for funny gags, a wide cast of characters and various settings provide relief, but is detrimental in that the very first gag of this kind consists of an ostrich sleeping with its head in the ground—no attempts to make it anything more. It could be a case of losing its novelty as the years go on, but even something as simple as the ostrich waking up and closing a curtain out of thin air to block the audience out would be much more inspired than this, which is the very bare minimum in its presentation. 

Thankfully, the adjoining scene of some lions gnawing on a pile of bones comes as one of the cartoon’s highlights, particularly in part to John Carey’s exceedingly attractive drawings. After a few seconds of hollow crunching noises to familiarize the audience with the setup, one of the lions unearths a wishbone from its mouth with great dexterity.

“Make a wish!” Carey’s drawing of the lion on the left striking the most joyously disingenuous, coy pose imaginable may be one of the funniest drawings of an animated lion yet. The excessive cheek folds from the push of the extended fingers really do wonders to sell it. Same with the vocal delivery on the other lion matching the same insincerity. 

Snapping of the wishbone is nonchalant in its execution, but works in its favor through its airy tone. A violin pluck scores the breakage, contributing to the overall daintiness, reflected in the gentleness in which the bone is snapped and the pleasant expressions on both lions.

With that out of the way, we resume to our regularly scheduled programming. As the camera pans upward in a transition to the next scene, the painted bone overlay in the foreground has some difficulties catching up and jitters around aimlessly instead, but not to a glaring degree. 

Kudos to Clampett for the incredibly smooth transition as the camera merely pans up to the next piece of business—a cross dissolve is granted to the treetops, the object of the narrator’s commentary, but not after a picturesque, lengthy pan of the trees themselves. With Clampett’s tendency to squeeze long pans and still shots in his cartoons to pad time, this is one short where it almost comes as a favor with just how strong the layouts and background paintings are. 

“High in the treetops, we observe a jungle mother taking her baby out for a breath of fresh air.”

Much like the ostrich gag, Clampett seldom lingers on the visual of a mama monkey swinging from limb to limb with a conveniently gloved tail, baby in a carriage, bonnet and all. Unlike the ostrich gag, we have the benefit of visuals that are actually amusing—the vacancy on the infant’s expression is great, and the unnecessary but endearing details of the gloved tail, the baby carriage, the clothes, etc. all further then joke and render it as whimsical mischief rather than a comedic obligation. Wheels spinning on the carriage in mid-air is a great attention to detail.

Most travelogues of this sort always include a sequence dedicated to Bruce hyping up the audience and being met with a deliberate visual betrayal. Here, he introduces us to “the jungle’s most feared fighter”, language such as “we suddenly sight” and “emerging” indicate rising hysteria, an impending threat, alarming syntax meant to evoke fear and urgency from the audience. 

All manifests in the visual of a hulking gorilla himself lumbering into the clearing, obscuring its face to maintain suspense of this enigmatic figure. We are merely informed of its ferocity through Bruce’s commentary and Mel Blanc’s heaving growls.

 As such, the only logical conclusion is for a celebrity caricature reveal. References to current pop culture can become a crutch if in too heavy a concentration or halfhearted application, but one gets the sense that Clampett’s application is often rooted in a sincere admiration for the source material. This earnest isn’t always felt, and does have a tendency to fall flat today, but here seems to be an exception as we are met with a caricature of heavyweight boxer Tony Galento. Here, he recites the immortal wisdom he shed when predicting the outcome of his 1939 fight with Joe Louis: “I’ll moida da bum!” A beer mug in tow acknowledges his training with beer and ownership of a bar.

We segue to a somewhat less fantastical route as we are met with more defamatory caricatures of the natives. In this case, showcasing how they use blowguns to hunt. Major props to Clampett on the staging—the bamboo creating a frame around the hunter naturally guides the viewer’s eye while feeling secretive and stashed away in the jungle at the same time. Broken pieces of bamboo render the framing natural, a coincidence in its convenience rather than meticulously carved away arches of bamboo parted at our benefit. 

A climactic inhale and blow of the gun prompts a thoroughly disgusting “POIT!” sound effect in the background, indicating that the dart has been blown and prey has been bagged. 

That would be too straightforward in Clampett’s world. Instead, the camera promptly pans to reveal a carnie running a “WIN A HAM” stand, the dart wedged squarely in the bullseye. A palpable playfulness in the execution is furthered through Blanc’s spirited deliveries as the carnie, brazen, mischievous music stings from Stalling, and the typical dedication to the gag and lack of calling attention to itself that make Clampett’s gags successful and appealing. 

With a focus on gags that are spirited and impish in tone, it’s due time for a shift in tone: quietude. Thomas’ backgrounds are a nonstop delight all through the cartoon, but the scenic pan here scoring Bruce’s comments of the unearthly nighttime quiet is of particular grandeur. The glow of the moon is a wonderful bold contrast juxtaposed against the sleepy, hazy dark tones in the background. Moonbeams create highlights along the fauna in the foreground, bestowing an identity that make the plants just as bold as the moon or the dark mountains themselves. 

“The silence of the African jungle enshrouds us with its overpowering hush…”

Approaching the halfway mark of the cartoon and familiar with the travelogue formula as a whole, audiences by this time have come to expect an immediate rebuttal to Bruce’s claims. Still, that doesn’t at all lessen the impact that is the shrieking cacophony courtesy of the wildlife. Overlays of glowing, blinking eyes put a face—albeit obscured—to the discord and an added gravity to the noise; the illusion is easier to believe when an actual identity, no matter how small nor hidden, is provided to the context.

Porky reminds the audience of his presence in yet another role that is a transparent contractual obligation rather than genuine desire to star the character. Of course, that does not in any way stop this from being one of the funniest and most memorable scenes of the entire cartoon.

Norm McCabe is the presumed animator judging by the excessive eyebrow lines, pinched facial features, and generally much more caricatured/streamlined appearance as a whole. Seeing as Clampett loved to establish Porky as cute, naïve and innocent, the grotesque and visceral expressions of pure disgruntlement on his face are a fantastic antithesis while still feeling in character—especially as he would become much more intimate with such a cynical personality in the coming years. 

The scene’s premise is incredibly informative, clarifying its intent through context alone rather than guided through Bruce’s or even Porky’s comments. Pajamas (the inclusion of a nightcap adding its own facetious, playful commentary), coloring the eyelids darker to appear sleep deprived, and his covering of the ears all speak for themselves.

As does the wonderful, positively ear-splitting “QUIET!!!” that emanates from Porky in possibly one of the most vocally violent outbursts for the character. It is exceedingly clear to hear the strain put on Blanc’s vocal chords, as it is that loud and that shrill, but it works wonders—especially in tandem with the distortions on Porky’s face courtesy of Norm McCabe.

Instead of following up with a lone, drawn out music sting, we are instead met with very literal obedience to orders as every single sound completely deserts itself. No sound effects, no music, no dialogue, barely even an ambient crackle in the audio. Silence is deafening, and the execution is brilliant in its nonchalance and literality. 

Porky channels the likes of Oliver Hardy with a very self assured nod that is synonymous to the comedian. Certainly not the first nor last comparison between the two—speaking in terms of Clampett alone, he would end his The Timid Toreador with Porky transforming into a caricature of Hardy for no other reason than that he can. Coincidentally, Norm McCabe was a co-director on that cartoon.

It would be foolish to assume the first time we saw the Spencer Tracy caricature would also be the last. Clampett is faithful to Avery’s travelogue side-plot gimmick, with the Tracy caricature providing such a consistency throughout the cartoon. 

Nightfall has not impeded his search for Livingstone; following similar logic with Daffy’s fruitless search for hamburger meat in Porky’s Last Stand, lifting up a bowl of batter and shrugging at the audience, Clampett has Tracy look under a small rock—it was worth a try. His “Here Livey, Livey, Livey, Livey, Livey!”s is an amusing spin on his incredibly circuitous, monotonous search, as though Livingstone is a lost puppy rather than a human being.

Said search takes us to a kangaroo, begging the audience to suspend their disbelief seeing as they aren’t native to Africa. It isn’t so much a deliberate geographical gaffe on the part of Clampett as it is a means of approaching a punchline; Tracy peers into the kangaroo’s pouch, Treg Brown’s sickly Velcro sound effects easing any potential monotony, only to be met with a joey honking an unflappable Tracy on the nose. Another strong derivative of the Avery philosophy. 

We hone in on the perturbed joey, who engages in what appears to be a very poor imitation of Arthur Q. Bryan: “Going awound picking people’s pockets!” It is very easy to take Bryan’s shtick for granted until he isn’t the one doing the voice.

Typical Clampettian cheating comes into play as we segue into a new day, silhouettes of Porky and the natives reused from the opening. In an attempt to hide forthcoming gags that linger in the foreground pan, further attempts to cheat are engaged by having the foreground remain still as the background pan moves along with the silhouettes. It’s dissonant in its appearance and execution (not to mention a little lazy), but nothing too egregious. 

Having thoroughly established a comedic tone for the cartoon, attempts to rouse humor beneath Bruce’s commentary are delegated to the foreground—a Los Angeles City Limits sign, also of Averyesque influence, and a caricature of Johnny Weissmuller, better known as the original Tarzan, placing a literal, monarchical spin on his status as King of the Jungle.

Cross dissolves give way to more scenic, multi-plane pans, but that is never a complaint for this cartoon. Illustrations of the flora are varied in shapes and sizes, texture, and values as a whole, as well as arranged meticulously for maximum clarity. If anything, it provides a great frame for the proclaimed “Jungle Boarding House”, described by Bruce himself as a “very unusual situation.”

John Carey’s timing and construction of his characters is immediately recognizable upon the introduction of an elephant and a cat. Blanc’s deliveries as the boarding house cat in falsetto are a delight, bringing a mischief and facetiousness that is inherent to his falsettos in general. Here, the cat lambasts the elephant with vague, empty threats meant to evoke a backstory (clued through verbiage such as “I’ve warned you time and again” and “I simply can’t put up with this sort of thing!”)

She utters the magic words: “Now get out and stay out!”

A slam of the door. Excessive wrinkles on the elephant are a delightful design detail, particularly the way his rear sags and folds in his elbows as he wordlessly outstretches his hands. 

While the entire scene is derivative of Avery, the coming punchline especially, the reappearance of the cat to chastise the elephant once more follows the 1-2-1 method of a character leaving, entering, and leaving again. “And until you pay your rent, I’m going to keep your trunk!”

Rather than a mere acting or staging decision, the deliberate concealing of the elephant’s face is all buildup to a reveal. A reveal that was first featured in Avery’s A Day at the Zoo—homonymous wordplay with “trunk” takes a literal meaning as we view one elephant without a proboscis. As he did in Zoo, Blanc delivers the elephant’s lines in a pathetic, nasal drawl: “And it’s got all my things in it, too!”

Reused and/or upholstered animation does grow more concentrated in the cartoon’s second half. To Clampett’s credit—low as the bar may be—he and his animators went ahead to redesign the buzzard footage reused from Porky’s Poultry Plant and Wise Quacks, though much of the flying cycle remains the same. 

That is until he responds to the narrator’s introduction, claiming him to be a “deadly bird of prey, despised attacker of the weak, the jungle’s most ruthless killer”—as if to poke fun at the gravity of Bruce’s orations, the bird rubs its feathered hands and cackles at the audience. Stalling’s musical accompaniment is much more lighthearted and impish, reflective of the laughter rather than attempting to play the stereotyping as a genuine threat. That is the job of the flying cycle, the narration, the otherwise ominous music that sandwiches the scene. 

Our fiend spots a gaggle of helpless fauns cowering in the wild; leg trembles and narratorial comments about being separated from its mother attempt to evoke sympathy from the viewer and make the inevitable kill all the more cruel. 

Likewise with the condor immediately swooping towards the ground—no extraneous shots of him licking his lips, rubbing his hands together, winking at the audience, just heading straight for the kill. Jarring as the immediate cut to such movement may be, it feels purposeful and smooth in its execution rather than an act of halfhearted splicing. Like the flying cycle, the swooping animation is also derivative from Porky’s Poultry Plant and Wise Quacks. 

Blanc attempts to supplement meek whimpers from the fauns as they seek shelter in some tall grass, but the sound admittedly feels panned and facetious rather than an attempt to evoke real pathos.

Then again, perhaps that was the goal. Particularly because the grass collapses to reveal a battalion of armed fauns, one of them shrieking in the purposefully discordant, manly, unmistakable cry of Mel Blanc: “AIR RAID!!!!”

While war continued to bubble and brew overseas, wartime references wouldn’t begin to concentrate the cartoons until about 1941. As such, this gag felt perhaps even more timely when it was reused in the Avery/Clampett collaboration Crazy Cruise, released in March 1942–the fauns were replaced with rabbits to shoehorn in a Bugs Bunny cameo, but both usages of the gag are surprising, amusing, and strong, a great cognitive dissonance between the meek fauna prior and not a subversion that is entirely predictable. 

No punches are withheld as the fauns fire at their enemy, a bullet eventually landing. Thus, Clampett reuses some elaborate perspective animation of the condor nosediving from What Price Porky. Similarities in construction between the duck in the aforementioned short and condor aren’t noticeable, its reuse passable in that regard, but the effects on the flames in the tailspin are considerably cruder in comparison.

Regardless, a hit is a hit, and the impact is strengthened through the power of context clues and the audience’s imagination as we never see the actual collision between condor and the ground. Having begun to experiment with camera shakes within the last year, the camera department is getting a gradual handle on the technique; the shake here may be one of the most visceral, less mechanical ones yet.

In a satisfying bookend, the fauns mimic the same nefarious cackle as heard from the condor, hoof rubbing and all. A joyously violent intermission that takes pride in its absurdity and successfully subverts expectations.

We resume to our regularly scheduled stereotyping as Mel Blanc supplements frantic gibberish for a boy running through the jungle to tell Porky something. If there are any benefits to be had, it’s that the running pan and animation itself is rightfully urgent and zealous, establishing a rhythmic momentum with continuous smoothness even when he skids to a halt.

Bruce translates for the audience, indicating the hubbub is all about a white man living amongst the natives. Generally disparaging remarks and implications about Africa being isolated and the supposed novelty of the man’s presence are made—whereas Bruce’s typecasting and role is all about playing the condescending narrator, it feels a little too brusque in this case due to the content of the cartoon itself. 

Nevertheless, thus provides a stepping stone as we travel to a nearby village. Clampett employs a camera technique first seen in Chicken Jitters; as the camera trucks along on a pan, we are met with an eventual cross dissolve to another adjoining pan. The movement of the camera never stops once in the process. It aims to convey a longer distance than what may actually be provided by the length of the pan, as cross dissolves indicate a passage of time, no matter how slight. 

Dissonance between the rigidity of the Spencer Tracy caricature—who has seemingly appeared out of nowhere, the abruptness amusing even if it almost a bit too jarring—and cuteness of Porky will never not be humorous, no matter one’s familiarity with Tracy himself. 

Porky displays great overzealousness as he tugs his new compadre with him, indicating that he’s interpreted the news as the discovery of Dr. Livingstone. There is something very unintentionally amusing about the pure energy and insistence of Porky, dragging and pushing Tracy despite barely showing up in the cartoon at all and having hardly any reason to be as excited as he is. 

Stalling’s musical orchestration slowing to a lumbering humbleness is a solid compliment that thickens the tension just as much as it makes fun of it. The Tracy caricature repeats those fated words with a heavier weight not heard yet: “Doctor Livingstone… I presume?”

“That’s right…”

“…you’re wrong!”

In a world of cartoons often dominated by celebrity caricatures, there is a certain novelty to be had in the reveal of the Kay Kyser caricature here. Not because of the blatant subversion that would have appealed much more to audiences in early 1940 than they do today, nor is it because he refers to himself as “Cake-Icer”. Rather, because unlike most celebrity cameos in this cartoon, he is voiced by the real Kay Kyser.

His whole shtick is a bit lost to the sands of time for modern viewers today, but even then the comedic dissonance and whiplash in tone can still be appreciated regardless of one’s familiarity with the source material. The same philosophies that apply to the Spencer Tracy caricature. Even if one doesn’t grasp that the cap and gown attire and proclamations of “The Ol’ Professor” are all nods to his radio quiz show, Kay Kyser’s Kollege of Musical Knowledge, the costuming and general theming itself is just enough out of place from the cartoon’s environment to be an amusing antithesis.

An invitatory “Ain’t I, students?” upon his introduction spawns more Clampettian nonsense as a monkey hiding beneath Spencer Tracy’s hat responds with fervent “Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeah!”s; again, a very dated scenario in more ways than one, but there is just the slightest bit of appeal in the unconventionality that is a stone-faced Spencer Tracy harboring random wildlife beneath his hat without breaking expression. Much more amusing than panning to a random monkey in a tree responding the same way. 

Fitting for the scenario, Stalling’s musical accompaniment of “We’re Working Our Way Through College” is upbeat and on par with the sudden transformation in tone. There are some awkward pauses between Kayser’s lines, but the resulting musical spotlight is appreciated, no matter how inadvertent it may be.

John Carey appears to animate the majority of Kyser’s scenes, if not all of them. Even in a silhouette shot of him addressing the crowd, elastic smears are visible, the posing clean and mindful of a solid line of action, and a general airiness all dominate the motion. All telltale signs of his work. 

Amidst Kyser’s monologuing of colloquialisms, Clampett shoehorns a gratuitous shot of Porky listening attentively. As in most gratuitous Porky shots, the gesture is appreciated—especially in a cartoon such as this one where it’s incredibly obvious Clampett had no serious obligations to the character outside of those that are contractual—but has a tendency to feel like a transparent overcorrection on his remaining lack of a priority. 

To pad out the remaining minute of the short’s runtime, a “Let’s dance!” from Kyser initiates a song number. Bill Days of The Sportsmen Quartet provides the opening verse of “You’re the Greatest Discovery” as a gorilla, though the remainder of the song is all orchestral. 

Save for Kyser’s commentary, of course. Cute nod of him doing the Stan Laurel hop upon his declaration of “Now we’re loony-toony!”—whether intentional or not, Daffy has established himself enough times with audiences to form a correlation between himself and his iconic hop. That, and that he’s starred in many more of the black and white Looney Tunes shorts than he has the color Merrie Melodies. While it’s highly unlikely Kyser’s appropriation here was made with Daffy clearly in mind, it nevertheless indicates a cultural shift in that Looney Tunes, by this point, has become synonymous with screwball hysterics and brash characters rather than a Disney wannabe.

Remaining portions of the dance number don’t carry the same thought provoking nuance, but that’s to be expected. One of the most amusing visuals purely from association of the two characters comes from Porky and Spencer Tracy dancing together/pecking; the relatively apathetic expressions on both characters is a great contrast to the enthusiasm of their movements, and, again, the juxtaposition between the two designs alone is amusing by proxy. 

In addition to featuring the Tony Galento caricature again—beer mug and all—Clampett also peppers a number of animal gags that are serviceable: an elephant playing its trunk like a saxophone, a monkey using a rhino’s horn as a trumpet. 

Footage from The Isle of Pingo Pongo, for worse or worser, is also directly lifted to show some of the natives dancing together as well. All of the designs of the natives are absolutely repugnant no matter what the source may be, but it does become very easy to differentiate Clampett’s more varied drawing style with the crowd shots against the comparative simplicity of Tex Avery’s. Recycling of the footage is camouflaged enough that an audience wouldn’t catch the difference upon the short’s release, but is noticeable when understanding how the two directors operate and differentiate from each other.

With all of that out of the way, we end our cartoon just as we open it. Sentimental narration from Bruce overlays another incredibly picturesque pan courtesy of Dick Thomas’ stunning backgrounds, and we get a closer look at Porky and the natives heading back on their “long, weary trek”, footage directly reused from the opening.

Clampett’s recycling of the footage here comes as a punchline rather than out of complete laziness or cost cutting measures (but it’s not to say that can’t be the case, either.) Per Bruce’s forlorn comments about the long, weary trek home, the troupe is immediately thrown on screen, animation twice as fast as the former to match the jovial pace in which The Sportsmen sing a chorus of “California, Here I Come.” 

Deliberate abruptness of the animation embrace the caricature and reuse—especially on Porky, who’s frantic waddling with that impermeable vacant grin make for an incredibly amusing visual. Singing talents of The Sportsmen are a beauty as always; a shame that it must be delivered through such harmful imagery. 

More clever and convenient book-ending ensues as the camera trucks out on the first shot of the film, a topographic shot of Africa itself. “And so, we say goodbye to the dark continent. Africa, farewell.”

Regrettable in its imagery as the punchline may be, it’s at least clever for its design economy—smart maneuver in using what appear to be mountains and ridges are also meant to represent a face. A shrill “GOODBYE-E-E-E-E-E!” channels the vocal stylings of Ed Wynn as we come to a close.

Africa Squeaks is another entry in a consecutive slew of cartoons made in less than good conscience. While one doesn’t exactly dive into a golden age cartoon that has “Africa” in the name with high hopes, the imagery and stereotyping is still nevertheless horribly egregious and repugnant, hard to appreciate any bright spots otherwise offered by the cartoon to its full merit. 

Still, that didn’t stop Nickelodeon airing the redrawn colorized version of the cartoon with any and all of the scenes involving the natives completely excised. Not that it makes it any better, but is somewhat informative in that it isn’t a cartoon wholly reliant on racial stereotypes. The spot gag format is beneficial for redirecting focus to gags involving the African wildlife, the endearingly puzzling continuity that is Spencer Tracy’s side plot, or the only scene in the cartoon that Porky gets to himself. 

For all of its repugnance, Africa Squeaks has its moments of inspiration. Clampett providing his own storyboards for the cartoon proved to be a benefit, as it allowed him to be more mindful of his cinematography and execute intricate camera angles or maneuvers such as the shadows of the natives gliding along in perspective of the surrounding objects. Dick Thomas is the true star of the cartoon, as this is an excellent showcase of his skill and draftsmanship as a background painter—wonderful clarity and variety in both color and construction of the flora. A bitter irony in how it is a very beautiful cartoon just as it is a very ugly cartoon.

Typical Clampettisms come into play, not ones that are always beneficial, but Squeaks is at the very least chipper in its execution. Repurposed animation does become a bit of a crutch after awhile, Porky is nothing but a mere decoration—with the one scene devoting true focus on him where he tells the wildlife to shut up being one of the most inspired of the film yet—and the abundance of long pans can be seen as cheats and means to fill time just as much as they are to show off.

Nevertheless, it has its benefits. Stalling’s music score is a joy as always, the song number is rousing and catchy, benefiting from the added novelty of Kay Kyser voicing himself, the dissonance between the Spencer Tracy and amusing devotion to his entire shtick is amusing and almost endearing in a way, and the overall tone is one that attempts to be plucky, spirited, energetic. 

Regardless, it’s not one of Clampett’s all time greatest and a definite step down from Porky’s Last Stand (perhaps the lack of Porky himself being a commentary on Clampett’s burnout with the aforementioned film), and the egregiousness of stereotypes and caricatures are just too ingrained and harmful to dismiss. There are plenty of other Clampett cartoons along the same line of quality that don’t feature a brigade of blackface—then again, there are plenty of other Clampett cartoons with even BETTER quality, also sans racism, that are much more worthwhile.