289. The Chewin’ Bruin (1940)

Release Date: June 8th, 1940

Series: Looney Tunes 

Director: Bob Clampett

Story: Bob Clampett

Animation: Norm McCabe, Vive Risto

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling

Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Bear, Dog, Bear trap), Robert C. Bruce (Grandpa)

(You can watch the short here!)

The mystery—or, more accurately, the pontification—behind Porky’s age fluctuations throughout the first 5-6 years of his career have been expounded upon in many a review thus far. Porky was conceived as a child. Then he was made an adult. Then he was made a child again. Then he was made an adult. Back and forth, the fluctuations went, noticeable differences in age range eventually dwindling to mere context rather than physical or emotional attributes. His versatility (a term that teeters on the confident side, as these changes were more reliant on trial and error) is no grand mystery.

So, why beat it into the ground even more? The catch is somewhat more intriguing here, if only slightly. With 5 years of experience under his belt, Porky’s identity was solidifying comfortably. He’d fluctuate and experiment with numerous attributes as the years went on, but the base to build those little changes upon was firm in its foundation. Bob Clampett especially had a firm grasp on the character, seeing as he was the director responsible for the most Porky cartoons in his filmography—even if that is largely due to contractual obligations. 

His casting of the character as a child here doesn’t seem to be a moment of dubiousness. Instead, it serves as a hook, a point of intrigue, something different and intended to be something interesting. The results of such efficiency are debatable, but it’s clear Clampett was attempting to mask his fatigue with the character by tacking on little decisions such as these to fool the audience into interest.

That, and for the sake of story, which is a much more purposeful factor. It’s easier to shove Porky to the side under the guise of “he’s a little kid listening to an old guy tell a story”; such opens a vehicle for Clampett to get away with all of the gags and characters he wanted under those conditions. A story within a story opens a new opportunity for new characters and new settings, and slyly works around contractual obligations that manifest in the form of a porcine in a sportscoat. 

As such, The Chewin’ Bruin entails the great tale of an old dog’s quest to nab a bear that was—in his words—“wacky about tobacc-y”. Typical Clampett irreverence ensues, as do signs of an embrace of budding perversion that would be synonymous with Clampett’s humor for years to come.

Old habits nevertheless die hard; a slew of establishing shots, short pans, and an amusingly deceptive “Starring PORKY” title card seek to pad out time and budgets as discreetly as possible. Such is true Clampettian tradition. Nevertheless, the establishing shot of a house nestled in a dirt road is particularly impressive through the attention to value and lighting, the glow of the windows reflected in the wet mud. 

Rather than drawing the rain effects by hand, potential clumsiness through execution is cut out of the equation by inserting a realistic overlay over the footage instead. The same overlay stems from Porky the Rainmaker, stemming all the way back to 1936–while the dissonance between hand drawn backgrounds and live action effects may seem like a potential distraction, the result is surprisingly effective given the realism of the backgrounds. At the very least, any intended ambience is preserved better than what would be the alternative with hand drawn rain. 

Of course, the rain only ever appears for that one shot. A dissolve to a window looking inside the cabin reveals a decidedly rain-less composition; one assumes the roof of the house shielding the porch from the effects of the weather could be a possible explanation, and the inconsistency is a nitpick if anything. Regardless, the change is noted, if only somewhat, prompting a brief jolt in momentum.

Clampett presumably wrote the story for the cartoon himself—thanks to the lack of a story credit—which tends to warrant comparatively conscious and imaginative layouts. An establishing shot of the cabin’s interior solidifies this; rather than showing Porky and his grandfather (at least, presumed to be grandfather) right off the bat or a straightforward shot of the wall, both are combined so that the shadows of the characters are projected upon the wall, heads turned to indicate visual interest at the bear and gun on display. The rifle concocts a clear, visual frame over the grandfather so as to guide the audience’s eye to both points of focus with minimal clutter. 

It’s debatable just how much potential clutter has been minimized; the camera pan trucking down the wall and over to Porky and his grandfather is a bit janky, jitters rife and the speed at which the camera moves seems to vary. Such a comparatively complex move and maintaining the double exposure for the sake of the shadow effects seemed to be a little much to handle at the same time.

Nevertheless, we dissolve to our two stars. Porky’s “Uh-jih-jee-eh-gee! Ehh-gee-eh-gee-ee-gosh!” in response to his grandpa’s beginnings of a story are wholly uninspired lines of dialogue (albeit delivered well)—a thankful contrast to John Carey’s lush, constructed close-ups. As with most Clampett shorts of the era, Carey’s animation makes the simplistic designs of the characters and bobbing movement from the previous animator look completely juvenile in comparison.

Clampett, finely tuned to his animators and how to cast them, sensed this. Many of Carey’s scenes in the cartoon manifest in complicated, warped perspective shots with unorthodox head tilts and movements that seem to leap off the screen. A close up of gramps talking about the stuffed bear’s “hankerin’ fer chawin’ tobaccy” bears particularly true to this—the manner in which his muzzle juts in and out of frame is almost disorienting and uncanny in its thick construction, but that is said out of praise first and foremost. Such extreme angles and movements possess a great risk for error or sloppy, melting animation. Miraculously, the audience is met with nothing of the sort.

Following a somewhat stilted truck-in of the bear mounted on the wall, Porky (who again looks, sounds, and acts loyal to his adult self) laughs off the old coot’s claims. Dave Hoffman's animation falls victim to being sandwiched between Carey’s scenes, appearing much more crude and unsynchronized with the dialogue in comparison. In reality, it’s perfectly serviceable—vague gestures and acting decisions are more plentiful than Carey’s personalized acting, but the movement is rightfully energetic. A reasonable support to Blanc’s deliveries as Porky continuously denies the credibility of his (presumed) grandfather’s claims. 

“Why, that’s impossible. Wuh-wuhh-why, it’s unbelievabuh-ihh-buh-bih-ih…unbe-ihh-buh-be-ihh…”

Clampett’s endearment towards Porky’s youthful impressionability is displayed as he hardly misses a beat with his following inquiry: “Was he really?” The lack of a stutter helps to aid the shift in tone.

Gramps gorging himself in a mouthful of chawin’ tobaccy seeks to reassure the credibility of his incredible story. Again, the sheer form and solidity of Carey’s animation actively works to benefit Robert C. Bruce’s line deliveries (who does a fantastic job as the old coot), whether it be from a weighted head tilt to a rather disgusting glimpse of the tobacco strands mingling with saliva in the elder’s mouth. 

A bloated beat of tobaccy chawin’ ensues, noticeable in its awkwardness due to the sudden cut off of dialogue. It slows the momentum, sure. Yet, if there was any animator who was to show off to the audience amidst this brief few seconds of silence, John Carey is a very comfortable choice. 

Always a lover of shadows (as evidenced by their repeated usage in shorts boarded by Clampett himself), the old man lobbing a wad of tobacco in a nearby spittoon is conveyed through atmospheric projections on the wall. Convulsions of the spittoon (and Mel Blanc’s lip waggling sound effects) don’t reap as many laughs now as they may have back then—at least not enough to derail the flow of the short as it does. Regardless, depicting the action through shadows renders the routine slightly more imaginative than what would have been present otherwise.

Instead of Carey providing animation for the next scene of Porky and his gramps, another animator is very clearly attempting to mimic Carey’s style, likely for consistency. As expected, the perspective is a bit more stiff, lacking the organic draftsmanship of Carey’s style, but the effort is appreciated. It undoubtedly asserts Carey’s credibility as an animator to have it actively mimicked.

A cross dissolve sparks a flashback to accompany Bruce’s narration, which comprises the overwhelming majority of the cartoon. Stalling’s original music cue popularized by cartoons such as A Wild Hare and Rabbit Seasoning rightfully establishes a playfully furtive tone, melding well with the rhythmic, subtly butt-wagging walk cycles of dog and other dog. 

Izzy Ellis’ animation is recognizable in the next scene of the old coot doing a wild take—both on account of the comparatively simple draftsmanship and trademark spiral trails that would carry on as an identifier throughout his career. The drawings themselves aren’t the most complex nor eye-catching, but the spontaneous, rubbery movement intended by the reaction is clearly communicated.

True to his narration, the dog spots a reindeer out in the distance. Conscious Clampettian composition prevails, his layouts often feeling illustrative in their attention to framing objects with their environments. Trees in the background provide a nice frame for the reindeer, who pops nicely against the light gray sky with its dark silhouette; the trees likewise concoct a frame around the dog in the foreground as well, guiding the eye diagonally across the screen. Viewers are thusly able to register both animals with little struggle.

That, and a signature Clampettian parting pan of the dog and his gun sliding to the side provides further focus on the deer. The gun sliding left as the dog slides right is an oversight, seeing as the gun is intended to be in the dog’s hand—regardless, the weight of the composition feels more balanced and orderly with the aforementioned cheat, the maneuver appearing much more orderly that way.

Use of value and lighting again benefits the illustrative qualities of the staging, deer rendered in bold focus with its dark coloring against the light background. Clear silhouettes prove to be another benefit. One technical gaffe resides only in a camera movement, which seems more purposeful than not; amidst gramps’ description of the reindeer (“Musta stood seven foot!”), the camera very briefly trucks into the knees of the deer before panning back out, as though to emphasize its height. Instead, it reads as a bit discombobulated, but is subtle enough to fly past anyone not scrutinizing every single frame. 

“But what I admires most is his beautiful horns!”

Dutiful to the timing of the dog’s narration, the reindeer squeezes his nose to honk out a brass solo through his antlers. The sound of a car horn, topped off with a snatch of “You’re a Horse’s Ass” for good measure. Indeed, the joke is certifiably of Clampett’s creation, but is a Clampettism that is endearing more than grating. Indisputably corny, but even the reindeer seems to acknowledge this through a coy, inoffensive grin at the camera.

Back to gramps, furtive walk cycle and accompanying music theme fully in-tact. The Chewin’ Bruin is not without its reuses (as evidenced by the forthcoming scene in more ways than one), but the recycling of the walk cycle is a smart move—it preserves the rhythm of the movement, filmmaking, and music by serving as a recurring bridge. Thus, the audience knows to expect more hunting antics like ahead. Likewise, the walk cycle is considerably shorter than the opening thanks to gramps spotting a target off-screen, therefore easing any potential monotony stemming from its reuse.

Instead, the overlay of the dog parting to the side is reused to reveal a horde of muskrats; the usage of the pan does feel somewhat more lazy in comparison—or, more accurately, uninspired—as a different transition would maintain visual interest more strongly. Thankfully, the issue of the gun sliding out of the opposite direction is fixed, as there is no gun to frame the screen. A snow covered pine tree assumes the job instead.

The muskrats appeal to Clampett’s itch for cuteness so common in this period. The same is true for the desire to mix cuteness with sadism as the old dog’s gun is pointed right in their direction—“just to scare ‘em.”

To the credit of Clampett and the animator, all of the muskrats behave in different ways, that variation maintained even through their frightened exit off-screen. Splitting up the actions and giving each muskrat their own faux sense of individuality makes for a much more organic and intriguing product visually; their actions and reactions feel more believable, thus selling the cruelty of the dog aiming his loaded gun just for giggles.

Of course, the true punchline is underwhelming by today’s standards. Part of that is due to identifying reused animation—theatergoers in 1940 were not likely to identify the motion of the muskrats sawing their way into the snow as being ripped from Scalp Trouble. Likewise, another part is due to pop culture references rendered obsolete today; “Goodbye, Mr. Chips” refers to the 1939 Oscar winning film of the same name. 

Thankfully, gramps reassures any anxious moviegoers (or anxious pigs sitting on his lap) that he “never hurted little fellas”, enabling his conquest to go forth through the courtesy of another idyllic, carefully framed shot. Musical theming and rhythmic walk cycles ensue as gramps expresses his desire to nab big game. “Y’know, somethin’ more like a grizzly!”

Enter said grizzly. His gradual introduction is genius, and works only because of the walk cycle’s pronounced reuse. Having been used in three separate occasions, not even the walk serves as a joke in itself, but the use of the walk. Introducing the bear by having him enter the “train” with utter nonchalance supports a lack of commentary in the filmmaking providing its own oxymoronic commentary. The dog and his domesticated dog continuing the walk cycle is innocuous in itself, the audience preparing more animal antics delivered in a “spot gag lite” format. Instead, the rhythmic reuse deceives expectations and allows the bear’s introduction to serve as a genuine surprise from how seamlessly it enters. 

Sensing a visitor, gramps halts to cast a furtive look over his shoulder. Just as it prompts him to momentarily shed the mask markings around his face, it initiates a collision with his dog who has become a victim to the trancelike rhythm of the walk cycle. Again, a device that works most effectively under the walk’s politely excessive reuse. Swirls, droplets, and other impact lines paired with somewhat doughy animation identify Ellis’ animated handiwork yet again.

Upon recovery from their interaction, gramps hushes the dog so as not to scare off any nearby prey. 

Dog nods dutifully, imparting the same wisdom onto the grizzly behind him. 

Despite the dog’s eventual reaction taking its time to be evoked, creativity favors it in many ways. Most obvious, of course, is that his surprised take literally leaves him frozen; icicles hang from his muzzle and tale, and it’s the bear who is kind enough to move him aside with comedically ginger hospitality. Clampett would reprise the theme of a carnivorous brute going through his routine with a rather ginger, delicate disposition in A Coy Decoy, where a hungry coyote shares the same amusing contrast with sculpted, dainty fingers that juxtapose his decidedly feral nature.

Other acts of creativity are better described as complimentary, but are still imperative in allowing the scene to work. Namely the framing and composition of the scene—the stylized, opaque texture of the tree in the corner is particularly striking through its simplicity. It foreshadows the graphic experimentation that would bud in the shorts within the coming years, with Norm McCabe, Chuck Jones, and Frank Tashlin being the earliest proponents. 

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Until another close-up breaks protocol, that is. Gramps’ story about the tobaccy makes more sense through the conspicuous tobacco brick in his back pocket. Fancying himself a taste, the bear attempts to remove it via tongue…

Mission failed. The bite mark in the brick is a nice added touch, making it seem more imperfect, appropriate in its appearance, gently used. 

With the tobacco buried in the coot’s pocket, the bear puts his paws to use by using more human means of retrieval. His reaching with his paws isn’t funny so much as the contrast to before—he could have just plucked it out of the pocket from the beginning, but faking out the audience and allowing the bear to stay loyal to his animalistic roots is more fun and interesting. 

A cut to gramps’ reaction ensures that the bear’s humanistic methods isn’t even the final punchline—the old man getting fondled is.

All of the rather pronounced ass shots offered by the short are confirmed to be very purposeful through the old man’s reaction alone. The Sour Puss would be another cartoon not far off that would embrace innocent perversion—risqué jokes are certainly not foreign to Clampett, and would become commonplace in his filmography later on. Yet, for this particular period, his use of innuendos almost feels like a form of rebellion, as though he knows he’s succumbed to the restrictions of shoehorning Porky into every cartoon and has gotten a bit stale. The point isn’t so much as noticeable here as it is in The Sour Puss, but is certainly worth mentioning nonetheless.

“Take it easy, Daisy!” is where the true joy of the punchline lies as the coot addresses (what he believes to be) his dog—allowing the audience to briefly ponder their relationship. 

Before too many questions can be asked, the bear is walloped in the head with a rifle, which he is not receptive to. Having the bear rise out of frame from the impact seems to make it feel even more ferocious, as though the violence can’t even be contained to the screen. 

The bear’s reaction—while predictable—is nice to see on screen, urgency sincere and earned through the sound effects of the bear’s roar, the prominent gummy fangs, and the stylized line of action exhibited by gramps as he freezes in his place. As he roars, the bear slowly extends his neck out, shaking his head; it fits succinctly into the negative space created by the arc of the old coot, again prioritizing a visually appealing weight distribution and dynamism in the composition.

Courtesy of John Carey, more solid, immersive perspective shots are in order. The first shot of the old man bending low to look behind him is particularly impressive. Orchestrated at a difficult up-angle, it feels like he’s one of us, leaning into the audience, as though the he’ll catch a glimpse of the viewers on his way to see the brute behind him. More importantly, the angle is meticulous, specific, unorthodox; it unconsciously unsettles the viewer from its inventiveness and intimacy, allowing the bear’s presence to feel even more disconcerting. Gramps’ unease is easily able to penetrate the screen that way.

As for the adjoining shot, gramps holding securely onto his ass not only makes for a clear, tidy silhouette, but embraces the mischievous perversion remarked upon earlier. Despite the bear taking up a good half of the screen, the old man is still very visible and clear.

Just like his disingenuousness in the next shot. Vestiges of Porky’s Last Stand are channeled from the slow burn of the coot’s grin; visual interest is prioritized through the organic weight distribution in the staging. Viewers are more likely to search the screen longer with one of the characters at a conflicting angle than what they would with two characters mirroring their stances—fitting the man’s body into frame again evens out the weight distribution so that both subjects are equal in focus.

As a response to the strained anticipation of the prior scenes, Clampett channels the likes of Frank Tashlin with an showcase of fast motion and quick cuts to depict the coot’s frenzied exit. Climaxes are reflected in both the music score and sound effects, piercing whistling sounds to convey gramps’ running sounding akin to an emergency siren. An apt metaphor for a situation that calls for an emergency.

Most impressive is the perspective shot in which the old man seems to run right across the screen, momentarily dipping into the foreground. Cuts between scenes could stand to be a bit quicker, but that comes as a nitpick. The urgency is certainly potent and decipherable. 

Another highlight involves a shot of the man and his pup-sicle fleeing over hill and dale; it seems innocuous are first glance, a topper to communicate that gramps wants no business with angry bears. Instead, footprints imprint themselves in the snow, following the trail weaved by the coot at a delay. Cute and inventive, the gag refreshingly takes advantage of its snowy surroundings, while executed with enough frankness to not be over the top.

Relatively early usage of smears is visible only to those blessed with the modern aid of freeze framing. As gramps steps on the metaphorical breaks, he and his dog almost appear to shift positions; at the scene’s beginning, gramps is in the front, dog in the back. With his braking, the dog is propelled onto his chest—leaning back causes the coot to appear as though he’s straggling behind. Unfolding in a matter of seconds, the maneuver is strategic in again bringing attention to the weight distribution of the scene and the characters. Both subjects “switch sides”, establishing the weight of the staging to be equal. It doesn’t add much to the demands of the scene nor story in the long run, but is a welcome bit of attention to detail.

It furthermore serves as a distraction for the coming gag; though a cheat (seeing as no evidence of its appearance is ever hinted at), the visual of the dog somehow managing to skirt around both sides of the tree with heels on the ground would be a cartoon staple. While unsure of whether it’s the first use of such a visual in any cartoon, this is definitely one of its earliest appearances in a Warner cartoon, if not earliest. It’s polite by today’s standards, but appreciated knowing its future significance.

Thus, the barricading process is initiated, from gramps and his dog boarding up any and all exits to taking the welcome mat inside. A conspicuously labeled bucket of nails is relatively useless, as their physical appearance requires no verbal explanation, but is therefore amusing as a consequence. Both dogs of the anthropomorphic and domesticated kind flaunt double exposure effects amidst their hurried barricading in an attempt to mimic a motion blur. Use of double exposure has certainly gotten more sophisticated, clean, and complex within the past few years—occasional gaffes ensue, but the motion blur once would have just been conveyed through thin, opaque lines.

Firstly, however, before all of that lies the bear’s interaction with a bear trap. Admittedly, there isn’t much to comment on seeing as the bit of the bear biting the trap and prompting it to retreat like an injured dog is reused from Inj*n Trouble. The bear’s walk cycle as he enters is stilted, looking like a pre-existing cycle that was just sped up rather than specifically accounting for the weight in his footsteps. Likewise, the effect of the bear trap gag doesn’t have the same effect as it does in Trouble—the bear’s stupefied reactions after the trap retreats almost seems to soften the impact rather than support it.

Nevertheless, the bear remains undeterred from his mission and attempts to break into the cabin. More immersive, constructed perspective is flaunted as the bear turns around in the foreground—the momentum of the scene is preserved by a camera pan demonstrating the bear running to various corners of the cabin rather than a cut. Slight smearing/follow-through in the bear turning around and the spiky, circular impact lines seem to point in John Carey’s direction as animator.

It would likewise explain the solidity of the logs that are lifted from the cabin as the bear raises the wall like a garage door. Such transformative humor is the same breed as the reindeer honking his “horns”—innocent yet clever, this bit particularly feeling as though it belongs in a silent film. 

With the bear now in the cabin, no more room for further outrunning, focus is delegated to the characters reacting to their new guest. First, the dog—the domesticated one. A bit over ambitious to maintain consistency with previous shots, the hook-up of the dog ceasing his histrionics reads as oddly spontaneous and ill fitting considering a comfortable amount of time has passed since his last appearance. The effect would have been the same had they cut directly to him wiping his brow, which is his next act. Regardless, the inverse of this issue is much more prevalent, so an attention to consistency is refreshing to see.

Coming face to face with the bruin, the dog is yet again subject to freezing in a more metaphorical sense. His rigid, flat rotations succeed again in part to sculpted construction and accurate perspective that is maintained even in the direction of which the dog falls.

No such histrionics are reserved for the dog of the anthropomorphic kind. Instead, his reaction is purposefully more subtle to provide an effective antithesis to the exaggeration of the pooch. Always classic, the ol’ slow turn and back works fine…

…but works even better once gramps desperately attempts to undo every inch of his carpentry. While difficult not to turn this into a long winded odessy about the joys of John Carey, his talent is indisputable and actively works to the betterment of the cartoon. Gramps’ histrionics are amusing on their own, but certainly wouldn’t have been as effective as they are without the appealing character drawings, skillful timing, and solid perspective that all draw the audience further into the action.

Even if a shot of nails returning to their designated place is somewhat useless, it is again harmless through its construction and realistic physics. Conspicuous labeling turns out to have a purpose after all. 

Prior talks about Clampett’s embrace of perversion are again highlighted through gramps’ exit. Or, more accurately, lack thereof—the bear manages to grab him by the shirt collar, prompting another display of frenetic histrionics not quite as sophisticated as the prior scenes. Of course, the focus isn’t necessarily on the animated physics of how the dog moves. Rather, the audience is meant to pay attention to the bear now holding the coot’s long johns as gramps makes a final run for it. Stalling’s brief flute accompaniment of “Spring Song” provides all of the commentary necessary. 

Guns don’t seem to be much of a threat, either; after the bear introduces himself to gramps’ weaponry, the gun uses its newfound gift of anthropomorphism to become flaccid. Pronounced double eyebrows on both characters possibly reveal Norm McCabe’s handiwork, though only a presumption. Regardless, the bit is inoffensive today in both degrees; not particularly thrilling, but too playful to dislike. 

This is a short beyond such juvenile antics. Instead, the audience demands perspective shots and action—Clampett answers the viewer’s unheard pleas through a shot of gramps attempting to scale the corner he’s been backed into.

Albeit impressive, the real spotlight lies in the furious fight cloud that follows. Fight clouds in their own are already a caricature of motion. A whimsical approximation of a brawl. Difficult to further caricature seeing as it is sheer caricature, Clampett nevertheless sets one foot forward by directing the brawl to move on ones. What is already meant to move fast is now reduced to an indecipherable blur—a pure priority of feeling rather than any discernible action. Stakes are both elevated and dismissed through such a maneuver; the brawl is made to feel much more violent, but is also made to be taken way less seriously. This is a cartoon about a bear that likes tobacco—it’s good to stay humble. 

Accounting for Bruce’s resumed narration, the fight cloud continues for a somewhat excessive amount of time. Feelings of its overuse stem more from the sudden shift in camera registry, as the screen is much wider than it once was. Had the shot remained at the same distance as before while Bruce talked, it may have worked better—here, the change clues the audience into an inevitable change. Something is going to happen that is needed to take up the amount of space suddenly free in the staging. For nothing to happen almost seems to lose the audience’s attention; not that something needs to happen immediately after a cut, but there is definitely a delicate line that is straddled. 

Said foreshadowing amounts to the bear sliding into the foreground, prized tobaccy now in his possession. 

“That’s what really got me steamed up!” Not the bear’s aggression, but the coot’s prized carcinogen pilfered from his pockets. Exaggeration on the dog’s gnarled teeth is particularly attractive—tame knowing the standards that would come to be for Clampett’s future works, but caricatured and extreme for this particular period.

On the topic of the late ‘30s-early 1940 period, Popeye was a figure who was particularly popular at the same time. This allowed him to be subject to numerous references in the Warner catalogue. While there’s no deliberate allusion to him here—no consumption of spinach or disgruntled pipe twirling—the sudden transformation of the dog harnessing his newfound superhuman strength is certainly synonymous to many a short involving the sailor man. Though brief, gramps does pause to strike a pose that is certainly comparable in its anatomy to the source material. 

Short and sweet as his payback may be, the abbreviated length is beneficial. It’s much easier for a fight sequence to deflate or collapse under its own length if it goes on for too long rather than the opposite. Seamlessness in which the coot is able to grab the tobacco after kicking the bear, only to punch him immediately after is commended. Not a beat is skipped, yet the pacing allows each action to be rendered decipherable to the audience. Loss of clarity is an easy vice to step into during action sequences.

Clampettian transformative humor prevails upon the dog suplexing the bear into the floor. This time, he slams a “MAN AT WORK” sign on the floor with excessive haughtiness, completing the metaphor of a construction worker tending to his chores underground. Clever, kitschy, and a clever way to save further budgets by obscuring any remaining action of the fight. As has been mentioned in previous reviews, benefits of obscuring fights also allows the audience to perceive it in their imagination—the unknown opens a door of possibilities, which could potentially render the fight even more violent. A brawl can only be as violent as it is presented, but can always seem more gruesome if certain clues are left to one’s imagination.

Knowing the flurry of activity can’t be topped any further, we dissolve back into the present day, Carey’s animation and Bruce’s narration serving as a delight to Porky and the audience both. Specificity in Carey’s acting again pays dividends in its believability—even Porky, who’s done nothing but literally sit around, is granted some immersive character acting by squinting upon gramps lurching forward amidst his tale. It’s as though his energy is visceral enough to manifest as a physical being Porky feels necessary to deflect against. Bruce’s narration and Carey’s animation certainly sell such a point.

“And that consarn bear never did get my tobaccy!” 

Cue a gratuitous reuse of the bear mounted on the wall, its usage still just as stilted as it was the first time around.

At the very least, the seemingly excessive truck-in is warranted, seeing as the bear comes back to live just to give gramps the stink eye. 

“Oh yeeeeeah?” Voice expert Keith Scott cites Mel Blanc as the voice of the bear, but the delivery certainly sounds like an impression of Danny Webb (who, in turn, was doing an impression of comedian Joe Penner.)

Joyously grotesque chewing motions are not reserved only for gramps. Immediately seeking to prove him wrong, the bear lobs a wad of tobacco at the same, mysteriously shadowed spittoon subject to the old coot’s saliva earlier. A clever but somewhat transparent bit of animation reuse in the name of consistency.

Endearingly awkward reactions from Porky and his grandpa ensue. Well drawn and certainly well attuned to the playful, exaggerated motion the take begs, the stretched line of action and angle at which they rise naturally appear foreign to the viewer’s eye. It’s a solid approximation of a visceral reaction that is attractive in its motion and feeling. Perhaps it’s the sudden cut to the reaction that feels wooden more than the reaction itself.

Regardless, the iris closes on a self satisfied, tobaccy possessing bear in a maneuver that seems to identify this as his cartoon first and foremost.

Talks of who this cartoon “belongs to” is largely what informs my opinion of it. (Or, more accurately, used to.) Ever a fervent crusader of the Porky Pig brigade, this is a short that I have hardly ever watched. Porky is barely in it, which must mean this is, without a doubt, a truly disposable cartoon not meant for human eyes. Right?

While it’s true I hesitate to find myself returning to this one when given the entirety of Clampett’s filmography, this is a much more competent cartoon than I had anticipated. Certainly competent enough for me to rescind my prior opinions. 

This is definitely a Bob Clampett cartoon released in mid-1940. It possesses all of the trademarks: gratuitous Porky use who is nothing but a prop, frequent reuse of animation in an attempt to add substance, shortcuts and cheats through still shots and obscured animation. Compared to the Clampett films that have come before this, it’s not a masterpiece by any means… but is an incredible improvement over the misery that is Porky’s Poor Fish.

Pieces of the film that are inspired due tend to shine. Robert C. Bruce is the real MVP of the cartoon, his voice acting wonderfully hammy but in a way that compliments his equally hammy role. Praises have been sung in enough excess for John Carey’s draftsmanship as an animator, but are worth reiterating. It is a short that is playful more often than not. It is definitely filled with certain Clampettian self indulgences of both kinds—the beneficial and detrimental kind—but is, overall, a short that is more harmless than not.