331. The Wacky Worm (1941)

Release Date: June 21st, 1941

Series: Merrie Melodies

Director: Friz Freleng

Story: Dave Monahan

Animation: Cal Dalton

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling

Starring: Mel Blanc (Worm, Crow)

(You may view the cartoon here!)

Chase cartoons are an uncontested staple of golden age cartoons. If asked to represent the general time period today (say, in another piece of media), most default to either the stereotype of Fleischer-adjacent aimless bobbing or two characters constantly trying to pursue one another. It’s a shorthand recollection, and while these cartoons offer so much more than just repetitive predator versus prey dynamics, it’s certainly understandable as to how they’ve become a representative cliché.

Freleng in particular was a fan of his chase cartoons, and had been even during his previous tenure in the ‘30s. Now, however, his focus isn’t exactly on being a purveyor of the dynamic so much as it is finding ways to turn the chase cartoon on its head. The Cat’s Tale sought to offer a more metaphysical perspective as to why chase dynamics insist, who structures this hierarchy and why. Double Chaser, released the following year, serves as a humorous display of convolution that follows a similar philosophy teased by Tale.

Sandwiched between the two is The Wacky Worm. It isn’t as openly subversive as the other two, and is certainly more obedient to its own format than rebellious. Nevertheless, that the prey—often intended in these cartoons as the one the audience is sympathetic towards—is a caricature of Jerry Colonna (who was incredibly funny and charismatic, but perhaps not exactly a shining beacon of cute and cuddly endearment) is enough to demonstrate that this chase cartoon isn’t like all others. 

Indeed, Freleng establishes the difference almost immediately. Whereas most cartoons in this vain open with the camera positioned on the target, cueing him as the plucky prey that is meant to have the support of the audience, this short delegates focus on its predator. A mischief that almost borders on a flippancy dominates over suspense: the bird obliges faithfully to Stalling’s orchestrations of “Muchacha”, moving in strict tandem to the music as it crawls forth. The mechanics and polite asininity of the walk cycle are called to attention much more than any sort of chase dynamic. Why the bird moves the way it does is irrelevant—how is the priority.

So much so that the opening could be dismissed as somewhat aimless. Given the conviction of the bird’s movements, the audience assumes that his dinner lies right in front of him. That doesn’t seem to be the case; after the bird accidentally takes a spill over a cliff, a noise from off-screen is what grabs his attention. He operates at a comparative leisure that perhaps wouldn’t be the case if he had fresh, hot feed actively slipping out of his fingers. What seems to be painted as a playful pursuit isn’t much of a pursuit at all, and while that in itself could be taken as a subversion of the ever trigger-happy chase cartoon, muddiness of its intent (or lack thereof) seems to dominate.

Even so, the details and physics pertaining to his eccentric walk cycle are nice. Such a strict marriage between action and music is an uncontested Freleng staple that certainly shines throughout much of the cartoon. Having the bird suddenly cut across the “stage” and into the background introduces further depth into the composition, thusly rendering the environments more believable and livable. 

Amusing to note when the cliff almost seeks to establish the polar opposite. Geometric and flat, the cliff just seems to end. It doesn’t feel like a natural organic cluster of rocks creating a supportive foundation, but, rather, a backdrop to serve the purpose as a gag. It’s possible that this flat cliff side wasn’t exactly the intent. Regardless, the geometry of the cliff is certainly helpful in furthering the spontaneity of the drop—the ground exists until it doesn’t.

Capitalizing on this unplanned interruption, Stalling’s music score is completely suspended as the bird recognizes his mistake and scrambles to reunite with solid ground. Such a directing decision calls attention to the folly, inducing a polite suspense as the audience is focused only on the bird’s attempts to get back. Likewise, it assets that the bird can be divorced of his musical origins; he isn’t a drone that can only maneuver to the hypnotism of a tango. A hypnotism that the audience succumbs to as much as the bird; long as the walk cycles may stretch on, the length and mundanity are helpful in lulling the audience into a predictability that is jolted upon the arrival of the cliff. 

Gravity prevails over the bird. Execution of his fall suffers from some of the same aimlessness mentioned above; the length of the fall is polite at best, and the background boasts some perspective issues that makes it seem as though the bird is floating instead of interacting with his environments. It’s possible the short length of the fall was an intentional punchline (Art Davis’ Nothing but the Tooth, for example, demonstrates a great gag that amounts in about a 6 inch drop), but Freleng was a very purposeful director. One gets the sense that the brevity would have been more pronounced if it was the purport. 

The bird nevertheless has greater priorities than measuring the length of his drop—such as identifying the obnoxious, loud, sustained sound of someone’s voice off-screen.

Friz Freleng deserves to be commended for potentially upping Tex Avery at his own game of seeing just how aggressively he can grate the audience’s nerves into nothingness. Perhaps the most obnoxious song number could be found in this very cartoon (and that’s saying something, especially given that Freleng was also the director of My Little Buckaroo, which boasted the most obnoxious number up until this point); it’s a solid introduction to our eponymous worm, who commands the attention of the audience before he’s even on screen.

Especially considering it takes 14 seconds to reveal what he even looks like. Mel Blanc yet again establishes his superhuman abilities by sustaining one, single, long note for all of those 14 seconds without straining for a second. While it may just register as aimless (albeit funny!) noise to audiences today, theatergoers in 1941 would have penned it as a Jerry Colonna impression more quickly, seeing as one of his signatures was to sustain a single note before diving into a song.

Here, the song of choice is “Daydreaming”—accustomed viewers of either this blog or these cartoons will remember that the 1939 Hardaway-Dalton effort Bars and Stripes Forever had a synonymous Colonna-fied rendition of the same song. Spectacle was a stronger priority in the former, as labeling the noise here as a “song number” is relatively generous. It doesn’t seek to pad out time, to amaze, to instill further musical brilliance into the cartoon. It exists solely to make the audience laugh, if not lose some semblance of their sanity in the process.

Lounging in an apple tree, the apples immediately give a motivation for the worm to be there. Worms hide in apples. Spontaneous as his introduction is intended to feel, attempts are made to introduce some sort of logic into it and form coherent tangents of a storyline—lounging in an apple tree is more decipherable and makes more sense to the audience than just having the worm pop out of a random hole or seemingly materialize out of thin air.

Entertainment value isn’t even solely on the vocal talents of Blanc. As he sings, the mustachio’d Colonna worm’s mouth twitches and convulses in an obtusely synthetic manner; the timing of said convulsions is where most of the success lies, as they seem completely random and don’t immediately kick in upon the opening of the worm’s mouth. A great piece of abstraction that embraces its zaniness, from both sight to sound.

Through the bombastic nature of his song, it doesn’t even seem like the bird is out to get him for food as he is to just shut him up. There’s a certain patience to be had as the crow glowers at him, not so patiently waiting for the theatrics to end—anyone truly starving or in dire need of a worm would have just plucked him up right then and there. Suspense and a grounded asininity is more important.

Perhaps too late, the worm does eventually recognize his company; a Colonna-esque exclamation of “My word! A bird!” serve as the magic words that kickstart the remaining five and a half minutes of run cycles and wacky antics.

The Wacky Worm largely exists as an exercise in ludicrous animation cycles. More and more, Freleng’s attempts to exercise the muscles of his animators is largely felt. Not that artistic evolution blossoms at the drop of the hat—the drawings seen here are the culmination of years of growth and collaboration—but The Trial of Mr. Wolf seemed to mark a turning point of sorts; the rampant exaggeration, whether through smears to convey speed or generally funny and outlandish drawings, the worm and bird adopt many of the principles seen and furthered in Wolf. Primarily the latter.

In particular, the worm’s obedience to Stalling’s tango music score is comparable to the wolf’s dainty prancing. Functionality is a slightly more prevalent driving force with the bird’s prancing than the wolf’s (which, of course, was the intent of the latter’s scene), but it remains amusing to compare. One wonders if the impulses or results with such a high level of caricature would have been the same if this short predated Trial instead.

Our introductory chase follows its own rule of threes: a spotlight on the worm. A spotlight on the bird. A spotlight on the two of them as both walk cycles converge, enabling a crescendo in action and engagement. Positioning the camera in favor of the worm delegates attention back to him, which, in turn, derives some semblance of sympathy. This is a cartoon that draws its focus from the antics of the worm rather than the bird—hence the title.

To ensure his own running chops can be as amusing as his pursuer’s, the worm’s running eventually devolves to a mechanical series of somersaults across a rolling pan. Yet another reminder, perhaps more obtuse this time, that this isn’t a stolid chase cartoon. Abstraction and caricature of the run cycles are a much larger priority than what spurred the running in the first place. It doesn’t get more obtuse than a run cycle that does everything in its power to divorce itself of a run cycle. 

Seeking refuge in a hole doesn’t shift direction of tone or the camera—no bloated encounter on the bird pondering how to capture his stowaway victim. Instead, it too is another vehicle for further notional cycles; the worm turns towards the camera as he propels himself up and down like a loose spring, diving into the hole and doing the same underneath. Freleng’s musical timing bestows coherency to the vignette, instilling a purpose that melds the action together beyond visual noise for the sake of visual noise. 

Granted, superficiality is the intent. Priorities of the sequence are to communicate that the worm is running from the bird, and that the imaginative, almost dismissively juvenile ways in which the characters run are the forefront. Visual acrobatics are the main takeaway. Not the who or the what or the when or the where or the why. 

After allowing the music to dominate for the past thirty seconds, the Colonna worm cuts in with his own facetious commentary upon making an elongated dive: “Graceful, isn’t it?” 

In one final breach of convention, the worm is able to scrunch himself up in mid-air and propel himself to his destination. A proud dismissal of grounded physics—especially given that the trajectory of his “graceful” dive almost seemed to indicate that he’d land into (or onto) something, seemingly following a very subtle arc. Shrinking into himself and launching like a loaded spring through the air deliberately betrays his own sentiments through a much more harsh, abrasive movement. Graceful indeed.

While they technically do, a shot of the worm diving in an apple juxtaposed against a wide shot of the bird approaching said apples feel as if they don’t hook-up together properly. Perhaps some of that dissonance can be owed to the painterly close-up of the apples, with their elongated stems and leaves; the opaque, cel shaded apples that are decidedly leaf-less are bound to stand out in comparison. A shift in background perspective isn’t as stark as the shift between the apples, and the location of the apple clusters isn’t entirely consistent. Out of all that is offered by the cartoon, this is an incredibly minuscule thing to nitpick. Nevertheless, slight as it may be, there is indeed a very subtle break that occurs that can be jarring even on a subconscious level.

Some fresh Dick Bickenbach animation offsets any cinematographical sins committed. Unsurprisingly, his animation is brisk, lively, and tangibly tactile, the bird conducting himself with a comparatively menacing urgency in his quick movements.

Likewise, such animation heralds one of the most amusing reveals of the cartoon: the bird is as obnoxious as the worm. His “I know where ya are! You’re in one a’ dese apples!” is equally as grating as Colonna’s song number, delivered with a purposefully stilted pedantic, harsh shout. While he may look mean, what with his sharp angles and permanently furrowed brows, the cadence of his statement almost indicates that he takes great pride in such a logical deduction. A deduction that probably took him just a bit longer to formulate than anyone else in the same situation. In other words, he’s a bit obtuse.

Flightiness of Bickenbach’s animation comes in handy for the worm—the stray apple that suddenly hops and convulses and bounds across the screen has a much stronger impact through such fast motion. It immediately registers as unnatural, thereby justifying any and all suspicions held by the bird. Easier to deduce that something’s wrong if an apple is convulsing away rather than just rolling or inching. Freleng’s penchant for musical timing likewise proves helpful in giving such actions a permanence and a spotlight of their own.

Moreover, Freleng insinuates that just because the running has come to a halt—for now—doesn’t mean that there isn’t more room for further amusing cycles. If anything, the nonchalance in which the bird creeps backwards on his tiptoes render the drawings all the more amusing. It’s a gesture that looks (and is) absurd, but feels completely casual and second nature. Contrast compels comedy. 

As does surprise. Another sign of being a solid director is Freleng’s ability to surprise or subvert the expectations of the audience in tandem with the characters on screen. All of the apples scattering and hopping away at once is just as much of a shock to the viewer as it is the bird—there isn’t even any indication that the audience should have expected it in hindsight. Especially with how the apples move, the effect is successfully jarring and, to the bird especially, confounding. Bickenbach’s animated brevity really sells the clarity of such organized chaos, as a scene such as this one certainly has potential to fall into incoherence under the hands of a much less skilled draftsman or animator.

Admittedly, the apple bit does linger on for longer than is necessary, but understandably so. Enabling various apples of all sizes to run to and around and away from the bird justifies his conundrum, as there’s no way for him nor the audience to pick apart which apple has the Colonna worm. It’s a creative little vignette that demonstrates conviction to the idea, but could probably stand to be shortened by a few seconds.

Perhaps such a verdict stems from the reveal, in which an apple cracks against the stone wall and reveals the Colonna worm to be hiding inside. Given the entire production of the bit, one would assume that the resolution would be somewhat more climactic or invigorating. Nevertheless, the intent is to demonstrate that the worm was hiding in an apple and now his cover his blown, and said intent is communicated.

So, when all else fails, hiding in a conveniently available tube of toothpaste proves to be the safest course of action next.

Upon further inspection, the discarded tube isn’t nearly as big of a plot contrivance as it first registers. Viewers will note the discarded cans and bottles and other pieces of junk that soon pan into view, but the inclusion of a junkyard does seem to materialize out of thin air. Perhaps incorporating the junk into other background shots, even at a distance, would have been more helpful in telegraphing the coming segment. For now, it takes the audience a moment to recalibrate and understand that the toothpaste tube isn’t there just for the convenience of the story. Not entirely. 

Bickenbach’s animation stretches into this vignette as well, identifiable from the limberness of his movements and poses to signature flourishes—additional brush strokes and action lines, or the ever telltale eye blink lines that communicate the bird’s befuddlement after the worm seems to disappear entirely. This could be said for most anything in any of these cartoons released around this time, but this same ordeal would have been wrapped up twice as quickly and abrasively if Freleng had directed the cartoon just a few years later. Nevertheless, Stalling’s musical orchestrations in tandem with the action keeps it grounded, and Bickenbach was the animator who was most indicative of the sort of speed and matter of factness seen in future Freleng endeavors. It looks and moves and behaves just fine for what it is.

Especially given that the toothpaste offers a vehicle for further exaggeration beyond the worm being pulled in and out of it. After realizing that the worm is indeed still in the tube (evidenced by the tube inching away), the bird rolls the bottom up with a key à la a sardine can to force him out. The tube inflates and swells to convey the pressure being applied—the typography on the labeling thusly warps, allowing the growing impact to feel twice as potent. Especially when the toothpaste tube seems to convulse just before the worm is expelled; it very much could have been an error, but comes off as like a rumbling volcano seconds away from erupting. All very clever touches related to something as domestic and inconsequential as a toothpaste tube.

Freleng does get a little trigger happy in his cutting, as a shot of the worm landing in a nearby gramophone seems to cut away to a wide shot almost immediately. Keeping the gramophone visible in both shots allows the audience to piece the action together, but there could stand to be an added beat or two after the worm falls in to give him more focus. Such quick transitions make it difficult to deduce who or what should hold the audience’s attention.

More deductive reasoning from the bird, who brags about how he’s finally got the worm trapped. Never mind that the worm landing in the gramophone was an accident more so than a calculated scheme of the crow’s.

“Now whaddaya gonna do?”

Shatter the bird’s eardrums with music. Conscious and fitting sound design allows the gag to flourish, as the music—while loud to the bird—is tinny and confined to its source. Here, the bird and only the bird is receives the auditory punishment. Theatergoers are intended to look on and observe the bird as his eardrums get assaulted, reveling in their own decidedly unassailed hearing. Keeping the sound confounded to the gramophone brings attention to the props and surroundings, just as it offers a more personalized punishment and renders the worm’s actions more targeted.

Keeping with the junkyard theming, the Colonna worm seeks refuge next in a toaster. This, too, proves to be troublesome for the bird as he trips over the newfound obstacle, thusly sliding into a tin can a good distance away.

While an amusing way to depict that the elements are against the bird in all ways possible, the gag admittedly falters in some respects. Namely the animation—while the draftsmanship is fine, much of the motion feels motivated, forced. Showing the bird’s rear reverberating out of the tin can to demonstrate the ferocity of his impact looks more as though he’s shaking his butt on purpose rather than reflexively. Same with the sliding motion across the ground—it’s almost as though there’s a magnetic force pulling him forward rather than a natural gravitational response. 

Additionally, the tin can has a sharp extrusion in it to indicate that the bird landed head first, thereby justifying the stilted reverberations. That too is somewhat lost amidst the clutter of the background—the angling of the camera also has the bird’s tear in the center, as opposed to angling the composition to favor both halves of his body. Again, in the grand scheme of things, these are nitpicks through and through. The main intent of the bird being down on his luck is incontestably clear. There just seem to be a few instances of haste or oversight—whether through cuts, animation, or backgrounds—that typically aren’t present in the often deceptively meticulous Freleng directed cartoons. 

Cal Dalton’s handiwork is noticeable in the scene that follows—primarily the drawings where a piece of toast is lodged into the bird’s mouth after he presses down on the toaster. Keeping the toasted as a painted background element (rather than painted with cel paint, indicating it’s interactive) encourages a playful incongruity between the bird/worm and the background environments. Few bird chasing worm cartoons involve toasters in the mix; might as well call upon such a dissonance by stretching the antitheses further through painting stylings. 

More run cycles soon ensue, again grounding the cartoon to its barest essentials as a chase cartoon. Both the animation and musical orchestrations are thusly recycled. While it’s a helpful bridge—essentially bookending earlier vignettes and reminding the audience of the general hook of the short—the recycling reads as much more monotonous and repetitive than it does as a motivated piece of filmmaking. It’s to get characters from point A to point B, but the novelty of the walk cycles has begun to wane.

Thankfully, the worm diving into a bottle of medicine indicates that tides and priorities are shifting yet again. Audiences need no further handholding than the giant red letters advertising the alcohol contents to know where this is headed.

Predictable as the worm’s inebriation may be, it still spurs on some amusing tangents. Having the force of his hiccup blow the cork off of the bottle amusingly blows his cover, as it isn’t even a voluntary maneuver. Likewise, there are no attempts made to scramble out of the bottle, retrieve the cork, and indulge in his alcohol infested shelter; any and all caution is thrown to the wind.

Well, somewhat. Almost surprisingly, the worm’s drunkenness isn’t played up nearly as much as inebriation has in other cartoons. It offers a justification for hiccup gags—the cork being blown out, hitting himself on a can of peaches that notably brands the name of Henry Binder—and further absurd physics with his body (such as involuntary scrunching, which he has to force himself out of with noted effort), but otherwise is mainly conveyed through Stalling’s drunken arrangements of “How Dry I Am”.

A “Hey you! Come over here!” is notably cognizant and free of slurred speech. One wonders how much of Colonna’s likeness got in the way of capitalizing upon the drunkenness—perhaps they didn’t want to be too scathing and make him seem like a drunken fool (unlikely), or it’d be too much of a struggle for Blanc to balance a drunken syntax while clinging onto Colonna’s speech mannerisms. Also unlikely, but perhaps somewhat more plausible. Regardless, it isn’t entirely surprising within the contextual bounds of the cartoon so much as it is glancing at the Warner filmography that came before (and after). It’s an incredibly tame performance, if one could call it that, next to something like the drunks singing La Cucaracha in Picador Porky: notably Blanc’s first big-time role in a Warner cartoon that wasn’t extraneous whooping or other noises. 

A perhaps foolish drive to pick a fight with the crow definitely could be chalked up to the inebriation of the worm. Confrontation allows further opportunity for strong, invasive posing, but also for more Colonna-isms in his dialogue. While the dialogue can teeter on the pedantic side (as evidenced by the bird, where the obtuseness of his words seems to be the joke), it’s been a surprisingly quiet cartoon for one that features a celebrity caricature. Especially when the celebrity attached to said caricature  was often spoofed in these cartoons largely for his unique,

played up vocal mannerisms.

“Listen, crow! You’d better go!“ Stalling manages to mimic the cadence of Blanc’s speech in his musical score, marrying the dialogue to the cartoon. “Are you gonna stop your chasin’, or will I have to give you a lacin’?”

A hiccup reminds both the audience and the crow that the worm is still intended to be drunk. The crow even acts upon it, delivering an amusingly obvious “You’re ine-bri-ateeed.” On its own, the line delivery is odd and almost ill fitting, feeling as though it does nothing but communicate the obvious. Yet, given that that’s all the bird has done when talking, it’s quite a brilliant touch. Big and bad as he may be, the bird has a one-track, simple mind.

Blanc’s “Ah, yes! Disgusting, isn’t it?” loses a bit of its Colonna flavor, sounding much more akin to his natural speaking register. Ironic, given that between the “Ah, yes!” and the momentarily buck-toothed grin, the worm’s mannerisms and likeness are at their most Colonna adjacent. It also inspires a number of brilliant drawings on the worm, whose conniving attitude feels genuine in his aside to the audience.

Despite his height remaining consistent throughout that particular scene, the scale between the worm and the bird is somewhat warped. That is, the worm is much larger than he should be—a close-up of him getting punched away by the bird in the next shot enunciates such a difference. Perhaps its to aid his argument, as his inebriation enables him to get plucky and pick a fight. A maneuver that’s more effectively human if he has a somewhat bigger size against the bird than normal. Nevertheless, the difference in scale seems accidental rather than a purposefully aware decision, seeing that the intent is to communicate the worm’s futility. It’s he who gets punched in the end—no matter how big or small.

This, in turn, prompts a particularly inventive “punch take”. Recovering in the next scene, the audience watches as the worm’s head—purposefully huge—swells down to its normal size amidst its reverberations. A creative and novel way to communicate a throbbing headache outside of any standard pulsations, it’s not really a take that’s been found in any of these cartoons before. This short has its flaws—perhaps more than standard of Freleng at this time—but his attempts to be innovative and invent and actually experiment with the drawings on-screen are certainly noted. Not just making the drawings look better, but how they move and finding new ways to convey familiar sensations in a unique and fresh manner. 

Such a philosophy could even extend to the suddenness in which the worm surrenders. Following the pattern of the cartoon, the viewer expects him to put up another fight—maybe he reaches a Popeye-esque climax and is able to sucker punch his pursuer just when all hope is lost. Maybe he received an ego check once more by getting pummeled even further by the bird. Either way, the automatic instinct is to expect a fight; the domesticity of his giant, toothy grin (which could stand to look a bit more disingenuous and visceral) and “Well gate, you win! So long,” is disarmingly casual and uses that to its advantage.

More recycled run cycles ensue—the novelty has since worn off and attempts to be economical now rendered more transparent. Especially when the worm dives into the same apple from before (from the opposite direction.)

While not something most theater goers in 1941 would have picked up nor cared about, reusing the previous layout does bite Freleng back in terms of coherency and consistency between shots. Between the close-up of the apples and the bird ogling said scroglings, the lack of a stone wall in the background of the new layout is certainly noticeable. It almost seems to be a completely different apple tree rather than communicating the same layout, just at a different angle. Ironic, given that it would have been easier and less confusing for Freleng to reuse that same background layout from before. If going the economical approach, one may as well embrace such a decision. Trying to cover up such attempts can often lead to a dissonance such as this one, which proves more problematic than necessary.

Again; completely inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, as the intent is exceedingly clear. Just somewhat odd, considering Freleng was a very purposeful director and often on top of little notes such as these. To see so many inconsistencies slip through the cracks is a bit surprising for his standards. 

Nevertheless, the bird makes a stipulation: “I’ll find ya if I hafta eat every one a dese apples!” 

An addendum of “An’ I will, too!” is delivered with an incongruous calmness in his voice. The audience already takes his word for it, whether it be through the convenience of the apples (what other note is there for the cartoon to end on?) or the pattern of his pedantic, obvious dialogue. Such a recital of a catchphrase so frequented by these cartoons indicates his conviction: he’s gonna get his worm one way or another. 

Bickenbackian blink lines duly noted.

Eating all of the apples in the shot before melting to a fade could stand to be cut short by one and a half apples… but that too lands us in the conundrum of ambiguity. Having the bird eat all of the apples on screen—while longer than completely necessary—indicates a truthfulness to his word. Every one a’ dese apples means every one a’ dese apples, including the ones on screen. They aren’t there to pretty up the composition.

A fade out and in to a much more bloated and sick bird amongst a pile of apple cores is expected, but almost gratifying through its predictability. Discarded apple cores convey a story all their own—Stalling’s sickly accompaniment of “Muchacha” drives the nail of certainty into the coffin. In spite of the short’s flaws, Freleng upholds his strengths in the show, don’t tell department, gaining a lot of mileage out of implications and intent rather than spelling everything beat by beat. That there remain full, plump, ripe apples dangling above the crow on the tree almost seeks to mock him further, a chiding reminder that his work isn’t truly done. The negative space encouraged by the framing of the discarded cores and tree leaves served as an additionally clever means of staging and clarity. 

Focus is delegated to the apples on the ground rather than in the tree. With only one uneaten apple remaining, the bird is finally the recipient of some form of vindication. Especially given that the apple actually trembles as the bird reaches for it, indicating that it indeed possesses an inhabitant—no fake-out of seemingly sentient apples like last time.

Or, at the very least, no fake-out in the same exact manner. Before he can reach for his apple, a shower of the full, untouched, uneaten apples from above completely dashes his plans and ego as they completely cover the ground. They weren’t hung in the tree branches just for show. Clever, subtle telegraphing from Freleng.

Likewise, the sudden plethora of apples isn’t completely random. A woodpecker positioned in the tree is to blame—one of the crow’s own brethren, which almost feels like a betrayal in its own way. Birds of a feather stick together… until they don’t.

Execution of the apples falling could stand to be a bit more believable; being Bickenbach’s animation, the speed and severity of the fallen apples is conveyed succinctly. It’s very clear that the bird isn’t getting his worm anytime soon. All of the apples nevertheless fall in a straight, unwavering line, not rotating within their gravitational pull. It’s a similar complaint that applies to the crow tripping over the toaster and sliding into the can—it feels as though the apples are being pulled down by an outside force rather than actually knocked down. The end result appears comparatively mechanical and too perfect for a gag that revels in its chaos and disorder.

One final apple konks the crow on the head as a reminder of his soured luck. 

A hiccup substitutes a burp (much to the joy of the Hays Office, surely) as the bird—almost drunkenly—marks his concession: “Oh well… who wants a worm anyhow?"

Not him, if his collapsing into the pile of apples is anything to go by.

Almost fittingly for a short that prides itself on its oddness, this short is an odd effort for Freleng beyond what was likely intentional. As mentioned before, Freleng was often a very meticulous director. His results may not be as openly showy as some of his cohorts, but he was certainly armed with intention and purpose; most everything that happens in a Freleng cartoon happens for a reason. They’re very well thought out, very thorough cartoons.

The Wacky Worm seems to be a bit of an exception. Lapses in cinematographic coherency weasel their way through the cracks that otherwise wouldn’t be present in other Freleng efforts: some shots don’t hook up together smoothly, scenes are cut too quickly from one another, delivery of certain gags (such as the extrusion in the tin can where the bird landed) are muddy. These are natural pitfalls every director is bound to run into at some point in time, and doesn’t necessarily make this a bad cartoon. It, if anything, is just surprising to see it come from Freleng of all directors, who was usually on top of such housekeeping.

Fragmented and airy as the short has a tendency to be, it’s exuberance and novelty outweighs the negative. Attempts to invent and stylize and caricature animation are certainly felt, and there’s certainly something charming about the decision to make the worm a Jerry Colonna caricature for no other reason than they could. Stalling’s musical orchestrations are attentive and unifying. Dick Bickenbach’s animation in particular continues to be a standout in energy and pep. 

Perhaps it’s a short best appreciated for details and individual fragments over the overall picture. It could be that Freleng exhausted all of his creative energy on Hiawatha’s Rabbit Hunt—after all, Bugs Bunny is a much bigger priority than a pedantic bird or a Colonna-esque worm. This short seeks more to appease a quota than completely enamor the masses, but still presents quite a bit to find humorous or endearing. Greetings Bait would have a more accurate embrace of the worm’s Colonna-isms and general identity of the short.