354. The Bird Came C.O.D. (1942)

Release Date: January 17th, 1942

Series: Merrie Melodies

Director: Chuck Jones

Story: Chuck Jones

Animation: Ken Harris

Musical Direction: Carl Stalling 

Starring: Mel Blanc (Conrad)

(You may view the cartoon here, albeit unrestored, or on HBO Max!)

Quite a handful of these reviews have hinted at this particular occasion and stressed its importance time and time again. Repetition is nevertheless remembrance, and 1942 being the turning point of Jones’ directorial career is certainly a feat worth remembering. Indeed, at long last, we have finally come into his year.

Even if you would never once know that by watching this cartoon.

His turning point is still a few months away, and not without its forks or bumps in the road. Even then, the desire to create, to expand, to innovate and try something new is present even in his comparatively lesser entries.

So much so that it’s even visible here. For the first time in three years, Jones introduces yet another new character into the world—a recurring one at that, lasting a whopping total of 3 cartoons. All of them released back to back. Indeed, this short serves as the formal introduction to one Conrad Cat: a tall, lanky, yellow cat who attempts to win the audience over with his incompetence. All of Jones’ preceding recurring characters—Sniffles, Inki, and the Curious Pups—fall into the same mold of cuteness, endearing through their vulnerabilities and childlike demeanors. Conrad Cat is a step divorced of that and instead cast with the intention of comedy. He’s more comparable to a pastiche of Disney’s Goofy; especially when he’s voiced by Pinto Colvig, as is the case in Conrad the Sailor. 

And, watching his cartoons, it does prove apparent why he wasn’t kept very long. Perhaps out of all of the shorts to be analyzed, this write-up will be the most apt exploration of why he didn’t become the next face of all Chuck Jones cartoons.

Its title parodying the 1941 Warner film The Bride Came C.O.D., Jones opens this new year with some old habits and even friends: Conrad Cat, palm plant delivery extraordinaire, finds himself delivering to a performing arts theater. It is there where he stumbles upon a pesky little pigeon with an attitude problem that seeks refuge in a top hat, and doesn’t seem happy about having his magic act—or lack thereof—be interrupted.

Ironically (or perhaps disillusioningly), the brightest spots of the cartoon are its opening moments. The teal backdrop of the title card dissolves into the same shade of teal that dominates the façade of Conrad’s truck. A rather smooth and seamless transition that is creative and inviting—it isn’t entirely apparent that what the audience is looking at is even the façade of anything. Idle rocking back and forth offers a hint, and the foreground overlay of a street lamp rolling past the screen entertains said hint.

Having the façade turn in perspective is what clinches the notion. Jones cheats the tires of the truck in with artistic deftness; as the viewer is acquainted with a more intimate view of the truck, the wording on the side soon nestled itself behind the tires as they make their way into frame. Such an effect is sensitive and bows to an easy compulsion of seeming uncanny, mechanical, and sloppy in animation. However, having the tires slide into frame and the truck turning at the same time, prompting multiple assets to be moving at once, allows any bumps to be smoothed via distraction. Focus is on the idea of this logo actually being on the side of a truck, with said truck turning around and presenting its goods. Not necessarily how the truck is constructed or operates.

All the while, through the rocking logo, the turn of the track, its eventual backing in, and the formal introduction of our star, Stalling overlays this quaint yet playful moment with a score of “Says Who, Says You, Says I,” that proves to be exceptionally easy on the ears. “Wah wah” horns and a smattering of xylophone occasionally flirt with the music, giving it a more sardonic, juvenile edge that foreshadows the forthcoming antics and tone of the short.

More details soon materialize as the audience is met with more moments to breathe. Such as, this truck is delivering a fresh load of palms somewhere in the city—that it backs up into the camera means that we’ve approached our destination, and an excursion of said destination is soon to follow. Animation and music are solid, as mentioned above. Backgrounds, on the other hand, do reveal themselves as the definitive product of someone who is NOT Paul Julian. Meticulousness, precision, warmth and tightness in his backgrounds perfectly complimented the equal meticulousness in Jones’ art direction and style. Blobular, vague, unfocused landscapes don’t offer as many favors nor benefits here. 

This thankfully isn’t a giant concern throughout the picture, but the shot of the truck backing in is particularly obvious in its decidedly unharmonious backgrounds. No sense of balance not direction in the colors and how they interact with each other. No way to distinguish itself or even compliment the action through contrasting or analogous hues.

Nevertheless, the next shot is a bit more consistent in its color theming and balance: the overwhelming teal hues of the truck offers a nice completion of primary colors through the red and yellow in Conrad’s design. Yellow skies likewise prove helpful in its marriage to Conrad’s synonymous shade of buttercream. A particularly conscientious and inventive upshot proves just as promising—more intriguing and engaging on the eyes, and communicates more about what minimal story we have. Looking up at Conrad gives him a sense of authority, and one that is intended to be questioned through his vacant, half lidded gaze and peculiar means of offering a turn signal with a two handed pulley. Stalling’s “meowing” violins atop the score yet again proves to be an insightful and clever touch.

And, from the very moment Conrad turns his attention to the audience, all of this meticulous planning and artistry is immediately and violently refuted through oncoming cartoon antics.

Cartoon antics such as Conrad sporadically making these odd, huffy laughs—like a backwards Pinto Colvig laugh, only much more self conscious and forceful—and moving in proudly illogical ways. Extraneous hand flourishes, violent head rotations, inexplicable nose rubbing, forced eye and head contact as his entire body swivels around on an axis, etcetera. 

To Jones’ credit, his intentions are apparent. The change in demeanor is intended to surprise and to amuse—this sleepy, vacant, somewhat peculiar but nevertheless seemingly normal delivery driver instead moves and acts and talks funny and inexplicably. Extravagant gestures and proud defiance against logic and physics. And, in that sense, it is an effective juxtaposition, as the incongruities are immediately noticeable. 

However, this is where we settle into the vice of the short and get obsessively intimate with it. Conrad Cat is intended to be an abstract, fourth-dimensional character, not dissimilar to the Mynah bird in the Inki cartoons, who Jones himself has used the latter descriptor for. Unfortunately, none of Conrad’s abstractions are funny or even particularly secure. Many of his movements do look and behave oddly, but don’t move with the confidence necessary to make the joke work, which then makes it seem as though these abstract gestures are taken purely at face value by the directing. 

In reality, Jones is inviting the audience to laugh at the absurdity of the character and all his crazy movements. That nevertheless proves hard to do when the actual execution of said movements feels stolid, unwavering, lacking a sense of humor that is so necessary for them to work. Bird Came C.O.D. likewise spends the vast bulk of its time focusing on these circuitous quirks and nebulosities—when all of these displays are entirely devoid of humor and lacking of their intent, that’s where trouble comes in.

Floaty, intentionally-but-simultaneously-unintentionally-awkward walk cycles amount into other pet traits of Jones’ directing: endearing vulnerabilities. C.O.D. proves regressive for Jones’ standards in a number of ways, but one of those avenues is by which Conrad repeatedly fiddles with himself. Him pausing to kick his tail out of the way as it wraps itself on top of his feet is strikingly similar to the earliest Jones cartoons, where cute, impressionable characters struggled with hats twice their size or couldn’t fit into their own clothes, etc., etc.

Cloying as those examples may be, they were at least successful in their intentional saccharinity. Very little about Conrad communicates as cute or appealing—especially in the next shot of him watering one of the plants, smarmy eyebrow waggles to the camera making him read as a completely different character. These vulnerabilities and follies thusly communicate as a chore rather than a charm. 

 With the courtesy of some thunderous rumbling sound effects, climaxing at a loud pop, a palm plant is freshly grown for Conrad to deliver. It proves difficult to appreciate much of anything in the short when obscured by so many guffaws and forced gestures, but the gag of ACME Instant Palm Trees - Just Add Water does cleverly support and parallel the similar nonsensicalities exuded by Conrad. At a less grating degree, at that.

Of course, to deliver the palm without issue or folly or burdensome antics would be unconscionable. Jones instead opts to add some much unneeded padding. Between the time it takes for Conrad to pick up the palm and for him to make entry into the stage door, 1 minute and 35 seconds have passed.

Obstacles impeding Conrad’s quest include, firstly, his own appendages. Yet again, his tail proves cumbersome and a distraction—the slight kick out of the way from before foreshadows this extension in which he gets wrapped up in his own tail. Quizzical music stings indicate that this is to be taken with a relatively serious regard and as a genuine tribulation, rather than to mock Conrad for his utter incompetence. Too much disingenuous can be just as grating, and remaining dedicated to a gag and its tone is always a worthwhile pursuit. Regardless, it certainly proves difficult to take this as a serious issue that warrants such quizzical pause.

Pauses that are soon inflated with the huffy strains of Conrad’s not-Goofy laugh. To Jones’ credit, he doesn’t dedicate a minute long sequence of Conrad struggling to untangle himself from his tail. We’ve already had an appetizer of tail mischief moments ago—our appetites are satiated. Instead, Conrad is able to thrust himself out of his tail and into the ground, coil remaining, rather than simply unwrapping it.

Again: this idea in itself is actually fine. It’s creative, it’s novel, it maintains Jones’ intent of enigmatic abstraction. However, the actual animation, timing, and spacing of the drawings is much too soft. There’s a lack of commitment and confidence to the gag—for Conrad to just slide vertically upwards, pause in the air, turn around and sink back down, barely any inbetweens, no antics, no follow-through, that would be a successful caricature of motion. No nonsense, no fluff—the bones of the gag would be exposed and the audience, if nothing else, could laugh at the brusqueness of the timing. 

None of that is allowed here, or for any of Conrad’s abstractions. This cartoon is wanting to move and behave like a ‘40s Frank Tashlin cartoon (without even knowing it, of course, given that Tashlin wasn’t yet at Warner’s by this time and wasn’t injecting that iconic snappiness in his Columbia cartoons to the same extent as they survive in his Warner efforts) but is too scared to commit. Thus, the audience receives an extensive helping of visual noise that translates into annoyances.

This exact critique is the same for the action of Conrad shuffling (a mirror of the ant’s repeated shuffling in Porky’s Ant and Porky’s Midnight Matinee) across the parking lot and hoisting himself onto the platform. Said hoisting fares better than the gelatinous movement of the tail untangling, offering less drawings, less evenly spaced drawings, and a more deft sense of timing, but remains bogged through slow directorial pacing and those insufferable guffaws. Stalling’s continued “Says You, Says Who, Says I,” offers sanctuary for the ears. 

Relatively blobby, shoddy painting work continues in the backgrounds through an interior shot of the stage door. Coloring the bricks in teal is at least a nice consideration, harkening back to the teals of the truck and offering a sense of coherence through continuity, but the solidity of Julian’s background work is sorely missed. The straight on staging of Conrad tinkering into the door is nevertheless sharp, its symmetrical staging serving as a notable antithesis to the comparatively more organic staging seen thus far. 

That, and it immediately clarified the action of the palm leaves getting stuck on the door and causing Conrad to collapse. It’s another non-issue that doesn’t need to be there, but a non-issue that is yet again pacified with the answer of “have an imagination”. Palm trees don’t have elastic properties and should not be this difficult to deliver. But, it’s a cartoon, it’s more fun than the alternative of not doing anything at all, and it’s certainly not the most bewildering nor violent act of nonsensicality this short has to offer.

A rather uncharacteristic jump cut therefore occurs. The impact of the fall shows Conrad falling onto his back, bouncing on the ground in perhaps in the process of leaning back up. In the middle of such action, the camera cuts to him sitting perfectly still and completely upwards. Jones usually isn’t the type to have these slapdash cuts or blatant lack of hook-ups—perhaps “blatant” is harsh, but the discrepancy is very jarring and sharp, jostling the audience out of what little action there is.

Stilted pacing is somewhat rectified through the smoothness of back and forth pans, ignoring the inherent tedium of the pans in the first place. Contentedly unfazed by his spill, Conrad indulges in a bloated running start from across the street; similar critiques of unnecessary and annoying extravagance in actions pursue, but the action is nevertheless easier to decipher. Follow through and arcs on the palm leaves prove to be an additionally welcome decorative touch.

Functionality, too: the sharp arc of the leaves not only forms a subtle frame around Conrad, neatly guiding the eye nor does the strong line of action enhance the speed and exertion of effort. Instead, the arc offers a segue into the leaves suddenly holding onto the edges of the door and propelling Conrad out like the slingshot. Nonsensical, and maybe frustratingly so when remembering it takes him more than a minute and a half to get inside, but motivated in its nonsense. Unlike most of the antics involving Conrad, the tension and movement on the leaves is concentrated, focused, and strong.

Another forceful ejection sends him airborne. Conrad’s mechanical tumbling backwards works serviceably, and perhaps even benefits the previous abstractions and constant sense of caricature so forced into his movements. The second or two where he’s actually flying through the air, on the other hand, begs more speed in actual execution—fewer drawings, quicker timing—to match the ferocity of the drybrush and plane engine sound effects. Then again, to go too fast or too long would reduce the availability for his mechanical rotations across the ground.

Rotations that, amazingly, finish with Conrad standing upright. Even the mere physics of outside forces bow to his enigmatic nature.

Sometimes.

Jones is a bit trigger happy in his cutting, which is a rather fascinating observation to be making in this period especially, when the inverse was so persistent. It thankfully isn’t as jarring as the prior lack of hook-ups; just sudden. Echoes from the cymbal crash marking Conrad’s fall still reverberate about a second and a half after the camera has already cut to the “new” layout.

 “New” layout heralds new antics, and, sure enough, neither Conrad nor Jones have exhausted their need for them. Conrad smashing his head into the doorknob is already a wildly stupid decision, even beyond its intent to be stupid—the motion and execution feels incredibly purposeful. It isn’t him misjudging his aim or accidentally being shunted into circumstances beyond his control (such as the door slamming in his face just as he was about to charge in—the gag is that he doesn’t have the capacity to open the door with his hands full, and the door has indeed closed on him, but any spontaneity that makes the former gag so successful is completely and proudly absent)—just pure incompetence in a way that is grating. The sense of purpose following his mishap ruins the gag. Ironic, since the opposite is usually the case.

Bloated pauses and completely arbitrary camera moves draw out the weaknesses of this gag all the more. The camera zooms in, just for the audience to watch as Conrad makes eye contact, then zooms out when his concussion is delivered—nothing that wouldn’t have achieved the same affect of comedy or clarity if the camera had remained still. Instead, such maneuvering communicates as a directionless restlessness in the directing, further weakening or justifying the weakness of this scene. 

Nevertheless, Conrad proves that he was able to open the door all along, rendering his head smashing even more infuriating. There remains additional time to kill in Jones’ mind, which then prompts yet another running start and failure—to Jones’ credit, Conrad does actually indulge in the more formal door collision mentioned above. Execution and timing is serviceable, the rigidity of his silhouette and crumpled up tail a nice detail. Regardless, it certainly would have been more beneficial to have done this the first time around; the gag and this entire past minute has greatly worn out its welcome, making jokes that do have potential to work instead fall on their face.

Action of the palm leaves suddenly splaying open and smothering Conrad proves vague and confusing. Yet again, these poses beg to benefit from the hypothetical Tashlin-esque posing that would be touted in the coming years—instead, these vague drawings and poses and movements create a lack of confidence in the execution, which then translates into confusion. 

Upright stature of the palm isn’t exceedingly noticeable; especially when the audience is intended to be focusing on Conrad’s tail suddenly erecting back into place. Eye direction is confusing and misguided and causes these actions to be lost. Even having the palm tree tremble in place, hinting towards an eventual eruption of plant, would clarify what is needed. Instead, there are too many actions happening at once. A sudden truck-in of the camera certainly doesn’t offer many favors in this avenue.

Thankfully, miraculously, Conrad does manage to make it inside—even if it takes 19 seconds for this to be accomplished. Intent of the scene is incredibly muddled and unclear: Conrad opens the door, sets the palm down, and makes his entry inside. With the snap of a finger, a rather pompous fanfare accompanies his entryway in the background… which dies as he realizes he’s forgotten the palm. It seems like Conrad is pretending to be some figure of high authority (rather than a palm tree delivery buffoon for hire), perhaps the tree serving as his “help” and opening the door for him. But, thanks to lugubrious timing and shared lack of confidence in both drawings and direction, the sequence falters and instead conveys 19 seconds of visual and auditory noise. 

Noise that includes a sheepish guffaw and a cheeky grin at the camera.

Conrad nevertheless manages to make it inside—the change of setting and foreshadowing to a shift in tone is more than welcome. Elaborate backdrops, winding pillars and gilded staircases are a vast change of pace from the teals of delivery trucks or the town streets. To Jones’ credit, Conrad does seem succinctly out of his element; all of the events of the cartoon thus far have alluded to this, but the incongruity is especially palpable when his clumsiness is juxtaposed against such grandiosity. 

Bumbling antics persist regardless, irrelevant to the change in scenery. Through various stage settings and props, Conrad runs through; the pacing is at least consistent and smooth, no hiccups or halts in the camerawork as Jones and Conrad alike embark on one, long pan. Still, with the events of the past three minutes preceding this, any novelty or affection towards the consistency of this scene (or even little details such as Conrad losing his hat and plopping it back on mid-run) are soured.

A burst of fresh perspective animation seeks to ease much of the monotony of Conrad’s antics, and successfully so. Him knocking into a bar, doing a full rotation on his chin, and being flung forward into the foreground at a diagonal angle, narrowly catching the palm tree that has been lost in the process, is still just another convoluted establishment of what we’ve been seeing so much of. However, this convoluted establishment has the benefit of dimensionality and fresh perspective. It’s a shift, and a welcome one indeed.

Particularly because of how quickly this cartoon reverts to its “old” habits: another rather jarring lack of hook-ups ensues as Conrad is seen walking with the plant in a different location just a second after. Deftness in cutting mimics the same jarring brevity when Conrad fell into the street and into the plant, and then approached the stage door with the cymbal sound effects still heard in the background connoting his impact. Realistically, a lack of hook-up poses isn’t the issue—just allotting more time for a pause between scenes. 

His hauling of the palm tree soon prompts him to collapse into an obscured abyss, prompted by a step ladder strewn off to the side. Exhausting as the repetitive antics are at this point, it does spawn a brief moment of brilliance: Treg Brown’s sound effects carry much of the heavy lifting in depicting the off-screen collision, feeding the imaginations of the audience as they allow the metallic bangs and clangs and echoes to concoct a coinciding visual that is less than comfortable. Standard, but comfortable.

Subversion nevertheless manifests through a belated pause. A complete lack of sound can be unnerving, indicative of a lack of movement or even consciousness. Instead of filling in the space with a faint, echoey guffaw to soothe the nerves of the audience, that niche is instead filled through the lone, metallic clatter of one more object seemingly hitting Conrad. Nowadays, it’s a classic and perhaps even trite gag in itself, but its innovation here is desperately appreciated. It’s clever and succeeds in its cleverness. Very little in this cartoon can say the same. There are things that are clever, and there are things that succeed, but it’s incredibly rare for the two to be together. 

Chipper, exacting stolidity in which the camera pans to an elevator already in operation is likewise appreciated. For once, Jones has a handle on his balance—the swift pan counteracts such a lugubrious pause.

Artistic trickery on the elevator is appreciated, too. Nothing too elaborate—especially not for the standards of Jones’ cartoons of this time—but, again, a notable elevation in what this short has offered so far. An obscured silhouette sliding to reveal the same image and pose, same Conrad, same palm tree is a high standard for someone as decidedly un-artful as Conrad. It’s the same initial refreshment and same incongruity as seeing Conrad galivant amongst his newfound elaborate, ornate, and gilded theatrical surroundings. 

Galivanting is now directed to the actual stage of the theater. Viewers can take comfort in the consistency of his gallops, in that they never show any indication of slowing down or being interrupted. Even the camera cuts to reveal a new layout. Thus, no more distractions or follies or spills—if only for this moment. Seeing Conrad go from one location to another and perform a task uninterrupted (exchanging a dead palm for a live one) is nothing short of an absolute miracle. 

Introduction of a magician’s hat in the foreground offers additional promise. Future insufferabilities with Conrad are inevitable, but at least they will be within reason—seeing him fiddle with the abstractions of the hat is certainly more entertaining than watching him trip and slip and finagle over himself. Jones’ layout of this particular reveal is simple, yet striking and dynamic. In the foreground, the hat is big, imposing, desired—its closeness to the camera evokes an inescapable allure.

And it’s certainly one Conrad has no qualms in obeying. Using both palms as a framing device is clever and resourceful, drawing the audience’s eye to the action in a way that feels purposeful and rewarding. Likewise, both palms next to each other allows the disparity between the two to be exacerbated, which, in turn, clarifies Conrad’s job. Showing the wilted, dried, dead palm next to the live one clearly communicates that he’s there as a replacement job. As much flack as Jones’ pantomime cartoons are subject to get, one can’t say that he isn’t good at ensuring story points aren’t clearly communicated. There’s certainly a lot in this cartoon that isn’t clear nor communicated well, but the main story is not one of those aspects. 

Galloping over to the podium in tandem with Stalling’s blues-y, motivated rhythm, Conrad’s sudden stop is accompanied with a crowd shot. Or, more succinctly, a lack thereof. Perhaps its unnecessary in its conclusion, in that it doesn’t necessarily alter the “performance” that is soon to follow as he pretends to be a magician. Its inclusion seeks to poke polite fun at Conrad’s imagination in spite of the absent audience, even going so much as to wave to them, but it does end up feeling like an arbitrary addition and an over abundance of clarity rather than a motivated justification or commentary for his actions.

The aforementioned wave at the audience could stand to be excised just the same. Yet, if the imaginary crowd shot is to be included, then so is the wave—ideally, neither of them would survive, but to have him wave without the crowd shout would prompt even more confusion. It should be noted that said waving is accompanied by his trademark inane guffaws, which, in turn, may potentially dictate personal opinion for its desired excision.

Animation of Conrad taking a bow fares much better in both execution and idea. Cumbersome as the wave is, the segue it offers into his extravagant hand waves that ease into the bow is smooth, coherent, and appealing. Through slight smears in the movement and the contrast offered by the dimensionality of his features, the pompousness of his bow exudes a trait that the rest of the cartoon could vastly benefit from: confidence. This is one of the truly confident maneuvers within the cartoon, and it most certainly stands out, no matter how fleeting it may be. The style of the smears and general solidity of the animation potentially suggest this as the work of Ken Harris, but, of course, that is nothing more than a quick guess. 

With the courtesy of a few hand waves, Conrad engages in the classic “nothing up here” disclaimer by gesturing to his arms. Poses and flourishes of the hands are focused, clear, and stark, but perhaps could benefit from some actual proof of transparency. If Daffy Duck can do the same routine and prove his innocence by disentangling his feathers from his flesh and pulling them down like sleeves, then Conrad can certainly take the time to hook a finger in his baggy sweater sleeves and pull them down for a quick check. Perhaps there were concerns of that taking up too much time and attention—it certainly wouldn’t be the first instance within the cartoon. 

Flipping the hat over and demonstrating its empty contents to the audience seems to compensate for the lack of sleeve investigation. A violin slide effect accompanies the maneuver, which is rather obtuse and distracting in its usage—more attention is called to its presence than its absence. The quest for whimsy and innovation through inventive sound effects is nevertheless admirable.

Sleeve rolling, it turns out, is reserved for Conrad digging in the contents of the hat. His exposed arm certainly succeeds in its juxtaposition against his sleeved arms—it almost communicates awkwardly, with his giant, gloved hands seeming to hang off of them like weights. This is likely a purposeful design choice, given that many a dopey character cements said dopiness through design elements: oversized collars, floppy shoes, big sleeves, tiny hats, and so on. Nevertheless, purposeful design choice or otherwise, the construction and solidity of the arm could stand to be refined.

A close-up largely rectifies any awkwardness in the arms—especially when Conrad proudly unearths a rabbit from the hat. His hand flourishes remain solid and amusing; a demonstration of gracefulness that is far removed from his capabilities and personality. 

Jones does run into some clarity troubles with multiple actions happening at once, however: the hat is still moving as Conrad holds up his prize, and its descent in falling over is rather bloated. Thus, attention is torn between the rabbit and the hat. Conrad and the rabbit aim to take precedence, but extraneous movement from the hat proves distracting, inevitably prompting the audience’s eyes to inch towards the bottom left.

Framing of the action could stand to be clearer as well. The scene is unbalanced in its composition: the rabbit prompts a tangent with the top hat, which, additionally, feels like a drawing turned on its side rather than an actual top hat resting at a different angle. Stability and balance in the composition is minimal, with very few elements working to support the other and harmonize the entire composition. Something especially pivotal when said composition lingers for as long as it does in the same exact pose. Because, as we all know, Jones reveres his pregnant pauses. 

Though needlessly lugubrious, Conrad coming face to face with the rabbit and contemptuously allowing it to drip out of his hands fared better in clarity, particularly thanks to him moving his arm away from the hat. Despite it being somewhat off center, the shot of the two animals pressed face to face restores the balance and distribution of weight among subjects. Allowing the rabbit to fit into the curves and contours of Conrad’s face sells additional harmony. 

Concerns of the hat occupying too much space and importance within the composition are rectified, thanks to the rabbit hopping back into its contents and shunts it further off screen. Not to a degree of obfuscation, rendering audiences to crane their necks and strain to see the action, but out of convenience to herald our new co-star: a tiny gray pigeon.

This “new” star actually isn’t new at all—readers of the blog or Jones historians may recognize the bird as being the same from Jones’ 1940 effort, Stage Fright, starring the curious puppies. A cartoon that almost feels more modern and fresh than this one, whose needless swelling in pacing and execution feels powerfully regressive for Jones’ standards. Issues regarding confusion in intent, needless, multi second long pauses (to the extent they survive in this one, at least) and awkward cuts were largely smoothed out within his first year of directing. 

Indeed, confused intent persists through a rather awkward take: upon the sight of the bird, Conrad convulses, his head slamming into his clenched fist and back down onto the ground. A trombone gobble sound effect muddles the effect further—like his collision with the doorknob, the effect feels way too purposeful and motivated to entertain or surprise. On and off indication of fur on the sides of his cheeks as he recovers certainly don’t do many favors in lessening befuddlement.

Mirroring the face-to-face encounter between cat and rabbit, the pigeon is the one to take charge, marching along the contours of Conrad’s face. Rest assured that these actions too suffer from the same overarching glacial pacing and movements—but, at the very least, they have a sense of purpose and even command behind them. In this case, the pigeon seeks to intimidate and investigate. At a rather slow pace, mind you, but certainly nothing that hasn’t been even more drawn out before. Understanding the context of his first appearance and realizing this is an exact mirror of that shtick certainly aid in forgiveness.

With that, the hat topples back up into its side in contemptuous disregard for Conrad.  Such control—uninterrupted, at that—proves to be a relief of its own. The act of a pigeon marching out of a hat, staring Conrad the eye, marching back away, and having the hat certainly remains agonizingly cumbersome. It nevertheless remains consistent in its cumbersomeness—again, that’s more than what the remainder of the cartoon can say for itself.

Admittedly, Conrad smacking his head a second time on his clasped fist falls into this category of consistency too. The motion here at least feels spontaneous, and consistent in its spontaneity; the subtle frame concocted by the rectangle that Conrad has boxed himself into, hands and head arranged in an unbroken horizontal flow, likewise eases the viewer back into some semblance of clarity and direction.

Tail kicking ensues, but to a less agonizing degree in that it’s an afterthought amongst a series of movements. Poses are sharp, timing is quick, and the intent—that is, Conrad growing indignant and repeatedly tapping on the hat to free the pigeon—is finally clear. The bar is low. Any and all victories are therefore worth preserving for this very reason. 

Especially given that victory is temporary and fleeting; while still nothing major, Jones yet again indulges in another jump cut. Jump cuts are typically alien for his standard of work regardless—to have so many in a row (even if degrees of severity may vary) is puzzling and uncharacteristic, even this early on. 

At the very least, the main idea of the story beat is consistent, in that the audience clearly sees the bird fall out of the hat. Nevertheless, Conrad’s tapping is quick, flurried, the music turning tense to accompany his actions. To go from drybrushed multiples of hand patting to complete stagnation, hands in a completely different position, all intensity lost, is objectively jarring.

It all amounts to more of the same: pigeon struts out to that same lumbering accompaniment by Stalling, pauses, snags the hat out of Conrad’s hands and marches back into his sanctuary. Pacing remains lugubrious, actions repetitive, Conrad unappealing. Yet, to give credit where it’s due, the act of the bird grabbing the hat out of his hands is succinct in its speed—a slam echoes in lieu of the music, and drybrush lines offer a physical manifestation of such an impact. Against the glacial pacing (both intended, as evidenced by this change of speed being a gag, and accidental), the sudden contrast is incredibly effective. 

Conrad-isms ensue as the bird disappears into the hat; just in case there was any threat of the audience letting their bated breath relax. Thankfully, his head convulsions are comparatively quick next to what has dominated his scenes previously—more of a tic, a reminder, a compulsive convulsion rather than a focused act of desperation for comedy. 

Still engaged in his target, Conrad continues to investigate. The lack of self correction on this cartoon has certainly been intriguing, for lack of a better term, but Jones seems to be growing wise to his own lessons: rather than repeating the “marching bird” shtick for a third time, a gray fist pops out of the hat and socks Conrad on the chin instead. Like many actions in the short, the punch could be clear; the bird’s arm is barely visible, and the act is so quick that it seems like Conrad suddenly jerked his chin up for no discernible reason. Action and impact lines only muddle the confusion further. 

Deftness in pacing remains consistent, however, and that is a further cause for celebration. Conrad slamming his hand atop the hat prompts the bird to materialize in its place—there are no inbetweens to soften the blow, or even any indication that the hat is beneath Conrad’s hand. Light trails of drybrush cushion the blow instead. Such an aggressive display is refreshing, inspiring, and perhaps frustrating knowing that these sorts of speeds and boldness have been sat on for the past five minutes. Obviously, a slower build up amounts to a greater effect and contrast, but the insufferability of the glacial pacing thus far isn’t exactly a fair trade-off.

Of course, this, too, is fleeting, as the pigeon engages in more of the same—just under a different coat of paint. Rather than traipsing along the table, the bird now scales up Conrad’s arm. Its personal interrogation via staring contest is now much more intimate, tight, decorated with extraneous flourishes such as using Conrad’s eyelids as a curtain. Even then, it’s the same confrontation we’ve seen before—just exacerbated. 

Having the bird’s reflection visible in Conrad’s eye yet again proves to be a tried and true Jones-ism of past cartoons; with the warping of the scale in this particular case, 1940’s Sniffles Takes a Trip comes to mind. That in itself supports earlier claims of this cartoon’s status as a regression. 

Reverting to further Conrad-isms demonstrates that even further. Viewers can take solace in understanding that perhaps nothing the remainder of the short has to offer will be as ingratiating as the beginning portions, but it does remain frustrating to watch the force of the hat popping back into place prompt Conrad to inadvertently hit himself. Again, a motion that reads far too purposefully to be believable or funny. It’s fast, at the very least, and the polite hitting sounds from Treg Brown offer a nice sense of permanence, but these types of antics have long been exhausted past the point of appreciation. 

In a fit of anger, Conrad ends up throwing the hat off-screen. Again, the action is swift and uninterrupted in its execution, offering bonus points, but none of that means very much when the audience is thereby forced to stew in a bloated pause. Bloated pause means fast approaching punchline—a fast approaching punchline directly associated with the hat, making the tossing all for naught. 

Indeed. While having the hat zip in from the opposite end is clever, indicative of the hat’s magical properties—an enigmatic hat for an enigmatic cat—it does seem rather prophetic. Like the magician’s hat, this short is one large boomerang: it goes absolutely nowhere, and any attempts to lure the audience into thinking otherwise almost immediately rescind their own progress for the security of repetition.

Another somewhat disrupted cut ensues. This one is mild compared to the others, in that the discrepancy between actions isn’t too great. Regardless, the sudden shift to Conrad at a side profile is a notable change, and one that takes the audience a beat to adjust to—a beat that would better be spared in the wide shot if Conrad had just paused for an additional moment or two. A repeated tendency adopted by this short is the desire to accelerate when needing to brake. Ditto for the inverse.

At the very least, the hat stuck on Conrad’s muzzle does prompt the heralding of the same bird. A contemptuous, cocky bird, perched flat on his nose in toe tapping disgruntlement.

Yet again: more of the same. Agonizingly circuitous as the confrontation is, Jones does at least build off of it: it does prove hard to top the visual of Conrad’s eyes sunken in so deep into their sockets as the bird stares daggers. Additional shading within the concave of his sockets really accentuate the depth, thereby intensifying the action—it’s hard to imagine the same effect surviving as it does without the shading, minimal as it may be. 

Bulging eyes as the bird makes his exit seek to overcompensate. A reminder of what once filled that concave. Of course, the visual of the bird smacking Conrad on the nose in a rotating punch attracts more attention. This, too, could stand to be caricatured further—with the act of him jumping off his nose, rotating in the air, punching said nose, and plummeting to the ground completely upright, many of the actions and gags within get lost amidst the hubbub. All admittedly clever ideas—particularly the coda of the bird plummeting in rigid upright position—but lost due to a lack of directorial focus and confidence.

Reverberations on Conrad are nevertheless clever—throughout much of the cartoon, Conrad has been depicted with a gelatinous elasticity that doesn’t always benefit the intent of the scenes. Especially in more domestic, static affairs. Here, the formlessness comes in handy, exacerbating the blow of the punch and how it travels along his face. Distortions on his pupils are particularly clever and indicative of the force making its way through.

Reprisals of the same confrontation refuse to let up. Conrad at least possesses a more tangible solidity in his animation, particularly in the hands, which therefore offers a nice antithesis to the elasticity of the scene prior. That, and it proves helpful for the audience to have the opportunity to focus on his movements without too many extraneous distractions or flailing. 

Through a series of cuts, the bird backs Conrad into a metaphorical corner. A corner that, in actuality, is the orchestra pit in front of the stage. Yet again, the act of Conrad falling itself suffers from a feeling of deliberation; as it plays out, he physically jumps into the air and down into the pit rather than simply toppling over. Perhaps it’s intended to embrace the aforementioned abstractions displayed so plentifully in the opening half. While the main idea remains clear (the bird has intimidated Conrad and prompts him to fall into the pit), these little details do make or break much of the execution. It’s a risk that Jones can’t necessarily afford, given that the entire cartoon has boasted oversights like these.

The 30 or so seconds that follow are a double edged sword. Similar follies of questionable execution persist—a long pan follows as Conrad evidently crashes into every single instrument offered by the orchestra pit. Drums, cymbals, trumpets, tubas, accordions, pianos, cellos, chimes, and so forth. How this is possible is unclear. Again, it seems to be an act of sheer motivation; Conrad would have to physically try to move horizontally. Surely a spill off the stage vertically doesn’t prompt nearly 30 seconds of sporadic crashes along a horizontal pan. 

Variety in the instruments is nice. The pan has its hang-ups: the animation of two tubas moving in intersecting arcs is bloated, slow, mechanical, unclear as to how they would be moving in that way to begin with. Likewise, the camera reaches an unexpected pause as a bass collapses, slowing to a halt and remaining there until it has finished its obligation. No other instrument does the same, and it certainly doesn’t seem to beg more attention or clarity than any of the others. Confusion continues to compile.

However, all of the above critiques (and perhaps for the entirety of the cartoon) could be answered with one sentence: have an imagination. Stilted and awkward as the execution is, the idea is clever and rightfully bombastic. Stalling’s continued drumroll adds an amusing exactingness to the theatrics, drawing suspense from the viewers and orchestrating an ironic commentary of its own of such needless grandiosity. Variance in instruments is again novel and playful. It’s a fun and a clever idea, which is why its hang-ups can be so disappointing—the potential is there. But, issues or no, suspension disbelief or otherwise, it certainly beats watching the bird corner Conrad even further.

Any bird-themed activity manifests through the representative birds that circle his head instead. The visual itself is funny—particularly the obtuseness of the black eye and the intensity in which Conrad scowls directs at the camera, as though the audience is somehow complacent in his suffering. A sardonically saccharine accompaniment of “Spring Song” to match the equally picturesque visuals of the birds flirting around his head is a nice touch. Especially juxtaposed against the malice in Conrad’s face.

Unfortunately, Jones’ inescapable tendency to remake accidental actions seem all too forceful and motivated puts a damper on the gag. Ferocity in which Conrad suddenly juts down and off the screen reads as a very purposeful thrust of the body down, rather than an accidental stumble or some force of instrument-kind.

A reprise of the gag suffers for this reason; again, the actual drawing of Conrad with two shiners proves amusing, particularly through the sheer malice on his face. Regardless, the simplicity and sheer bluntness of the first time around works fine on its own. To do a follow up, and one that feels so shallow and manufactured by the obedience in which Conrad falls to make the reprise possible, just reads as painfully arbitrary. 

To the credit of Jones, Conrad keeps both shiners for the remainder of the cartoon. A reminder of the trials and tribulations he’s been through—particularly because they’ve been the only real “trial” not by his own undoing throughout the entire cartoon. 

Rest assured, those antsy for more of the latter are rewarded through their patience. Finally grasping the meaning of “curiosity killed the cat”, Conrad takes the wilted palm and certainly proves to be in a hurry on his way out. This prompts more collisions and stunts, with him rushing into a wall obscured by a prop doorway—at the very least, the reveal of the real wall is obscured until the very last moment. Conrad’s exit into the door seems to be rooted in a sound form of logic. Only does the eruption of a crush and a dutiful camera pan left prove otherwise.

And a liberal amount of bricks. Viewers will instead note the decidedly palm-less palms of Conrad as he stumbles along with the bricks instead. 

Screen direction proves to be almost as broken as Conrad’s face. In one scene, Conrad stumbles into a nearby dressing room from screen left to right. That then indulges in a jump cut to him walking from right to left, thusly disorienting the audience and breaking them from the flow of the action. Even though the camera is intended to be viewing the action at a separate angle, the jump and cognitive dissonance is still there. It takes the viewer an additional second or two to mentally reroute, which adds needless confusion to the directing, no matter how slight. Thankfully, there isn’t much action or new information happening on-screen, but it does remain an uncharacteristic oversight for Jones. 

More stumbling nevertheless brings the cartoon to its confusion: the age old ironic ending. Conrad collapses into a nearby shelf, stacked with a series of top hats. They, too, like their car counterpart, topple over…

…and reveal an armada of pigeons, all armed with their various attitude problems. Execution of their synchronized march is sharp, clean, coherent, the change in perspective dynamic and convincing. Despite the audience being treated to more of the same, the close angle and unequivocal emphasis on them and them alone saves some of the monotony. Between the intimacy of the composition and the sheer number of birds, the audience does get a feeling of a grand finale.

Having the birds scatter into various positions is nice, inducing clarity and a unique form of synchronicity all its own. Perhaps Conrad isn’t the first to be victim to such acts of blatant humiliation like his hat being pulled over his head. The sense of confidence and sheer command in which the birds move is, again, much appreciated.

Ditto for when they march back into their respective hiding places one last time. While fully smothered within the confines of his hat, making no effort to remove himself, audiences will identify that Conrad’s eyes are visibly indicated beneath the material. Not only that—they blink, offering one final dose of directorial sympathy. A reminder that there is a living, breathing being beneath the confines of the alarmingly red fabric. Even if it seems miraculous that he’s alive at all, given his utter ineptitude.

It’s rare that I indulge in an analysis as opinionated as this one. Not that my analyses are free of bias or opinions—what exactly would be the point otherwise? But I do disagree with constantly putting a bug in one’s ear about my own personal commentaries left and right at every given chance. While it’s true I hope to offer a new voice and perspective to these decades old cartoons that have been both enjoyed or neglected by droves of people, analysis of what’s on screen and of the figures behind what’s on screen, getting a grasp of why we’re seeing what’s on screen and how, who’s responsible, where, when, and so on take precedence.

Regardless, it is difficult to suppress my admitted annoyance with this cartoon. It is easily one of my least favorite Chuck Jones cartoons ever made, and certainly on my list of least favorite Looney Tunes that are otherwise unproblematic. 

If nothing else, it’s a fascinating specimen: one that is incredibly difficult to believe co-existing in the same year as The Dover Boys, made by the same director. From its humor—or lack thereof—to animation to direction to story, from pacing to execution, almost every single aspect of this cartoon feels regressive. It doesn’t even fall into the same excuse of other similarly bloated Jones efforts—those had the benefit of looking nice, at the very least. There certainly are some inspired bits of animation and timing, and it is clear that Jones is learning to get a handle on speed in the fleeting instances that he does indulge in it. Regardless, the draftsmanship is lacking its usual solidity, charm, and meticulousness, even in passing.

Likewise, confusing screen direction, sloppy cuts, and general confusion in execution prove mystifying. No director is free from making mistakes, and Jones does remain relatively new to the director’s chair at this point, being a little over 3 years in. However, some of the mistakes in this short weren’t even mistakes he made in his earliest cartoons. Mistakes are likewise mistakes, and expecting perfection is astoundingly foolish—it’s just surprising to witness these errors that Jones usually strayed from, and in such quick succession at that. From an objective standpoint, this cartoon does not meet Jones’ own standards for his cartoons of this time. 

At the very least, it’s an inconsequential cartoon. The world isn’t in shambles because Chuck Jones made a failed experiment with a somewhat one-off character in 1942. Fans of Conrad Cat are not clamoring for justice. In fact, it would be more surprising to learn it at Conrad had any fans at all—this short is proof as to why he’s faded into obscurity as he has.

The Bird Came C.O.D. is a dud. It isn’t the first dud with Jones name on it, and is far from the last. Thankfully, it isn’t indicative of a downward spiral in artistic direction. Conrad’s remaining cartoons seem to fare better, and, as much as this short may try to prove otherwise, this is indeed the year of Jones’ reckoning. It truly is only up from here. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is make a cartoon, meet the quota, and move on, and that is exactly what Jones did. A noble pursuit in itself… even if similar noble quota meeters don’t have the dishonor of being this insufferable.