Release Date: November 21st, 1942
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Bob Clampett
Story: Warren Foster
Animation: Rod Scribner
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Catstello, Tweety), Tedd Pierce (Babbit)
(You may view the cartoon here!)
1942 has been a year of sporadic character debuts with varying levels of importance--Beaky Buzzard and Conrad Cat are memorable-enough tertiary characters, with particular emphasis on Beaky. Henery Hawk is up a league for his consistency in character, though it would be the late '40s and with an entirely different director that such would be realized. The Dover Boys, despite only ever being in that single short (though production art of a proposed sequel survives), deserve honorable mention for their sheer notoriety.
There's a healthy amount of subjective debate that could be had with these characters and their longevity. The amount of movement within the studio and brainstorming these characters, with some degree of memorability, is a bit more objective--it's increasingly clear that a vision is rapidly solidifying for the studio, both in the development of somewhat recurring characters and the further refinement of breakout, carrot chomping stars.
All of this fluff is to say that A Tale of Two Kitties is yet another short that lends itself to the revolving door of character debuts. All three characters that make their debut in this short would see some sort of longevity, but only one would become one of the heavy hitters within the main Looney Tunes ensemble--and its not the titular characters.
Kitties debuts two sets of characters: cat caricatures of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello--fittingly bastardized as Babbit and Catstello--and Orson, who would have his moniker of Tweety finalized in his next cartoon, Birdy and the Beast.
Both sets of characters would be put through the wringer of redesign. For the remaining two shorts of their trilogy, Babbit and Catstello go from predator to prey, immortalized as mice in A Tale of Two Mice and The Mouse-merized Cat. Tweety would remain featherless through the remainder of Clampett's Tweety triad, donning his familiar canary yellow upon Friz Freleng's Oscar winning Tweetie Pie.
More on Tweety's finalization and overlap of creators will be covered in later reviews, as the line is a bit more blurred than meets the eye. What is relevant to this review is his conception to begin with: with his voice and mannerisms modeled after Red Skelton's Mean Widdle Kid, his looks are actually modeled after his own auteur. According to Clampett, Tweety's design was partly inspired by a baby photo of himself that his mother displayed in her house. Says Clampett in his own words:
Those with keen eyes and memory may recognize that this isn't the first appearance of the bird's design; albeit for a one-off gag, the same baby bird design is utilized in Clampett's Wacky Blackout a few months prior. Similarities start and end with the visuals, but it does offer an intriguing look at where Clampett's mind may have been with this little bird character, and if the seeds of this short had already been planted during Blackout's production.
In watching this short, its clear why Tweety took off as much as he did. It's also clear why Clampett wanted to concentrate his efforts on the cats. Such recognizability of being caricatures of the ever-popular Abbott and Costello certainly wins some points, but their interplay, animated and from Tedd Pierce and Mel Blanc, as well as setting them up in one of the first try-and-fail blackout shorts of the studio all garner their own endearment and success.
The premise of the short is one that would become a running staple of the Warner cartoons: predators try and repeatedly fail to nab their prey--this time, a seemingly defenseless baby bird--but are outwitted by their own incompetence and a surprising sadistic streak from this "poor, little, teensy, weensy, itsy, bitsy defenseless boid."
This analysis comes with a particular treat: Devon Baxter has graciously compiled his own animator breakdown of the cartoon, which, as standard with his work, has served as a beacon of insight and a fantastic resource. I heartily recommend you read the analysis straight from the source, as it'll frequently be brought up throughout this own deep-dive in giving greater context to who animated what and why that's of note. Many, many thanks again to Devon for all of his hard work and insight!
The cartoon comes in with a strong opening--perhaps ironically, considering the opening makes a point to be detached, elusive, vague. Our first view isn't of Tweety in his major breakout, nor the kitties on whom the cartoon is focused, but a long, drab, junkyard fence.
Ironically, the detachment and impersonality of this opening is a great way to make the cartoon inviting and intriguing. Obscuring the action and placing the viewer outside, struggling to look in, innately piques the audience's curiosity. Especially considering that there are cans flying and planks of the fence jutting out in accordance to the violence happening beyond, with Mel Blanc's deafening shrieks of "HEEEEEY BA-BBIIIIT BA-BBIIIIT NOOO BA-BBIIIT CUT IT OUUUT I DON'T WANNAAAA" immediately getting a laugh from the sheer sound and desperation of his voice.
Relying on the star power of sheer voice impression is another great way to get the audience excited. There's no clue that this cartoon will be about cat caricatures of Abbott and Costello--Clampett plunges us right into this idea by allowing the interplay of Blanc and Pierce to literally speak for themselves. Pierce's Abbott impression is scarily accurate to the real deal, and with Blanc's namedropping of Babbit, the audience is almost immediately able to recognize this novelty of caricature. All without having even seen the real thing yet.
Virgil Ross nevertheless satiates our curiosity, offering a distance shot of our star players as the pan--and fence--tapers to a stop. Their feud has pushed them beyond the visible bounds of the fence; a nice way to maintain that feeling of sneaking up on our stars, that elusiveness turning into audience intrigue, but it's also a nice way to show off some appealing staging. There's a split-screen effect where the fence stops, with the fence taking up one half of the screen and our star kitties neatly filling into the remaining negative space. Conscientiousness of layouts and composition are a running theme within the short, as we shall soon explore.
Ross' scene here is more about communicating the bigger picture. Because Babbit and Catstello are at a distance, the animation isn't the most articulated--but that in itself feels purposeful for the comedy, which is this stream of consciousness violence. Babbit barely seems like he's thinking about the slaps and shoves that Catstello barely seems to be registering. There's a feeling that this violence and feuding and shouting is just second nature routine to them.
If it's articulation the viewer wants, then articulation they shall get, because Bob McKimson animates the following close-up shot: a lengthy dialogue scene that formally acquaints us with the character dynamic, personalities, and aping of pre-existing Abbot and Costello-isms.
Through their banter, we discover--in increments--that they're on a quest for food. Clampett and Foster handle the exposition nicely, in that it is plainly stated ("Well then, go up and get the bird out of that nest, and we'll eat!") but structured through interplay. Starting with the aimless bickering, then Babbit asking if Catstello wants to eat, Catstello affirming that he loves to eat, Babbit telling him to get the bird and they'll eat, and so forth. The story is gradually delivered in a rhythm that feels natural for the Abbot and Costello cadence and still clings to that feeling of wanting to dig deeper--why are we in a junkyard, who is screaming, why are they screaming, etcetera. This entire opening is like an excavation of motivation and character and setting.
The junkyard setting paints just as much a story as Babbit explicitly bringing up a quest for food. That these cats are in a junkyard indicates hard luck and lack of spoils. Thus, their quest for food has a bit more pathos and, with it, motivation, than if it were decided they just wanted to chase after a bird because that's what cats do. Likewise, the idea of Abbot and Costello living in a junkyard probably elicited at least a laugh or two upon conception.
McKimson's animation of this entire banter, beyond a quick cut to show the birds' nest, is about half a minute: a long time in animation, especially for a dialogue scene. Thankfully, with his draftsmanship solid as ever, this scene exists to set a "default" of what the characters look like in terms of appearance and dynamic, offering plenty of eye candy for this sustained amount of time. The personality of both characters is clearly established--the elastic, dynamic Babbit pushing and overbearing the bumbling, diminutive Catstello, McKimson's animation communicates who wears the pants in a very tangible way.
The aforementioned cut to the birds' nest sparks a long running theme of very dynamic layouts within the short. That's because they come straight from the director himself; Clampett said that he did the layouts for this short ("both background and character") himself because he was temporarily without a layout artist--it certainly shows with the overwhelming dynamism and experimentation of multiple shots.
Granted, Clampett himself said that the layout man didn't initially design the camera angles: "I would take and make the roughs from the story boards, of the characters. The layout man could take them and make nice detailed pencil drawings of them. And then that would be traced onto background paper, and a fellow like Dick Thomas would do the paintings."
Regardless, the exaggeration of perspective and cinematography in this short feels reflective of some shorts that Clampett is presumed to have written himself, often experimenting with silhouette shots or a burst of dynamism that may not have stood out otherwise. While Warren Foster wrote the story here, this short feels more focused on environments and backgrounds and experimental angles than other Foster-Clampett team-ups of the era; Clampett doing the layouts himself may have offered some comparative flexibility with his vision and desire to exaggerate where he wanted to.
All of that is to say that this is a fantastic shot. The dramatic scale takes pity on Catstello's excuse of his "height-raphobia" preventing him from getting the bird, as the dizzying heights of the nest and dramatic angle are enough to give anyone a bout of heightraphobia. Including the windmill and barn next to the nest not only fill out the environments and offer more depth, but offer a comparison of height, reaffirming that this nest is really, really high.
Another solid source of appeal throughout the cartoon is its color design. The harsh red of the barn juxtaposes boldly against the teal skies, almost verging on a complementary scheme with the slight tint of green to the skies. Fluffy, white clouds make the strong red values of the barn or the deep burgundys of the nest and windmill pop out even more--a very color conscious shot.
On the topic of pitying Catstello, the directorially tone offers its playfully condescending sympathies. Amidst his gallant spiel about how he'd rather go hungry first than "hoit no boid", the music serenades him with a whiny, sarcastically saccharine accompaniment of "I'll Pray for You". Compare its usage to this short's chronological predecessor, The Hare-Brained Hypnotist, and the irony in its usage here is all the more dripping--especially with the emphasis on Catstello's pious acting, which drips with oxymornically innocent disingenuousness.
His bluff is immediately called out when Babbit points out that the prey they're dealing with is a "tiny, little bird":
"You mean a poor, little, teensy, weensy, itsy, bitsy defenseless boid?"
"Yes!"
"LEMME AT 'IM LEMME AT 'IM I'LL GET 'IM BABBIT GANGWAY I'LL MOIDALIZE 'IM LET ME AT 'IMMMMM!"
As soon as Babbit gives his emphatic affirmation, Catstello has a complete turnaround in demeanor, brilliantly carried by three equally important assets: Blanc's screaming deliveries, Stalling's hurried music tone, and McKimson's astute animation of Catstello mindlessly deforming himself in the illusion of self defense.
His hopping and frantic acting, taking up as much room in the staging as he can, raising his hackles and puffing out his silhouette and ganging up on Babbit are all a great way to convey a certain flavor of dopiness that avoids the usual stock tropes--compare his behavior to the dopey yellow cat in A Gruesome Twosome, another Clampett Tweety that has the same basic structure as this cartoon. Catstello is just as much a dope as the nameless yellow cat, but is approached with more originality and depth with how his dopiness manifests. Having Lou Costello's character to look for in inspiration was no doubt a big help in this feeling of originality.
From this exchanged, we've gathered that he's a very vacant character who is easily impressionable. His true motives have been revealed: the gallant act, transparent as it was, was all a cover to avoid insinuating that he was too scared of the bird to get it. Upon hearing such buzzwords of vulnerability like "defenseless" and "itsy-bitsy", he's now more than ready to fantasize about brutalizing the fledgling--a stark "overcorrection" of his pious word. It's a hilarious hypocrisy that's made hilarious through the voice acting, the writing, and the clean, direct parallel in direction that allows us to compare his demeanors and effectively see what a load of crock he was (and still is.)
Interestingly, Clampett uses a cross dissolve right in the middle of this action: Catstello is still carrying on as we arrive onto the next scene, as is Babbit's reassurances of "Take it easy, take it easy!" Carrying over both their dialogue and animation communicates that with this passage of time, the fit has been steadily ongoing. Another sharp way of communicating Catstello's overzealousness.
This vacuousness is best felt when Catstello suddenly skitters up the ladder in which he and Babbit are posed by...
...only to flop dead on the ground almost immediately thereafter. The impact is as mindless as Catstello's motions. The decision to climb up the ladder to begin with has the same mindlessness, without any sort of buildup or drama present. The entire joke of this sequence is its shockingly frank delivery.
Indeed, for as exuberant as the action is and exaggerated as the circumstances are, the directing is actually amazingly blunt for Clampett's standards. In many ways, the objectivity of his directing feels comparable to Friz Freleng, who was perhaps a master of bluntness like no other. Rest assured that this short has plenty of spectacle--its certainly telling that, in a scene which is described as blunt, a cat is violently turned into a pancake with no prior anticipation--but there's a feeling of restraint from Clampett that cordially gives way to the benefit of comedic contrast.
With the directing being as objective as it is, the hysteria of Catstello's antics feel broader by default. The direction is ogling at him, singling him out, showing what a zealous fool he is rather than indulging in that same rush of adrenaline. Directorial sympathy in this moment aligns with Babbit as the detached, somewhat cynical observer.
Before progressing further, more praise is due for Clampett's layouts and the cartoon's color coordination. The bright red of the ladder matching the bright red of the barn offers a refreshing balance and symmetry that is innately appealing, especially against the pastel teals of the early morning sky. With Babbit and Catstello being entirely composed of neutral colors, there's more liberty for the backgrounds to be bright and colorful, enabling a contrast that allows both the characters and backgrounds to pop out. This is a welcome correction from The Hep Cat which, while very much a visually appealing cartoon and conscious in spots of the relationships in color--the little red bird comes to mind--much of it was spent with neutral characters against neutral backgrounds. That communicates a mood all its own, and a mood that fit the cartoon nicely, but the contrast present here is unmistakably fetching.
At any rate, Babbit encourages Catstello to get a move on through physical means. His urging of Catstello to go up and Catstello's squealy refutations offer some more comparisons to the source material, the interplay and overlapping dialogue feeling like a natural extension and observation of the real Abbot and Costello dynamic.
So much so, that Blanc accidentally flubs his line--"Don't push me, Abbott!" must have been subtle enough to keep the line in assuming most wouldn't have noticed.
Sutherland's animation veers on the aimless side during this struggle, at times feeling like mere visual noise. Of course, this is the entire point, as observed with Catstello's gorgeously mindless flailing moments before. This scene is supposed to feel monotonous and frictionless, as that's what motivates Babbit to take matters in his own hands. Likewise, coming on the tails of a McKimson scene, practically any acting that follows is bound to seem less articulate in comparison.
A somewhat abrupt and equally aimless cut of a needle elucidates Babbit's intentions of getting Catstello to do his bidding. The cut is very short and could have been better integrated into the flow of events, but is admittedly necessary for clarity. Babbit could have pulled the needle out in that same wide shot, with some shining effects offering the clarity and focus that would be needed. Even so, it would lack the emphasis that is given by redirecting our attention entirely. This cut is partially for clarity, but to also anticipate the coming impact; Clampett just gets a bit slap happy with his cutting, accidentally making for a somewhat awkward flow.
The coming impact is nevertheless delivered.
This, too, is comparatively underplayed for Clampett's standards. It's still plenty big, with Catstello rocketing upwards, a flourish of drybrush, a rushing sound and his startled "WOO-OO-OO!" all giving context to his jab. Even so, Clampett could have gone bigger--perhaps with a patented Mel Blanc scream, a more playful and poignant needle prick sound, or a more visible reaction on Catstello rather than simply cutting to him settling into his final pose.
But, just because he could go bigger doesn't mean it's always appropriate. The anticlimax and orderliness is the joke: it all builds up to a petrified Catstello reciting some Red Skelton as his commentary: "He dood it!"
Clampett and Foster seemed considerate of Abbott and Costello's comedic stylings, approaching the caricatures with a certain deliberation in their mannerisms and demeanor. With these cats being modeled after a real comedic duo with a recognizable style and cadence, there are steps to be made to honor that. Lou Costello probably wouldn't distort his body and scream like Mel Blanc if he were jabbed with a needle. The dryness and frankness of Costello's wide-eyed, innocent delivery here is much more consistent with his flavor of comedy.
Likewise, Clampett was a big proponent of the philosophy that if everything is crazy, nothing is. There is certainly plenty of craziness abound in this short, and we've already been treated to it in glimpses, but we're still in the exposition. The cartoon has a real, tangible feeling of progression behind it in many respects--the accumulative hysteria is one of those respects.
Conscientious scene composition helps complete the bluntness of the joke. The tree branch creates a satisfying frame over Catstello, who neatly fills the negative space in the middle--ditto with the ladder. Orderliness in the composition is a great contrast to the purposeful disorganization just moments ago, embracing this abrupt calm.
Rod Scribner animates Catstello's subsequent reaction to this dizzying perspective. His surprise take is short and sweet, but full of spontaneous appeal. The squash and stretch of his antic and overshoot, the settle of said overshoot with his wide eyes and gummy teeth--this feels more natively Clampettian in its sensibilities, momentarily breaking away from that dry interplay and scoring the playful intensity of the moment.
Emphasis on playful; this take offers yet another opportunity for Clampett to indulge in his pop culture references. This time, the warbled "Oh-h-h-h-h!" that comes out of Catstello's mouth is suspiciously comparable to Ed Wynn. Fitting, as Wynn was the one who discovered Red Skelton and led to him pursuing his performing career.
Virgil Ross animates the following close-up of Babbit, demanding "Give me the bird! Give me the bird!" His drawings are rife with appeal; it's a quick shot, but serviceable and very important in fostering the call-and-response momentum of the pacing. Ross' solidity is almost locked in interplay with Scribner's animation sandwiching the scene in a way that mirrors the banter between Babbit and Catstello. Firm drawing and acting for the firm Babbit, more exaggerated and spontaneous technique for comedic foil Catstello.
Scribner animates a charmingly organic cut of Catstello's sly reply, certainly back within the vein of that dry Abbott and Costello tone: "If dat Hays Office would only let me, I'd give 'im da boid alright."
A great line that also works especially well within the context of our characters. A character halting all momentum of the short, just to give a funny line with such focus on that line and awareness, could feel somewhat odd or disjointed. Here, it merely reads like a natural part of the banter that's been constructed between both characters--the Costelloian whistle that follows cements it safely as a lampoon. It doesn't feel like it's trying too hard to be funny or self aware, but a natural extension of this short's setup. It certainly helps, however, that the line is as funny as it is.
History is nevertheless made as we get a glimpse of the boid in question. His introduction is very matter of fact: a cut to him sleeping in his nest, Catstello's outstretched hand on the rise.
A palpable vulnerability surrounds this introduction in many ways. Catstello posing a threat for one, mirrored by the climactic, tense music sting. Tweety, clearly being a baby and suddenly recontextualizing this entire mission (what meat are they gonna get off of his bones?), and the addition of him being alone and unguarded. Unlike Bugs Bunny Gets the Boid, there's no Mama Tweety waiting to come down and tell the cats off for trying to eat her baby.
This innately gives Tweety an underdog appeal and a generous helping of pathos, which encourages the audience to root for him. That's another benefit of this cartoon, its centrism in that both parties are able to be championed. Clampett's story and directing clearly take priority to Babbit and Catstello, but Tweety certainly has a lot to like about him and encourage, as shall imminently be discovered.
Catstello strikes through some appealing and articulated hand acting by Bob McKimson, but misses, prompting a terrific gust of wind caricaturing his swipe in the process. A nice exaggeration that really calls the extent of his failure into play--especially with the additional details of Tweety and some added twigs in the background to quake in his wake.
Tweety has a certain stoicism about him throughout the short that raises a compelling point of intrigue in this predator and prey dynamic: the cats are much more worked up emotionally than he ever is. Instead of having him cower in fear or jolting awake, Clampett merely transforms a threatening situation into a cute bit of business: Tweety wakes up, blinks vacantly at the camera, shivers, and goes back to sleep. The timing of events is a bit mechanical and stilted, but purposefully so, as there's supposed to be a certain tongue-in-cheek flair to this self awareness. Especially because we naturally anticipate a much bigger reaction that never comes.
The straw he uses to cover himself is a bit of a cheat, the "blanket" much more full and a different texture than the strands of the nest he's tugging at. Nevertheless, it's all in the name of creating a satisfying book-end with a charming little topper. Tweety's superiority against the cats has now been gently conveyed.
Such is proven in the next cut, also by Bob McKimson: Catstello shrieking for help as he verges on toppling over is a very far contrast from Tweety's quaint behaviors. Being a McKimson scene, the animation may not be as wild and frenetic as it would under someone like Rod Scribner--perhaps the "obvious" assumption for casting here--but the solidity of McKimson's animation gives the scene its own independent gravity.
His animation and acting on Catstello is still very funny and full of energy, but arguably prioritizes the feeling of his wobbling weight and physically communicating this threat of his impending fall moreso. Doing so makes the danger feel more authentic and raises the stakes. We really feel like Catstello is in trouble here and perhaps even worry for his safety; a more wild and frenetic take on this scene, while fun, would have made for a more flippant tone that may discredit the sense of foreboding Clampett was trying to capture. Even if that foreboding is accompanied through shrill, obnoxious shrieks that bring it back around to being funny again.
And, as mentioned above, there's still plenty about the scene that somehow keeps one foot in playful territory. Treg Brown's plastic rubber sound effects as the ladder splits beneath Catstello are as hilarious as they are painful, really lending itself to the urgency mimicked in Blanc's petrified shrieks of "BABBIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!" McKimson staggering the action likewise offers a physical tension that again justifies Catstello's fears.
Nevertheless, luck--if one could call it that--is on Catstello's side. The next cut is a bit of a non-sequitur, a rapid bring down of energy that perfectly matches the spontaneity and quick witted flow of Abbot and Costello's cadence. One moment, Catstello is screaming and hanging on for dear life. Literally the next second, he's nonchalantly showing Babbit his "stilts".
Maintaining this interplay, the dramatic upshot of Catstello walking around takes pity on Babbit, sharing his grounds' eye view. It's a layout that's dynamic and has plenty of momentum, which translates into appeal and intrigue--the stilts create a very attractive frame around Babbit at the top of the scene, again lending itself to the conscientiousness of the composition. Even so, there's still plenty of danger conveyed through the dramatics of this upshot, and a danger that translates into disapproval from Babbit--we're meant to politely scold Catstello at his clowning around.
Directorial allegiance is then handed back to Catstello in the next cut with a much more objective view. His joking and gagging has literally made him get carried away--now, he only has one "stilt" to cling onto. McKimson animates this transition flawlessly. We get that little stutter feeling of Catstello losing his grip, his weight momentarily bucking beneath him, but is consolidated well into the pre-existing flow of action. There's no treacherous pause or belabored moment of scrambling as realization catches up to him a la Chuck Jones' Coyote. It's pure accident and impulse and is reflected very nicely in the animation, which almost makes the consequences feel greater through this spontaneity.
Upon this treacherous development, Catstello is quick to resume his screaming--first through some coy, amusing "HEEELP! HEEEELP!"s that sound more like meows than they do screams, leaning into his anthropomorphic casting, and then the resumption of the Babbit Chorus. As he falls, his toppling occurs in increments: the camera inches to screen left in accordance to the pole gradually rotating. The scene itself has a great momentum, but the physics aren't very realistic; a pole does not fall in increments like that.
That's because it's all in the name of the reveal. Rev Chaney offers his services for the wide shot, in which it's revealed that Babbit has grabbed the pole and has been shaking it to lower Catstello himself. A sharp subversion that scores Babbit's grievances, feeling he has to take matters into his own hands because Catstello is helpless, but yet another scene that puts emphasis on the scale of their environments. There's a dryness and irony to the objective, stolid composition of this shot, the staging matching the frankness of the reveal. Such wryness befits the Abbott and Costello flow nicely.
To further delegitimize Catstello's reactions, a whimsical, almost mocking slide whistle effect as Catstello slides down aptly eliminates any remaining danger. Silliness is prioritized first and foremost, making Catstello out to be a bigger boob than he already is.
A slight jump cut prevails. Babbit catches Catstello in his arms, but the action is both so fast and clustered to the far right of the screen that it's difficult to see the hook-up between scenes. Perhaps holding for a frame or two longer on the wideshot, or adding a gentler, more gradual settle would bridge the gap more effectively. Nevertheless, Catstello has not been reduced to shrapnel, and Babbit's dissatisfaction is clearly felt--the clarity of the scene's intent is in no way impeded.
McKimson's animation of Catstello's comedown is deserving of the same praise as in his previous and forthcoming scenes. Extremely solid drawings, grounded acting that's still funny and expressive in its own idiosyncratic way--the best example of this being when Catstello wordlessly squishes his cheeks upon the realization of his safety. It doesn't feel far removed from the same sort of quirkiness in behavior that would dominate so many of McKimson's directorial efforts. Carl Stalling likewise remains a pivotal purveyor of irony, his score of "Rockabye Baby" offering its dual commentary on Catstello's physical cradling and emotional fragility.
"Hey--how'd you get a-way up heyuh?"
Catstello's moment of realization preceding the line tricks the audience into believing that he's finally come to his senses, acquainted with a rare moment of humility. Thus, the frankness and even earnest of Blanc's delivery, wry as it is, comes as a great, unexpected contrast.
Babbit answers the best way he knows how. An extremely blunt action and extremely surprising, which, of course, translates to it being extremely funny. The distortion on Catstello's cheek, filling up the remaining negative space in the frame, is both amusingly exaggerated and almost somewhat literal in an independently McKimson-y way. This action is much more elastic and playful than the many brutal slaps that dominate McKimson's own cartoons, but is approached with a groundedness that maintains a very real surprise and shock value. Somehow, it's almost always more painful to see a character get slapped than blown up with a stick of dynamite, because of how grounded in reality--comparatively--the act of slapping someone is. This is doubly true of McKimson's cartoons; this scene is an appetizer of the brunt, shocking, and very literal slapstick that so heartily dominated his cartoons.
A fade to black comfortably buttons the scenario, feeling like a coda to one of their routines.
The resulting fade in lands upon their next grand idea. This is where the short begins to fall into the eventually-typical try and fail blackout gag structure. While this short wasn't the very first of its kind--Frank Tashlin's Fox and Grapes at Screen Gems is often considered to be a pioneer of this genre, though Tashlin himself claimed he had "cribbed what they had at Disney's"--it was one of the earliest Warner cartoons to follow the rigid structure of, again aping Tashlin's word, "tries to catch him, sets up a thing, boom, backfires".
It is true that predator and prey cartoons have been around from the very beginning, whether its cat and mouse, cat and bird, dog and cat, kidnapper and damsel. The frankness of the blackout gag structure, cutting out the fat and focusing more on the try and fail rather than the story, is where things begin to liven up. Clampett still has plenty of story and "fluff" in comparison to the way these cartoons would be whittled down--think every Road Runner cartoon--but it's not inaccurate to pin this as one of the first in a formula that would completely swallow the Warner cartoon brand in the coming decades.
There is a compelling difference between this one and most others that makes it unique: time tangibly passes by. The skies have evolved from their hazy, dawn teals to a more standard cartoon sky blue, indicating that we are now in the afternoon. Not only does this offer the benefit of memorable color design, but it makes the quest to nab this baby bird feel even more exhaustive than would already be the case. It enunciates the amusing futility of their mission, but also offers some sympathy, making their struggles feel even more pathetic with how long it's taking.
Another difference between this short and, say, most Road Runner shorts is that we immediately fade-in to the assembled idea. There's no test flight, no shot of the characters assembling their next ingenious idea. Instead, the viewer is immediately greeted with the solution: doing so implies a story, which again contributes to the overall feeling of dimension within the short. The implied passage of time through the changing backgrounds works to this nicely.
Even if we didn't see the building process or the inevitable banter within, the expressions and demeanors of both characters still possess the vestiges of what that process may have looked like. From Catstello's clear discomfort as the test dummy and Babbit's nonchalant complacency, it's obvious who came up with this idea and who didn't.
Babbit compressing Catstello into the box is yet another brilliant amalgam of a ridiculous prop and premise regarded with a dry, coolheaded execution. The juxtaposition that births thusly contributes to the comedic effect just as much as Catstello's reticence and the convolution of the idea to begin with.
Because Clampett is keeping his cool with the gags early on--and not just because Stalling's backing track for this scene happens to be "Keep Cool, Fool"--Treg Brown's sound effects compensate to give the gags a whimsical flair. First it was the slide whistle as Catstello slid down the "ladder". Now, it's the elongated, twanging, metallic glissando accompanying the act of Babbit smushing his cohort into the box; it's a funny, imaginative sound effect, but also gives a solid feeling of tension in the physics of the animation, offering a tactility to Catstello being smothered against his will.
The graduality of this action (in that Babbit doesn't shove him down in one quick blow) enunciates the convolution of the scenario. It offers more time to ponder and laugh at the asininity, but it also allows more time for Catstello's trepidation-turned-panic to be drawn out, allowing a much funnier build-up than if he had just started screaming from the get go.
Virgil Ross has the box convulse and squirm, giving a physicality to Catstello's screams of "BABBIIIIIIT! BABBIIIIIIT!" to remind us of the source. A welcome detail--nothing would have been lost with the box remaining static, since we have a very clear idea of where Catstello is, but this additional tangibility is a nice consideration.
Dialogue is a particularly big draw in this short. It's expected with a short featuring Abbott and Costello caricatures, since they were so well known for their fast-talking synergy, but the jokes and the timing of the deliveries feel like a greater foundation than other Clampett shorts of the time. This exchange of Babbit finally caving to Catstello's caterwauling, only for Catstello to give an exceedingly calm, pitiful answer ("BABBIT!!! BABBIT!!!" "What's the matter now?" "I'm afraid of the dark.") is a shining example. Perfectly delivered in both timing and voice acting from both parties.
Catstello's garnered a lot of worthy discussion so far, but Babbit's role as the straightman slash enabler is just as essential to the dynamic. Pierce perfectly nails the dry deliveries with an extremely natural charm; Babbit's calm follow-up of "Well, I'll let you out, then!" is almost as funny as the punchline itself, clearly communicating that trouble is brewing with this idea and how Babbit is obviously using him as a tool for his bidding. It flows with Catstello's dialogue nicely and plays off of him, keeping this nonstop volley of banter going--again, just like the real deal.
Babbit's nonchalance is important because, with juxtaposition being the name of the game, it enables the explosion of action upon Catstello's release to come off as sudden and alarming. Hyper but appropriate sound effects, quick timing--all on one's--and a generous amount of airbrushing to both distort and conceal Catstello, now more a rocketing thing than a character all lend itself to a palpable burst of action.
Rev Chaney animates the following shot of Catstello hurtling through the air, his sheen of airbrush eventually giving way as his momentum slows. The timing and spacing of the animation is well handled, particularly the settle as he slows upon the nest, hanging in the air for a few moments before the forces of gravity pull him back down. Lots of drawings spaced close together, and then the comedown arriving with great distortion and far spacing of drawings to convey this palpable ease in and out. Doing so gives the springs a palpable sense of momentum and tactility that better the depth of the circumstances.
That this contraption works at all is a welcome touch, as it feels like the "obvious" answer would be for it to malfunction. Instead, this success of Catstello actually reaching the bird's nest feels suspiciously convenient, with the viewer invited to anticipate the next obstacle. We already get the feeling that this won't be a success; now, the point of intrigue lies in how.
The aforementioned nest offers the answer.
Bob McKimson animates Tweety's formal introduction in one of the short's most memorable scenes. The cadence of the sequence is established from the very start: Catstello aimlessly bobbing in and out of frame, subservient to his springs, and Tweety's awareness of the situation growing with each bounce.
Even before anything of note has happened, the scene already gets a laugh from Catstello's exceptionally clueless, immobile expression at the start. He's now encountered the bird, who is clearly his for the taking, but has absolutely no idea how to react. This single screenshot could make for an apt summation of the short's dynamics.
Gravity prevails, and Catstello is sent ducking out of screen. Brown's consistent "boing" sound effects do a great job of glueing the scene together, a generous contributor to the anchored rhythm of the scene.
Tweety wakes up just a moment too late. McKimson's timing is very believable in its spontaneity: Tweety jolts up, blinks vacantly at the audience, quickly whips around to look at the space formerly occupied by Catstello, slowly recoils back to ogling at the camera (a contrast to the three frames it takes for him to whip his head before, all of which were namely in a settle), and then goes back to sleep right as Catstello makes re-entry. A well handled double take that feels believable in its instinct.
This routine sees a repeat, albeit abridged; Tweety is quicker to spring into action, albeit only making "eye contact" with the drybrushed afterimage of Catstello. Still, he moved when Catstello was in frame, bridging the gap closer and communicating a necessary progression.
Progression that is very necessary, as it gives us the very first "I tawt I taw a puddy tat!"
Those famous words originated in a drawing Clampett had done for a friend--drawn on a piece of MGM stationary, he drew a little bird next to Leo the Lion, proclaiming "I tink I taw a titty-tat". As is somewhat typical with Clampettian history, the line is slightly blurred on its true origins. In a collection of interviews compiled by Mark Mentzer, Clampett claimed the line came to him when he was sketching Catstello looking in on him: "and when I came to the point of the cat looking in on him over the nest, this line came back to me, 'I tink I taw a titty tat.' And I thought, well maybe they’ll stop me on using the word 'titty'. So I switched it around to 'I tot I taw a putty tat', and that was exactly the way I used it in the first picture."
Animator Phil Monroe, however, relayed a story in which Clampett showed him a drawing of Tweety on a limb saying those immortal words. Clampett evidently credited Monroe for the line and drawing (to which Monroe, in his interview, evidently recounted with "The hell it is"). Monroe would become an animator for Clampett not far from this time, but would currently have been animating in the Freleng unit at the time of this cartoon's release. That's not to say their paths couldn't have crossed, nor is their reason to doubt Monroe's word--moreso, history and the exactingness of who did what can get muddled with any cartoon director, but particularly so with Clampett. Him crediting someone else for something so notable is an intriguing deviation from this usual pattern.
Nevertheless, this moment is certainly historic. Even the follow-up that so comes with this formula, with Tweety giving his "I did! I taw a puddy tat!", is present here. Blanc's line read is more sleepy, slow, amusingly belabored than it'd be come--its airy delivery again contributes to the presiding theme of vulnerability that comes from this so-ugly-it's-cute naked baby bird.
An important asset, as it allows the outburst of violence that immediately follows to be all the more unexpected and surprising.
Contrast curating comedy prevails again, and to a particularly excessive degree here. It seems as though not only this entire sequence, but the entire short was building to this very moment--all of the wryness and dryness, the comparative calm in Clampett's directing, all of this energy was accruing to explode in this moment.
Some of that dryness in tone and directing still remains. Tweety launches a barrage of violence unto Catstello, which soon turns into a back and forth, all executed in this same shot with the same rhythm intact. That "stagnancy" of direction (or, perhaps more aptly, the lack of shot flow) actually makes the violence seem bigger because it's contained all to this same shot. Incongruity in directorial tone and what's actually happening on-screen. There's a calm in the cinematography that is absolutely refuted through the aggression in gags.
All throughout, this slapstick follows a call and response progression. The order is as follows:
Tweety clubs Catstello on the head leads to a protective bird cage on Catstello's head.
Birdcage leads to Tweety opening the door and giving him the ol' Stooges maneuver.
Stooges maneuver leads to Catstello covering his eyes within the bird cage, which leads to Tweety returning to the club.
A return to the club leads Catstello donning a brodie helmet while still covering his eyes.
Brodie helmet is utilized by Tweety to send Catstello sustaining another head injury and rocketing back down (and with a complimentary cigar for added humiliation and conceit.)
Catstello is unable to fight the circumstances--a moment that embraces his mindlessness and feels very true to the source material in its dryness.
Tweety substitutes.
Catstello packs heat.
So does Tweety.
Water gun prompts a diving helmet and, with it, an endearingly juvenile attitude.
Dynamite speaks for itself.
As does the long, prolonged fall, conveyed purely through the brilliance of a descending slide whistle and Tweety looking on.
All of this adheres to the rhythm constructed at the top of the sequence. Catstello's bouncing is consistent all the way through, which prompts these actions to be literally split second. The gags are all hilarious--especially because there is a very real sense of momentum behind them, both with the rising aggression and the anticipation of seeing how both characters feed into this back and forth--but what really makes this scene so memorable is how precious the timing is and how flawlessly it's executed.
The only real deviations are an added pause as Catstello whips out the pistol, due to it being such a shocking moment of escalation (and one of utter futility--it's purely to prove a point, as, if it had been a real gun, the end result wouldn't provide much of a bird to feast on) and the slightest pause with the diving helmet to enunciate Catstello's petty retaliation, as well as signaling that this bit is coming to an end. It is amazing that the sequence reads as well as it does with how fickle the timing is. Something like this would have been unimaginable in a Clampett short even just a year prior with the level of precision that is showcased here.
Catstello's fate is not detailed through a shot showing the inevitable explosion, but a cut to Tweety's observation instead. It's a slight jump cut--the poses hook-up, but the second cut has the animation timed on one's as Tweety is violently jostled, nest reduces to rolling waves of twigs to in reaction to the blast beneath. This jump comes with purpose, the abrupt cutting allowing for a maximum impact of surprise--the jolt felt in the cutting is reflective of the jolt in the action.
Focusing on Tweety's reaction--him being thrown around aimlessly, beautifully elastic distortion provided by none other than Rod Scribner--ironically offers some pathos through the detachment. Viewing another character's reaction to the damage done and showing how that extends offers more sympathy than would be present if we solely focused on Catstello. We can already guess that he's terrified. Showing the other side of the coin displays the breadth of the action and consequences. Likewise, the ambiguity of the explosion, communicating it purely through detached measures like sound effects and secondhand reactions, makes it feel greater through the innate intrigue of what's not being shown.
The settle on the nest is a bit odd; the nest is very low in the scene throughout, and then suddenly pops up to clearly give Tweety something to perch on and adequately fill the screen space. This pop is a bit of a cheat and inconsistent with the established physics. Nevertheless, there are more pressing matters at hand, such as Catstello having been brutally blown to bits.
Tweety expresses his sympathies with innocent sadism, really reigning in his Red Skelton-isms by aping the catchphrase of the Mean Widdle Kid: "Oooohh, da poow puddy tat! He cwushed his wittie head!"
Either this played well with audiences or Clampett was understandably fond of the contrast between saccharine and savage, because variations of this utteration would befall every Tweety short he directed. Tweety brutally maims his adversary, gives an aside to the audience synonymous to above, and, also synonymous, fosters a joyously disingenuous-and-proud-of-it grin after. His smile here is hilarious, and would only seem to grow in its dastardliness with each successive entry.
This moment is a brilliant culmination of Clampett's "cute 'n cruel" philosophy that he's fostered since the very beginning. Rover's Rival, Porky's Naughty Nephew, Porky's Picnic, Naughty Neighbors, Porky's Last Stand--all shorts that adhere to this philosophy seem to have been building up to this very moment. The principle has, and will remain the same all throughout his career--the ways he's been able to exaggerate both the cuteness and the sadism, however, have consistently evolved. Tweety is a character who was originally made to embody this beloved impulse. He's played so cute because he's such a merciless freak; a very necessary balance that was sadly lost all too soon.
With this defeat as damning as it is, there's no possible way to top it in a way that connects to this vignette. Thus, time trudges on, now fading onto a dejected Catstello and his neutral accomplice in the evening. Beautiful color styling and a warm, pitiful, but upbeat-enough tone of defeat.
And an absolutely brilliant detail of Catstello eating an apple as he mourns his failures. A little reminder that the entire hook of this short hinges on the cats trying to get Tweety so they have something to eat. Catstello pulling a gun on Tweety and intending to blast him into inedible bird mush is one tongue-in-cheek acquiescence of how pitiful this chase is, but actively having Catstello go against the hook of the short by eating an apple, which goes completely unremarked by the directing and Babbit alike, is genius and absolutely hilarious irony. There's a bit of a story point that comes with such a gag, too, in that it communicates a feeling of acquiescence. If he can't get the bird, then he'll just have to sacrifice his pride and eat this apple instead. Moreover, there's the very funny and somewhat obvious implication that Babbit is purely in this just to torture Catstello.
Babbit's flimsy reassurances ("Ohh, the breaks were against you," and "Don't worry, you'll get it, alright,") reaffirm such a notion. Ditto with the camera dutifully pulling out to reveal the source of Babbit's "optimism". As Catstello tearfully mourns his incompetence, Babbit giving him the world's most apathetic pep talk, Babbit eventually wanders over to screen right, in which the camera loyally reveals the dynamite plug hooked up to the keg beneath Catstello, awaiting for Babbit's touch.
This, too, does a brilliant job of conveying a story that we are not exactly privy to--how Babbit got the plan, how he convinced Catstello to unknowingly take a load off on this powder keg and eat the fruit he has much too ease of access to. Yet another one of the short's strengths is that what happens off screen is practically as funny as what happens on screen; it sure results in a more dimensional and character-rich cartoon.
Catstello mildly perks up at Babbit's flimsy reassurances with his own flimsy enthusiasm. Another big point of this scene's appeal is how the two characters seem to talk at each other rather than to. Both have their preoccupations--Catstello mourning his losses, Babbit quenching his friendly bloodlust--which results in a shared, mindless disingenuousness from both parties. Catstello's "Ya mean I'll get it in the end?" sounds optimistic, but he maintains that same pitiful expression, never making eye contact and dejectedly eating his apple.
Pierce nails the condescension in his delivery of "Yeah, and you'll get a big bang out of it, too!"
His point is thusly proved literally.
The timing of this fiery explosion is, predictably, great. The audience has plenty of time to anticipate it, so it isn't necessarily a means of shock factor--moreso how matter-of-factly it's executed. Catstello is completely shrouded by the fiery blast, which is an amusing consideration in its own right; instead of the standard explosion taking over the entire screen, it's animated specifically to devour him and only him. Seeing Babbit completely unharmed and completely unmoved by this violence makes the explosion feel bigger because it's so targeted. Brown's ear shattering and surely flesh-melting explosion sound effects are pivotal to conveying the intensity that's deliberately lacked by the nonchalant directing.
Clampett maintains his philosophy of keeping a cool head with his direction, so that the insanity of the gags and action themselves feel even greater through the dissonance. Catstello is completely uninjured and, as we discover, completely oblivious.
Some airbrushing momentarily conceals him and piques our curiosity as to what injuries he'll sustain as he eventually catches up to himself, so to speak, but otherwise he behaves exactly as he did on the ground, with only the background rapidly panning to indicate any movement. Lingering on a static pose for a few moments before he speaks beautifully embodies the cool-against-crazy atmosphere of this scene and even short thus far.
"Well, dat sure takes a load offa my mind."
Many people seem to understandable depict Clampett as a completely uninhibited and wild directorial force. He certainly is, but there tends to be an inflation of these characteristics, always believing he was going 110% at all time and left absolutely no subtlety in his approach. This short makes a fantastic rebuttal against those notions. Make no mistake, this is certainly a wild cartoon--Catstello has now sustained two life threatening explosions back to back--but there's a calculating, strategic restraint throughout. You have to have a low to have a high, and these can often co-exist with each other, as this scene demonstrates. Clampett adapted to the wry tone of the Abbott and Costello banter--that voice lends itself to his comparatively dry tone as the characters and gags do very Clampettian things, resulting in a beautiful dissonance. There's an admirable give and take that makes this cartoon feel so balanced and thusly successful.
Worms, that is.
It's a brilliant little non-sequitur. It showcases the many ways that Tweety's sadism extends--not just physical violence, but something as petty as stealing Catstello's food source, and not even to eat it for himself; him discarding the apple and the hilariously sinister grin that follows speaks volumes. He's sadistic and openly proud of it, seeing it as a point of endearment--which, bizarrely enough, is correct.
Likewise, it maintains that feeling of cute-'n-cruel. Despite the absurdity of the circumstances and the sadism of Tweety's actions, this scene has a quaintness to it: a baby bird drooling over an apple, only to fish out a worm and throw the apple away feels like a gag in a newspaper comic. Tweety has clearly proven that he is a glaring antonym to innocence, but there is a whimsy and even innocence about the directorial tone. Perhaps that's in reaction to the joyous, playful, Clampett-voiced "BEO-WIP!" noise that accompanies Tweety's retrieval of the worm (whose bright green color styling against the magentas of the sunset is some absolutely gorgeous and candy-like color styling for clarity), animated with a beautifully whimsical elasticity on both the worm and the apple.
Catstello eventually comes to his senses. In a symbolic piece of timing, his taking a bite of nothing, receiving a beautifully vacant face plant instead, occurs just before gravity pulls him back down. Stalling’s score of “California, Here I Come” additionally reaches its climax to musically embrace the feeling of everything crashing down at once. Not only that, but it’s explicitly timed to the action—Catstello engages in about three different takes, with the anticipatory stings timed in conjunction with each one.
The perspective in him putting on his brakes is a bit incongruous with the perspective of the scene at hand—it feels like the background should shift with him, reflecting this sudden view of a downshot. Even so, it’s a wonderfully immersive and alarming burst of action, believably solid and frantic. All a very effective contrast to how nonchalant Catstello’s acting had been in this sequence prior.
Sid Sutherland’s flexing of perspective finds a better home in the next cut: Catstello eventually approaches the camera as he tumbles downward, soon coming into violent contact with the barn roof, proving itself to be a bit more than just a landmark of atmosphere. The perspective of the layout is nice, the slant of the roof conveying a dynamism and feeling of momentum even when the action is static; the distortion and sheer violence of Catstello’s impact is even greater.
The sheer exaggeration of his fall feels like a response to Sutherland’s earlier scene with Catstello falling off of the ladder. Those feelings of mindlessness in the earlier scene are still a bit present here—an innate fixture of Catstello’s personality, it seems—but absolutely inflate the comedy rather than hinder it. This reaction is so big that it simultaneously hurts and takes the sting out by being such a dramatic caricature of action.
Conveniently, the slant of the roof isn’t strictly just to give the composition some momentum through its diagonals: it gives Catstello momentum, too. So much so that his eerily rigid, rigor mortis-esque body slides off of it with a dutiful piano glissando in tow.
To nitpick, the perspective on Catstello is just slightly off; to better adhere to the angle of the background, his face feels as though it should be turned a bit more screen left. Likewise, his actual descent off of the roof has a tendency to feel like he’s sliding off the background rather than actually adhering to the contour of the roof.
Nevertheless, this is all extremely pedantic nitpicking. The composition is gorgeously dynamic and the animation is hilarious, both in its elasticity and utter rigidity. Such a stark contrast between these two extremes immediately juxtaposed back to back makes for a powerful contrast that really drives the scene.
All of this hubbub amounts to Catstello flopping onto a wire hung on the barn. The convolution of this entire scenario is funnier, but also more painful than if he were to make direct impact with the ground. Having these "stops" along the way--the roof, then the wire--gives Clampett the additional bonus of flexing his layouts and skills of dynamism, in addition to the laughs we get from the slapstick.
The extreme of this angle and a character threatened by plummeting to their doom call to mind the climax of The Hep Cat. Similarities are certainly present, but Hep's climax feels more oriented on action, understandably. There's plenty of action present here, but character and interplay is a much bigger priority. The danger in the environments is only tangential: the real source of danger happens to be waddling in on that very line.
Dissonance yet again proves to be a major purveyor of comedy. Tweety, sleepy-eyed and vacant, mindlessly tortures Catstello by hopping on the wire to make it shake, before eventually seguing into a game of "dis widdy piddy". All throughout, Catstello loudly verbalizes his reactions. The juxtaposition alone in Tweety's stream-of-consciousness and Catstello's fit is exceptionally rich, but there's so many bits of contrast and nuance that seal the deal. Tweety doesn't even look like he's enjoying himself, but merely honoring his impulses the same he would breathing or walking.
Timing is a big help in the memorability of this scene, too. With each "piddy" at threat, Catstello interjects an ear piercing "BABBIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"; there's a clear rhythm, but there's just the slightest bit of overlap between the two characters speaking that injects a powerful authenticity into the structure. Catstello's panic feels more frantic, Tweety's disregard more cruel.
Ross' animation bears a physicality and solidity that makes the inevitable more rewarding through the build-up. Catstello falling is a given, but seeing his foot sinking lower, the stagger as Tweety pulls each piddy is and enunciating the size difference, and the recoil of the wire as the tension of each piddy is released form a greater crescendo of anticipation.
This is felt through the final release, conveyed via some wild but directorial calm drybrush reverberations that again harken back to The Hep Cat. Hep's more frantic distortion and emotional pitch better support the claims of this short's direction feeling so purposefully dry.
"Well wha'd'you know? I wan out of piddies."
A fantastic double meaning with piddies/pities, and a beautiful feigned innocence from Tweety a la silent comedian Harry Langdon, who Chuck Jones has cited as an inspiration. Yet another miracle of this short is that Tweety's constant mugging of the camera never gets tired or feels like a crutch, as is so incredibly easy for these moments to do. Perhaps there's likewise the novelty of Tweety behaving with this smug awareness that'd be lost even in the remaining Clampett Tweetys, as his babiness would be inflated to further inflate the violence he inflicts. Here, he is a full on bastard rather than a cute baby who has bastard tendencies.
It wouldn't be a Bob Clampett cartoon without a bit of reuse. Thankfully, this reuse of Sutherland's animation is masked well--both in that it fits the context, but there are some additional drawings of Catstello scrambling to freshen it up. The idea of this scene, which is only a few seconds long anyhow, is to represent the idea of him plummeting to the ground and the freneticism within, rather than seeking any articulation from this moment.
Likewise, Brown's plummeting plane noises and Blanc's "BABBIIIIIT! BABBIIIIIT!" screaming that weirdly sounds as if he has a mouthful of gauze give the action a feeling of escalation compared to its prior usage. Ditto with the renewed, frantic score of "Hang On to Your Lids, Kids" that strikes up as soon as the camera cuts to Catstello in descent.
Via Bob McKimson's handiwork, Tweety engages in a form of malicious compliance. With a suspicious change of heart, he decides to save the puddy tat by lassoing him a rope. Just as was the case with the previous scene, the viewer has an innate feeling that this isn't the act of charity that it may seem to be--the reward in the sequence is seeing how the inevitable collision is reached. It's a slight fakeout to invest the audience a bit longer, as well as flex both another immersive layout (that communicates a power dynamic between Tweety and Catstello, with Tweety literally having the upper hand) and some impressive perspective animation on the rope dropping into frame. The dynamism of this short must have had a great effect in theaters.
Many of Sutherland's animation cuts are high energy, good at communicating a helpless and futile mania. His drawings of Catstello flailing aren't as distorted as what someone like Rod Scribner may have done, but not every scene needs--nor should--have a Scribner; the rapid timing of the drawings and the flailing itself certainly communicate a tangible panic just the same. The rapid descent of the background, the hurtling jet sound effects, and the music score rising in a crescendo are helpful contributors to this presiding alarm.
That way, Catstello's stop as he grabs the rope dropped to his side, almost feels just as big and damning as his actual panic through the stark dissonance. Ditto with the reverberating settle as he freezes into place, and the amusing addition of him wiping his brow.
Rather than stepping off the rope and onto the ground visibly below him, he, ever the genius, opts to climb it instead. Thoughtlessness through overthinking--this is again felt through little details such as his brow wipe, filling up precious time.
The viewer's hunch of Tweety's malicious compliance is proven in the next shot. What happens to be anchoring the rope but an anvil, scooching its way off of the slanted roof in intensely timed musical increments. Perhaps this is where the cliche of anvils in cartoons come from, as this is seemingly the first instance of a character--pardon the obvious foreshadowing--getting crushed by an anvil in a Warner cartoon; almost 13 years into the studio's lifespan.
What makes this gag so rewarding and impactful, separating it from thin, ill-informed cliches that follow, is the convolution of the situation. Seeing the anvil inching off of the roof with each tug, scored by an anticipatory trombone sting with each inch, gives a tangible buildup that lends itself to an impending sense of doom. Likewise, rather than solely focusing on the anvil, Tweety is conveniently next to it as a culprit slash alibi. His presence renders the gag more personal by serving as a reminder of who is responsible.
His excessively lackadaisical pose offers a beautiful contrast to Catstello’s frenetic panic. It communicates a lack of engagement with the consequences, a comparably Bugs Bunny-esque nonchalance that stings just as much as the inevitable physical impact. Clampett would reuse this same acting in his The Wise Quacking Duck.
Back to Virgil Ross, who animates a small inbetween cut of Catstello’s attempts to rope climb. It offers an intriguing means of comparison between his handling of it and Sutherland’s; Ross’ scene seems more oriented in physicality, focusing on the physical action of him hauling himself up. Sutherland’s animation prioritizes the general idea of motion, focused more on performance and caricature. Both adhere to the needs of the scene nicely.
Rev Chaney animates both the anvil drop and Catstello’s reaction to it. His animation is enjoyably frantic and appealing, and the solidity on the anvil—yet still maintaining a “cartoonish” energy in its movements—very well handled. Any nitpicks of the scene come from the staging: this cut of Catstello outrunning the anvil makes no sense with the background, which clearly shows the ground below him. When he sees the anvil approaching, he launches into a scramble before disappearing off-screen…
…landing on a new cut of him outrunning the anvil, ground completely out of sight. The cut itself makes sense, but the staging does not. If the intent is for the horizon line to be seen at a distance rather than right below him, then the perspective of the drawing is vastly wrong.
Of course, this isn’t make or break and is really just pedantic nitpicking. A bit of a jolt in viewing, but one that is quickly disregarded through how furious the pacing and tone of the directing is. Likewise, any ambiguity in the scene is not directed towards Catstello nor the anvil, which is the most important thing. We—the audience, but also Catstello and even Tweety—know in no uncertain terms what is about to occur.
The impact isn't immediate; there's a slight pause as the audience gets acquainted with a new layout, soon to be determined as the site of collision.
And, rather than both anvil and cat coming down together at the same time, the actions are separated by the slightest pause to nail a feeling of succession that thusly feels more violent than the collision happening all at once. First cat...
...then anvil.
Rod Scribner animates this gorgeously elastic and exaggerated cut--all of the nearby environments getting sucked into a black hole was evidently deemed nice enough to be reused again in Wagon Heels. For good reason--it's a beautiful exaggeration that demonstrates the sheer scope of damage wrought and felt by Catstello. A wallop so painful that the entire environment suffers from it. It calls to mind the physics in some of Clampett's earliest films, such as the garage turning inside out in Porky's Badtime Story. This time, it arrives with the benefit of the animated prowess, exaggeration and sustainability of the current Clampett team (and a funny context leading up to it helps, too).
Keeping the trees purple to maintain the sunset color scheme really sets it over the edge in the whimsy and appeal. Brown's sustained, echoing crashing effects are similarly genius in their exaggeration.
Not only is this impact a satisfying end to a huge buildup, but a seamless transition into the next piece of business. Among the elements getting sucked into the hole's vortex is Babbit and his victory garden.
This is now the second instance of there being some sort of food source available (or, at the very least, its seeds) for the pair; while supposedly starving and resorting to a baby bird for a food source, they're munching on apples and planting a garden that is intended to supplement community rations--realistically, a position where they would be the beneficiaries of said garden rather than the cultivators. It's clearly a little dollop of wartime propaganda, furthered through Babbit's nonchalant whistling of "We Did It Before (And We Can Do It Again)", but manages to somehow fit within the context because of its absurdity and uniqueness of their situation. It plays into this ironic commentary of how utterly arbitrary all of the events in this cartoon are; it's somewhat different than a giant billboard in the background shilling war bonds. The addition of gardening gloves on Babbit is a fun way to take this gag all the way home.
Noting a very subtle and equally inconsequential error: Babbit's eyeline as he is sucked into frame is directed towards the hole. It goes back to the garden before he actually turns to confront the hole. If it's intended as a double take, then it doesn't communicate as such--especially since he already does a much more visible double take upon registering the crash site. Nevertheless, the movement and registration of Babbit's presence disguise this little nitpick.
Scribner's touch in this scene becomes inescapably apparent through Babbit's double takes, his elastic, limber proportions gorgeously distorted. Many of Scribner's scenes seem to have been pushed to the back of the cartoon in accordance to the growing escalation throughout; the stakes are higher, the gags more absurd, the energy more intense--Scribner excels in pushing and maintaining those feelings. While the dry Abbott and Costello wit is still embraced where possible, the tone of this scene in particularly feels comfortably Clampettian.
Perhaps even down to some of the technical "gaffes" in this sequence. "Gaffes" is a strong word, as it's really subjective, but the directing and staging of this moment could stand some minor refinements. There's a feeling of aimlessness throughout--the camera cuts in tight on the hole following Babbit's first surprise take, his focus now on the hole. He then does another surprise take, but the camera registry remains its intimacy, thereby obscuring half of his gesticulations.
There is a slight feeling of purpose to this, as Clampett has been known to have his characters eclipse the screen at times in their takes to make their energy feel bigger, as if they literally cannot be confined to the screen. However, the staging feels needlessly claustrophobic and the double takes redundant. If anything, the camera could have waited to truck in close after the second take, assuming he needed to do it in the first place. At any rate, redundancy has never been animated more appealingly.
Babbit, showing a surprising samaritanship, immediately launches into action. The anvil is unearthed through some fitting stretching sounds from Brown that auditorily match the struggle represented in the animation.
Out comes a beautifully frank drawing of a squashed Catstello...
...that goes completely ignored as Babbit cries out into the hole, begging for Catstello to "Speak to me! Speak to me!!!"
If this short is truly the catalyst of every anvil cliche, it's no wonder why this was a pioneer: the execution is extremely well done. It's a great example of something being so absurd that it dips into a certain groundedness, which, again, is thereby absurd. The drawing of Catstello as he--or his corpse--vacantly stares on is hilarious. It's also somehow the calmest part of the entire scene amongst Babbit's hysterics, practically making Catstello the straightman for a few precious moments. That, again, rebounds into a comfortable absurdity.
More praises are due for Pierce's performance of Babbit as he mourns his friend. It's always a treat to hear his voice, but especially the emotionality he puts into this moment. There's still some of that Pierce brand dryness to his voice, as it's not hysterical in the same way Mel Blanc is hysterical, but it's clearly a high octane moment. It aptly proves that Babbit (and Bud Abbott, by proxy) does, indeed, have a heart.
As asked, Catstello voices that he’s okay—through, of course, a wolf whistle. This frame demonstrates perfectly just how much the intensity of direction has magnified since the start of the film.
In contrast to the first truck-in, the camera move out accompanying Babbit’s frantic scramble is much more confident and quick.
There are a minimum of two major factors that make the unpleasant duty of unpeeling Catstello off the anvil so funny: Brown’s sickly velcro sound effects paint a visceral image and feeling alike, and the equally sickly sticky residue that separates between Catstello and the anvil. The inking of the adhesive is just light enough to lend itself to a believability that contributes to this amusing viscerality.
Clampett’s casting of Scribner for this scene is perfect. He delivers on the wild takes in spades, but even the most innocuous moments are rife with organic, restless appeal. Babbit yelling at Catstello isn’t as wild as his surprised takes, but the same amount of appeal and visual interest is injected: the silhouette on him with that S-curve line of action, the way his head fills the negative space between himself and Catstello, is utterly gorgeous. How wonderful it is to be reaching this degree of casual distortion with the characters in Clampett’s cartoons. Staging remains a bit claustrophobic, but is ultimately irrelevant.
"C'mon, stop your clowning! What's the matter with you--aren't you ashamed?"
Blanc's vacant but somehow borderline tearful "I don't know" from Catstello is brilliantly delivered. It fits the very definition of pathetic, matching the vacancy on Catstello's squashed, petrified face, and it's also hardly an answer. The defeated earnest in his voice is hilarious.
The camera trucks in closer on the two after Babbit resets Catstello to his default mass--like a matter of fact snap of a blanket--further increasing the claustrophobia in the staging. Cutting close seems to be for impact, embracing the snap felt in Babbit's movements as he snaps Catstello back; it does embrace a certain feeling of confrontation.
However, the end result feels cramped. Babbit and Catstello don't interact with the background environments very tangibly (see Babbit standing on top of the little vegetable sign on the garden, flattening out the composition) and there's a lot of unnecessary negative space where the anvil is. It's definitely clustered and tight, but one could almost argue that there's a purpose behind it. It does convey a nervous, claustrophobic energy that is mimicked through the tension (albeit comic) on-screen.
Nevertheless, through this, Catstello gets his "say the line" moment, uttering a bastardization of the real Costello's catchphrase that received a lot of mileage in the Warner cartoons: "I'm a baaaad pussycat."
Another slap and fade to black make for a charming topper. One that honors the structure of their real-life routines.
Yet again, a fade-in to a new scene offers a new "reset". New location, new time of day, and new means of getting the boid. In spite of all of these "new"s, there is one consistency--Catstello's sense of defeat, which is at its strongest and most sympathetic yet. Compare his doubts and defeat to the top of the other scenes; there's a palpable feeling of pity here not just in Catstello's self-deprecation ("Ohhh, I just can't seem to get the boid. T'ain't no use... I can't do it..."), but the arrival of nightfall, indicating all of the time spent and what little is left, and Stalling's mournful music score of "Keep Cool, Fool", at its most plaintive yet.
Bob McKimson animates this cut, contributing to the "reset"--especially after the natural freneticism innate to Scribner's work. McKimson's animation of these two can almost be viewed as a base, the characters at their most on-model. Following Scribner, who often cultivates the opposite, really allows for a feeling of a new slate and a comedown.
Babbit agrees with the new slate philosophy, encouraging our pitiful friend with the same charmingly disingenuous reassurances.
So much of this short's joy and genius comes from how bad every idea is. Not even the construction of the idea going haywire, but the idea themselves being a punchline in their flimsiness and asininity. This is no super-genius catapult: this is a rubber band, some two by fours, some rope, and a prayer. Clampett jumpstarts this feeling of amusing anxiety by showing the characters halfway through the process in starting this mission--we don't see Babbit tying the ropes to Catstello's arms or any discussion of logistics. The action is already underway and, with it, the consequences.
More due praise for the color coordination in this scene and short alike: the bright red of the slingshot doesn't take the night scheme into effect, but doesn't need to--it's a strong, bold value that immediately draws the audiences eye and keeps us engaged.
A cut to the rear view of the slingshot breaks the "180 rule", with the characters suddenly flipping positions (despite being accurate for this new perspective) and taking an added moment for the audience to recalibrate. Perhaps the cut would feel less like a jump if the characters walked off-screen, allowing a bit of a pause to enable a smoother transition. Nevertheless, this too is pedantic nitpicking; it's not as if there's all that much occuring on-screen to really impede the clarity. We know who and where the characters are and what they're up to--somewhat.
Before disaster inevitably strikes, the audience receives a bit more Abbott and Costello brand interplay. Babbit declares contact, which Catstello pitifully reciprocates. This back and forth "contact"ing repeats a few times, responses shorter and, in Catstello's case, increasingly spirited with each utterance. It's a "dialogue" that gets laugh from the mere sound of both voices, turning a word into utter nonsense--all topped onto Catstello sulking, with this exchange immediately getting him into better spirits. Joyous mindlessness.
Babbit thusly lets go--and to surprising results. There's no punchline of Catstello immediately smashing into the ground, or a cut of him colliding into the barn wall, etc. In fact, the opposite: a somewhat surprising amount of time is spent lingering on this layout of Babbit observing Catstello, giving time for the slingshot to settle into place. Catstello seems to actually be airborne.
This remains true: but not to the desired effect. All of this is to set-up a reveal of Catstello gleefully hurdling the complete opposite head, nearly taking off Babbit's head as he accidentally divebombs him. The objective staging of this shot--that is, not following Catstello--enables his sudden reappearance to feel like a bigger, bombastic burst of energy that thusly feels more wild.
Especially due to the rapid change in tone. In juxtaposition to Catstello's moping, these scenes now are of great triumph: his glee as he happily narrates his adventures to Babbit ("HEEEEY BABBIT! I'M A SPIT-FIYUH!"), Stalling's celebratory music score of "Don't Give Up the Ship", and Brown's droning jetplane sound effects to enunciate Catstello's aviatory prowess. Him swooping into frame through an arc, rather than simply cutting to him already in the air, is likewise a subtle but effective embrace of energy that renders the audience more invested in this high octane moment.
Catstello thusly demonstrates his best impression of a Spitfire fighter jet (with a bit more expectoration). A joyously dumb pun, but emphasis on joyous--especially considering the infectious enthusiasm on behalf of Catstello. After having been at Babbit's mercy for so long, there's a reversal in which he's having fun, and Babbit is perhaps the cautious one, having to duck out of the way. And, through this renewed optimism and adrenaline, a dread lingers in the audiences' stomachs, anticipating no good to come out of this. Comedic incongruity continues to drive this short home.
Brief note of dubious interest: Catstello does teeth click before his habitual wolf whistle, but said teeth click is not accompanied by sound.
Sid Sutherland proves some ghastly Catstellos as his airbrushed body careens past the ever familiar nest. Airbrushing has been a source of experimentation in the 1942 cartoons, as opposed to the usual default of drybrush; its light, floaty, airy texture is well utilized within the context, lending itself to a more "airborne" feeling than the comparatively harsher streaks of drybrushing. Airbrushing is a bit more singular, cohesive in form, which renders Catstello more of a hurtling object rather than broken up bits of paint. Not that one is better than the other--both are great and have their uses, but the floatiness matches this the context of this situation very well.
Tweety popping out of the nest calls to mind the primordial Bugs Bunny through the synonymous twirling exit. Though, in contrast to the former, this twirling is out of surprise and even consequence of being moved in the wake of Catstello, rather than an impish flourish as he prepares to heckle. For once, indicated through his sleepy, incognizant expression, Tweety is the bystander.
For a few moments, of course. Virgil Ross animates the cut of Tweety springing into action after a few more sleepy blinks, giving an added touch of pathos; his cluelessness lends himself to a certain vulnerability and sympathy, back to minding his own business. With this comes an aerial attack through a massive overcorrection of Catstello's prior failures. Something must be done.
Whether caught off guard or no, Tweety is still Tweety--and Tweety is still a little helion. He ducks into his nest not to take shelter, but to assume his own overcorrections: his duty of air raid warden seeks to level the playing field.
These duties are executed by channeling Skelton's Mean Widdle Kid: "I tee an unidentified object fwying awound my wittle head."
There's a bit of unintended jitter on his pupils as he speaks, occasionally flickering in the corners of his eyes, but he largely stares straight ahead and not to, but through the camera. Doing so gives him a simultaneous feeling of awareness and cluelessness.
Results are laughably immediate. The layout of all the spotlights pointing to Catstello's location is very attractive, and continuous with the cartoon's setting--note the nest and tree next to the barn. The spotlights being put onto Catstello are scored with airy, light vibe links that are fun and whimsical, transforming a dangerous moment into one of mischief. At least for the audience.
Catstello is unable to appreciate the same whimsy.
Scribner offers another beautifully “cumulative” cut, harboring every ounce of violence, aggression, and insanity that the cartoon has yet to release. The effects are beautifully bombastic, carried through Brown’s deafening sound effects, and Catstello’s animation itself is wonderfully frenetic. All of the elements play a part in communicating this cacophony, but the sheer volume of sound effects drowning out the alarmed music score pull a lot of weight, tangibly connected to the animation.
As has been learned throughout this deep dive, antithesis is a driving force of comedy with this short in particular. A great way to make the cacophany seem louder, bigger, and more violent is for everything to come to an equally loud halt as a frantic Catstello pleads “Is there an insurance salesman in da house?”
These “___ in the house” jokes aren’t new, but that in no way impedes its brilliance. It’s a funny line on its own, but it’s especially pushed over the edge through the striking convenience of everything stopping just for Catstello to save the line. Much more memorable than if he were to say it atop the ongoing blasts. Especially considering the convenience of the pause allows more time for the audience to ingest the spray of bullet holes in Catstello’s wings, substantiating his claims.
A bookend of violence caps the moment off beautifully. There's only one in-between frame before the cycle repeats exactly as it was, making Catstello's aside more brusque and thusly funnier. The animated and comedic timing alike are extremely sharp.
Things on the ground are about as crazy as they are up in the sky; Virgil Ross animates a very fun reaction shot from Babbit, although easy to miss--his surprised shiver take prompts his fur to crawl up his legs like a skirt. Timing the animation on one's--as well as him being so sequestered to the corner--obscures it just a bit, but is very amusing to note. Particularly because, with the exception of Scribner's prior sequence of Babbit mourning Catstello, his reactions and acting have been so staid.
Upon taking cover, the intent of this scene's composition becomes a bit more clear. Whereas Babbit fills up one half of the screen, the other half is filled by a mound of hay and a particularly prominent pitching fork--this isn't poor consideration of acting space for Babbit, but foreshadowing. What comes up must come down, and what comes down will get stabbed in the rear by a pitchfork.
A pair of back to back shots of Catstello scrambling--animation reused from Sutherland's prior scenes--and the pitchfork make this clear.
Especially considering that these cuts repeat for a few times, growing faster in their duration and closer on each target. Stalling's blaring music score is as triumphant as it is frantic, fueling the infectious adrenaline that pumps through the scene. Reuse of Sutherland's animation gets a pass here, as his scenes function more as a means of identification rather than actual focus. They convey the idea that Catstello is falling and rapidly approaching this deathtrap. There's no need nor even time for any fluff with new, articulated animation, as the pacing is too frenzied to allow it. A fantastic climax that almost feels Tashlin-esque in its rapidity of cutting.
A cut to a wider layout signifies the home of the impact, as it's a deviation from the cinematographic patterns thus far. Viewers brace for the worst.
Their nerves are rewarded with a fantastic anticlimax.
Ross' animation is both appealing and funny. Catstello's frigid pose as he skids to a stop is gorgeously organized, his silhouette exceedingly geometric, blocky, stylized. Rigidity in his construction lends itself to the mechanical feeling of the maneuver as he brakes to a stop.
Likewise with his side-step; when he scooches to a safe, pitchfork-free distance, he reverberates like a spring that's been plucked--the release of all the energy and control pent up into such a stop. Ross' sense of movement can have a bit of a mechanical feeling to it--not as a pejorative, but a simple observation. His spacing and timing is very recognizable. This scene feels like a great way to naturally capitalize on that quirk. The frankness of the posing and motion is very rewarding and funny, and perhaps something that only Ross could have articulated best.
Babbit's tail filling in the remaining negative space, parallel to the pitchfork, is a great way to give the composition balance. Likewise, beyond looking and feeling nice, it arrives with a purpose: Catstello is given two options as to what--or who--he wants to land on.
Bosom buddies prevail.
Another fantastic drawing results. Catstello's sagging cheeks filling the contours along Babbit's face allows the two of them to essentially connect like puzzle pieces; deflated, blobular puzzle pieces. Likewise, this drop of energy from Catstello is taken very literally--finally able to "rest", he melts into a deflated, vaguely cat-like ooze.
This maneuver places the dynamic duo as equals. Babbit's own nonplussed expression is just as defeated as Catstello's exhausted wince. No longer is it a matter of Babbit utilizing Catstello to get Tweety--the hierarchies are dissolved. It's cat(s) against the bird, rather than cat vs cat vs bird.
The bird has the upper hand. A close-up--again animated by Ross--shows Tweety is still sticking to his air warden shtick, even despite having successfully shot Catstello to the ground and barely avoiding catastrophe. Staging of this shot reaffirms the above observations about the dissolved hierarchies, as the cats are now one blobular unit, melded into each other physically and emotionally in their defeat.
Tweety halts his routine of calling for a blackout to tell the putty tats to "bweak it up". The confrontation of his deliveries juxtaposed against the utter immobility of the cats is priceless.
And back to a blackout-calling bookend for ultimate comedic effect.
With one addition. A single pupil from both putty tats follow their taunter off-screen, indicating half-baked interest--or, perhaps more accurately, a sign that they haven't completely been depleted of their hopes. It's such a small, subtle, and silly detail, but gets a laugh through its understatement. It conveys that the cats are still living and breathing, for one, but it also indicates that, foolishly, their eyes are still on the prize. Albeit with a palpable air of desperation and defeat.
Like old times, Babbit takes initiative and tells Catstello to "c'mon". Though it only lasts a few frames, having Catstello remain completely immobile and liquified atop Babbit as he makes his move is brilliant. Ditto with Catstello lifelessly jostling in accordance to Babbit's lipsync. Ross expressed dissatisfaction with his time in the Clampett unit, feeling as if he couldn't get what he felt Clampett wanted out of him, but he's certainly responsible for some very funny acting and animation in this cartoon.
On the topic of funny acting and animation, Rod Scribner delivers that in spades for the final cut of the cartoon--one of its most memorable bits. It's fitting that the short ends on his animation--the high octane animator, ending out on a peak that Clampett knew couldn't be topped, story-wise or artistically.
All of the discussions about his distortion of the characters reach their zenith when they gang up on Tweety. Compare this to the "base model" drawings seen at the beginning. These are hardly the same characters anymore.
The drawings themselves are exceptionally attractive, but the color styling likewise remains a helpful contributor. The sharpest color values lie within the eyes, gums, and tongue, contributing to the overwhelming intimidation radiating off of the characters; we're directly confronted with their malice.
Clampett plays this scene slowly, and to its benefit. Both characters slink into view before gradually rising into their final position; Tweety is relatively stagnant, and Stalling's music score is a low, tense, sustained note. Suspense is effectively milked, raising the stakes and luring the audience's attention.
However, if there's anything we've learned through this analysis, it's that comedy curates contrast. This stillness is practically screaming to be refuted. Tweety is screaming it, too, through a guttural, Blancian shriek of "TURN OUT THOSE LIGHTS!"
Every ounce of drawing in this scene is an impressive feat, but especially Scribner's ability to make such a tiny bird feel so big. Blanc's line delivery is of course helpful in this, but the strong line of action and broad gesticulation, coupled with the almost-instantaneous cowardice from both cats as they seek refuge in one another's shrunken embrace, makes for a powerfully overbearing demeanor. This, of course, renders the cats' cowardice all the more humiliating.
Likewise with their literal accordance to blackout etiquette. Each element turning off is tuned to "You're a Horse's Ass", aptly offering Clampett's directorial commentary on how he views the bravado--or lack thereof--of our felines.
Mother nature is on their side.
The violence of this anticlimax, leaving the audience to stew in the hysteria of what just happened, is a skill that Clampett would perfect over the years; Baby Bottleneck does very similarly. So, to be able to compare the ending to this short in 1942 to one made at the height of his peak yields extremely favorable impressions for the quality of this cartoon.
All extremely warranted. Clampett has had a lot of hits up until this point--both in looking at his general filmography, and what they represent for the times. Porky in Wackyland, for example, could safely be considered a masterpiece. So could this one, which, beyond Wackyland, may be the first Clampett masterpiece that arrives with a certain connotation. Masterpiece in that when you think of Clampett's cartoons, the distortion and freneticism and insanity present in this cartoon is what you think of.
I'm going to refute my own point just a bit; in a just world, when people think of a Clampettian masterpiece, they would think of Porky in Wackyland in the same breadth. There's been a bit of a divide between eras of Clampett films--many of his '30s shorts are seen as lesser or filler, a lead-in to when it hits the fan in the '40s. A Tale of Two Kitties is the point where contact with the fan is fully made. I'm disappointed at best and insulted at worst at this "division", so to speak--it is objective fact that there's a point where Clampett's cartoons get really, really good. The acquisition of Tex Avery's old unit was one of the best things to happen to him. But to act like all of the early films beforehand are a fluke or somehow not related to Clampett's vision as a director is completely disingenuous--especially since a lot of Clampett zealots who claim to be his biggest fans seem to hold this opinion of only valuing 4 years of his filmography.
Nevertheless, the hype for this cartoon and the ones succeeding it is warranted: this short officially inaugurated the golden age of Clampett--a subjective topic, for sure, as similar observations and praises were said in our analysis of Horton Hatches the Egg, the first short Clampett directed with Avery's unit all by himself. Perhaps this short being Tweety's inception inflates the short's significance, but this short does feel like something has clicked into place.
Not that Clampett's filmography is nothing but highs after this. Rest assured, there are plenty of bumps, probations, and duds, but they do feel like they belong in a different period than the shorts that precede this one. There isn't that feeling of "he's still figuring things out" anymore. There's certainly plenty of growth and experimentation ahead, but this short seems to comfortably cross a threshold. One we've been approaching and even standing on for the past year or so, but now both feet are over the line.
What else is there to say about this one? It's genius. It's no wonder Tweety became as popular as he did with such a grand entry--just as it isn't surprising that there are two more Babbit and Catstello cartoons, albeit with them as the prey rather than predators. Any flaws in this short are extremely pedantic and cosmetic. The story, the characters, the setting, the animation are all exceptionally appealing.
Even so, that we're using words like "miracle" and stressing this short as a true turning point, comfortably comparing it to Clampett in his best years and perhaps even indicating that he's now in his best years all speaks to the quality of this short. It's one of those shorts that feels like such a "given"--of course it's great, it's A Tale of Two Kitties, what's there to discuss? But that in itself is why these points deserve to be emphasized.
No comments:
Post a Comment