Release Date: December 5th, 1942
Series: Looney Tunes
Director: Chuck Jones
Story: Mike Maltese
Animation: Rudy Larriva
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Daffy, Eagle, Baby Eagle)
(You may view the cartoon here!)
It's truly amazing how easy it is to take these cartoons for granted. Even when we're on our toes, analyzing the history of the shorts and the studio so intimately and intently, it becomes easy to spring comparisons. Here's a gag that's a lead-up to the gag seen in this short, which we all know and love. This reminds me of that in this short ten years after. Even if we analyze these shorts chronologically, understanding the contexts of their creation, it's a woefully natural compulsion to lose sight of the time period. To view this short from the lens of a theatergoer on December 5th, 1942, who has no such knowledge of wabbit seasons or what a Wile E. Coyote is or who is the Duck that's Amuck.
My Favorite Duck is a comfortable cartoon. In many ways, there are feelings of it being "just another" Looney Tunes cartoon. Daffy heckles Porky. There are sign gags that motivate the story. Wile E. Coyote physics take hold. We've seen it all and we love it all. This is a comfortably Looney--adjective, capital L and with an e--Tune.
That comfort, that complacency, that feeling of it being right, is actually incredibly radical for the time. We don't realize it because of how imbued these aspects have become into the legacy of the shorts. But they have to come from somewhere, and My Favorite Duck is just one of the many "somewheres" in this comparatively early period that have led to the boon that's entertained us for generations.
My Favorite Duck makes history by being the first team-up between Porky and Daffy to be in color. Likewise, despite boasting a filmography that's now reaching triple digits, this is only the third Porky short to be made in color. Fourth if counting Any Bonds Today. Before this was Old Glory--also by Chuck Jones, in 1939, preceded by his debut in I Haven't Got a Hat, almost a full 8 years before this short's release.
Likewise, this is the second color cartoon to be released in the Looney Tunes series. Not that one would be able to tell through the Blue Ribbon reissues of this and the first color LT, The Hep Cat. But the history is there, and important to score.
All little intriguing factoids to note, but perhaps inconsequential when analyzing the broader scope of this short. As alluded above, there are many more important firsts that come with this cartoon, which is a short where everything seems to come together at once. This is a short that radiates Chuck Jonesisms just as it radiates Mike Maltesisms. It's comfortably Jonesian in its direction: the smugness, the slow burn, the pose to pose animation, the glances to the camera. Heavily Maltesian in its wit and subversion. Perhaps a great deal of this comfort is owed to multiple later Jones/Maltese shorts borrowing gags and beats and momentum from this one. Rabbit Punch. Duck Amuck. The entire hunting trilogy.
But, again, it's important to remember that none of that existed yet. This is the short that made the later stuff happen.
Another broad and, really, damning example of this short's significance is that it marks a turning point for the Porky and Daffy dynamic. Their first team-up since 1941's The Henpecked Duck, My Favorite Duck is--surprisingly--the first short where Daffy heckles Porky. There have been shorts where they're at odds with each other, such as What Price Porky, The Daffy Doc, and You Ought to Be in Pictures. But Favorite is the first short where Daffy is truly heckling Porky to get his jollies, and fully in control of his heckling. What Price Porky, he isn't heckling so much as he's after an end goal that tangentially involves Porky--stealing his hens' corn. Daffy Doc, Daffy feels he's doing a good turn by playing operation on Porky and is too out of his mind to recognize his own antagonism. Pictures is more nuanced, though it plays on and runs with their buddy-buddy dynamic duoship. Daffy is self serving in it and throws Porky under the bus, but is moreso out of his own greed and conceit rather than wanting to get at Porky. Most of their runtime together is amicable.
Porky's Duck Hunt also exists, but Daffy's heckling is much more primitive. Daffy is just an annoyance that Porky reacts to and at rather than with, and he's admittedly just one small part of a whole. That's in contrast to the sophistication here and specific back and forth that this short springs, sparking a domino effect that has forever influenced the trajectory of their dynamic and our understanding of it. Largely, the two have been buddies, their face on one-sheets and title cards (including for the '42-'43 season of all Looney Tunes shorts, regardless of their presence in said shorts themselves), known for their partnership. There hasn't yet been a short where Daffy is persistently and knowingly heckling Porky just for the sake of his own entertainment value and catharsis.
Until now.
Thus, today we carve out this genre-forming short; the first to pin Porky and Daffy truly against each other, one of the first blackout gag shorts of Jones' career, and a short with a boat load of gags and zingers and beats and influences to be adopted in future beloved Jones cartoons.
One of the biggest anchors of this short's 1942 release date is the art direction. Jones' layouts, courtesy of John McGrew and Gene Fleury, continue to get more geometric, more streamlined, more graphically minded. If anything, Duck is a return to form; the prior Jones short to this was The Dover Boys, whose backgrounds--while still stylized in their shapes and comparatively bold colors--were more grounded through an ornate haze to match the period aesthetic.
Duck is a bit closer to the aesthetic and abstraction seen in Hold the Lion, Please, but it's also its own thing. Here, the backgrounds are entirely flat. No airbrushing, no painterliness of any kind. Just flat, bold striking shapes--the first of many to follow, with increasing abstraction.
The establishing shot does a great job of displaying as such. As it stands, it could easily be printed as a postcard: the solid, geometric shapes, the liberties taken with the colors--a tree leaning in the foreground is rendered as a sloping block of deep red, a small snaking branch and textural brush strokes signifying its role as a tree. With it being in the foreground, its value is the most bold in the entire composition, offering the illusion of depth. It's unified by the extremely tiny speck of red within the blobular blue lake, signifying a lone canoe.
These deep russet reds juxtapose against the curving, salmon pathway amongst the mint trees, matching the salmon mountains sloping along the very top. Some bold, defined trees in the foreground offer a balance of values with the red foreground tree, as well as giving visual interest and contextualizing what we're even looking at. It's a beautiful, beautiful shot--so much conveyed with so little. Even with how streamlined the art direction is, the new-fangled modernism doesn't contradict against the peaceful woodsiness of the atmosphere.
Same praises apply to the second shot, pushing in a bit deeper. As we get closer, the backgrounds become slightly more defined: the landscape is more level, offering a view of the sky and mountains in the distance. Maple trees with their bright oranges and reds are likewise introduced. The pops of orange and red in the corner are unified with the salmon of the mountains, keeping the color scheme consistent, but still offer enough of a pop to catch an eye.
Atmosphere is a major priority of this opening: that's why there are three different layouts before we finally settle in on our star porcine. Porky is introduced to us gradually, through a series of cross dissolves and push-ins--that we have to gradually build our way up to meet him scores the intended intimacy of the moment, embracing this commune with nature. Our eyes and minds are on the environments; their vastness, their majesty, really getting sucked into the setting rather than simply reducing it to a stage for the characters to act upon. We can do that any old time. But here, we--whether us, the viewer, sharing Porky's perspective or Porky himself--are camping in nature and seeking a break from it all. It's different. Special. calm.
Porky's introduction is relatively quaint, matching the above observations: we catch him paddling along in his canoe, entertaining himself with a serenade of "On Moonlight Bay". Blanc's vocals need no introduction to their endearment; nasally, just the slightest warble away from the right tone to keep his vocals warm and organic. There's a lot of humanity in his singing, as so tends to be the case; it's a nice contrast to Stalling's comparatively more graceful instrumentation.
The song choice packs a lot of significance, both within and out of the short, for reasons soon to be discovered. Porky's serenade isn't entirely just to suck up some airtime before the party comes in. If anything, it foreshadows that very party--Stalling's instrumentation is very nice to listen to, but almost a little foreboding. There's a droning A-flat note throughout that's sometimes at odds with the song's key of B-flat; it offers a somewhat atonal and even foreboding sound, fitting with the arrangement but giving the impression that not everything is just right. It could be seen as a warning that something, or someone, asynchronous is coming and will mess up the works. Not enough to completely overthrow the song and dynamic, which is largely in Porky's favor for now, but an indicator of what will be coming.
And right on cue, he emerges from out the water.
Daffy's introduction is amusingly seamless. The camera remains locked in place, abstaining from the desire to follow Porky, so that Daffy can surface out of where Porky had just canoed.
Such is consistent with a philosophy uncovered in the analysis of You Ought to Be in Pictures. Like there, Porky is introduced in increments. We gradually warm up to him as he's slowly introduced through more conventional methods. Here, through a series of camera moves, bridging the gap between us and him. There, seeing him drawn to life in a short all about the cartooning biz. Daffy's introduction in both is immediate. There are no cross dissolves or truck-ins of the camera to separate us from him. No frills or any separation: he simply appears out of thin air. To a comparatively literal degree here.
When he appears, the camera follows him, observing as he paddles along with his own self-made canoe. We latch onto him immediately. This is consistent with both of their character philosophies. Daffy is bold, open, never shy nor hunched away. There has been countless analysis after analysis on this blog about the vicarious nature of his character, how we always seem to be naturally attuned to his motives and emotions--to the point where he commonly socializes with the audience directly. Because of that warmth and openness, our introduction to him adopts the same.
Porky can be warm, but is more reserved. It takes a bit more work to crack him open; something that does occur, gradually, throughout the short. There are more formalities, more manners with him. We don't want to intrude on him, or him on us. Thus, there's a slight bit of separation in perspective between us and him--the jungle of cross dissolves before we see him, him sailing past the camera. Both character introductions are wonderfully representative of their respective personalities and demeanors, and how the direction adapts to both.
Most intriguing of Daffy's introduction is its phantasmagoria. He appears out of thin air--er--water with no strings attached, nor warning. He calmly engages in the impossible, floating on the water like it's nothing and already having access to an oar (offering a very nice implication that he swiped it from Porky at some point without Porky's noticing, already giving their dynamic and, by proxy, the cartoon, a bit of depth before the cartoon has even started). It almost calls to mind some of the earliest Bugs Bunny shorts, where he could be summoned with a simple flourish, comfortably devoid of any logic. There are no self aware pauses on the improbability of Daffy's entrance. It simply is. Illogic is Daffy's logic, and he feels no need to question nor expatiate on it, so neither do we.
Abstaining from showing this aforementioned oar interaction makes Daffy's entry more abrupt and funny, but it also lies our sympathies with Porky. The Duck manages to befuddle and swindle and slip out from us just as he does him. Of course, we have the advantage of realizing his presence and oar-stealing before Porky ever does, but the mysticism with Daffy's character and his doings is, right now, unanimous. Likewise, it's just a charming detail that scores his penchant for mischief very well.
Daffy's introduction, as we've covered, is much more obtuse than Porky's. But what really nails the obtuseness of his appearance--much less being the most immediately noticeable--is that he jumps onto Porky's singing immediately, derailing it into a nasal duet where he overpowers. Despite this, it's still extremely charming to listen to. Porky's naturally humble singing abilities contrasted against Daffy's innate hamming--it's a succinct showcase of their conflicting personalities, and how the conflict can actually make a whole quite nicely. Certainly a moment where it's almost difficult to remember that it's the same man voicing both characters. Despite the spectacle of the number, they meld together so well.
Much of the song's aforementioned significance is owed to its history between both characters: On Moonlight Bay was also the designated song number for Porky's Duck Hunt. Comparing then to now demonstrates the outrageous growth of these shorts, whether it be the direction and landscape of cartooning, or comparing how much Porky and Daffy have solidified as characters. Together or separate. There's something slightly sentimental about the song number of their first short together now being sung by the comparatively fully-formed characters themselves.
Despite Daffy's overpowering vocals--and lagging behind on the beat just enough to make his singing sound even more organically invasive--Porky never takes notice. In fact, much of the gag seems to be on Porky with not only his ignorance, but complete openness to it. Daffy takes his chances and paddles right next up to Porky, and before we know it, they're shoulder to shoulder, singing like a couple of drunks at the bar, Daffy proudly invading Porky's personal space, who shows no regard for it.
Porky's obliviousness is as much of a joke as Daffy's intrusion. And, smartly, the direction doesn't beat down on him for not noticing. Instead, Jones lets the visuals and the circumstances speak for themselves and offer their own knowing-but-almost-endeared commentary. Daffy is doing all that he can to get Porky's attention without asking for or needing it; it's a challenge for him to see how far he can go, how invasive he can be, how much he can push it until he gets a reaction. Porky simply gets swept up in the spectacle. Two halves--Porky's obliviousness and Daffy's invasiveness--making a wonderfully entertaining whole.
Thus, when realization does strike--initiated by Daffy breaking away from the harmony to improvise "YES-A MOONLIGHT-A BAY"--Daffy's already launching into an exit position, proud in his conspicuousness and delighting in being caught. So much so that he has to make himself get caught in the first place. If this were still Porky's Duck Hunt, his beautifully strong pose he strikes with the oar most certainly would have been accompanied with his then-catchphrase of "It's me again!". Now, he manages to communicate the same purely through a gleeful, knowing grin.
The strength of his pose and line of action foreshadows the angular distortion and graphic thinking of Frank Tashlin's cartoons, soon to approach. There's an antic, an overshoot and some settle to maintain some grasp of normalcy with the animation principles--if this were a Tashlin short, the pose would have been held as is, no overshoot or settle or follow-through to soften it--but the crispness and spontaneity of the action is incredibly sharp. Certainly no small feat within a Chuck Jones cartoon.
It's befitting of Daffy's bold demeanor. His mere construction is more abstract, energetic, and spry than Porky's, whose reactions and movements are much more conservative in comparison. Abstraction and innovation runs through Daffy's veins. And comparing this burst of energy and graphic posing against the soft normalcy of Porky's reactions--just a bit of a bounce in his surprised take, no ridiculous lines of action or silhouetting present--makes Daffy feel even more frenzied and wild and spontaneous by comparison.
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Great timing on Porky's reaction as well. He goes into the antic just a beat before Daffy springs into his pose, making a natural discrepancy of reaction time that feels organic and genuine rather than following assigned beats.
The act of Daffy launching into action is even more wild than the pose itself. A beautiful arc as he jumps into the air, furthered by some streamlining through smears. Continuous lines of action and clean silhouettes. An ebb and flow of pacing as he leaps and skips and spins, creating a gliding effect that doesn't feel mechanical nor stilted, but spontaneous and free: all to match the familiarly hysterical whoops bounding out of Daffy's gut.
This whole opening can be seen as an extension and reupholstering of Porky's Duck Hunt. The song number, Daffy sneaking up on Porky and reveling in getting caught, the hysterical water ballet that follows. It's certainly humbling to see how far his characterization and the methods behind it have come in these 5 years; Daffy melds into the environments much more believably here, receding into it and interacting with it rather than it serving as a backdrop. Much more organicism in his direction and flow and timing, whereas Duck Hunt's animation is understandably more stilted and mechanical (which is not a knack on Clampett's excellent animation--just that it was the house style of the time).
On the topic of immersion, Daffy's shrieking even has an echo to it, matching his exit into the horizon. The space he's polluting feels bigger, more damning; space that was once Porky's calm vicinity of tranquility, now polluted with twirling, whooping ducks. Daffy now has command. The environments may be big, as the opening shots have worked to establish, but Daffy's presence is bigger.
Porky didn't have much time to remark upon Daffy's antics in Duck Hunt. Nor capacity--being the first short with Blanc voicing the pig, they were still coming off the coattails of Joe Doughterty's performance. Blanc's stutter for the character is much more profuse in that short than others to match. Porky, likewise, had been a much quieter character then due to the limits of Dougherty's stutter; much of his appeal came from silent reactions and a quiet appeal.
He still has a bit of that quiet, clueless appeal about him here. It's conveyed particularly well through the vacant, somewhat stunned blinks as he slowly turns back to the camera; a laden beat where we feel him struggling to process what he just saw. Even so, he does have a comparatively greater obtuseness--and star power--than he did in Duck Hunt, motivating his equally obtuse commentary of "Eh-gih-gee-ih-gosh, what a ck-ih-cray-eh-cih-ehhh-euhhhh--screwy duck."
His acting can only be described as beautifully vacant. Despite feeling so earnestly clueless in his expression--if not a thousand yards, then at least a stare worth 500--there's so much expressiveness to it. The twinge of the cheeks, the specificity in his brows and the way they fold on his face. So much personality in a bit intended to lack personality, focusing instead on how nonplussed he is. He doesn't seem to be addressing the audience nor even himself. This scene is smothered in a powerful aimlessness and sense of feeling utterly lossed; his mouth hanging open after he speaks communicates this well. A freeze on a coda of confusion.
That the background remains panning throughout compliments this contemplation nicely. It's an added consideration that most wouldn't take--it means painting a longer background pan, just for this close-up, where the point of focus is on Porky and his acting rather than the environments. It wouldn't really make that big of a difference if the background remained still.
Keeping this pan going stresses how much of an interruption, or unnatural occurrence, Daffy is to his routine. Porky doesn't stop. Nothing stops in favor of letting Daffy take the limelight. He just springs out of nowhere, inserting himself into the momentum that isn't is before dipping out again. There's a greater spontaneity than if the canoe were to stop in favor of scoring Daffy's sudden appearance.
Similarly, Daffy himself doesn't have a big stop. Any negative space in this composition is quickly assumed by a familiar face (-to-face.) With no prior warning, and armed merely with a Clampettian "BOIP!" sound effect, he hawks a particularly Mike Maltesian sentiment: "That, my little cherub, is strictly a matter of opinion!"
Major kudos all around: for the line, for the observation that Porky is not unreminiscent of a little cherub, and to whoever discovered that the concave of Daffy's beak perfectly aligns with Porky's face. For the latter particularly, it's a very effective way to demonstrate how Daffy invades his personal space--but almost in a way that feels natural. Perhaps destined. After all, this short essentially sets a precedent that decades worth of cartoons would follow, with Daffy doing exactly this. Is it invading his space, or simply filling a space intended to be filled?
Despite his disregard of boundaries, playfulness prevails rather than force; the Clampettian "BOIP!" does a lot of heavy lifting in maintaining this whimsy. Daffy's voice is calm, matter-of-fact, his tone provocative but civilly so. Likewise with Porky's continuously idle expression. He just lets Daffy's intrusion and presence wash over him, not even appearing stunned as he once was. While he's not exactly on board with this invasion, he's not entirely against it, either. It's something that simply happens. Something he doesn't understand, and doesn't feel the need to pretend like he does.
This calm won't last.
More observations to enunciate the above points; Daffy's lipsync is animated with the prevailing physics in mind. So, as he talks, his beak moving up and down, Porky's head is jostled along with it. This in itself demonstrates the extent of Daffy's invasiveness, but it just the same illustrates Porky's powerlessness and decision to let it wash over him.
And, for a final topper of broken boundaries, Daffy engages in literal eye contact: a pet gimmick of his for the 1942 Jones Daffy cartoons. It's playful, it's absurd, it's fun; a way for his presence to linger in the air, to always put a hat on a hat and demonstrate his devotion to heckling, and to simply showcase what a nut he is. Porky's stolidity makes Daffy's behavior appear all the more erratic and asinine.
Embracing further unpredictability, he takes off in a flash. A distorted flash of smears and drybrush and visual chemtrails, serving as a walking--er, gliding--demonstration of just how much speed and abstraction Jones' cartoons have gained within the past year.
Porky finally reacts, snapped out of his lull of dull confusion turned acceptance. His line of action goes one way, as Daffy ricochets the other, their respective energies diverging.
Daffy's exit is a reprise of the first one. The absence of a paddle does little to impede his joy and catharsis as he rockets across the lake, pirouetting and scrambling and basking in the release of his hysteria. This, again, is not dissimilar to Duck Hunt's synonymous reprises of a synonymous exit. The difference here is that the animation isn't reused verbatim. And if the removal of the paddle somehow served as any detriment to illustrating his shrieking, crazed glee, a tilt in the composition literally takes things off-kilter. Diagonal lines and slopes connote dynamism, movement, action. Perhaps we're not meant to be sharing Porky's point of view here, but embracing and feeling Daffy's own literally askew perspective. Living in it.
A fade to black puts this vignette to rest, indicating completion. Daffy isn't suddenly going to pop out behind Porky for a third time. For now, we--and Porky--are comforted with the illusion of safety.
Of course, there is the the little matter of there being more than six minutes of the cartoon left; more Duck encounters are a given. Porky perhaps may think otherwise, in all of his admirable naivete--after all, a fade to black connotes finality--but we know just a tad better.
Embracing this duck-free reset, directorial focus is back on environment. It's to rid our minds of pesky ducks and to reacquaint ourselves with Porky's quest for tranquility. Likewise, this impressive panorama of the mountain tops--a somewhat sloping diagonal camera pan--illustrates the sheer scope of our backgrounds. Divorced of his canoe, bumbling high atop the grassy peaks, he seems to be an adequate distance away from a certain screwy duck.
Tranquility is a big tonal focus because of this. Stalling's music is quaint, calm, if not somewhat foreboding--the direction of the notes and chords almost sound anticipatory, as if there's an interruption waiting to spring by these calm surroundings. Clearly, we the audience know that's coming. Daffy's inevitable interruption will seem more daming because of how much time is spent establishing this serene scene of milky pastels and illustrious camera pans and soft music.
A diagonal camera pan rather than a simple vertical pan makes for a longer background painted, more effort expended. A worthwhile sacrifice--it's a very striking effect in motion, and very successful at establishing the distance that's traversed. So, when Daffy reappears, his reinvitation will feel all the more dedicated through how much space he had to pass to get here. Just the same, it justifies Porky's eventual annoyance, having traveled so far and seemingly away from the waters bearing this duck.
The transition between scenes is a little rocky, but harmless: Porky's movements as he places his camping gear down in the next shot are much more erratic and fast in their timing than the toddling of the scene before. There are more drawings that are spaced closer together and timed more quickly. Thus creates a bit of a jump cut effect, but considering that the environments remain a visual priority, it's ultimately innocuous.
"Eh-theh-thi-this looks like swsw-e-eh-s-ih-s-ehh--dandy place t' pitch my tent!" is admittedly rather expositional in its writing, but manages to feel natural enough with Porky. Porky's a character who tends to speak in more blunt, occasionally disjointed statements and tends not to say more than he feels he needs to (without the stutter in mind).
Its real purpose here is to maintain the Tex Avery philosophy of spoon feeding: spell out the dialogue expressing or alluding to a plot point, so that it'll invite a refutation. That is to say, this spot won't be so dandy in a minute.
To enunciate this, the unavoidable refutation happens on a separate cut. Porky walks over, and then the camera cuts to a close-up. Admittedly, the timing and organizing of actions here could be a touch more cohesive. It's subjective, really: Porky holds the stake and begins to reel back. As he thrusts forward, he's just as quickly stopped, reverberating from the sheer force of his halt. Cue a gently shaky camera pan to our visitor, occupying Porky's designated camping spot.
It's a great reveal. One that's very frank, matching Daffy's own frankness and boldness. Porky's wind-up of effort prompts the inverse of his reverberations, making his effort to stop seem bigger and thereby getting a laugh through exaggeration. However, he begins to wind-up with the stake in the wide, and then we cut to him doing the same in the close-up. The overlap of action draws it out just a bit more, and may invite some dead air that telegraphs Daffy's presence. Clearly there's a reason why we're cutting to a new layout (which is to accommodate Daffy's appearance), and clearly Daffy is supposed to be a surprise. A more effective way to enunciate the surprise would be for Porky to wind-up in the wide, and then come down on the cut, only for him to suddenly stop and reverberate--then we pan over to Daffy. Less dead air with less room to telegraph the motivation behind cutting in close.
No matter how it gets there, focus is drawn towards the nonchalant duck camping in a birds’ nest. Jones’ maintains the Daffy-induced dynamism in his cinematography as the camera pans in an arc to reach him. An unconventional move for an unconventional duck, where said unconventionality bleeds into the filmmaking. There’s a noticeable shake in the camera that distills the intended effect, but not enough to render it useless.
Compare this to the comparative directorial stolidity of Porky’s scenes preceding this: a wide shot, a cut on a close-up. Porky has no need for such directorial frills. Daffy is a frill.
Perhaps it’s odd to say about a duck sitting in a bird nest, but Daffy’s manner of heckling has a certain sophistication in this short—certainly in comparison to what’s come before. He’s a Droopy-esque, omnipresent little sprite, showing up at every turn with little fanfare or regard of the illogic. Our sympathies and perspective are aligned with Porky’s in the moment; we don’t know Daffy will be there until he is. There are no shots of him sneaking into position. His heckling here is streamlined, persistent, self-assured. An apt example of how the complacency and gentle conceit of Chuck’s duck has been there since the beginning; as we’ll explore, Daffy seems mighty sure of himself and his presence.
In his pilfered nest, he does as he was introduced—singing. Only this time, it’s a wispy, a capella solo of “Blues in the Night”. No backing track, no musical support of any kind: just Daffy humming and muttering and scatting to himself purely for the sake of his own stimulation and amusement.
The absence of a soundtrack is genius: all attention is forced on Daffy. His presence seems more invasive, noticeable, loud; it likewise connotes the feeling of there being something wrong. Nature does not naturally harbor singing ducks sitting in bird nests. Even in the whimsical world of golden age cartoons, there’s often the dignity of some backing accompaniment beneath—Daffy, a natural defier of convention, requires none of that. This moment is organic, calm, and through that feels just slightly uneasy and off-kilter.
Porky remains surprisingly cordial throughout—blank surprise at the obstacle turns to gently confused gregariousness, even hawking a smile. An amusingly blank smile— as if he's struggling to compute what's happening, and just assumes its best to smile in feigned understanding and leave things be—but a smile nonetheless.
Thus, he sportingly sacrifices his dandy pitching spot for another. Keeping him pleasant right now enables the short with the gift of momentum. To have him explode in anger right now would cheapen the dynamic and simply be unsustainable—how would the short match and keep that energy throughout? Letting his frustration crawl to a boil makes the eventual explosion feel more justified and more entertaining, just as it gives more time for Daffy’s antics to be more persistent, thereby justifying the oncoming feedback loop. More time for Porky to be frustrated by Daffy, who’s had more time to be frustrating, thereby justifying Porky’s reactions.
Going back to Daffy’s singing, there’s no underscore because it is the underscore. As Porky toddles over to his new spot, Daffy’s voice is still heard on top—it keeps us focused on his presence and the inconvenience he’s posing. Porky can never get that far away from him.
It’s likewise for the purpose of connectivity. Hearing Daffy's voice throughout bridges the reveal of his reappearance more smoothly; again, Porky reverberates to a stop, narrowly avoiding the impalement of the duck.
The pose that Porky settles on is very appealing. His arms hold the stake in such a way that there's just enough negative space to see his gently stupefied expression. Not only is the clarity appealing, but it gives more power to Daffy's heckling by showing that Porky is indeed reacting to it and feels some way about it--even if that emotion is indiscernible to him.
Unlike last time, Porky doesn't go along his merry way. Frankly, he doesn't have the luxury--Daffy takes command of the filmmaking, basking in both the bird nest and camera close-up alike.
His inhabitation of the nest follows the same logic. The nest is much too small for him and really makes no sense, but it almost seems to function as a defense mechanism. It's as if he assumes that he's a bird, too, and birds belong in nests, and nests belong in nature, and to remove Daffy of this extremely ill-fitting abode would be to intrude on nature's natural beauty, and Porky would be an ultimate heel to even consider doing so. Another keen way to display his aggressive desire to insert himself into every situation. It's the "you wouldn't hit a guy with glasses" logic (a trick Daffy would employ in Scrap Happy Daffy, coincidentally enough), only somehow even more trivial and absurd.
One is inclined to ponder how he got access to the nest to begin with; it's almost too easy to imagine him evicting a family of birds. Or perhaps they make good on the mantra of flocking together and he pays them off, as is the case in Duck Soup to Nuts. We'll never know either way. Nor should we. But it speaks to the effectiveness of this defense mechanism, and the charm of Daffy's presumptuous hubris, that such ponderences can even be entertained.
"Sorry Daniel Boone, but first come, first serve, ya know!" embodies all of the aforementioned observations well.
The slightly affectionate, mostly degrading name calling of "Daniel Boone" is particularly amusing. Daffy would prove himself to have quite the affection for nicknames that are born out of equal endearment and belittlement--another trait that can be traced as far back to Jones' Daffy Duck and the Dinosaur, when Daffy refers to the Jack Benny caveman as "girlie".
Following this line is a bit of padding and dead air, with Daffy admiring his invisible nails. As it goes, one could argue that the shot is paced and executed a bit oddly. The animation and timing is somewhat floaty, as if Daffy is encased within a jar of molasses, and lots of long pauses. Just the same, there's a purpose behind it: a slow burn to sell how Daffy lingers. He'll milk every drop of his intrusion. Take just an extra second longer to file his nails, an extra second longer to admire them, an extra second longer to make Porky stew in eventual frustration. Likewise, it's to show how unbothered and, again, complacent he is--all leisure and slow burn. This is a major character development for him; when's the last time (or, first time) we've ever seen Daffy able to be this still and this controlled?
Daffy's slow burn contrasts against Porky's, whose frustrations are beginning to embed. His slow, drawn out glower at the camera is right out of Oliver Hardy's playbook--if nothing else, it's certainly influenced from the playbook of silent cinema. One could make an argument for how this support's Porky's innate archaism, something discussed in-length in the analysis of You Ought to Be in Pictures. Not that it means that Porky as a character is old hat, but he's certainly more aligned with tradition. Much more than Daffy ever is.
No matter who's responsible for the inspiration, it's a great shot. A hilarious drawing that communicates so much with so little. It's almost comparable with the synonymous slow burn and specificity of the reactions in Jones' Grinch cartoon some 24 years later; that we're able to compare so far into the future, long after Jones had really come into his own and brandished his distinct style of filmmaking and artistry, speaks wonders for the effectiveness of this shot here. It's prescient.
Another winner for this shot is that Daffy's singing, which has since kicked up again, can be heard all throughout. A reminder of who's prompting Porky to make such a face and feel this way. Despite cutting away from him physically, we can't escape the lingerance of Daffy's presence. It nags and grinds, just like the nag and grind of the wispy, breathy scatting through his teeth.
Porky, letting his frustration get the best of him, acts out: Jones does a jump cut in which Porky leans forward, and then the camera cuts on the act of him bringing the pike down on Daffy (charitably, the blunt end). Cutting right on the action is harsh, sharp, embodying the literal gravity necessary for this moment as Porky finally snaps.
A large part of its success is that the maneuver is also timed to Daffy's scatting. Treg Brown, ever the genius of sound design, uses a playful, reverberating "BOING!" sound as the stake goes down on Daffy, encompassing its own reverberations as Porky stops yet again. This is timed right at the end of the bar in which Daffy's singing. Thus produces a rather musical result that is charming, funny, and certainly harmonious in demonstrating how Daffy's peskiness and Porky's reactivity complement each other. Two differences combining to make a whole. A musical, funny, tangible whole.
Granted, viewers are likely focusing not on the harmony of the music and action and sound effects (though feeling it), but the giant sign posed behind Daffy. Its yellow and red coloring pops out tremendously; it helps that yellow is a bright, eye-catching color on its own, but McGrew and Fleury have been scrupulous with their lack of yellow in the pastel color schemes used thus far. Likewise with the harsh of the red text, matched only in its value by Porky's bow-tie. The effect is successfully bold and fetching.
This is, again, a jump cut, but purposefully so to elicit surprise. The reveal that Daffy has been perched under this sign the whole time is so jarring and sudden that it encapsulates his spritely heckling perfectly; it's almost like reality is bending to his will to work in his favor. All in favor of being an obstacle for Porky. He can walk on water. He can teleport to wherever Porky takes his stake. He can summon the defense of a billboard.
It's not even as though the sign has been carefully concealed. The earlier shot of Daffy in the nest fostered a layout that was open and vacant. This sudden onslaught of claustrophobic staging, with Daffy cozied up against this sign, so perfectly, so conveniently, so ready for presentation and confrontation--it's the genuine meaning of fantastic. Just as it's likely extremely infuriating to Porky through the sheer improbability of it all--Porky, a character who is bound and born in convention and struggles to cope with the opposite. The surprise of this reveal takes some sympathy on him, as we receive the same information and surprises he does at the same exact time.
Daffy still maintains his singing even in this next shot, offering time for Porky and us alike time to stew in this new [in]convenience and demonstration of complacency. Daffy's conceit is artfully handled, with multiple layers. There's even the mere conceit of his "silence"; no explanation, just eyes closed, pointing to the sign, demeanor relaxed and without any indication of urgency or even defense. He's infuriatingly secure in his circumstances, with the impossibilities--the sign, the nest, the ability to walk on water--to back him up.
Of course, whereas a character like Bugs may be satisfied with pointing to the sign in itself, Daffy is more hungry for stimuli, more hungry to embrace his circumstances. He decides to rub it in with an addendum of "Catch on, fatso?", which is even more condescending than if he were to simply read the sign aloud and spoon-feed the information.
Particularly with the beat of him opening his eyes. There's just the smallest, shortest moment where the joy and mania broiling inside him seems to flicker through. His gaze is somewhat wired, eyes and pupils wide, grin on; it's a rare moment of his delirium slipping through, a concession of him reveling in the joys of being a pest. He's quick to resume his half-lidded, smarmy sense of cool, but that little wide-eyed beat was a vulnerable admission of the glee he's receiving from all this. He's bursting under the surface. After all, we saw him bursting right before this in the lake; it's not as if he's depleted of all that insane energy. It's just being rearranged.
Comparisons can be made to the ever notable hunting trilogy, spearheaded, of course, by the same director and writing team-up that we have here. Daffy relies on the security of a sign to protect him from danger and even punish the other party. The security he places in these signs, as we'll later find out, is perhaps not as wise a decision as he believes. Like the Grinch comparison with Porky, the fact that the Daffy of this cartoon can be compared to the Daffy of some of Jones' most beloved cartoons, which features perhaps the most widely known and accepted version of Daffy, speaks both to how much he's matured to get to this point and the success of this cartoon. Another notch on the bedpost for how this short is both ahead of its time and a keystone to getting to said times.
Porky's acting in this scene--obscured as it is--deserves credit. Though quite subtle, the pole--after finally jiggling to a stop--slowly moves upward, movements rife with hesitation and gentility. It eases away from Daffy, clearing the way for the audience to read the sign (which, for those unfamiliar, "molest" in this case means to disturb or annoy, often with intent to harm).
The movement of this rigid object has a nice flow to it, moving in a bit of an arc with some noticeable drag to keep the movements subtle, slow, thoughtful (if not disarmed). Such paints a very cautious, befuddled, and gorgeously gentle picture of Porky's acting; despite his face not even being shown, the humanity and organicism of his confusion transcends. Compare that to the boldness and precision of Daffy's acting and movements in the cartoon, which are much more crisp, clear, and confident. Again, the two contrasting demeanors complement each other incredibly well.
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Instead, Jones cuts wide to the open mountaintop--decidedly tentless--as an angry Porky retreats in stubborn withdrawal.
He's soon met with a visitor.
Gorgeous acting on Daffy as he presumptuously plops himself at Porky's feet. He moves in a smooth, arcing flourish, his head and neck completing some of the follow through when he swings his body through his arms. Lithe, gentle, flowing, a great contrast to Porky's laden, bumbling footsteps. Perhaps also in contrast to the aforementioned observations of the boldness in his movements, but there's a confidence even in his gentility. No hesitation, no uncertainty, and certainly no bumbling, unlike his confidant.
The closed eyes continue to radiate self assurance; he doesn't even need to eyeball Porky to see the reaction he's getting out of him. He knows his presence is a mere nuisance in itself.
This is, again, quite a contrast to our understanding of his heckling. That driving irrationality and even mania is still there--to spend this much energy and time heckling someone who wasn't even bothering him is pretty irrational--but now it's assisted with purpose. Before the Daffy shorts released in 1942, the bulk of his heckling almost felt accidental. There were bouts of rebellion, as in The Daffy Doc (though still clearly motivated by insanity), but a feeling of irrationality and absence of lucidity has largely dominated.
Hints of that irrationality and insanity still remain, if not showcased through Daffy's introduction to the cartoon. Nevertheless, a feeling of control prevails--one that seems largely new for Daffy. Compare his behavior to shorts such as Porky's Last Stand, where he's visibly struggling to contain his impulses. He almost seems completely sane here.
Porky, to his credit, still has the heart to halt the stake from piercing. Treg Brown's electric twanging sounds that accompany the action are whimsical and asynchronous. They seem to encapsulate both Porky's clear annoyance and the "wrongness" of the scenario. Daffy shouldn't be here. Porky shouldn't have to be going through this much trouble to pitch a tent. This whole camping trip is going topsy turvy, and the sound design embraces that--with a playful edge. After all, topsy turvy happenings are why we're compelled to watch these shorts and characters to begin with.
In stark contrast to Daffy's unflinching poise, Porky waddles over to his next spot, movements rigid and even juvenile. Daffy notably remains frozen; not even an eye cracked open. It's almost as if he's edging Porky into complacency--fine, go pitch your silly tent. As he would so amusingly utter in Bob McKimson's Quack Shot, "See if I give a moon and six pence."
Of course, we know that's not how it'll go. Indeed, Daffy only remains frozen for a moment or two longer before zipping into the next spot--again, right at Porky's feet--but that additional pause is the perfect fakeout for gentle ignoramuses like Porky, who are just gullible enough to buy into the tactic. We don't see his reactions, as he's waddling over to another area, but we sense the feeling that he thinks he's being effective in dodging the duck. Just the same, there is the slightest twinge of resignation with how stubborn Porky's motives are. An instinctual humoring of Daffy's game. It's telling he goes only a few feet over rather than removing himself entirely. He thinks he can win this, maybe; or maybe he just wants to confirm that Daffy will have to force him out rather than Porky himself.
Predictable results ensue. Same ascending score from Stalling, same nullifying twang from Brown, both pitched up a step to further the momentum and create a rising action throughout the scene. Daffy's transition to this spot is more fantastic--phantasmagorical, even--than his first one, illustrated through a mere smear. There's a slight slow-out of his movements before he snakes along in a connective arc to give some organicism to the inherently inorganic action. This time, his eyes are open, the smile on his beak more knowing and "ain't I a stinker"ish rather than smug, reveling in his inconvenience. His posture is at its most leisurely, maintaining earlier themes of his complacency and leisure and how that's as annoying as his actual annoyances.
Despite Porky's back being turned, his frustration is crystal clear; Brown's sound effect sells the stop of his stake more than the action, which is just a bit more half-hearted than previous, clinching earlier observations about Porky subliminally expecting this routine to happen. That alone makes him feel more frustrated, annoyed, a slight resigning to the routine despite his admittedly meager attempts to combat it. There's just enough of his face visible at the rear 3/4 view to solidify that, yes, he is pissed about this.
Extremely minor nitpick: the heights of both characters don't change when they recede into the distance for the third time. Thus momentarily flattens out the perspective, though remains minor in the grand scheme of things. The pace of each encounter quickens, the music and sound effects pitching up, Daffy's posing growing more absurd; this is fretting over a very small part in an extremely entertaining and enjoyable whole.
Likewise, the animation more than makes good on any discrepancies in perspective. Daffy's posing continues to be more absurd--now combining his pompousness with leisure as he poses not unlike an Italian Renaissance painting or statue. Porky is armed with some extremely attractive smears on his arms especially, making for a remarkably smooth and flowing action full of appeal. Ditto with the final pose he settles on, back to nonplussed vacancy rather than anger to keep the pacing varied.
And so the routine repeats. It's an exercise in mundanity from both parties. Daffy is willing to maintain the charade, and Porky is stubbornly loyal to nabbing a spot as near to his dandy pitching place. Both parties are enabling a unanimous one-track mind.
Eventually, the monotony of this sequence crests into a point of abstraction: their zig-zags growing quicker, less visual information required for each (both in terms of scale and amount of drawings), the peak is eventually reached when Daffy reverses from whence he came, Porky still going forward.
Daffy doesn't simply zip from his spot at the end of the map to the foreground. He engages in a methodical and mechanical retracing of his steps, reprising his voguing as he slinks back from each individual landmark. Porky is implied to be doing the same, still operating in his own stilted zig-zagging, as locked in the routine as Daffy is--albeit with the latter, there's an awareness in his indulgence of this abstraction. The former just cluelessly adheres. Two parts again making a whole, locking in the same pattern.
Just as he's the one to foster the pattern, Daffy is the one to break it. He happily saunters off, a skip in his step after a job well done. His jogging is playful, unconcerned, his conceit there but not suffocating. He's set out to get his kicks with Porky and is doing so quite successfully.
Porky possesses no such pep in his step. Instead, we cut to the very opposite: Porky stuck in a compulsive loop of staking and jabbing and zig-zagging. The pattern erratic now, choppy, frantic, but still a pattern. Still jabbing and releasing and moving. His animation alternates between an up and down position, both held for four frames with no in-between. The camera pan and the illusion of depth as Porky weaves along the mountainous path fill in the blanks and cushion some of the abrasiveness of the maneuver, but not enough to lose the novelty of the abstraction.
It's charming that the ways the characters abstract themselves are still in-character; Porky's is much more rigid, tense, simple. Daffy's is fluid and elastic and flowery. This sort of caricature and abstraction in motion, in drawing, but also directing for the entire sequence, would have absolutely been unheard of from Chuck Jones even a year before this.
There's a grand return of atmosphere and background as we follow Porky down, down, down. The cyclical nature of his routine is a focus, but so is where the routine is headed. Hills are painted as cel overlays to give the illusion of Porky coming around behind them. Then, he dips out of view of the camera, sacrificing himself as geography takes precedence. Great adherence to environments that makes them feel interactive and lived in rather than a stage. Likewise, this scene demonstrates the scope of his travels.
So vast in scope that he tends to all ends of the earth, his mindless resistance carrying him into the depths of the lake. The Jones of yore may have shown a shot of the lake approaching before this to foreshadow Porky's interaction with it. No such warning call here; it's as surprising and sudden to us as it is presumably Porky. Admittedly, even moreso, considering Porky's steely lack of awareness.
Porky's descent into the water is embraced through Stalling's musical scoring. His music grows more leaden, slowing, resolving like an object sinking to the bottom of the sea floor--a contrast to the "dry" tinkling of the xylophone prior. Somehow, Stalling is able to make even his music sound wet.
There's a suspicious lack of bubbles surfacing as the waters and Porky alike stagnate. A common impulse in this moment would be for a wild take--perhaps cued by a flurry of bubbles rising to the surface--and then the exit.
That may be the case for a character who's more cognizant and less bullheaded than Porky. Instead, the topper is not a wild gag of realization, but--to steal a term belonging to Daffy--complacency: there's one last lugubrious and decidedly un-abstracted rise and fall of the stake as Porky finally pitches his tent. Brown's watery sound effects are integral for the gag hitting, selling the interactivity of the environments that therefore sells the tangibility of the gag and comedic finality within. Yes, this is actually happening.
To briefly note abstraction of a different kind--a note of appreciation for the geometry and stylization of the background. The flat horizon line of the lake, the sharp, uninterrupted geometry of the mountain, the ridges and sharp lines broken by the soft curves of the magenta trees. Like the establishing shot, it's not far fetched to imagine this as a fully formed art piece.
That a duck happens to be occupying the environments does take some of the mysticism away. Daffy retains his unbothered demeanor, his spritely skipping from before a means to get him down to the bottom of the mountain, reading Porky's direction. Yet again, all of the aforementioned notes apply: he's conceited and happy in his complacency, his leisure translating into boldness through the pettiness of his aloofness. His perceived modesty is a form of braggadocio in itself.
Now, his movements are much more soft and natural than Porky's rigid 1-2 stabbing--so are his actions. Picking his invisible nails reaffirms a--no matter how shallow--preoccupation with aesthetic appearances. That he's lucid enough to even care about such frivolities is again quite impressive. Porky's popping a gasket, locked in a vengeful spiral of compulsivity, and Daffy's casually observing and primping himself. The recommencement of his singing is salt in the wound, a recommencement of the symbolic mark he leaves on Porky with his heckling.
By this point, we've come to a firm understanding of such. Daffy is pompous and complacent, comfortable in his own skin. He bothers Porky. Daffy is abstract and hard to pin down. We know all of these things, but they're important to note--particularly in contrast with Porky, who is now making a mad back-and-forth dash in the background to retrieve his things. Daffy's practically the straight-man, antithetical to Porky's circuitous packrat roleplay and pettiness driving him forth. His actions quick, mindless, devoid of any flourishes, but for perhaps the first time out of any Daffy and Porky cartoon, it's Porky who's the whirlwind of energy juxtaposed against the shockingly cool-headed Daffy.e
Porky is more of a what in this scene than a who. An object retrieving his objects. Momentum of his fetching grows--the pauses shorten between retrievals, to the point where he's reduced to but a streak of paint without any discernible item in his grasp. More points to Treg Brown for his water sounds reminding us of where Porky is coming and going, which enables us to laugh at the absurdity of the scenario.
The climactic energy and pacing radiates as much desperation as it does anger; just as it's novel to see Daffy so calm, it's equally novel for Porky to sustain this much speed and fervor. Even so, it doesn't feel out of character. One could even consider him gracious for being as patient as he was.
Home sweet home.
To score the punchline, Jones has all of Porky's gear perfectly in position. There's no hook-up of him unfolding his chair or adding any last finishing touches--that's a role he serves himself, plopping himself down with laden indignation. The sense of finality is stronger this way. With it, strength in the punchline. No fat. No frills. Just laughs.
Considerations such as the grill and the fishing rod--irony of its presence underwater duly noted--complete the set-up and make it so much more rewarding than if it were just the tent that Porky was after. It shows the extent of the labor poured into all of this, just as it capitalizes on the inherent comedy of seeing a complete camping set all laid out underwater.
Porky's acting, minimal as it is, is great. Closed body language with the crossed arms and legs alike display unambiguous defiance and vexation. He's finally pitched his tent, finally set up camp--and he can't even be relaxed about it, which is seemingly the whole reason he's even out here. If anything, his posture and rigidity makes a statement against Daffy. Not a particularly mature one, but a statement of "So there". The aggrieved foot tap is such a subtle but genius addition that carries the above principles home.
Something's gotta give eventually. The rest of the cartoon doesn't take place underwater. At some point, Porky's gotta come to; it isn't his own ego catching up to him or astute observation skills that do so, but a fish. A fish wisely colored neon to stand out amongst the relatively muted color scheme. It comes in from around the tent rather than swimming across the screen, furthering the illusion of depth and interactivity in the backgrounds. A slightly more tedious thing to animate, but a detail that's better for it.
Jones' timing of the fish and Porky's catching on is, unlike Porky, astute. Porky doesn't notice as soon as the fish enters. There's a slight delay, Porky doing his take only after the fish is about to exit the screen. It's not a wild take, just an antic and a wide-eyed turn of the head, which is the only thing animated. Even so, the naturalism of the moment almost makes the scenario feel more absurd through how "real" and tangible it is. Easier to dismiss this all as cartoon antics if Porky's eyes bug out of his head. Instead, the subtlety here is to show that he finally realizes his mistake. Physics of his hat and the bubble trails are both considerations that take the animation up a notch.
His stupefied reactions are soon transferred to the audience. Still blank, still nonplussed, a moment that doesn't necessarily bask in the audience's confidence like his Grinch-esque glower from before. Even so, the beat is still rooted in those same principles that ultimately make Porky feel more endearing and real through the humanity of his reactions. The distortion on his face--the stretch--is a welcome touch of caricature to score his surprise. Jones getting malleable with Porky, too, rather than saving it all for Daffy is a welcome touch that ensures Porky is just as involved in the cartoon plasticity and fun as Daffy--even if it's in his own stilted, idiosyncratic little way.
On the topic of distortion, the drybrushing as Porky packs his things is nothing short of gorgeous. It's led into by an actual smear before becoming ribbons of paint; all timed on one's, all connected by a general arc to maintain the flow. There's focus and force and momentum behind the drybrushing, a feeling of it following a propelled path rather than haphazardly slathered on.
Then, it all resolves in a held pose, with just a single frame of some leftover pain trails to fill in the gap and connect the drawings. Quick, concise, charming and tactile. Note also the flurry of bubbles kicked up from the movement--a seemingly unnecessary aesthetic detail, but one that absolutely completes the overall effect and feeling of movement. Especially after how purposefully stolid Porky's acting and demeanor was prior.
In a topper that's all too easily missed due to the ripple glass water effects and pacing, the bubbles, essentially a sheet, follow Porky off-screen. Great visual exorbitance that again isn't all that necessary, but certainly no hindrance.
The mood back on land is quite an antithesis. Daffy isn't observing Porky, but us. That in itself is another display of his assured conceit--he can afford to look away from his plaything because he's already well aware of the chaos and infuriation he's causing. He takes pride in it. Gloats about it. Revels in it. So much so that he turns his attention to us to share the glory and basking in Porky's humility. He doesn't feel the need to monitor it--he knows what he's done and is quite comfortable with it.
In a subtle fourth wall break, he utilizes the side of the screen to prop himself up--a pet trick of Bob Clampett's--whilst engaging in his "get a load of this guy" pantomime. Daffy's behavior in this cartoon and comfort in his own feathery skin is a certifiable example of how Chuck's Daffy has always had an ego about him. Not just when he got paired with the rabbit. This is textbook Chuck Jones camera mugging. The trademark is not being born; it's here and ready to be taken home.
Even so, a feeling of whimsy and even juvenility remains. Despite his cool act, there's a sense that a spring is being tugged back, closer and closer to snapping the manic energy and catharsis forward. As we mentioned before, it didn't go away--it's just been reallocated. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Daffy certainly has a lot of energy to go around.
Indeed, Daffy drops his smug act and replaces it with his usual spritely chipperness upon contact with Porky. He reaches off-screen--it's a very quick moment, getting from plot point A to plot point B. Yet the poses in doing so are incredibly strong, as is his aforementioned energy. A poignant curve to his line of action. Silhouette clear, streamlined, defined. A total contrast to the hunched, tense posture of his cohort.
Though Daffy resumes his above-it-all act in a moment, the beat of him reaching off-screen is another breakthrough of organic instability. Perhaps even innocence, taking delight in another opportunity to string his heckling along.
Again; a beautiful contrast to the lumbering, sopping, decidedly undignified Porky approaching with clenched fingers and intent to harm. The character acting and discrepancies between demeanors is spot on all throughout. Even when he's angry, Porky still lumbers and bumbles, his posture and movements more rigid and emotionally constipated. Quite a juxtaposition against the fluidity and flourishes of Daffy, who moves as free as a literal bird.
Such differences are felt even as subtly as the drag and follow-through on the towel draped around Daffy's arm, putting on his best impression of a maître d'. As Daffy eases into his proud, presumptuous position, armed with plenty of drawings and little spacing to give him a feeling of gentility, the towel noticeably swings back and forth, synonymously uninhibited like its owner.
Even the surprise take that emerges from Porky adheres to his usual physics. He pumps his fists, his fingers clench back up, his silhouette remaining rather closed and singular. It's still a very noticeable shift of energy--particularly with Stalling's surprised sting injected into the score--but absent of the flourishes found in Daffy's performance.
Daffy's gallant act is even more annoying than if he were to leave Porky sopping wet. Offering a towel literally rubs it in his face, and is another "you wouldn't hit a guy in a birds nest" type defense. He knows he can't be harmed, and knows that Porky doing so in response to Daffy's generosity would be quite unbecoming of the former. The towel serves to mock, to prolong the sting and get his goat rather than a sincere expression of condolences. His behavior would be insufferably smug if it weren't also smothered by such a palpable air of endearing mischief. It's a good thing he's cute.
Some responses to this set-up may be to have the Porky figure slap away the towel, still smothered in rage. Porky, to greater comedic effect, and to greater honor of his impressionability, takes it. His behavior is still begrudging, angry, reluctant as he mops his face (with some very considerate physics with his face, particularly the cheeks), but he completely validates every ounce of self assurance radiating from Daffy in the moment. Daffy has him wrapped around his feathery finger. Porky is both aware of this given the circumstances, and also, somehow, completely oblivious to it.
Here, awareness prevails. In another Jonesian impulse and timing, Porky's frenetic mopping slows to a halt as his attention is turned back to the audience. Another Oliver Hardy moment to a similar degree of effectiveness as the others.
This brief pause is a springload (perhaps another argument in favor of Daffy and Porky not being as different as they seem, both having their springlocked reactions and outbursts). It's intended to feel deceptive, pondering--after the beat, Porky immediately snaps into launch, indulging in the obvious answer of clobbering Daffy.
Daffy is right on the pulse. Just as Porky launches, he launches into his own offense: another convenience through signage.
Obscuring his face behind the sign creates an effect that makes him seem more innocent, wide-eyed. A literal encapsulation of how the signs are a form of defense. So hunched over, so little, cowering behind the sign with an anticipatory look on his eye, it’s another “don’t evict the duck from the nest” defense—the perfect storm to make Porky look like a fiend for exacting any violence.
The sign is colored the same as before, initiating the viewer’s recall memory and bridging the association that sign = safety. This is more obviously scored through the “REMEMBER!” that prefaces the sign, a touch that exists solely to chide Porky rather than serve a productive purpose.
Jones’ timing is spot on. A slight overlap in action—Porky begins to jump before Daffy has moved—strengthens the naturalism of an innately unnatural action (Porky floating in air). Bridging the gap like this just feels nicer, feels more tangible, feels like a step above cartoon hijinks through how “naturally” the events seem to unfold.
Daffy’s flourishes against Porky’s stolidity has been a running observation. For comedic effect and power imbalance, the roles are swapped. Porky—in contrast to his pose—moves more slowly, organically, a settle cushioning the harsh transfer of energy. Daffy has less frames to settle and does so less conspicuously. The cushioning on Porky embraces the gradual realization of his circumstances in real time, like trailing off of a visual sentence. It pairs nicely with the caricature of his pose.
It’s another display of abstraction. Porky lingering in the air, nursing a pregnant, tense pause could be seen as an extension of the tense pause after rubbing his face with the towel. The springloaded tension makes us laugh because we know it’s going to release. How or when, that’s not for us to decide. But something is coming, and that anticipation is contagious.
Daffy is the one who breaks the tension this time—to a literal degree.
Same praise for timing apply. Daffy jumps into action a few frames before Porky does a very gentle, innocently befuddled head tilt, tracking his movements with a certain suspended naiveté. That makes the blow hit much harder, allotting just enough time for the character to react before impact. Jones would refine this art with his Coyote cartoons. Friz Freleng was a patron of the same art with the explosions in his cartoons.
Daffy is again free to drop the smug act, a more genuine, gleeful smile spreading on his face with impact and exit. His body language reflects this, a somersault propelling him forward in the air as the shades of the water-walking hoohooing duck from the top make a return. All of this manic energy broiling inside, expelled with a blow to Porky’s head. He’s been trying to keep it under wraps, trying to be polite for the stolid persona he's putting on for Porky, and now he has a chance to let the mask slip and fully indulge in that catharsis.
Evidence: a direct re-reprise of his earlier whooping exit. All inhibitions held in the name of the gag and presentation are freed as he skates along the water and into oblivion, whooping all the way.
Being the third exit of its kind, Jones adheres to the rule of three's and varies the presentation with an addition: a wobbly, unsteady Porky weakly rises into the foreground to see him off.
Adding him prevents the whooping reprise from sinking too deep into repetition. Just the same, it aligns the viewer's focus with who is the victim of Daffy's heckling. His gaggery doesn't just occur in a void. Someone--who was once the face of the entire franchise--is on the receiving end. Unlike other "heckling Daffy" shorts such as Conrad the Sailor or Daffy Duck and the Dinosaur, our sympathies align with both characters. Viewers aren't seated just to watch Daffy beat up on someone; we have equal investment in Porky. The consequences reflected on the straight-man slash sufferer are more aptly reflected, because Porky is a more sympathetic and interesting character than Conrad or the caveman.
Porky's addition here is an effective bout of pathos, evoking the audience to pity-laugh at our underdog. He's a reminder that this is a two man operation. It's a Porky and Daffy short--not Porky.... and Daffy, nor Daffy... and Porky.
Despite all he's suffered, including blows to the head, a fade to black and back in demonstrates that Porky's taking it in stride. Honing in on him prepping his grill, a smile on his face as he merrily sings to himself, it almost feels like we're peeking in on an entirely different cartoon.
While we're making our way through the cartoon and, with it, Porky's various states of thinning frustration, it's still too early to have him consistently stewing. It would be blowing through the build-up. Jones establishes a momentum of push and pull. Doing so holds our engagement and piques our curiosity--a clean slate presents an opportunity for Daffy to draw on it. Already, the audience is anticipating how Porky's cheery demeanor will again be soured.
For Porky, however, no such concerns burden him. With his supplies back on land, he prepares to cook himself up a meal--if the hilariously obtuse chef's hat isn't enough of an indicator. Its inclusion is a wonderful touch that borrows a philosophy born out of shorts like Porky's Duck Hunt: an over-eager indulgence in what is essentially cosplay as an attempt to compensate. If he wears a hunting suit, maybe he'll come off like a real, manly hunter. If he wears a chef's hat, then he'll come off as someone who takes all culinary delights with only the utmost respect. Despite being out in the middle of nowhere and having nobody to impress or perform to. Another score for the innocent entitlement of Porky Pig.
There's only one thing wrong with this picture-perfect picture: Porky's choice of song is "Blues in the Night", as heard previously by one Daffy Duck.
Notably, no such orchestration accompanies him. It's all Porky's jolly, nasal singing. Just like how Daffy had no accompaniment for his singing, either, both characters singing their naturalistic a capella could be read as a direct parallel. In a way, the desertion of the orchestration is a joke itself--not even Stalling nor Milt Franklyn will entertain the fact that Daffy has wormed his way into Porky's mind.
This is not right, he shouldn't be singing this song, and that's reflected by the decision to withhold the score. It isolates Porky and shows that he's the one with the Daffy-shaped grave to dig--not us, not even the hands who made this cartoon. He's all on his own. It's an incredibly endearing and backhanded creative decision that's just as funny as Porky singing the "wrong" song itself.
At the very least, Porky doesn't require much coaching to catch his mistake. Bobe Cannon, recognizable through the thin cheeks and buck teeth, does an excellent job of caricaturing Porky's blank fruition. No big take, no surprise sting to embody the change: he just catches himself in real time, eyes vacant with epiphany, before melting into a frown. With it, a powerfully vexed "Hmmph!".
His attention is turned yet again to us, keeping the silent film comparisons running strong. This isn't the first time Jones has had Porky mug the audience--he does it in Porky's Ant and Porky's Prize Pony as well--but those instances were more coy, insignificant, a way to make Porky seem cute rather than constructing some sort of audience-pig confidence. Here, there's a real feeling of vicariousness between Porky and the viewer; a privilege that's often in tow with a more extroverted character like Daffy instead. Porky's repeated glances and visual asides to the audience skew our sympathies back to him, establishing a bit of a relationship that keeps us invested in his happenings. Jones and Maltese do a great job of ensuring Porky is just as entertaining and engaging as Daffy in his own roundabout little way.
Daffy's such a skilled heckler that he's able to heckle Porky without even being there. Perhaps Porky is trying to assert himself taking the high road--the duck is gone, he's got eggs to cook, he even has his hat and he's singing to show that he's merry and above it all. But, clearly, it's not all roses. Porky knows that this isn't something he should be indulging in, subliminally singing Daffy's songs or showing that he's still a lingering presence, and he doesn't take to it well. It injures his stubborn pride.
Without further delay, just a well timed pause and beat of Porky inhaling to show he's switching gears, he now reverts to his song of choice: the familiar "Moonlight Bay."
As it turns out, he's not entirely at fault for letting Daffy's presence linger. Daffy's doing a fine job of that himself. The very moment Porky turns his back, our favorite duck makes a smiley reappearance. No telegraphing, no hints, no signs of his impending arrival or mugging at the audience. Just him swapping out Porky's conspicuously colored egg--a great touch for clarity, just like the yellow sign--for a larger one.
The simplicity of Daffy's presence, in and out, physics maintaining the slightest drag and ease, is artful. No questions are asked as to how or where he got the egg, nor why is it so big. Our focus is with and on Porky, so that we can be caught unawares by whatever Daffy is planning at the same time he is. Of course, we have a slight advantage in actually seeing Daffy swap the eggs, but that's the extent of it. The grin on Daffy's face is infectious; his mischief contagious, we're naturally curious to see what he has up his sleeve and what's motivating his zeal.
Porky finally receives the dignity of a backing track, Stalling's gently optimistic arrangement of Moonlight Bay taking over from where Porky's melodicism stops. We're back in Porky's mindset, back in his territory; as far as he knows, things are smooth sailing and uninterrupted. Better than that, even, because now his egg is as thrice as big as it once was--finally, a stroke of good luck.
"Ih-b-bih-boy, there's ih-neh-nih-nothin' like this mountain air tihh-t' mih-mehh-make things grow," proves an entertaining glance at how Porky rationalize the utterly irrational. Rather than accepting that it's bizarre his egg has suddenly tripled in size, he makes it fit into his own logic--even if that logic, by proxy, ends up making no sense. An apt display of his endearing peculiarities.
Usually, moments like these play up the inevitable reveal of a chick inside. Make the chick cloyingly cute, embrace the innocence, or even have the cute little chick loudly protest at its being cracked open as in the case of Porky's Last Stand.
Here, Porky's crack of the egg unearths a baby eagle that is by no means cute nor cloying. In fact, it comes out with a scowl on its face and its fists balled. It's already unhappy from the moment of birth.
With these obvious context clues, the audience understands this doesn't bode well for Porky. Porky is not the audience, and meets the eagle with familiarly smiley patronization; not frustrated with the robbing of his egg but enamored by its inhabitant. Playing up his innocence means that the inevitable consequences will hit that much harder and the comedy stronger through the contrast.
Like the mountain air comment, Porky's "Gih-ge-ehh-gosh, it looks just like a beh-bih-baby eagle!" is endearingly obtuse. Maltese is particular with his phrasing--"it looks just like" is lovably clueless, indicating that Porky's not exactly sure what this specimen is, and perhaps finds it rude to commit to any hard guesses. Anybody else would skip the fat.
Such is the entire point:
"For your information, it is a baby eagle."
Another excellent surprise from Jones, who deserves more praise through his restraint. No insert shots of the eagle approaching nor any indication of its presence nearby. We again share Porky's realization in real time; now we know how Daffy got the egg.
It's funnier this way to abstain from overindulging information. There's a greater gravity of consequence than if we knew how Daffy got the egg or where beforehand. Likewise, the camera glides over to reveal the eagle rather than a cut, making it easier to connect the dots and align these tangents together. Jones' naturalistic timing again ensues: Blanc's steely-calm delivery starts atop the pan, before we even see the eagle.
Such cleanliness and organization of this reveal is just as indicative of Jones' directorial growth as everything else we've observed. Even right down to the beautifully strong drawing of the eagle, the line of action extremely prominent, shapes neatly organized and flowing within the silhouette. Truly, it bears repeating that this may not have been the case a year prior--perhaps even less than.
Even so, there is a lot of early Jones DNA in this moment. This reads as a more sophisticated and slightly more sadistic version of the same setup in Little Brother Brat and The Egg Collector; right down to Blanc doing the same voice. Brat's confrontation is especially a highlight, filled with a similar (but much more drawn out and relatively clunky) slow-burn, but the difference between that and this is like night and day. Certainly a showcase on how much more cohesive Jones' direction has become.
No more words are said nor necessary as the eagle rolls up its "sleeve". Nor is it necessary to cut back to Porky, or even an impending close-up of the eagle approaching.
Rather, our focus shifts on the third party. The camera indulges in an overshoot before settling on Daffy, giving an added jaunt that makes for a nice visual flow and is also in support of earlier observations with how the cinematography seems to bend to Daffy's demeanor. It's unconventional when he's on-screen. Jaunty when he's jaunty. Likewise, the overshoot could be read as momentary fakeout, preparing us to focus on Porky but then reversing course at the last minute.
Porky Pig's Feat would do this same staging maneuver in an interchangeable context, but with the roles reversed. Cutting to the bystander flinching as the other gets clobbered makes the injuries sustained feel more painful. It's about suspense--a filling in the blank of what Porky must be feeling (on quite a physical level), but is something we'll never truly know for sure. That, and the innate pathos of seeing these impacts filtered through another characters' eyes. We have to rely on Daffy's unspoken word for our information of Porky's clobbering.
Feat's example is more sympathetic, pathos extending to both parties. There's certainly plenty of pity to be had for poor Porky, but not so much the duck who orchestrated it. If anything, we're inclined to laugh incredulously as Daffy's perky, vacant demeanor, satisfied with another job well heckled, now inexplicably turns mournful. It's just as disingenuous as his other exercises in insincerity, like primping himself or filing his nails. Considering he's the one who set Porky up, and is fully aware that he set him up, there's absolutely no need for him to recoil and comment "Oof--brutal."
We know he's not really sorry. That's the fun of it. This is practically a form of daffiness in itself; setting Porky up and then acting like a completely separate bystander who has no stake in this. As if Porky--who assuredly is preoccupied with the threat lumbering towards him--will somehow see Daffy's gallant display of sympathy and decide that there are no hard feelings. A very inventive way to convey some of Daffy's irrationalities without relying on the same stock vices.
Notably, Daffy reacts before the punch--not necessarily during nor after. Daffy bracing himself inspires us to do the same, which clues that there's something to brace against, which inevitably makes us wince. We again have to rely on Daffy for our context. If he's reacting poorly or in defense, then we subconsciously do the same. Jones balances a fascinating mixture of tension and hilarity. We laugh because we know what's coming--we brace against it too.
For all of his hypocrisy, this is a bit of a necessary beat in defense of Daffy. Perhaps if he'd remained smiling and pleasant off-screen, or if we didn't see his reaction at all, then we'd be more inclined to root against him. Even if it makes no sense, even if it's drenched in irony, the fact that he shows some humanity towards Porky's beating reminds us that he doesn't really want to cause harm or make Porky miserable: Porky's just his designated plaything for the day. His designated vessel for stimulation. It's not always a pretty process, nor one Daffy has complete control over.
Daffy's atypically closed-off posture scores the above point well--it's not in character for him to shrink away and be on the defense. Certainly not in character for him to want to avoid a product of his own orchestration. Perhaps sympathy is the word, but there is some alignment between the viewer and Daffy that prevents him from being the antagonist of the short. The character dynamics aren't as clear cut as that.
More praise for Brown's artistry in sound effects. A single hollow, metallic KA-THUNK is all it takes, and it still encompasses so much violence. He could have opted for a symphony in cymbal crashes and posts slamming, a flurry of slaps and punches, but he, like Jones, opts for the power of restraint. It ends up feeling that much more impactful--pun unintended.
To blow off some of the steam, Jones does a harsh cut to the follow-up: Mama Eagle dragging away her hyperactive little, blathering in exciteable Blancanese rife with Maltese's writing sensibilities:
"IS HE DEAD MOMMY IS HE RIGOR MORTIS DID YA KILL THE MAN WILL THEY HAVE TO BURY THE MAN MOMMY WILL THEY HAVE TO HUH MOMMY WILL THEY MOMMY WILL THEY HAVE TO HUH MOMMY"
An excellent delivery of an excellent topper from an excellent build-up. Much of the comedy stems from the sheer innocence of the kid's dark sentiments--almost sounding as though he'd be disappointed if Porky Pig, former studio meal ticket, weren't engaging in rigor mortis. There's admittedly some basis in the childlike fascination with morbidity.
Embracing the babble, Blanc's dialogue stretches even after the eagles have made their exit off-screen. Doing so makes the kid feel more talkative through this "overspill", as well as enabling the moment to linger. Likewise, the timing is strategized with the audience's inevitable laughter in mind--Jones gives some breathing room for the laughs to ensue before cutting to our next piece of business. This is a consideration baked into the cartoons that's often lost on us viewers today watching on our TVs and computers and phones and tablets, but a deeply important consideration nonetheless.
Ditto for the follow-up punchline. Jones simply cuts right to the drawing and holds it, Stalling's frozen music sting mimicking the directorial rigidity. There's an understanding that this gag would be funniest with a hard, objective presentation--no movement of any kind nor hook-up to distill its impact. The slight detail of Porky's eyebrows just barely visible, and being indicated at the slightest, worrisome slant is a hilarious crumb of pathos that invites our sympathy for him even more than is inherent to the visual.
Despite the hilarity of the gag, Jones doesn't dwell on the Porky abuse longer than necessary. Just enough to get a gag out of it and motivate his ire. Porky hasn't done anything to necessitate the blow; it's still funny because of the build-up and weight taken off through the kid's blathering, and we still feel sympathetic towards Porky, but not enough to invite discomfort.
Further attempts to keep it lighthearted are found in the sound design. Brown accompanies the act of Porky prying the pan off his face with a light, playful "POP!", prioritizing whimsy over pain. Likewise, the charming exaggeration of Porky's anger lightens the load and grounds us to the plot. There's going to be a confrontation that springs out of this--there'll be no fades to black this time. Business needs to be taken care of, and the audience inevitably becomes curious as to what antics will spring out of this.
Jones' directorial tone is again with Porky, matching his angry gravity rather than dismissing him. Such inspires a wonderfully dynamic shot of Porky, dented pan in hand, approaching his target. Diagonal angles in the scene composition evoke confrontation and alarm through the unconventionality of staging. A particularly strong contrast against Daffy's decidedly pleasant pose, who's back to his smiley mindlessness. His pose is very neat and proper, a clean silhouette, an agreeable--if not somewhat spacey--smile; his novel sense of control proving anarchic in itself. Particularly with an aggrieved pig marching towards him and a weapon in tow.
Tempers again flaring, Porky goes in for the wallop. Daffy is unflinching, not even his eyes tracking Porky's arrival. He’s drawn with his head slightly cocked, furthering the supposed innocence of his demeanor, which of course brings out the anger in Porky’s own acting. Again, Daffy’s unflappability irritates.
Maintaining the dent in the frying pan helps to justify Porky’s impending outburst, serving as a physical reminder of why he’s inclined to give Daffy a taste of his own medicine. If he just beat Daffy over the head because he felt like it, then Daffy would have full room to antagonize him. The dent is a physical reminder of the context.
Porky never does get the chance to dish out some medicine. Right as he begins to rear back, Stalling’s anticipatory chord swelling, Porky’s pose strong and fostering a lot of kinesthetic energy— face partially obscured to call attention to the pose and action rather than emotion—he's stopped through a formality.
Daffy now boasts his ability to transform his beak into a bugle, said bugling conveyed through, logically, a kazoo. A sound to call attention to how utterly ridiculous this is, and keep it homely; a real bugle call may be too much disbelief to suspend. Nevertheless, it occurs without question nor build-up. Another embrace of the illogical from Daffy. Another instance of his being able to contort his environments (in this case, himself) to his own will.
Throughout, Porky wilts. The disarming of his pose is beautifully handled, aptly demonstrating his brain struggling to process this next trick up Daffy’s sleeve—if it even is a trick and not some genuinely important message. After all, all genuinely important news pieces are preceded by trumpeted fanfare. It’s incredibly charming how easily he’s disarmed by simple confusion.
The bugle fanfare exists as a follower of the rule of three’s. Thus spawns another warning for Porky not to strike—this time on a folded banner rather than sign, continuing the gentle deviation from an established pattern.
In the two instances preceding this, the sign seems to pop out of nowhere. Daffy milks the presentation here, scroll in hand and physically unfurling it. It’s more presentation, more mocking of Porky’s situation—that, and it’s simply fun for him to do. Daffy’s bugling and over the top presentation doesn’t even seem so much like an exorbitant way to mock Porky so much as it is for his own a stimulation and fun.
The language of the signs simplifies over time. Now, it’s practically boiled down to its barest essentials; chide Porky with some personal, condescending language reminding him that violence is a no-no, and a reminder of the monetary fee if that’s violated. A far cry from the professional decree of the first sign. Daffy’s posing is very cute and spritely to rub even more salt on the wound and innocently gloat his advantage.
Another beat right out of a silent film as Porky expresses his acidic consternation not with Daffy, but the audience. It seems more damning than if he were to address his aggression directly to Daffy; perhaps he’s wised up enough to know that would be wasted effort. We’re the only outlet he has. A charming character detail to further endear the viewer with Porky, but another prescient glimpse of Jones’ signature habits taking place. There would come a point where his cartoons were nothing but side glances and smarm.
Daffy uses Porky's disarming to his advantage. His coquettish condescension--amazingly silent, with the lack of dialogue serving as another breakthrough for his growth--is not entirely dissimilar from that of one Bugs Bunny.
Porky continues to silently broadcast his feelings with us. The restraint by only having his face and hands move--clenched fists, confusion to simmering frustration--is again admirable and powerful, communicating so much with so little.
Note the Daffy-shaped cloud left in his wake, soon to follow its master. A gag that's easily missed due to the cloud's transparency and our focus on Porky, but a cute and harmless topper that signifies Daffy's lingering mischief even when he's not in frame.
Not dissimilar to focusing on Porky's culinary endeavors, Jones employs another "reset". It's more noticeable this time, the unconventional clock-wipe signaling a passage of time: likewise, there's a feeling of returning to exactly where we started. An aerial shot of Porky, alone and duck-less, perched in his canoe. Another resumption of another calming score of "Moonlight Bay" to boot. We seem to not only be refreshing, but going right back to the very top. All quiet on the western front.
Such is cemented in the following shot: Porky asleep in the canoe. His guard is down, and Daffy has clearly left him alone long enough to even reach this level of relaxation (if not boredom, as the fishing pole seems to indicate a slow day for bites.) We're essentially right back where we started. Seemingly uninterrupted calm from Porky, on the waters, with the naturescape as his only company--not even the fish he's set out to catch.
Granted, we all remember what happened last time when there was uninterrupted calm and convening with nature. Calmness in a Warner Bros. cartoon is purely for the sake of being destroyed. Any peace and quiet is a farce. That same philosophy applies here, with the camera trucking out to reveal a spunky inhabitant of the lake-bottom.
Ken Harris animates this sequence, recognizable through the organicism of the acting, solidity of the characters, and a lifelike quality to the characters that is maybe rivaled only by Bob McKimson. This is a tour-de-force of Harris' best attributes--it's certainly this author's favorite scene of his. It's not a scene that's incredibly flashy nor exciting, which is why it's so powerful. Mundanity has never been more beautiful, more gentle, more tangible to look at.
All throughout, there are a ton of little considerations in the scene that aren't necessary, but make them much greater. The waves of the lake don't need to gently rock Porky's canoe, prompting Porky to be bobbing in perspective and give him a greater feeling of dimension, but they are. Bubbles don't need to kick up as Daffy steps over a rock, which he doesn't need to step over, but they do and he does. And it's the culmination of these tiny, meticulous, granular details that make up such a stunning final product. The way the bubbles slowly dissipate into the water feels real. The way Daffy steps onto the rock, pivots on his foot and steps off, steps back on, turns his head so he doesn't hit it against the canoe feels incredibly real. Porky and especially Daffy both feel like flesh and blood characters with lives and mannerisms and tics, subject to the same physics that we are, rather than scrawls of paint on celluloid. Even the act of Daffy blinking feels remarkably rooted to reality.
Harris is able to give objects the same dimensionality as his characters. Daffy rotating Porky's canoe upside down has real solidity, structure and weight to it--a real tangible object that is being manipulated by Daffy. It's likely the reason why Jones cast him for the scene; this is a very low-key and mundane scene that requires a special amount of gentility and naturalism and, considering the hook involves rotating Porky's canoe, dimensionality in the objects. It's all too easy to imagine this scene in a lesser animator's hands. The hook of Daffy's heckling is still entertaining regardless, but the sheer believability of Harris' animation, grounding these cartoon antics back to some semblance of reality and making them feel more absurd as a result, is a priceless asset. A brief note of appreciation for the bubbles that rise to the surface in response to the canoe being shifted.
The specificity of Harris' character acting on Daffy deserves due praise. All throughout, he manages to instill a palpable sense of playfulness and mischief in his movements and demeanor--something conveyed through irrationality. Daffy enters the scene swiftly, his footsteps small but quick and spritely. Then, he slows down as he steps onto and over the rock, moving at about half the speed. Then, after capsizing the canoe, he leans back, body twisted, arms up, the tension in his body seemingly broiling into an explosion of energy.
Only for him to hop down from his perch and grab the fishing hook with a gentle flounce. His movements are erratic yet innocent, playful for the sake of playfulness. There isn't much rhyme or reason as to why he moves the way he does, but it's an incredibly effective way to embrace his idiosyncrasies without leaning on stock acting tropes. In this scene, Daffy is more comparable to a little kid curious about the outcome of his prank and excited for the discovery of it all, rather than a little hellion.
It certainly lacks the sadism of, say, Porky's Picnic, in which cute little Pinky bashing Porky with a plank as he naps lacks the playfulness and curiosity. Again: Porky is moreso Daffy's plaything rather than a target.
The smile on Daffy's face doesn't feel smarmy or disingenuous or sadistic. It's a pure expression of his having fun. His actions aren't necessarily innocent, but with the way Harris animates him with this palpable curiosity and perhaps even fondness--he keeps coming back for more with Porky, rather than heckling some other poor sap, like the eagles--embraces a very endearing and perhaps oxymoronic naivete. But this very specific appeal is what keeps us engaged and curious with Daffy's endeavors. Harris' natural drawing style for Daffy errs more towards a scruffier, juvenile appearance, which likewise bolsters all of the above observations.
Manipulation of motion is yet another strength of Harris' animation. Daffy jumping with the hook has a beautiful whip-like arc to it--an overshoot as he eases up on his tiptoes, then down into an antic, and thrusting forward with a tangible drag effect, allowing for a palpable feeling of kinetic energy. More details like the bubble trail and the water splashing as the surface breaks drive this home. So much to appreciate in such a purposefully understated scene.
There's a distinct lack of geography as Daffy flies away with the hook. Just a pale blue color card, and then a disconnected tree branch dotting the same color card in the next cut. Doing so makes it feel like Daffy is very high up--away from all of the trees and the mountains and landmarks we've become accustomed to. This is an important factor in the success of what's coming.
More of that impish grace and flow as Daffy lands on the branch, arcs and silhouettes clear, movements consolidated (such like him turning around in mid-air) for further naturalistic appeal. That same endearing mischief leeches into his efforts as he heaves and tugs on the line, still smiling throughout as his plan comes to fruition.
Another positive to this entire sequence is that both sides of the story are shown--a recurring strength of the short. Just as we get to see Daffy orchestrating this plan in real time, Jones also offers Porky's direct point of view through a simulated camera rotation. That way, it's easier for us to get sucked into the scheme and align our sympathies with Porky, rather than viewing right-side up the whole time and laughing at how much of an idiot Porky is for what he's going to fall for.
This, too, is a bit that has its roots in film--The Great Dictator immediately comes to mind. Jones and Maltese would likewise devote a memorable plot point to this same principle in Mouse Wreckers; memorable enough for it to be given a shoutout in one of the Dell Looney Tunes comics (ironically, starring Porky). It's certainly more inventive and impactful to see it through the eyes of the characters than as a detached, objective party--otherwise, there's really not much point.
Daffy's tugging on the line is to trick Porky into thinking he's nabbed a fish. We, too, see it on the "other end", how the illusion registers to Porky and is enough to startle him awake. His aimless flailing as he gets his bearings and grabs at the pole has echoes of the same in Porky's Duck Hunt--coincidentally, a scene that Jones himself animated. It's a good way to enunciate his clumsy charms.
Porky puts up quite a fight with his imaginary fish; Stalling's score turns from gentle and sleepy to alarming and frantic, almost a precursor to the same warning call in the Jaws films, thusly conveying a real urgency that unites us with Porky's headspace. One would almost assume he's really trying to reel in a catch rather than being pranked by a duck some fifty feet in the air.
Both Porky's rod and hat are lost in the process. Kudos to Jones and his continuity--we never see Porky wear the hat for the rest of the short, forever doomed to the bottom of the lake.
An angry, fist-pumping pout from Porky also aids in propelling him to get the rod; a nice way to score his annoyance but not drag out the pacing for it. Only then, when he dives, does the "camera" revert back to its objective state. The improbability of the situation is a firm reminder to the audience.
The cut of Porky "swimming" in the air is a very funny one--it's executed dryly and matter-of-factly, unquestioning of the illogic since Porky doesn't know it's illogic. Likewise, it's cohesive with the prior shot of Daffy flying in the same direction--doing so establishes geography, routine, continuity. The two points of the gag with the two involved parties are finally converging. And albeit lost because of the blue-on-blue, water droplets are animated dripping off of Porky; a reminder from whence he came and that this is, again, utterly asinine. Stalling caricatures the incremental swimming action in his own musical score nicely.
A reunion is thusly had. Amusingly, Daffy is notably without the fishing rod, meaning that Porky really has lost it for good. The probably explanation is that it'd interfere with Daffy's acting and serve as dead weight, not to mention allow Porky to see the culprit firsthand and get angry. Regardless, the unseen commentary is amusing to ponder.
Indeed, as hinted above, Porky doesn't get angry. It's as if he's forgotten his grudge entirely, curiosity and bafflement taking precedence--much truer to his character. Obliviousness and some form of innocence, both often intrinsic, always prevail for him.
This is felt even in the dialogue structure. He doesn't ask "what's going on" or even "why are you here", but "Ehh-buh-wih-ehh-ih-weuh-what're you doi-dih-d-ehh-doin' down here?"
"Down here" is demonstrative of Porky's mindset--as also indicated by the constant cycle of his doggy paddling and nose holding. He doesn't for a second entertain that he's the anomaly in the situation. The nonchalance of his delivery is excellent, again full of innocence; this isn't a confrontation, but a piece of watercooler conversation. Daffy maintaining a gregarious, pleasant smile throughout supports such.
The "down here" is also purposefully included so that Daffy can bounce off of it. He looks not to Porky, but us, inviting us to share the same chuckle he lets loose and reveling in our unspoken connection. We both know something Porky doesn't. We're bonded in our awareness of that. "'Down here'!"
Blanc's delivery of the line has just the right amount of giddiness to it. It's hushed, pitchy, excited, like someone trying to keep their cool from blowing a joke but unable to contain their humor--which is exactly what Daffy's doing here. It's another moment of his genuine, unabashed self bleeding through his slightly above-it-all persona, unable to resist reveling in the sheer fun of it all. It's amazingly natural. Another fine example of the "buddy philosophy" mentioned particularly in the Norm McCabe Daffy cartoons, where Daffy feels like an old friend of ours who's always keeping us included and slipping us asides and giddy to get us in on the story.
Rather than waiting for Porky to come to his senses, Daffy does Porky, himself and us a favor by sparing the wait. Harris' animation of Daffy grabbing Porky's head is as funny as it is intricate and impressive. Before he goes for the grab, there's a very quick beat where he seemingly gauges the distance down. Porky does a curious head tilt with it, clearly confused but somewhat enthralled by Daffy's knowingness, again fully disarmed. When Daffy puts his hands on Porky's head, Porky's eyes actually follow. He then looks back at Daffy, not looking down until his head is moved. Daffy's invasion of boundaries and imposing feels natural for his overbearing and overly personal demeanor, but it almost arrives as a necessity here. Porky may not have come to the impending conclusion otherwise.
As previously observed, the layouts in this sequence are sparse. That way, the pan down showing the earth below allows for a riotous contrast. A somewhat vacant color card is now populated by trees, hills, mountains, the lake and the lakeside and all of Porky's personal belongings, like his tent and capsized canoe. Much more definition than the glorified color card we've been focusing on thus far. It's a vastly different environment, which sells the effect of Porky being far from where he should be.
Notably, Jones and Maltese abstain from a potentially obvious impulse of turning Porky into a literal sucker (that would be reserved for both Tom Turk and Daffy and Little Orphan Airedale.) Instead, focus is on the raw, leaden realization that he's been duped. Such a literally gut-dropping realization that he can't even get mad at Daffy for it. It's not like Daffy swooped in out of the air to drag him up here.
Daffy knows it just as well as Porky, expressing his acknowledgement of the situation with much more gloating and smarm--yet never does it turn unlikable, even in all of his shit-eating.
Hindsight--or, in this case, foresight--bias and familiarity with dozens of Coyote cartoons allows us to anticipate what happens next. That should in no way detract from the genius of Porky plummeting back to earth in his wide-eyed, soul-depleted resignation. Remember, there were no Coyote cartoons to compare to at this point. And even with that foresight bias in tow, it doesn't reduce the humor and genius of the execution. Slowly, gravity begins to ease Porky down, maintaining his humbled expression and pose the entire time...
...until slow becomes fast. An easily missed topper: the cloud left in Porky's wake forms a question mark. Daffy, his demeanor less smug and more genuine in his amusement, sees him off.
This, too, is indicative of the ongoing character development mentioned throughout. In the past, he wouldn't have been cognizant nor patient enough to stew in his heckled victory, no matter how small. A smile would still be on his face, but that would be all--nobody home to see it through. Here, it’s all too purposeful, supported both by the smugness of his expression beforehand and craning his neck to watch Porky fall. It’s a spectacle he set up and gets to reap the rewards of.
Tellingly, the camera fades to black rather than a cross dissolve. This short has boasted a few fades to black now, connoting finality and a hard passage of time. Perhaps it'd be redundant to follow Porky chasing Daffy right after this, even with the cushion of a cross dissolve--it wouldn't give this punchline enough time to simmer in itself. There's nowhere you can bring this gag, nowhere to top it, nowhere to expand on it. Its impact is stronger by simply letting it be and allowing our imagination to put in the work of the aftermath.
Thus, the next "reset" is not back on Porky soaking up any moments of a duck-free paradise, but the culprit himself. Jones, utilizing a toolbelt of screen transition, chooses an iris this time. We iris in not from the center, but the bottom; the first sight we're confronted with is a tapping webbed foot. Our first sound, karaoke of "Blues in the Night".
A fantastic character re-introduction. The inherent kitsch of an iris transition is oddly befitting of Daffy's character. It's quirky, like Daffy, and certainly eye catching like Daffy. There's a warm coyness to it. Likewise, focusing not on his face but his feet really embraces the feeling of a reveal. Visual information is slowly revealed to us--our curiosity is piqued as we wonder what Daffy's doing, why's he singing, why's he tapping his foot, where is he, where are we. It's exciting and anticipatory. Daffy's mischief and generally anticipatory demeanor is catching.
Likewise, the very first impression of this scene is energy, as again caricatured through the foot-tapping. Happy, jovial, playful energy. Perhaps there's no more fitting introduction for a character like Daffy. Again, for all of his heckling and antagonism against Porky, there is a resounding air of innocence to it--he's just getting his kicks in and having his fun. It's important to show that spritely attitude lings within him (and out of him), to have that reminder that he's not a bad guy. Just out of his mind. Despite being the most in his mind and sane at any point in his chronology yet.
Even energetic hecklers need their leisure time: we iris in on a comparatively domestic scene for Daffy, not setting up an elaborate scheme but fixing himself a sandwich. More praises due to this short's color styling--the sandwich fixin's are all united through a color scheme of green, yellow, red and variations on brown. Their bright values pops out against the soft pastels of the backgrounds, but still feel like a part of the lived universe through a unanimous scheme.
There's only one thing wrong with this picture. None of this property belongs to him. Certainly not the oversized chef's hat on his head, who you'll recall was once the property of one Porky Pig. So is the smorgasbord in front of him.
Not that it's any concern to Daffy. He's quite literally stolen the cartoon from Porky--stolen his lunch, his hat, his patience, and now his spot. All of these "reset vignettes" have opened up on Porky, basking in any moments free of the duck. Now he's nowhere in sight. Daffy seems to display no qualms with this. Great metatextual commentary from Jones that really pushes the theme of his pilfering in this context.
Daffy has sung his Blues arrangement quite often throughout. Same scatting, same lack of a score throughout. To differentiate it from those other instances and give the feeling of momentum--as well as establishing/rewarding familiarity with the routine--his singing is now a middle verse rather than at the very top. And it certainly doesn't get more deviatory than the ear-splitting, guttural "WOOHOO! WOOHOO!" between verses.
Nobody's around to watch him, nobody around to impress or keep a cool head around as he watches his scheme unfurl. Thus, Daffy is free to release all of his manic urges and stimulation seeking. He can tap his foot and let his energy get to him, so much so that he has to cough it up out of his gut, unable to hold it back. This, too, is indicative of his character growth, perhaps implying that he feels the need to retain a cool head around the parties he's heckling to establish superiority or simply get their goat. It's not necessarily out of an inferiority complex--moreso, it feels like roleplaying, a common theme that's been innate with his character since his primordial days (The Daffy Doc and Scalp Trouble come to mind.) With his guard down and his company vacant, there's nobody to perform to but himself. Thus, he's free to shriek and stomp and sing as much as he pleases, reacquainting the audience with his daffiness.
After his "WOOHOO!" fit, he goes right back to singing, not a beat skipped. Not even the animation changes. His "fit" is moreso like an involuntary tic, an impulse he just couldn't suppress any longer. The spontaneity around it is very well handled.
Daffy’s heckling is entertaining, but what really makes it rewarding is having some leverage against it. For him to be invincible, constantly calculating, eases some of the fun. It’s more rewarding for there to be some sort of back and forth. Daffy’s actions and demeanor can be complacent, but the short itself should never fall into the same complacency.
Thankfully, it doesn’t. That’s why Jones and Maltese have Daffy reach off-screen for something—a serving of ham.
Porky is cheated in—his cel slides in as Daffy pulls, rather than the camera revealing him standing off to the side, but the maneuver is so quick and disguised by the camera pan that it isn’t noticeable. The novelty of Porky’s presence is the most important takeaway.
This is a seemingly rare moment of weakness for Daffy (in the context of this short). For a change, the viewer is wise to the reveal before he is. Still unflinchingly clueless to Porky’s presence, he casually places his hand on the sandwich, who watches with a delightfully confrontational scowl. Keeping Porky’s expression incensed from the start is a wonderful touch; we’ve already had our fill of instances where his unguarded confusion melts to frustration. Having him be frustrated from the start makes Daffy feel like he’s in bigger trouble, which enables bigger laughs at how the rest of the scene will play out.
Indeed, our sympathies are back with Porky for the moment; though he isn’t looking directly at us, this feeling of recognizing his frustration before Daffy does seems like another indication of that Porky-audience confidence.
Giving the mustard shadows makes the form feel more solid and the mustard more tangible, both justifying Porky’s annoyance at the tangibility of the condiment as well as embracing clarity—it’s a turning point for the scene. Porky does a small take at the mustard now slathered on his hand, fingers tensing, expression flaring, becoming even more annoyed. Even so, he still keeps his comparative cool, embracing the directorial slow burn as Daffy will be the one to realize his own folly. A contrast to how Porky has to be spoonfed his own realizations, whether it be with the fish underwater or Daffy turning his head down.
For once, Porky has the upper hand, and Daffy is the one locked in a rare moment of vulnerability. Porky decides to embrace it for as long as he can; at least until the confrontation snaps. His simmering pettiness here is a far contrast to the jovial and surprisingly patient pig at the start. If anything, Porky is stooping to the same pettiness and incitement as Daffy—just in his own modest and understated way.
Daffy slathering the mustard all the way up Porky’s arm doubles as an example of his peskiness—even when it’s unintentional—and extent of his cluelessness. When he finally does come to his senses, he doesn’t engage in a wild take nor default to another chorus of whoops. He just freezes. No slow-in, no overshoot, no antic. He just stops. One enunciated by the similarly sudden halt of his singing. In a way, there’s a vulnerability to how unceremonious his realization is—it certainly feels more organic, more human, and thusly more grounded than any “Daffyesque” escapade we’d be more used to. It really enunciates the gravity of the situation that way. Just the same, it matches the comparative modesty of Porky’s energy.
A modest slow-burn mirrored by the both of them as a sly, disingenuous grin curls unto both of their faces. Another shining example of how their differences end up creating a direct union. Their grins have slightly different connotations: Daffy’s, something adjacent to guilt or humility, albeit completely devoid of shame. Porky, a rich condescension and petty gloating. Both grins smothered in their respective egos.
And, as is typical, it’s Daffy who breaks convention. Amidst their unofficial staring contest, he slowly pulls his hand away—beautifully animated in perspective, sweeping out in an arc—and grabs the table cloth…
…and makes a run with the goods.
The slow burn makes the sudden departure away from that feel much more alarming, banking on us to get lost in the stillness of the encounter. Nice slight lag in the reaction time--about two frames worth--for Porky, making his take feel more organically caught off guard.
Another brief prioritization of atmosphere and backgrounds, as Daffy is approaching territory unexplored by this short. At the very least, the tall, hollow tree he's making a break for is new. This too is another beautiful background painting that could stand on its own. The slant in the composition to give it dynamism and account for this burst of energy is very effective, sympathetic to Daffy; his getaway is more playful than urgent, matched through Stalling's hollow descending xylophone in accordance with Daffy's footsteps. There's more tonal mischief on behalf of Daffy than there is urgency for Porky.
Porky's "Yee-y-you come back with ih-deh-dee-din-eh-dih-dee-ehh--lunch!" is hollow and tinny, accounting for his chastising into the tree. A wonderful extra step that, not unlike some of the flourishes in Harris' canoe scene, doesn't really need to be there, but absolutely makes a much more immersive and engaging product for it.
There's no verbal confrontation from within the tree. Just a physical one. Porky jumps in tandem with a smacking sound, remaining hidden for just long enough to wonder if Daffy had gotten physical in retaliation.
In a way, he has.
It's the ultimate act of juvenile pettiness from Daffy, which, amusingly, is quite fitting. Comparing this to his other means of retaliation throughout the film, a pie in the face is much more crude and impulsive and dismissive than capsizing a canoe or even smacking a sign over Porky's head--particularly considering the lack of build-up. It's as if he doesn't know what else to do or how else to get Porky to buzz off, so he just throws a pie--despite the whole mission being that he was stealing his lunch--at him. There’s an innate mischief to pie throwing (obviously), but especially when used as a genuine defense; the harsh objectivity of the delivery here really embraces that juvenility.
Objectivity seems to be the objective. Unlike in The Case of the Missing Hare, there's no simmering slow burn as Porky contemptuously allows the pie to slop off of him, crumbling bits of the crust between his fingers. Instead, he engages in his most comfortable defense--us. His wide-eyed stare and defenseless squatting on the ground is practically as juvenile as Daffy's retaliation. There's an amusing innocence and nonplussedness here, one more effective than if he were to lumber out of the tree glaring at Daffy. Just like the mustard, there are highlights indicated on the pie filling to give it more tangibility, and thereby more sympathy to Porky's plight.
Jones and Maltese seemed quite fond of their "floating takes" in this one; after allowing the direction to wallow in his pie wallop, Porky suddenly zips out of screen; the contents of the pie remain in the air for a moment or two before unceremoniously splatting to the ground. It perhaps wouldn't be inaccurate to pin them as a crutch, but thankfully each little instance of these floating and zipping takes work to the specific context of the scene and are varied enough to avoid monotony. It's quirky and charming rather than exhausting.
A quick note of appreciation for Porky's exit: it's coupled with a handful of multiples. Smears and distortion, as covered extensively on this blog, have been used in these cartoons since the very early '30s. It hasn't been until somewhat recently that they've come into their own, with The Dover Boys often lauded as a shining example. Now, how the smears are being used is varying in their distortion--this may be one of the first instances of a multiple (the characters having multiple limbs, eyes, extremities, etc. to give the effect of quick, blurred motion) of this magnitude in these cartoons. At least one inked opaquely.
Porky's next plan of action is to "ehh-sih-seh-smoke that ehs-ehs-ehs-screwy duck outta there". As his patience has been thinning throughout, we've now reached enough progression where his reactions to Daffy are more outwardly violent and offensive--perhaps in a manner clearer than his earlier threats, only to be diffused by Daffy's signs. There's no climactic, tense, shaking nervous orchestral sting during those moments as there is here, implying that there's a tangible threat building. Ditto with Porky getting all the sticks ready and lighting a match. Knowing Daffy's inside, Porky seems to finally have an advantage.
Unfortunately, that doesn't match Daffy's definition of fun.
Again does his Droopy-esque omnipresence prevail, a sprightly little imp able to weasel himself out of any circumstance despite utter improbability. Further cementing any prior comparisons to Bugs' synonymous invincibility and omnipresence, Daffy also comes equipped with a park ranger's hat; a disguise to complete the part. How he got it is never answered--nor should it be--but with his established history of stealing throughout the shorts, including stolen hats, there's likely another side of the story as a hapless park ranger ponders the absence of his chapeau.
Daffy's reappearance is held off for a considerable amount of time, stepping in to blow out the match at the last moment. It's almost as if he's playing a prank on the audience as well. Trying to get us worked up about whether he'll be smoked out of the tree and if Porky is finally on-top. There's no "never even touched me" or direct mocking of Porky's failure as there is in Conrad the Sailor, but the same victorious invincibility is felt.
Playing the bit-part of a condescending park ranger, Daffy chastises Porky on the convenience of his kindling methods. Porky, hilariously, listens. As reiterated: Porky's obliviousness (should) always prevail.
This doesn't necessarily play out to the same extent as the Bugs disguise routine, where Bugs' roleplaying is more clear and the sap he's heckling is more clearly fooled into thinking he's someone else. Jones and Maltese don't necessarily lean into the disguise bit as much, so Porky regarding Daffy with some form of captivation isn't necessarily a belief that he's speaking to a higher authority figure. It's just new and sudden information that he's disarmed by, disarmed enough to listen to it rather than ask how Daffy got out. For all we--and he--know, he's perfectly aware that he's talking to the duck he's trying to smoke out, but this duck now has a hat on, surely making him an expert on lighting fires. Porky is potentially fooled by the authority Daffy is putting on, fooled enough to engage with him and interact with him, but not enough to the extent that he thinks Daffy is a different person with a greater authority.
A different person with a greater authority would not advocate for lighting a fire with dynamite instead.
Daffy playing on Porky's principles here is smart and funny. He incentivizes Porky to use the "sticks"--"like a really and truly woodsman!", as if he knows that Porky is someone who values traditionality. Despite their long running partnership, they aren't intended to know each other here. Porky is just some sap for Daffy to heckle, and Daffy is just some obnoxious, screwy duck to Porky. That makes Daffy's assumptions here that much funnier--especially because of how apt it is. Porky is someone who values traditionality and would be wooed by such buzzwords like "really and truly woodsman".
Or would he? Porky's an impressionable sap, but he's a stubborn one, too. Both of those qualities harmonize delightfully as Porky, after carefully assessing the sticks in his hands, gives his assessment on the matters: "Ih-thih-the-that's silly."
Carelessness of Porky's dynamite discardment is of course entertaining through the danger it poses, but his logic (or lack thereof) is similarly entertaining. He's not supposed to recognize that these are sticks of dynamite, despite their very clear labeling--his argument against this method is not that he's going to get killed and what is wrong with Daffy and why is he out from the tree, but that, evidently, rubbing two sticks together to make a kindling is "silly". Porky's right to rebel, but he does it for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that end up making him look like more of a dunce than when he started.
Another tell of Daffy's ongoing maturity: he reflexively chases the dynamite, looking quite concerned and frantic as he does so. This is yet another intriguing moment where Daffy is more aware of impending danger than Porky, as is the case in Porky's Last Stand. However, in Last Stand, he had an excuse--Daffy was garbling incoherently and Porky couldn't understand him (as well as observations about Porky's unintentional condescension against his friend, who was much more of a lunatic than he is here).
Here, there's no excuse. Daffy is again the straight-man of the scene. Had this short come 3, 4 years prior, he would have been ecstatic to go up in flames, drunken with adrenaline and mindless hysteria. There's certainly adrenaline in his quick reaction time, but an adrenaline that's warranted and born out of common sense. Something Porky clearly does not seem to have. Even if it's just for a split second, this is some of the most danger-conscious we've seen Daffy.
This is a point that'll become more apparent soon, but bears establishing now: Daffy's defensiveness could be indicative of a conscience of some kind--at the very least, understanding the gravity of his actions, as explained above. Even if that simply boils down to his own hesitance to get blown up, that he reacts so nervously indicates that there's something to be nervous about, and in a way shows awareness for the duplicitousness of his actions.
Physics and animation of his fetching the dynamite are very appealing. He snakes into an arc in the wide shot, his hat trailing behind him as another "thing lingering" gag that Jones loved to do in this short. Then the sticks fly into frame, then his hands--through some smears--then he himself catches up with his hands, and then his hat catches up with him. It follows an orderly, engaging rhythm, adding some levity to this comparatively high octane moment. Nice drag, smears, eases, and other basic animation principles that make the movement kinesthetic and appealing.
Jones does do a bit of an oddball transition and opts to cross dissolve between scenes. Doing so implies a passage of time, and it feels like there isn't enough to warrant that. The next scene picks up right where we left off with no change. Perhaps it's because Daffy would have to succumb to gravity to make the hook-up work, and that would be more effort than necessary; likewise, it takes focus away from Daffy's nervous reactions, which is a priority.
So, Daffy, sweating when the dynamite nearly detonates--suspending our belief as the fuses aren't lit--and clearly aware of the deadliness of his weapons, is all to happy to pawn the death sticks to Porky. This time, he incentivizes him through patronization, hinting at some reward of an "Indian suit". The exact context of the "prize" is admittedly lost on this writer, but there do seem to be official Boy Scout beadwork kits from the '30s with promises of gay outings with cultural appropriation for all, which this seems connected to. Earn your badges and you, too, can craft your very own "Indian girdle".
Porky, of course, would be such a fool--more of a fool than he's already being--to turn down such a delicious offer. Daffy's condescension works on him perfectly, prompting the hilariously innocent counter of "Uh-of cuh-cih-course I do!" "Of course" makes it sound obvious, as if the opposite would be utterly unthinkable and Daffy is ridiculous to suggest that he wouldn't want his very own beadwork girdle, or fob, or neckerchief slide.
He doesn't even look Daffy in the eye as he says so, his expression acceptingly vacant. It's soon directed towards his knees as he scooches around to get a better vantage point. Beautiful naturalistic acting and body language; it's the littlest things rooted in reality, like realigning oneself on their knees, that are often the hardest to nail down. This scooching and waddling and bumbling all feel very specific to Porky and how he moves. His obliviousness and naivete is as amusing as it is charming.
Daffy has his own wealth of charm and specificities in acting. His exit from the scene is peculiar, yet subtle: he winds up, then twists himself around with a smear, facing 180 degrees opposite. Then, he stretches himself out as he eases himself into a tip-toeing sneak...
...before vanishing in a puff of smoke, the spring set off of the trap.
His sneakiness is more expected (and extremely charming; great strong silhouette and eager, innocently mischievous--if there is such a thing--expression), but the stilted wind-up is a lovely bit of peculiarity. It invites comparisons to his wind-up in Harris' underwater scene, gathering all of this energy to do a little hop instead. He moves as if he's playing. He does what's stimulating and fun and feels good to him, even if it ends up looking completely bizarre to us. What we think doesn't matter. Fantastic character acting that summarizes his eccentricities in a way that is novel but true to his character. Here, he feels spritely, impish, cute--offbeat, rather than a true mental case (though he is that, too.) There are still some vestiges of the primordial Daffy jiggling around inside him--again, his insanity has not necessarily been lost so much as it's been rearranged.
Maybe this playfulness is to offset the growing tension throughout the next sequence. Jones executes Porky's climactic fire kindling through a series of back and forth cuts: A cut of Daffy watching in anticipation, and a cut of Porky sawing the dynamite together, with each cut getting faster, the filmmaking more claustrophobic, and so forth. It's a tried and true method to build anxiety and tension; nothing new, even in these cartoons, but very refreshing to see tension this palpable and genuinely urgent in an early '40s Chuck Jones cartoon. This was not always the case.
One could argue that this supports the "both sides"ing of the cinematography. Jones doesn't linger entirely on one single viewpoint--it isn't just Daffy bracing himself, cutting only upon impact, nor is it following Porky the whole time. We get to see both sides of the action. Porky's ignorance, Daffy's reticence.
Even so, there is a lot of favorability towards Daffy's perspective. The anxiety in the filmmaking and music mimic Daffy's awareness, rather than Porky's obliviousness. Daffy's acting likewise has a surprising amount of consciousness to it, as hinted to before--he's now lucid enough to be aware of danger, and lucid enough to hide and flinch. He isn't rubbing his hands together, grin on his face, vibrating with energy as his "prank" gets closer to fruition. In fact, there's almost an air of remorse to him. His daffiness has obligated him to let Porky blow himself up. It's as if this "catharsis" is involuntary; he doesn't want to truly hurt or maim anyone, but he's a slave to his impulses, and the train has already gone off the tracks. He can't retract now. All he can do is watch--and he can hardly get himself to do even that.
Jones showing Porky--no matter how detached the perspective is, largely focusing on the close-ups of the dynamite--is wise in aligning our sympathies with Daffy. Seeing the dynamite actually being rubbed together is more eventful, anxiety inducing. Something is going to come out of this. That's certainly indicated by the sparking on the final cut of Porky. Daffy is right to retreat into himself.
Daffy has been flinching and blinking throughout--a natural showcase of that natural bracing and paralysis. It's natural, tangible action. Moreover, it's almost representative: when he finally closes his eyes to fully brace himself, that's when the explosion happens.
It is conveyed entirely off-screen, portrayed through a jump cut to Daffy still recoiling in place, but with the unmistakable addition of debris raining around him. That, and the sound of the blast behind him. The camera shake to top it all off feels a bit stilted, simply rocking back and forth rather than actually shaking, but is masked through the visual preoccupation of debris, as well as the viewer processing the fate of our beloved Porky Pig.
In continuation of Daffy's "innocence", his curiosity takes hold: he's quick to peer out from his hiding place and sniff out the aftermath. His hat is lost in the process, reacquainting us to the tried and true Daffy--not the one roleplaying a park ranger or scoutmaster. Not even the one roleplaying a coolheaded, smarmy straightman. Pure, tried and true Daffy, the screwy little duck who exists to have his fun.
A lot of his perceived candor is conveyed through the framing--his expression is nondescript, his scale diminutive against the large rocks protecting him. The decision to have him hide and shrink himself behind the rocks to begin with. He's akin to a kid checking up on the consequences of their actions, like breaking a neighbor's window; curiosity mingles with apprehension at receiving a punishment. This is immediately more engaging, compelling and endearing than if he were to stalk off with a job well done, dusting his hands off in the process; something he would likely do a few years later. Contrary to his actions, innocence prevails here.
Plagued by some of the same shakiness as before, Jones employs another diagonal camera pan towards the aftermath. Before, the diagonal pan was used to follow Porky climb the mountain. Now, as a parallel, we follow his ascent into the sky. Even the screen direction is mirrored against the prior scene. It very well could be coincidence, but the continuity, accidental or no, is rather effective regardless, reminding the viewer of what's led us to this point to begin with.
Despite the tension and build-up, Porky is miraculously unharmed. His only ailment is utter cluelessness. Having all of his belongings levitate in the air with him, including the tree, maintains observations of the abstract humor touted throughout the short. There's an improbability to the circumstances that almost benefits Porky, making Daffy look like the odd one out for being so worried or tense. Of course, having the trees and the tent and log airborne is moreso to demonstrate the sheer scope of the damage--and, by contrast, how funny it is that Porky is completely unharmed.
Directorial sympathy is back on the volley to Porky. Instead of an ironic music sting intended to laugh at his predicament, Stalling's music is light, sympathetic, domestic; in Porky's mind, this is just a slight mishap that shows he was right to rely on the "good ol' match" he petulantly swears to get.
Preceding this is a beautifully Maltesian line of "Oh, eh-fih-ehh-fillagadusha", an unsubtle nod to the song Rose O' Day (previously referenced in The Impatient Patient), which was popularly known as "The Filla-Ga-Dusha Song". A quaint reference that of course is wildly entertaining when rendered through Porky-ese, it also contributes to the abnormal normalcy of the scene. Everything is fine and dandy to Porky, to the point that he can casually make song references in the process.
Likewise, his addendum of "I'll eh-nih-neh-never make a fire with these" specifically caters to the irony of the situation. It being said with full sincerity on Porky's behalf saves it from being too expositional in its writing.
Throughout, Porky's animation is as casual as his demeanor. Perhaps even a little playful; he does a somewhat odd, airy little skip that doesn't necessarily feel like it's in reaction to the log (a reminder of how unnatural his surroundings are) he hops over, but it's jovial and cute. An apt shorthand at conveying his blissful ignorance and nonchalance to being suspended dozens of feet in the air--again.
And, just like last time, Wile E. physics before Wile E. physics prevail. Rather than it requiring Porky to look down to accept his gravitational fate, it occurs when he goes into his tent. There's no beat of realization, nor really any recognition of the shift. It just happens. It’s what should have happened to begin with, but both we and he get lost in the suspended disbelief/atmosphere. The resumption of logic almost feels illogical.
There’s only one brief shot of Porky falling through the sky. It’s quick, a bit of mortar between the structural bricks—he falls not in the center of the screen, but screen right, reminding us of whence he came in the scene before. And, just as was the case earlier, the vagueness of the background makes him seem higher in the air due to no determinable landmarks.
Because of how quickly the scene is timed, it’s an easily missed detail, but Porky is actually animated to rotate through the air. Doing so gives him more depth, dimension—against a purposefully “flat” composition for a more neutral look at what’s happening to him, more on that soon—and reminds us that this is actually happening to him. He’s actually falling through the air, not a single cel slid down through the frame.
We only see Porky once because we see the rest of him through Daffy. All prior pontifications on Daffy’s supposed sympathies, innocence and/or reticence with his heckling are scored in this sequence of shots.
First, we see him watching from a wide shot. Then a cut to a close-up, and then even closer than that. Incremental actions and cuts to build anxiety and tension and momentum. Particularly with the shot of Porky’s silhouette reflected in his eyes, this is a rare and big moment of him acknowledging the consequences of his actions. While he’s not going to rush over to Porky and beg for forgiveness, these moments of gravity and sincere emotionality, particularly in reaction to something he has done, are practically none. He doesn’t look thrilled that his plan has worked. He doesn’t even look shocked or mournful, as he did with the eagle sequence. The comparative vagueness of his wide-eyed expression feels like a shockingly organic moment for him. Beyond the caricature of Porky’s fall with his pupils, there’s no caricature in his emotions or feelings. He’s disarmed, at a loss, perhaps even vulnerable by lowering his guard enough to be seen in such neutrality. He’s not going to spin this into a sly aside to the audience or a whooping fit. It’s a real moment of gravity—quite literally.
Reflecting Porky’s silhouette in his eyes is not only a beautifully creative way to break up any monotony in the filmmaking, but also pure pathos. The eyes are the window to the soul. Daffy is why Porky is now flopping lifelessly to the ground. Obscuring Porky’s face likewise puts full focus on the action of him falling and Daffy’s responsibility for it. This is a somewhat rare moment of morality for Daffy, and even then, it’s rather blank—all he’s doing is watching. But Daffy Duck is not someone who sits back and watches; especially with no reaction. This single vignette supports earlier arguments about how he doesn’t really want to cause harm, just get his kicks. Kicks that have now run out from under him and have crashed to the ground, flopping like a lifeless fish.
On that note, the animation and direction alike of Porky’s gravitational pull is very well handled. Having him flop and fumble before finally settling is much more damning than if he had landed with a simple overshoot and squash. It's much more visceral; especially when the action is caricatured through Treg Brown's all-too-physical sound effects. It's as silly as it is haunting. Stalling's tense music score comes to a halt when Porky makes contact, as well as the prolonged whistle that had been gluing together the context all throughout. Everything comes to a crashing halt, just like Porky.
More kudos to Jones and Maltese for taking a chance and bestowing such a creative, zany and abstract character on Porky--often excused as too conservative or stolid to embody such impulses. If anything, giving this sort of caricature and exaggeration on a more quaint character like Porky makes for an even more memorable end result and effective contrast. For Daffy to do something like this, it'd still be novel, but a bit more in-line with his innate surreality.
Mirroring Porky's thinning patience throughout, his fiery rage is actually a slow burn: First he scowls, then his face turns red, then his whole body glows (with some gentle blurring due to misaligned double exposure), even losing his clothes in the process. Only then does he turn into flames, which initially embody the contour of his body, and so forth. It's a sequential process. Seeing him literally burn through his rage, going through all of the steps and processes, is perhaps more effective than if he spontaneously burst into a fireball and that was that. Drawing it out embraces the tension, just as it embraces the sheer palpability of Porky's furor. Jones and Maltese have been doing an excellent job at fostering genuine suspense.
This take is so charming and oddly appropriate that it's difficult to remember the novelty of this aggression for someone like Porky. Porky would soon be defined by his quick temper, stubbornness and irrationality throughout the '40s and early '50s, but as of right now, this is all new. He's had his moments before this, gotten stubborn and indignant, even raised his voice, but typically as quick comedic moments. It's because the animals of the jungle are keeping him awake at night. Gentle frustration towards his cat not guessing that they're having fish for dinner, or repeated insults towards unsanitary flies. None of this aggression has been the crux of a cartoon's climax, and certainly not enough to paint him as an antagonist. Porky's Pastry Pirates is perhaps the closest we've gotten, but he's not really involved enough in that cartoon to cement the comparison.
Remember: all of this is new. His ferocious anger, his violence, and being heckled by Daffy. It's difficult to remember because everything about this cartoon and its dynamics feel so comfortable, so right. That's because it is right, and it's because of this short that such is the case. This short, and even this moment, serve as a floodgate into how the Porky and Daffy dynamic would be perceived throughout the next decade. There are of course exceptions and variations on their partnership, as they don't truly have any one "anchored" dynamic, but it's incredibly difficult to imagine cartoons such as Tom Turk and Daffy, Duck Soup to Nuts, Daffy Doodles, Riff Raffy Daffy, Daffy Duck Hunt, and Boobs in the Woods (to name a select few) existing without this short's influence.
A brief note; on the topic of Grin, Jones and Maltese would do a similar "cloud take" with Porky as they do here. Humor of the context certainly works in this instance's favor.
Our porcine phoenix, with renewed bloodlust, can no longer maintain his nice guy act. No more walking the other way with his tent pole. No more wordless acceptance of fate as he plummets into the lake. No more bemused quips about that screwy duck. Now, he expresses explicit desire to kill: "Nnnggghhh--if I ih-jeeah-just had a shotgun!"
Again: Porky has never been this livid until now. Despite the caricature of his anger and body language--absolutely beautiful caricature--it still feels specific to his acting and way of moving. Fists balled, body language closed in, all native to how he conducts himself and moves. The purple rings around the eyes would be a unique Jones trademark that'd crop up with Porky and his synonymously flaring tempers more than once.
Charitably, Porky's hypothetical prayers are answered.
Daffy is now back in the game and as undeterred in ever. Forking over a gun is ballsy--right out of the Bugs Bunny playbook of undermining enemies' threats--but is especially ballsy considering Daffy's demeanor. He seems much happier and more engaged with Porky explicitly expressing a desire to kill, than he did when he had disarmed Porky. It's as though he realizes Porky is okay (better than okay, if he's threatening to harm) and thus, their one-sided playdate is back on. Daffy has his plaything back to keep him stimulated and keep the loop of heckling going on forever. Worrying, certainly, but twistedly endearing, too.
Other factors of amusement contribute. One being the availability of the gun, and, two, Daffy's raccoon skin cap. Like the ranger hat, audiences are left to fruitlessly ponder which Daniel Boone lookalike he just robbed.
Moreover, similarly amusement is Porky's disarmament with his arming. He seems genuinely surprised and ven a bit clueless, as if he wasn't expecting his anger-driven request to actually be honored.
Porky seems to have learned from the near-6 minutes preceding this. Knowing not to hesitate nor waste any precious time grimacing at the audience, he instead grabs the gun in a flourish—just like the flourish when he was surprised by Daffy’s appearance, or when he grabbed the fishing rod. His scrambling is a stark contrast to Daffy’s brazenness, who’s currently condescending “Annie Oakley”: “But it ain’t gonna do ya any good!”
Ignoring that Porky doesn’t even seem intimidated by the bounty embargo and would shoot regardless, Daffy is all too eager to resume the routine. His voice condescending, squeaky, crackling with glee, it really seems as though his life best lived would be running in circles with this chase until the end of time. There’s certainly a daffiness on his behalf to not recognize the danger of a wildly angry pig pointing a gun at him (hunting laws be damned.)
Such is another extremely valuable asset of this cartoon: Porky’s energy. Daffy manages to bring out a freneticism and downright mania in Porky that’s rather unique to their cartoons together. Porky will continue to be irate and unhinged with other characters—Charlie Dog says hello—but never to the point where he’s literally reconstructed from fiery ash, having burned himself into such a rage at Daffy’s antics, nor is he as committed to honoring and holding and burning through that energy as he is in the Daffy shorts. In the other shorts, one gets the feeling that he just wants to detach. He certainly does here, too, but finally succumbing to the reality that Daffy will always bother him, he’s ready to go full throttle and put a stop to it.
Daffy’s default energy and pitch of life is so high and intoxicating that it feeds into everything else. The filmmaking, the characters, the circumstances. Porky’s energy has now been rising to meet Daffy’s throughout the cartoon in retaliation. Daffy thusly feeds off of this, raising his energy even more, and the interminable feedback loop thrives on the enablement of both parties. Compulsion and stubbornness for Porky, incitement and stimulation for Daffy.
To make sure this cartoon is 7 and a half minutes and not seven hundred, divine intervention must be had.
Comparisons to the hunting trilogy come into stronger effect here. With no rhyme or reason, nor prior indication of doing so, the signs that he has so come to rely on are now turned against him. Because of our familiarity with the hunting trilogy, us privileged viewers in 2026 are able to anticipate the direction this cartoon will take. That, as well as the bloodlust radiating off of Porky as he corners Daffy with a gun and is all too happy to have an excuse to shoot. Even so, it bears repeating that there was no hunting trilogy yet, no duck season, rabbit season, duck season—FIRE!—none of that. This reversal and irony feels so comfortable, so right; a shining testament to this short’s impact. Perhaps there would be no hunting trilogy, no mongoose or goat or skunk season, without the duck season reversal here.
Again, this isn’t Jones’ first outing with sign gags: Daffy Duck and the Dinosaur could be seen as the true starting point. The specificity of the signs directly contradicting Daffy and serving as a karmic punishment for his complacency, however, is all birthed here.
Unlike the aforementioned cartoons we so know and love and love to quote, Daffy doesn’t catch on as quickly here. Not out of ignorance, but complacency. No matter what happens, he believes he can fall back on his signs to save his skin. Signs that he’s even able to pull out of thin-air, such as the curtain drawing from the tree branch. Complete and utter nonsense that is casually accepted and curated by one Daffy Duck, curator of the illogical. That he still can indulge in these fantastical acts and reality bending further contributes to his conceit. Everything is going exactly as he assumes.
Perhaps nothing embodies this more than his character acting. The camera truck-in to focus on the sign is just wide enough to keep Daffy in frame, broadcasting his equally disingenuous eye flutterings and coy head tilts. Manufactured innocence through perceived invincibility. His “cute superiority”, so to speak, certainly justifies anything that’s coming to him.
Maintaining this hubris, Jones doesn't have Daffy turn to regard the sign. Instead, he cuts right to a visibly elated Porky. Looking happier here than he has the entire cartoon--even in his moments free of the duck--the appeal and charm of these drawings works to a delightfully twisted end result. Smile wide, ears perked, energy synonymously perky; it's a very cute moment with some equally cute drawings. Devoid of context, it'd be impossible to tell that he just learned that he has explicit permission to kill.
Jones' shot flow is intriguing. After Porky's take, he begins to lean in. The camera then cuts to another shot, lower this time, of Porky still leaning forward with the gun in his hand. Rather than panning the camera and keeping it all on the same shot, it's a bit disjointed, but purposefully so. Porky is physically pushing his nefarious energy forward. It's as if he's cornering Daffy, bridging the gap between them; that feeling of closing space is more palpable with a cut than a continuous pan. It could also be seen as a mirror to the other shots with the quick back and forth cuts--Porky's dynamite rubbing, his fall--thereby designating this as a similarly high octane moment.
Feelings of cinematographic claustrophobia are embraced in the following close-up of Daffy. With how tight the camera is on him, he feels small, cornered--ditto for when he turns his head to (finally) regard the sign behind him, his beak practically edging off-screen.
Notably, his smiley, giddily smug demeanor is completely absent. He's clearly confused at why Porky isn't backing off, freezing, or sharing his frustrations with the audience. The neutrality and disarmament of Daffy's expressions evoke an underdog sympathy with him, despite his actions placing him in this mess to begin with. Of the two characters in this current moment, he's the more "innocent" one.
Claustrophobia and overwhelm of environments continues into the next shot. A close-up of the sign, the layout is at a slight up angle, again arranged quite tightly. It's as though the viewers are looking right through Daffy's eyes. We're unified with his uncertainty and perhaps anxiety--this is a moment played with a lot of drama, which is sympathetic to Daffy's perspective than it would be Porky, who is absolutely joyous. The shine effects on "OPENS" for emphasis could likewise be viewed as an extension and caricature of Daffy's perspective.
The subsequent cut of Daffy looking at the sign, presumably from our previous point of view, aligns with the prior observations. Even with this greater distance and now detachment from the duck, the layout is no less dynamic for it.
If anything, it's even more dynamic--particularly noticeable with the hilarious up-shot of Daffy's blank, guilty stare. There's no sweating or gulping, no plea for mercy, all defense mechanisms he's used in the past (such as in A Coy Decoy and Daffy's Southern Exposure). That's also because he wasn't directly responsible for digging his own grave as he is here.
Perhaps his unquestioning acquiescence is a way to play on his cool-headed persona. Having been so smarmy and conceited and above it all, to break by pleading for his life would be unbecoming. Though, this Daffy doesn't exactly seem that preoccupied with keeping up appearances. More likely, the vacancy of his expression is a creative, novel and apt way to convey his lunacy through such a specifically non-specific expression. Just like his split-second, wide-eyed, manic stare beneath the first sign. Only now, that mania is maintained and more visceral through circumstance. He looks like the cat who caught the canary, and is about to be caught by its owner.
Our canary-catching, pig-inciting duck retreats into the scene, the slant of the composition enhancing the dynamism. With it, the power imbalance--he's shrinking in scale, lowering into the scene, submissive to the one making him retreat.
Porky enters--or, more accurately, the representation of himself enters. As the barrels of the gun march into scene, Porky isn't a character here so much as he is a disembodied threat. The detachment and dehumanization, making him only into a threat, only enunciates Daffy's troubles. There's no cold heart on the other end of the screen waiting to be opened. No bargaining, no emotionality: just the cold metal of the twin barrels mirroring the coldness of Porky's heart.
Jones has established a tried and true pattern in this short's filmmaking. Slow, tense moments launch into a springload of energy. The same is true here.
Fascinatingly, Daffy's escape is startlingly unemotional. HOOHOOs and variations of are completely absent--quite the stark contrast to every Daffy chase cartoon that's come before this. His momentum is hurried and he's obviously not content with the ordeal, but he doesn't seem that scared or anxious. Just nonplussed. Too much precious time to waste than trying to filter through emotions. Jones' directing picks up on the emotionality where Daffy's visage may not.
The flow in this getaway is handled coherently and engagingly. At times, the camera even outpaces Daffy, as though he's in a race not just against Porky, but the cinematography itself. Lagging behind the camera makes his struggle to get away seem greater. More desperate.
A bush cleverly serves as a buffer for Daffy to pull out another sign, as if he had been holding it there in case of emergency. It's a handy cheat that enunciates the interactivity of the environments. These backgrounds truly feel lived in and carefully considered.
Despite Daffy's quick thinking, he's again betrayed by his own karmic hubris. Just like the signs chiding Porky, the wording of the signs here are explicitly tailored to work against his mission. Not only is duck season open, but limitless. "Shoot all you want" is personal, informal, designed to rub salt deeper into the wound.
Daffy remains fruitlessly optimistic (ie. overconfident). His expression is back to its contentedly smug default, hinting that he merely believed the first sign to be a fluke, and that this next one has to work for him. This would be rectified if he simply looked down at the sign he was posing against, but he's too comfortable in his own skin to do so. The knotted up hat is an amusing commentary that further reduces the credibility he believes himself to have.
A cut back to an approaching Porky. Though the barrels of the gun are prominently staged, we're at least reacquainted with his visage, reminding us of the face--and the motives, and the feelings--behind the rifle. That face and those motives and those feelings are all pretty twisted. Just like last time, he eases into frame, bridging the gap between duck and pig, a reminder that he's getting closer and so is Daffy's fate.
While Daffy has dug his own grave, and none of what's occurring here should be a surprise, Jones still manages to approach him with a considerable amount of sympathy. Daffy's been ruthlessly obnoxious with his heckling, but Porky has clearly metamorphosed into a different beast--and antagonistic one. His bloodlust and caricature of aggression outweigh Daffy's obnoxiousness, so our perspective is aligned with his. That includes the tone of the filmmaking; the music, the staging, the shot flow.
The camera cuts are getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker. There's no surprised take as Daffy looks at the sign. In fact, there isn't even a beat of him taking the time to look at it; the camera cuts to him already reading it, and then lifting his head up to gawk at Porky. Innocent denial--or ignorance--is not as prevalent in his expression anymore; realization is beginning to kick in. His deer-in-headlights expression doesn't even seem to be directed at Porky, so much as it is the crushing awareness that he has no tricks up his sleeve and no real defense.
Staging of this shot, no matter how quick, deserves its praise. The framing specifically cuts off much of the sign so that the only text visible reads "NO LIMIT! SHOOT", reducing the predicament to its barest essentials. Likewise, albeit difficult to spot due to how quick the cutting is, Porky's silhouette begins to creep over the sign. His ears not unlike devil horns, he's getting closer and closer.
Likewise, in another boast of interactivity between character and environment, two holes in the ground allow Daffy to slip in and out of them. A way to break up the monotony of the pattern and, as mentioned, flex the dimensionality of the backgrounds (despite their stylized flatness). One could also interpret this action as Daffy taking a moment to hide. It's an innately more defensive action than simply running from point A to point B. His escape route is getting more convoluted, in hopes of potentially shaking Porky off his trail.
The signs continue to progress in their incentivization. Now, a cash prize is flaunted for shooting a duck--a direct refutation and inverse of where we started.
Porky seems eager to indulge regardless of winnings. Stalling's music gets more tense, shaken, keeping the momentum going as Porky only nears.
Jones' pacing has been quickening throughout with that aforementioned buildup. Now, we cut directly to Daffy making a break for it; no regard of the sign, nor even him putting it down--a keen eye and an even more keen freeze-framing finger reveals that the sign floats in place as Daffy abandons it.
Environments in this scene are much more vast, the layout much broader than before. Daffy drops the idea of escaping in increments, fully abandoning his conceit and allowing survival instincts to finally prevail. The camera movements are smooth, connective, seamless in following Daffy's frantic escape. There's still some touting of the environments' dimensionality, Daffy darting behind trees and even zig-zagging along a path. It's quick, buttery, and appealing, all while maintaining the urgency of the directorial tone.
Even so, his plan again fails. The biggest sign that Daffy can hide behind is also the most blatant--and cruel--in its irony.
A number of factors coalesce into evoking sympathy for Daffy, while still maintaining a laugh. Prominent baby blue coloring of the sign is an immediate departure from the whites of all the other signs, which call even more attention to it. Ditto with the red and white text and arrow. It's utterly impossible to miss. Likewise, the sign positively towers over Daffy, making him seem tiny, vulnerable, depleted of his power. That he's hiding cautiously behind the sign, body language hunched, more obviously embraces this. Even in other shorts where he's been in precarious survival situations, there's never been the same amount of earnest pity and pathos as felt here. Usually, his crocodile tears (A Coy Decoy) get laughs, or he exits with triumphant, if not frantic whooping. There's an unusual resignation and stoicism to his acting throughout this sequence. He knows his goose is cooked, because he's the one who's cooked it. Hard to crocodile tears one's way out of that.
Throughout this entire climax, practically all of the shots with Porky have been close-ups or disembodied in some way. Focus is delegated to his murderous expression, or the gun prominently pointed in his hands. That we get to view him in a full-body shot seems to indicate that a resolution slash showdown is upon us. Dramatic lighting with his shadow certainly embodies a point of finality in tension--even the humor of his twisted, manic grin is gone. The games are over. It's all or nothing now.
But before then, due praise to the harmony of the scene composition. The shade of the trees unify with the dark shadows of his jacket, giving the layout some balance and appeal, even in a high octane moment. Likewise, the values of the background are much darker here than they've been in the entire cartoon. No pastels or airy salmons and mints to gussy up the background. Jones' directorial austerity is felt everywhere, from the dour expression on Porky's face to the change in color scheme.
It's remarkable to think that Porky has now gone from the gregarious, grinning studio mascot to a sanguinary antagonist. Again, it's all too easy to take this development for granted, considering the cartoons that'd come after this. But this is definitely a first. Even Notes to You didn't play Porky's aggression with this much stoicism (though it's certainly the runner-up.)
Also a first: Daffy giving his resignation.
Even in his darkest, bleakest days, long past his peak and his characterization having been finely butchered, Daffy remained a figure of resilience. His tenacity was perhaps his most consistent trait. It's integral to his character that he doesn't know when to stop. So for him to surrender--and out of fear--is huge. Not even for comedic exaggeration and effect, like in the aforementioned Coy Decoy or Southern Exposure. Instead, Daffy maintains a wide-eyed, impressionable candor through his quietude, resignation, and smallness--both figuratively and literally. While it pays to remember how he got here, that in no means serves as a detriment to the impact of this moment. And to think that just 2-3 years ago, his ability to even recognize fear was something to praise.
One could possibly draw yet another connection to Porky's Duck Hunt through Daffy's makeshift white flag. One that, just like in Duck Hunt, gets shot to smithereens.
Smithereens with specificity, in this case. Bullet spray vocabulary would be a semi-common gag in these cartoons, but this may be one of the most effective uses through context and objectivity. It's just a quick, clean fwip, the sound of the gunshot much louder than its aftereffects. Cleanliness shows us that, in contrast to Duck Hunt, Porky knows how to work a gun, and quite well. There's no clumsy misfires here. If Porky can somehow emblazon this threat into such a tiny flag (which, it should be noted that Stalling injects a deliciously ironic music sting of "Gimme That Old Time Religion" in accordance to the gag), then just imagine how quick and clean of a shot Daffy will be for him.
The flag remained erect for the bullet spray to shower and for the audience to read it. Now, with Daffy's fate clearly on the table, and the reality of his circumstances unavoidable, the flag goes flaccid. A match to Daffy's own wide-eyed, drooping, equally flaccid helplessness. Again, it's surprising to see Daffy deflate in this way, particularly at this time. His energy has not just stagnated, but been sucked out completely. With it, any last minute tricks up his sleeve or glimmers of hope through complacency. He's utterly powerless.
And what better way to portray that than through Jones' pet habits throughout the short. This slow, ponderous, leaden moment is then slingshotted into action--with it, another "floating prop" gag mixed with an afterimage gag: Daffy's dust holding up the flag. Like some of the prior instances, this gag occurs so quickly and the dust cloud is so light that it's a bit difficult to register. Particularly when Porky--evil grin back in tow--barrels through the remaining afterimage, setting a precedent for what he'll do to the real thing.
Nevertheless, despite the overzealousness in filmmaking and potential monotony of repetition, it's a cute and necessary topper to keep things playful. Playful, but not undermining the anxiety that his led to this moment. It seems that the most frequent critique of this short is that some toppers are hard to read or occur too quickly; considering the pacing of Jones' shorts in the years before this, that is by no means an overwhelming knock. If anything, it's a miracle.
On the note of revisiting earlier themes within the short, we revisit to the short's first hook established: environment. The vast, rolling hills and tall, sloping mountains, endless lakes and fields of trees were to convey how peaceful and remote Porky's camping retreat was to be. Later, they doubled as demonstrating the scope of Daffy's heckling. Now, the vastness of the environments function to show the opposite: how dedicated Porky is to his pursuit, and how dedicated Daffy is to running away from him.
Running over hill and dale, our starring characters are reduced to mere blips on a map, as as the main idea of Porky pursuing Daffy--seconded through Brown's repeated shotgun blast sounds--takes precedence. It's all about the action rather than the intricacy behind it. We've had 6 and a half minutes to understand why this chase is happening and the character complexities therein. Now, it's all pure id. Tom Turk and Daffy would reprise this idea similarly.
Another contributing factor to the immensity of their distance chased and traveled: the forestry has significantly diminished. Trees are reduced to poking out in the background, in some lucky clearings. Careful eyes will even spot the lake from the start of the short, now just a blob of blue amongst green, far in the distance and reduced to its barest shapes. This pursuit has greatly outgrown itself, and we're at a far different plane than when we started. Despite this, the backgrounds remain as interactive and dimensional as ever with pig and duck dipping in and out, over and under. It's truly impressive that these flat, stylistic paintings and abstract shapes manage to evoke so much figure through the planning in animation. Likewise, Jones' pacing and speed throughout is utterly astounding.
Having both characters so small and away from the camera detaches the viewer back into neutrality. We're being offered a look at the bigger picture: realizing just how petty this chase is, and just how much it's been comedically inflated. Stalling's music score epitomizes this well, feeling much more playful and juvenile than threatening with its frilly glissandos. There's a melodic monotonousness to match the repetition and one-track-mind of Porky's gunfire, but a melody that is airy rather than droning. We're effectively intended to laugh at how juvenile the circumstances have become.
And there's certainly no better way to convey monotonousness through Porky and Daffy circling a tree in a repetitive loop, giving their best impression of a Hanna-Barbera chase sequence in 15 years to come. However, the circuitousness isn't due to limited animation and TV budgets nor time constraints. It's a purely Maltesian indulgence--again, he manages to subvert the idea of a chase. This time by boiling it down to its barest, most immovable essentials. Purposefully devoid of any personality and even motive: just mindless repetition. Pursuer chases victim flees pursuer chases victim flees pursuer chases victim flees pursuer.
Thus, we've backed ourselves into a corner with nowhere to go. Earlier observations about this cartoon's runtime potentially extending through the end of time seem increasingly prescient. Porky's not going to stop chasing Daffy. Daffy's not going to stop chasing Porky. Maltese isn't going to stop lampooning the ridiculousness of the chase, and Jones certainly isn't going to stop observing his subjects. There's nowhere to go from here, except around the lonesome pine.
So, just like the sudden switch-up with Daffy's signs to propel the plot forward, divine intervention is had--for the opposite effect.
Breaking the film is a gag taken right out of Tex Avery's playbook. Perhaps even before Avery knew it was in his playbook himself--this precedes his memorable fourth wall break with the wolf escaping the film reel in Dumb-Hounded by about three months. If there's any pre-existing DNA to owe this gag to, it may be the climax of the Popeye cartoon, Goonland, in which the film breaks and the animator has to sew it back together with a safety pin, to audience applause. If anything, though, the closest point of comparison may be Chuck Jones himself with Duck Amuck.
The torn film itself is conveyed through pencil lines, which appear startlingly realistic against the pale gray stylization of the film's borders. Avery's rendering of the film strip is a bit more grounded in reality, but the actual timing and execution of the breakage here--the strip gradually misaligning, Brown's flapping sound effects, and the tactility of the graphite, all occurring very quickly--are enough to make the illusion convincing.e
Especially with the seemingly endless pause that follows. Stalling's repetitious loop, cresting a climactic crescendo, finally slams to the halt. So do Brown's sound effects and the "animation". There's nothing but white on the screen. For theatrical audiences, there's absolutely no indication that this is still a part of the cartoon.
Jones' commitment to the bit is admirable. The pause is relatively long, particularly in comparison to how quick the action has been preceding it. There's just enough time to spring murmurs within the audience. It's all too easy to take this gag for granted, especially when we're able to see the remaining runtime, but the effect this must have had upon release in a dark, crowded theater couldn't have been anything short of revolutionary.
A curious visitor opts to investigate.
Daffy poking his head in is amazingly restrained. He moves with a slow curiosity that feels not out of character, but divorced of his character. Who knew that he was able to move this cautiously, this gently, this thoughtfully and reticently? Even with how nuanced his character acting has been throughout this short, the difference in demeanor is marked.
Stalling mimics the action faithfully: a whining violin slide as he pokes his head in, xylophonic blinks in tow. Slowly, the audience is reminded that they're still watching a cartoon that happens to feature cartoon characters, but there persists an unsettling, hesitant peculiarity.
It's so palpable that the cartoon characters feel it, too. Daffy takes a moment to gauge the background behind him; this is as flat of a space that one can possibly get, so Daffy turning around offers the illusion of some depth, piquing the audience's curiosity. And, unlike the near-seven minutes preceding this, he seems unsure of his surroundings. He has to parse them, navigate them, actually look where h'es going rather than blindly dive around in complete self satisfaction. After all, that sort of behavior is how he got here in the first place.
Eventually, he's brave enough to waddle into the open. This again is all unusual for him; his body language is unusually closed off, hunched, unsure. It was hunched and diminutive in spurts throughout this cartoon, whether disingenuously mourning Porky's clobbering or fretting a clobbering by Porky, but it's even more unusual for this to be a baseline. Thus, it really does seem as though something has gone seriously wrong and is navigated with a lot of real life confusion, hesitance, and potential fear of audience temperament.
As alluded to prior, Duck Amuck's beginnings are planted here. Just as he will do then, he, putting on a pleasant act, directs his attention to the audience, grandstanding in this blank void, talking directly to us. His line of sight is not with the camera, but right down at the audience--something tailor made for the theaters, as it would really look as though he's peering down into the seats below him. It's a small touch, and one lost on us today as we watch from our phones or laptops or even TVs, but one that is artfully considered and carries the illusion of audience interaction.
"Ladies and gentlemen." Daffy's deliveries are endearingly stuffy. His wording is more elucidated than perhaps his default, recognizing that he's in front of an audience and must do his best to endear himself. "Due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to continue with this picture."
More of his colloquialisms are able to break through as he pivots, stepping back into his comfortable, friendly, lax self; "But don't worry--I'll tell ya how it came out!"
Blanc's deliveries again are just fantastic. A subtle broil of energy perks in this line, a little hitch in his voice, as though Daffy's suppressing this great excitement at the opportunity to talk about himself. His tone sounds like he thinks he's doing us a favor. Miraculously, it doesn't feel overbearing or smug as it does in Duck Amuck (which, of course, is to comedic effect); just completely natural.
Thus, a one duck show ensues. Stalling's music swinging back into action--a somewhat tense, threatened rendition of "T'ain't No Good"--fully submerges us back into the mindset of the cartoon, even if it's being filtered through a biased source. Nevertheless, Daffy pantomimes his little heart out.
"Porky's chasin' me around and around that tree."
Important to note that he mentions Porky by name, another striking indictment of how metatextual this moment is. As mentioned before, they aren't explicitly supposed to know each other in this short. Daffy is just a nameless, crazy duck--as indicated through Porky's bulletsprayed addressing of him as "DUCK"--and Porky's just a hapless sap. Explicitly calling Porky by name furthers the separation between cartoon and "reality", showcasing Daffy's explicit awareness that he's a performer in this context.
"He corners me, then he moves in for th' kill... everyone fig'ers me fer a dead duck!"
Maltese's specificity in writing is truly a gift. "Everyone" has an extremely particular connotation; who is everyone if there's no audience to watch if the film is broken? Absolutely nobody, except potentially Porky. "Everyone" is more noble than "I". If Daffy were to refer to himself in the first person, then it would make him sound vulnerable and as though he were betraying himself. For as small as he is, his ego even at this stage is too unforgiving for that.
Never one to do something halfway, Daffy literally throws himself into the performance. Somehow, he's able to bear the freneticism to portray both Porky and himself. When Porky is "crawlin'--literally groveling at m' feet!", he tosses himself unto the ground. When he mentions groveling at his feet, he swoops in to strike a triumphant, powerful pose, looking down at the supposed "Porky" we had just seen a second ago. This feels like a precursor to the Clampett and Tashlin Daffy cartoons of the '40s, where he's literally able to distort his body to mirror his emotions; if he's feeling "small", he literally shrinks into himself until he's nothing but a pair of legs and eyes. If he's seduced by a woman, he melts into a literal puddle that slips through the floorboards. There's more literality here out of necessity and simple earliness of the character, but definitive traits are coming into fruition.
The freneticism of his performance is a fantastic way to caricature his manic impulses and hyperactivity. Despite his regard of the audience and attempts to endear, it's quite obvious that he's out of his mind here, or huffing the own fumes that he's running on. Another way to demonstrate his screwiness in a way that feels more nuanced and natural than cartwheels and HOOHOOs.
Clearly, Daffy is lying. That's given through the hyperbole of his words and actions, as well as the specificity of his framing. He includes just enough information to make it feel like Porky had the upper hand--if he talks about how he gave Porky a thrashing the whole way through, then people are bound to get suspicious--before redeeming himself, liberally playing up Porky's perceived patheticism. This Popeye-esque rebound sounds much too "good" to be true.
Because it is.
Beautiful elasticity in the animation as Daffy is forcibly yanked off-screen, but really, throughout the entire sequence. Daffy's appearance is quite stylized, his hands reduced to mitts, but it works with the action and energy of the scene. It's not about the details nor nuance (anymore). He's something to be flung around, a vessel to harbor and broadcast his energy. No sculpted Ken Harris head tilts or eye blinks necessary here.
Just like the negative space of the cane over Daffy's head is excellent, so is the sound design. The whoosh of Daffy being whisked away is soon succeeded by a loud, echoing crack. Playful but still visceral and violent, with the echo doubling for the caricature of violence and the indeterminate nature of their geography.
After Daffy has regaled us with his story, a more objective view of the story happily strolls into frame. The gun in Porky's hand is intended to set up for the Daffy shaped bend in it, contextualizing the echoing blow viewers have heard just seconds before, but it likewise stands as a continuation and reminder of the cartoon. Despite the white void, the events of the cartoon have still happened. Porky's presence and the rifle both ground us back to reality--one not tainted my tall-tale ducks.
Porky's blank smile here is an excellent artistic choice. He's back to his cute, congenial, tottery little self, back in his role as the face of the studio who poses in drums and title cards, rather than a murderous maniac starved for vengeance through bloodshed. That juxtaposition almost makes Daffy's story seem even more like a tall-tale, despite Porky's rage being an objective fact.
Daffy weaves such a story about how Porky was ready to come in for the kill, but he turned the table on him and weakened his opponent into a sniveling coward. So enters this physically-and-emotionally unscathed incongruity. Stalling accompanies Porky's tottering footsteps with soft but whimsical violin plucks, further contributing a certain air of softness and naivete about him. One that's perhaps even refuted by the punch-drunk duck being dragged by the neck.
Even so, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary--evidence pulling him as he literally speaks--a slurry, ragged, out of breath Daffy remains faithful with his story: "He's pleadin' fer mercy... I'm killin' 'mfmff..."
The iris closes with great speed on Daffy, first slow and then piercing fast. A charming last gasp of energy that's congruent with the snappy, abstract pacing and directing of the short throughout.
30,205 words and counting, 588 photos and 2.5 months later, I've not only reaffirmed my position, but presented an entire thesis on it. If that's not love for a cartoon, I'm stumped at what is.
This is a cartoon I've been waiting years and years and years to do a deep dive on. So much so that I assumed I had everything figured out, and this wouldn't be so much a process of discovery and analysis of objective technique, but rehearsing what I had known and internalized for years. Mention the solidity of Ken Harris' animation in the canoe scene. Ponder the tie-ins to Porky's Duck Hunt. Do not, under any circumstances, forget to mention the significance of Daffy's signage betrayal and the prescience of the hunting trilogy.
Thus, I was amazed at how much I was able to learn and absorb and discover through this analysis. Really pondering how foundational this was for the Porky and Daffy dynamic, to the point that it's almost impossible not to take the interactions and gags and set-ups for granted here because of the security of what comes after. But it's in very large part because of this cartoon that the security and complacency is there.
It is absolutely incredible to remember that this short was released the same year as The Bird Came C.O.D., by the same director. The turnaround could not be any more mind-blowing. The pacing in this cartoon is rapidfire, moreso than The Draft Horse or even--in parts--The Dover Boys. When discussing the "abstraction" of this cartoon, the first impulse may be to look towards the beautiful streamlining of the McGrew-Fleury backgrounds--and they do deserve special reinforcement of their attraction. Maurice Noble, for all of his immense, immense talent, wasn't the one who pioneered the flat, stylized look for Jones' cartoons. Backgrounds haven't been this flat in the cartoons since the very dawn of the studio in 1930, and even then, they bear some more depth, in spite of their crudeness.
There is absolutely nothing crude about this cartoon. It's a masterclass of cartooning. So many aspects of this cartoon have split off into some of the studio's most iconic and beloved gags and cartoons: the hunting trilogy's sign gags. Flat, stylized, eye-popping backgrounds. The decision to make the Porky and Daffy dynamic antagonistic. Daffy's complacency wounding him in the end. Daffy preaching to the audience a la the not-yet-existing Duck Amuck. Rabbit Punch would borrow this cartoon's ending verbatim, with Bugs having cut the film-strip itself rather than the convenience of a cop-out to aid Daffy's story. The latter's more intricate narrative and context is perhaps the more enticing version of the two, and the former was made at the beginning of Jones' late '40s-early '50s hot-streak.
As it stands now, it's currently impossible to stress the impact and genius of this cartoon in a neat, concise conclusion to sum it all up. At the risk of sounding unprofessional and too reliant on colloquial, anecdotal writing: you have the rest of the review for that. Read it again if you have to. The cartoon's greatness seems to speak for itself. Like Daffy, it doesn't need approval to prove itself, no need for justifications. This is a cartoon that is deeply comfortable in its skin. Unlike Daffy, that is not a fatal demonstration of hubris that later harms it.
At the very least, the short's and gags and philosophies and dynamics that can be traced back to this cartoon are telling of its quality. Is it even possible for a cartoon that influenced Duck Amuck or the hunting trilogy, that was doing the "film reel gag" before even Tex Avery, that permanently altered our understanding of the Porky and Daffy dynamic, to be bad, much less anything short of foundational?
