Release Date: December 12th, 1942
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Chuck Jones
Story: Tedd Pierce
Animation: Ken Harris
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Bugs, Ala Bahma)
(You may view the cartoon here!)
1942 has proven itself to be a year of monumental growth and significance--perhaps moreso than previous years, where the same retrospective qualifier is given on the closing cartoon of a given year. More character introductions have come and gone, with some--a still-unnamed, sadistic baby bird--to stay for good. Others, like Conrad, a brief experience. Some, like the Curious Pups, having lasted all of Jones' directorial career to this point, put to bed. The Looney Tunes series has finally been graced with color for the first time in the franchise's 12 year history.
The Warner identity of shorts continues to solidify and strengthen, the speed and caricature and sheer abstraction of the shorts from all directors strengthening. The bounds are being pushed like never before. Though arguably the cartoons are always at a transitory stage, considering there are 39 years of evolution to go through, it does seem like the shorts of 1942 cross the barrier of transition, and that there's a feeling of coming out on the other side from here-on out. The rubber has hit the road and the acceleration is pushing down with each moment.
So, with this preaching in mind, it's fitting that the last cartoon of 1942--a year of significant growth and change--be a Chuck Jones short with the character whose stardom has really been cemented (if there was any doubt beforehand).
Jones' growth has perhaps been the most poignant out of any of the directors' this year. He started the year desperately clinging onto old habits, still churning out cartoons with the Curious Pups and curating duds like The Bird Came C.O.D., embodying every worst Jonesian impulse put to paper. Now, the year ends on a high streak of innovation and abstraction--in animation, in production design, and in direction. The Dover Boys, My Favorite Duck, and now Case of the Missing Hare all feel archetypal and representative of what the Warner style of cartooning has become. Irreverent, transformational, and funny.
As covered extensively in its analysis, My Favorite Duck was a watershed cartoon. Case of the Missing Hare is similarly so. It's considered the founding father of a formula that would not only dominate Jones' Bugs cartoons, but serve as a domineering philosophy for the studio's most beloved character. That is, Bugs' heckling being an act of vengeance rather than spur of the moment inconsideration, often spurred on by a hulking brute of a bully.
Missing Hare carries over Duck’s philosophies of abstraction and stylization, perhaps most notably in its backgrounds. Duck’s simplistic yet eye-popping backgrounds feel fully rounded and dimensional in comparison to Hare's backgrounds, which are nothing but abstract stylization. So much so that most of the backgrounds in the short are flat, bold color cards. The boldness of the environments were enough of a standout to get Leon Schlesinger's approval--who had previously expressed his disapproval of the stylistic, abstract Dover Boys, likely contributing to Chuck Jones' own befuddlement (per Hollywood Cartoons):
"John McGrew and I reduced most of the backgrounds to patterns—stripes, zig-zags, and the like—or to colored cards. Still, after the studio preview, Schlesinger came over and congratulated us on these rather outlandish backgrounds. We never did figure out why.”
It's difficult not to speak on these backdrops when viewing the short. After all, the very first shot of the cartoon is a demonstration of the self-described outlandish backgrounds. Design dominates to a point of purposeful obfuscation: the only context the viewer has are the bold red lettering advertising a bijou. Otherwise, blocks and cubes and squares of all kinds--periwinkles, navy, even a seemingly random burst of yellow--fill up the remainder of the scene. Given the advertisement of the bijou, and there being more text veering off-screen, viewers are possibly able to parse that these abstract blocks of color may signify posters.
That is indeed clinched through the rolling camera pan that ensues. Snatches of "THEATER" and "TODAY" slowly piece the context together, heightening the audience's awareness that something is occurring at a theater.
All throughout is a foreboding, menacing, yet upbeat underscore of "The Girlfriend of the Whirling Dervish"--a song often synonymous with exotic landmarks or characters and a certain mysticism. The latter, most certainly felt here. The song is as much of a focus as what's on screen, the music coming in fierce and pompous. Whatever is being advertised seems to be quite the production. Naturally, the audience's curiosity is piqued.
Claustrophobia of the framing likewise farms an innate desire for more context. Posters are clustered, overlaid atop one another and purposefully arranged so that we catch only glimpses. The desire to see all of the text on the posters, not just glimpses, is strong, engaging the viewer deeper into the cartoon--and it certainly doesn't get deeper than being tossed right into a swarm of posters. There's a desire to break free, to see where this pan leads us, to finally get to the end that this means is inching us towards. Jones does a great job of milking the audience's anticipation. Particularly because the audience doesn't really know what they're anticipating.
Context is more clear over time, the posters becoming more readable for the convenience of the viewer's curiosity. We are introduced to a magician--the punnily named Ala Bahma (Alabama). His name is essentially a logo, the font and bright red text not unlike a brand. He's a walking trademark, whoever he is. This deviation is particularly powerful considering the purposeful sameness of the scene composition thus far.
Gradually, the camera claws its way out of the poster-filled jungle into more open air--also occupied by excessive advertising. More context is received, in that the posters are revealed to be smothering fences in a lot, poles, even trash cans. The poster designs now are all the same, as it's the "grand idea" of the excessive postering being the focus rather than what's on the flyers--much less the discovery that these are flyers to begin with.
Through this reveal, the elevation of stylized backgrounds between this short and Duck is excessively clear, even down to the color choices. Fences are blue. The ground is magenta. The sky, a blinding yellow. Even the colors in Duck, which did maintain some stylistic flair through the pastels, were grounded in reality. Grass is green, skies are blue.
Not here. The sheer creativity and risk taking in color design here is a first for Warner cartoons--something that's difficult to properly take full appreciation of, in a modern world where we've come to witness such greats as Maurice Noble and more of the John McGrew Jones shorts that came after this. It's nevertheless imperative to remember that, for the time, this was utterly groundbreaking and novel.
Flat as the environments are, there are still considerations in the staging to offer some semblance of depth. Posters curve around the poles, adhere to the split edges between fencing and the ground, even cling to more unconventional objects such as a trashcan and even a bush. The flatness and stylization of the backgrounds are intended to impress through their abstraction, but there still remains a degree of functionality. They work in service to the characters, who are dimensional and fully constructed beings.
Such as this one. Eventually, the camera crawls to reveal the culprit and the subsequent source of hammering that had been overlaid atop the soundtrack in the past few moments. Aforementioned points about the characters' contrasting dimensionality is scored particularly through the magician's cape, billowing after him and adhering to real world physics with its airy settles and follow-through. Through such strict cape physics, which are grounded in realism, the backgrounds seem more flat when juxtaposed with such dimension.
A slight jump cut splits the two scenes: in the wide, the magician is hammering the top of the poster before unfurling it over the opening in the tree. The camera then cuts to the poster, fully unfurled and fully nailed to the tree. It's a small discrepancy and not detrimental to the clarity of the scene nor shot flow; this being the first cut in the entire cartoon likewise makes it more noticeable.
Thus follows a few moments of our egotist magician admiring his handiwork. Phil DeLara does an excellent job of conveying conceit through sheer posing. The puffed chest, the fiddling with the cape as though it's a symbol of his authority, the head tilts as he takes in the poster from all angles, and the wide, satisfied smile all work to support the conceit that is brazenly hinted through his manic display of advertising.
Yet, despite the job being done, a sense of unfinished business persists. Stalling's music score doesn't resolve, but retains a sustained flute trill that embraces an anxiously stagnant energy. The camera has been moving constantly since the start of the short. So has our magician. This halt in action and pacing feels odd because of that.
All a purposeful directing decision: Stalling's score reaches its grand, fully resolved finale in tandem with the poster being kicked open. Each bulge and kick strictly timed to each ending note.
Out comes the world's most beloved culprit. As is of clear note, Bugs' residency in this short is not a hole in the ground, but a tree. It seems to be a decision made for clarity--Bugs kicking the poster apart if it were hammered to the ground wouldn't nearly be as clear, and would be very difficult to maneuver around with the staging.
As is the case for most of his cartoon introductions, Bugs regards his company casually and with a bite of the carrot. The carrot chewing serves often as a symbol of condescension and even intimidation; a symbol that Bugs is so unbothered by the threats before him that he'll even indulge in the leisure of a carrot. Here, that's not necessarily the case.
There's no real need for Bugs to condescend this guy. As of right now, he poses no threat, other than being obnoxious with his advertising. He just hammered a poster over Bugs' hole, but Bugs doesn't seem bothered (as of right now) and skips a confrontation all together. If anything, his compulsive carrot chewing is almost out of habit. We've caught Bugs in a domestic moment, who happens to be enjoying his favorite snack with no other motive. There's almost a sense of cluelessness to the magician's presence, as he's not jumping to heckle him for merely passing him by as he does in The Wacky Wabbit. He doesn't even feel the need to analyze the situation. Both characters merely seem to have caught the other by chance.
"Eh... pah'don me, doc."
While Bugs isn't outright heckling his company, he does maintain his own ego by shoving the magician's arm to allow him through. A maneuver not out of passive aggression, but simple, clueless entitlement. He's polite enough to pardon himself before hand--albeit with a mouthful of carrot--again broadcasting a good natured obliviousness from his behalf. He doesn't really see himself as being rude or trying to make a statement by shoving this guy; he's simply in his way, and encroaching on Bugs' property, and so Bugs is going to carry on like normal rather than accommodate.
Continuing this politeness, contrasting with his invasiveness, Bugs pops back into the frame to justify his presence: "Fresh outta carrots."
Bugs is approached with a refreshing sprightliness in his motion. His entry and exit are both accompanied with a smear, which is potentially an unnecessary amount of energy for a simple in-and-out, but it makes Bugs seem spry and "with it", more in control of his motions than the bumbling, gawking magician, whose movements are much more vacant and slow as he struggles to comprehend the situation. The smears work particularly well with the arc that they follow.
A carrot top discarded into frame supports his statement of being "fresh out". Even something as simple as a carrot butt is animated with care and consideration--there's a slight drag in the shape and motion to make the arc clean, which looks more smooth and appealing, then a rather rubbery squash with the impact. Ditto for the mini-bounce that follows. To get pedantic, there's a frame where the carrot "recovers" from the first impact and moves in the wrong direction: it should roll towards the left, with the stem pointing left rather than right. Nevertheless, it's one frame and does not at all impact the smoothness of the animation as a whole. Very appealing and extravagant for something so little.
Thus, dead air follows. The viewer doesn't follow Bugs as he replenishes his stock; they listen. Nasal humming and singing fills the air where Stalling's musical accompaniment did formerly, as well as the rubbery, airy "pop!" sounds beautifully supplementing the visual imagery of Bugs picking carrots.
Focus is all on what's happening off-screen rather than on. Our curiosity is piqued at the lack of availability--that is, we want to see Bugs, but can't, but we can hear him, and that gets us anticipating his eventual return. What'll happen from there? When will he come back? How many carrots does he have? It's a clever and immersive way to build anticipation by honestly doing very little.
This detachment is admittedly befitting of a character like Bugs, who is a bit of a detached character. Jones' cartoons in particular would skew more sympathetically and invasively into Bugs' world, seeing his domestic set-ups in his hole, catching him unawares, and generally encroaching upon his territory to see his reaction to a situation before and after. But at this point in the character's time, he's still a bit aloof and has a private side that we're not privy to seeing. This seems to play into that, even for just a moment. Such detachment ironically builds attachment, getting further invested in what he's doing out of sheer curiosity.
Even so, the magician can't just be a static cel for the whole time. There has to be some reminder that these characters are dimensional, living beings, and that this cartoon is still rolling. The animators instills the magician with some cluelessly idle animation: head tilts, shifting weight, gentle animation that clearly conveys his struggle to process everything that is occurring. The animation and acting is appealing, dimensional, but not distracting nor overpowering.
Finally Bugs re-enters, replenished stock in tow. The magician's personal space is again disrespected as Bugs reprises his entry--this time, instead of another pardon, he merely excuses himself with "Low bridge!". It's innately playful in a way (and memorably used again in Racketeer Rabbit, as he utters the same while dodging gunfire), but somewhat dismissive and ignorant. There's an uncaring nonchalance with its usage here.
Bugs is a bit of a pest without even trying to be. He sings loudly and off-key, he unthinkingly shoves the magician out of the way, he ruins his posters. His obtuseness doesn't necessarily feel intentional, but he doesn't feel intentionally clueless, either. He's entitled. This is his space, after all, and he's simply going about his routine as usual. One of picking carrots and singing off-key. Why should he go out of his way to conform to, much less even acknowledge, a visitor encroaching upon his territory?
In any case, Bugs isn't the only clueless one. Reactions and pacing of the magician adheres to the philosophy structured in Duck: to have the magician explode with anger this early would burn through too much energy and too fast. It's wise to take these things slowly--not just out of sustainability for the short's pacing, but to get the audience curious and engaged about what the magician's next course of action will be.
It almost seems like this is the end of our altercation. Bugs has replenished his stock and assumed his duty, and is now crawling back in his hole; where else is there to go?
Much further. Bugs again pops out of his hole, with a fresh carrot proudly in his possession. And, rather than explaining why he's about to talk to the magician again and see what else he wants, he instead luxuriates in his prize. Taking a few moments to chew on a carrot and leave the magician hanging, his company is casually disrespected. Not on purpose, but out of casual routine.
"I live here. It's my home! Such as it is."
Bugs compulsive explanation, scored by a pleasantly gregarious accompaniment of "Under a Strawberry Moon", feels casual and even innocent. A way to make some small talk, as if he believes this is why the magician is still loitering by his home. Perhaps if he tells the magician that this is where he lives, the magician will realise his trespassing and leave him alone, and an amicable time will be had by all. Stalling's music score matches the innocence of Bugs' reasoning well.
After another moment of silence, Bugs follows up with a somewhat sheepish "heh heh". In a rare moment of vulnerability, it seems to be a concession of cluelessness at the magician's presence: this guy still isn't leaving nor responding, which isn't what Bugs anticipated.
Indeed, this Bugs is surprisingly vulnerable. Certainly in comparison to shorts such as A Wild Hare or The Wacky Wabbit, where his finger is on the pulse from the moment the cartoon starts, all too ready to read and heckle the sap he's dealt with (in both cases, Elmer.) Bugs has been caught unawares before, such as Tortoise Beats Hare or Hiawatha's Rabbit Hunt, but there hasn't necessarily been a purveying sense of cluelessness or inability to read the other party as there is here.
Now the magician angers, after Bugs has made his second exit. The animation continues to impress (especially considering the length of this scene). His angry take is conveyed through some restrained, vibrating jitters, the energy then careening into a very strong pose of offense and conceit: posture erect, chest out, inflamed superiority in check. The magician overshoots into the pose, his animation plastic and malleable, contributing to the very palpable energy of his acting. Confidence is equal between posing and actual animation--an incredibly valuable asset that can't be taken for granted.
This is showcased particularly well when the magician hammers a poster right over the hole. Not necessarily to correct the loss of his old one, but almost as a statement considering the anger of his movements. Smears are big and blocky, movements rapidly timed on one's and overlapped. All of the energy that was simmering through the magician's prior cluelessness and passiveness is unleashed at once. The physics of the cape are again carefully considered, their flowiness and gentle obligation towards gravity contrasting greatly with the harsh poses and motions, thereby making them seem more aggressive through the flowery afterthought that follows.
Yet again, the scene transitions through another jump cut. This one feels more purposeful, as it scores the suddenness of Bugs ripping out of the poster; cutting right as that happens enhances the feeling of a surprise confrontation.
And, just like last time, Bugs stews in the dead air that is occupied by his carrot chewing. Said carrot chewing does feel like a statement now. Bugs looks like he's going to spring into a rant any minute now to give the magician a piece of his mind--quite the drop on a dime change--but his carrot is still more important than this cape-wearing rube.
"Look doc--do I go around nailin' signs ovuh your house?"
Bugs' contemptuous deliveries and demeanor are at odds with the continually happy music in the background, greater scoring the comedic irony of the situation. After all, this is intended to be sudden; Bugs has now given his explanation as to why he's so angry, but the escalation still seems rapidly onset: was he oblivious the first time around, or was he trying to be a good sport and let it pass?
Likewise, Jones' Bugs here is amusingly flappable--notable largely because his rabbit became so synonymous with the opposite. His Bugs has gotten upset before, with Elmer's Pet Rabbit practically riding on this as a premise, but there's always been a slightly tongue-in-cheek feeling to it. Bugs' disdain in Pet Rabbit, while to establish his ego, seems born out of contrarianism and uncooperability rather than genuine malice. Here, he's nice until he's not, and there's absolutely no in-between.
Smushing Bugs' face against the magician's not only offers a beautiful caricature of invasiveness, but it adds leeway for some little gags within: Bugs' ears lift the magician's hat as he talks. Comparisons could again be drawn to Duck, with Daffy invading Porky's own personal space face to face. The visual gag there was that Porky's face could fit neatly in the concave of Daffy's beak. Since Bugs has no concave beak to speak of, the creativity is instead distributed to his ears.
In all, it's a very subtle gag--just an extraneous bout of motion--but inventive and a successful way to showcase the characters' dimensionality. That's also carried through the magician's head wobbling against Bugs' as he talks, his bulbous nose folded against Bugs' cranium.
While Bugs is ranting about de inalienable right of d' sanctity of d' home, more lessons taken from Duck are felt in the magician's reactions. The ever classic Jonesian mugging to the camera, joined by "get a load of this guy" pantomiming (the latter being our connection to the aforementioned cartoon). Bugs' acting turns inward to accommodate this. If he actually saw the magician mocking him from the side, that would easily be grounds for even more action. Instead, for the magician to skirt by with his humiliation ritual, Bugs has to be more aloof.
Blanc's deliveries, great as they are, maintain the aggression and anger as though Bugs were still nose-to-nose with the magician, thereby making a slight dissonance between voice acting and animation. The mildness of his posing is at odds with the energy of his voice. Likewise, the magician's smarm is certainly amusing, but seems just as spontaneous as Bugs' outburst--he's largely been listening with utmost vacancy. Perhaps a more gradual change in demeanor, with the smarminess seeping into him over time, may have worked better. Then again, maybe not.
It's not so much how we get there; just that we get there. Indeed, the demeanor change from the magician is important, as it drives the direction of the scene and cartoon. Unlike Porky in Duck, the magician isn't as much of a hapless victim. His only affliction is being an asshole. That's been indicated from the very start, his ballooned ego indicated with the sheer aggression of his advertising campaign. Now, that same ego is driving him to condescend Bugs with false ultimatums.
"Forgive me, my friend. Eh... do you like blacksberries pie?"
The animation continues to nail the suffocating condescension in the magician's acting, with him stooping low to patronize Bugs at his level.
Similar praises are due for Bugs' response; the shift between his absent minded rejection to excitement ("Eh, no no... ehhh... did you say blackberry pie?") is poignant, but not cartoonish; the elasticity in his animation continues through the antics and gentle drag on his head turns, but it's to score the flow and perceived naturalism of his movements rather than make a statement. It caricatures the vulnerability and even naitivite of his character novelly felt here, where he's fascinatingly impressionable.
Both characters create a perfect storm for the story: Bugs is a rube, and the magician is a jerk. While Bugs' innocence is somewhat jarring, it works in service of the story--for once, he's just minding his own business and trying not to pick a fight out the gate. Thus, when the magician picks a fight with him, any vengeance exacted upon him will feel more warranted and even sympathetic, knowing where it all started from. Jones would perfect this balance in the coming years, ensuring his Bugs isn't too simple (with some exceptions); but for a first try, Bugs is incredibly cute and charming here.
Through a beautifully confident flourish of the hands--conveyed through quick, rubbery smears--the magician eventually unearths a pie from his handkerchief. The confidence of the animation mimics the confidence of the magician. Rapidity of the animation and strength of his posing and fat trimming again feel like an abstraction in itself, matching the clear-cut, hard stylization of the backgrounds. Even the pie is abstracted, its flat surface feeling right at home with the parallel lines and geometry of the aforementioned environments.
This spawns another point of intrigue: the magician's the real deal.
Many shorts in this nature may have felt compelled to make the magician a fraud--a hulking, egomaniac bully who uses his conceit as compensation for his inability to actually perform magic tricks. The hand is quicker than the eye. Instead, our magician is actually true to his word and manages to summon a pie with no tricks or gimmicks: the pie is the gimmick itself. He does seem to have some semblance of credibility. That credibility will of course be tested by Bugs in the coming minutes, but this short isn't necessarily a story of Bugs exposing a fraud and getting his comeuppance through that, but instead him challenging a bully who by all accounts should be more powerful than him. Should, being the key word.
Nevertheless, before we view Bugs' retaliation, we need to understand why he retaliates to begin with. The magician kindly demonstrates:
Thus marks the second short in a row where a character hiding in a tree gets a face full of pie. Observations and pontifications on the pie slinging in Duck likewise apply to its usage here: it's an innately mischievous and juvenile means of attack. The magician delighting in his own gag, laughing at the "dumb boo-ny", is even more petty insult to petty injury.
Rendering of the pie is a bit more dimensional and subtle here than the prior cartoon. Highlights on the filling are softer, feeling more grounded in reality, the filling is visibly oozing off of Bugs' face and contours, and the addition of broken crust pieces is a reminder of the source material. There's a greater slow burn here--one that is contemptuous, oozing just like the pie oozing down Bugs' facade.
Perhaps that's no more clearer when Bugs crumbles some of the crust between his fingers. There's a power to the slow burn here that translates as intimidation. No more bribes, no more playing around. Bugs' rubishness and vulnerability has been put to rest--so much so that he doesn't even explode into a fit of anger, thereby making him reactive and vulnerable. Instead, he's calculating and unreadably so. Only Bugs knows what will lie ahead, but whatever--and however--it is, it will be fierce.
This is summed up most succinctly through the utterance of an old favorite, dating back to his very first prototypal appearance: "Of course you realize, dis means war."
A fade to black puts it all to rest. A sense of transition and starting anew, softened not through a cross dissolve or even a cut. We have reached a point of no return with Bugs' vengeance. Indeed, it is war, and the war is imminent.
Jones opens not on Bugs scheming his first line of attack, but--in keeping with this reset--opening upon the vestiges of a vaudeville act. Again, abstraction of John McGrew's layouts and Eugene Fleury's painting choices are the immediate takeaways. The environments are a bigger focus than the characters, who are rendered purposefully as vague blips of vague action. They exist solely in service of establishing where we are and what we'll be seeing. Allowing the bigger picture to speak and teasing the audience through vague ideas is almost a form of directorial abstraction, just like the abstraction of the backgrounds. Had this come a year prior, the execution surely would have been much more literal. Belaboredly so.
Focus on the sign is not to get viewers invested in this Bill and Bert, but, rather, thinking of who will be next to follow.
Earlier observations remain true here. Ala Bahma's name is rendered in a striking, schematic font, making him more akin to a brand than a person. Said font connotes mystique, if not ego through too-much-presentation--certainly more impressive than the plainclothes Bill and Bert, who receive not even the dignity of any stylized text. Bahma's on a different level of the hierarchy. A hierarchy we presume to be entirely self constructed.
His introduction is made through another cut. Many of these cuts in this little stretch of film could be seen as the mortar between the bricks: incrementally introducing the audience to what we'll be seeing, building the foundation, edging them closer to the meat of the cartoon. Viewers have been made well aware of Bahma's ego throughout, so there's no laborious nor formal introduction necessary. It's his act--and how that will be disrupted--where the viewer's loyalty lies.
Like the two shots before it, Bahma's entrance prioritizes layout over character. Glamor over functionality. The perspective is impressively handled--unconventional, tricky, still manages to bear depth despite the backgrounds being nothing but solid shapes. Bahma walking in perspective and gradually strutting into frame helps supplement the "phantom dimensionality" we're seeing, making the scene feel more full and interactive than perhaps it actually is.
Notably, the colors have changed between scenes: the once purple curtains are now magenta. In fact, the color scheme in this shot is a direct inverse to the colors in the opening scenes. The blue of the trees, bushes and poles is now delegated to the mass of curtains swallowing the auditorium. Yellow, once symbolizing the sky, now serves as the ground; the opposite is true for magenta. Audiences are eased into this abstraction through familiarity: there's been a change compared to the purple curtains, but in lieu of colors we are used to. This will hardly be the case for the remainder of the cartoon.
Indeed, the remainder of the cartoon takes place on this very stage. Even without the abstract layouts, the environment is inherently restrictive and flat. Jones, McGrew and Fleury embrace this opportunity for stylization and a desire to eke novelty out of other avenues by repeatedly changing the background colors throughout. They become a feature within themselves, and seeing the curtains change from purple to magenta to orange to green to blue to yellow and so forth enables the audience to get lost in the eye-popping art direction, as opposed to questioning why this cartoon is fixating on one location.
Ego still proudly in check, the magician takes his bow. Even with the backgrounds at their most bare, abstraction is prominent: this scene arranges everything at a slant, innately enhancing the dynamism of the scene. Diagonal lines and slopes convey movement and action. Footlights of the stage, once black, are now blue in service of maintaining a vivid composition. Likewise, they allow Ala Bahma's unique color scheme to pop--particularly the bold of his black and pop of lime with his turban.
With many a flourish, Bahma's cape is discarded with great prestige, as if it were a magic trick in itself. Jones and his animators are able to get more personality animation out of this, easily conveying the magician's raging ego and the poise he carries himself with. Likewise, discarding the cape now frees the animators from the burden of animating said cape--something that seems deceptively simple, but adds up to be quite the pain to track. The cape's physics have been lovingly rendered in all of its stardom. It's on comfortable footing to take a bow.
As hinted above, the cape's discardment is like a magic trick because it is a magic trick. Through some somewhat floaty--but passably, given the context of the physics--in-betweens, the cape ties itself and hangs neatly in the air. Again, Bahma, bafflingly, is the real deal.
If there were any lingering doubts as to his magical abilities and the anthropomorphism of the cape, those are answered in a quaint topper: Bahma playfully leering at the cape, which prompts it to sheepishly tinker away. Treg Brown's hollow, juvenile tinkering effects are beautifully timed to the motion, calling greater attention to the amusingly coy acting and anthropomorphism on a magician's cape.
While Jones' directing, cutting and pacing is now very streamlined and sleek, this gag has its DNA in some of the earliest Jones shorts. "Cutesy" bits of anthropomorphism, especially relating to magic (like Prest-O Change-O). Reprising such "old" ideals serves as a healthy reminder for how much Jones has improved his directing.
Another brief note on the background painting: the curtains in the back are painted as a gradient, with hues of purple beginning to dominate further into the wings. Now the floodlights are black, adhering with the black of the cape and embracing a stronger color harmony. Another slant in the layout—down rather than up—keeps things dynamic and engaging. The composition of these shots would seem lifeless and static had they remained horizontal.
Transitioning between scenes, Jones employs a cross dissolve, which may not be necessary. Cross dissolves are soft and indicate time elapsed. Perhaps it’s to ease the audience into the new color card, whose flat indigo is a stark contrast to the magentas and yellows and black. Nevertheless, the transition is hardly as important as what we’re transitioning to, which is another starkly dynamic layout. The call and response between slants—this shot having a slant and the shot before it having a slant, both pointing the same way—calls to mind the match cutting of Conrad the Sailor; a short that was the first domino to get us here.
Prominence of the top hat in the foreground, conspicuously rendered with sleek airbrushing to give it visual prominence and tangibility, means magic tricks are abound. Indeed, Bahma makes promises of prestidigitation—if he could just pronounce it.
"And now, fro-om the empty hat I will presti-dji-goo...proo-sti-get... presti-ta-gi-teh... proo-eh--"
Jones cuts to a new shot when the magician finally finishes with the ol' switcheroo ("Pull a live rabbit, yeees!"). Such a cut enunciates the feeling of cutting himself off and finally settling for a replacement; a trick that the writers, directors and certainly Blanc himself were all familiar with through a certain stuttering pig. Through the noodling of his words here, there is a hint at the misguided authority and prestige of the magician: he can do prestidigitation, but he can't say it. It's a way to humble him and keep him as a comic figure. We've seen that his abilities are the real deal, but that seems to be the extent of his authenticity.
Entertainment value is equally divided between line deliveries and posing as the magician gives the magic words of "Roota--"
"Voota--"
"Zoot!"
Blanc's deliveries are joyously juvenile, with just the right amount of voice crack to punctuate the playful asininity of the words. A palpable energy matched in the posing, which is very clean and very appealing, transitions between such hard poses swift and functional and not detrimental to the strength of the pose. Posing and framing of the scene come together quite well when the magician's arm is bent into the hat, fitting right into the negative space of the curtain above. Likewise, his free arm is continuous with the line of action, again making for a very graphically appealing drawing.
"And observe..."
"...a rabbit!"
Hairs on the carrot are a welcome touch of realism, making it more apparent that this is a real root vegetable and--as you may have noticed--not a rabbit. His failure is thereby enunciated further through such a tiny detail to ensure its believability. This is a real carrot, not a symbol of one.
Amusingly, it is not he who realizes his mistake at first, but the audience. Polite laughter from the on-screen audience prompts the magician to frown--not even in reaction to his failure, but the audience for their rudeness. His first instinct is to scorn those who laugh at him rather than checking what warranted said laughter. Another brilliant way to display his rampaging ego.
Confrontation between man and "rabbit" maintains the same stunning litheness and energy as the gesticulations--a gradual overshoot and a single smear, no settle, enhancing the snappiness of the motion, which thereby embraces the harshness in tone. With the magician and carrot face to "face", the composition is practically an inverse of the showdown between Bahma and Bugs in the tree. Only this time, it's Bahma harboring the open antagonism.
Instead of growing sheepish at his "folly" nor even acknowledging the misfire further, Bahma merely discards the carrot. Another excellent wind-up and smear release, this time with some particularly strong arcs to complete the turn. We don't even see the carrot leave the scene; Bahma's hand moving supplements the imagery for us. The idea of the movement is greater than the actual functionality--the main point of focus is the caricature of his anger, the discarded carrot complimenting that rather than driving it.
His pose is notably weaker upon his return to the hat. Lines of action limp, silhouette softer, and now the moment for almost nauseated chagrin upon his face. His movements don't nearly possess the same snap and confidence as the first time around.
The directing adheres to such. Rather than unearthing a rabbit in the same cut, the camera cuts close on a new scene, innately drawing out the action longer. Said cut also muddles the focus, thereby losing the bite and boldness from before.
Of course, cutting close also--and, really, predominantly--is purely out of clarity: our eyesight is directed towards the lump snaking up the magician's sleeve.
While viewers have the upper hand on context (in that Bahma is seemingly completely oblivious to in his sleeve), it's still a pleasant surprise to see the elusive rabbit pop out of Bahma's collar. Especially from screen right, rather than left, which would be more consistent with the previous shot--the "violation" of the 180 rule (to be hyperbolic) contributes to the intended spontaneity.
Bahma's cluelessness, still rummaging through his hat, enables Bugs to do what he does best: be a nuisance. First order of business is a tongue-in-cheek acknowledgement that he's out of his element: a bombastic tug of the collar to indicate that he's "wearing" it as well, signifying the close quarters he's sharing with Bahma and how that should not be the case. Likewise, the novelty of the typically clothes-less Bugs now sharing an accoutrement. That's all to say: none of this is right. Such is the point.
Bugs' drawings here are weaker in comparison to DeLara's animation, demonstrating the growing pains still felt through the artists. After all, this is only the third Bugs cartoon in the Jones unit. A common issue in Bugs shorts of this era is the characterization and story being too advanced than the actual animation--thankfully, this isn't a huge issue in this cartoon, and there is plenty of appealing Bugs animation within it.
Earlier, Bugs pulled his Groucho impression from Hare Hunt and its derivatives. He does another nostalgic pull here--this time, from A Wild Hare, covering his antagonist's eyes and playfully chiding them to "Guess who!".
As opposed to Elmer, the magician doesn't go through a laundry list of celebrities, solely to exacerbate the speech impediment he does not have. To his credit, he catches on immediately. As his posture straightens and his demeanor grows confrontational, whipping around to face Bugs, the camera rockets diagonally to accentuate this sudden straightening of posture and erectness. Jones has been diligent with his camera usage in this short, using it as an artistic tool to score certain beats and emotions, rather than a tool to shoot the cartoon with.
"Yeeees, me!"
Yet another dime drop demeanor change for Bugs. The staging is a direct inverse of their earlier confrontation, in which Bugs underwent the same "transformation"--a nice way to make their rivalry feel more longstanding and the burden that comes with that history. Even if said history is only a few hours.
Bugs' innocence in the lead-up almost seems like a ruse, his smiles and collar tugging waiting; it's like he's waiting for an excuse to get ornery and drop the congenial act, and is dying for the magician to confront him for that to happen.
Whereas he took a moment to chew up his carrot spittle before, that same inconsiderate pause is supplemented through angry, heaving breaths. Again, quite a contrast to his usual heckling, where even in shorts where he's angered (Tortoise Beats Hare, The Hare-Brained Hypnotist) there's a feeling of sleekness buried beneath. Anger in defense of his sleekness.
Here, Bugs is again quite rubish, panting heavily and being obnoxiously intimate and generally uncouth. This is a clunky, vengeful bunny.
"Ya didn't expect ta see me again, eh, Svengali?"
The head tilts back and forth on both characters do a great job of giving them depth, dimension and form--a particularly valuable asset when the background is but a mere colorcard, which enunciates the flesh and blood feeling of the characters. They're the only subjects in this shot with any dimension.
Interestingly, the magician attempts to disengage with a pleading "Go away, please!". Bugs is the one accelerating the confrontation rather than the magician, who doesn't even try to put on a tough guy act to counter. He lives in a world where his actions ideally have no consequences, and Bugs is a walking hammer to that ideology, which signifies trouble.
Of course, the magician immediately follows up by calling him a "dumb rabbits bunny", which places karma right back at his feet, justifying any heckling thereafter. He's not remorseful--he just doesn't want Bugs to "for to ruins my act", which, in term, would ruin his ego. Remember, the magician is in front of an audience. Character acting details such as Bugs fiddling with Bahma's mustache, further invading his space and humiliating him further, remain sharply on point. Everything the magician's saying is purposefully going in one rabbit ear and out the other.
Familiar sharpness and wit seeps back into Bugs with his refutation, dropping the rube act: "Wrong, doc--I'm gonna help ya!"
Bugs' draftsmanship is much stronger and cute as a switch is made to another animator. His qualities are a bit more limber, soft, less mathematically thinking. All great traits to have in this scene where Bugs acts aloofly invasive--a very strong natural appeal in his lax posture and how he fits onto the magician's shoulder. Unlike the magician, Bugs is comfortable and complacent. Something to make his heckling all the more annoying.
Similar praises apply to the magician's animation, too. His helpless obliviousness as Bugs invades on his space like an oversized parrot companion is well conveyed through the crossed eyes pointed helplessly upward, and his mouth being hidden which gives him a wide-eyed, clueless appeal.
"Lessee now, uh... you was tryin' to prestigoodjiga--pre-prestidadjigoo--a-proo-eh-prest-ehh..."
Stalling's pensive music score embodies Bugs' casual mockery well--it's casual, playful, coyly thoughtful, a stark change compared to the bombasm of the magician's musical scoring beforehand. Power is getting handed to Bugs now, even through the directing.
Likewise, Bugs' callback with the magician's mangled pronunciation isn't only fun to listen to and equally fun writing, but it shows that he's been lurking all this time. Listening to everything Bahma has been doing and preparing for the best moment of attack. Thus conveys an advantage for Bugs; he is on top of this situation and has been. Now, he's simply coming to claim it.
"...eh, pull a rabbit outta da hat."
Ever kindly--and humiliatingly, on Bahma's behalf--Bugs offers to demonstrate with a playfully pompus "Rrrrregardez!" More of Bahma's personal space is violated and disrespected in the process, with Bugs carelessly scaling the top of his head to dive off. Posing on the magician continues to elicit amusing reactions; with Bugs standing on top of his head, he looks more shrunken into himself than ever and, thusly, powerless. Quite a contrast to the proud posing on Bugs with clear curves and straight arms and legs.
To give the scene some traceable geography, hints of chartreuse fringe poking from the very top--it accentuates the feeling of Bugs climbing and getting higher and occupying these environments, rather than simply plastered atop an attractively garish color card.
That's continued with Bugs' dramatic dive. It almost seems to exist solely to demonstrate some of the fringes and touches in the background, demonstrating this whole world of color that's been conspicuously held off-screen all this time; Bugs' ascent upwards is a bit slow and floaty and "perfect", not much of an arc or moving forward--it seems that some of this is to accommodate the viewer's ingestion of the background. More time to jump, more time to look at the neat background (but, most importantly, more time for Bugs to show off.)
Bugs' descent is quicker, refreshingly simulating a gravitational pull. Due to his positioning and the positioning of the camera, the detail is almost cut off, but keen eyes will note that Bugs kicks his legs on the way down like a swimmer. A little touch of playfulness that embraces his innate mischief and cute appeal well here, as well as inducing further visual interest.
Thus--with some gently misaligned cel drawings in the last few frames, much too inconsequential to catch without freeze-framing--Bugs successfully dives into the hat. Note that the magician retains his hunched posture, despite the weight on his head now absorbed into the hat. It's a funny touch of his powerlessness, but likewise exists for clarity; had he been fully erect on the way down, but not up, it may read as a bit of a jump cut. Our attention is supposed to be on Bugs.
A surprised take results, which also partially functions to get the magician out of his hunched position. Cutting to a new layout solely for this take feels slightly discombobulated with the pacing thus far--it's just a split second moment, which means a split second cut, which can feel jarring or arbitrary. Perhaps Jones would have kept this reaction in the wide shot if this were any other cartoon without magically color changing backgrounds. Instead, the take arrives with a new backdrop--orange, this time--which carries over into the next cut.e
To further rub salt in the wound, Bugs continues to steal the magician's own words and even act: his summoning out of the hat comes with its own roota--voota--zoot!, right down to bastardizing Bahma's gesticulations. Considering only his hand is visible, much personality is injected into the movement and acting of his hand. Smooth, looping arcs are a priority, as are distinct stops and poses on the hand. There's clearly intent to Bugs' wrist flicking rather than aimless flailing; something this could come off as with a less skilled animator.
Bugs' re-entry is very well handled, to no surprise. He retains an amicably lax demeanor, contributing to his charm through a feeling of control over the situation. Something that's particularly notable after its absence in his beginning scenes. Likewise, his contented, happy smile is an insult to the bewildered and bumbling reactions on the magician. Bugs' "magic act" is a piece of cake to him, no skin off of his buck-teeth. Such casual confidence is an assault on the ego of the magician. Bugs knows this.
If he didn't, he wouldn't engage in a mischievously monotonous routine of bowing to the audience before him--responding to scattered claps, another contrast in reaction with the magician--nor bowing to the magician. It's a charmingly funny routine benefitted from appealing animation and abstract directing; the foreshortening on Bugs as he leans towards the camera is realistic, dimensional, as is the contrast when he bows towards Bahma. Flexing of a flesh and blood being in front of these flat, stylized backdrops, but not to a degree of rigid literality. There retains a soft flow and appeal in his draftsmanship and motion.
Abstract directing refers to the quickening pace and repetition in which Bugs does so. A bow to the audience, then Bahma, then back to the audience, then back to Bahma, and back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, smears on Bugs' head particularly indicative of this growing speed and abstraction. Charmingly playful and whimsical--something the magician lacks in spades.
At first, the magician reacts in confusion rather than anger. Again, as repeatedly noted throughout this analysis and in Duck, having the magician burn through his anger too quickly could make the pacing of the cartoon seem unsustainable. He will get angry and it will progress and burn, but for the moment being, he merely gawks.
Jones abstracts the inevitable outburst particularly well. There's a build-up to the magician's reaction--first the contemptuous, Jonesian sideye, then consterned flailing, and then the attempt to grab. The flailing, albeit quick, is enough of a warning signal for Bugs to get out of there--and he does.
One frame he's on,
the second he's off.
Smoke puffs from the hat supplement his presence afterwards and disguise the abrasiveness of the "cheat", which is what makes this demonstration of speed so successful. With how quickly it occurs and the smoke filling the "void", the audience feels like they saw Bugs rush back into the hat. It doesn't read as the mere absence of the cel. Beautifully slippery, and a liberating display of speed and caricature from Jones, considering his now outdated track record of the former.
Bugs tops off the humiliation ritual with one of his most beloved. As he does so, the colors on the background invert, accentuating the impact and perhaps even a symbol of how the tables have been turned. The live audience reaction reminds us that Bahma's embarrassment is all public.
The demeanors of each respective party is well encapsulated. Bugs' silhouette flows, his construction limber and soft--particularly the way his arms taper into his body and into the hat. Compare that to the hunched bulkiness of the magician, rigid as he reels from his emasculation. Bugs' parallel posture is proud, gleeful. Bahma's is cowering, even pathetic.
Not a character renowned for his ability to leave something unfinished, Bugs keeps the humiliation going by tying Bahma's mustache in a knot--another emasculating purple ribbon to boot. Treg Brown's pitchy razzing sound caricatures the mischief of the action beautifully. It's a noise not rooted in any sort of realism or literality, and yet, feels like a natural fit. It's all too easy to take his sound effect prowess for granted, but these little details can make or break the experience. Brown is well accustomed with the former.
Viewers receive the privilege of a close-up on Bahma's emasculation. His slanted line of action sells a candid, gently defeated and limp posture--he's no longer in presentation mode. Yet, attractive as the dynamism is, the real sell is that it allows the braid to sway in accordance to real world physics, therefore calling greater attention to its presentation. The glare at the camera and stewing in emasculated contempt again draws comparisons to Duck, with the banner tied around Porky's head in a similar note.
Unlike the latter, Bahma breaks out of his "disguise" on-screen; a flustered flourish of the fingers that comes after a long pause, timed in accordance with the (real world) audience's presumed laughter.
A surefire sign that this is a Charles M. Jones cartoon (if nothing else has been satisfactorily obtuse) is that Bugs' next means of bargaining arrives via sign. Breaking up directorial monotony by differentiating his exits and entrances, it serves also as a cleverly detached means to tease. He'll only do as the magician says through a bribe. He also has to tell the magician this through the most aloof means. Playing hard to get and proud of it--a similarly proud contrast to most tales of magicians and rabbit summoning, whose subjects have no choice in the matter and are resigned to their legerdemainic servitude.
Our magician has to think on this. His pondering is attractively rendered--the vacancy in his expression is oxymoronically specific and organic, as if he's really thinking hard on this bargain. Likewise, his dimensionality is touted, slowly turning more towards the camera throughout, his finger indenting as it ponderously presses against his cheek. Character animation and the details therein are the focal point of this scene, and are details that can't afford to be skimped out on. Happily, that's not the case.
Thus, another fade to black and back in takes us to our next course of action. Now, it seems that the finality of the fade signifies the turn of the tables, now back in favor of Bahma. He will have the upper hand here. Or, at least, more sustainably than he's had throughout the stage sequences.
Indeed, any duplicity guessed through this implied transition is justified when the fade comes up and it's not the carrot that's the visual priority, but the large, obtuse mallet inconspicuously held behind Bahma's back. A fade also eliminates the need to show Bahma retrieving it. Not only is its spontaneity funnier, but less of a burden on the animators. Those burdens instead are directed towards tracking the mallet's highlights. Highlights give the mallet greater dimensionality, running along its contours, which therefore makes it seem more solid. More solid means more painful.
Another cut also means another change in background color scheme. Blue and yellow dominate now, the essentially-complimentary colors completely divorced of the primarily analogous theming prior. Eye popping and bold, the departure in structure of color hierarchy--oddly but effectively enough--further sells the passage of time and changing of gears.
"Come out and get de nice carrot, pretty boo-ny..."
"Nice carrot" is a bit of an oversell. Instead, it's limp and devoid of much structure. While the coming close-up does yield more detail out of necessity, the general flimsiness of the carrot's presence and looks sells a purposeful disrespect. This is the best the magician could (or is willing to) scrounge up. He's not going to tantalize Bugs with a big, thick, juicy carrot, hand fed by Bahma himself. He gets what he gets.
As mentioned before, a number of familiar Bugs trademarks have cropped up in this cartoon--and that alone is indicative of the character's everlasting legacy, if only 2 years into his formal existence he already has a laundry list of beloved cliches. The Groucho line, the guess who bit, the kissing. Now, another that's been a proud staple since the days of A Wild Hare makes a return: the gloved pantomime in search of a carrot.
There have been slight variations on this gag throughout the cartoons. Fresh Hare's was more human and musical, with Bugs' fingers even retrieving snow shoes. Wild Hare's, of course, is slightly more anthropomorphic, the middle finger rearing in surprise like a dog.
And it's the latter approach that is utilized here, to a fuller extent. His middle finger, supplementing as the hand-creature's head, sniffs out the carrot like a bloodhound on the prowl, sniff impact lines drawn to further draw attention to the act already clearly audible through Brown's sound effects. Bugs is cheated to have five fingers in this scene rather than the usual four, working in service of the "dog"'s four limbs, but it never registers as a cheat or deformity. It's just a small, unconscious accomodation of a larger whole--one that is delightfully absurd and playful.
A cut back to the wide has Bugs' hand further away from the carrot than it was in the close-up, giving some more prep time for the magician, readying his hammer. The discrepancy in hand placement from Bugs isn't very noticeable; focus is not on what Bugs is doing, but what Bahma will do. Viewers anticipate the inevitable blow.
Said blow does land and is indeed inevitable--just from the unexpected party.
A beautifully effective reversal. It's funny, it's karmically deserved, and it's certainly shocking with the deliberate slow build beforehand. The impact likewise spurs the colors to invert in the background, enunciating the beat as mentioned before. However, it's clever most of all; audiences cautiously think that surely Bugs isn't stupid enough to take the bait, right? Is the delicacy of a carrot enough to lose him in this sequence?
Thus, Bugs' retaliation is almost as much addressed to the audience as it is Bahma: "punishment" for ever giving into such complacent thought processes. Of course, his flickers of vulnerability and rube-like behavior from before don't put such worries out of the question. But Bugs is in his element now. After all, this is Bugs Bunny.
Bugs rewards himself for his hard work by swiping the carrot, a bribe now a symbol of success. Intrigued, the blow to the head receives no audience commentary as the similarly background-inverting kiss did. The magician is left to stew in his wobbly, dazed humiliation alone.
A cross dissolve enunciates such thinking--another moment has passed, gears are switching, the magician's daze was the finishing punchline itself. Jones' variance in scene transition and moments of finality keep the pace of the cartoon engaging and rhythmic.
There's the slightest blip of cel trouble; the hat and orange part of the background, evidently on the same cel, are momentarily askew. Hardly noticeable without freeze-framing, and noted purely as a reminder of the human hands--and error--that go into making these cartoons. Dynamism in the shot composition through a mere slant continues to pull the weight in engaging backgrounds. This would seem much more uninteresting and flat if regularly upright.
Out from the hat comes a discarded carrot, flicked aside no less casually than a discarded cigarette butt. Bugs is enjoying his time luxuriating in private, unreachable from the magician. He goes at his own aloof, leisurely pace, while the magician stews and bumbles around on stage--one now being littered with 1/5th of a carrot. This is more aligned with the Bugs we know.
Jones engages in an intriguing attempt to overlay actions between cuts for the illusion of speed. Still in the close-up, the scene ends with a few frames of the magician easing into frame, which is further articulated in the next shot. Perhaps more clean direction would confine the action to one single shot, as the attempt to split it between two is resulting in a "lag" effect--too many drawings for the intended effect, which is often reliant on the opposite. Either way, this experimentation demonstrates a mindfulness of shot flow, and that there can be something organic about cutting on an action.
Upon the magician reaching into the hat, a guttural, Blanc-ian "Ooough!" ensues. Bahma verbalizes further context if the sound design wasn't enough: "I got heem!"
His glance towards the camera is fleetingly innocent as he revels in his victory. He doesn't upon first instinct, but takes the moment to acknowledge that he's actually "gotten" anything--a first for the night. There's an amusing vulnerability to this beat. One that will result in further humiliation and ego checking for him rather than relief. As we've begun to learn, Bugs won't let himself get "got" so easily.
That, again, is validated. From the depths of the hat come a tinny impression of Jerry Colonna: "On the contrary! I've got you!"
Indeed, tinny voice filtering is another carry-over from Duck, with Bugs in the hat rather than Porky in the tree. It's an effective way to sell the interactivity of the environments, and is an asset that's particularly valuable in this instance, where sound is the only reminder of Bugs' presence. Much of this short feels like an application in the directorial lessons Jones has been learning, affirming that they have been learned in the first place.
With both having the other "got", the next course of action is the logical immaturity of tug-o-war. Posing on Bahma is harmonious and strong, his silhouettes clean, dynamic, bursting with tension and kinetic energy. The curve of his shoulder juxtaposed against the straight slope of his back, the cleanliness of the negative space through the equally streamlined silhouette--a drawing that is very graphically minded, but functionally so. It communicates the struggle and tension between man and rabbit, and looks dang good as it does.
Ditto with the tug forward. His shoulder is completely submerged into the hat. His back is a clean slope, and there's an even cleaner triangle of negative space between the hat and his torso. Even in moments of literal weakness, his posing remains strong.
Yet again, this could be seen as a parallel to the tug-o-wars featured in shorts such as A Wild Hare and Fresh Hare, with the hat substituting the rabbit hole. It's certainly interesting that such a groundbreaking short, through all of its sharp design and establishing a formula that would be a staple of Bugs' character interactions and philosophy for decades, is also so "regressive", hitting all of the familiar Bugs staples. Yet, through the sharpness of Jones' direction and aforementioned innovations, these familiar antics don't really read as old [magician's] hat.
And speaking of hats, in the magician goes into his. The act is again very smooth and streamlined, preserved through prominent arcs in the smears. Jones and his animators prioritize caricature over actual physicality; had this been a short made a year or two before, there certainly would have been some impressive but bloated animation of Bahma's physique struggling to fit into the hat. Here, the action is quick and clean, prioritizing the overall effect of what it stands for rather than making it a focus itself. Our interest is in where this'll lead.
Moreover, much of comedy is born out of contrast: Bugs' re-emergence from the hat is a stark antithesis to the discussed principles. Clunky, slow, and purposefully obnoxious, he seems to be putting on his rube-like airs once more. His obtusely hummed chorus of Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1-Allegro is interspersed with strangled, guttural groans as he shimmies himself free from the hat.
It's a purposefully lugubrious affair, which is a whole form of heckling in itself--by being as obnoxious as utterly possible. Even after he's emerged from the hat, his groans and strangled moans persist, making noise just for the sake of making noise. An undignified blemish on the magician's act, and in front of an entire audience yet.
Indeed, this scene drags beyond pleasure, but that is the entire point. Just as it also sets itself up for a refutation: after close to 20 seconds of Bugs' solo squirming and groaning, with no other auditory or visual accompaniment except but, the magician launches his own refutation: a hand rises out of the hat and gives Bugs something to really groan about.
While not entirely unanticipated, it comes as a surprise after the monotony of the action beforehand, which is entirely by design. There's a beautiful touch in which after Bugs is grabbed, his choked, pathetic, "caught" face is flaunted in front of the audience for a few seconds, his body slowly easing in before being yanked into the hat with a flash. This lingerance of his visage before the harsh follow-up creates an equally lingering presence, and a pathos/engagement upon realizing Bugs' tables have yet again turned against him. That, and it just looks nice in animation.
All of these above principles--fast after slow, juxtaposition, and so on--are furthered through the cacophony of action that thereby ensues. There's an amazing amount of vitality and character in the animation of the hat alone, simulating a fearsome brawl through its cavorting and bouncing. Something worth noting considering that the hat has been affixed to the table all this time. A beautiful flurry of energy that is visceral in all accounts, aided especially through the puffs of smoke and stars, and certainly through Brown's smacking and punching effects. Obscuring this fight off-screen, as we've learned throughout these shorts, is almost more visceral than actually showing it through the suspense inherent in lacking sufficient context.
A tense pause lingers after everything settles. The hat conveniently reverts back into its proper place, without nary a scratch or even dent on it to indicate its battle-worn status. One gets the feeling that it's the only thing not battle-worn in this instance.
Intriguingly, that supposition is not only wrong, but surprising in who its wrongness is directed to. A battered but triumphant Bugs doesn't clamor out of the hat, stewing in his victory. A seemingly unscathed Bahma emerges instead, his exit just as swift as his entry through arcs and tapers that cheat the literal physicality of the hat in favor of streamlining. It's not how he emerges that counts, nor so much even that he emerges at all, but what he'll do afterwards.
A pretty extreme measure to keep Bugs at bay.
To nitpick, the cycled head nod on Bahma is just a bit awkward, somewhat overcompensatory in giving his animation life when that is plenty accounted for with the multiples and drybrushing on his arms. But, truly, that's nothing in comparison to the sudden onslaught of construction, seemingly out of nowhere, joined by the rapidly changing color cards. All individual paintings just for this moment. The visual effect is eye popping and bold, but not to the point of distraction--instead, it's a compliment. Changing the backgrounds in moments like these or with the magician getting hit with the hammer simulates a "seeing stars" effect. Complete abstraction, but employed with confidence. Who ever knew in watching The Bird Came C.O.D. that the same director would yield moments like this in the same year.
Jones fades to black on a satisfied Bahma. Again, the finality of the moment is poignant. There's no way Bugs is coming back out of this. At least, not in this scene.
The fade brings a reset, following a philosophy touted in Duck: reach a punchline or solution, have some sort of hard, time elapsing transition that ignites a reset of the characters attempting to reunite with normalcy. Indeed, the background color scheme is the same as it was when we first saw Bahma on stage, familiar score of "Sobre Las Olas" back in tow. It's almost as if the past three minutes hadn't happened... almost.
There are still little acting and directing details to keep things humble and a reminder that we are picking up rather than starting fresh; Bahma's body language is much more cautious than it was before as he straightens himself out, and the music is a bit less pompous in sound. Nevertheless, Bahma is back in his domain and decidedly absent of his boony--that's the important part.
"Eh... ladies and gentlepeoples. For my next illusion, I will require the as-sees-tance of a small boy from the audience."
Despite preaching to the invisible audience (and the acknowledge of said invisible audience likewise taking us back to the top, when they were a more considerate presence before Bugs stole the show), the positioning of the magician would make it look like Bahma was actually addressing the theatrical audience as well. Particularly the black footlights, which would've blended seamlessly into the dark of the theater. This, too, is another philosophy learned from Duck.
That would make the whiny, almost sickly voice responding from the crowd more amusing, as the lines between real audience and fake audience are purposefully blurred: " I shall be happy to assist you, sir..."
Upon the next cut, it becomes immediately apparent why the source of the voice was so conspicuously withheld. Bugs' surprise reveal is exactly that: a surprise to both us and Bahma--and even then, not very, as Bahma is swimmingly fooled through Bugs' delightfully obtuse disguise.
Jones commendably resists the compulsion of spoon-feeding. Bugs' appearance, in multiple senses of the word, is the gag. There's no bridging close-up shot of him approaching the magician, nor is there any explanation as to how he managed to escape a boarded up hat. Nor should there be. The mysticism of his presence is the appeal and the fun. Much of Bugs' appeal as a character comes from his perceived invincibility and omnipresence. His impossibilities is his allure.
Likewise, there's a trust placed in the (real) audience in that the asininity of Bugs' disguise will be enough to trigger a laugh, and one that trumps any confusion at how he escaped. Bugs and disguises were not new, even by 1942--they go as far back as his prototypal days with Hare-um Scare-um. Regardless, just as this short is integral in establishing the archetype of "big bully versus Bugs", this feels like a moment that had a considerable say in the "big bully seamlessly falls for Bugs' disguise" phenomenon.
Another source of comedy is Pierce's writing. Bahma, obliviously swaddled in his own self conceit, sees nothing wrong with the acerbic, violent plan he happily unfolds to the audience: "I shall now attempt to run razor sharp swords through the basket."
As if to assuage the real-life audience's fears--moreso than Bugs', at least--Bahma whispers his assurances to Bugs: "There's nothing for to fear... eet's a treeck... the swords do not penetrate... no..."
Bugs nods in loyal understanding, Bobe Cannon's soft draftsmanship a perfect fit for playing up Bugs' cloying cuteness here (which likewise extends to hiding his buck teeth.) It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Bugs' compliance with Bahma will result in nothing but disaster. The suspense in getting there is as fun and anticipatory as the actual execution.
Another fade to black is used for the scene transition--perhaps a bit too harshly. The music remains the same all throughout, no skips, which diffuses the feeling of the time elapsing. A cross dissolve may have been a gentler choice that still communicates the passage of time, but without the burden of finality that isn't really necessary here.
Nevertheless, our focus is on Bugs, now situated in an ornate wicker basket. Winks are shared between rabbit and man, coyly communicating the harmlessness of the bit. Ala Bahma is a good guy. He's not really going to spear someone who he perceives is a vulnerable small boy, because he's just that sporting and generous. But, of course, all of his compensatory attempts to communicate the trick's harmlessness only fuel the inevitable fire.
(A tangent--the lime of Bahma's turban pops vividly against the deep magenta background, a solid focal point.)
Running themes of the phoniness and overcompensation of the set-up continues: after Bahma closes the lid, Bugs pops up to give him another wink. Aggressive compliance. The timing of this is incredibly well handled to feel spontaneous and thusly awkward, with Bugs popping up after Bahma has his back turned, and Bahma having to lean in--on a whole new cut, showing that the direction is outpacing the action Bugs is purposefully holding up--to give him another wink. Beautifully monotonous and mundane through a marriage of funny character acting and hilariously organic timing. One would assume that with the dripping insincerity of Bugs' act, the magician would have caught on by now. This, of course, would become a main theme of Bugs' shorts for years to come.
Praises for character acting persist even when said acting turns serious. Bahma draws a particularly obtuse sword, highlights stressing its sharpness like the mallet's highlights enunciated its thickness, and does so with a potentially unnecessary but incredibly attractive flourish. His posing is graphically minded and has excellent stage presence: his shapes are geometric and streamlined. Confident diagonals and parallel lines and smooth tapers in the arms and legs. The cock of the eyes to give an offset appeal on his face--one that reminds us of his organicism when everything else is so clean. Again, it's truly remarkable that the sheer poses in Jones cartoons can be as much a performance than actual acting. This was not true even less than a year before this.
Nitpick for the sake of nitpicking and a reminder of artistic humanity: Bahma's shoes briefly overlap with the footlights. The black-on-black with the shoes and footlights makes pointing this out all the more redundant. Eyes are not on his foot registration anyway, but the giant saber he's preparing to spear into the basket presumably occupying one small boy slash doomb boony.
The actual impact is much more frank than the build-up, which is the name of the game: all of these dramatics, these explanations, these asides and suspense, just to result in a very straightforward spearing animation (no overshoot and hardly any settle) that spurs an equally straightforward "OUGH!"
All carried by the topper of Bahma cautioning a tell-tale side-eye to the audience and sweat to boot. No frills, no words, no further articulation present nor necessary. This is another moment that would seemingly dictate the philosophy behind many beats in many Jones cartoons for years to come. The patented Chuck Jones side-eye is here to stay.
This entire sequence offers an effective reversal of expectations. Usually, the set-up seems to be that there's an unimaginably foolish danger--only for the reveal to be all well. Instead, the opposite is true: every step is taken from Bahma (and, subsequently, the direction, humoring his perspective) to ensure that this trick is safe and legit, and Bugs giving his vehement understanding... just for the opposite to be the case.
Of course, as we already surmised, the magician's frequent reassurances to Bugs were simply more ammo for him to indulge in the opposite. There's no way he wouldn't. But it still comes as a surprising reveal and satisfying most of all--perhaps because through all of this build-up, we're still blindsighted at how utterly frank the impact is. Especially when operating under the fake-audience assumption that this is a small boy being speared alive by a seemingly quack magician.
Another gift of the sequence is that the magician still attempts to preserve his ego. Rather than stopping the show and seeing if everything's alright, much less even removing the sword, he--to his credit, with great awkwardness and pain, communicated through some delightfully wavering poses--keeps pushing it in. There is no universe in which this would possibly make him look better.
Even so, viewers--and Bahma--are rewarded through continually visceral groans and grunts from Mel Blanc, and with it, more manically cautious animation from Bobe Cannon. The wince as his silhouette retreats into itself. The wide-eyed, deer in headlights stare towards the audience in a true breach of professionality. Single drawings are able to elicit lots of laughs.
If continuing to push the saber into the basket is hilariously cruel, then that goes double (quite literally) for the addition of another sword. Its design differs from the other, with the differentiation making it feel like the violence is "stacking up" and less monolithic. All the less favorable for the magician's integrity.
Insertion of the sword is animated and directed well. The animation is on a bit of a stagger, a slight tremble in the magician's hand causing it to waver as it's trepidatiously inserted--great consideration of detail and character acting that enhances the intended viscera. Likewise, Brown's sound effects are twistedly subtle; there's a quiet metallic sound as it makes contact with the basket, furthered by gentle crunching as it's pushed in. There's no doubting the tangibility of the action.
Loyal to the philosophy that no news--er, sound--is good news, Bahma interprets the silence from this round as a sign of relief. A more charitable interpretation than the alternative, which is that his target is not even alive enough to vocalize his pain.
Never fear: he very much is, and does so through a symphony of guttural pangs. Even when he's not on-screen, with his absence part of the joke, Blanc and Bugs still command an incredibly strong performance. Blanc's vocals do much of the heavy lifting, but so much of that is likewise owed to the strength and slow burn of Jones' direction. Noise for the sake of noise isn't always funny. Here, it's hilarious due to the specific cocktail of circumstance.
Amidst the death rattles from inside the basket, Bahma flashes a sheepish grin to the audience that reeks of Jones' artistic influence. Not as if the whole cartoon hasn't, but the style of the teeth particularly calls to mind Jones' early animation work. Porky's Badtime Story is a particular standout example, which bore synonymous timing and context.
It's especially endearing to note here, considering how much Jones has grown as an artist and now director in the time since then. That even transformative works such as these still bear the DNA of his roots--the contrast makes us all the more aware of how much he's grown (which is to say, a lot.) That quaint endearment is doubled when recognizing this is Bobe Cannon's animation, who worked right alongside Jones in those early days with the Tex Avery and Bob Clampett units.
A glutton for punishment--whether his or the "boy"'s--Bahma goes in for yet another dagger. Its design is again differentiated, maintaining the aforementioned philosophy of more variance in swords = a greater cluster of danger. Bahma's anxiety is more understated, cautious, less hammy to score the gravity of the moment. One mimicked in the orchestral swell of the music.
With the next predictable utterance, the magician draps the dagger entirely, nerves besting him. Cannon's timing is incredibly sharp all throughout, nailing a natural, organic distribution that enhances the comedy through believability. That is, it doesn't feel like he drops the dagger because he's mandated to, or Bugs didn't pop up out of the basket to wink on a pre-determined cue. Slight variances and overlay in action enhances the believability of the animation and acting, which only furthers the viewer's investment.
As it so turns out, the reason the magician kept going is not because of his own sadomasochistic tendencies, but his allegiance to the rule of three's. The camera dutifully pans (and Bahma steps over with it) to reveal a decidedly in-tact Bugs standing off-screen, still pretending to be slain. Props to Jones' directing: he plays a prank on the audience, just as Bugs does to the magician. While there's the assumption that Bugs is deliberately messing with this guy all throughout, we anticipate it in a way where Bugs is still in the basket. It doesn't occur to us--nor Bahma--that he would have somehow gotten out this whole time. More omnipresent appeal that works to an effective anticlimax.
Likewise, there's still an underbelly of logic to the illogic. How could Bahma have been handed the swords otherwise?
Bugs continues to ham up his performance, completely oblivious to his being caught--another benefit of this "upset", in that it eases some of Bugs' invincibility and makes the power dynamic more engaging to watch. His strained "Ooooough... agony, agony, agony!" is an homage to cameraman Smokey Garner, whose frequent quoting of the same phrase found itself in many a Warner cartoon. Johnny Smith and Poker Huntas is seemingly the first short to make reference to it, but this short may be the first in that the "Smokeyisms", so to speak, are more present (or detectably facetious.)
As alluded above, this scene offers another dose of vulnerability for Bugs in the quest of keeping the dynamic fresh. Bugs has been on the high mark for quite some time--a little humbling is in order. And, rather than exploding on him, Bahma opts to condescend, thereby putting the joke on Bugs rather than him for being duped: "Does it hurt very much, sonny boy?"
Even in a deceptively simple scene like this--just two characters in frame at mid-shot--is packed with consideration in framing and composition. Bugs' arm meshes with the parallel line in the background well, whose blue also adheres well to the blue of his ribbons. Negative space between himself and Bahma is clear and concise, matching the conciseness of their respective silhouettes. Bahma towers over the small Bugs. His line of action more forceful. The power imbalance is very clear.
Jones' abstraction in direction and animation extends to Bugs' surprise take: his eyes turn to face Bahma before the rest of his face. It's a quick one-two beat that, while nonsensical, is organized and rhythmically timed. Yet again one compulsively stresses just how much Jones has grown artistically. Both in the nonsensicality of the gag and how smooth its employment is.
Those same praises extend to the next cut, which exists purely as the mortar between the bricks. A momentary lingering on this frozen confrontation, movement relegated only to the gentle ease of Bahma as he leans in and closes the gap--another demonstration of his superiority through claustrophobic posing.
Then, Bugs darts off-screen--conveyed only through one lead-up smear and a flurry of drybrushing. His clothes remain staunchly in place. A beautiful caricature of speed and panic that doubles as a clear sign that the gears are again switching, and the battle between man and boony is going elsewhere. Drawings on the magician are continually appealing through the organic distribution of shapes. Particularly the tapering on the eyes.
Another brief "mortar shot" ensues, more literal in its definition of separating point A from B, as Bugs propels himself into another high-dive. The stage is literally [re]set again, carried through the default color scheme of magenta and yellow. Of course, this only lasts for a few seconds, but the subsequent background--with the subsequent high dive--is the same one from the previous dive. Our memory recall is at work with recognizing these familiar actions and backgrounds, giving the cartoon a metaphorical and literal geography that makes it seem more fulfilling and substantial through these callbacks. Continuity makes the cartoon feel more coherent.
Continuity also extends to the wooden planks nailed to the hat.
This is another wonderful ego check for Bugs. It's not exactly karma, so much as it is logic that has been abandoned in the wake of hubris. There was never any allusion that the planks wouldn't be on the hat--everything is as it was left. Bugs is also why the planks are there to begin with. Thus, Bugs quite literally crashes into his own consequences; this isn't necessarily a punishment for his heckling, as Bahma has clearly shown himself to deserve it--instead, it's a commentary on Bugs' easy tendency for complacency. Jones has been very considerate with the push and pull between both characters and their wins.
So much so that there isn't even a recovery where Bugs pries the wood off and slinks into the hat. This is it. He merely sags, cutting to a new layout for the sake of the gag where his flaccid silhouette conforms to the table. The conforming aspect could be a bit stronger, with his ears having room to adhere to the shape of the wood more, but the effect is nevertheless there. A surprisingly--and refreshingly--frank punchline that is more impactful than any frills and flourishes: just the dull thud of hubris.
Greater priorities are nevertheless afoot. Reunited with his saber--and, seemingly, with the intent to actually gouge Bugs--Bahma lumbers towards his target. The saber almost seems bigger in this scene, though that may be a side effect of the moody directing: Bahma's fierce expression and the dynamic slope of the layout convey a succinctly confrontational picture. With the background sloping down, Bahma is at the high end, giving him the advantage and again illustrating the power imbalance. He's literally on top.
Even so, a down and out Bugs Bunny is still a Bugs Bunny. Any pangs of remorse from the audience at his lifelessness--particularly with an oncoming Bahma--are soon dashed as he jovially springs back into position. We truly have learned nothing if we thought Bugs was disarmed for good.
Both the audience and viewer alike are surprised through a juvenile game of Red Light, Green Light: before we can process, Bugs is immediately counting "Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten RED LIGHT!"--a subversion whose quickness alone gets a laugh, but also through Bugs' brazenness. Typical of his character, he turns a potential life-or-death scenario into a game, ridiculing any and all threats. Even (and especially) if it's through the most immature means, Bugs again has command of the scene.
It's funny for Bugs to spur this game on instantaneously. It's even funnier to watch Bahma oblige. His pose here, and in subsequent cuts, is purposefully physics defying. His cape remains frozen in the air, his weight suspended from lurching forward and crashing into the ground. Pausing on such an "impossible" pose stresses the asininity of the situation, which of course makes it more entertaining. It's more impactful than if Bahma were to freeze with both feet on the ground.
Cutting back to Bugs yields a wide grin on his face, and, for a change, one of authenticity. He seems delighted that his plan is actually working. Likewise, his eagerness at his success embraces the coy innocence imbued in the tone. Jovial, immature, "innocent"--all a fierce contrast with the violence beforehand and gruesomeness of his duplicity. That is, this is a different way to heckle from pretending to get stabbed.
In keeping with the above philosophies, we get a back and forth of this for a few more rounds. Each round stacks on--Bugs' next "Red light!" is quicker in his counting, and both Bahma's running and stop pose are more exaggerated.
The same is true of the next round. Bugs' counting increments shorten. Bahma's posing defies basic physics.
The peak is reached when Bugs simply counts "oneRED LIGHT!". There's no functionality to this game whatsoever--it's simply to mess with the magician and watch him flounder to Bugs' purposefully impossible standards. Abstraction and silliness is the point.
On the topic of impossibility through silliness, Bugs--riding on the fumes of nonsense--segues into a fencing match. No build-up, no warning, no preparation of any kind. Just stream of consciousness overwhelm and mischief. The slant of the layout favors Bugs this time, with him on the literal high road over Bahma. Thus embraces the feeling of a switch-up and the tides turning; the metaphorical seesaw of power balance between bunny and Bahma again favors the underdog.
Pale yellow of Bugs' uniform meshes nicely with the yellow of the background, which no doubt was a very purposeful choice. Likewise, his mangled verbiage of "fencing phrases" ("En guard! Touche! Café au lait! Champs Elysées!") would find its way into Jones' The Scarlet Pumpernickel some 8 years later; another promising sign and indicator of this short's perceived timelessness, if such comparisons can be drawn to Jones at his peak.
The fencing duel here, albeit more spontaneous, is certainly more heated than the aforementioned example. Stalling's resumption of the Whirling Dervish score harkens back to the short's beginning with its pompous, dramatic opening. That, paired with the flurry of activity and the build-up leading to it makes this seem like a culmination for a "final battle".
Thus, the two occupants of either end at the stage converge. A whirlwind of drybrushing and multiples, streaks of gray paint offer connective visual tissue, contextualizing the swinging of the saber and enhancing its tangibility. In short: the sword is actually being used on Bugs. His flimsy little foil surely is no match for the bulky, broad sheath of metal being swung in all directions.
Indeed, a close eye--or steady freeze-framing finger--yields that Bugs and his foil are notably absent within this whirlwind of sparring. There's clearly a flurry of action occurring, enough to keep the magician occupied, but Bugs' inconspicuousness wraps around to conspicuousness.
"Whadda puh-FOAH-mance!"
Our intuition serves us correctly. Bugs and his foil aren't a match for the magician. That's why, wisely, mischievously, infuriatingly (for Bahma), Bugs abstains from sparring altogether. This moment is the apex of his heckling. He's condescending, literally above it all, jeering at the performance he has sown and at the direct expense of the magician. Bahma is his jester, flailing wildly and tempers flaring--all for Bugs' amusement. Bugs is explicitly out to humiliate and revel in being the bigger person, the one who's no longer the underdog... even if, by doing so, that makes him the smaller person all over again.
One particularly effective aspect to Bugs' surprise appearance (in that it is a surprise) is the introduction of new geography. Environments within the theater have been incredibly sparse. Thus, this box-seat, much less with its comparatively full rendering and color palette, much more grounded than the splashes of yellow and lime and fuchsia, carries particular whiplash in comparison to the normalcy of the color cards. It's more information to process--especially when paired with Bugs casually enjoying himself.
Jones again employs the lessons he seemingly learned from directing My Favorite Duck. Both in that the magician pulls a rifle on Bugs, and that the barrels are dimensionally angled towards the camera--in this case, with the perspective even more forced.
Unlike Duck, there's no prior warning that he's armed with a gun. It's sudden and violent. A jolt is yielded not dissimilar to the jolt of seeing Bugs leering in the audience. An incredibly effective escalation that's only pushed through dynamic shot composition and perspective. Even in the heat of the moment, artistic precedence remains: the curve of Bahma's silhouette, leading into the gun's silhouette, creates a clear, satisfying frame over the top hat in the background.
Housekeeping notes: the sharp cherry red of Bahma's face matches the equal red of his turban's moon. With both objects touching, the comparison is more frank, thereby exaggerating the red of his face when next to an artificial object. Elsewhere, there's what sounds like a "P.U."or "pew" sound from what could be an off-screen Bugs or non-synced Bahma. Its intent is lost on this author, but not nearly noticeable enough to raise considerable concern about. It's certainly no more distracting than the violent murder weapon taking up most of the scene.
In more noticeable and coherent sound design, a ringing "PING!" shortly follows the initial gun blast. Playful but communicative and tangible. Something--or someone--has been hit, and it's not a blank that he's fired.
...in a more logical world, anyway
No sense is made. Jones and Pierce flaunt that proudly. The bell sound effect is purely to fake the audience out, tricking them into thinking that Bahma has hit his target. That way, the inevitable resurgence of Bugs can take both him and us aback all the more. After all, hasn't this entire cartoon proven that no matter what, how, or where, Bugs will always come back unscathed? Surely his omnipresence isn't limited just to boarded up top hats or swinging sabers.
There are little touches in the directing to make this reveal all the more disarming, despite our regret at not having known better. Most notable is the long, confident pause in which the magician stews as the smoke clears. He's unhurt and a smarmy smile is proud on his face. It seems his aim was sharp, so surely there's no room to doubt that Bugs was the one hit. Thus, when Bugs does pop out of the hat and immediately shoves a cigar into the magician's mouth--another overwhelm of information the viewer must scramble to parse amidst the excitement--the nonsense is more effective through the actions taken to fake us out. It's not only limited to Bugs' presence.
A Clampettian "BOIP!" sound effect is aptly utilized upon Bugs' gift of the cigar. His presence is all very immediate--there's no time for the audience to really process that he's here. He doesn't linger to mug the audience as we bask in his presence. He's a flash. As soon as the cigar is lodged in the magician's maw (quite literally, as there are no held frames, all timed on one's), he dips back into the hat to retrieve a match with synonymous principles. Match is already lit, very few held frames, back in almost as soon as he's out. Somehow, Jones is again topping the levels of speed in My Favorite Duck, which was breakneck in its own right. That's a record quickly smashed.
Moments of the magician blankly stewing with the cigar in mouth feel much longer in comparison, despite also being brief. The end of the cigar is red, indicating it's burning--with that, something is bound to happen. This stagnance is too loaded for that not to be the case.
Sure enough, the resulting explosion is a companion to the gun's explosion; now a consequence of the magician receiving his own medicine. Not only is Bugs heckling him, but turning Bahma's own "defenses" right back against him through recall of synonymous imagery. Bugs didn't explode in a fiery blast. Bahma did.
Not only does the parting of smoke clouds result in a change in the magician's appearance, but background as well, the color card shifting for a final time. Cartoon history is again made as the first exploding cigar gag is inducted in a Warner Bros. cartoon--something that should be frequented alongside stereotypes of falling anvils and pies to the face when caricaturing old cartoon tropes, but mysteriously isn't. It'd certainly be more accurate. Exploding cigars were a real novelty rather than of strict cartoon invention, most frequently peddled by the novelty S.S. Adams Company, purveyor of other such favorites as itching powder and joy buzzers. Some U.S. states banned exploding cigars were banned outright, after a fatality from a homemade cigar rigged with dynamite. Thus prompted a switch to non-chemical means for the gag gift, in which the explosion was spurred by a spring mechanism instead.
Bahma does not seemingly care for the history of explosive cigars as we may. His tattered, exploded condition has some nice specificity in design; the tatters in his clothes and the blown out cigar feel organic. Smoke still smolders from the edges of his clothes; a comparatively more reminder of what got him to such a condition.
The other reminder of who got him here gives his well wishes.
Bugs' emasculating kiss--the second one of the cartoon!--is a quick little topper, more about what the persistence of his humiliation represents rather than the actual act of the kiss. Even so, it's still lovingly executed: a smear to get to the contact point, and then literally dragging out the actual kiss out. The residual cheek wiggle after Bugs' lips leave face is a particularly playful addition, especially considering the circumstances. Such elastic, spirited animation on the stolid, defeated, helpless magician.
Surprise re-entries and acts of emasculation are effective marks of continuity. There may be no greater display, however, than when Bugs reaches into Bahma's pocket, unearths a handkerchief and, with it, a pie. Same white handkerchief, same flatly designed pie, same smug expression in summoning.
Revenge has never been sweeter.
Of course, neither has milking the moment. Before Bugs reacquaints the pie with its rightful owner, he savors the moment, all too happy to rub the imbalance of power in the magician's face. He turns his attention to the audience and channels a pop culture pull. 1942, seemingly the year of Red Skelton references in Warner cartoons: "If I dood it, I dit a whippin'..."
Acting, animation, and direction all take sympathy on Bugs' shamelessly coy act. His hunched posture, chin to chest, crossed ears all communicate a sickly sweet humility that bears comparison to a Kewpie doll. Bugs has shown no remorse for any of his heckling thus far, nor a regard for consequence. This moment isn't even him being a ham to the audience, just as it's to make Bahma--and the audience--stew in the suspense of the inevitable. The sting travels further if it's prolonged.
For a moment brilliantly constructed on continuity, there is one minor difference in execution that enhances the schadenfreude all the more: Bahma's eyes aren't visible. His expression is inscrutible. Bugs' eyes were still visible during his own bath in pie filling, with the droplets forming the illusion of angry, determined eyebrows. Bahma doesn't receive the same dignity of that emotional check-in. There will be no angry vows of vengeance. He's barely even a person, but a thing. A singed, battle-worn thing covered in pie serving as a trophy of Bugs' heckling.
This entire ending is essentially stream of consciousness--er, heckling. One gag after the other in rapid succession. It's a bit more "freeform" than Bugs' usual formula of heckling, but that in itself is the fun of it. This is pure catharsis.
Accentuating the point of the magician serving as nothing but a prop, focus all on Bugs, the camera trucks in to give Bugs all the available screen space. That's utilized through what could also be seen as a wraparound to the beginning: his enigmatic, rube-like qualities given one last gasp as bids adieu through a hayseed, nonsensical serenade of "Aloha Oe". In lieu of his rabbit hole, he retreats into the safety of Bahma's hat. Its ownership has seemingly changed.
The consensus at the time of release, per The Film Daily:
"Case of the Missing Hare" (Merrie Melody)
Warner 7 Mins. Excellent
Here is another hilarious chapter in the life of Bugs Bunny, the Leo Schlesinger creation that keeps growing in comic strength with every new release. This time it is a magician who gets the business from the brash Bugs. The hocus-pocus man doesn't realize what he's in for when the rabbit comes to the stage in response to a call for someone to act as his assistant. Bugs crosses up the magician time and again until the poor guy is driven crazy. The fun is fast and loud. The short is in Technicolor.
While this could be said for a considerable amount of Bugs Bunny cartoons--directed by Chuck Jones, natch--this short, available in the public domain, seems to have a following of nostalgia and appreciation behind it. It's one of the earliest Bugs shorts that most have come in contact with. Because of that, it's a bit difficult to sell how groundbreaking this short really is. It's simply accepted. This follows the typical Bugs Bunny formula of Bugs against a big bully, Bugs acting in retaliation, all the beloved cliches like kissing and Groucho Marx-ing and finger pantomiming. It's an entertaining outing with our favorite rabbit--one of dozens and dozens.
If one's only exposure to this short was through a childhood VHS tape or Laserdisc, it would be somewhat more difficult to express that this was the first Bugs short to really enact that bully formula. The cartoons didn't always move this fast--especially not under Chuck Jones' direction. The backgrounds weren't always this flat. The direction wasn't always this confident. That this short has such a feeling of being "just another Bugs Bunny cartoon" is indicative of how successful and groundbreaking it is. These shorts weren't always a case of "just another".
Granted, it being in the public domain doesn't instantaneously grant it lovability. (All This and Rabbit Stew is also public domain.) Part of its positive reception--really, much of it--is because it simply is that good. It's that good as a regular Bugs Bunny cartoon. It's astonishing in its proper chronological context.
So much of our analysis for My Favorite Duck was spent stressing at how transformative the short was and that it wasn't always like this. Jones has made leaps and bounds in his confidence as a director, his artistic abstraction, his speed, and characterization in collaboration with his writers. That was a watershed moment. Somehow, the very next short to follow it feels like a watershed against that watershed moment. Hare takes the abstraction in Duck and twists it inside out. It runs with the moments of speed and makes them faster. Duck felt like the apex of Jones' streamlining at that point in his career. He's now topping himself with the very next cartoon.
Case of the Missing Hare, like any cartoon ever, has its little bits of humanity--ie flaws--but they are exactly that: little blips to show the human nature poured into this cartoon. Even then, much of those observations are dubious. Is Bugs acting too rube-like and out of character in some parts, or is his character being developed only two years into his career, and also we're going to see him act streamlined and like his usual suave self anyway and he's simply trying to rile up the magician? Is this transition really unnecessary, or is it you playing the part of the director instead and dictating that you would use a cross dissolve over a fade instead? Is this action too bloated, or does it simply pale in comparison to how sharp and clean this cartoon can be?
Perhaps there's no more succinct cartoon to end the 1942 year out on. Especially a cartoon by the director who has arguably withstood the most growth out of all of them in that year. Again, it bears repeating--incessantly, as has been the case here--that Jones started the year with The Bird Came C.O.D., the absolute definition of a gelatinous, teeth-grinding slog. Case of the Missing Hare feels like it was directed by an entirely different person, much less within the same year.
It's a promising precedent. That doesn't mean Jones--nor any of the other directors--are exempt from flops in the days, months, years and decades coming. If anything, some of the flops may seem even more unfortunate when stacked up against such high standards. But there's something liberating about even saying that: even with the misfires, which make this adventure all the more interesting (if everything was a masterpiece, nothing would be), there's a feeling of a line having been crossed. A feeling of it being a hopeful exception to an era otherwise filled with abstraction and caricature and speed and irreverence and utter confidence in direction. Of "fun [that is] fast and loud", as The Film Daily said of this cartoon.
Indeed, 1942 has truly been a year of monumental growth and solidification of that growth. For a quick run-down:
- More mainline characters like Tweety, Henery, and Beaky were introduced.
- Comparatively long-running characters, such as the Curious Pups, are retired for good.
- Bob Clampett completes his transition with the former Tex Avery animators, who are now his animators.
- Looney Tunes cartoons are now produced in color.
- Chuck Jones practically reinvents his entire style of directorial filmmaking.
- Bugs' stardom is undoubtedly cemented, with his formulas being finalized.
- Albeit behind the scenes and not represented by the backlog of cartoons, Norm McCabe was replaced by Frank Tashlin, returning for a 2 year directorial stint that would drastically contribute to the revolutionization of these cartoons in their newfound speed and abstraction and irreverence.
- Characters such as Elmer and Daffy comfortably settle into themselves--no more fat Elmer exploration, Daffy's growing stardom yielding less noticeable changes between shorts (but still changes nonetheless, as is the same for Elmer, and Bugs, and every character and short and director.)
- Many notable or fondly remembered shorts in this year's catalog, such as Horton Hatches the Egg, Bugs Bunny Gets the Boid, The Ducktators, The Dover Boys, The Hep Cat, A Tale of Two Kitties, My Favorite Duck, and Case of the Missing Hare.
...and so much more that can't be condensed to a simple, comprehensive list. But if the history of these cartoons were that simple and comprehensive, then this blog would have no real reason to exist.
1942 was a great, formative year. The same was said of 1941. And 1940. And 1939, '38, '37... and the same will be said of 1943. 1943 christens Hubie and Bertie and Private Snafu, Blue Ribbon reissues, the end of black and white Warner cartoons, the Frank Tashlin unit, two Oscar nominated cartoons, and classic after classic--both in an objective sense and the subjective bias of this author.
There's a lot to look forward to. There's even more to dive deep into. As a character in a mid-30s WB short may say, a la Ted Lewis: It’s only the beginning, folks! Only the beginning!
