Disclaimer: Being the 8th entry of the infamous Censored 11, this review contains racist content and imagery preserved for historical and informational context. None of what is presented is endorsed nor condoned, but included for the purpose of historical and informational context. I ask that you speak up and let me know in the case I say something that is harmful, ignorant, or perpetuating, so that I can take the appropriate accountability and correct myself. Thank you.
Release Date: January 16th, 1943
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Bob Clampett
Story: Warren Foster
Animation: Rod Scribner
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Vivian Dandridge (So White), Darrell Payne (Queen), Lillian Randolph (Mammy, Child), Leo L. Watson (Prince, Scat-dwarf), Edward Beal (Dwarf), Mel Blanc (Voices, Dwarves, Worm, “Rosebud”), Ruby Dandridge (laugh for Queen)
You can find a (albeit somewhat dingy) copy of the cartoon here.
The 1942 release year of WB cartoons came to an end on a fitting note. Ending on a short by the director who arguably grew the most, starring the character whose star status has now been made completely irrefutable, and the short itself pioneering new techniques in pacing and art direction that would be imbued into the cartoons going forth.
The start to 1943 is similarly prescient.
A year that is often deemed as the true, unbudging solidification of the Warner identity. Adrenaline from the war seeps its way into the cartoons and gives them a brash, irreverent spirit. Directorial shakeups. New characters. New series', such as the arrival of Private Snafu, and even the reheating of the old--this was the year that the Blue Ribbon Reissues were instated. A lot of change with a lot of bearing on the future of these cartoons.
It's only fitting that the first short of the year be indicative of that change and adrenaline and spectacle and irreverence. Lots and lots of irreverence.
It's a high quality cartoon.
High quality does not equate equal quality (that is to say, goodness) in morality, as we will be very quick to discover. But this cartoon is an anomaly even outside of its reputation for racism. It's a big budget spectacle that's presented as a big budget spectacle. There was a comparatively abnormal amount of extensive preparation guiding this cartoon's conception. It's a "special" cartoon, in that its flashiness, format, and presentation are a comparably radical departure from other shorts.
It's likewise a departure that would have a say on the presentation and art direction of shorts going forward--this was a particularly formative cartoon for the Clampett unit and, particularly particularly, Rod Scribner's animation. This is the true point of no return for the Clampett cartoons, where his penchant for wild, off the cuff exaggeration and mania and elasticity in animation truly became a norm.
A considerable amount of pretext is necessary for understanding this cartoon's context and conception. On July 10th, 1941, the Duke Ellington revue Jump for Joy opened in Los Angeles. It had a solid run of nine weeks at the Mayan Theater, and even attracted the attention of Orson Welles, Charlie Chaplin and Mickey Rooney. Ellington described it as a "the first social significance" show, breaking convention against common stereotypes of the time and with a mission to "take Uncle Tom out of the theater, and say things that would make the audience think."
Bob Clampett happened to be among those who caught one of the show's 122 performances. According to Clampett himself, he had musician friends involved in the show. When fraternizing with them, and upon the other musicians learning he was a cartoon director, they reportedly asked "Why don't you ever use us?"
"And pretty soon, the leading man of the show, Herb Jeffries, came to visit us—the various people from the show came to see us—and it was somewhere in that context that we worked up a story," Clampett told Milt Gray and Michael Barrier.
Of course, therein lies the rub: much of this is going off of Clampett's word, which has a tendency to be unreliable. There's no reason to doubt his attending the show nor even fraternizing with the cast, considering some of the cast and/or relations to said cast appear in the cartoon themselves. Vivian Dandridge is cast as So White, whose sister Dorothy was featured in the revue. Eddie Beal, who Clampett brought in as a guest musician, had collaborated with Herb Jeffries. The short itself makes explicit reference to the song "I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)", one of the revue's most popular songs.
Nevertheless, Clampett also posited that he asked the performers on their opinion for the cartoon's content and if there was anything "objectionable": "Y’know, ’cause I wouldn’t know, and they all thought it was wonderful. They told me a couple of things [were bad], and I took them out."
As Mike Barrier correctly posits, who knows how free the performers felt to give their actual opinions on the matter--especially considering that their jobs were already on the line as is, being the first Black performers brought in for a Warner cartoon. Eddie Beal, who was originally slated to score the entire cartoon, was shot down by management and reduced to orchestrating the climax of the Prince attempting to kiss So White. There's a pervasive myth that the cartoon was entirely scored and starred by Black performers. Both are untrue.
As Jaime Weinman notes, much of Clampett's framing of the story falls into him being the white savior. He who was friends with these performers, he who so impressed them and had them beg to be in his cartoon, he who was so kind enough to ask if he was being offensive.
Nevertheless, the research and preparation poured into the cartoon is there. Animator Virgil Ross relayed that Clampett took his unit to some all-Black nightclubs--Barrier sites it as Los Angeles' Club Alabam--to study dances and, in Ross' words, "pick up some atmosphere."
And, as mentioned above, this short's importance isn't entirely relegated to its status as a jazzy, all-Black twist on Disney's Snow White--listed as one of Clampett's favorite films, and with the cartoon references spanning almost 30 years, from The Daffy Doc to Beany and Cecil, to prove it--but its bearing on the trajectory of the Clampett unit's style. This is the short where Rod Scribner's "Lichty style" of cartooning really had a chance to blossom.
George Lichty, creator of the newspaper strip Grin and Bear It, was a particular inspiration to Rod Scribner through his loose and lively line quality. Scribner collaborated with Clampett on developing a "Lichty style" for animation, attempting to capture the same sort of spontaneity and looseness in his art. Said Clampett:
"We studied it, and discussed what could be animated and what couldn’t... and I told him, ‘Now, as we go along here, I will try to find places that you can experiment and try some of these things that you have the urge to do.’ Then we’d come to a scene, and I’d say, ‘Okay, Lichty this a little.’ He would be so enthused.”
Coal Black is seen as the zenith of the Scribner-Lichty breakthrough. Scribner's penchant for distortion and madcap, organic drawing has been simmering for years, even as far back as his tenures in the Jones and Hardaway-Dalton units of the late '30s. Being assigned to Tex Avery's unit and, later, Clampett's, enabled his animation style to become a bit more free and "appreciated", his exaggeration and distortion growing. Scribner's animation has long been identifiable already. It's not so much that this shorts debuts a new cornerstone for him or is a noticeable breakthrough, so much as it signifies the direction of Clampett's unit bowing to Scribner's approach. The Scribner approach being a bit of a guiding light rather than the odd man out.
That's particularly helped by Scribner providing the character layouts for this cartoon himself. Not only that, but providing styling sketches as well. The short didn't just welcome Scribner's methodology: it was set as a precedent for the other animators to follow.
At any rate, Coal Black is a cartoon whose context is practically as full-to-bursting as the cartoon is in itself. Its title--whose erroneous name of the protagonist was due to Leon Schlesinger's copyright fears if they kept So White in the name--paints a concise picture of what to expect, both from plot and handling--or ridicule--of race. Clampett introduces a racy spin on the beloved Disney film, flipping a movie associated with its sweetness and care into a brash revue of sex and shock.
All of these discussed aspects--the racism and spectacle alike--are present in the title card. As mentioned above, the oft-parroted "fact" that this short features an all-Black cast is refuted from the very first second of the cartoon, which opens with Mel Blanc's "Well, hallelujah!" atop the title card. Indeed, the decidedly non-Black Blanc and Darrell Payne lend their voices to the short throughout. Blanc as some incidental voices, primarily the dwarves, and Payne as the Wicked Queen.
The title card's theme music is a hep spin on the old folk song Short'nin' Bread--a song often associated with minstrelsy. Its exact origins are obscure, attributed to a poem by white writer and poet James Whitcomb Riley. Some have speculated the poem was based off of a plantation song, whereas others have speculated it was a parody with the intent of minstrelsy. Nevertheless, in spite of the jazzy and "celebratory" spin on the song, the title card alone could be seen as a form of minstrelsy, especially with Blanc's performance atop. Defaulting to old standard songs with associations of minstrelsy by white authors rather than actually propping up authentic Harlem jazz. The musicians in Jump for Joy certainly weren't sitting around arranging Short'nin' Bread or Dixie or Polly Wolly Doodle.
Nevertheless, Clampett lent his insight, expressing a desire to "capture the whole flavor of the music of that time". He cites the clapping heard in the opening as being owed to the 1941 Billboard hit "Yes, Indeed!", written by Sy Oliver. Relevant to our cartoon and its origins, Dorothy Dandridge performed the song as a soundie.
Silhouettes adorning the title are similarly prophetic for the cartoon's content. So White's sultry silhouette sticks out the most, an omen of her status as the Jezebel and furthering the stereotype that Black women are seductive, loose, and promiscuous. A far contrast to the purity and modesty of the white Snow White, this is a primary focus of the short and So White's characterization. Her character is the sex.
The dwarfs fall into their own assigned stereotypes as well. A Stepin Fetchit silhouette pops out among the others, a favorite caricature to ridicule in many a golden age cartoon. Beyond him and Dopey, all of the other dwarfs are facsimiles of Fats Waller--Clampett would focus his fanaticism of Waller in his Tin Pan Alley Cats, released the same year and starring a cat caricature of Waller.
While much of the classic fairytale is spun on its head, it, as Michael Barrier notes, is more of a reversal than a disintegration of the story. In fact, Clampett demonstrates a surprising loyalty to the story structure and elements and direction. All no doubt thanks to his very clear love of the movie.
This fondness of the film can be felt even in the short's wrap-arounds. Coal Black does not attempt to hide its fairytale roots, but places it first thing. At a child's behest, her "mammy" regales her about the tale of "So White" and the Seven Dwarfs.
Her distinctive laugh was a part in her casting for Gildersleeve, and evidently distinctive enough to be relayed in this cartoon, too. Indeed, the mammy's vocals have an incredible warmth and joviality to them--a great compliment to the exceedingly cozy atmosphere.
A brief bit of misconception clearing: it's often been said that Ruby Dandridge, mother to the Dandridge Sisters, was the voice of the Wicked Queen in the short. Dandridge auditioned for the Queen, but ultimately lost out to Darrell Payne--she also auditioned for the role of the mammy. Scott does, however, cite the Wicked Queen's evil laughter as hers.
The opening shot of the fireside is one that prioritized atmosphere first and foremost. Cozy, quaint, the warmth of the fire and the dim lighting is a central focus. Characters are comparatively detached, mere silhouettes skewing towards the screen's corners, all definition provided only by the highlights from the fire. There's a realism in this approach; particularly with the solidity of the construction and motion as the mammy rocks back and forth in her chair.
Doing so creates a firm separation between the wraparounds and the actual body of the cartoon. The characters in the fairytale embody the house style of WB's cartooning, meaning that they're innately a bit--and in this cartoon's case, practically all--caricatured. Clampett isn't going for realism with their designs. Here, the humans in the "real world" are more stolid, fully formed, gently obfuscated in service of the ambience. That way the "reality" feels more convincing, and the fairytale more fantastical in this separation of design and mood.
As mentioned above, the idea that this short was scored by all-Black musicians is a myth. It's certainly easy to see why that myth has been so pervasive, however, as Stalling's bluesy piano underscore is starkly different from his usual stylings of music. Stalling did have Black musicians give their input to the score instead to help guide and set the tone, trying his best to emulate the sound that Schlesinger was too cheap to get, but it's only at the film's climax that Eddie Beal and his Orchestra can be heard. As historian Jim Korkis notes, the rehearsals seeking to capture that authenticity likely cost more than actually hiring the real deal.
Withal, the mammy guides the viewer into the body of the cartoon as she orates about the "mean old queen". A cross dissolve likewise takes us to the so-called gorgeous castle in which the Queen. The establishing shot of this castle is nothing short of striking, and rife with a fondness for the source material. This isn't a haphazardly designed castle just to meet a quota. It's a layout that feels judiciously studied from the artistic philosophies in the Disney film. The same ornateness, the same majesty.
But, as to be expected, it comes with a twist. Notably, the shot is angled at a sharp slant. Diagonal angles convey dynamism, motion, action. Said dynamism and diagonals can also communicate overwhelm, intimidation, sharpness. This isn't a soft, picturesque castle with white brick walls and blooming ivy curtaining its facade. The majesty of this castle is cold and intimidating rather than awesome. Color temperature of the painting is frigid--blacks, blues, the harsh freeze of the white moon that's cut into pieces from the castle's silhouetted spines. All appealing on its own, but particularly effective in its juxtaposition against the heaping warmth of the prior scene.
Clampett employs a tried-and-true trick found in many of his shorts during his Katz unit days, lovingly reminding us that this is the same director: the fake multiplane camera. The foreground flora are inked on cel layers, and said cel layers part in different directions as the camera trucks in, giving the illusion of depth. If there's any cartoon that requires the faux multiplane, it's certainly the one striving to imitate--and invert--Disney.
Another (unintentional) throwback is the camera trouble that comes with. It really isn't so much camera trouble as it is an odd splice in the middle of the truck-in, disrupting the smoothness and gently working against the intended effect.
Just as the viewer is eased into the fairytale through a wraparound, we're continually eased into the body of the cartoon through a series of pans and cross dissolves. A cross dissolve and pan to the castle gives way to a cross dissolve and pan of the castle window, which gives way to the interior of the castle. Information is introduced in increments to build momentum and anticipation.
However, the viewer is not immediately met with the Queen, but her riches. Our first impression of the Queen is that she's mean, rich, and greedy--and we haven't even seen her.
The Queen's riches are lovingly rendered through an elaborate background pan. Slow and lengthy to demonstrate the sheer abundance of her wealth, and little touches such as animated glittering effects and glows to make the gold all the more enticing. Ditto with the variety in riches--coins, jewels, pearls, even a gold trophy. Varying the treasures constitutes more visual information for the viewer to absorb, which makes the valuables seem all the more overwhelming.
"She was just as rich as she was mean--she had eeeeeverything!"
After that "everything", the direction snaps into the more native house style of WB cartooning. A sudden jerk of the camera focuses on another wing of the room, in which the Queen's riches also extend to valuable rations: Rubber, sugar, and coffee. Stalling's music score jerks with it, snapping into a particularly grandiose sting of "We're in the Money". The literality in the music choices and the wartime commentary of pining for rations--soon to be a very common theme in these cartoons--is reminiscent of a regular, non-budget busting WB effort.
Likewise with the propaganda. This whole cartoon is wartime propaganda, in ways that'll become more apparent in their jingoism, but the messaging here is that the Queen hoarding these rations makes her seem even more despicable through the viewer's intended envy. It's as though she is the one responsible for the strain on these everyday valuables.
In reality, sugar was the first food to be rationed in the war: Japan's invasion of the Philippines cut off the US' supply of sugar, as well as German U-boat attacks impeding transport of sugar from the US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. Coffee faced a similar fate, with attacks on cargo ships preventing the supply of coffee from going into the US--what little did make it was prioritized for the military. The supply of rubber likewise took a big hit due to Japan's conquering of Malaya and the Dutch East Indies, both considerable suppliers of rubber. Campaigns back home encouraged citizens to save their tires instead of replacing, and placing a cap of five tires per car.
Another cross dissolve grants us a look at the culprit, our hearts dutifully hardened against the Queen due to her rationing sacrilege. Her gluttony extends even beyond the castle's storage. Empty shot glasses--courtesy of the punnily named Eli Whitney's Cotton Gin, named after the inventor of said cotton gin--and discarded cigarette butts litter her throne room, whereas our first vision of the Queen herself is her gorging on chocolates.
This, too, falls in line with traditional anti-Black stereotypes. Black Americans were often characterized as having a very large vice to indulgence, whether that be booze (as is featured here), sex, gambling (also prominently featured in this cartoon and this very shot, with dice making up the imagery on the throne), and other activities deemed sinful and unseemly. The razor blades on the throne were another stereotype; barbers were one of the most popular occupations for Black men after the Civil War. Barbering was often seen as a job of unskilled labor and servility, which meant the majority of barbers were immigrants in the north and Black in the south.
Cartoons such as Goin' to Heaven on a Mule has a character stealing from a gin orchard and getting kicked out of heaven for it. Coincidentally, gin is the most visually prominent feature next to the Queen herself, placing particular focus on her overindulgence.
Rather than lithe and cold and intimidating, as the original Queen is, our Queen is a hulking Amazon. Clampett slips his adoration of Popeye by giving her Popeye arms, anchor tattoo included. Her pose on the throne is lackadaisical, unlady-like with one leg over the side of the arm. The shoe that is on her foot is close to slipping off, with the other absent to show the hole in her socks. Thus is another recurring trait throughout the entire short: none of the characters, even those who are royalty, are given exceptionally formal clothes. The characters in this short throughout have clothes and materials that are cheap or bedraggled. Even the throne itself is moreso a glorified easy-chair. And even then, some easy-chairs may have more firm and quality cushion's than the Queen's.
The musicianship of this short begins to come to fruition in this scene. Practically everything from here on out is strictly timed and structured around the music, or the act of music itself. That's first demonstrated with the Queen rhythmically eating the candies; she throws the candy into the air, and catches them in her mouth (which serves an excuse to accentuate her already enormous lips, having her lips rise up to meet each candy) on the beat. Each "round" of this arrives with a musical crescendo, the chords thickening and growing more climactic upon each term. It's the same exact cycle repeated, but the growth of the music creates the illusion of a rising action that is incredibly effective. The thudding heartbeat of the drum, consistent throughout the entire sequence, likewise maintains an unrelenting anticipation.
Pauses in-between eating are just as musical. When not swallowing the candy, the Queen idly bobs her head to keep with the music; there's some particularly nice follow-through on her crown as she does so, its physics lagging slightly behind with the jerks of her head. It's a tiny touch of realism that breaks the uniformity of the animation and makes it organic and visually appealing.
Eventually, this candy chewing reaches a climax, achieved through a cymbal crash and halt of music. Everything else halts or changes with it. The camera cuts close, the Queen stops to savor the candy (punnily named Chattanooga Chew-Chews, after the Mack Gordon and Harry Warren song) for a moment, the rhythm we've been locked into finally breaks.
The execution of this cut is a little odd. There's not much demand for this close-up beyond the pun. It may have been to save drawings and time with the repeated cycle, just as it saves drawings of the Queen getting out of her chair to eventually approach the mirror--Clampett can more feasibly cut between both scenes, with no extra drawings, if the screen composition is so close.
Nevertheless, the action resolves with her catching a fistful of candy in her mouth, including an additional stray as the topper. The topper occurs so quickly that it's difficult to see--especially with the cut right after, preceded by a moment of her savoring the candy. In all, the pacing in this close-up is just a tad scattershot. It feels like the beat of her savoring the candy, turning to face the camera, is dedicated to showing off her lips: the minute bit of lipstick making her lips feel all the more large.
Cutting wide brings us back to business. There's almost a Fleischer-esque quality to the direction here and in the cartoon, with the way characters constantly move and bob. Music is obviously a big priority, and said bobbing is more melded into the beat than the comparatively rigid bobbing of a Fleischer cartoon from the early '30s. Nevertheless, it gives the cartoon a literal bounce that also raises the short's energy significantly. Also significantly raised is the budget.
On the topic of Fleischer, voice mimic Darrell Payne provides the Queen's Popeye-esque gravel voice. Payne was a comedian and voice mimic who performed at nightclubs--he was particularly well-known for his Popeye imitations, as featured here. According to voice historian Keith Scott, a producer from Warner Bros' caught Payne's act and signed him onto the cartoons. His appearances in said cartoons were pretty short-lived, as his only other voice would be The Wise Quacking Duck's aptly named Mr. Meek. Comparing the two performances certainly demonstrates the versatility of his vocal talents.
"Magic mirr-or, on the wall--bring me a Prince about six feet tall!"
A very brief cel error can be found amidst the Queen's literal pantomime with a misplaced cel interrupting the cycle. However, it's only for one frame and not at all noticeable--noted purely due to how seemingly flawless this cartoon appears to move otherwise.
The Queen's posing and animation is incredibly sharp. Her head bobs and her leg kicks both in strict accordance to the music--a lot of different moving parts at once that operate together seamlessly. Her pantomime of the Prince's height is broad and confident: the diagonal line made from her arms cuts perfectly through the curtain in the background, splitting the background into thirds that results in a satisfying, balanced composition.
Immediately after her wish is spoken, its fruition is marked through a melodic car horn. There are no pyrotechnics with the magic mirror--just direct results, as there's no time for anything but. Clampett's timing and pacing in this cartoon is extremely precarious. Fat is trimmed wherever possible, including the Queen's reaction to the car horn: she essentially smears into position. Her ear is exaggerated to be much bigger than it is, clarifying her readiness for the Prince to show up. Every little action, thought, feeling, and motion is a result of caricature.
An amusingly homely reminder of who directed this cartoon can be found in the shot of the Prince's limo approaching, which is directly reupholstered from Porky's Hotel. It's serviceable, a scene prioritizing a general idea over details. The biggest tell--beyond memory--is that the car doesn't exactly adhere to the geometric "curves" in the background.
Nevertheless, the shot is more striking than it isn't, and viewers are likely more preoccupied with the car's horn amounting to "You're a Horse's Ass". The car is a vibrant red to contrast with the dark nighttime palettes, enabling it to pop more. The lessons Clampett learned in color styling from A Tale of Two Kitties seem to have stuck, as this is another cartoon with very conscientious color choices. Successfully so.
A cut is made to a close-up of the car screeching to a halt. Whereas the (again, reused) animation of the car turning the corner is casual, this cut is alarming and brash. That's owed to the music, scoring the moment with a raucous, razzing big band riff, the direction for cutting so close and so quickly, and of course the animation itself, with lots of stagger and distortion on the wheel as even the mere act of hitting the brakes is just bursting with manic, musical energy.
Such commotion is likewise a setup. What is believed to be a slick, shiny wheel is actually a plethora of different shoes in varying states of wear. The contrast is again effective--perceived sleekness versus the haggard reality. Again, as alluded before, much of the fashion and props in this short are comparatively undignified to the source material.
If there were any additional doubts as to whether or not this was the Prince, a gaudy neon sign on the car door soothes lingering queries. Really, it's yet another excuse to play around with a dialect rather than a desire for context. The neon is nevertheless a welcome visual effect, the glow popping against the comparatively muted background.
Given all of the literal moving parts, it's impressive that there aren't more errors than present. Double exposure effects such as this one used to be a broad source of folly in older cartoons--ghost effects, blurriness, or issues with registration. There are some registration issues here (most notable when the car door swings open), but the timing being on one's and the car continually bobbing to the beat masks the snafu well. Likewise with the lights flashing on a cycle to begin with.
The Prince leaves the car in the same shot. An unconventionally cramped angle, the effect is more loud and in-your-face than claustrophobic. It anticipates the next cut through a burst of energy, essentially whisking the audience into the wider angle; atypical staging for a cartoon, but an immersion rightly felt. This isn't a short entirely comprised of stock, conventional, clean shot composition. Even the background layouts and camera registry maintain the same spontaneity as everything else.
Thus, a cut to the wide shot, in which the Prince zigs and zags into frame, ginormous shoes propelling him across the ground as the rest of him is rigidly still. Rather than sporting princely garb, he sports a zoot suit. Zoot suits and their origins stretch back to the 1920s, but exploded in popularity during the wartime--so much so that the War Production Board attempted to scale back and restrict the production of zoot suits, as they were seen as a wasteful use of cloth and wool, the latter being rationed. This was a significant contributor to the Zoot Suit Riots of 1943, in which zoot suiters were brutalized for their perceived lack of patriotism. Mexican Americans were a primary target of the riots, but Black Americans and Filipino Americans were likewise attacked. Zoot suits were primarily brought to notoriety by Black Americans, including Cab Calloway and even a young Malcolm X, with the loose fitting garments easy to dance in.
Despite his lack of princely garb, the white of the zoot suit connotes a certain formality that could be construed as royalty--at least, moreso than would be the case if his suit were any other color. Pops of red and green make up the difference and still keep things vibrant. Likewise, his royalty is certainly "made up for" elsewhere with the extravagance of his limo, monocle, and cigarette holder.
He too submits to the beat of the music, gyrating in strict accordance to the rhythm as he talks just as the Queen had done. There's an appealing drag and distortion to his movements to enunciate the snap and bounce: his hips stretch way out, a briefly "impossible" curve in his back with the beat. In freeze frames it seems exaggerated, but in motion it merely appears as an accent. The curves in his silhouette and general plasticity contribute to the constant sense of motion, unhindered by sharp edges or lines that may cut into the flow.
Other small but worthwhile aesthetic flourishes pull the harmony of the scene together. The Prince's cigarette holder is parallel to the limo, balancing the geometry of the scene--ditto, the shadows on the ground create a rectangular spotlight that not only clarify where the Prince is standing and match with the square of neg. space between cigarette holder and limo, but function as a metaphorical spotlight. The Prince's posing and prominence in this scene feels like it was staged for a stage musical, and he's making his grand debut.
Leo "Zoot" (as Bob Clampett referred to him in interviews) Watson provides the Prince's expository pattersong, much like the Queen's: "That mean ol' Queen, she sho's a fright, but her gal So White is dynamite!"
Watson was a musician and member of The Spirits of Rhythm--his multi-talents for vocals and instrumentation alike can be heard in this very cartoon, as he's featured on the drums during the climax of the Prince attempting to kiss So White. Clampett initially wanted to recruit legendary trumpeter Louis Armstrong for the role of the Prince and even discussed it with him, but Armstrong had scheduling conflicts with a tour.
The next "topper", if it could be so called, is one of the short's most memorable pieces of iconography: a close-up of the Prince showing off his gold teeth, with his two front teeth being made of dice. This is a shot that functions solely to shock and carry these stereotypes--there's very little connective tissue between scenes, before and after. Shock value for the sake of shock value. The gold teeth all have an airbrushed shine onto them to call greater visual attention.
Intriguingly, and perhaps even tellingly, there's a disconnect between designs and scenes. In the prior scene, the Prince's hair is curly and more textured--in this close-up, it's completely cropped. An oversight that manages to sneak away due to the quality of the print/dark background, and the very intentional focus on the Prince's lips and teeth.
And, with comparatively little fanfare, the camera cuts to our heroine. Her introduction is frank, but doesn't exactly necessitate frills. We're already on a spree of exposition and character introductions. There's an innate feeling that she's the next one up, and the short doesn't--and can't afford to--need to be bogged by a fluffy fanfare heralding our princess.
The viewer's first impression of So White is her prominently gyrating rear. Skimpy skirt, thin, pronounced legs, a red patch on her rear to call additional attention to said rear, she's introduced as an object of sexuality rather than a person; we don't even see her face. A stark contrast to the demure, reserved, "pure" Snow White in the Disney film, whose humanity and kindness to animals is the very first bit of information absorbed about her character.
Rather than a scullery maid, So White is a laundress. Laundresses were one of the jobs held most by Black women, particularly in the south--certainly enough to derive stereotyping and lampooning, as the Walter Lantz cartoon Scrub Me Mama with a Boogie Beat bases its focal point around a sexy laundress who comes to town. Likewise, as historian Christopher P. Lehman notes, the war effort prompted vacancies in laundry and cafeteria jobs as white women went to work for the defense industry, thusly opening the jobs for Black women. Lehman notes that 60% of private domestic employees were Black women as of 1944.
Similar praises of conscientious shot composition apply. The white of the castle and the slanting laundry pole frame the washbucket and, with it, So White, guiding the audience's eye. There's even an insignia of a crown on the bucket, a reminder of the royal connections to the story.
"My hair's coal black, but my name's So White! I washes all day..."
"...and I got de bluuuuuuuuues in de night!"
Her chorus comes from the film of the same name, and is a score prominently featured throughout the cartoon--and practically every other Warner cartoon of this time, too, again reminding us of Carl Stalling's ties to the music. This may also be a reference-in-a-reference to Bessie Smith's Washwoman's Blues.
As So White sings this chorus, her body contorts, rising out of frame to match these big vocals coming out of a comparatively petite body. It's perhaps not as exaggerated as the Prince's elastic hip flicks, but bound by the same philosophy of having these characters physically contort to match the music. They are the music. Indeed, Dandridge's vocals are full of charm, proving her to be quite the talent like her sister.
The next shot gives context for what So White has been washing: bloomers. Classic Clampettian humor with its sophomoric playfulness and breach of decorum. The Disney Snow White wouldn't be caught dead with any sort of undergarments.
Even the simple act of hanging the bloomers to dry is fueled with the same manic energy that is the heartbeat of this cartoon. Treg Brown's reverberating "TWOING!" perhaps isn't as rigidly matched by the animation as it could be, but the energy in the animation matches the energy of the sound. Clothespins are simply cheated on--absent one beat, conveniently available the next--but works to the greater effect of this shot's pacing. There's no need for every action to be spelled out.
That's because this shot is more about the general spectacle than the details. Once the clothesline stops vibrating, the camera reveals the scope of So White's work. All of the washed items are uniform in shape and color, barring the expository foreground clothesline--doing so gives off a monolith of laundry that reads as intimidating and all-consuming, accentuating the monotonous drudgery So White is put through. The gradient as the clothes recede into the background contributes to the same effect, and the white of the moon matches the white of the shirts closer to the foreground, making for a very harmonious end product.
After the pan up to reveal the clothes, the camera pans in. It's to segue into the next scene--a feeling of literally pushing forward--but just the same could be an illustration of So White metaphorically drowning in laundry.
The following shot is an apt demonstration of Clampett's reverence for the original film: a direct send-up of Snow White looking into the wishing well, So White sings into the washbucket. For as much as Clampett is creating a burlesque, there are a handful of beats and motives that are obligingly taken from the original, simply because they were from the original. There's a genuine connection to the original Disney film--one that likely necessitated borrowing a print of the film to study for these shot to shot homages. And, just as the wishing well sequence in the Disney film had a memorable water overlay, so does this one.
So White's pattersong even references the song of the same name: "Some folks think I'se kind of dumb, but I know someday my prince will come!"
Indeed, in a direct homage to the original, So White and the prince meet through their reflections in the water. All of the negative space next to So White was reserved strictly for the prince to pop in and make his introduction. So much so that he forces So White out of the space entirely, just like Rod Scribner's animation seems to burst through the screen and push the audience back in a similar manner. There's a palpable mania in the prince's animation, his convulsions visceral in their energy--just as they're visceral in caricature. While no doubt a flexing of his "Lichtying", Scribner's exaggeration--true for the entire cartoon, not just here--also comes with the purposeful side effect of exaggerating derogatory features. For as energetic and powerful as the animation is here, it's also serving to enunciate the prince's lips and teeth--especially the former, his closed mouth taking up more space than So White had been.
A method does come with some of the (charitably described) madness: the next shot, in comparison, is deeply rigid in comparison--such is the point. The purposefully uppity rotoscope-adjacent animation, carried by purposefully uppity 18th century style music, these "royal charms" are a shocking deviation from everything the short has showcased thus far. This is how the Snow White and prince of the Disney film may dance. As Christopher Lehman notes, Snow White and the Prince were "animation’s first heterosexual African American couple to demonstrate sexual chemistry." A reminder of how shockingly low the bar was for something like this--a scene deliberately setting itself up as stuffy and old hat, conservative, the status quo--to be so comparatively progressive.
The longer their dance goes on, a drumbeat can eventually be heard droning to life. The animation itself remains the same, but the growing drum beat "heats up" the scene that prepares it for a segue into something bigger.
Indeed, with a cut and a "Take it, Prince!" from So White, both characters burst into the jitterbug, with plenty of scatting and jive to accompany it. The music climaxes into a raucous, jazz rendition of "Long, Long Ago", putting a jazzy spin on the old 19th century tune that had seen a bit of a revival in recent years, recorded by Bing Crosby in 1941 and eventually fashioned into "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (with Anyone Else but Me)". The latter is particularly relevant, as Lew Brown and Charles Tobias, who updated the tune previously in 1939, updated it again into Apple Tree after December 1941 to include the lyrics "'till I come marching home". It remained in the number one spot on Your Hit Parade for 3-4 months straight, which was the longest period for a war song to be top of the charts.
Thus, Clampett and Stalling use the song as a dual wield: both as a spin on an archaic song, just as this short is a spin on an archaic tale, and honoring the wartime connotations that adhere to this short's greater theme.
Getting back to the cartoon's theme, the Queen makes a reappearance--and quite a dynamic one. With the camera straight on, the Queen opening the window to lurch forward has the effect of her bursting onto the screen and right into the viewers faces. This would've had an incredible effect in theaters, especially with her looking down, almost making it seem as if she were looking down into the audience as well. A very palpable moment of aggressive confrontation.
Little flourishes on her animation and physics help with the overall visual flair. Her entrance into the frame is an overshoot, prompting details such as her hair, crown, and earrings to react and settle accordingly, wobbling and bobbing at different intervals: her earrings are the last to settle. Thus not only gives the animation a nice flow and visual appeal, but a feeling of organicism with the slight discrepancies in timing. Not everything robotically moves together at the same time nor way.
The staging and innately confrontational angle plays up the Queen's aggression, which is a stereotype in itself as the "angry Black woman"--it would be come to known as the "Sapphire" stereotype, named after the character of Sapphire Stevens on the television version of Amos 'n Andy.
There's nevertheless a real malice in her gravelly observations of "The gal--an' the prince! What a sickenin' sight!" Likewise, before she speaks, there's a moment where she observes what's happening below, looking left and right. Her anger and confrontation simmers before breaking, making the inevitable outcome--whatever it may be, but we know it's not good--all the more anticipatory and dangerous.
Of course, this is one small part of a whole: courtesy of a rapid, seamless cut, the Queen ducks inside to finish her rhyme: "Hello, Murder Incopolated?"
"BLACKOUT SO WHITE!"
Clampett's timing is utterly flawless. The camera cuts in the middle of the action, with the Queen already smearing into position with the phone in hand. No laborious fluff or geographic context. There's no need for it, but, again, no time--her dialogue is all in rhyme, and the effect most certainly would be lost with a twenty second intermission of finding a phone and looking through a phone-book.
In beginning the call, her acting is farcically pleasant. Payne loses his frog-voice to further this point (and show off his vocal range), whereas the Queen's body language completes it. Pupils flicked upwards in coy, playful contemplation. Fingers tapered, soft, gentle. Eyelashes pronounced with a sardonic saccharinity.
That way, her call for murder immediately after is all the more startling with its whiplash in tone. Anthropomorphization of the text harkens back to some of Clampett's earliest shorts--a reminder of his newspaper comic influence and, withe it, a reminder of how far his directing has progressed in such a short amount of time. Vibration on the text seems to be a manifestation of the short's energy in general: even the typography is bursting with that same anticipatory mania. Everything is full of pent up energy, agonizing to break loose. And even as it does break loose--such as the Queen snapping--it's more akin to air leaking out of a balloon rather than a whole burst. There's still so much more to come out of this.
Some more "stereotype notes": the Queen's butchered pronunciation of "incorporated" was yet another extremely common asset in the revolving toolbelt of anti-Black stereotypes--lots of malapropisms in addition to a dialect. As Christopher Lehman notes, despite this short's prominent casting of Black actors--Payne a notable exception, as already covered, along with Blanc--they were still given lines of "dialect" to read that were written by white writers and directors. So much so that, in some other cases, such as MGM's Swing Social, the dialect written up by white writers became a challenge for the Black actors to read through its complexity and nonsensicality.
Likewise, the Queen biting off the receiver of the phone and heaving large, heaping breaths is difficult to read as anything other than animalistic and dehumanizing. The bitten end of the receiver is likewise kept in her mouth--rather than swallowed whole--as a visual reminder of what she has just done.
With this call to action, the direction changes gears as said call is action. A still, barren nightscape is soon populated by the raucous introduction of the Queen's hitmen: the aptly named Murder Inc. Freeze-framing yields-- in addition to an unsteady curve around the bend, the perspective animation wonky but too quick to be noticed--fleeting details such as angry, lurking eyes and a hand holding a pistol out the window. This all flashes by in a second, and Clampett realistically would've gotten along fine with these details excised. Nevertheless, their inclusion certainly paints a picture: the hitmen are dedicated to their jobs.
Just like the Prince's limo, the hitman van has its own conspicuous, neon labeling. It's not so much about prestige here was it is convenience: like a role call in a stage play, a new role has entered the revue and, with it, a new act. This too is another moment that refuses to sit still: the camera rhythmially bobs, gently in time with Stalling's brash music score, to give the illusion of the van moving.
Rather than panning down, a jump cut is employed to reveal the rest of the van's text, "hidden" by the lights being off. Negative space on the car is incrementally occupied:
Furthering the vitriolic jingoism, the lights of the colors are a patriotic red, white, and blue. Coloring the topper as red is no coincidence, as red as a color can have connotations of aggression and alarm. There are many branches of wartime propaganda and its messaging and the psychology behind it. Some aim for a more optimistic message. Others are more stoic. Others fear monger and cut to the throat. Coal Black is not a gentle cartoon with gentle messaging, as its racial stereotypes surely prove alone. Even on the "default", its tone is brash and abrasive. Thus, the slur slinging and violence in the name of jingoism is par for the cartoon's course, melding with its overall mission to shock. This is not a cartoon that gently encourages you to plant your own victory garden.
Another jump cut is nevertheless employed, more purposeful than the first: the camera cuts on rapid gunfire and equally rapid contortions on the car, cavorting and jumping and shaking in both response and curation of the gunfire. Cleverly, this onslaught of action is so busy and so "much" that the jump cut moreso reads as a very quick pan away from the close-up rather than a cut.
Feeding into this cartoon's philosophy of recklessness and raucousness, this--in contrast to the original film--isn't a careful, quiet, undercover sting operation. Murder Inc. is very proud of what they do. Their mantra of "rubbing out" everyone is clearly carried through here: "everyone" seemingly includes random passersby who may get caught in the gunfire slinging out the window.
Red blasts of gunfire pop against the dusky blue hues of the night, calling greater attention to the violence. Likewise, albeit comparatively difficult to see, light blobs of semi-transparent paint give the car a motion blur effect, enunciating the erraticism of its movements. Such effects are moreover carried into the directing: the camera briefly outpaces the car, only for it to jump right into position moments later--this brief lag keeps the pacing organically frenzied, spontaneous, and erratic. A contrast from how rhythmically motivated and synchronous the cartoon's pacing has been thus far. Even when it inverts its own rhythm.
Brief nitpicks for the sake of intrigue rather than critique: the Murder, Inc. branding momentarily disaligns from the car, and the car itself doesn't jump over the hill cleanly--the cel registration against the background is just a bit short. Both aspects hardly visible in the final, moving product, protected from the frenetic action and dark environments.
Clampett builds suspense for an inevitable encounter by, ironically, cutting to a scene with no suspense at all. There's a greater sense of anticipation in cutting back to So White and the Prince, knowing something is coming after them, than following the van straight to the scene of the crime and having it all happen at once. Viewers have more time to digest the inevitable and, thusly, more time to feel that imepnding doom. The focus on elevated art direction in this scene especially makes the inevitable outcome feel more tragic, due to the picturesque presentation. A murder, with a witness, on a moonlit night.
Scoring this precious art direction, Clampett employs another faux-multiplane effect: the moon in the background remains still, whereas the characters and backgrounds slide back and forth with the camera move. It comes at the sacrifice of arbitrary camera moves--there's no need for this sliding back and forth, as it's purely just to show off--but the overall effect is more engaging than detrimental.
So much so that Clampett is even able to get away with reused animation for So White and the Prince, both due to the spectacle of the art direction and with the silhouettes making it harder to spot such reuse. It's all about the general idea of the scene than the meat of it. This shot functions as a warning, a sign that So White and the Prince's fun will be violently interrupted at any second.
There's a fair amount of build-up within the scene to get to this point. A car engine grows louder as the scene carries on, and headlights of the car are unmistakable as it screeches to a reckless halt off-screen. More attractive art direction is bestowed as a reward, with the highlights of the headlights against the silhouettes of the characters--all details that a "regular" WB short would certainly pay no expense for.
Reusing animation likewise comes with the benefit of comparison: when So White is forcibly yanked away, the Prince's jitterbug animation, continuing unaltered for a few moments more, explicitly highlights the discrepancy. A before and after that soon leads into his stumbling.
Even the prince's stumbling, an act inherently absent of grace and rhythm, is musically inclined and bound. Stalling's big band, brash chorus climaxes in accordance, reaching its finish as soon as the Prince makes contact with the ground. With all of his animation in silhouette, his actions are made more broad for the sake of clarity.
Another smaller resolution chord hits as a follow-up, resolving in time with a straight razor being thrown where the Prince once stood--more reinforcement of the stereotype and connotations between Black men/barbers and razor blades. It sticking to the tree asserts that said tree wasn't just to populate the scenery, but intended to catch the blade all this time.
Rather than a fade to black and transition, Clampett keeps the momentum going by having So White's cries for help be heard in the same scene. They're weak, comparatively quiet, so as to give the illusion of her receding far into the distance. Her yelling is a reminder of what's at stake and induces pathos, making the conflict that much more personal than if she were to be taken away in silence.
Each "help!" is its separate beat, accompanied by a blare of the trumpet. With it, the Prince perks up, rising with each "help!" and trumpet blast--he remains in harmony with So White, even when she's out of reach.
All to amount in a climactic "DING!", scoring not the Prince's rise to action, but prompting a literal embodiment of having a yellow streak down one's back--in other words, he's a coward. Such cowardice has never been so rhythmic, the Prince's anxious jitters timed to an equally jittery snare drum solo. Likewise, the glow of the streak is another lavish visual effect, one adhering with the synonymous glow of the yellow moon.
Of course, the Prince's cowardice is yet again another part of the stereotype playbook. A number of Black characters in animation were caricatured as fearful, cowardly--Christopher Lehman notes that Bosko's heroism in his early cartoons, when his race was comparatively more ambiguous, is completely absent in his shorts at MGM where he was clearly a Black American boy: "With Blackness comes cowardice in place of his earlier bravery".
The same is true of multiple other Black characters and archetypes, whether it be the Sambo, such as Bosko, the Uncle Tom (one thinks to Uncle Tom in Hittin' the Trail for Hallelujah Land, wandering into a graveyard and helplessly terrorized by skeletons and ghosts, whereas the short's other plot is centered on the heroic antics of Piggy), or the mammy (Lehman likewise notes that in some Tom and Jerry shorts, Tom is more anthropomorphized than the maid, who has to rely on her own cat to save her from a mouse and acts indebted to him). The Prince's helplessness here could also be a commentary and/or switch-up on the conventionality of Snow White's Prince, who hardly does anything but be an object of idealism, but even so, consciously or no, his perceived helplessness is just another in an increasingly lengthy list of stereotypes.
Nevertheless, this second act of the cartoon is initiated by going to the source: the original film. The van veers into a secluded, eerie forest, serving as a reasonable facsimile to the one in the Disney film--in both cases, mood is a priority. The trees are airbrushed and soft to keep the environments moody and ethereal. A beam of light illuminating the composition and spotlighting the van is as cold and harsh as it is mystical. It's a beautifully crafted shot--especially with how straightly it's played, the car sputtering to a stop. There's some gentle Clampettian impulse, in that the car's engine sputtering noises are matched with playful, elastic animation, but the whimsy doesn't detract from the stillness and suspense of the mood. It's a tic. Clampett can't help himself.
So much of the tenseness in this moment is owed to it being a departure. There's no backing track alongside the rolling drums in the background that eventually snare to a stop. Once the engine stops sputtering, it's nothing but stillness. At no point has anything in this cartoon been so stagnant before. This breach in momentum is striking and loud.
But, even in such a still, tense moment, there's still an undercurrent of musicality--even if it's conveyed purely through hushed pattersong: "Azatee-aza-pazacezy, baza mosazy, taza-mezy. Okay, boys. Set the body down eeeeeeaaaa-sy."
Clampett's directing remains delicate--shaky camera truck-in to the van be damned--and stolid as So White's rigid body in silhouette is slowly lowered.
Then again, the cartoon still has half its runtime to go through.
In accordance with the short's pacing and patterns, a burst of energy explodes after a comparative "low" point, subverting audience expectations. The music ramps up, So White perks up, all of the momentum suspensefully put on hold returns as though nothing had happened. A Clampettian "BEO-WIP!" sound effect is playfully, yet smartly, caricatures So White's "reawakening". Her pose remains rigid and eyes closed for a few moments, solely to hook-up with the idea of her being dead. To see her come out of that state, rather than a hard cut to her already moving and awake, makes the subversion all the more effective. The audience gets to see it happen in real time.
So White thanks them for the ride, both vocally and, as we soon come to see, physically.
All intimidation from the hitmen is immediately lost in this jump cut. Their attitudes are obligingly jovial, monolithic, having completely resigned themselves to So White's charms: a prime re-enforcement of So White's status as the jezebel. So White is simply able to seduce her way out of danger, and seemingly holds no qualms nor quandaries in doing so. There's certainly no theme of "withholding" herself for the Prince, either, whereas in the original film So White is fond of the dwarfs, but more in a matronly matter--her romantic allegiance to the Prince is clear. Here, anyone is a target as long as it gets the story across.
A back and forth rhythm ensues on this close-up, a call and response rhythm clearly derivative of such songs like Cab Calloway's "Are You All Reet" ("Anytime, So White!" "Well, alright!" "Well, alreet!" "Well, alroot!"). Rhythmic, boisterous, the musicality is enunciated by staying on the same shot: the van zips in and out as the hitmen give their verses, putting explicit focus on how every little action is purely catered to the music. The timing is clean and clear-cut, no extra fluff to cushion the car as it backs in and out. Opaque brush trails again give the illusion of motion blur when the van is in motion.
The topper with one of the hitmen giving one last verse flaunts--in freeze frames--the growing embrace of smears and distortion, which this entire scene seems to be an exercise in. There's even an overshoot before he takes off, perhaps gratuitously, to ensure his animation stays spring loaded and elastic.
So White is unharmed but, just like the Disney film, is now abandoned in the woods. The backgrounds, color styling and general atmosphere all diligently follow the original, earnestly conveying an oppressive mood. Trees are subtly anthropomorphized, tree branches appearing like gnarled claws, knotholes in the bark forming the illusion of eyes and mouths. One of the roots even twists to form a skull. There isn't a montage of So White getting terrorized by the trees in a flurry of climaxing close-ups, but Clampett compromises well. There's no need for a montage. Even so, he doesn't skimp out on the mood or integrity of the atmosphere.
Unlike the Disney film, So White still preserves her sultriness. Alone, abandoned in the woods, she walks along with a swagger and is seemingly unbothered by her circumstances. Her sudden mood change--harkened by a surprise take, Stalling's bluesy piano riff dropping into a lonely dirge of "Blues in the Night"--is almost a parody of itself. it's as though she remembered that in the original film, Snow White was fearful and, thus, she should be too.
Such prompts some very attractive animation of her creeping through the trees and roots. A tangible caution surrounds her every movement, and each time she slowly puts a foot on the ground, it's timed exactly to the dull thud of the musical beat. The swing of her legs and gentle easing of her animation as she pulls and creeps herself forward is tactile, visually satisfying, maintaining a coherent flow that still prioritizes rhythm. She doesn't need to be jaunting or sauntering to maintain the music.
What tips her over the edge into her fright is not a close-up of a tree, but the mournful hooting of an owl, again diligently timed to Stalling's music score: so much so that each "HOO!" is marked with a gentle blare of the trumpet. The composition of this sequence is well considered, with the owl fitting snugly within the negative space of the tree and So White perfectly framed by the gnarled branches as she rears back. The eyes pulsate with each "HOO!" to ensure that they're living, live--that So White isn't just responding to something in vain.
Clampett's cutting of scenes has been particularly precise thus far. On the second "HOO!", So White reaches for a box of matches and, shakily, begins to strike one. There's only one single frame of light--a burst of red highlights against blue, again making for a striking visual effect no matter how fleeting--before a jump cut to the next shot.
The light is illuminated not on So White (now a shaking silhouette in the foreground), as it was before, nor is it on an owl, but one of the seven dwarfs: a soldier.
Indeed, the "twist" of this short is that the seven dwarfs are all enlisted in the army on the homefront. The soldier here carries a homemade bayonet, fashioned out of a gun and tattered razor blade--again enunciating prior points about how none of the characters seem to have the benefit of dignified clothes nor equipment in comparison to their white contemporaries, even the ones in power. Some have made the argument that the soldier's poor equipment is a commentary on the lesser treatment of Black Americans in the military. It could likewise just be a symptom of stereotyping as, beyond the jingoistic set dressing and themes of modernization, the military status of the dwarfs has no effect on the story whatsoever.
Blanc’s voice is obvious as the dwarf: “Who goes there? Friend or foe?”
“Where’s the seven dwarfs? That’s what I wanna know.”
So White’s question not only fulfills the musical beat, but offers a meta commentary: it’s as if she knows she’s in a fairytale parody, has the beats of the story memorized, and is therefore expecting the “role call” of the dwarfs as they’re expected to show up at this point of the story. Thus maintains the subversive feeling of the short’s story as a whole, but—as mentioned earlier—feels like another contribution to the presentation feeling like a stage musical. All of the character roles are neatly and unambiguously introduced.
Even in such a short, idle moment, So White’s body language and animation all scream sultriness. Half lidded eyes, the coy tilts of the head, gesturing towards her chest—while obviously there is such a concept as “visual interest”, in that it’d be boring if she were to stand completely still, it feels as if she can’t even ask a simple question without being sexualized. Nevertheless, the animation is appealing and so are the intricate highlights and lighting of the match.
There is a purpose to her sensuality: to introduce the remaining six dwarfs. One by one, they pop out behind the first dwarf, each timed to incremental beats of “Blues in the Night”. Most of the dwarfs are derivatives of Fats Waller, who Clampett would put a spotlight on with his Tin Pan Alley Cats released the same year. An obligatory Stepin Fetchit caricature is included in the mix and, of course, a clear derivative of Dopey, enunciating his eponymous name by bursting out from below the first dwarf’s crotch in a familiar display of Clampett’s sophomoric humor.
The dwarfs of this cartoon are a monolith. In contrast to the original film, any notable personality comes through sheer association through stereotypes. Audiences are reliant on their familiarity of Waller, Fetchit, and Dopey to fill in the blanks of what their supposed personalities are. There’s no emotional connection or growth between them and So White; their relationship, if it could even be called, is purely obligation to the story.
Another jump cut segues into the next scene, but one cushioned through smears and precise cutting. The dwarfs literally embody the music, ricocheting up and down in their shoes to a military drum line—the timing is exceptionally handled, and so is the tactility of the animation. Powerfully jaunty and energetic. Through this military lineup of the dwarfs, audiences are able to see that some of the dwarfs have slight variations in their uniforms. Likewise, there’s even a Doc facsimile, as one of the dwarfs sports spectacles.
All variation, as mentioned above, is purely aesthetic, and even then that’s a bit generous. Nevertheless it’s an intriguing consideration—even if it doesn’t actually have any stake on the dwarfs’ personality (or lack thereof).
Clampett does get a bit trigger happy with his cutting, but not to a huge detriment: once the dwarfs all land in their final position, they rigidly turn right at attention--thus bridging together the next cut, where they're marching all in motion. It happens so quickly that the act of them turning isn't very visible, but that's hardly the focus of this sequence.
Their version of "Heigh Ho" is, instead, "We're in the Army Now". Comedic focus is on Dopey, as is the case in the original: he does his absent-minded gallop (that Clampett also lovingly appropriated in The Daffy Doc) behind the Stepin Fetchit caricature--who, by nature of being a Fetchit caricature, is also out of sync.
This Dopey, however, talks. His lyric of "It takes us cats" is high, and the follow-up of "--to catch them rats" low, his body physically contorting to match the literality of his pitch.
Thus amounts in a topper of the Fetchit dwarf letting go of the hat, smacking down unto Dopey with a "TWOING!" Silly antics for the sake of silly antics, but it almost feels genuinely indulgent on Clampett's behalf--silly antics he wanted to do and help leverage some of the tone. It's certainly more scattershot than the original Heigh Ho sequence, but much of that is by design.e
As if to demonstrate her trust and allegiance has been earned, So White finishes the remaining verses of the song. Sex appeal is again an unambiguous focus, with her rear and legs and gyrating body the visual focus of the scene rather than face and character. Nevertheless, Stalling's musical instrumentation is stirring, and that goes double for Dandridge's vocals. Strong, sustained, her singing gives the scene the grandiosity it's clamoring for. The key change likewise contributes to the climactic excitement brewing musically.
Her promiscuity is the ending note of the scene--and act--as she kisses all of the dwarfs on the nose in one fell swoop. A noted contrast to the gentle head kisses Snow White was so discriminating to give out in the original.
Particularly when said dwarfs all fall at So White's feet, prompting another satisfied display of promiscuity with the hip cocked, chest out, eyes half-lidded. Whether it be a prince, hitmen, or dwarfs, So White is liberal with her affections.
On such a note, the camera cuts to the only person not felled by her sensuality. Clampett hard cuts between scenes--a cross dissolve may soften the blow of how hard and alarming the cut is, or even a shot of the castle's exterior to ease us in. However, such is pure subjective observation: the harshness of the cut accommodates the rapid pacing of the cartoon, and likewise elicits a jolt that's supposed to be abrupt and alarming.
Staging and composition of the scene is again right on point. The queen's shadow is perfectly framed within the winding test tubes, whose shapes are varied for more visual interest and busyness. Hues of red and green primarily make up the shot, which makes the departure from the woodland backgrounds and So White's perspective all the more jarring--we've gotten so used to the moody blues and purples of the night. Red, as observed prior, connotes evil and dastardliness, but is also a perfect association with apples, to which the green likewise contributes to in its own dual wielding (green for poison, green for apples). Indeed, our familiarity with the story and pacing of the original film dictates that this is the "apple sequence"--if that already wasn't a given with the Queen rubbing her hands nefariously in time with the music, glowering at the crimson apple in front of her.
Compared to the original, the poison apple bit is rather brusque and to the point: we're more concerned with the results it'll give. We simply don't have the time to linger on the Queen's wicked transformation into the Witch, or such theatrics with cauldrons and bubbling apples. It's as simple as a vial of poison (whose skull and crossbones are even in blackface too, as Clampett leaves no stone unturned in his blanket blackfacing) jabbed into an apple.
Minor nitpick: the poison itself isn't animated going into the apple. The liquid remains level throughout, and when the Queen forcefully jabs the vial into the apple, it's completely empty. Overall the main idea is most certainly conveyed, particularly through the excessive plasticity on the apple and its sickly green hue. There's no doubting the apple's potency.
"This'll make So White weak in the knees!"
The remainder of the rhyme is caricatured through a Blancian worm, also in blackface: "Man, dat smell like limburger cheese!"
He's ensued by a topper of "refoogies". Like the typography writhing on-screen for "BLACKOUT SO WHITE!", this is another gag that feels immensely rooted in some of Clampett's earliest cartoons. A palpable newspaper comic influence that isn't dissimilar to, say, Bill Holman (and for all we know, the REFOOGIES could be a stealth "foo" reference, the nonsensical word gracing his strips that Clampett loved to impart into his own cartoons).
"Innocent" isn't exactly the word, considering the malice naturally bound to such stereotypes in which the worms are shrouded. It's nevertheless a mischievous, juvenile contrast to the gravity of the story. A bit of comic relief--again, a stark contrast to the theatrics of the original.
Clampett employs some perspective trickery--and cheating--for dramatic effect. After the worms vacate the poisoned apple, the Queen lifts it up with both hands, the camera now supposedly from her point of view. At the start of the scene (and the shot before it), the Queen was positioned at the other end of the table. It's a cheat, but the effect is greater than the disbelief. There's greater clarity in her holding the apple in front of the camera, from her point of view, than if we saw her holding the apple in front of her face. This staging is more personal and places more emphasis on the apple: the Queen's hands are simply a reminder of who's responsible for its lethality.
An iris wipe escorts viewers to comparatively more lighthearted matters. Two tents are illuminated in the army base, shrouded in darkness: one tent for So White and one for the dwarfs. A straightforward rendition of reveille is heard on a bugle...
...only to be flipped on its head, finished with a proudly bombastic, jazzy trumpet solo. The sun rises into the sky, anthropomorphized as it leaps into place, mimicking the drum beat in the score. A sudden explosion of music and life.
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All topped off with a cymbal crash, adhering to the American flag promptly billowing in the foreground. A powerful burst of energy that is stirring, intoxicating. Intriguingly, the American flag is rendered without black outlines. There's still plenty of volume as it billows and whips--a staggering amount, especially without outlines to aid clarity. One wonders if there was a goal to make the flag look as realistic and "respectable" as possible in animation. Can the average American theatergoer truly be stirred by such patriotism if their flag is weakly rendered?
In all, it's a charming, powerful transition. The music and directing alike embody the spirit of springing into a new day bound for new opportunity--one ignorant to the perils concocted in the Queen's laboratory. Again comparisons to the early Fleischer cartoons are drawn, and will continue to be throughout the sequence, with how everyday objects are anthropomorphized and live purely through the music. Everything is in synchronization.
Even something as small as a transition between acts is faithful to the original film. As is the case here, there is a day and night cycle, with the Queen visiting Snow White in the daytime to deliver the apple. Clampett could have had it all occur during one singular time period--it is a parody, and viewers are well accustomed to the structure of the original. They're more interested in how the source material will be subverted rather than hitting every little note and beat of the original. Nevertheless, Clampett still takes such "menial" details into consideration, demonstrating a clear respect of the original film. Some aspects and pieces of structure are dutifully followed, simply because the original did it.
Such segues into an equally, if not moreso, peppy morning routine. Viewers are serenaded with another lovely chorus from Dandridge; this time, the Five O'Clock Whistle is now repurposed into the more wartime appropriate Five O'Clock Bugle. It's here that So White explains her transparent army involvement: "Didn't join up 'cause I'se good lookin', but to answer the boys when they says--"
"What's cookin', honey? What's cookin'?"
Utterly gorgeous, lively animation and draftsmanship with So White. Despite the reinforcement of sex as her role and hardly anything but, there's a good humor to her movements and construction, a certain spryness and breeziness that's more concentrated in some scenes than others. Very clear posing and line of action, and a powerful syncopation in her rhythmic bobbing as she flips the eggs.
Her USO cap owes itself to the United Service Organizations, constructed to boost morale for soldiers and often intended as a "home away from home". Many famous Hollywood stars would host charity shows and benefits. Among them: Bob Hope, The Andrews Sisters, Bing Crosby, Judy Garland, Rita Hayworth, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Al Jolson, and Lena Horne--to name a select few. In this case, So White's sultriness (and domestication, cooking a meal for the dwarfs, which could be seen as an echo to the domestication Snow White brings by cleaning and cooking in the cottage) is the morale boost.
Likewise, the "KEEP 'EM FRYING" slogan is appropriated from the "Keep 'em Flying" campaign. Coined by Harold N. Gilbert in 1941 for an ad campaign, it was intended to boost morale for aviators. Many a matchbook and postcard was adorned with the saying. As was many a cartoon, in coy acknowledgement of the popular phrase and to further the patriotic message.
Again, the early cartooning influence of Fleischer and even early Disney permeates this scene and next. So White is joined in accompaniment by whistling tea kettles and sunny side up eggs for the chorus of "Whistle", with the bacon popping as though it, too, is whistling.
An innocent anthropomorphization that calls back to the bygone era of singing tea kettles and liberal personification: everything coming to life to flaunt the magic of sound synchronization. The perkiness, the harmoniousness in all of these "characters" coming together to sing--it's all very reminiscent of the Silly Symphonies in which the Warner cartoons built their studio off of in the early days.
The studio and animation landscape as a whole have both grown so much that Clampett is able to earnestly homage these aspects without it feeling trite or regressive. Instead, it's loving, fun, perky. Not saccharine, but simply joyous. In a way, much of this cartoon feels like an extremely glorified and polished extension of some of the earliest sound cartoons, whose sole existence were to flaunt the novelty of animation synchronized with sound.
No cartoon in the early 1930s, of which this is tonally reminiscent of, had the sheer realism of oil effects as is the case here. It's such a small detail in the grand scheme of things, but the bubbles of oil framing the eggs and bacon and sliding within the pan--a purely aesthetic detail--is as lovingly rendered as everything else in this sequence. Clampett is truly pulling out all the stops with his art direction. And, with it, all the budget.
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There's only one element missing from this communal chorus, and that is the dwarfs. They contribute their own somnolent singing, a series of snores from Mel Blanc attuned right to the beat; their tent is likewise "anthropomorphized" (inflating and deflating) to match. Very strong, powerful posing even in something as lifeless as a tent. Curves on the inhale are big, soft, billowing, whereas the exhale's line of action feels sharp and exhausted, literally stretched thin. Each end of the screen is filled in the respective wind-up and release.
Yet again, the flag labeling the tent's owners is playfully obtuse, another compulsion rooted in the newspaper style of cartooning and its gratuitous labels... in addition to context and, as with the "refoogies" bit, another opportunity to get laughs from a proposed dialect.
The Queen is re-introduced through yet another iris wipe: a transition that is quick, spry, and clean, but likewise connective with the previous iris transition, thereby giving the sequence a feeling of progression through continuity. Notably, said Queen is now sporting her Witch's garb, which is clearly a cheap costume out of obligation for the story rather than any genuine build-up. Whereas the Witch in the original physically undergoes a gruesome transformation, our Queen has a simple costume change between scenes. The stage play feeling of the cartoon and the meta commentary therein lives on.
Just because the Queen is introduced doesn't mean the musicality of the sequence stops: now, the bells on her bastardized Good Rumor cart pick up melodically where So White and the dwarfs drop out. Even the Queen's apple peddling has gone fully contemporary. There's the iconography of the Good Rumor ice-cream cart, which viewers in 1943 would have recognized immediately, but also the novelty of a candied apple on a stick. A mere apple plucked from a tree is too gauche. Candied apples from a cart are the peak of modernity and marketing.
Upon (violently) braking, the wheels on the cart drag on their "heels" in one of Clampett's favorite pet gags--a gag going back to some of his shorts in the Katz unit. There is a certain fondness to be had in seeing all of these old gags and ideas and indulgences from his early days still cropping up, with the same earnest, in such a "blockbuster" cartoon as this one--one considered the tried and true turning point for his unit. His usage of these gags has only gotten more effective through how much more streamlined his directing has become, but the heart remains the same.
Two recurring motifs converge: the most visible aspect of So White being her rear to again reign in on the sexualization, and the Fleischer-adjacent musical bobbing throughout. Not only do the Queen and So White bob to the rhythm, but the apple cart, too--quite plasticly and full of life. It's bobbing on its own time, subject to the same heartbeat of rhythm as everyone else, rather than the Queen's movements influencing the cart in which she sits on. This playful, charming synchronicity is again a stark contrast to the original, whose apple delivery is much more menacing and foreboding.
"So White, here's an apple and it's just for you. It's free and from a friend--"
Payne shifts away from the falsetto and into the gravel voice for this next line: "--guess who!"
Yet another stealthily employed cheat/jump-cut makes this work. In the last few frames on the wide shot, the Queen is handing the apple to So White. Then, in the cut, she already has the fake nose pried off of her face, apple completely missing. The sheer concentration of movement and bobbing almost completely masks this cheat, making it only feel like the result of some breathless pacing--this and every other moment of the short.
Moreover, this close-up is so purposefully self contained that it almost feels like it doesn't even happen. Once the cut is over, Clampett cuts back to the same wide shot, apple back in hand, as if a beat hadn't even been skipped. This little insert is a confidential moment between the viewer and the Queen as the fourth wall is generously smashed.
Not only is that smashing limited to breaking the flow of the cartoon to make a meta reference--that is, the Queen willingly showing off the flimsiness of her disguise, again hinting that it's purely to meet the obligations of the story--but to honor the comedy and pop culture trends of the times. The Queen in the original certainly wasn't making any Jimmy Durante references, but our Queen is more than happy to. Cartoon logic dictates that any and all large proboscisuses be accompanied by a Durante-esque "Haaa-cha-cha-cha!"
Durante references were indeed rife in the Warner cartoons, but that wasn't always the case. In fact, this is the first Warner short in around 10 years to make a Durante reference. Durante references occasionally popped up in some of the Bosko shorts, such as Bosko in Person and Bosko's Picture Show--I've Got to Sing a Torch Song likewise apes the "ha-cha-cha-cha" out of obligation for celebrity references. The Durante boom of caricatures in Warner cartoons wouldn't necessarily take-off until about this point onward--Clampett certainly did his part, with one of the eponymous (A) Gruesome Twosome serving as a walking cat caricature of Durante (not dissimilar to the aforementioned Tin Pan being a vehicle for a cat caricature of Fats Waller, who's likewise referenced in this short.)
Consideration of color choices again deserves applauding: the green of the Queen's feather matches the green of the apple, with both colors connoting toxicity and poison. That, too, contributes to the coy obtuseness of the scene: as mentioned prior, the poison apple in the original was an inconspicuously tempting red, with the intent to hide its poison qualities. Here, they're on blatant display, and So White hardly thinks twice about the offer:
"You mean this apple's just for me?"
"Don't stand there blabbin', woman--just try it and see!"
Ironically, this short does have a real, tangible Disney connection: Bob Clampett cited this scene of So White swallowing the apple whole as the handiwork of Art Babbitt. Babbitt is most known for his deep ties with the Disney studio (and severing said ties, becoming one of the strike leaders in the infamous 1941 Disney Strike and thereby initiating a very tumultuous relationship with Walt going forward), having developed the character of Goofy and animating many key characters in the films--Gepetto in Pinocchio, the mushrooms in Fantasia, the stork in Dumbo and, most relevant to our purposes here, the Wicked Queen in Snow White. He likewise married the live action model for Snow White, Marjorie Belcher (who was also 12 years Babbitt's junior.)
Babbitt worked on a handful of Clampett shorts--at least this, The Wise Quacking Duck, Tin Pan Alley Cats, and Wagon Heels. Babbitt was one of a handful of ex-Disney employees who flitted around Warners' after the '41 strike, others being Cornett Wood, Bill Melendez, and Basil Davidovich. Melendez would become a regular animator in Clampett's unit after graduating from assistant to Rod Scribner; Davidovich animated in a handful of Clampett shorts as well, and Cornett Wood likewise would provide layouts for some Clampett directed shorts, such as Draftee Daffy and Book Revue.
Clampett recalled giving Babbit some of the "easier" scenes of the short, since he was new to the studio. Indeed, the scene of So White eating the apple is short and to the point: there's only one drawing of the "impact". So White does a surprised take after eating, and then the camera cuts. A foreboding drum roll dins beneath the scene--another break in protocol that enunciates how unsettling the scene feels. There's no flouncy rhythm to guide this bit, as has been the case throughout, but especially within the past minute or so. The musical, swing rhythm almost seems to die alongside So White.
A sleepy, half-cognizant Dopey is the first to witness the death. He does a startled take:
Which is reciprocated by the directing, a loud, brash, alarming horn sting upon the very frank insert of a dead So White. The witch looms over So White, her cast shadow signifying both a reminder of who did the deed, but also her view of So White--So White, ideally, is supposed to be in her shadow as she is crowned the fairest of them all. Likewise, the eaten apple is visible in plain sight: quite a cheat, considering we just saw So White swallow the apple whole. Nevertheless, showing the "evidence" of the crime is much more impactful than foregoing it--it's a cheat, but viewers are likely more preoccupied with So White's death and the stakes on the cartoon rather than nitpicking continuity details.
For all of this shot's detail, it occurs incredibly quickly, hardly on-screen for a second. In contrast to the original, there isn't a tangible "come down": no dirge, no funeral, no heartbreaking moment of emotions overflowing. Instead, Dopey immediately rushes to action. Pale morning skies are now a violent red to match this sudden hitch in conflict.
Dopey's warning to the Fetchit dwarf ("Ol' So White's gonna kick the bucket!" "Does you mean the buck-buck-bucket?") is appropriated from the Louis Armstrong song "Old Man Mose", in keeping with Clampett's referential pulls. Perhaps a first for cartoons with caricatures of Stepin Fetchit, the Fetchit caricature lacks the usual drawling, slow, sleepy voice--instead, it's one Mel Blanc in falsetto to another Mel Blanc in falsetto. Focus of this scene isn't that the dwarf is a caricature of Stepin Fetchit and, thus, has all of his mannerisms (the "In the Army Now" sequence covered that with his shuffling walk), but that So White is dead, the dwarfs are now aware of this, and action must be taken.
Earlier observations of the dwarfs' being a monogamous unit are best exemplified here. Clampett likewise pins this moment as Babbitt's handiwork--all seven dwarfs leave the tent in a scrambling, unified, Keystone Cops-esque swarm. A keen eye and quick freeze-framing finger reveals that they're bound together by the same belt of ammo. Clustering all of the dwarfs together may--ironically--lend itself to greater visual clarity because of them being one big mass moving at once, whereas spacing out seven individuals with seven different movements and actions requires more time, focus, and attention from both the artist and viewer alike. The right amount of overwhelm necessary for the scene is conveyed (as it is supposed to be a sudden burst of energy, a charge), but not to the degree of muddling the mechanics of the animation.
The next scene is a "mortar" scene, the filling in-between as the dwarfs rush to their destination: their animation is on a rapidly timed cycle, weapons waving and flying to give them a little bit of clarity and visual interest. Stalling's musical accompaniment is a hurried rendition of "Dixie", which does again somewhat obfuscate what this short is going for. A short all about celebrating jazz and a "new" sound and branding itself as something different, contemporary, perhaps even "sympathetic" (insert Clampett's white savior story here)--and is still populated by the same old minstrel songs used in the same old shorts with the same old stereotypical imagery, and in comparative earnest. At least the title card's rendition of Shortnin' Bread tried to offer a more "authentic" sound.
Despite the purposeful absurdity and comic relief of this sequence, it, too, honors the original film: it's intended as a mirror to the dwarfs and animals teaming up to chase after the Queen, ultimately leading to her demise. Clampett trims the fat, as has again been the main theme of the entire short: there are no animals, so the dwarfs instead just go guns 'a blazin' and aim to handle the Queen themselves. There's likewise no ambiguity as to what they hope will happen: the knives and cannons and spears speak for themselves. Bloodlust is poignant.
But playfully so. The Keystone Cops comparisons are particularly strong in the next bits, with the dwarfs hopping into their obtusely labeled Jeeps to chase after the Queen. Said obtuse labeling of the Jeep follows the same newspaper comic influence expounded upon previously--a quaint whimsy that both supports the rapidly playful directing, but also takes some of the edge off (as they are on their way to kill the Queen).
eTrees in the background are constructed at a slant to further the illusion of dynamism and action--momentum is easing forward. Said trees are airbrushed, giving a dreamy, phantasmagorical appeal and haze; Clampett and his background team would use the same techniques in another 1943 Clampett Disney parody, A Corny Concerto, albeit with much more vivid color palettes. The browns and whites of the background here are alarming, brash, harsh: this is no time to be admiring the scenery.
In the successive cut follows even more silly, nonsensical antics: the dwarfs slingshot into place, with the two dwarfs missing the Jeep arriving in their respective follow-ups. Yet again, comparisons to newspaper cartoonists--Bill Holman in particular--are nigh with the labeling and joyful obtuseness of it all.
Perhaps all of this action is tangential fluff rather than a subversion of the original; comic capers happening for the sake of comic capers. Nevertheless, the pacing is so breathless and working to get us to an end destination that it doesn't necessarily matter. The comedic buffer between So White's death and the forthcoming gravity of the Queen's confrontation offers balance and a bit of a breather: something this short absolutely benefits from with how rapid and forceful its delivery of information can be.
Animation of the dwarfs as they scramble and bumble about is insultingly impressive. The pacing of the direction, the elasticity of the animation, how the rapidity of the animation doesn't necessarily mean that the animation itself is incomprehensible--all of what's on-screen is what Clampett could have only dreamed of accomplishing less than a year ago. It is a technical and even logical marvel (as, despite the mindlessness of the antics, laying all of this out and animating it requires a ridiculous amount of skill and focus and thinking--even if they are clustered together, there are seven rapid moving parts taken account for.)e
And, predictably, the dwarfs' means of ridding the Queen are likewise updated for the modern era. Instead of plunging her over a cliff, the latest military advances are put to optimistic use. A curious Dopey makes the mistake of peering into the barrel...
...only to become a part of said military advances. Comic capers for the sake of comic capers, but incredibly well animated and incredibly timed. All of the action feels organic, spontaneous, frenzied, but not to a degree of distraction. This entire sequence with the dwarf is the epitome of methodical madness.
Voice expert Keith Scott assigns the maniacal laughter of the Queen in the next shot--and quite a shot it is, the faded print in no part obscuring its moodiness with the Queen's silhouette menacingly halo'd by the sun--as the voice of Ruby Dandridge, with her audition seemingly providing its uses after all. It's certainly clear why that's the case: her voice is chillingly deranged, especially with the aforementioned moodiness of the shot. A strong, clear line of action to account for the distance, and the apple cart kept in view as a reminder of who and what was behind So White's demise.
A brief cut back to the dwarfs, as they--and we--anticipate the fire...
...and the impact. Clampett cuts the camera before the dwarfs actually pull the string, making the action feel more curt and literally explosive by trimming the fat. There are two frames of single, unobstructed space (so unobstructed that even the Queen is missing) before the entire scene is shrouded in smoke. Timing of the explosion itself is on one's, whereas the smoke settling is on two's, giving the effect of the smoke lingering in the air and a more organic sense of timing.
Yet, contrary to the violence of the shot, the camera doesn't cut back on a dead Queen--rather, the process. Bob McKimson's handiwork is present in the tall, gently tapered oval eyes of the Queen and general firmness in construction as she recoils; the pose itself wouldn't look strange in one of McKimson's own cartoons.
McKimson even inserts a blink-and-you'll-miss-it gag of the Queen's nose lagging in the air after her recoil, only to smack back onto her face. It's almost a bit too fast to be noticed or registered, despite there not being much on-screen to muddle the clarity. There's just so much happening. In this sequence, and in the entire cartoon. This gag is simply another part of that.
It makes sense that for all this build-up and drama, the resolution comes as an anticlimax. The bullet anticipating the Queen's demise lingers for a moment, before revealing a passengar: Dopey's climbing into the barrel wasn't in vain after all. It's he who has the dignity of delivering the final blow--orchestrated through a dinky little mallet that delivers an amusingly incongruous reaction.
As endlessly reinforced, the Queen's death in the original was deeply dramatic. This is not. It's silliness for the sake of silliness, but a sake that Clampett clearly enjoyed indulging in. It's almost as though our Queen isn't deserving of the dignity that comes with a genuinely dramatic death. In fact, this gag--something opening up to reveal someone inside of it, brandishing a mallet or evena. gun--goes back to some of the earliest animated cartoons. It certainly was a pet gag of the Harman-Ising era, and an era Clampett was notably involved in. That same irreverent spirit and juvenile whimsy is preserved, but now with the seen of the draftsmanship and standards of animation present within the '40s. Dopey's staggered animation and the elastic, yet laden flopping of the Queen certainly pack more life and power than any Harman-Ising cartoon.
Almost as soon as the Queen makes contact with the ground, Clampett again iris wipes to the scene of the crime. She's not important enough to linger on. Our real pathos lies with So White.
And thus is where the original is again honored, albeit through its unique Clampettian bastardization: a scene of the dwarfs mourning the dead So White. While a comparatively dour moment, it's far from the heartwrenching pathos of the original--but it doesn't try to be. Somewhat similar to his use of "Dixie", Stalling's melancholic dirge of "Blues in the Night" sounds as if it could fit into any other Warner cartoon from the same era. There isn't very much about its sound or usage that is unique to this short.
Focus of the shot is on So White entirely. Shadows are gently animated, flickering and moving to give life to the voices off-screen (another key difference from the original, where Snow White's mourning is--with the exception of Grumpy's sobs--in strained silence), but visual focus is entirely on the deceased. It's more effective that way through its frankness, just as it likewise comes with the benefit of saving some money and pencil mileage.
One of the dwarfs amidst the mourning comments "She's got it bad, and that ain't good!", which is a direct reference to the song of the same name in Jump for Joy. Despite everything, Joy's influence is still rife within the short's genetic make-up.
And, in spite of this time of mourning, Clampett and Foster keep the metatextual awareness going: "There's only one thing that'll remedy this, and that's Prince Chawmin' and his dynamite kiss!" is lovably obtuse and expository, a line crafted purely with the knowledge of how the story should play out. Even the kiss has a trademarked name, as if this is something that everyone is aware of. Like reading out the stage directions for a play.
Sure enough, the Prince is never one to miss his cue. The same anticipatory heralding call of "You're a Horses Ass" is gently sped up here, as we've already been through this routine once before; no need for formal introductions. Instead he gets straight to the point, leaping into a spotlight that springs to life as soon as he springs into frame. To make this happen, the once vacant, sprawling backdrop is now clustered with thick, dark trees, giving the spotlight something to illuminate off of. But despite such a drastic change of scenery and cheat to make it available, it doesn't read as a cop-out or convenience. It's simply as if the sets have been changed for a new scene in the play.
So White remains in frame as the Prince scats his plan ("I'll give her a kiss, and it won't be a dud--I'll bring her to life with my special..."), both as an object to visually frame the prince by guiding the audience's eye--completed by the dwarfs observing on the other end of the stage--but also a reminder of who and what's at stake.
The camera trucks in as the Prince speaks; It's a way to motivate the next cut, but Clampett probably could have gotten away without it.
It's all in service of another Clampettian indulgence: the Prince finishes off his rhyme with an echoing, foreboding "Rooooosebuuuud" a la Citizen Kane. Thus marks the second Rosebud/Citzen Kane reference in a Clampett short, all within a matter of months. Nevertheless, despite the admitted silliness--or perhaps because of--it still manages to work. It's the same philosophy of the Queen's Jimmy Durante impression. A little cut for Clampett to get his jollies in that doesn't interrupt the greater flow or intent of what's occurring.
Throughout the entire sequence, Clampett makes sporadic cuts to the dwarfs. They watch in strained anticipation, even puckering alongisde the Prince--it's as though they're attempting to lend some of their own energy to the Prince. It's a group effort. Likewise, it's a reminder that So White has touched the dwarfs' lives, too, and they want her back just as anybody does. Of course, this is an observation largely reliant on the knowledge of the original, considering how monolithic and barebones the dwarfs' personalities are in this short. Nevertheless, Clampett is able to make it work. Likewise, these frequent cuts back to the dwarfs are a nice way to ward off any potential monotony in lingering on the same scene for so long--even if said scene is an absolute tour de force of animated prowess.
But, effective as it is for the viewer, even the groundbreaking mechanisms of animation this poses for the trajectory of the Clampett unit--and WB studio as a whole--have no such effect on So White. Likewise, it ends up having the opposite effect on the Prince: having expended every ounce of his energy and life force into his kisses, he practically ages 50 years all at once. No longer a charming Prince, but an old, haggard coot with his love interest still dead.
Permanence of his failure is clinched when the dwarfs topple over themselves, the anticipatory drum line put to an end at last. Their toppling is essentially a metaphor for the Prince's plan toppling, and, with it, any hope of reawakening So White. A color card background in this scene, while a somewhat out of place choice, does seem to signify the permanent change by distancing the viewer from familiar locations. We are again past the point of return.
Mel Blanc's voice as the dwarfs is overlaid atop the following shot of the Prince, shrugging helplessly in response to their obtuse observations: "It didn't work!" "No, it didn't work!"
Framing of this scene is a bit claustrophobic and tight; there's a reason for that. The next shot reveals Dopey next to So White's head, evidently having snuck over while everyone was preoccupied. It's another cheat/jump-cut, as So White is still just visible in the previous shot that Dopey would be, too. Nevertheless, revisiting the cuts of the dwarfs cements that there were indeed only six of them.
Dopey has been missing this whole time in preparation for this pivotal moment:
And yet another jump cut, this time to a literal degree as we witness So White's beautifully vibrant return to life. The harsh blare of the trumpet on the kiss to pick up where the Prince failed, the brightness of the color cards in contrast to the moody blues and purples, an aptly utilized trombone gobble from Treg Brown scoring the joyous flailing and kicking of Rod Scribner's. It truly is a return to life and then some: in contrast to the original, where Snow White tepidly, quaintly, slowly wakes up as the build-up is savored, our So White immediately bounds into the scene as a fireball of joyous energy. It certainly adheres to this short's theme of injecting the fairy tale with much more raucous energy.e
Every ounce of the animation, the direction, the music is a celebration. A belligerent antithesis to her wooden demise, both in this cartoon and the original film. Even the act of scooping Dopey up into her arms (another inverse of the original, where the Prince lifts her into his arms) is filled with adrenaline--drastic overshoots and settles on her hair, her body as she rears back before leaning forward, Dopey's body scrambling into a comfortable settle.
The music score throughout such a celebration is "You're in the Army Now"--the unofficial anthem of the dwarfs and their allegiances to So White. That, and to sell some additional jingoism: Dopey's shoes (in addition to conforming to the shared silhouette between him and So White) form a prominent V for Victory.
Dopey's proud, lackadaisacal stance, sitting with his arms behind his head as though he owns the place is a brash juxtaposition against the desperation of the Prince. He's still sweating, out of breath, bedraggled. His instant aging isn't just a brief exaggeration in the moment, but a seemingly permanent seal unto his fate. Perhaps if he were to revert back to his regular young self, So White would change her mind with her allegiances.
Speaking of--So White's animation is particularly appealing in this moment. With how much of her character has been reduced to nothing but a sex object, it's a refreshing change of pace to see her emote and behave coyly, sweet. She's not necessarily "better" for her perceived purity in this scene, but it's a significant departure from how she's been characterized within the rest of the film--thus, the novelty is increased, and it also makes this ending resolution feel more special through the demeanor change. Things have changed.
The Prince, hoarse and depleted, defeatedly asks Dopey what is it "that make So White think you so hot?"
The secret is thusly deployed for a second time.
He makes contact right as Stalling's anticipatory, climbing chord reaches its peak, thereby resulting in a feeling of musical triumph--another proud trumpet blare drones with it. While the ribbons-turned-flags in So White's hair is the most notable detail--and again, said flags lovingly rendered to preserve its iconography in a time where that was a particularly valuable asset--there's likewise a particularly poignant bit with So White's eyes. Her pupils briefly gloss over with highlights, enunciating her stunned, sparking energy; overall, a touch that gives her so much more life and candid bewilderment than if her eyes remained opaque. It's the smallest details that give the greatest effects.
And, with Stalling slipping in a final sting of patriotism ("Columbia, Gem of the Ocean"), the cartoon fades to its end titles: a novel deviation, in which the titles are transposed over the shot of the mammy and child by the fireplace. A reminder that this has all been a mere story--a necessary reminder, too, as the events of the cartoon are so visceral and so captivating that it's all too easy to forget that this has been a story within a story.
The cartoon is wrapped up in a neat, complete book-end, but without scurrying to shoehorn said book-end (as some shorts of this nature can be privy to do, with the feeling of cutting off the events all too quickly). It's a very effective way to end, especially when coupled with the loud, celebratory, brash music overtop, its musical stylings deviating from the norm for these shorts and thereby enunciating the novelty. And, truly, that's the encapsulation of this entire shot. The titles aren't always on top of the body of the cartoon (there have been exceptions before this, such as The Major Lied Til Dawn), Stalling's music scores hardly ever have such palpable Black American influence in them, and very few, if any, shorts produced before this have maintained the same spectacle and production value and deviation in format than this short has. On this unconventional end shot for an unconventional cartoon, the audience is left stewing in something they have not been privy to before with these shorts.
For reasons immediately apparent, this cartoon has generated a very fair amount of controversy. A little less apparent is how far back that controversy has been present.
Discussions of cartoons like these inevitably yield the digressions of "it was a different time!"--so much so that Bob Clampett himself argued the same, insisting that the controversy “has developed in later years merely because of changing attitudes toward black civil rights that have happened since then.”
Historical context is a must in experiencing these cartoons, not even in relation to aspects more readily accepted as problematic today, but with particularly every aspect of these shorts. Viewing with the context of what led to the creation of the cartoon rather than what came after, as what came after didn't yet exist. It can be helpful to allude to a "future" short coming down the line when drawing a throughline of evolution, but it doesn't make much sense to say that, for example, a Harman-Ising era cartoon is bad because it doesn't have the production of Coal Black and thereby the entirety of the early '30s animation landscape is entirely disposable. An extreme and nonsensical example, but we know that it is extreme and nonsensical because we embrace historical context and know that obviously there needs to be growth to get from Harman-Ising to Coal Black. This embrace of context is innate and often unconscious in our viewing of these cartoons.
Just the same, those decrying that this cartoon can do no wrong or isn't "really" racist because it moves well or that it was simply a product of its time fail to realize what was going on in those times. Such as the NAACP launching a campaign to protest the short in April 1943.
By April 9th, NAACP member Odette Harper organized a "telephone picketing" against the film among many of the theaters showing the film in Manhattan. Harper sent a memorandum to NAACP leader Walter White dated April 17th urging for the short's withdrawal, arguing "The soldiers are subjected to indignities which are demaging [sic] to national unity. Ironically, the American flag floats over the camp in which the soldiers are quartered. Picture makers would not have dared to hold up to ridicule any other group --- Caucasian, Chinese, Jewish, etc. The picture must be withdrawn."
By April 28th, a formal protest was launched by the NAACP against Harry Warner to push for action. Complaints and protests pertained both to civil rights and the war effort, with the argument that this short had the opposite intended effect, feeling that, as Christopher Lehman notes, the short "only gave ammunition to the enemy"--"Preying upon African American discontent with segregation and skepticism toward self-promotion of the United States as the defender of democracy, the Japanese did not hesitate to produce propaganda for black soldiers stationed in the Pacific, citing examples of discrimination against African Americans."
Ultimately, the protests didn't get particularly far--the cartoon continued its run in theaters, which, by April, would've already been running for three months. Nevertheless, the attempts made to protest were still significant--as Lehman notes, Harper's phone picketing educated theater owners about the cartoon, giving the option to boycott for anyone sympathetic to her cause. Likewise, the short never received a re-release, despite the same grace being extended to other less successful films.
36 years later, The Black Panther Party protested a showing of the film at a Los Angeles film festival in 1979 and successfully garnered its withdrawal. Intriguingly, historian Jim Korkis notes that the Panthers met with LA mayor Tom Bradley--the Panthers brought up the festival showing Bob Clampett cartoons, to which Bradley quipped that Clampett was responsible for one of his favorite shorts, which he had seen in France in during the war: Coal Black.
All of this conjecture is to argue that the "it was a different time" argument doesn't hold much water here, considering that in said "different time", it was being protested against. Thus, Clampett's insisting that "Everybody, including blacks, had a good time when these cartoons first came out" flounders when his short was targeted in a month long organization by the NAACP to protest.
Many discussions of the cartoon veer off the course of nuance, whereas it may be a case where multiple truths can be held at once: a deeply significant turning point for the trajectory of the Clampett cartoons and, really, Warner cartoons as a whole, it is a lavish spectacle that has this pervasive feeling of being "different"--even "special", all throughout. This isn't a standard Warner cartoon. To the effect that there is no other cartoon like this. There have been attempts to try and recapture its success, or even just serve as a derivative--Tin Pan Alley Cats and Goldilocks and the Jivin' Bears both come to mind.
But this short is a league of its own with its production values and care and preparation and artistic merit in terms of pure technical skill. It is also extremely, deeply repugnant display of egregious racial stereotypes and biases with grotesque imagery intended to shock and exaggerate and go for the jugular. The importance of this film does not bely the racism, nor does the racism bely its importance.
There is a reason why so much time and discourse is spent on this and not Jungle Jitters (which was so much of a dud that it's made fun of in The Ducksters, 12 years after the film's release): there is an innate draw to its production value and novelty. It's expensive and it feels and looks and sounds the part. There is a novelty to hearing real Black actors voice these characters, just as there's a novelty to hearing the Black influence in the music (albeit appropriated). That this is a parody of Snow White, a fairytale and film most people are aware of, increases its draw and ability for discussion through the curiosity to see something familiar subverted and cling to the knowledge of the source material. And how can someone watch Rod Scribner's animation in this short and not have something to talk about?
Intriguingly, this cartoon's connections to Duke Ellington don't extend only to Jump for Joy. In 1948, lyrics were written for a Broadway musical parodying Snow White, with Duke Ellington providing the score: Cole Black and the Seven Dwarfs.
It never made it to fruition, but Disney artist Mary Blair provided a number of concept sketches as late as 1955, yielding a somewhat significant gestation period since the lyrics and script were written by Thornton Hee and William Cottrell in '48--both Disney storymen.
We'll sadly never know. Nevertheless, it's an intriguing "full circle" moment: a Snow White parody sparked by a Duke Ellington revue, with Ellington planning another revue as an all-Black Snow White parody that essentially has the same name as its informal cartoon predecessor.
For better or worse, 1943--a release year where the cartoons not only begin to hit their stride, but brandish it and make it their full identity, with bolder, faster, more irreverent cartoons and management shake-ups inevitably fostering such change--couldn't have opened with a more apt cartoon. This is an explosive cartoon that hits the ground running with all of its numerous bells and whistles. Soaring production values and spectacle, and a pervasive feeling of the floodgates opening with Scribner's embrace of the Lichty style yielding even more distortion and mania in animation and characterization, all amounting in a very visceral, very spontaneous, very intoxicating end product.
It's also a deeply, deeply irreverent cartoon that goes right for the jugular. But with such the fuss it continues to stir to this day, it does cement that these are cartoons worth talking and buzzing about. Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but reasons nonetheless that indicate that these cartoons are being talked about and receiving widespread attention. This isn't just another drop in the vast bucket of racism is hidden under the rug, to be dismissed just as how things are/were. These cartoons are in your face, and will only continue to close the gap as the intensity of the war pumps more and more adrenaline and raucousness into these shorts. Shorts that can be enjoyed without the crushing blanket of racism strangulating the viewer.
Even so, there's a lot to be curious about with this cartoon, and there is a reason--again, for better or worse--that it in particular garners so much discussion.
To cap off, this short (rather appropriately) has a wealth of production materials still in circulation: what couldn't fit into the margins of the intro and conclusion are thusly delivered below.
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