Release Date: January 23rd, 1943
Series: Looney Tunes
Director: Norm McCabe
Story: Don Christensen
Animation: Izzy Ellis
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Porky, Missing Lynx, Egbert, Radio)
You can watch it here!
The first Porky cartoon of 1943--a "standout" year for him, too, as despite only boasting four shorts to his name within the year, practically all of them are heavy hitters--marks an intriguing combination of beginnings and ends. As just mentioned, he only bears four shorts to his name in the year. He held the same number in 1942, barring the addition of Any Bonds Today. Compared to 1941's 12 Porky cartoons and 1940's 14, and with this being the first solo Porky cartoon in 11 months, the writing is on the wall: times are changing.
It's clear that Porky is no longer the golden boy of the studio. That's been the case ever since July 27th, 1940, but has become aggressively transparent within the past year and a half as Bugs' fame has skyrocketed. Likewise, Daffy was becoming a more frequent mainstay; the Looney Tunes series isn't so much Porky's series anymore as it is a shared honor between Porky and Daffy. Something that is aptly mirrored in the shiny new opening titles instated at the start of the '42-'43 season.
Consequently, this is Norm McCabe's final Porky cartoon and, with it, final cartoon to star a major player in the Looney Tunes repertoire. McCabe had already been drafted by the time of this short's release, having left the studio in 1942 and Frank Tashlin assuming his position--only two more shorts remain in the backlog after this. Considering McCabe had been animating on the Porky cartoons practically since the character's conception--first (ironically enough) in Frank Tashlin's unit and then a mainstay of Bob Clampett's unit--this departure of director and weaning frequency of the character is indicative of the changes and upheaval this year brings for its cartoons.
McCabe certainly doesn't squander his opportunity. Confusions of a Nutzy Spy, with its title aped from Warners' own Confessions of a Nazi Spy, is one of McCabe's most visually and perhaps even directorially ambitious cartoons, bolstered by Dave Hilberman's sleek, eye-popping layouts--so stylized and cunning that the direction has no choice but to adapt. Constable Porky is tasked with tracking down the notorious spy and master of disguise, Missing Lynx. He's aided by his pooch Egbert and his chronic sinusitis--an asset that proves to be as helpful as it is unhelpful.
Whether it be the wanted poster-style title cards or the mere establishing shot of a courthouse, Hilberman's glossy design sensibilities are the very first impression for the short. Quite a good one, too. This is a rather valuable asset to have--in any circumstance, but particularly considering the entire opening of the cartoon (one minute and thirty seconds worth) is nothing but puns.
Yes, puns. McCabe's directing is essentially a tour guide of the puns that writers Don Christensen and Tubby Millar (Christensen's uncredited writing partner) surely poured copious amounts of blood, sweat, and tears into. The camera pans to a pun, pauses to let the audience soak it all in, and promptly moves to the next one. This ritual continues for a minute and a half.
Because it's easier to deliver in concentrate, the deluge of puns and their respective set-ups in question:
Granted, it isn't as simple as "the cartoon opens and there's a lot of puns" (but, admittedly, could be reduced to such just the same.) There are a number of touches that make it bearable--no dialogue or action means almost unfettered focus on Stalling's score of "Hey Doc", which is delightfully moody. It sets a precedent of aloof intrigue. It's a bit sleepy, a bit mellow, a bit reserved, but in a way that feels measured and, for lack of a more verbose phrase, "cool". Viewing all of these crime puns and thoughts of constables and cases in our minds, viewers anticipate getting more acquainted with the short's setting and premise. Or, perhaps they simply anticipate breaking away from the puns.
Likewise, Hilberman's layouts are truly the star. It's difficult to razz a bad pun if the environments surrounding it seem to have more confidence than the writing. The establishing interior shot of the courthouse particularly comes to mind as a standout in the sleek, geometric aesthetic--sharp contrasts in value (the darks of the spittoon in the foreground and the courtroom bar, with said bar calling attention to the layout's vanishing point), sharp parallel lines, slants in the ceiling parallel to the slanting cabinets that offer palpable momentum, and so forth. A display of exceedingly considerate design. (Likewise, it should be noted that the establishing interior shot has a war bonds poster near the door--another surefire indicator that this is a McCabe cartoon, propaganda firmly in check.)
The montage of puns is also bolstered in interest through its geographical impossibilities: while the exterior and interior of the courthouse are established, they're essentially the only anchors of any coherent geography. The camera pans back and forth between puns, and in doing so, the physical layout of the courtroom shifts with it. Walls are suddenly clustered together, seemingly overlaid atop the establishing interior shot--then, after enough time has passed, a new cut is made all together to a void of nothing but walls, geography of the courtroom now firmly indeterminate but functionally so. None of this feels like a deliberate disregard for continuity so much as it is to make an artistic statement and preserve the flow of shots. For such a lengthy sequence, it does maintain its flow rather well, which makes for greater processing of information on the viewer's behalf.
Some more quick notes on the sequence throughout:
- The long arm of the law bit, enjoyable groan worthy as it is, actually exceeds (admittedly low) expectations, as said arm is almost in every single shot of this montage, including the establishing shot of the cartoon: a long, gray tube can be seen snaking beneath the door. It likewise wraps around the bar in the "two crimes for the price of one" highlight, and throughout the pan that leads to its reveal, viewers are meant to believe that the arm is just wall trim. Very cleverly integrated.
- The rogues gallery' of wanted posters demonstrates Hilberman's sense of design and appeal prevailing even in humans, too--they almost feel like a forebearer to the sorts of characters and bullies that'd later show up in Chuck Jones' cartoons who, of course, were also very graphically minded in their designs.
The grand destination point of this montage is to the aforementioned "Type B bloodhound":
Even a creative choice like rendering the z's of his snoring feels melded into Hilberman's design philosophy: it almost feels like a design choice moreso than a gag. It certainly helps with selling the subversion--all of this signage to beware the police dog and keep quiet, only for it to be a lethargic bloodhound. So lethargic that his lazy snoring is rendered as an object and thereby embracing just how lazy he is. A cute, whimsical touch that maintains the aesthetic flourishes of the art direction.
As it so turns out, the radio next to him isn't just to fill the scene. Mel Blanc's bright, sunny voice as an overly perky radio announcer is as much a contrast to the dog's somnolence as the dog's somnolence is to the moody, anticipatory lead-up. Stalling's score likewise adheres to the change, dropping into an equally perky rendition of "Start the Day Right", one of the songs he always kept close at hand for scenarios such as this one.
When the Blanc announcer begins speaking, the camera cuts in closer. It ends up feeling more arbitrary than not, as the cut in question is marginal--just slightly tighter. There isn't a noticeable benefit to framing the scene this way than was present previously, but, through that, is ultimately harmless. The jolt felt in the cut does seem to feed into the jolt of Blanc's chipperness. Something starkly at odds with the languid, grumbling dog scorning the radio's sales pitch for "Tasty Toasties".
Our dog finds enough muster to try and change the channel...
"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aht! Don't touch that dial!"
The recoil on the dog's arm is handled well, a sudden slingshot of energy that's a fitting response to the sudden patronization of the narrator and, just the same, an excellent contrast to the dog's languidity thus far. This is the most energy he's displayed yet.
Evidently, this routine is exactly that: a routine. The camera cuts to reveal a mallet conveniently located next to the box of flea soap (an amusing detail in itself, evidently alluding to some backstory to the dog's hygiene or lack thereof) that seems to have been implemented for this very reason. Said mallet is missing in the establishing wide-shot of this scene--that may be the reasoning behind the odd cut beforehand, so that the inclusion of the mallet doesn't seem like as much of a cheat than it would if it were deliberately missing in the shot prior.
The mallet does its job accordingly. 
McCabe's directing of this moment is very economical, but in a way that feels controlled and streamlined rather than lazy. With the dog reaching around for the mallet, the viewer naturally anticipates a cut to the dog violently smashing the radio--something with a big, winding arc and lots of drybrushing and sound effects. The current shot feels too tight for anything else. But, we're proven wrong, and the mere sound crashing and raining debris that pour into the shot practically convey just as much as seeing the impact happen. Such detached directing seems befitting of this lazy, aloof, detached dog.
An amusing topper: the gentility in which the mallet is lowered back into the scene, even receiving an approving pat of a job well done.
Information delivered in the scene doesn't stop just because the action halts. In this sudden quiet, prompted by the loss of the radio, its sound is substituted by the faint sound of tires screeching in the background. It's incredibly subtle, but certainly makes the general idea of the oncoming sequence feel more whole.
Sounds of tires squealing motivate a camera pan into the main area of the courthouse. Abstract, geometric blobs of drybrush create the illusion of motion blur and "connective information" before the camera reaches its destination--a wonderfully unconventional shot framed beneath a desk. It should be noted that during the pan, there's a wanted poster for what appears to be a headshot of Hitler.
The shot beneath the desk is eye popping, different, dynamic, but also on the level with the dog, still keeping the viewer in the dog's headspace by framing it from his eye level (and perhaps a bit below). Even if the dog himself hasn't actually moved, this is a deliberate move for reasons that'll soon become apparent. But for now...
"EGBERT!"
"EGBIH-BEH-BIH-BERT! HEY, EGBERT!"
Porky is introduced as a whirlwind of gently foolish energy. The tires screeching earlier is a great touch because, while not hingent on the success or clarity of the scenes, it's an additional detail that makes Porky seem like a zealous and reckless rube. If viewers' ears didn't pick up the tires, that's okay too--Porky bursting into the courthouse and shrieking at the top of his lungs communicates just the same.
Considering that the introduction of the dog--Egbert--centered on his resistance to loud (radio) noises, an additional laugh from Porky's behavior is scored immediately in knowing that he's absolutely going to annoy the dog. It's not a matter of "if" so much as "when"; already, viewers are curious about this dynamic between a lethargic dog and his innocently tactless owner.
Indeed, Cal Dalton's animation of Egbert immediately humors such queries. Dalton tended to draw characters with big, meaty jowls and faces, and that applies for Egbert: the "meatiness" of his expressions, so to speak, make his wincing reactions feel all the more visceral. Likewise with Egbert raking his fingers down his face, evidently demonstrating a slight deficit of respect. Dalton's animation of the finger raking isn't even all that anchored, a bit floaty and gelatinous in its timing, but the vividness of his reactions is much more pungent.
Porky's "Hey, on your eh-tih-ehh-toes, boy!" comes after a series of sharp, quick whistles. In addition to annoying the dog through noise, he also annoys through the variety of noise--whether that be through calling his name, whistling, or ordering him to get up.
Thus prompts a bit that is comfortably McCabian (or Christensen-and-Millar-ian, or both) through its eccentricity: Egbert hesitantly lowers his toes to the floor, only to physically recoil and yank them back up to floor-less safety. It's a literal answer to Porky's command and seemingly a play on the shock of feeling a cold floor in the morning with bare feet. It's also odd, the intent and execution a little more ambiguous than it could be--but McCabe's films are filled with little oddities and toppers and tangents exactly like this one. A good example of his directing style feeling "quirky". It's harmless more than anything, and certainly stresses the dog's reticence to do his job and/or interact with the much more vivid Porky.
As it so turns out, the mallet bit isn't unique to just the radio: the same layout (just filled with radio debris) and animation of Egbert reaching for the mallet is reused. Perhaps the idea of Egbert clobbering Porky over the head with a mallet to shut him up gets a bigger laugh than it would just by itself through the expectation of the first routine. Recalling the same animation and layout, and knowing what came after that, inevitably makes Egbert's thinking both more shocking and amusing.
Especially considering he actually goes for it, halting at the last minute as he fully wakes up.
The dead, thick pause that follows is almost funnier than the desire to wallop Porky. Little touches such as Egbert's ears swinging in place from the sudden motion (a reminder of what he was just going to do), his arm still frozen in the air as he doesn't commit to hitting Porky or putting it away, and Porky ceasing his yammering to stare at the hammer with about as much thought as Egbert's exhibiting--if even less so, somehow.
McCabe curates an effective combination of the dog's cynical actions and Porky's earnest cluelessness. Porky merely ogles at the mallet, tracking it with his eyes as the dog slowly lowers it, and then continues his yammering about catching a sabatyeeh-teh--a sabatee-euh...a spy. Albeit a purely subjective note, a touch to really bring this "intermission" home could be to retain Porky's clueless, neutral stare as he watches the mallet lower, and then go back to his smiley self. He falters for a moment, but the open mouthed smile occurs as he watches the hammer--it doesn't undermine the comedy of the moment, however. Just subjective nitpicking and housekeeping.
Viewers are acquainted with the aforementioned saboteur, who Porky aims to toss in the "cih-cyehh-eh-clink", the punnily named Missing Lynx. Lynx's eyes are directed not at the camera, being a static poster and all, but towards Egbert, making his visage feel more cognizant and, with it, his role more menacing. It's almost as if he's daring Porky and Egbert to try and track him down. A welcome touch that humanizes him and the threat he poses.
The camera doesn't cut to this unlikely tag-team ambling along their merry way to catch the spy, but, rather, Egbert winding up with a terrific sneeze. Meatiness of the jowls and wrinkles along the contours of the mouth again give this away as Cal Dalton's animation. He does a fine job of injecting life and motion into this wind-up--perhaps not the most grounded or weighted, but playful, elastic, and lively. Lively enough to communicate that this dog is fighting back a sneeze.
Something that is evidently a big deal, considering Porky's mildly panicked reaction.
Like the radio, Porky rushing to a "sneeze preventer" kit innately insinuates a history. The idea of a sneeze preventer kit--and the need for one--is amusing in its own right, but especially if it's communicated as a frequent occurrence. The convenience and literality of such a commodity is nevertheless the main takeaway.
Keeping with prior observations of strategic directing economy, McCabe skillfully employs an insert cut of the dog winding up with the sneeze. That way, there's no need to animate Porky grabbing the plunger (in all of its ambiguous purposes) from inside and figuring out how that should look or work. The camera can simply cut back to him with the door open and plunger, with no clarity or intent lost in the process. It moreover arrives with the benefit of building anticipation through all of the cuts. Cutting back and forth between characters makes it feel like a gap is closing--time is precious before the bomb of this dog's sneeze is set off.
Just as Stalling's music climaxes, Porky throws the plunger--and appealingly animated, too, despite some comparatively weaker draftsmanship: his body parts are gently off-set from one another, rather than all moving at the same time. It makes his weight feel like it's actually shifting and propelling the throw and following through, rather than simply moving back and then forward because he's supposed to.
And, with a throw, an echoing "POP!" from Treg Brown's sound design, and the halt of the music mimicking the halt of the sneeze, Egbert is succinctly subdued. Something communicated more through sound and directing rather than animation: somehow, Egbert's cel of him about to sneeze is held through the rest of the scene.
Nevertheless, the relief of both characters having stalled this catastrophe is clear. Stalling's music is much more quiet, idle, adhereing to the direction riding this sudden comedown.
For now.
The force of Egbert's sneeze is so great that it sends Porky flying out of the courthouse and, with it, the door. Tightness of Porky's construction, the tangibly elastic motion, and little details such as the creases on Porky's head and the wide snout are all immediate giveaways of John Carey's animation. A welcome casting choice with his penchant for strong, tactile motion. He really conveys the force of the sneeze through the stagger on the door as it threatens to be blown open, and the guttural bounciness of Porky flopping to the ground.
In all, this sequence is a bit of an odd one--another McCabe brand oddity. Perhaps there's a certain degree of pointlessness. Then again, considering pending events of the cartoon, maybe not. It's another example of McCabe's quirky directing style and the ideas he lingers on and makes a focus: nearly three minutes into the cartoon, all we've gotten so far is that Porky is a constable and has a police dog, and the police dog has a sneezing problem.
Still, for all of the quirks of this opening sequence, it doesn't necessarily feel lazy or bad or uninspired. Just comfortable in its peculiarity. An amusing and engaging peculiarity all the same.
On this beat of Porky recovering from the sneeze-blast, the camera follows the wanted poster as it drifts and loops in the air, away from custody. A smooth and creative transition that is directorially engaging--the audience is inevitably curious as to where it'll land--but, likewise, creates its own commentary by pulling away. As we leave Porky to shake off the impact, there's almost a fond condescension felt in the direction. A feeling of leaving these fools to their own devices.
As the flyer loops around, the viewer is treated to more stunning Hilberman layouts in the process. Blobular trees and their organic, thin branches are a stark contrast to the cold, harsh, sterile geography in the courthouse, constructed specifically to feel stolid and like a place of (seemingly) reputable business.
That art direction eventually reverts back to a state of sharp geometry--more than ever, when discovering where the flyer has landed. Piercing jagged shapes render the background an abstract color card rather than a solid location. With it, Stalling's music turns gently anxious, anticipatory.
For reasons soon to be made apparent.
A wonderful match cut and wonderfully executed reveal all around. The real Lynx adhering perfectly the flyer is yet again symptomatic of the sleek design and directing permeating this cartoon so strongly; it's almost like an art statement first and foremost over the gag. Likewise, despite our following of the flyer as it floats in the air, it briefly outpaces the camera so that we can't see what--or who--it sticks to. Thus, the reveal has even more of a surprise and novelty factor to it.
Hilberman's stylized background shines brightest when Lynx jerks his head towards screen right: his silhouette almost adheres to it perfectly, with the snout and hat filling into the negative space of the jagged edge quite comfortably. Stalling's surprise violin music sting communicates the jolt of action well, particularly after it's foreshadowed by a menacing string crescendo as Lynx remains still--the movement of the music alluding to the movement to soon come out of Lynx.
On the topic of music, McCabe times Egbert's sniffing almost exactly to the music--or perhaps vice versa. The sequence reads musically first and foremost, elevating an inherently mundane action like a bloodhound sniffing for clues. It's not suspenseful, but not languid: just casual, slightly pensive, and quaint. 
Said sniffing sequence again provides an opportunity to flaunt layouts. Particularly, their conspicuous depth. For as flat as Hilberman's designs are, he doesn't let that leech into the environment: this scene of Egbert's snout contouring along the ground and trees, Porky passing up through and behind the hills, behind the trees, a broken log in the foreground adding extra dimension--all of it rightly flaunts that while these backgrounds are sharp in their design, they're not inhibiting. 
That's furthered by the "tree" moving deeper into the background's z-space, much to the surprise of Egbert. Carey's responsible for this scene, too, long eyes on the characters almost as much of a tell as the sheer plasticity and energy in Egbert's recoil. His tactile animation is a welcome benefit to this scene, which relies considerably on tactility and its believability: a scene of a dog sniffing the ground and a tree might, ideally, look and feel as if those environments are actually interacting with each other. 
Carey doesn't let his tactility sacrifice expressive elastic motion or sudden impacts. This time, the tree is yanked out from "beneath" Egbert, executed merely through a few frames of drybrushing. Egbert's snout pancaking onto the ground, the dust cloud it kicks up (another one of Carey's proficiencies, effects animations), and Brown's brilliantly descriptive yet playful "THUNK!" as Egbert falls all making for a punch of an action. One shared on behalf of the character. We feel the tactility and thus, we share the sudden jolt Egbert experiences as this tree is mysteriously ripped away. Even sleepy, languid Egbert is able to surmise that trees don't walk or vanish.
Luckily for at least Lynx, another oncoming sneeze attack thwarts any deductions churning from Egbert. Carey captures the same "meaty", thick distortion and appeal as Dalton's animation, the rubbery distortions on the muzzle making said sneeze feel like a tangible force to be reckoned with.
Sneeze preventers result from unlikely allies.
A fun, similarly nonsensical continuation of the first bit with Egbert's sneezing. It makes no sense, but is the fun and joy of it. This illogic is simply the cartoon's logic, baked into its premise, and the only one bothering to question it is the viewer. Even the Nazi spy who's never met the dog helps keep his sneeze at bay--not even for threat of blowing his cover, either, considering Lynx and the tree had already departed. The confidence with such oddness is what makes it so compelling.
Right before Egbert can get a clue as to who helped him, his much more oblivious owner drags him away ("Eh-cyeh-eh-c'mon, Egbert! Uh-hurry up!"). Another amusing subversion--when Egbert isn't too dopey or languid to catch the predator, his innocently oblivious handler is. A nice way to preserve the stakes (that is, the spy's addentity hasn't been caught, and any inklings of it are actively being dismantled by dragging the dog away rather than simply ignoring them) in a way that isn't reliant on the same tricks. "Tricks" such as Egbert being too sleepy or dopey to notice.
Enunciating this near miss, Lynx begins to pop out of the tree before Egbert is fully off the screen. The slight overlap in actions, subtle as they are, really makes it feel like a missed opportunity and an egregious one. That's practically coupled by Lynx looking not at Egbert or Porky, but straight at the camera. It's as though even he can't believe he got off so easily.
Now it's his turn to investigate. His animation as he slinks out of the tree like a literal snake--an unambiguous metaphor--continues to reap kudos for the tactility of Carey's animation. No matter how purposefully unbelievable the action is, Lynx himself believably adheres to the contours of the tree as he wraps himself around it. Another demonstration of Hilberman's flat backgrounds offering more depth than anticipated.
This continues when Lynx pops out of the hollow log: seems it was placed not to fill up the scene, but to build up to this moment. The inexplicable cigarette holder conveniently in his mouth is as fun as the Clampettian "BEOP!" noise that accompanies him springing out of the log. Likewise, his strict, sleek side profile matches the sleekness of the art direction perfectly.
It's back to business as usual: same plucky, perky sniffing music cue with same sniffing.
With a little help. The abstract bushes in the foreground help obscure the visual gag of Porky's presence, making it much more effective through the surprise presentation.
Porky pushing Egbert stresses earlier themes of cop and police dog being more akin to a two-man (or, one man and one dog, or one pig and one dog) circus act than a proper K-9 unit. Egbert is amusing for needing to be pushed to get the job done. Porky is amusing for compulsively feeling he needs to push the dog in the first place. It's a joint act of ignorance; just with separate nuances. 
Likewise, all of the observations ring true for Porky taking a moment to stop and wipe his brow from the effort. A completely self-made issue. Enjoyably, Egbert does stop sniffing as soon as Porky stops pushing him--again, it's a mutual partnership.
Porky taking a moment to stop and sweat, while funny with these above implications, is really a set-up for story: pausing the camera and momentum allows Lynx to show himself between the trees. In addition to the strong framing of the trees, timing on his rapid entries and exits is razor sharp and clean: a combination of some drybrush and Stallng's menacing piano glissando to fill in the rest of the action. His movements are quick, stealthy, abstract (just like the backgrounds): all a formidable contrast against Porky and Egbert's lumbering. 
The tree motif actually carries some comparative significance, in that it isn't just to flaunt a nice bit of staging and framing. It's a set-up for the next scene's gag: with a tree cleanly splitting the composition in two, its artistic equilibrium is soon disturbed:
And back again.
And forth.
And the sleek monotony persists, raising its fervor and momentum until the process of accidental mitosis is complete.
Lynx's bewildered reaction(s) as sleek and abstract as the timing of his inexplicable back and forth, he rushes back into himself with a bit too much gusto: something conveyed entirely through impact lines, Stalling's sharp music sting, and Brown's informative, playful "TWOING!"
And the result:
This is another McCabeian oddity not dissimilar to the sneeze preventer bit (though, one may argue the sneeze preventer is a set-up, considering it's proven itself to be a recurring theme): indulgently idiosyncratic, doesn't necessarily contribute much overall--just silliness for the sake of silliness. But fun and artful silliness, and very well presented. Even if this scene were cut out and it wouldn't really impact the flow or information within the cartoon, it looks and moves very nicely and does communicate Lynx's sneakiness... if only in some of the most abstract terms. But this is an abstract cartoon.
Likewise, this too is another means to an end--after Lynx recovers, something catches his eye. Thus segues into a neat POV shot from Lynx's binoculars. A creative way to split up some of the framing and pacing, and an effective way to get the audience intrigued by putting them in Lynx's shoes (er, eyes), which makes the carton feel more immersive. The simulated focus effects at the beginning are a touch that sends the immersion over the edge. A detail that didn't have to be added, but certainly makes for a much more compelling end result.
To cement that a nefarious idea is hatching, McCabe cuts back to Lynx, who regards the audience as he rubs his hands maliciously. The timing of the action and pacing of this beat overall is a bit on the bloated and floaty side; just as well, that could be a consequence of how sharp and rigid the timing of the "mitosis" scene was prior. Lynx's hands could adhere to their forms a bit more, his smile a little less liquid in timing, but it's nitpicking for the sake of nitpicking. It's clearly conveyed that he's up to no good. (That, and the benefit of some more edge-of-frame humor: the binoculars remain suspended in the air after he relinquishes them.)
Lynx's sudden head turn reunites viewers with a more familiar strain of pacing. His profile is again particularly sleek and graphically minded, a perfect match for the sleek, geometric backgrounds.
Porky and Egbert, a little less so. The only time Egbert entertains any idea of sleekness and sharpness is when his snout perfectly contours along the rigid parallel of Lynx's leg. Excellent framing of his snout between the leg and the tree, allotting just enough negative space to direct the viewer's eye. There's just enough of the poster visible to again signal warnings against Lynx, reacquainting the audience with the threat he poses and, with these particular circumstances, furthering a feeling of the everything culminating together. Lynx is wanted, and it appears Egbert and Porky just found their man.
That much is true. However, Lynx is a character who isn't quite synonymous with truth and justice. A short but serviceable insert cut justifies why he isn't freaking out at having been caught: he's a master of disguise. The bulbous, even congenial construction of the dog head is a direct contrast to his usual appearance, making the reveal more effective through such open juxtaposition.
Porky, finger on the pulse spares no grilling questions with his acerbic interrogation: "Eh-ih-say, have you seen a spy ehh-around here?"
Our congenial-not-spy entertains the endearingly stupid question with a somewhat weak head shake. The animation in these scenes is a bit floatier and loose and weak looking, but that's moreso a direct result of how streamlined and sharp the animation and direction has been prior. Particularly with Lynx out of disguise.
Instead of giving a spoken answer, our spy communicates only in pantomime, so as not to blow his cover. The head shake clearly connotes no, just as the mischievously thoughtful wink and finger point communicate a slowly brewing lead.
The quickness in which he leaves the frame is more characteristic of the animation we've been seeing. McCabe leaves a pause on the empty background space for a moment, only then to pan down--that little buffer of time makes it seem like Lynx's movements are even quicker, with the cinematography taking a moment to catch up. Lynx's planning and scheming outpaces even the directing, so that the cartoon can be as caught off guard and surprised by his tricks as Porky and Egbert, in spite of having the advantage where we know they are tricks. 
A shot of Egbert observing is a bridge between two scenes, so that we don't see Lynx unearthing his mask and revealing his true self as he appears in the next cut. Him retreating to the bag is a way to take off the mask he's already wearing, but the staging is sympathetic to Porky and Egbert's ignorance, humoring the idea that the Lynx facade is a mask instead. Enjoyably convoluted action that is executed with surprising simplicity and clarity.
Hilberman's layouts continue to elevate the action even when there isn't much action to be elevated. Lynx's line of action matches the gentle slant of the tree and background, making for an incredibly dynamic and visually interesting shot: all through a character standing and talking. The strict visual parallels--the exact expressions on the poster, such as here and in the introductory match cut--are an artistic statement within themselves and contribute to the overall streamlining.
Porky gleefully confirms that Lynx's facade is the guy he's looking for. He is no closer to putting context clues together.
Particularly when Lynx confirms this, emphatically declaring "No, I have NOT seen him!"
Porky is thereby left to his own head-scratching devices. The diagonal camera pan down to him scratching his head is a little floaty and clunky, both in the action and the animation itself, but that continues to be a symptom of how strong and dynamic the animation and posing has a tendency to be throughout. Particularly with how quickly Lynx left the scene just a moment ago, reduced to nothing but drybrushing. Likewise, the somewhat muddled animation matches Porky's decidedly muddled thinking, recognizing something isn't right but struggling to even confirm if that's true.
While Lynx himself has gone, his bag of tricks disguises has not. It's left behind not as evidence, however, but a means to an end: the dog unearthing a cartoonish Hitler mask and subsequently scoffing at it with some pretty unsubtle messaging. Considering Lynx himself is a Nazi spy, this dose of jingoism feels a little less shoehorned than other gags of this ilk tend to feel in McCabe's cartoons. (Moreover, propaganda or no, it's difficult to get up in arms about anything disparaging Hitler--critiques of this nature typically stem from how shoehorned and interruptive to the flow of the cartoons these one-off gags can feel.)
Evidence is quickly disposed of. More commendably sharp timing on Lynx reaching in and confiscating the bag, which in itself comes as a successful surprise.
With enough head scratching, Porky seems to have finally caught onto the beginnings of an idea. The flow between this scene and the next is a bit odd, but the general idea of the moment becomes clear: Porky finally suspects Lynx to be the spy. His realization in the first scene is somewhat odd and ambiguous, looking happy until he decides he should be in a panic, and the next cut of Cal Dalton animation having him much more frantic about his discovery. The line of thinking is clear--Porky's firmly suspicious now--but could perhaps just use a bit of smoother execution between scenes. This is mostly nitpicking for the sake of picking nits.
Dalton's animation is much more anchored and strong in the following scene. Porky's attempts to fill Egbert in on his discovery are interrupted through yet another impending sneezing fit--the tactility of Porky grabbing onto Egbert's face and Egbert's convulsions is strong, appealing, funny. Good casting on McCabe's part, especially considering how the animation in the past few scenes have been serviceable, but mostly just that.
The impact of Egbert's sneeze is enjoyably excessive. In contrast to the previous Dalton-animated dog sneeze, there's more room for Egbert to be propelled backwards--Porky, too. As soon as he sneezes, the background begins to pan while the characters mostly remain anchored in their spots. They gradually slide away, Egbert outpacing Porky who is yanked off-screen after a carefully crafted lag. The physicality of the characters is considered and tangible, and little details such as the pan gradually starting and Porky and Egbert being off-set make for a well handled, visually interesting and even tactile end result.
Momentum is such a priority in this sequence that the directing purposefully gets lost in it. The camera continues to pan, long after Porky and Egbert have left the scene: when discovering that they haven't flown horizontally, the camera pauses with playful curiosity before returning to the ledge of the cliff. A rope hangs on a measly branch that wasn't seen previously. 
McCabe cuts to the end result rather than panning down, saving on some background paintings and stimulating the shot flow. The switch in animators here yields comparatively more loose and gelatinous animation, but fun loose and gelatinous animation: Porky's face stretching as he attempts to force Egbert's grip off of him is completely unnecessary, but an expense paid that is enjoyable and amusing and playful. Even in moments of peril such as this one--coupled by Stalling's tense music score and Brown's rubbery stretching noises, simulating the breaking branch--there's still a prevailing levity in tone. Our star characters remain endearingly clownish.
The music climaxes, the shots alternate back and forth between breaking branch and slipping occupants, whose acting becomes more focused on attempts to climb back up. Again the animation remains gelatinous: it manages to both enunciate and detract from the struggle at hand, the floatiness lending itself to a panicked spontaneity but lacking a literal feeling of tension.
Not that it matters much. This, too, is all in service of a punchline rather than genuine beat of drama--Porky and Egbert are unsuccessful in their attempts to free themselves, but, luckily, don't have far to far. The ground can be seen from the very first bit of movement made by the pan as it travels down. A well handled fakeout with how readily available the ground is and, most importantly, the drama that precedes it. Our clowns don't even receive the dignity of a genuine predicament. They can't even face peril correctly.
McCabe swiftly changes gears, which works to the benefit of the gag's impact. Short enough to get a laugh and surprise. Not long enough to overstay its welcome. Porky barely has time to recover before he's shaking Egbert to look at whatever it is that's caught his eye off-screen.
A particularly dynamic layout with a particularly sneaky shyster making his way across the railroad tracks. The geometry of the layout pops and impresses with its sleek, cold, metallic parallel lines and infrastructure, but the values in the painting itself even moreso. Hilberman's layouts make great use of the limited black and white color palette; something that not every cartoon in black and white was able to do. The bold contrast between the whites and the darks right next to each other contributes to the artistic sleekness and general visual appeal of the shot.
Likewise with unconventional angles like the next shot, with the camera looking up at Lynx. It again bears repeating that while the background design may favor flatness and stylization, that doesn't actually impede the depth of the environments themselves. This angle builds suspense: by looking up, the audience isn't able to see what Lynx is doing very clearly, which piques curiosity and suspense through ambiguity. Particularly with how deliberate and trepidatious his body language is--quite the contrast to his snappy, sleek "teleporting".
Some moody close-up shots of Lynx's watch and timebomb are additionally armed with levity. Both puns are song references; "My Time is Your Time" was a theme for Rudy Vallee's radio program in the late 1920s, whereas "Hallelujah, I'm a Bum" was a folk song that had been covered by a number of artists--even as recently as 2025 by Michael Penn and Aimee Mann.
The animation of the close-up is handled well, with solid construction on both Lynx's limbs and the props. Additional details such as the torn coat and extraneous hairs on his arms likewise contribute to the overall visual interest and solidity. Having the camera pan between the watch and then to the bomb orchestrates a nice match cut of sorts that enables the audience to piece together the context--something confirmed when the clock face on the bomb is revealed through a simple flick.
"Now at t'ree o'clock, war savings time... KABLOOM!"
Lynx's gloating and the beautiful accompanying John Carey animation is cut short through a sudden confrontation: "Hey, you--eh-syeh-eh-sih-stick 'em up!"
Instead of a cut, the camera merely pans diagonally to reveal Porky, hot on the trail and gun at the ready. Keeping both characters within the same shot calls attention to the size difference between characters and, with it, their power. Porky may--finally--be wise and even toting a weapon, but he still looks affectionately puny. Especially with the camera gliding so low to meet his height. It feels more like he's playing dress-up than actually in a potentially life or death confrontation with a real Nazi spy.
"I bet you're that old eh-speh-eh-speh-ehps--"
The camera zooms back to Lynx amidst Porky's babbling, who now meets the pig's height only when stooping into his bag of tricks. A nice match cut from McCabe and nice continuity of action. Porky's voice in the background keeps all of the ideas presented here intact; it doesn't feel like the camera is zipping every which way to a degree of disorientation. There's a pattern and a purpose.
Including when we pan back to Porky, who recoils in surprise, confrontation dropped.
The camera cuts--not pans--to explain his apprehension. The resulting visual of Porky's head on Lynx's tall, lanky body is hilarious within itself, but especially through how the harshness of the cut punctuates the punchline. It's more sudden than if the camera were to merely pan back to him; the pattern is broken, and so the gag is stronger through its abruptness.
Running with this, Lynx begins to impersonate Porky verbally, too, spouting a variety of cop cliches that reflect more on Porky (who seems the type to use these same cliches proudly and obliviously, again embracing the role of "dress-up") than Lynx:
"Eh-vih-veh-veeh-veh-vere's your lehh-lih-leh-license? Ihh-ckih-cehhh-can't you see da--da vhite line? Uh-vuh-weh-vuh-vee-vere's da fire? Move along or I'll eh-ru-uh-rrrun you in, bub."
Not only is the visual of Porky's head atop this tall, lanky cat funny, and not only is it funny when accompanied by the owner of said head, who appears thoroughly freaked out, but it's especially funny coupled with Blanc impersonating his own voice. It's essentially an unsped German Porky, but there's a real skill in being able to imitate his own voice and have it read as an imitation, while still in character. Rabbit Fire would demonstrate this best, with Bugs and Daffy imitating each other, but it's not the only time--nor only impressive example, either. This gets points for being impressive and very funny.
While Lynx has his run-in with Porky, the camera follows not them, but Egbert, who remains a lethargic spectator. Having Lynx and Porky amble off-screen as the gears shift focus unto Egbert is an amusing directorial move from McCabe, abandoning these two comedic foes to go off into their own business.
Egbert spots something off-screen, leading to some business of his own:
We never see Egbert retrieve the bag, though it's heavily implied from the long, foreboding pause maintained on that shot. Instead, the camera returns to an innocently thoughtful Porky as he ambles along on the train tracks, unaccompanied by any imposters.
"Y'know, I'm eh-rih-ree-ehhh-really gettin' suspicious euh-of ih-thih-that guy..." is a great line. It's charming, first and foremost, especially accompanied with John Carey's animation as Porky councils the audience with this candid aside. A nice touch of audience-character relations that McCabe liked to employ in his shorts, particularly with Daffy--they make the characters feel more alive through their casual candidness. 
But beyond the charms of Carey's animation and the innocent quizzicality of Porky's voice, matched by Stalling's equally confused music score as he accompanies Porky's footsteps with hollow, furtive plucks, it's a hilarious concession of Porky's blatant stupidity. Having been confronted with his own face and demeanor, and having seen the perpetrator change into this mask in real time, he still hasn't put two and two together: he's merely "suspicious". If that wasn't enough evidence needed for Porky's case then nothing will be. 
So much so that Lynx has to spoonfeed his plan to Porky just to get any action at all. Essentially blowing his cover, he tells the startled "herr Pig" his plan: "It is vone minute to t'ree. Do you see dat little bag?"
Lynx points to the vanishing point where the bag was previously. Porky points screen right, disrupting the pattern of context clues we've been fed: "Uh-you mean eh-thih-thee-ehh-that one?"
With great directorial and comedic timing, the camera frankly slides right, revealing the end result of Egbert's prior business. The ticking sound of the bomb on top emphasizes the danger every character is in and, just the same, emphasizes the comedy as Lynx agrees in oblivious satisfaction: "Ja!"
"At exactly t'ree o'clock, dat leet--"
Carey's drawing of Lynx's sudden realization is as funny as the explosive "YIPE!" that comes out of him immediately after. There's no musical underscore until the take--just the ticking, rendering Lynx's realization in solitude and embracing the comedy of the situation. A well handled slowburn that's aided through funny drawings and, of course, funny vocal performances from Blanc.
As we've been groomed to anticipate, Egbert = sneeze, and Egbert + bomb + sneeze = bad. Lynx and Porky have both dealt with the dog enough to understand the gravity of this equation--Lynx realizing it a bit moreso, as Porky's deeply astute detective skills have not yet figured out that a bomb is in the bag.
Lynx is well aware of this fact, and handles it accordingly. His scrambling animation is believably frantic, smears and drybrushing emphasizing the mania of his actions--frenzied, quick, but not seemingly random. 
The bag is ceremoniously thrust into the air with a shrieking whiz from Treg Brown and the drone of a timpani drum from Stalling. Such auditory accentuation likewise accents the action itself, as it's pretty notable: throwing a bomb, even if away from oneself, isn't exactly the safest way to diffuse the thread. Props to the animators animating the bag in perspective, having it tumble and roll as it soars into the distance. It's a particularly effective juxtaposition against the flat environments, reminding us that these characters and props occupy space and, with them, the stylized backgrounds.
Only now is it that Egbert displays any inkling of urgency. Having remained lethargic and sleepy and slow throughout the entire cartoon, he disappears in a puff of smoke to retrieve the bag. It's funny because it's convenient. A great break of established convention with Egbert's character.
Ditto for him catching the bag, which we actually see on-screen. There are a few poses, held for one frame each, before he rigidly settles into his final position, floppy ears animated on a separate layer to settle slightly afterwards, the discrepancy giving more visual interest and flair to his motion or lack thereof. Holding on the pose almost immediately gives his movement confidence and poise--everything he has been lacking in the 6 minutes of runtime thus far.
Despite the emergency, Egbert takes a small moment to revel in his successful catch. His smug smile is an extremely small detail, a rather quick topper that melts as Egbert launches himself back to his master with the same exact urgency as before--but it's a topper that makes the gag as a whole all the richer. The smugness in his catch almost feels like a smugness directed towards the audience, as if he's been deliberately punking us this whole time. He hasn't, of course, but perhaps he's a stand-in to broadcast McCabe's sentiments instead at the comedic setup. A sly little wink to the audience at this subversion.
In stark contrast, the once similarly lithe and sneaky Lynx now crawls with conspicuous patheticness into a hollow log, hoping to seek shelter. Egbert is now the streamliner. So much so that the direction adheres to his form: we never see him zip back into place, but we sense it. Lynx's slow, deliberate crawling halts in response to the telltale tick of a bomb off-screen.
And, with Egbert and bag back where they belong, so do familiar patterns resume. Blanc's nasal wind-ups trump the ticking of the bomb, Stalling's music both meshing with and curating the necessary anxiety of the circumstances--something best reflected through Lynx's surprised take beforehand.
Just when the music is about to climax--and, with it, Egbert--two hands come in to pacify the dog and hopefully the bomb. McCabe gets a lot of mileage out of keeping Lynx mostly off-screen, but still preserving the clarity and even humor of the situation. Very streamlined directing that abstains from spoonfeeding the viewer every detail. His hands working to pacify Egbert are all the scene needs.
Instead, McCabe delegates the theatrics to the next scene: a panicked Lynx fumbles with the bomb as Porky observes in steadfast cluelessness. It's a bit of pantomime between both characters that, while amusing, feels a bit aimless beyond intent in its timing. Lynx's furious acting and Porky "waiting it out" both seem to demand a pay-off that never come. 
At one point, Porky juts the gun forward, resulting in Lynx throwing his hands up--that sends the bomb tumbling down, which promotes more anxious fumbling on Lynx's end. A clever gag that illustrates Lynx's torn allegiances well, but could benefit from more clarity and/or sharpness in execution.
Nevertheless, it's a nitpick for a small, inconsequential but still very amusing moment on behalf of both parties. The energy is high and infectious on Lynx, and Porky's devotion to his own cluelessness is truly commendable. Likewise, clarity in intentions is quite certain when Lynx capitulates by thrusting the bag in Porky's possession: "HERE!"
Refuge is sought in a gaping black hole in an equally gaping canyon, subject to the same attractive rendering and geometry as the rest of the film's environments. The dark black of the hole is particularly conspicuous against the light and moderate grays throughout--the eye is immediately directed, anticipating Lynx's escape.
Instead, Lynx does his best impression of a certain Wile E. Coyote 6 years before he was even born. Even then, the Coyote has the benefit of physics being cruel to him--here, Lynx's vice is his own stupidity. The clear set-up and blunt pay-off of Lynx smacking right into the wall next to it is extremely well done. No frills, no laborious build-up, just a visceral smack aiding a wonderfully ironic commentary: all of that fuss to escape a potential source of danger, just to barrel into it head-on.
Comparisons to the future Coyote are more clear in the adjoining close-up shot, with Lynx dragging the exit closer to him (rather than re-routing). 
But, again, that fails too, the correct positioning doesn't account for the incorrect height distribution.
This second shot is a bit clunky in the timing, perhaps a bit more floaty than necessary, but that may simply be an observation of the purposefully clunky antics on Lynx's behalf. In another cartoon, this has the potential to feel laborious and repetitive. Schadenfreude nevertheless is on McCabe's side here--can you really complain about a Nazi getting hurt "too much"?
Porky, having witnessed the historical unveiling of a gag soon to be beloved and defined by a single character for decades to come, is unamused. All it's done is reinforce his rooted opinion of "that guy sure dih-dee-deeah-does act suspicious."
"An' that thing eh-tih-ticks just like a bih-be-eh-beh-behh-buh-be--"
Prime vocal work from Mel Blanc and synonymously prime directing from McCabe, choosing to place such emphasis on Blanc's ear-shattering delivery: "A BOMB!!!"
It's as funny as it is climactic. Blanc's harsh scream has a great echo to it, which is a bonus of any prime Blanc scream, sharing equal urgency and admiration of vocal chords. Stalling's climactic music dips in favor of highlighting said scream, enunciating a feeling of everything coming to a crashing halt at once. That's seconded through the hard cut to Porky's face and the push-in of the camera. No hook-up pose, nor even an antic--just the scream. Porky's hemmed and hawed and finagled around for this long. Now that he's finally got a clue, there's no time wasting it. Particularly because the demands of the story dictate as such.
Porky takes equal refuge in Lynx's defacto bomb shelter and, to his credit, doesn't crash and bumble his way through. (Doing so would deflate the momentum and certainly the immediacy of the situation, but considering Porky's rampant ineptitude in the cartoon, any victory--no matter how miniscule--deserves its due praise.)
While Porky mimicking Lynx's exit induces continuity, thereby strengthening the flow of events through recall, it isn't used just to establish a pattern. The next few moments are spent fully submerged in the darkness of the cave, with only lit scleras and audio cues to guide the context. Porky's scleras are easy to track and assume the context from. 
So are Lynx's, which opens a beat later, surprising us and Porky by indicating Porky's not alone. 
What isn't as immediately clear is a rapid, hollow thunking sound; brilliant sound design by Treg Brown, but a brilliance that isn't appreciated by the characters. Lynx proves suspicious of the sound, his eyes getting close to Porky and squinting with dark suspicion. McCabe is able to communicate a heck-of-a-lot of information and personality with so little.
"Ehh-thih-the-thehh-that's alright--that's ih-jih-jee-just my little ol' heart."
It doesn't take an ear piercing scream from Blanc to scrounge up a funny line. The clueless modesty in Porky's voice is delightfully tangible through its warmth and sheer sincerity. It'd be funny in any context, but is particularly worthwhile here in a tense moment, both due to the bomb threat and the perceived threat posed by Lynx as this sly villain invades Porky's space.
Endearment of the line delivery is coupled with the acting on the eyes. The happy--if somewhat sheepish--squint, the movements of the eyes rolling in accordance with Porky's head as he stutters. There's a nice visual parallel of Porky's eyes squinting up and Lynx's eyes squinting down with their inverted emotions. The limited staging poses no limit on the breadth of personality nor acting.
Parallels continue when both characters (literally) eye each other with suspicion, cocking an eye towards the other.
Any brewing confrontation is slashed in half through a distinctive ticking noise--hollow, but sharp rather than dull and plastick-y. Also considerably louder. And more dangerous. Porky reacts first, and then Lynx, wide eyes facing the camera for ultimate clarity and a sense of interruption. The 1-2 beat of the two different reactions is very subtle, but a welcome differentiation that gives the scene more rhythm.
Making himself surprisingly useful, Porky is the one who illuminates the cavern with a match, revealing their dutiful bomb-messenger and his equally dutiful case of sinusitis. The arc of the flame as the match is struck is appealing and clear; there's some intriguing shorthand in how the light is cheated--Porky's arm is lit up along with the match, but the rest of his body is dark until the vignette expands to reveal all characters. Through this, we can see the contours of Porky's snout and cheeks as his arm travels upward, though they remain in the inky black darkness. It's more visible when frame-by-framing rather than actual animation, but a neat little peek behind the curtain in how the lighting is approached.
And, just as quickly, the light is distinguished. There isn't any explanation for it, as it doesn't get blown out by chance, on purpose, or through Egbert's heaving breaths. Sudden as the extinguishing is, Egbert winding up for a giant sneeze in the darkness, his cohorts having lost sight of him and the bomb, amplifies the danger. Porky lighting the match to reveal Egbert was simply a gift of context for us rather than a story beat. Now, our characters feel more trapped by danger than ever. It's notable that only Porky and Lynx's eyes are animated rather than Egbert's. He doesn't receive the same humanization, considering he's what they're trying to scramble away from.
Neither Lynx nor Porky can pacify Egbert in time. All characters are again sent flying out of the cavern in tandem with Blanc's equally cavernous "AH-CHOOOO!!", a beat establishing multiple branches of continuity. Continuous geography, with the characters going out of this distinctively designed cavern rather than in, and continuous ferocity: as had been the case earlier, the power of Egbert's sneeze sends multiple characters soaring through the wind.
Porky is lucky enough to grab hold on the sign by the railroad tracks, looking particularly helpless as he kicks his tiny legs, props flying past him. 
Lynx doesn't receive the same luck, should it be dubbed as such: he's completely airborne, which wouldn't be so bad if the bomb weren't also doing the same. The posing on Lynx as he's flying through the air is strong and appealing, the silhouette clear and the line of action stark. Quite an antithesis to Porky's stubby, comparably inflexible geometry, who's able to milk his own appeal out of such circumstances.
Another display of continuity: Lynx braving a ferocious crash into another canyon's surface. This time, the hole is one of his own making. The execution is frank, simple, but no less funny--a calm matter of factness that this Nazi spy is destined to slam into canyons.
Ironically, the next subversion deployed isn't in the pursuit of danger, but the opposite. The impending bomb hurtling towards the earth is graciously halted at the last moment through a delightfully illogical-yet-convenient parachute. Animation of the bag gently swaying from the impact is incredibly appealing, the arcs soft and loopy and generally elastic movement juxtaposing with the straightforward hurtling seen prior. The discrepancy in physics--and luck--is immediately noticeable.
Even so, the bomb still approaches; it just rolls to Lynx's feet rather than immediately blowing them up. The additional "softness" of the delivery only prolongs the inevitable suffering through suspense.
...or so would be the case, if the bomb actually worked, rather than hissing out empty air.
The camera truck-in to the bomb is a bit shaky, a slight jump cut ensuing between scenes, but is nothing more than a nitpick. The bomb is clear, and so is its defectiveness. And, rather than feeling relief that he didn't just get bombed to smithereens, Lynx is furious at its defectiveness.
"It nevah vorks!" Treg Brown's sound design is wonderfully effective, loud pops scoring the sound of Lynx slamming the bomb into the ground in frustration: "Nevah, nevah vorks!!"
Brown's next display of sound design is a distinctly different popping sound, with a distinctly different impact from hitting the bomb on the ground. For good measure, the sound of the bomb correctly vorking lingers, echoing for a number of beats. A very ferocious boom that paints an equally ferocious picture of what happened to Lynx. Nazis receive loud, violent explosions, echoing seconds after impact to assure the audience that they have firmly been taken care of.
And this is certainly cinched when the clouds of smoke part to reveal the clouds of the heavens--a quick and easy shorthand for death, and a cinematic match-cut. Both potential considerations for why the Nazi character would be portrayed as frolicking in the heavens rather than burning in hell. 
McCabe makes a point to have Lynx's clothes in tatters, scoring that he did not come out unscathed (obviously). Likewise, Lynx is a glutton for his own punishment: so obsessed with his own bloodlust, he's joyous that the bomb actually works and that his Nazi armory is effective, even at the price of his own life--a pretty poignant message.
Daffy Duck-esque histrionics (sans hoohoo) give way to Lynx giving a sieg heil. He completely interrupts what he's doing to do it, facing the camera, fully unobstructed--all so we know that his allegiance to Hitler still foolishly remains, even after accidentally killing himself. Another means to score what a fool he is.
That's compounded by him finally flopping over. For one final bit of messaging, the cartoon irises out on Lynx's feet, splayed in a prominent V for Victory; one last burst of patriotic messaging and morale boost. And there's no greater morale boost than watching a Nazi flop over dead.
The Film Daily gives its review:
"Confusions of a Nutzy Spy" (Looney Tune)
Warner 7 mins. Good
Porky Pig is a constable gunning for a spy bent on committing sabotage. The spy proves a tricky customer who keeps outwitting Porky in spite of the fact the latter has a bloodhound assisting him. The villain leads our hero a merry chase hither and yon. A time bomb that threatens to go off at any minute gives Porky plenty of worry. The short, which is in Technicolor [sic], has a bang-up finish. This Leon Schlesinger item has many chuckles in it.
Confusions of a Nutzy Spy feels like only a cartoon that Norm McCabe could've directed. Perhaps that sounds idiosyncratic, considering his unit is made up of the remains of the former Clampett unit, initiating comparisons to his days in the Katz unit. Just as it initiates comparisons to the propaganda cartoons that the other units would be churning out at the same time. It's not that McCabe had the unique ability to direct a propaganda cartoon starring Porky Pig and a mad bomber--Tex Avery directed that same premise, sans propaganda, seven years prior. Rather, the idiosyncrasies and quirks and unique flavor of McCabe's direction really aids in this cartoon's memorability and strength. It could be directed by someone else, but it wasn't, and McCabe's quirks and tools at his disposal culminate incredibly well in one of his strongest--if not the strongest--cartoons attached to his name.
As has been discussed in our analyses of McCabe's cartoons, he's got a uniquely quirky tonality to his cartoons. The music direction, the gags, the tone, the pacing. Sometimes those quirks can be more of a hindrance than a marker of individuality, but this cartoon and its premise seems to beg for that sort of flavor. "Porky the bumbling cop trying to track down a Nazi spy with his dog who sneezes a lot" sounds like it has the potential to be awful on paper, but somehow is understood and made to work incredibly well in McCabe's hands.
There are indeed some oddities in this cartoon that are just plain odd rather than endearing; the minute-long display of puns at the beginning is pretty painful, but saved by a deliciously moody music score and even more deliciously abstract layouts by David Hilberman. Likewise, the quirks truly do feel at home with this short, which feels like one giant celebration of quirkiness rather than an attempt to tell a story being impeded by eccentricity.
Though the gags and jokes can be healthily and amusingly cynical, this doesn't come off as a cynical cartoon. Porky is a dope in this short, but it doesn't come off as slandering his character, rather than an objective observation. This genuinely is a very funny cartoon. The jokes, the circumstances, and the characters are all simply funny. There isn't much more to it than that.
It's also a very well staged and directed cartoon, as repeatedly harped on. The sleek geometry of Hilberman's layouts elevate tear-jerking puns, just as they also foster a sly moodiness that make the story and characters and drama more compelling when it's called for. Great unconventional camera angles and clean, sleek design. Design that is bold and makes use of flat shapes, but does not flatten out the characters nor settings nor story. It's an incredibly volatile balance that is miraculously struck.
Likewise, all good things must come to an end. It's not so much that it's all downhill from here, but Confusions is unequivocally a one-of-a-kind triumph for McCabe that comes late in his directing career and sees highs and strengths that aren't touched on in his remaining two cartoons. (If anything, Tokio Jokio posits a complete inverse of such.) It's a wonderful thing to be graced with a cartoon as unique and quirky as Confusions, rather as something to mourn. McCabe's departure will result in the arrival of Frank Tashlin--who was already directing by the time of this cartoon's release--and that's a net positive, but there will be a small hole left behind knowing that such unfettered displays of eccentricity like Confusions won't really be a trend anymore. The world could benefit from more indulgently "odd" cartoons--especially ones that look as sleek as this one.
