If you missed part one of this animated short retrospective, you can follow the hyperlink once you're done feeling the prerequisite shame and remorse that you deserve. Everyone else, enjoy your superiority while it lasts. Let's jump into the Chuck Jones dominated top five.
5. One Froggy Evening (1955, Chuck Jones)
A guy with a mustache happens upon a frog with the unique gift of a well trained baritone voice. Mustache immediately sees dollar signs but finds the frog is unwilling to perform for anyone but him. Despite his best efforts to show off his discovery free lance, Mustache winds up broken and penniless, at which point he returns the frog to its place of origin and vanishes without a word. Skip ahead to the future where another man happens upon the frog in nearly identical circumstances and gives the audience an ironic smirk, as we know what's about to happen all over again.
Why is it on the list?
Okay, let me preface this with: I have never felt an attachment to this cartoon. As a child I liked the music, and the story engaged me enough, but the only emotional takeaway I had was the frustration of "Get the frigging curtain open". Viewing it as an adult, I have to admit Michael Maltese wrote an amazingly concise story that could never have been told through a medium better than an animated cartoon. All the elements work exactly the way Jones and Maltese meant for them to. I shun the word 'perfection' because it always motivates me to find and/or create a flaw in the work, but I can accept this short has an unshakable artistic integrity.
The thing is, I just don't like it. It's a flavor I find myself reacting against. One Froggy Evening is so intentionally heartless that I find it chipping away at my already fragile mood the more I think about it. And it's not to say that I would change one thing about it, or suggest that the Jones unit should have dished out another Road Runner cartoon instead. There is a place, and need, for cynicism in every art form. Human nature is inherently self-centered, and it's healthy to have a slap in the face reminder of that once in a while. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.
What would I choose instead?
I wouldn't, in good conscience. Despite my personal feelings, this cartoon earns its top 5 spot. But I really need something funny and light to cleanse the palette, and for that I turn to 1952's Hic-cup Pup, courtesy of the Hanna-Barbera duo for MGM.
Tom and Jerry cartoons aren't exactly non-formulaic; if you've seen one, you pretty much get it. But each short typically has that one element to distinguish it from the rest of the library. In this case it's one of the most effective uses of Spike the bulldog. In terms of brute power the cartoon hierarchy goes mouse<cat<dog, and ordinarily you'd expect the dog to be the biggest bully of the bunch. But this short quickly establishes Spike as a loving father concerned about the well-being of his son, as such he's the only character with unselfish motivations and our sympathies are meant to lie with him.
Then the cat and mouse show up causing their characteristic ruckus, which inevitably wakes up the puppy giving him a case of the hiccups. Tom in full Wile E. Coyote plus vindictiveness mode; no need to even explain why he and the mouse are on disagreeable terms. Jerry is usually relegated to 'hero' status but here he's such a smug son of a bitch you really wouldn't mind seeing him pounded. This cartoon is an absolute delight. Everything about it (from the progression of the tension to the facial expressions) registers on the smile-to-laugh spectrum; and the resolution is gratifying. Jerry escapes with his health in the end, but it's technically a victory for Tom, which is always a nice touch.
4. Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2 Century (1953, Chuck Jones)
This is obviously a parody of Buck Rogers, a 1928 pulp magazine serial turned radio show, film, multiple television series and World's Fair attraction (none of which really mean anything now apart from name recognition). But you don't really need to know that to watch the cartoon, as the tropes on display wind up in pretty much every space opera in existence. Daffy is the theoretical hero sent to recover the MacGuffin in the only place it exists, but has to compete in a global land war with the ruthless, but more competent, Marvin the Martian. After losing over and over, Daffy finally achieves an epic pyrrhic victory, and possibly dies in space if you think too hard about it.
Why is it on the list?
*sigh* I have no idea. Some people really like it I guess? I mean there's not anything wrong with it, but aside from the creation of Daffy's newest persona there's nothing about it that stands out to me either. I certainly don't think it's top 10 cartoon material even if you limit it to Loony Tunes shorts alone. Hell, just in the Daffy/Porky pairings under Chuck Jones I think both Robin Hood Daffy and Drip-Along Daffy are substantially better. So I don't know why people single this one out so much. The survey was done in 1994, and there may have been a prevalent Cold War feeling left over which the short inadvertently ties into, but it has neither the punch of Dr. Seuss's The Butter Battle Book nor the fun factor of Mad Magazine's Spy vs. Spy.
What would I choose instead?
I don't remember how clear I was in the first blog, but my alternative suggestions are not necessarily my nominations for the top ten cartoons. Each one is merely a similar-ish cartoon to the one that has already been selected which I feel is worth a mention for one reason or another. Not too many space-themed shorts come to mind, so instead I'm going to focus on a cartoon that I feel handles the genre spoof element much more effectively. That would be 1952's Disney short How to be a Detective starring Goofy.
The title insists it's part of the 'How-to' series, but it's really its own isolated entity. Goofy plays a private eye hired by a dame in a wedding dress to "find Al" (sadly, a few decades too early to refer to Mr. Yankovic). Disney is known for being more family friendly than Tex "get crap past the radar" Avery, but holy shit! In the first twenty seconds there's a suicide, someone trying to drop someone else off a building ledge, and one character murdering another character with a hangman's noose (both of whom look like Goofy). Disney's not screwing around here. From there, the story proper takes off and a LOT happens in six minutes, including a drugging, and attempted drowning, and a pretty damn impressive car chase. The short hits all the major tropes of the detective noir and features a 'Who's Who' ensemble of classic voice actors (Pinto Colvig, Billy Bletcher, and June Foray). As an added bonus, Goofy demonstrates he's a relatively competent P.I. While he's never technically on the right track he always has an intuitive sense of which direction to go. He's kind of the embodiment of a GPS.
3. The Band Concert (1935, Wilfred Jackson)
Up until about ten minutes ago I was scratching my head over this one. "Really?" I said out loud in a falsetto voice (to startle my co-workers), "This is the highest rated cartoon from the studio that gave us Lonesome Ghosts and Donald in Mathmagic Land?" I also had no idea who the hell Wilfred Jackson was, considering the Disney company isn't exactly generous when it comes to giving credit to its supporting talent. Jackson, it turns out, was an animator/composer who was vital to developing the technology that added a soundtrack to Steamboat Willie. His talent is all over Fantasia and the Silly Symphonies, including the Academy Award winning short The Old Mill.
The Band Concert is essentially an integration of sound and visual gags, full of slapstick and a comedic sense of grace (and the single most effective use of "Turkey in the Straw" as a rebellion). Mickey Mouse conducts his small, but versatile orchestra with stubborn delusions of high artistry. Enter the talented yet boorish Donald Duck (read: working class, we do love our structures) who insists on redirecting the performance to fit his antics. I never realized before today that the duck has the only lines of dialogue in this whole cartoon. High art temporarily wins out until a coincidentally summoned force of nature equalizes the playing field. And we're left feeling Donald's moral victory as well as empathizing with the band's "F- you!" towards him.
Why is it on the list?
I have to admit, going into this blog I didn't show this cartoon the respect it deserves. But now that I've actually put forth the smallest measurement of effort to research it, I can totally get behind the cartoon's placement. There's an obvious greatness to the short, but there's an even greater greatness on a subtle level.
What would I choose instead?
So I was originally going to direct you to 1942's Symphony Hour which is a sort of spiritual successor involving a classical medley and then the Spike Jones version (including a cathartic moment where easygoing Mickey literally threatens to shoot Donald in the face). But I think instead I'm going to give a nod to the beautiful 1991 interactive movie Dragon's Lair II: Time Warp by Don Bluth.
The original Dragon's Lair is an iconic arcade game, with a lesser known but still wonderful sequel. It's hard to say which of the two is better, or makes a better game, but Dragon's Lair II certainly works much better as a watchable short film. From beginning to end Dirk the Daring is in an obstacle course of complete chaos, and it just seems to build relentlessly. The prehistoric scene is epic on its own, and the concise version of Alice in Wonderland has to be seen to be believed. But it's the Beethoven's Fifth Symphony segment that feels most like a nod to The Band Concert. Beethoven's creative energy creates a whirlwind of musical notes and instruments that torments Dirk all the way up into the stratosphere and down again. All we're missing is Donald's lone applause at the end.
2. Duck Amuck (1953, Chuck Jones)
You have to know this one already. Daffy Duck versus the animator; spoiler alert: Bugs (I know, not much of a warning, but come on). Daffy isn't just a legendary character, he's an honest to God metaphor. We're all Daffy. It's the magic behind why he can be so unlovable and so un-unlovable at the same time. He's humanity's id; given snark, a thesaurus, and a detachable beak. Chuck Jones once said that he always hoped to see Bugs when he looked in the mirror but he usually saw Daffy. Perhaps being the sadistic bastards that we all truly are, it comes as little surprise that we want to see Daffy erupt. When the duck does it, in a strange way it liberates our own repressed inner children. Hence, we watch Daffy get beaten down over and over and it never stops being funny.
Why is it on the list?
You're kidding, right (anonymous reader who has no control over the words I type)? Whenever I get into a discussion about whether or nor comedy has an artistic side (which happens more often than you'd imagine) this short is one of my go-to examples. If Duck Amuck was merely about pissing off Daffy that would be awesome enough. But this is equally about an artist's experiment with character. When does Daffy stop being Daffy? If you change his color or shape? If you take his voice away? If you take away everything but his voice?
There is a beat in the cartoon between where Daffy's body gets erased entirely and he grumbles "All right, wise guy. Where am I?" In that one beat, there is nothing on the screen but a blank white canvas. And yet, because of the context, there is a tension. And from nothing other than our own feeling, Daffy is still there. There are countless characters who only live (and die) when they're presented to us, and some aren't even strong enough to come to life despite the production team's efforts. Daffy is one of those rarities who lives in the collective consciousness, like Santa Claus or the monster under the bed. And we are free to laugh at his misfortune and suffering, because we intuitively know something about him that he doesn't. He's unbreakable.
What would I choose instead?
There really isn't anything that tops this short, or even comes close. So I think I'd prefer to bring up 1955's Rabbit Rampage, also by Chuck Jones. This is an identical (almost plagiarized) premise with Bugs Bunny in Daffy's role and Elmer Fudd as the animator. And while a few of the gags bring smiles, the most interesting thing to me about it is why it ultimately doesn't work.
If Daffy is the id, Bugs is the ego, and ego actually can be broken (which is why the bunny usually has the animators on his side). Id and ego also want very different things. Daffy HAS to be in the cartoon. He needs the spotlight more than he needs oxygen. As such, he is willing to endure any abuse anyone throws at him just to stay in front of the audience. Bugs has no unfulfilled needs. Elmer's monkey business is more of a nuisance to him than a threat. And unlike Daffy, Bugs has every intention and reason to walk off the cartoon.
From there it's nothing more than an endurance test. Bugs knows he only has to make it to the end of the cartoon. It's a weaker motivation, and the comedy never feels like it's more than time filler. By the end of Rabbit Rampage I've gotten bored. With Duck Amuck I'm ready for another twenty minutes of Daffy.
1. What's Opera, Doc? (1957, Chuck Jones)
You've got to admit this was ambitious. Cartoons have had a history of ruining classical compositions forever, while immortalizing them. I don't know if Franz Liszt would be offended or flattered that his Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 had become the unofficial theme song of classical comedy.
So what's the first thing you think of when I say Richard Wagner? No, for once Jim Steinman is not the correct answer. I'll retract the question in favor of, is it possible to hear Ride of the Valkyries without transposing the lyrics "Kill the Wabbit" onto it? If you said anything but 'no', go sit in the corner until I tell you otherwise.
There's very little to say about this cartoon that hasn't been said already. What you need to know, if you don't already, is how much work went into it. Chuck Jones and Michael Maltese took the then-stale Elmer/Bugs chase formula and adapted it to a musical style that most of us (rightfully) ignore. Then they went through the arduous task of teaching accurate ballet steps to the rabbit and leave you wondering if there's been a romantic subtext between Elmer and Bugs this whole time.
Why is it on the list?
Because it deserves to be. There's no way around it. All of the hard work that went into it, and wasn't initially appreciated, earns it a spot on the list and in the Library of Congress's National Film Registry preservation.
Now, do I think it's flawless? Not quite, and I realize I'm impossible to please. Given the work conditions under producer Edward Selzer, it's a lucky break this short was made at all. But there's a noticeable skip in the narrative right in the middle when we jump from the opening sequence to Bugs in drag. I feel like Elmer needed to keep him running for a few minutes, and being a threat for the first time show how Bugs's usual gimmicks aren't working before he has to resort to seduction. Yeah, I'm nitpicking. *bad blogger*
Now it's a personal preference, I happen to like The Rabbit of Seville more than What's Opera, Doc?. And if I'd been a registered voter for this list, I would have campaigned for Duck Amuck to take the top spot. But I honestly get why this was selected for the highest honors. It really is brilliant. And that closing bit when Elmer finally kills Bugs is Bambi's-mother-level heart wrenching. He sits up to give the punch line, but it's too late. I'm in tears.
What would I choose instead?
I've got nothing.
But that's not going to shut me up. I've made it a point to throw some love to cartoon shorts that didn't show up on the Top 50 list. This last one is no exception; 1984's Jumping by Osamu Tezuka. No, it's not remotely related to What's Opera, Doc?, but it may be the most captivating six and a half minutes of animation I've ever seen. It takes a simple concept to show things that are going on simultaneously in our world and find both the humor and the darkness in it (warning: brief nudity and depictions of war, you tell me which is worse to show).
I really am surprised this one isn't mentioned in the Top 50, and I'm wondering if it somehow slipped past the ballot. But honestly, do yourself a favor and click the link to watch it.
And I'll see you all after Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
The Top Ten Animated Cartoons (10-6)
I didn't post a blog last week. To be honest I just haven't had it in me. I don't really know who all regularly visits my blog site, but suffice to say, I'm part of the forty-whatever percent who feels like our nation just got beaten up by a bully.
It's been a struggle going back to my regular life and forcing smiles where they're required. I've been doing everything possible to not think about the next four years, and the most tried and true form of escapism that seems to work on my depression is binge watching old cartoons. So in lieu of my own ability to feel a sense of humor, I'm going to borrow some from the masters. More specifically, I'm taking a look at the 50 greatest cartoons as selected by 1000 animation professionals (yeah, what could go wrong when groups of people vote on something?) and go through the top ten, to see what I think about the selections and if I can come up with a similar cartoon that I believe might be better overall.
10. King-Size Canary (1947, Tex Avery)
Ah, Tex Avery. His influence on cartoons can't be overstated. If I understand history correctly, he's ultimately the reason we have the Loony Tunes. In the black and white era, every studio was trying to be Walt Disney, and Avery was the pioneer who said "Screw that! We're doing our own thing" or something similar. Avery was a virtuoso gag man, and had a knack for timing that VERY few of his contemporaries could match, and damn near nobody today. He also had the highest batting average when it came to racially offensive jokes in the golden age of cartoons. Um, thanks for that?
King-Size Canary is about a starving alley cat who spies a domestic canary and decides to make an easy meal out of it. But unlike the more famous Sylvester/Tweety series, this cat receives relatively little resistance in achieving said goal. The plot happens when he realizes he can make the tiny bird grow via Jumbo-Gro plant formula. Of course then the cat has to make himself bigger to deal with the now overpowered bird. Bring in a mouse and a dog, and things quickly get out of control where there's nowhere on the earth to go.
Why is it on the list?
Probably because it was animators voting, and I imagine they liked the way the cartoon played with size and perspective. And while I admit, the variation on the cat-chases-canary formula (the latter of which really doesn't factor into much screen time despite the title) is refreshing, this is far from Tex Avery's best and/or most creative work. It's memorable but not really that special.
What would I choose instead?
Avery has several great ones, a few of which appear elsewhere on the 50 greatest list, but I'm partial to 1955's Sh-h-h-h-h-h. This was Avery's final cartoon for the Walter Lantz studio when Avery himself was dealing with the full force of his depression, and the cynical edge runs rampant. Mr. Twiddle is a jazz percussionist who begins to have nervous tremors when he's around loud sounds. His doctor informs him that he requires absolute quiet recovery or his nerves will cause him to explode. All seems well at the world's quietest resort until Mr. Twiddle finds himself in a room next to two obnoxious people who laugh non-stop while playing a trombone. Our sympathy lies with Mr. Twiddle even as his reasonable requests that the couple discontinue their activities escalates into homicide. And yes, he explodes at the end, making Mr. Twiddle a kind of first draft Frank Grimes.
9. Gerald McBoing-Boing (1951, Robert Cannon)
I hadn't heard of this one until I looked at the list, but it's based on a lesser known Dr. Seuss story. Gerald is a kid who only communicates through sound effects, like a Foley artist. Gerald's father is overbearing about the 'impediment'. His mother seems a bit more sympathetic, but she doesn't really stand up for him. Gerald nearly runs away, but gets discovered by a radio show producer who uses Gerald's talents to great success. Then how the reindeer loved him.
Why is it on the list?
Boy, you got me. It's not very good. For one thing, some people like the limited animation style that became popular for television. For another, some people connect with the short based on experiences with children who have disabilities; autism seems to be the one most frequently mentioned. Both are fair points but they create more problems. First, the concept of Gerald's Michael Winslow skillset is never close to being realized in the anything-an-happen world of cartoons. Second, the dad's an asshole. He only loves his boy once Gerald becomes successful. It makes the ending unintentionally bittersweet, and the production team really could have addressed that issue.
What would I have chosen instead?
Sticking with the theme of a short based on the works of Dr. Seuss, I'd go with 1973's version of Green Eggs and Ham, directed by Hawley Pratt and produced by the always great Friz Freleng. Imagine you've been handed the source material, basically the gospel of children's literature, and told to adapt it for television. How the hell do you bring anything new to the story without disrupting the purity of it? Well, this version did it. Everybody, from the animators to voice acting veteran Paul Winchell, is on martial arts leveled balance between sarcasm and innocence. The sheer number of songs crammed into six minutes simply has to be witnessed, and in the end you have a brilliant piece of absurdist comedy.
8. Porky in Wackyland (1938, Robert Clampett)
Bob Clampett was cut from the same magician's cloak as Tex Avery, although Avery was more of a sleight-of-hand illusionist while Clampett did more showy Vegas-styled tricks. Porky in Wackyland is essentially an excuse to show off weird creatures from the unleashed minds of cartoonists. Porky is on a quest to fly to darkest Africa to find the last remaining Dodo bird, if you care. You don't by the way. You're not invested in the plot, you're going for the ride through the bizarre.
Why is it on the list?
Eh, animators again. I mean, yeah it's creative. In the first few minutes there is a LOT to look at and take in. You get the sense that this is the world that Toon Town in Who Framed Roger Rabbit was going for and not quite getting there. And aficionados love the classics, so that's a factor. But for all of the passion behind the design of the world, the end product really doesn't amount to much. Kind of like a Tim Burton film.
What would I have chosen instead?
1948's The Cat That Hated People. Tex Avery took several elements from multiple Bob Clampett cartoons and assembled them into a beautifully surreal fable. The gags are divided into three sections. The first is a series of flashbacks, explaining why the Jimmy Durante sounding cat has developed such a dislike of people. The second is a quickie sequence involving a rocket trip to the moon. And lastly, life on the moon turns out to be the celestial version of Wackyland; equally uninhabitable for anyone of dignity. In the end the cat realizes he is much better off being stepped on by the people he formerly eschewed.
7. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943, Tex Avery)
I thought I had seen this cartoon before. It turns out I'd only seen the first act in specials, and then every rehash of the idea Avery did in subsequent years, including 1949's Little Rural Riding Hood which shows up at #23 on the 50 greatest list. Imagine my surprise to find out there's more to the cartoon than just the wolf catcalling Red. Go on. Take a few moments to imagine my surprise.
Wow. My surprise really isn't that interesting, is it? So you have a classic tale translated into a (then) modern setting where Granny owns a nightclub, Red is a showgirl, and the wolf is a well-dressed sexual predator. Wolfie's lust for Red lands him in a role reversal situation opposite an extremely excited and durable Granny. Being the prey instead of the predator drives the wolf to suicide, although in the afterlife he's learned nothing. Because he's a man.
Why is it on the list?
Well, it's funny for one thing. The story may not be particularly complicated, but it's surprisingly engaging. And there's admittedly the sex appeal, although it's not nearly as big a deal as the short's reputation would have you believe. But the thing I like most about it is the way the character of Red comes across. Usually in an over-the-top comedy like this, the female becomes nothing more than a pair of legs, and this winds up being the case in many of Avery's follow-up shorts. But here, Red is allowed to get her hands a little dirty. She seems quite capable of taking care of herself, and the "No!" she screams at the wolf's advances isn't that of a helpless damsel. It's a forceful "I'm spelling this out for you, dip shit!" refusal.
What would I have chosen instead?
You know, I'm actually quite fine with this one being here. It's not my favorite cartoon per se but I certainly see the appeal. And I can't really think of another cartoon that handled similar subject material better. So instead I just want to spotlight my favorite Tex Avery cartoon, one that didn't make the 50 greatest list: 1952's Rock-a-Bye Bear. You start with the one gag, someone has to stay quiet around a larger character, and as such they have to keep holding in their screams until they're able to run a healthy distance away. Then you take the first half of the cartoon to carefully set up the needed elements (an easygoing everyman protagonist and a competing rat-bastard karmic trickster). And then you top it off with a flawless voice performance from Daws Butler, a name not as instantly recognizable as Mel Blanc's but Butler was certainly in Blanc's league. The result is pure magic.
6. Gertie the Dinosaur (1914, Winsor McCay)
Winsor McCay was Walt Disney's Walt Disney. Disney may have been animation's number one architect, but McCay lay out the foundation. Nowhere is this more evident than in the painstakingly hand drawn frames of vaudeville's Gertie the Dinosaur. Gertie is sort of a golden retriever in the body of a brontosaurus, aiming to please but not entirely without her own mindset. She wasn't the first animated character but she was historically the first with a well-defined personality, and the public fell in love with her.
Why is it on the list?
Why wouldn't it be on the list? Sure there's not much in the way of plot; Gertie is really just a showcase of what animation can do. But something was clearly ignited when those big feet of hers first stepped onto the screen, and that flame has been burning ever since. The animators who voted for her knew that you have to honor the past. May Gertie live on forever.
What would I have chosen instead?
Get real. This film was a once in all of our lifetimes event. Considering Gertie is in the public domain now, you have to wonder why we haven't seen more of her from other artists. Maybe they just find her too much of a sacred territory to give it a shot? I don't know. What I do know is that in about four precious minutes of footage, a fictional dinosaur became immortal.
So yeah, nothing is ever going to touch this classic. But I can think of at least one that's a little bit spiritually closer to it than just about anything else: the music video to 1989's Runnin' Down a Dream by Tom Petty, with animation directed by Jim Lenahan. The video is based on several episodes of the comic strip Little Nemo in Slumberland, by Winsor McCay (with a blink and you miss it connection to Alice in Wonderland). I'm sure Petty's epic guitar riff wasn't the soundtrack in McCay's head when he drew the strip, but sometimes when you combine artists' work separated by almost eighty years you can create a brand new soul. The video perfectly encapsulates the feel of a dream's story; almost holding together without ever being predictable. And there's a sense of attachment, loss, and isolation weaving through the chaos. It's a beautiful unsung classic from the golden age of MTV.
I'm making a point to try to keep these blogs from getting out of hand in terms of length, so next week I'll tackle the Chuck Jones heavy top five shorts.
It's been a struggle going back to my regular life and forcing smiles where they're required. I've been doing everything possible to not think about the next four years, and the most tried and true form of escapism that seems to work on my depression is binge watching old cartoons. So in lieu of my own ability to feel a sense of humor, I'm going to borrow some from the masters. More specifically, I'm taking a look at the 50 greatest cartoons as selected by 1000 animation professionals (yeah, what could go wrong when groups of people vote on something?) and go through the top ten, to see what I think about the selections and if I can come up with a similar cartoon that I believe might be better overall.
10. King-Size Canary (1947, Tex Avery)
Ah, Tex Avery. His influence on cartoons can't be overstated. If I understand history correctly, he's ultimately the reason we have the Loony Tunes. In the black and white era, every studio was trying to be Walt Disney, and Avery was the pioneer who said "Screw that! We're doing our own thing" or something similar. Avery was a virtuoso gag man, and had a knack for timing that VERY few of his contemporaries could match, and damn near nobody today. He also had the highest batting average when it came to racially offensive jokes in the golden age of cartoons. Um, thanks for that?
King-Size Canary is about a starving alley cat who spies a domestic canary and decides to make an easy meal out of it. But unlike the more famous Sylvester/Tweety series, this cat receives relatively little resistance in achieving said goal. The plot happens when he realizes he can make the tiny bird grow via Jumbo-Gro plant formula. Of course then the cat has to make himself bigger to deal with the now overpowered bird. Bring in a mouse and a dog, and things quickly get out of control where there's nowhere on the earth to go.
Why is it on the list?
Probably because it was animators voting, and I imagine they liked the way the cartoon played with size and perspective. And while I admit, the variation on the cat-chases-canary formula (the latter of which really doesn't factor into much screen time despite the title) is refreshing, this is far from Tex Avery's best and/or most creative work. It's memorable but not really that special.
What would I choose instead?
Avery has several great ones, a few of which appear elsewhere on the 50 greatest list, but I'm partial to 1955's Sh-h-h-h-h-h. This was Avery's final cartoon for the Walter Lantz studio when Avery himself was dealing with the full force of his depression, and the cynical edge runs rampant. Mr. Twiddle is a jazz percussionist who begins to have nervous tremors when he's around loud sounds. His doctor informs him that he requires absolute quiet recovery or his nerves will cause him to explode. All seems well at the world's quietest resort until Mr. Twiddle finds himself in a room next to two obnoxious people who laugh non-stop while playing a trombone. Our sympathy lies with Mr. Twiddle even as his reasonable requests that the couple discontinue their activities escalates into homicide. And yes, he explodes at the end, making Mr. Twiddle a kind of first draft Frank Grimes.
9. Gerald McBoing-Boing (1951, Robert Cannon)
I hadn't heard of this one until I looked at the list, but it's based on a lesser known Dr. Seuss story. Gerald is a kid who only communicates through sound effects, like a Foley artist. Gerald's father is overbearing about the 'impediment'. His mother seems a bit more sympathetic, but she doesn't really stand up for him. Gerald nearly runs away, but gets discovered by a radio show producer who uses Gerald's talents to great success. Then how the reindeer loved him.
Why is it on the list?
Boy, you got me. It's not very good. For one thing, some people like the limited animation style that became popular for television. For another, some people connect with the short based on experiences with children who have disabilities; autism seems to be the one most frequently mentioned. Both are fair points but they create more problems. First, the concept of Gerald's Michael Winslow skillset is never close to being realized in the anything-an-happen world of cartoons. Second, the dad's an asshole. He only loves his boy once Gerald becomes successful. It makes the ending unintentionally bittersweet, and the production team really could have addressed that issue.
What would I have chosen instead?
Sticking with the theme of a short based on the works of Dr. Seuss, I'd go with 1973's version of Green Eggs and Ham, directed by Hawley Pratt and produced by the always great Friz Freleng. Imagine you've been handed the source material, basically the gospel of children's literature, and told to adapt it for television. How the hell do you bring anything new to the story without disrupting the purity of it? Well, this version did it. Everybody, from the animators to voice acting veteran Paul Winchell, is on martial arts leveled balance between sarcasm and innocence. The sheer number of songs crammed into six minutes simply has to be witnessed, and in the end you have a brilliant piece of absurdist comedy.
8. Porky in Wackyland (1938, Robert Clampett)
Bob Clampett was cut from the same magician's cloak as Tex Avery, although Avery was more of a sleight-of-hand illusionist while Clampett did more showy Vegas-styled tricks. Porky in Wackyland is essentially an excuse to show off weird creatures from the unleashed minds of cartoonists. Porky is on a quest to fly to darkest Africa to find the last remaining Dodo bird, if you care. You don't by the way. You're not invested in the plot, you're going for the ride through the bizarre.
Why is it on the list?
Eh, animators again. I mean, yeah it's creative. In the first few minutes there is a LOT to look at and take in. You get the sense that this is the world that Toon Town in Who Framed Roger Rabbit was going for and not quite getting there. And aficionados love the classics, so that's a factor. But for all of the passion behind the design of the world, the end product really doesn't amount to much. Kind of like a Tim Burton film.
What would I have chosen instead?
1948's The Cat That Hated People. Tex Avery took several elements from multiple Bob Clampett cartoons and assembled them into a beautifully surreal fable. The gags are divided into three sections. The first is a series of flashbacks, explaining why the Jimmy Durante sounding cat has developed such a dislike of people. The second is a quickie sequence involving a rocket trip to the moon. And lastly, life on the moon turns out to be the celestial version of Wackyland; equally uninhabitable for anyone of dignity. In the end the cat realizes he is much better off being stepped on by the people he formerly eschewed.
7. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943, Tex Avery)
I thought I had seen this cartoon before. It turns out I'd only seen the first act in specials, and then every rehash of the idea Avery did in subsequent years, including 1949's Little Rural Riding Hood which shows up at #23 on the 50 greatest list. Imagine my surprise to find out there's more to the cartoon than just the wolf catcalling Red. Go on. Take a few moments to imagine my surprise.
Wow. My surprise really isn't that interesting, is it? So you have a classic tale translated into a (then) modern setting where Granny owns a nightclub, Red is a showgirl, and the wolf is a well-dressed sexual predator. Wolfie's lust for Red lands him in a role reversal situation opposite an extremely excited and durable Granny. Being the prey instead of the predator drives the wolf to suicide, although in the afterlife he's learned nothing. Because he's a man.
Why is it on the list?
Well, it's funny for one thing. The story may not be particularly complicated, but it's surprisingly engaging. And there's admittedly the sex appeal, although it's not nearly as big a deal as the short's reputation would have you believe. But the thing I like most about it is the way the character of Red comes across. Usually in an over-the-top comedy like this, the female becomes nothing more than a pair of legs, and this winds up being the case in many of Avery's follow-up shorts. But here, Red is allowed to get her hands a little dirty. She seems quite capable of taking care of herself, and the "No!" she screams at the wolf's advances isn't that of a helpless damsel. It's a forceful "I'm spelling this out for you, dip shit!" refusal.
What would I have chosen instead?
You know, I'm actually quite fine with this one being here. It's not my favorite cartoon per se but I certainly see the appeal. And I can't really think of another cartoon that handled similar subject material better. So instead I just want to spotlight my favorite Tex Avery cartoon, one that didn't make the 50 greatest list: 1952's Rock-a-Bye Bear. You start with the one gag, someone has to stay quiet around a larger character, and as such they have to keep holding in their screams until they're able to run a healthy distance away. Then you take the first half of the cartoon to carefully set up the needed elements (an easygoing everyman protagonist and a competing rat-bastard karmic trickster). And then you top it off with a flawless voice performance from Daws Butler, a name not as instantly recognizable as Mel Blanc's but Butler was certainly in Blanc's league. The result is pure magic.
6. Gertie the Dinosaur (1914, Winsor McCay)
Winsor McCay was Walt Disney's Walt Disney. Disney may have been animation's number one architect, but McCay lay out the foundation. Nowhere is this more evident than in the painstakingly hand drawn frames of vaudeville's Gertie the Dinosaur. Gertie is sort of a golden retriever in the body of a brontosaurus, aiming to please but not entirely without her own mindset. She wasn't the first animated character but she was historically the first with a well-defined personality, and the public fell in love with her.
Why is it on the list?
Why wouldn't it be on the list? Sure there's not much in the way of plot; Gertie is really just a showcase of what animation can do. But something was clearly ignited when those big feet of hers first stepped onto the screen, and that flame has been burning ever since. The animators who voted for her knew that you have to honor the past. May Gertie live on forever.
What would I have chosen instead?
Get real. This film was a once in all of our lifetimes event. Considering Gertie is in the public domain now, you have to wonder why we haven't seen more of her from other artists. Maybe they just find her too much of a sacred territory to give it a shot? I don't know. What I do know is that in about four precious minutes of footage, a fictional dinosaur became immortal.
So yeah, nothing is ever going to touch this classic. But I can think of at least one that's a little bit spiritually closer to it than just about anything else: the music video to 1989's Runnin' Down a Dream by Tom Petty, with animation directed by Jim Lenahan. The video is based on several episodes of the comic strip Little Nemo in Slumberland, by Winsor McCay (with a blink and you miss it connection to Alice in Wonderland). I'm sure Petty's epic guitar riff wasn't the soundtrack in McCay's head when he drew the strip, but sometimes when you combine artists' work separated by almost eighty years you can create a brand new soul. The video perfectly encapsulates the feel of a dream's story; almost holding together without ever being predictable. And there's a sense of attachment, loss, and isolation weaving through the chaos. It's a beautiful unsung classic from the golden age of MTV.
I'm making a point to try to keep these blogs from getting out of hand in terms of length, so next week I'll tackle the Chuck Jones heavy top five shorts.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Review of The Ogre
Did you know I have an imdb page? I daresay I'm quite proud of it, particularly because I just kind of fell into a string of short films. It was around 2008, and I'd just met my wife (she obviously wasn't my wife at the time). She was heavily involved with the Birmingham film scene; which was arguably more active then than it is now, although I may just be out of the loop. I wound up going to several auditions with her and managed to work my way into quite a few short films, and the occasional full length feature.
One of my favorite acting gigs was Mr. Failure, a student film directed by the very talented Christian Sutton. My wife (who actually was my wife by that point) plays my wife. I, on the other hand play my wife's husband. My unnamed character is at his breaking point in the overbearing marriage and tries to murder his wife but proves to be completely ineffective at it. Imagine if Charlie Brown married Lucy and finally lost it. It was a fun shoot, even if I was running a fever in a few scenes.
I recently had the joy of watching The Ogre, a short film in which I played the title character. And now you can watch it too! Go on. Click the link. It's fifteen measly minutes out of your uneventful life. Yeesh! You really got something better to do?
I forget how long ago it was when I went in for my two days of filming, but I have to say the experience really was something special. The Ogre is a silent film, equal parts love letter to the genre and standalone story. As an actor, I felt like I had a taste of genuine history by being a part of the project. And now as a viewer with a globally read blog (According to the traffic stats. Big thank you to my 78 hits from Poland!) I'm in kind of a unique position to review a film that I was in.
Ignoring my own performance for the moment, I have to say there really is an inherent beauty in the film. My friends Ben and Nadia Robertson and Kyle Fortenberry were the artistic force behind The Ogre (with Jonathan Barry handling my makeup). In watching the film you can feel how much love they have for the classics. When you revisit the past it's very easy to start doing tongue-in-cheek references from a modern eye that makes the product lapse into parody. They didn't do that. The Ogre was carefully crafted to look like a silent film that really did exist back in the days of Lon Chaney, which in turn has had the same sort of missing frames and degradation of celluloid over time.
Like most classic stories, The Ogre is a cautionary fable. You have a devout family in a small village, with a pastor patriarch, who collectively kind of miss the point of Christianity when they 'Satan' in a deformed newborn. The pastor decides that the baby should be left in the woods alone to die, and gets no real objection. Yep. That's not going to come back to haunt him. So the child grows up alone in the woods, essentially as a feral animal.
The pastor's daughter frequently visits a creek near the now full-grown ogre, and some still human part of him feels an aesthetic attraction to her. But she screams when she sees him and his heart is broken. Then at an emotional junction, a hapless hunter happens upon the ogre and fires an arrow at him. The ogre finds himself shot through the heart, the hunter is to blame; and giving love a bad name really is the last straw.
He hobbles into town to register a complaint. In lieu of the proper forms, he resorts to beating the pastor's daughter to death, and then the pastor. Probably for no reason other than he happens to be there at the time, making the pastor's death more of a poetic justice than a calculated choice. The ogre then recognizes his mother, but by that point he has fully embraced his role as the monster of the story and kills her as well. He then retires to his home in the woods to die alone, sharing one final connection with a wild dog who wasn't in the script (scene stealing bitch) before perishing.
One of the things I absolutely love about the film is how real it feels to its source material. I got to watch it with a full audience, and more than one person mentioned how much it reminded them of the 1923 Hunchback of Notre Dame, and you can't get a more historical comparison than that. I'm not an authority on silent films but I'm familiar with the iconic moments from The Phantom of the Opera and Frankenstein, and I unconsciously made the connections in specific beats.
The actors are spot on. Bradley Foster quite effectively conveys a multi-layered pastor during his minimal screen time. Nadia plays the damsel to a tee, she clearly did some actor's research on how to scream, how to run, and precisely which pauses to take for the silent medium. And everybody else really finds the sweet spot between over and underacting, two very easy slopes to slip off of when you're in unfamiliar territory.
There's a sadness to The Ogre. And what is art's primary function if not to convey emotion? And it leaves you with a potential discussion about the nature of monsters. At what point could the story have turned around for the well-being of everyone? Where is the dividing line between evil and mere instinct? The same year I filmed this, my wife and I had the honor of sitting down with Brad Dourif at Dragon Con. He was explaining how the vital element to the overcoming the monster (or not) template was that the monster does not negotiate or compromise. Perhaps the return to a simplistic formula explains why the horror genre continues to fascinate us.
Okay, so what did I think about my performance? First off, let me say that I'm just narcissistic enough to love seeing myself on film or video. But I almost always have a negative reaction to the result. "Oh GOD! Why did I make that expression?" Well, I'm pleased to say that I don't look like a dumbass. A lot of the credit goes to Ben's camera work and editing. I don't think there's a single shot of me that's gratuitously "Look at the creature we made!" Every bit of footage serves a purpose. It's a disciplined approach and the result is all the stronger for it. I also have to credit Jonathan for the makeup. He and Kyle did the design work but Jonathan took the three hours both mornings to get me ready, and his hard work really is amazing (although that's my real hair by the way).
The funny thing is, I didn't intentionally pursue a specific role. I just went to the audition and played with the pantomime. When I found out I was cast as the Ogre I was perplexed. I have a smaller frame than most monster actors (have you seen Kane Hodder?), so I had the actor's task of figuring out how the hell I was going to be believably intimidating. So I came to work one afternoon, and a hornet kind of hovered around me for a few seconds before losing interest and flying off. And I thought, okay that's who the Ogre is. He's a hornet. You leave him alone, he's not going to be a problem, but if you swat at him he's going to react with an all-or-nothing mentality.
My most memorable moment came from the scene where the Ogre kills his mother. Emma and I did two takes. The first one I just came in and killed her because she was there. The second take we slowed it down. I played it where I recognized her by scent and she knew I was her son and we almost have that connection before I decide I'm just too far gone. It was a sad moment, and that wound up being the take they used.
A couple of other recollections: I forget the dog's name and she really wasn't supposed to be in the film, but after she kept ad-libbing her way into frame they decided to add her in at the end. Bradley and I also had a bizarre conversation (while I was killing him) about our characters actually seeing each other's points and reconciling. I'm secretly hoping for the sound version of the film to get a release someday.
If you've never acted for a film project, the trick is you have to be ready to go when the crew is ready for you. There are quite a few elements they have to contend with: equipment failure, natural lighting, the occasional dog on set. As such, you never know when you're going to have to be 'on', which means when you're 'off' you're not entirely. It's more like on standby power. And if you're not used to it, you can drain yourself without realizing it. The day we filmed in the woods, I was so excited. Up before dawn, driving to Trussville, in the makeup chair, roaming around, feeling Ogre-y. And then I felt- "Okay, starting to crash now." And then I thought- "Oh shit, I haven't actually filmed anything yet!" You kind of have to learn on the spot how to keep your brain active.
Well, I'll tell you what I did to stay focused. I started writing a blues song from the Ogre's perspective, with which I'll share with you now to close this blog out. If 1931 Productions ever remakes The Ogre as a musical, I'm more than ready to dust this little number off.
I should have been a dentist with an office on the street.
I should have been an astronaut with aliens to greet.
I should have been in politics, and work my way to King.
And I'm certain I could do it, if it weren't for one small thing...
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My mom adopted fish.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The waitress dropped the dish.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The blind don't want to see.
I am just so thoroughly-
Ug-ly.
I went to see a therapist and only brought her down.
The crows won't steal my vegetables until I'm out of town.
My plastic surgeon shot himself. My driver's license lies.
When I look into the mirror, my reflection hides his eyes.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The subway never stops.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My banker called the cops.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My Facebook has a fee.
I am just so totally, sullenly, purposely,
Frights of fancy! I am ug-ly.
One of my favorite acting gigs was Mr. Failure, a student film directed by the very talented Christian Sutton. My wife (who actually was my wife by that point) plays my wife. I, on the other hand play my wife's husband. My unnamed character is at his breaking point in the overbearing marriage and tries to murder his wife but proves to be completely ineffective at it. Imagine if Charlie Brown married Lucy and finally lost it. It was a fun shoot, even if I was running a fever in a few scenes.
I recently had the joy of watching The Ogre, a short film in which I played the title character. And now you can watch it too! Go on. Click the link. It's fifteen measly minutes out of your uneventful life. Yeesh! You really got something better to do?
I forget how long ago it was when I went in for my two days of filming, but I have to say the experience really was something special. The Ogre is a silent film, equal parts love letter to the genre and standalone story. As an actor, I felt like I had a taste of genuine history by being a part of the project. And now as a viewer with a globally read blog (According to the traffic stats. Big thank you to my 78 hits from Poland!) I'm in kind of a unique position to review a film that I was in.
Ignoring my own performance for the moment, I have to say there really is an inherent beauty in the film. My friends Ben and Nadia Robertson and Kyle Fortenberry were the artistic force behind The Ogre (with Jonathan Barry handling my makeup). In watching the film you can feel how much love they have for the classics. When you revisit the past it's very easy to start doing tongue-in-cheek references from a modern eye that makes the product lapse into parody. They didn't do that. The Ogre was carefully crafted to look like a silent film that really did exist back in the days of Lon Chaney, which in turn has had the same sort of missing frames and degradation of celluloid over time.
Like most classic stories, The Ogre is a cautionary fable. You have a devout family in a small village, with a pastor patriarch, who collectively kind of miss the point of Christianity when they 'Satan' in a deformed newborn. The pastor decides that the baby should be left in the woods alone to die, and gets no real objection. Yep. That's not going to come back to haunt him. So the child grows up alone in the woods, essentially as a feral animal.
The pastor's daughter frequently visits a creek near the now full-grown ogre, and some still human part of him feels an aesthetic attraction to her. But she screams when she sees him and his heart is broken. Then at an emotional junction, a hapless hunter happens upon the ogre and fires an arrow at him. The ogre finds himself shot through the heart, the hunter is to blame; and giving love a bad name really is the last straw.
He hobbles into town to register a complaint. In lieu of the proper forms, he resorts to beating the pastor's daughter to death, and then the pastor. Probably for no reason other than he happens to be there at the time, making the pastor's death more of a poetic justice than a calculated choice. The ogre then recognizes his mother, but by that point he has fully embraced his role as the monster of the story and kills her as well. He then retires to his home in the woods to die alone, sharing one final connection with a wild dog who wasn't in the script (scene stealing bitch) before perishing.
One of the things I absolutely love about the film is how real it feels to its source material. I got to watch it with a full audience, and more than one person mentioned how much it reminded them of the 1923 Hunchback of Notre Dame, and you can't get a more historical comparison than that. I'm not an authority on silent films but I'm familiar with the iconic moments from The Phantom of the Opera and Frankenstein, and I unconsciously made the connections in specific beats.
The actors are spot on. Bradley Foster quite effectively conveys a multi-layered pastor during his minimal screen time. Nadia plays the damsel to a tee, she clearly did some actor's research on how to scream, how to run, and precisely which pauses to take for the silent medium. And everybody else really finds the sweet spot between over and underacting, two very easy slopes to slip off of when you're in unfamiliar territory.
There's a sadness to The Ogre. And what is art's primary function if not to convey emotion? And it leaves you with a potential discussion about the nature of monsters. At what point could the story have turned around for the well-being of everyone? Where is the dividing line between evil and mere instinct? The same year I filmed this, my wife and I had the honor of sitting down with Brad Dourif at Dragon Con. He was explaining how the vital element to the overcoming the monster (or not) template was that the monster does not negotiate or compromise. Perhaps the return to a simplistic formula explains why the horror genre continues to fascinate us.
Okay, so what did I think about my performance? First off, let me say that I'm just narcissistic enough to love seeing myself on film or video. But I almost always have a negative reaction to the result. "Oh GOD! Why did I make that expression?" Well, I'm pleased to say that I don't look like a dumbass. A lot of the credit goes to Ben's camera work and editing. I don't think there's a single shot of me that's gratuitously "Look at the creature we made!" Every bit of footage serves a purpose. It's a disciplined approach and the result is all the stronger for it. I also have to credit Jonathan for the makeup. He and Kyle did the design work but Jonathan took the three hours both mornings to get me ready, and his hard work really is amazing (although that's my real hair by the way).
The funny thing is, I didn't intentionally pursue a specific role. I just went to the audition and played with the pantomime. When I found out I was cast as the Ogre I was perplexed. I have a smaller frame than most monster actors (have you seen Kane Hodder?), so I had the actor's task of figuring out how the hell I was going to be believably intimidating. So I came to work one afternoon, and a hornet kind of hovered around me for a few seconds before losing interest and flying off. And I thought, okay that's who the Ogre is. He's a hornet. You leave him alone, he's not going to be a problem, but if you swat at him he's going to react with an all-or-nothing mentality.
My most memorable moment came from the scene where the Ogre kills his mother. Emma and I did two takes. The first one I just came in and killed her because she was there. The second take we slowed it down. I played it where I recognized her by scent and she knew I was her son and we almost have that connection before I decide I'm just too far gone. It was a sad moment, and that wound up being the take they used.
A couple of other recollections: I forget the dog's name and she really wasn't supposed to be in the film, but after she kept ad-libbing her way into frame they decided to add her in at the end. Bradley and I also had a bizarre conversation (while I was killing him) about our characters actually seeing each other's points and reconciling. I'm secretly hoping for the sound version of the film to get a release someday.
If you've never acted for a film project, the trick is you have to be ready to go when the crew is ready for you. There are quite a few elements they have to contend with: equipment failure, natural lighting, the occasional dog on set. As such, you never know when you're going to have to be 'on', which means when you're 'off' you're not entirely. It's more like on standby power. And if you're not used to it, you can drain yourself without realizing it. The day we filmed in the woods, I was so excited. Up before dawn, driving to Trussville, in the makeup chair, roaming around, feeling Ogre-y. And then I felt- "Okay, starting to crash now." And then I thought- "Oh shit, I haven't actually filmed anything yet!" You kind of have to learn on the spot how to keep your brain active.
Well, I'll tell you what I did to stay focused. I started writing a blues song from the Ogre's perspective, with which I'll share with you now to close this blog out. If 1931 Productions ever remakes The Ogre as a musical, I'm more than ready to dust this little number off.
I should have been a dentist with an office on the street.
I should have been an astronaut with aliens to greet.
I should have been in politics, and work my way to King.
And I'm certain I could do it, if it weren't for one small thing...
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My mom adopted fish.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The waitress dropped the dish.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The blind don't want to see.
I am just so thoroughly-
Ug-ly.
I went to see a therapist and only brought her down.
The crows won't steal my vegetables until I'm out of town.
My plastic surgeon shot himself. My driver's license lies.
When I look into the mirror, my reflection hides his eyes.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
The subway never stops.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My banker called the cops.
I am soooooooooooo ugly!
My Facebook has a fee.
I am just so totally, sullenly, purposely,
Frights of fancy! I am ug-ly.
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