I
have an uncomfortable confession to make: I have never liked the Looney
Tunes. Despite the cultural pervasiveness of these characters, and a
lifelong love of animation on my part, they’ve always struck me as
annoying, repetitive, and boring — for all the pandemonium that Bugs
Bunny and his ilk ostensibly represent, their chaos is bland, their
destruction is predictable, and their lineage is corporate.
To be fair, my exposure to Looney Tunes at the time bore that out pretty well: I grew up in the age of Space Jam and the slew of jerseys, sneakers, McDonald’s toys, pogs, and cookie jars
that film spawned. Today is no better, with the Roadrunner and Foghorn
Leghorn perhaps most recognizable as shills for companies like Time
Warner and GEICO.
Yet this was not always the case, as demonstrated by the excellent
Chuck Jones exhibit at the Museum of the Moving Image in Queens.
Entitled “What’s Up Doc? The Animation Art of Chuck Jones”,
this retrospective illuminates the originality and charm of Jones in
particular and the Looney Tunes in general. I learned that Bugs Bunny’s
smart-alecky attitude and cigar-like carrot were based on Groucho Marx,
and Wile E Coyote’s design was inspired by Mark Twain’s description of
the coyote as “a long, slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton…with a
despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a furtive and evil
eye, and a long, sharp face…The coyote is a living, breathing allegory
of Want.”
I was also surprised to discover how topical these cartoons were — as
a kid watching cartoons on Saturday mornings, I didn’t catch many of
the forty-year-old references. Yet Looney Tunes was a definite
forerunner to the adult animation of today, poking fun at contemporary
politics and pop culture. These cartoons were far from the squeaky-clean
version of today: they were vibrant, innovative, and often subversive.
While this certainly makes these shorts more interesting, it also means
that some of the uglier elements of the time are on full display.
Such elements are abundantly clear in the Censored Eleven, shorts
from the Warner Bros catalogue that were withheld from syndication due
to racially offensive content. These cartoons have not been broadcast
since 1968, though they are available online. I present them below, not
to glamorize them but to shed some light on an occasionally fascinating —
and often appalling — corner of an American institution.
Hittin’ the Trail for Hallelujah Land
The oldest cartoon of the eleven, Hittin’ The Trail For Hallelujah Land
is notable for its plagiarism as well as its offensive subject matter.
Released in 1931 — the second Merrie Melodies short ever made — it bears
a striking resemblance to Disney’s 1928 release Steamboat Willy, including a Mickey Mouse-like character named Piggy who drives a steamboat.
The film was censored due to the character of Uncle Tom, a doglike
creature who runs afoul of some dancing skeletons (who are also markedly
similar to an earlier Disney creation entitled The Skeleton Dance).
The animal cast of this short makes racist portrayals less apparent,
and the stereotype that Uncle Tom falls into — that of the superstitious
black man — is so outmoded that I didn’t even initially recognize its
bigotry. Beyond this, a lack of focus and some half-baked gags are
likely to make this cartoon more of a curiosity than a joy for modern
viewers.
Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time & Clean Pastures
1936’s Sunday Go To Meetin’ Time and 1937’s Clean Pastures share
religious themes as well as large opening set pieces that provide an
opportunity to introduce a cavalcade of racial caricatures — country
folk in the former and city dwellers in the latter. Sunday Go To Meetin’ Time is
a standard morality tale, about an errant man (Nicodemus) who sneaks
out of church to go steal some chickens. When he’s hit on the head and
has a dream about the Hell that awaits him, he awakens repentant.
Clean Pastures is, on the whole, a more entertaining and more complex offering. A parody of the film Green Pastures,
this short follows the angel Gabriel — a caricature of contemporary
performer Stepin Fetchit — as he tries to get Harlemites to come to
Heaven (or “Pair-o-Dice” as it’s called here). He is unsuccessful until
four angels — caricatures of jazz musicians — suggest using “rhythm” to
get people to paradise. The music is a huge success, and droves of folks
come to Heaven — including the Devil himself. Offensive stereotyping
abounds, but Clean Pastures has at least provided significant critical fodder. Sunday Go To Meetin’ Time, not so much.
Jungle Jitters & The Isle of Pingo Pongo
A pair of riffs on the idea of island savages, Jungle Jitters and The Isle of Pingo Pongo (both released in 1938) share a few of the same barbarian-based gags as well as a surrealist bent. The Isle of Pingo Pongo is set up as a parody of travelogues, while Jungle Jitters is more of a fish-out-of-water scenario, following a traveling salesman who gets kidnapped by natives.
While both feature some cringe-worthy jokes (connecting savage island
music with contemporary jazz, a sign reading “Eat at the Dark Brown
Derby,” etc.) Jungle Jitters is stronger in terms of narrative
and sheer insanity. The climax, which features the islanders’ leader, a
Caucasian bird-woman, falling in love with the doglike salesman,
showcases a refreshing anything-goes lunacy that’s a Looney Tunes
hallmark.
Uncle Tom’s Bungalow
1937’s Uncle Tom’s Bungalow is something of a missed opportunity. Based on the famous abolitionist novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin,
this short generally holds true to the themes of its source material —
the slaver Legree is the clear antagonist, and the little white girl Eva
and little black girl Topsy are presented as friends and essentially
equals (making this the least racially segregated of the Censored
Eleven). Unfortunately, the slapdash nature of this cartoon undercuts
any potential message — the humor is lacking, it relies on an overuse of
jokey narration, and the final punch line is a racist gambling joke.
Angel Puss
The only one of the eleven directed by Chuck Jones, Angel Puss (1944)
is at once one of the most blithe and most offensive of the banned
cartoons. Its storyline of a cat outsmarting an African-American man who
is trying to drown him places it in line with the standard
aggressor/defender of Bugs Bunny & Elmer Fudd or Tweety &
Sylvester. The cartoon has the characteristic energy and wit of Jones
throughout. Yet everything about the African-American character, from
his design, to his name (Sambo), to his voice, to his superstitious and
foolish behavior, is pure prejudicial horror, and seeing it in such a
familiar context makes it all the more jarring. Note too the heightened
sadism of Puss, who turns to tormenting Sambo almost immediately.
Tin Pan Alley Cats
Though Tin Pan Alley Cats (1943)is another simplistic morality
tale, it’s one peppered with a number of dexterous touches, including a
version of Hell that’s more agreeably insane and more effective than Sunday Go to Meetin’ Time. When
a smart-alecky cat — resembling entertainer Fats Waller — chooses a
nightclub over a prayer group, he’s tormented by visions of damnation.
When he comes to, he repents of his sinful ways. The animation of the
feline protagonist, albeit stereotypical, is particularly expressive and
sincere, allowing the audience to sympathize with his plight.
Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarves
Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarves (1943)is a tricky one. On the
one hand, you need go no further than the title to discover the racism
that runs rampant throughout. On the other, this involved and detailed
parody of the Disney classic is the most masterful cartoon of the eleven
— it’s considered by some to be one of the best animated films ever
made. It’s also unusual for its jazz bona fides and its use of black
voice actors and musicians. Make no mistake: Coal Black is often jaw-droppingly offensive. However, its sly wit and madcap energy make it an offering well worth watching.
Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears
Goldilocks and the Jivin’ Bears shares a lot with Coal Black
— its fairytale structure, its musical-focus, its blackface
characterizations of all but the intensely sexualized protagonist. Yet
while Coal Black builds a coherent and surprising story about
World War II, this film is more of a hodgepodge, drawing humor from
non-sequitors, contemporary references, and the lazy stereotype that
black people like to dance. After the eponymous bears leave the house to
let their instruments cool down (yup), Goldilocks arrives and runs
afoul of a wolf — Red Riding Hood, you see, was delayed while working
“as a rivetater.” After being rescued by the bears, the short ends with
everybody jitterbugging.
All This and Rabbit Stew
Whereas most of these cartoons feature characters not seen elsewhere in the Looney Tunes canon, All This and Rabbit Stew (1941)features
Warner Bros’ biggest star, Bugs Bunny himself. Incidentally, the lack
of other Looney Tunes stalwarts on this list is not because Bugs and
friends were particularly enlightened — there are plenty of objectionablescenes that were cut out of now-classic cartoons. In the case of All This and Rabbit Stew, however, the racism is so pervasive that the entire film had to be removed.
In many ways, this short resembles a typical Elmer Fudd hunting
rabbit scenario, but where Fudd’s stupidity is generic, the African
American hunter’s is specifically racial. Obsessed with playing craps,
the hunter loses the very clothes on his back to Bugs, leaving him with
only a leaf covering his crotch. Bugs pulls that off too during the iris
out — taking the hunter’s last shred of dignity with him.
Matt Crowley has written for the AV Club, The Daily Dot, CollegeHumor, McSweeney’s and other online publications. Follow him on Twitter, won’t you?
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