Image copyright Warner Bros.
Recently, I sat watching an episode of Looney Tunes with my husband. As children, we both watched on Saturday morning as Bugs outsmarted villain upon villain; from a hunter with a speech impediment to a pirate/cowboy (depending on the short) named Yosemite Sam, we saw a rabbit talk anyone into anything, escape any situation, and play each encounter to his own advantage. A surrounding cast of characters supported him, each thrown into their own silly situations, each battling it out. The Roadrunner outfoxed Wile E. Coyote; Tweety outfoxed Sylvester time and again, yellow feathers floating in his wake, always one step ahead. As children, we learned to be persuasive, to be confident. We watched with horror as Bugs was shot by Elmer Fudd, only to see him wink at us as he lay on the ground. Our fear was suspended for one hour each Saturday morning; no one would die and no one would suffer. There is no real pain in the world of Looney Tunes.
On the surface, it’s violent and unrealistic – the epitome of the cartoon. We dismiss it as a childhood indulgence, pure entertainment. We ignore the most obvious accomplishments, like the lilting, professional, classical music or the joyous, original show tunes, the art, the animation, the dry and sarcastic political statements (mostly surrounding World War II). We worry if it’s okay to show our kids a cartoon with guns and bombs from the Acme factory and once more, the wisdom of hindsight and adulthood blots out the innocence of childhood. But on closer inspection, it is clear that the artists behind Looney Tunes had something to say, lessons to teach. Be persistent and resilient. Fight for what you want. Outsmart those around you. Welcome adversity. Control the world. And as adults, we figure it out. We understand the allegory even as we laugh at the Coyote, endlessly chasing a dinner he’ll never have, falling from another cliff.
Our society makes us cynical. This is probably true for every generation, but those working through this global economic turmoil, the natural disasters, the wars, wars, wars, tend to believe they will always have to fight back. Whereas our grandparents probably would think we were spoiled by technology, lazy with American opportunity, we know that we have survived just as much as those who came before us. And so the jokes in Looney Tunes are universal and unchanging with time. You can learn history from these cartoons if you actually research all of the pop culture references and watch for movie star parodies and allusions to Humphrey Bogart. Bugs Bunny travels to the moon, outsmarts the Sheriff of Nottingham and even the evil witch who eats Hansel and Gretel. But throughout it all, the lessons that exist in this world of hunting rabbits and daffy ducks are ultimately necessary for survival in the 21st century.
Among the most important lessons to be learned is that of being a good neighbor and a good friend. In 8 Ball Bunny (1950), a young penguin tries to find his way in the big bad world outside of his skating penguin show. As a fan of these cartoons, it seems clear at this point that the penguin will become Bug’s nemesis for a short time. But when Bugs yells at the poor penguin in the top hat, a big, crocodile tear runs out of his eye, and the good heartedness in the rabbit we have all assumed will want to outsmart anyone comes through. He wants to help get this creature home, even after he finds out he is from the South Pole, and in turn, we want him to succeed.
Another necessary tool for survival is the ability to follow orders. However, an ideal that is revered in the 21st century is being able to fend for oneself and create something out of nothing. This is the American Dream, but more people are opening small businesses, their own dreams, more than ever. Looney Tunes is and always has been useful in the analysis of society because it can portray both of these ideas in one cartoon. In today’s society, some might look at the boss from the short Tick Tock Tuckered (1944) as an incarnation of Machiavelli’s prince. He would rather be feared and respected; he is loud, brash and authoritative in presence. When Daffy Duck and Porky Pig are late for work, he yells, “If you’re late just one more time, you’re fired!” Instead of rebelling against “the man” here or deciding to start their own business where they can be their own bosses, Daffy and Porky decide to go to bed early, allowing for time to correct their behavior out of fear of losing their jobs. It is post-Depression America at its best. The question is, is this lesson of listening to our superiors and following orders teaching our children not to stand up for themselves or to respect authority? And did the creators of Looney Tunes intend to question authority by showing their characters as obedient employees?
I think the answer here is a resounding no, they did not intend for their portrayal of a 1940s workplace to play into the questions we ask ourselves in America today. But since the recession of 2008, it applies. For the middle class, as an example, not listening to a boss that tells you if you’re late one last time, you’re fired, makes you go to sleep early. You react with the attitude that many working-class Americans hold onto – a desire to continue on with a stable income to support your family. You can relate to Porky’s chastising of Daffy when he does not want to go to sleep at 8:00pm and you know that you would do the same if given the ultimatum. But deep down inside, is it also American to wish Porky could tell that mean, dirty looking big man to take his job and shove it?
What is wrong with a little healthy competition? It’s motivation, domination, that kick you need to shuffle down the street with the confidence that says “I’m the best and I know it. I’m a star.” And who better to teach us about this healthy competition than Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, two enemies who always seems to come together for good. In Show Biz Bugs (1957), Daffy arrives at the theatre where he is to perform with Bugs Bunny. He goes on and on to the cab driver who drops him off about how he is the star of the show, until he looks up to the front of the theatre and see Bugs’ name above his, and bigger. “What?? That rabbit’s name over mine? I’m the star. Let’s just see about this.” And again, an epic battle between a rabbit and a duck is to be waged, jealousy, revenge and all. As a kid, I learned that I wanted my name on top and here you are, reading my essay. Coincidence?
The suspension of reality is what has made these cartoons timeless. Most of us don’t really know what happens when a stick of dynamite blows up in your hand, and we don’t have to know. It is not necessary to look up the effects of dynamite on society, on coyotes or on the roadrunners who save themselves while their adversaries blow up. We don’t worry about the Roadrunner’s state of mind or whether or not he might need therapy to deal with his own selfishness or rejection of the coyote. When Bugs Bunny puts himself into a large, black pot over a roaring fire in Elmer Fudd’s house or in the kitchen of the witch who tries to kidnap Hansel and Gretel, we do not picture an actual roasted rabbit or worry that he is not skinned or prepared for cooking. This is what cartoons are for. They teach us how to suspend belief and for a few minutes, we can concentrate on the silliness of Bugs throwing carrots into his own rabbit stew, smelling the broth and enticing his enemies. And of course, there is the realist’s favorite question: How can a rabbit talk?
How can a rabbit talk? Well, for starters, this is a cartoon. In cartoons, George Jetson drives a flying car, cavemen use wooly mammoths as dishwashers and the Simpson children never grow up. To suspend disbelief for a cartoon is to watch the cartoon and to expect that animals will talk, blow each other up, have feelings and get married. It is sweet that Pepe le Pew wants to find love (if a little creepy, especially in the age of #metoo and through a modern lens), but we explore our own shallow demeanors when we think we would never date a skunk ourselves. In their speech, these animals do not only teach, they bring popular culture into the home with their accents, their slang and their adult-like outlooks on life. In A Tale of Two Kitties (1942), the two main characters strongly resemble many of the comedy duos at the time – one tall and skinny, one short and stocky – and they have discernible New York accents that make them sound like true “Americans” of the ‘40s. To me, as a child, they sounded like my grandfather and his buddies, all Italian men who fought in WWII and grew up in New York. The mental picture my grandmother would conjure every time she told the story of my grandfather as young man, leaning up against a cherry red convertible in his Navy uniform, was America. These images were not mine alone. Someone else had a grandfather who talked like Frank Sinatra and danced like Gene Kelly. And these cartoons preserve the slang, the popular culture that made the country so utterly American in the 1940s.
Also in A Tale of Two Kitties, Tweety Bird takes a telling look into science fiction and possibly the future. In reference to the time period, when one of the cats comes flying past him in some homemade contraption, Tweety dons an air raid helmet and makes a call to “home base,’ exclaiming, “I see an unidentified object flying around my wittle head!” Was Tweety Bird ahead of his time? Of course. Was he our green and lovable Marvin the Martian? No. He came later. But this was surely a precursor to tales of other planets where a martian could bunnynap Bugs and they would not even need oxygen. And most importantly, in this and all of these cartoons, those who work hard and are smart about their surrounding succeed regardless of species, social class, and probably religion, sexuality, age…Now that’s science fiction.
So, take this moment to remember your Saturday morning cartoons and always keep in mind, as Bug Bunny says, “Don’t take life too seriously, Doc; you’ll never get out alive.”
Sarah Ghoshal is a writer, professor, mom, partner, unapologetic romantic, persister, resister, and lifelong fan of Wile E. Coyote. A Best of the Net nominee, her work can be found in various journals and on multiple websites. A quick Google search might net you some poems or an old syllabus. She has published two chapbooks, Changing the Grid and the Pine Tree Experiment. She teaches writing at Montclair State University and lives in NJ.