For years, you’ve read or heard about Manny Farber’s praise for Warner Bros. cartoons. Any claim he was he first to take notice of them is hearsay. An earlier champion was Paul Harrison in his column for the Newspaper Enterprise Association around June 23, 1937.
Farber’s opinion piece was published in the September 20, 1943 issue of The New Republic. In case you have never seen the full article, here it is:
Short and Happy
SOME of the best movies of the year are seven-minute cartoons called by names like "All This and Rabbit Stew" or "The Fighting 69th 1/2," which come on as unheralded transitions in the double bill and feature the notorious Bugs Bunny, a rabbit that not only performs physical feats of a Paul Bunyan magnitude but is equally sharp with his mind. They come from Warner Brothers, are produced by Leon Schlesinger and are called "Merrie Melodies"; ten of them are being reissued this fall, still as "Merrie Melodies" but with the addition of a Blue Ribbon.
One reason for the brightness of "Merrie Melodies," and for their superiority over fellow travelers in the field, is that Schlesinger is out to make you laugh, bluntly, and as it turns out, cold-bloodedly. This runs him against the grain of the several well worked grooves down which the animated cartoon has traveled under the belief that these grooves will never wear through. However, it no longer seems funny to see animals who talk and act
like human beings, who do all sorts of ingenious tricks—most of them superhuman—who go through lives of the highest excitement and reward, but have no inner, or mental, life. The complex emotional life and three-dimensional nature of the Schlesinger characters allow their makers to poke fun at everything in sight, or out of sight—especially if it is something familiar and well loved, like "Hiawatha," a kind person, or any bad actress' great moments. It is an illusion of most cartoon makers that they must have a moral, or do good, if it means only killing the villain; Schlesinger is not under this illusion. The masterpiece, "Inki and the Lion," is also a masterpiece of amorality—so far the other side of goodness that it is a parody of "Bambi." In this version of forest life Man is the likable spear-thrower, preyed on by animals, and the king of the Forest is a supernatural horror called the Mina bird, who hates man and beast alike. The artistic method in Schlesinger cartoons is neither in Disney's top drawer (at his best) nor Popeye's bottom one, but even so it has gone off at a tangent lately that may open up new paths to the cartoon method. It is a change from the straight, insipid realism to a sophisticated shorthand, made up of flat, stylized, posterlike representations, using a sort of Persian color of fancy tones like dusty pink. It is a much simpler style of cartoon drawing, the animation is less profuse, the details fewer, and it allows for reaching the joke and accenting it much more quickly and directly: it also gets the form out of the impossible dilemma between realism and wacky humor.
The goal in Schlesinger heroes is a comic figure with a temperament and behavior as peculiarly his own as those of a Chaplin or a W. C. Fields, which goal is never achieved; but it leads to several rewards, like the Mina bird, who appears in the "Inki" (little African boy) series. The Mina bird is like a toucan, shaped !like an acorn, coal black, who moves inscrutably in an atmosphere of over-whelming supernaturalism, to the tune of Mendelssohn's overture to "Fingal's Cave." At the end of each musical phrase he gives one prodigious, syncopated hop, thereafter moving forward indomitably. 'The Mina bird is inevitably followed by a passive three-year-old individual named Inki, who loves to throw spears, and by a lion (the lion is Schlesinger's most unsuccessful creation—he looks like Robinson Crusoe). The famous Bugs Bunny is Schlesinger's one-animal advertisement of the moral that unadulterated torturing of your fellow men pays off.
At the 26-issues-per-year rate at which they are thought up, the "Merrie Melodies" are bound to vary greatly in quality. The surprising facts about them are that the good ones ("The Case of the Missing Hare," “Hiawatha's Rabbit Hunt," "Inki and the Lion") are masterpieces and the bad ones aren't a total loss. For instance, the poor "Rabbit Who Came to Dinner" is given a tremendous lift when in the midst of the inevitable and tedious chase of the rabbit by Elmer, the clock strikes twelve and Bugs breaks into one of his typical emotional upsets, roaring out "Auld Lang Syne," kissing Elmer, flinging confetti in the age-old tradition of New Year's Eve—Elmer being as easily diverted in July as in any other month. Schlesinger is in the Sennett tradition, which uses the whole sphere of man's emotion and behavior simply as a butt for humor, no matter what it leads to. The aim is purely and simply laughter. Schlesinger's men are rich and inventive humorists, and their smart-alecky freshness has turned what is meant to be an interval on the program into the moment when the whole audience brightens up. MANNY FARBER
All This and Rabbit Stew has never been on my winner’s list. When I watched it 60-some-odd years ago, I thought the hunter was too slow and stupid. Elmer Fudd may be a bit of a dullard, but at least his emotions change, and he’s a good foil in The Wabbit Who Came to Supper, with Farber describing one of my favourite scenes in the film.
Regardless, the one thing Farber wouldn’t have known at the time was the Warners cartoons got better and better. There were plenty of fine cartoons made before 1948, which were sold to Associated Artists Productions and found their way onto seemingly countless TV stations for ubiquity starting in June 1956. Over the years, millions of young people couldn’t turn away from their TV sets as they watched Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and others (including the unfortunate hunter in Rabbit Stew) over and over and over.
Maybe Farber praised the Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes early, but it’s those kids who grew up to research and write books and fanzine columns about them, creating the foundation of animation history knowledge that, today, seems like it was always there.


















































