The sequence leading up to Hazel losing her ugliness (see here): BROOMSTICK BUNNY (1956)
This Bugs Bunny is far too strong a character to behave as an early Daffy Duck or a late Woody Woodpecker acts. It is no part of his character to go out and bedevil anyone for mischief’s sake alone.
Golden Rule. Bugs must always be provoked. In every film, someone must have designs upon his person: gastronomic, as a trophy, as a good-luck piece (rabbit’s foot, which makes as much sense as a rabbit carrying a human foot on a key chain), as an unwilling participant in a scientific experiment (laboratory rabbit or outer-space creature). Without such threats, Bugs is far too capable a rabbit to evoke the necessary sympathy.
From Hair-Raising Hare (May 1946) on, I did not have to ask for whom the rabbit toiled; he toiled for me. I no longer drew pictures of Bugs; I drew Bugs, I timed Bugs, I knew Bugs, because what Bugs aspired to, I too aspired to. Aside from a few stumbles, Bugs and I were always at ease with one another.
Lobby card sketch for DUCK! RABBIT! DUCK! (1953)
In response to a constantly repeated question, my constantly repeated response is: No, I do not have a favorite character, Bugs or anyone else. Bugs Bunny and Pepé Le Pew are concordant with my aspirations; Daffy Duck, Wile E. Coyote, Elmer Fudd, to mention a few of the losers in our stable, constitute rueful recognition, but every character has contributed to my own development as a writer-director-animator. I also have but few favorite pictures, but I do remember what I call “corner” pictures—those that, as in turning a corner in a strange city, reveal new and enchanting vistas. Among these films, some of which involved Bugs Bunny:
Haredevil Hare (July 1948). The first of our outer-space cartoons, and the first appearance of Marvin Martian and his Illudium Q-36 Space Modulator.
Long-Haired Hare (June 1949). The first of a series of films in which music was the dictating factor.
Frigid Hare (October 1949). This may have been the first time Bugs missed that “left turn at Albuquerque” and also in which he is a rescuer (of a baby penguin) and not a victim.
Rabbit of Seville (December 1950). This was, for me, the first cartoon in which the music absolutely determined the action.
Rabbit Fire (May 1951). The first of the Duck Season/Rabbit Season collisions with Daffy Duck. A final touch I always liked was that it turned out to be Elmer Season.
Bully for Bugs (August 1953). In the classic confrontation with an outsized rival, this was perhaps the most satisfying structurally. The bull was certainly a worthy opponent to Bugs. And equally satisfactory was the fact that I was ordered by Eddie Selzer not to make any pictures about bullfights. “Bullfights aren’t funny!” he said. Since he had never been right in any edict up to that time, it was obvious there was something very funny in the bullring.
Bewitched Bunny (July 1954) and Beanstalk Bunny (February 1955). Getting Bugs and later Daffy mixed in with Hansel and Gretel and a witch whose hobby was eating children, and Elmer Fudd as the Giant at the top of the beanstalk, was too much to resist.
Puzzled Prince: BEWITCHED BUNNY (1954)
Ali Baba Bunny (February 1957). Just weak, I guess, but I could not possibly miss seeing Bugs and Daffy get involved with the giant Hassan (“Hassan chop!”) and the Genie of the Lamp.
What’s Opera, Doc? (July 1957). For sheer production quality, magnificent music, and wonderful animation, this is probably our most elaborate and satisfying production.
Those Bugs features were the most important to me of our corner films, although some of the last cartoons we did at Warner Bros.—Hare Way to the Stars (March 1958), Baton Bunny (January 1959), Rabbit’s Feat (June 1960) with Wile E. Coyote, and The Abominable Snow Rabbit (May 1961)—I think continued to show a fully rounded, intelligent, and funny rabbit. We had a happy life together, but, as the six-year-old boy protested when I was introduced to him as the man who draws Bugs Bunny, “He does not! He draws pictures of Bugs Bunny.”
Hassan: Bewitched, bewildered, and belligerent …
He was absolutely right, and I can think of no happier career than as a man who drew pictures of such a fabulous character.
C.J. at home, Tareco Drive, Hollywood, about 1960
I suppose it would be nice if I knew the age and social structure of my audience, but the truth is, I make cartoons for me. This wasn’t always true. In my more intellectual youth I tried studying audiences—making notes and timing laughs and applause. And the more I learned about audiences, the worse my cartoons grew. So I gave it up and concentrated on learning a little bit about everything that interested me and a lot about drawing, until my hand would respond to what my mind dictated and my brain became a treasure house of pertinent trivia. Then, oddly enough, my cartoons began to evoke laughter.
In the Road Runner cartoons, we hoped to evoke sympathy for the Coyote. It is the basis of the series: the Coyote tries by any means to capture the Road Runner, ostensibly and at first to eat him, but this motive has become beclouded, and it has become, in my mind at least, a question of loss of dignity that forces him to continue. And who is the Coyote’s enemy? Why, the Coyote. The Road Runner has never touched him, never even startled him intentionally beyond coming up behind the Coyote occasionally and going “Beep-Beep!”
No, the only enemy the Coyote has is his overwhelming stubbornness. Like all of us, at least some of the time, he persists in a course of action long after he has forgotten his original reasons for embarking on it.
The Coyote is a history of my own frustration and war with all tools, multiplied only slightly. I
