B.A., M.A. (Ottawa)
Dissertation: Cartoons Ain't Human: Reflections on the Uses and Meanings of Anthropomorphism in Mid-Twentieth Century American Animated Shorts
Examining Committee:
Michael Epp (Supervisor), Ian McLachlan, Daniel Mroz
External Examiner: David McGowan (Savannah College of Art and Design)
Internal Exmainer: Paul Manning
Chair: Kelly Egan
Abstract
Why show things that aren’t people acting like people? In the field of animation, it’s a surprisingly big “why?”, because it’s a “why?” that doesn’t lead to any sort of doctrine of ontology, of inevitability, of manifest destiny, or of anything like that. But it does lead to another “why?”—“why did anthropomorphic depictions of animals and non-human entities come to define an entire era of American short-form animation?” When we think about ‘classic era’ cartoon shorts, the first names that come to mind are likely to be those of anthropomorphic animal characters—Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny, and a list of others so numerous that any machine Wile E. Coyote tried to build to count them all would probably explode. This can make us lose sight of the fact that human characters had their place as well in these films: Bugs and Daffy regularly tangled with Elmer Fudd; the studio that made cartoon stars of Betty Boop and Popeye produced no famous animal characters at all in its heyday. And yet, it’s the animals that steal the show in the animated shorts produced by major studios in America from the 1920s through the 1960s. Part of their appeal lies in the fact that they were useful and recognizable substitutes for humans. Without making things too ‘personal’ for the audience, they could be used to examine and deconstruct social practices in the full-speed-ahead period that took America from World War I to the war in Vietnam. Animals weren’t the only ones to get a full-on anthropomorphic treatment in these shorts. Machines and other artefacts came to life and became sites of interrogation for contemporary anxieties about the twentieth century’s ever-expanding technological infrastructure; parts of the natural world, from plant life to the weather, acted with minds of their own in ways that harken back to the earliest animistic folk beliefs. No matter when or how it’s being used, anthropomorphism in animation is a device for answering, not one big “why?”, but a lot of little “why?”s. What you’re about to read is an exploration of a few of those little “why?”s
Rick Cousins is the collective name shared by a troupe of characters which includes an obscure cartoonist, an almost completely unknown writer, performer and sound designer of touring fringe theatre, and a variety of disembodied CBC Radio voices who usually said something not quite serious about some oddball sidelight of culture and the arts. Speaking of which...Rick's master's thesis and subsequent award-winning book (yes--award-winning! Can you believe it?) dealt with anticipations of postmodern thought in the surreal radio comedy series The Goon Show. Rick's current work on anthropomorphic animals in animation may eventually help him to become one.