"What's up, doc?"
An Interview with the Severance Hall-bound Bugs Bunny

Wearing a royal blue satin smoking jacket over his gray trousers and crisp white shirt, the star sauntered into the greenroom, glanced around briefly, and plunked himself down on a comfy-looking sofa. He flashed that famous grin at me and said, ‘What’s up, er, doc?’ And laughed uproariously. Well, actually, cackled might be a closer description of his laugh, which was part chuckle.

“How do you do?” I said, a bit nervously. I wasn’t accustomed to being so close to such a major international celebrity.

He rubbed one white-gloved paw gently over the sofa. “This is pretty nice,” he commented. “But then, you wouldn’t expect Severance Hall to be anything less, would you?” I shook my head in mute agreement.

“Yessir,” he commented under his breath (sotto voce, if you will) “this is the big time.” A wide grin spread across the familiar face. He spread his arms out across the back of the sofa and leaned back, glancing up toward the ceiling. “You know, musicians everywhere dream of someday playing here, in this hall, with this orchestra! It don’t get any better than this.” The grin faded and he looked somewhat somber. “I wish my Mother could be here to see me,” he said, softly, his voice cracking slightly on the last words. “She got me started, you know. Insisted I should learn the piano, which really didn’t work so well, but then she found me a singing teacher, and that’s how it started. And now. . . just think. Bugs Bunny, the kid from Brooklyn sharing a stage with the world-famous Cleveland Orchestra!”

“Where did you get your start?” I asked.

“Well, I was born in Brooklyn. The Brooklyn. I understand you have one here, too,” he said, kindly, “but I mean the real one. The noisy one across the river from the Big Apple!” He glanced around the room again, then whispered to me. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Folks used to say I was born in 1940, because they wanted me to be thought of as a real prodigy kid, you know, kinda like that Mozart fella. Well, that’s when my first big hit was, but the truth is, I was really born in 1938.” He looked down at his neatly tailored self and said, “I think I’m holdin’ up pretty good, don’t you?”

What could I do but agree? I nodded again.

“See, conductors get better with age, so I’m just really in my prime now.” He pulled a carrot out of one pocket and started to absent-mindedly nibble at it. “Conducting is really the thing. Of course, I did like singing in the operas, too, and you’ll see some of my best films in this show we’re doing here, but after a while, all that running around and carrying on really makes you extra tired, so I think it’s more dignified now to conduct.” He waved the carrot around like a baton as he talked.

“Which was your favorite opera?” I asked.

“Wow. That’s a toughie. Lemme think a minute.” He took another bite of the carrot. “I have to admit, I’m partial to Rossini. That Rabbit of Seville—it was my first really big hit, and you can’t ever ignore that kind of feeling. You always remember your first. The triumph! The roses that were thrown at me by all the pretty young ladies! It was incredible. But then, we did some Wagner, you know with the helmets and all? Elmer did his best, but he just didn’t have it like I did. Although I suppose you can say he won, since he ended up carrying me off stage. I did think it would be the other way around—he nearly went into shock when my wig fell off, and I’d already lost my pink ruffled dress with all that runnin’ around (boy, that was somethin’, let me tell you!), but he toughed it out. Kill the rabbit! What kind of lyrics is that, I ask you!”

A few more nibbles at the carrot delayed him for a moment. “But then, we did A Rainy Night in Rio and that was terrific—I really got a bang out of that one! I played the tuba. That’s how far I’d progressed in my survey of the orchestra instruments. But that was before I turned to conducting!” He suddenly sat up straight and looked directly at me. “You know, I’m really what they call a multi-media star. I mean, did you know I have my very own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? And not only did I get nominated four times for an Academy Award—the really big deal out there in California!—but the fourth time, I won! Me! Bugs Bunny! Now, they introduce me as ‘ . . . that Oscar-winning rabbit . . .’ and they ain’t lyin’ about it, neither! And my television show? Well, that only ran on network TV for 40 years! Name me another one with that kind of longerevity [sic]! And there’s a few of them video games out there too, but—” and here he lowered his voice a bit, “I don’t talk about them in front of the children.”

I had to admit I didn’t know all these things. But I did have questions to ask. For instance, “Did you have mentors to help you along? Who were your greatest influences?”

He chuckled, then took another bite of his carrot. “Of course I did,” he said, his tone of voice indicating he didn’t think much of the question. “I was named after Ben Hardaway, you know. He really gave me my start, but there were others, too, who helped me get to where I am today. Bob Clampett, Tex Avery, Robert McKimson, Chuck Jones, Friz Freleng, and of course Mel Blanc. Now, he’s the one who taught me how to talk. Those other gents taught me other things I needed to know. How to move, how to dance, how to dress—you know, they really took me in hand and showed me how to do things right. But Mel, he’s the one that gave me my voice.”

He was deep in thought as he gazed out the window, then turned back to me. “I thought about retiring when Mel passed on. Seriously, I did. But, by that time, my new manager, George Daugherty, had come along, and he convinced me to keep going, and continue to make people laugh. Laughing these days is almost as hard to do as it was when I first started. Oh, and that reminds me, did you know I was an honorary Marine Master Sergeant, and was named an ‘emblem mascot’ for five US Army Air Force Squadrons?” As he said this, he held up both front paws so I could count five fingers worth. I admit it, I was impressed.

“But I learned from watching some of the best. Groucho Marx – that’s how I learned to twirl my carrot, you know, by watching old Grouch there. He was more than just funny. He was a master! And then, one day, we was watching Clark Gable in a film and he was the boss! He was just standing there, leaning against a fence talking to that dishy Claudette Colbert, and I thought ‘I could do that.’ And sure enough, I been doin’ it ever since! But only ’cause Chuck Jones let me do it!”

“But where I really got lucky was with the music they found for me to perform to. That Carl Stallings, you know, he wasn’t just chopped liver! Oh, no. He was a musical genius. Of course, he got his start playing for the early silent flicks—lotsa good people did—so he had a real good background and understanding of movies, and what kind of music goes with what. Some of the time, he arranged tunes by some of the greatest composers ever, and other times he wrote his own.” Again, he sat up and looked directly into my eyes. “And you know what? I’ve heard many a hep cat say his music is right up there with that Raymond Scott feller, and real serious composers like Stockhausen and Boulez. Of course, we had the best studio players too. They treated us pretty good at Warner.” He paused for a minute, flashed that grin again, and said, “Did I mention that I’m on the first ’toon stamp? Yessir, in 1997, that was. Now, lots of my pals have them, too, but I was numero uno!”

“Ummm. You mentioned chopped liver a moment ago. Do you like chopped liver?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly!” he admonished. “I’m a vegetarian, for Pete’s sake! And no, before you ask, I don’t know who that Pete is. But I’m strictly a veggie kind of guy. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a gourmet cook, by any means, but I’ve picked up a few tips here and there from my travels around the world, and I can conjure up a mean dish of carrots, let me tell you.” He sat back again, looking rather smug.

“Could you tell me about a few of them, maybe? Or what would be your favorite meal?” I asked, quietly.

“Hmmm. Let me think a minute here. I rather like the way the French do these things, so you’ll have to pardon my fondness for that language here. I’d begin with Carottes aux champignons, or maybe Carottes aux truffes or my least favorite Carottes au caviar. Then, the main course would be either Carottes à la crème avec le piment de la Jamaïque or Carrottes gratinée. Naturally, there can be only one choice for dessert—gâteau Carotte. Yum.” His eyes closed briefly, as a blissful look came over his face. Absent-mindedly, the ever-present carrot made its way to his mouth again. “Oh! All this talk of food makes me think of eating. And that makes me hungry!” He turned to face me directly once again. “Any more questions, doll?”

“Oh. Umm. What do you do for entertainment? For yourself, I mean?”

This time the look he shot me clearly indicated his impression of my intelligence—or lack of it.

“I watch my movies, of course! Doesn’t everyone?” He stood up and headed for the door. “See ya in the concert hall!”

Bugs Bunny On Broadway will be presented at Severance Hall with The Cleveland Orchestra, conducted by George Daugherty on Friday, December 7, and Saturday, December 8 at 7:30PM plus a 2PM program on Saturday, December 8. A pre-concert talk (free to concert-goers) will be given by Daniel Goldmark, professor of music history at Case Western Reserve University and author of Tunes for 'Toons. For tickets or other information, call 231-1111, or visit the orchestra’s website: http://www.clevelandorchestra.com.

From Cool Cleveland contributor Kelly Ferjutz artswriterATroadrunner.com
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