Elizabeth Lyons-Beal
Released in 1988, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is a beautiful blend of old and new—seamlessly blurring the boundaries of animation and live action within a midcentury American landscape. However, these are not the only boundaries the film blurs. Who Framed Roger Rabbit? takes place in 1947 and tells the story of Eddie Valiant, an alcoholic private investigator who, following the death of his brother/partner at the hands of a “Toon” (one of the many animated cartoons who inhabit this version of Los Angeles), vows to never again work with members of this group. However, when a famous Toon by the name of Roger Rabbit is framed for the murder of the equally famous inventor Marvin Acme, Eddie begrudgingly helps clear his name. Over the course of this film, paranoia, deception, adultery, blackmail, and mystery all pepper the screen as Eddie uncovers the truth behind this highly publicized murder.
Yet this movie is not an entirely original creation. It is loosely based upon Gary Wolf’s 1981 mystery novel Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, and consequently has the same general setting and many of the same characters.[1] One theme which is consistent across both works is the fear and marginalization of the “Other,” as Toons are treated as second class citizens in both iterations of the narrative. While this fear of the Other is a theme that is pervasive across the film noir genre, this is arguably the greatest similarity between the novel and film, as they do diverge in respect to many other classic noir tropes. Take, for example, the characterization of Roger’s wife, sexy leading lady Jessica Rabbit. While she is depicted as a sultry bombshell in both pieces, these characters’ behavior could not be more different. Is she a femme fatale? If not, how does she fit into the noir world? Likewise, the novel and film’s differing treatments of classic noir themes such as cynicism and fatalism render these two works distinct creative endeavors. In this paper, I will explore how the novel plays to classic noir tropes, while the film ultimately provides a brighter, more optimistic take on the noir vision.
“Who belongs where?”: Racial Inequality and Un-American Sentiment
Despite their fantastical, animated physicality, the Toons in both the novel and the film face discrimination that parallels that which marginalized people of color faced in the United States in the 1940s. This discrepancy in power is especially evident when the book alludes to characters working in service. When Eddie visits Baby Herman, a famous and successful Toon in the entertainment industry, he is first greeted by a human man as he inwardly remarks, “The ultimate Toon status symbol, a human servant, in this case a butler in full regalia, opened the door” (Wolf 11). Baby Herman employing a human in this way subverts the traditional social hierarchy between these two classes. The fact that this particular power dynamic—a human serving a Toon—is considered a “status symbol” reveals a marked disparity in the way in which Toons and humans are viewed by society in this setting. Eddie sees a more typical example of the working relationship between humans and Toons when he questions Rocco, a “human”[2] character: “Rocco crossed his legs so that two teeny-weeny trolls, gripping opposite ends of a third troll dipped in shoe polish, could seesaw across his immense upraised oxford” (39). This level of servitude on the part of Toons appears to be par for the course in this universe, as Eddie does not bat an eye at the self-deprecating display. This flavor of discrimination is reminiscent of that which people of color experienced in the 1940s, as racially marginalized people often had limited employment options and frequently turned to find work in domestic servitude. In Los Angeles at this time, it would be typical for a white family to employ a black or Latino domestic servant, and the roles would very rarely be reversed. The juxtaposing roles of humans and Toons in this landscape thus represent the oppression that marginalized communities were wont to face in 1940s Los Angeles.
Though the film shows neither humans nor Toons working in domestic servitude explicitly, it illustrates a similar sense of “racial” inequality in other ways, many of which are evident in the scene where Eddie sees Jessica Rabbit for the first time. R.K. Maroon hires Eddie to take pictures of Jessica Rabbit and Marvin Acme after her show at the Ink and Paint Club, a club which Maroon describes as a “strictly humans-only Toon Revue” (00:07:07-00:07:14). When Eddie arrives, it is clear that the club is exactly as advertised: all of the guests are human and all of the servers and entertainers are Toons. This segregation reflects the real world experience of black Americans in the 1940s. This club is “humans-only,” a racist signpost which also occurs at various junctures in the novel, e.g.: when Eddie rides the “humans-only elevator” to get to Carol Masters’ studio, or when he whizzes past several “human-only” and “Toon-only” bars in search of one that will accept both him and Roger Rabbit (Wolf 15, 20). This is a direct allusion to Jim Crow laws that, while alleged to keep black and white Americans “separate but equal,” merely served to oppress African Americans by limiting their civil rights. African Americans were not legally allowed to inhabit “white only” spaces as guests; however, they were often employed as servers or entertainers, catering to the demands and voyeuristic gazes of white customers. Therefore, the similarly segregated culture of the Ink and Paint Club captures the essence of Jim Crow; Toons are there only to serve humans through either literal service, or through superficial entertainment.
This extreme othering of Toons is a direct reflection of the xenophobic anxiety that plagues much of the film noir genre. In Dark Borders: Film Noir and American Citizenship, Jonathan Auerbach discusses the anxieties surrounding citizenship and national identity in mid-twentieth century America in relation to the sense of alienation evident in American film noir—alienation which he states, “corresponds closely to the Cold War’s redefinition of the rights and responsibilities of citizenship” (2). He notes that the period between the 1930s and the mid-1950s was a time of questioning for Americans who, finding themselves more and more fixated on the idea of national belonging, started asking questions: Who is American? Who is not? How can I know the difference? This final question was an especial source of anxiety for Americans during the beginnings of the Cold War, as the enemy (i.e.: communists) did not necessarily have a defined “look.” As a result, the noir genre blurs boundaries as perceived foreigners supposedly take over domestic spaces, leaving noir protagonists feeling like “strangers in [their] own home” (6). Auerbach expands upon this idea by relating it to Freud’s concept of home and the uncanny:
Freud’s emphasis on the concept of home certainly makes an analysis [of the nation-state] available, as a number of his examples indicate: “Is it still heimliche[3] to you in your country where strangers are felling your woods?” . . . The uncanny in this regard is primarily a matter of trespassing or boundary crossing, where inside and outside grow confused as (presumed) foreigners enter domestic space and, conversely, the home reveals dark secrets hidden within. To feel that your home is strange, or more precisely, to feel like a stranger in your own house—this is the peculiar condition of citizenship intensified by wartime security measures, as well as a primary emotion driving many films noirs of the 1940s and 1950s (6).
Because the enemy could presumably be anyone hiding in plain sight, the home takes the shape of an eerie, boundaryless place, leaving noir protagonists with no strong sense of belonging. As “strange” Others begin to fill a space, potentially outnumbering the dominant position of the self, the idea of strangeness becomes jumbled: who is the “strange” one, if the previously dominant, majority group is rendered no more than a minority? This dynamic shift leads to a perceived loss of identity and feelings of alienation, as the owner of the space begins to feel like a “stranger” in their own country. Eddie Valliant’s prejudice against Toons—and specifically the frequency with which he must confront humanoid/human-passing Toons—evoke a similar sense of isolation, prompted by the uncanny boundary-crossing that he faces in an ever diversifying Los Angeles.[4]
Both the novel and the film touch upon the uncanny concept of “crossing the line,” a process wherein humanoid Toons live their lives presenting themselves as human. The book first introduces the concept as playful speculation, when Eddie notes “a common belief that certain humans—Babe Ruth, Mae West, the Marx Brothers . . . were really humanoid Toons who had crossed the line” (Wolf 20). This idea comes into play at various other points in the novel: Eddie remarks that humanoid Toons such as Jessica Rabbit will often suppress their speech bubbles[5] in order to appear more human-like, and it is later revealed that both Rocco and Dominick DeGreasy’s birth records indicate that, contrary to their humanoid presentation, they were born Toons and have, therefore, “done an excellent job of crossing the line” (199). Likewise, this phenomenon also occurs in the film, when villain Judge Doom reveals that he has been a Toon in disguise all along (01:28:58-01:29:30). In each of these instances, characters intentionally cross the line, trespassing into an otherwise inhospitable world, in order to gain something that would otherwise be unattainable for members of their class: Jessica suppresses her speech bubbles to diversify her modeling prospects, enabling her to model in both human and Toon advertisements; Rocco and Dominick DeGreasy become human to bolster the success of their cartoon syndicate, and Judge Doom passes as human to achieve a position of authority within the Toon community so that he may ultimately destroy Toontown to satisfy his wicked greed. Eddie Valiant, who generally dislikes and distrusts Toons in each iteration of Roger Rabbit, finds that he must navigate Los Angeles as an uncanny space—Toons are infiltrating institutions that, prior to 1947, were typically reserved for humans. As the “inside and outside grow confused,” per Auerbach, Eddie is left questioning what he perceives to be the natural order of Los Angeles and, by extension, the United States as a whole. Therefore, Eddie’s anxiety surrounding the “How can I know the difference?” question, as it pertains to the dichotomy between humans and Toons, echoes the American versus un-American sentiment of the mid-twentieth century, and its presence in both the novel and film reflects the xenophobic fear that pervades the film noir corpus.
“Is she bad, or is she just drawn that way?”: Jessica Rabbit as a Femme Fatale
While the novel and the film both show Toons as marginalized “Others,” reflecting the xenophobic anxiety conventional within the noir genre, there are key differences that distinguish the film Who Framed Roger Rabbit? from its crime novel inspiration. One noticeable difference between the novel and the film is the depiction of Roger’s wife, Jessica Rabbit. Both versions of Jessica Rabbit utter the famous line, “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way,” but this statement is apparently debunked in the novel as Jessica shows that she is, in fact, “bad” by many definitions of the word. On the other hand, film-Jessica, while still mysterious and sexually tempting, proves herself to be loyal and trustworthy when Roger Rabbit and Eddie Valiant need her most. So, can we in good conscious call Jessica Rabbit a femme fatale in the book? The film? The fatal woman trope is ubiquitous in literature and culture; women have often been depicted as entities who serve to tempt, seduce, and corrupt men—after all, everyone knows that it was Eve who tempted Adam in the garden.[6]
In “Film Noir’s ‘Femme Fatales’ Hard-Boiled Women: Moving Beyond Gender Fantasies,” Julie Grossman offers a definition of the femme fatale, saying that she can be characterized as an “evil [woman] whose raison d’être is to murder and deceive.” However, she argues against the conventional wisdom of the noir genre by submitting that the majority of the noir women characters we refer to as “fatale” are unfairly categorized as such. Grossman submits that these women are acting largely out of necessity:
Exigency for most so-called femmes fatales moves these women to express—in aggressive physical and verbal gestures—an insistence on independence, which is then misread as the mark of the “femme fatale.” Readings of and references to the “femme fatale” miss the extent to which the role depends on the theme of female independence, often misconceiving her motives and serving mainly to confound our understanding of the gender fantasies that surround these so-called bad women. Such myths are perpetuated now both by film criticism and popular culture (21-22).
Many of the noir women frequently referred to as femmes fatales are not actually evil, murderous or deceitful, per Grossman’s definition of the trope. Instead, it is the gendered expectation that women be mild and virginal that lends to the characterization of independent, sexually expressive women as “bad.” Taking this disparity into account, other scholars define the femme fatale not by her intentions or by the content of her character, but rather by the effect that she has on noir men. James Maxfield examines noir women who are “‘fatal’ to the hero but who are not themselves evil or deliberate agents of the hero’s destruction as the classic femmes fatales . . . are seen to be.” He submits that the true theme of these movies could, therefore, be regarded as “male anxiety over . . . vulnerability” (Kaplan 5). These frameworks undoubtedly complicate Jessica Rabbit’s status as a femme fatale, which then begs the question: is she “bad”? Or is she “just drawn that way”?
The Jessica Rabbit in the book, Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, often acts in her own self-interests and frequently uses her sexuality to get her way. This version of Jessica leaves her sleazy beau Rocco DeGreasy and apparently marries Roger on a whim and, after a year of marriage, leaves Roger as suddenly as she appeared and returns to Rocco. When asked about his brother’s turbulent relationship with Jessica, Dominick DeGreasy insists, “Sure she came back to him, but only when she found out that the rabbit couldn’t give her what Rocco could. She was out for nobody but herself” (Wolf 77). Similarly, the photographer character, Carol Masters, believes that Jessica is a gold-digging social climber. Masters alleges that, following Rocco’s death, Jessica will move on to his son for his inheritance: “If Little Rock inherits Rocco’s estate, Jessica’s number comes up, and she wins big. She’ll marry him and live happily ever after on his money. If he doesn’t inherit, she’ll rip him into teeny pieces and toss him into her wastebasket” (114). Now, please bear in mind that both of these allegations, although incriminatory, are merely second-hand accounts. Even more damning are the instances where Jessica herself offers to sleep with Eddie in exchange for his help and compliance, “[using] her body as currency with a shrug and a smirk” (Flowers 23). Moreover, she all but admits to goading Carol Masters and Little Rock into murdering Rocco, ensuring that she would reap the benefits Rocco’s inheritance—either directly (should she be named in the will), or through seducing Rocco’s son and other potential heir, Little Rock (Wolf 189). Though this plan ultimately does not come to fruition, Jessica’s willingness to inspire murder and to seduce men for personal gain does place her under both Grossman and Maxfield’s definitions of the classic femme fatale: she is murderous, despite never actually pulling a trigger, she deceives by way of feigning love and affection for men from whom she has something to gain, and, even looking past her intentions, she ultimately brings her unlucky male suitors to their untimely ends.
However, the Jessica Rabbit audiences see in the film, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, is more nuanced in her characterization. With seductive eyes, a sultry voice, and cartoonishly flattering proportions, film-Jessica undeniably captures the aesthetic of the fatal noir woman. However, the parallels become thinner when one examines the content of her character. While there are instances where she uses her sexuality for apparently dubious purposes, she always does so with the intention of helping her husband. After Eddie photographs her seemingly committing adultery by way of a game of pattycake, Jessica reveals that she is merely a pawn in R.K. Maroon’s scheme: Maroon needs some dirt to blackmail Marvin Acme, so he threatened to blacklist Roger if Jessica did not agree to pose for those pictures (00:22:29-00:23:23). As she relates this information to Eddie, she stands firm in her loyalty to Roger, saying, “I’d do anything for my husband, Mr. Valiant…Anything,” implying that she is willing to do sexual favors for Eddie if it means she is able to help her husband, as she has apparently done in the past (if pattycake counts as sexual, and it seems to) (00:47:45-00:47:50). Additionally, though she is not afraid to resort to violence, she only does so to protect “the good guys”: Eddie and her husband, Roger. She saves Eddie’s life when she shoots at Judge Doom, whom she frightens away in the nick of time (01:14:14-01:14:17). Similarly, she unapologetically knocks Roger unconsciousness with a frying pan and puts him in Eddie’s trunk to protect him from incurring further harm (01:14:45-01:14:58). Though her methods are not necessarily conventional, film-Jessica’s love and devotion for her husband fuel her every move, and she is an invaluable asset to the noir protagonist. Thus, the film iteration of Jessica Rabbit is not a femme fatale, but a femme faux-tale. Her hypersexualized physique may give her the appearance of the classic fatal woman, but to call her a femme fatale because of the way that she is “drawn” is to demonize her sexuality as something inherently evil or destructive—an unfair categorization. Even applying the broader definition of the femme fatale as one who is defined not by intent, but by the disastrous effect she has on the noir protagonist, it is clear that film-Jessica does not fit the bill. She is by no means a deceitful temptress, and she does not contribute to anyone’s destruction or fall from grace. The film’s iteration of Jessica can thus be categorized as a character who, despite having the requisite “look,” is playing against the stereotypes of the femme fatale: a femme faux-tale.
“Will lady luck pay you a call?”: Fatalism in Roger Rabbit
The differences between the novel and film versions of Jessica Rabbit reveal the underlying distinction between the novel and the film as a whole: despite the larger than life, fictional world in which the novel takes place, Who Censored Roger Rabbit? plays the noir tropes surprisingly straight. The femme fatale’s very presence threatens devastation, the protagonist struggles with the notion of identity (resulting in prejudice against the “Other”), the reader never knows who to trust, and the ending is just as bleak as the one might expect from a conventional noir crime novel. Even the prize for which many characters compete is an ode to that of noir stalwart The Maltese Falcon (1931).[7]However, the film veers in a much lighter direction:[8] Jessica is loyal and morally upright, not villainous; Eddie’s prejudice against Toons is given a sympathetic back story (a Toon killed his brother), and he slowly becomes more fun-loving and accepting; Judge Doom provides a very clear antagonist; and the ending is quite literally sunshine and rainbows. Many of the film’s changes can be traced back to a different relationship with fatalism, a philosophical worldview that is common within the noir genre. A fatalist—one who ascribes to a fatalistic perspective—is defined as one who:
. . . thinks he cannot do anything about the future. He thinks it is not up to him what is going to happen next year, tomorrow, or the very next moment . . . It would, accordingly, be pointless for him to deliberate about what he is going to do, for a man deliberates only about such things as he believes are within his power to do and to forego, or to affect by his doings and foregoings. A fatalist, in short, thinks of the future in the manner in which we all think of the past. (Taylor 56)
This mindset is a prevalent theme in noir, as protagonists find that, no matter what they do, they cannot escape that which would appear to be predetermined. Many significant plot points in the novel Who Censored Roger Rabbit? illustrate the fatalist philosophy in surprising, nonconventional ways.
Firstly, much of the novel’s action revolves around the idea of the temporary “duplicate,” a clone that Toons can produce at will, usually used as stunt doubles, errand runners, or alibies (in Roger Rabbit’s case). Duplicates look, act, and think exactly like their creators; the only caveat is that they disintegrate after just a few days or so, depending on the amount of effort that goes into their manifestation. The “real” Roger Rabbit is killed within the first few chapters, and it is his remaining duplicate who wants so desperately to solve the mystery of who shot the real Roger before the former’s inevitable disintegration. This format, a victim becoming his own private investigator, is also the plot of noir classic D.O.A (1949). In The Red and the Black: American Film Noir in the 1950s, Robert Miklitsch describes the unusual opening scene of this film, in which protagonist Frank Bigelow takes to the police station:
… since the sign on the door says “Homicide,” we suspect that the man has come to the police station to report a murder, and the ensuing laconic exchange between the police captain and the man appears to confirm our expectations: “Man: I wanna [sic] report a murder.” “Captain: Sit down. Where was this murder committed?” “Man: San Francisco last night.” “Captain: Who was murdered?” It’s only after the last question that we finally get a reverse shot, the camera cutting to a close-up of the man’s face before he declares—after a long pause—“I was.” (98)
In both D.O.A and Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, murder victims have the fortune (or misfortune, depending on perspective) to have “survived” their own murders in some capacity: Bigelow has been poisoned and has only days to live, and the Roger we see for the majority of the novel is an artificial copy that has just days to live, as well. In both cases, the murder victim desires closure and works tirelessly to solve their own murder, despite their inability to outrun their predetermined fate. Miklitsch expands on the theme of fatalism as it exists in D.O.A and likens Bigelow’s plight to a “metaphysical maze . . . [with] no escape.” He describes the scene in which Bigelow faces the urn that holds the remains of the man he has been tracking: “The urn represents what Bigelow will soon be—ashes . . . Hence the futility of Bigelow’s attempt to escape via a door that Majak, blithely waving his hand, observes is a closet” (105-106). No matter what he decides to do, Bigelow’s fate remains the same: he has a one way ticket to the undertaker, and there are no emergency exits—only deceptive closets. He knows that he is powerless to stop his inevitable demise, which is why he focuses his energy elsewhere by way of seeking justice.
Similarly, the Roger in the book is also bent on solving his own murder, despite his own impending death. He is forced to face his mortality at several points in the novel, most of which occur when his body begins to fall apart. Early on, he says to Eddie, “I’ve started to have this feeling that I’m coming apart at the seams. I don’t know for sure, but I believe maybe I’m preparing to disintegrate” (Wolf 120). Roger’s expiration is, indeed, revealed to be fast approaching, as he and Eddie must keep track of his failing parts as they tumble off of his body. Eddie tries to help Roger feel better by using super glue and other adhesives to stick his parts back on, but they both know that it is nothing more than a temporary fix. Sure enough, at the end of the novel, Roger Rabbit lies on his death bed as Eddie talks him through the various cases he has cracked. While Eddie discovers the truth behind Roger’s murderer,[9] he also admits that he figured out that Roger, himself, is the one who killed Rocco. This revelation turns the sweet moment sour, as Eddie explains that Roger had intended to frame him for Rocco’s murder. However, Eddie reveals that he has known the truth for a while, yet he saw no point in dropping Roger’s case. Their final exchange reads:
“So while I played dumb with you, you played the sap for me . . . You’re a decent human being, Eddie. What is it you private eyes call it? A stand up guy.” He reached out his paw to shake, but it dissolved on the way. He reached out his other one, but it went likewise. He winked an eye instead, and the rest of him crumbled to dust. I opened my apartment window and let the draft have Roger’s remains. I looked up at the sky. It was one of those rare days when the Earth revolves a little faster and shoos away the smog. You could see a long way, but not half as far as Roger had gone. (226)
Roger accepts his fate with a wink, indicating that he has come to terms with his death. He always knew it was going to come to this, and he appears at peace with the choices he made during his final few days on Earth—playing detective with Eddie and helping solve his own murder. This acceptance confirms that, for Roger, it was never about changing his fate. It was about achieving closure by uncovering the truth behind his delayed assassination. In this regard, both Bigelow and Roger are helpless to control their ultimate destiny, as they exist in narratives that cultivate fatalistic themes.
The film Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, on the other hand, largely centers upon the opportunity to change either one’s self or one’s circumstances for the better. Whereas the novel Who Censored Roger Rabbit? focuses primarily on understanding what has already come to pass, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is about learning, growing, and making room for a brighter future. The Eddie Valiant in the movie used to be a fun, goofy guy, as evinced by the pictures hanging around his office showing him, his brother, and his father in full clown regalia.[10] There are also several newspaper clippings that reveal that Eddie and his brother, Teddy, used to work a considerable number of Toon cases. However, the audience learns that Eddie’s opinion of Toons was tainted when a Toon killed his brother while they were working a case in Toontown. This prejudice and generally unpleasant disposition prompt Roger Rabbit to affectionately refer to Eddie as a “sourpuss,” as the latter is shown time and time again to abhor all things comical. He does, however, eventually develop a soft spot for Roger, who slowly but surely reawakens Eddie’s goofy nature. This change is on full display at the end of the film, when Eddie must unleash his inner clown to defeat Judge Doom’s lackies, the weasels, who are prone to laughing themselves to death. Once he successfully vanquishes the weasels and Judge Doom, and frees Roger and Jessica Rabbit, Roger remarks, “That was a pretty funny dance you did for the weasels. Do you think your days of being a sourpuss are over?” and proceeds to shock him with an Acme hand buzzer. Eddie looks furious, and the crowd falls silent in anxious anticipation, until his finally responds, “Does this answer your question?” and plants a big smooch on Roger (01:35:23-01:36:14). This gesture illustrates Eddie’s character arc throughout the film: he has overcome his prejudice against Toons, and he has rediscovered his sense of humor. This is in stark contrast to the Eddie Valiant in the book, who begins his story with unwarranted bias and, though he develops a friendship of sorts with Roger, appears to round out the narrative in roughly the same hard-boiled position.
In addition to the opportunity for personal growth, the film Who Framed Roger Rabbit? is a more optimistic story as a whole, as Eddie thwarts Judge Doom’s nefarious plot to destroy Toontown in favor of building a Los Angeles freeway. This plot device is inspired by real world events, events which Eric Avila explores in “LA’s Invisible Freeway Revolt: The Cultural Politics of Fighting Freeways.” Avila explains that, following WWII, the United States shifted to a new spatial paradigm known as the “postwar urban region,” which consisted of “slum clearance [and] highway construction” (831). Citizens were thus routinely forced out of their homes in the name of “progress”—but this displacement did not affect all people in the same way. Those who felt empowered to stand up against freeway construction did so, and their ability to successfully muster opposition informs our collective memory of the “freeway revolts.” Unsurprisingly, these people were primarily white and affluent. Avila remarks, “[There is] no surprise in the fact that a neighborhood in the throes of racial succession succumbed to the Interstate juggernaut, and no surprise that Beverly Hills did not” (835). As Toons are depicted as marginalized “Others” in this film, their inability to fight back against the terror of urban highway construction reflects the experiences of those whose marginalized neighborhoods fell victim to “progress” in the mid-twentieth-century. Eddie Valiant thus acts as a Toon savior,[11] protecting a vulnerable community from a government entity that does not have their best interests in mind. Therefore, instead of illustrating the fatalistic noir themes that pervade the novel, the film portrays the message that effecting positive change in the world is not only possible, but worth fighting for.
Smile Darn Ya Smile: Conclusion
Although Who Censored Roger Rabbit? and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? share a similar universe, the novel and the film each employ vastly different characterizations, plots, and thematic elements. They both use the relationship between humans and Toons to highlight the American versus un-American and otherwise prejudiced sentiment that is evident within the noir genre, but the similarities become thinner from there. The Jessica Rabbit in the book is the quintessential femme fatale by most definitions—scheming and seducing so that she may destroy men and acquire whatever her heart desires. Film-Jessica, on the other hand, is loyal, brave, and incredibly loving. Her overt sexuality and exaggerated physique create the illusion of the femme fatale, but it is simply that: an illusion, a femme faux-tale. Further, the book and the film differ in their depictions of fate and agency. The characters in Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, particularly Eddie and Roger, are not concerned with altering their lives or their “selves.” Roger employs a fatalistic outlook when he accepts that he has been murdered, and Eddie, even after everything that he goes through within the text, is not inclined to change his cynical ways. However, the characters of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? believe in achieving personal growth and affecting one’s own destiny. Eddie undergoes an enormous change from sourpuss to goofball,[12] and he is able to save Toontown from destruction at the hands of Judge Doom. However, despite these numerous changes between the crime novel and the film, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? undeniably deserves a seat at the film noir table. Though some of the elements border on parody, this movie shares the basic story pattern of a noir: the investigator (Eddie Valliant), the victim (Roger Rabbit), and the psychopath (Judge Doom) (Hirsch 167). Eddie Valiant must make sense of a topsy-turvy, corrupt world, where nothing and no one is quite what they seem—and what is more noir than that?
[1] Their names, if not their actual characterizations.
[2] Although Rocco is later revealed to be a Toon masquerading as a human with the help of genie magic, he is meant to be read as human in this part of the story.
[3] German: “homely”
[4] It is also worth noting that Roger Rabbit takes place in 1947, a year of political and social consequence for the United States; Auerbach notes that 1947 was “arguably the defining moment of the Cold War [as it] marked the Truman Doctrine proclaiming the intention of the United States to defend against Soviet incursion around the globe” (Auerbach 2).
[5] Toons reflexively emit speech bubbles filled with their dialog, which they can manipulate stylistically to emphasize their emotions. If they wish, they can also suppress these bubbles completely.
[6] Despite this being “common knowledge,” it is not actually true. Eve is not present when God warns Adam of the dangers of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. By the next book, Eve is aware that they are not to eat this tree’s fruit, but she is under the impression that this is because the fruit is poisonous, or “deadly” (as this is what God said to Adam). When the serpent assures her that it is, in fact, “good to eat,” she takes the bait and offers the fruit to Adam, which assures their banishment from the garden of Eden (Genesis 2-3). The only “tempting” to speak of is done by the serpent, Satan. However, the pervasive image of Eve as a deceitful temptress demonstrates a cultural willingness to accept the fatal woman archetype.
[7] Before the true origin of the prized teakettle-turned-magic-lamp is revealed, Jessica asserts that it is a valuable artifact of the tenth century—made of gold and inlaid with diamonds and other precious stones. She claims it eventually came under the watch of the Templar Knights who painted it gray to keep it safe from bandits, but it was nonetheless stolen and subsequently lost to history. This backstory mirrors that of the prize in Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon, in which characters vie for an approximately 400-year-old, jewel-encrusted bird statuette made by the Knights of Malta. Similar to the teakettle, this prize is covered in black enamel.
[8] The relative cheerfulness of the film is most likely a result of its affiliating with Disney.
[9] Roger was murdered by a disgruntled genie. Presented without comment.
[10] If you look closely, you can see that the clown picture reads “on the road with dad,” indicating that his father was a traveling circus clown. Similarly, in Eddie and Teddy’s LAPD group photo, they don big red noses and even bigger smiles (00:27:18-00:27:27).
[11] The Eddie Valiant in the film is arguably an unconventional embodiment of the “white savior” complex, but that is an argument for another day.
[12] He even presumably makes the change from alcoholism to sobriety, as he is shown emptying his liquor bottle in the third act of the film, once again going against noir P.I. tropes.
Works Cited
Auerbach, Jonathan. Dark Borders: Film Noir and American Citizenship. 2011. Web.
Avila, Eric. “LA’s Invisible Freeway Revolt: The Cultural Politics of Fighting Freeways.” Journal Of Urban History40.5 (2014): 831-42. Web.
Carroll, Robert P., and Stephen. Prickett. The Bible: Authorized King James Version. Oxford ; New York: Oxford UP, 2008. Print. World’s Classics.
Flowers, Mark. “The Movie Is (Sometimes) Better Than the Book: Adaptations as Literary Analysis.” Young Adult Library Services 9.4 (2011): 21-23. Web.
Grossman, Julie. Rethinking the Femme Fatale in Film Noir : Ready for Her Close-Up, Palgrave Macmillan Limited, 2009. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/sfsu/detail.action?docID=555490.
Hammett, Dashiell. The Maltese Falcon. Vintage Books, a Division of Random House, 1992.
Hirsch, Foster. The Dark Side of the Screen: Film Noir. Da Capo Press Paperback ed. New York, N.Y.: Da Capo, 1983. Print. Da Capo Paperback.
Kaplan, E. Ann. Women in Film Noir. New ed. London: BFI Pub., 1998. Print.
Miklitsch, Robert. The Red and the Black: American Film Noir in the 1950s. University of Illinois Press, 2017. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5406/j.ctt1kc6hn1.
Taylor, Richard. “Fatalism.” The Philosophical Review, vol. 71, no. 1, 1962, pp. 56–66. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2183681.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Touchstone, Dir. Robert Zemeckis, 1989; Gary Wolf, Who Censored Roger Rabbit? New York: St. Martin’s, 1981.
Interpretations: Journal of the Graduate Literature Association 