Literary Oddities: Tumbleweed Trouble

As a Hollywood screenwriter, I am exposed to bad storytelling on a daily basis. One tributary of the river of bad storytelling is misguided adaptations of pop-culture icons. “What if Superman were a gypsy farmer?” “What if Mickey Mouse was a molecular physicist?” “What if you re-imagined the Green Lantern Corps as the team from Reservoir Dogs?” (Hey, that one’s not bad — hang on, I need to make a phone call.)

In the sweepstakes of inept pop-culture adaptations, I have, I believe, a winner. This is, I believe, as bad as it gets. This is not fanfic, this is not slash Smurfs, this is not Santa Claus Conquers the Martians. This is The Road Runner: Tumbleweed Trouble by Jack Woolgar (although apparently not this Jack Woolgar.) This is a real book, sanctioned (but apparently not read) by the creators (or at least the owners) of the Road Runner (that is, Warner Bros Inc.) and associated characters, published by a real publisher, Whitman Books (a complete list of other Whitman “Tell-A-Tale” books can be found here).

What makes this book so bad?  How does it rise above (or, rather, sink below) the ranks of all other bad pop-culture crap?

Let’s take a look inside, shall we?
(Feel free to click on the images, but be warned: it will only make them larger.)

First, we notice the first sentence: “‘Beep!  Beep!’  The familiar sound brought Wile E. Coyote rushing out of his cave.”  This, dear readers, is the ultimate “Bad First Sentence.”  This is a first sentence that a writer outgrows in sixth grade.  This trumps the former title-bearer for Worst First Sentence, Donald F. Glut’s opening salvo for the novelization of The Empire Strikes Back: “‘Now this is what I call cold!’ Luke Skywalker’s voice broke the silence he had observed since leaving the newly established Rebel base hours earlier.”

Next we notice that the off-model Coyote is clenching his fist while beholding not one, or two, but five Road Runners.  It’s a whole Road Runner family!  Did you know that the Road Runner had a family?  Neither did I!  And yet, here they are, the Road Runner family, zipping along through the dusty desert as though no other reality had ever been.  Indeed, not even Wile E. (the ostensible protagonist of the story) seems unsurprised by this shocking new development.  Okay, now we’re intrigued — the Road Runner family?  There’s a twist!  What knockabout merriment awaits us with this new, hitherto-unexplored aspect of the Coyote/Road Runner mythos?

“‘Where are those crazy birds going now?’ Wile E. wondered out loud.”  As one might.  After all, it — wait a minute!  Holy shit, Wile E. Coyote can speak!!”  This is insane!  When did that happen?  Isn’t the whole beauty of the Road Runner cartoons the fact that they play out in total silence?  But wait, wait — this is a different medium, remember, printed stories will always explore characters more fully than filmed stories, that’s just a fact of life.  So let’s go with the idea that Wile E. can speak, let’s see where it goes.

“He jumped into his car — “

Okay.  We give up.  This book has just left the rails.  We’re on page three and the book has left the rails, and it’s never coming back.  They just blew it.  Got into his car?  Where in the ever-loving blue blazes did Wile E. Coyote get a car?  And if he can get a car, why can’t he drive to a restaurant and get some food, so he doesn’t have to chase after Road Runners?  And it’s not an “Acme” car either, it’s a real car.  Wile E. Coyote drives a car.  A red convertible, no less.

Now, let’s note the illustration above.  Wile E. Coyote is “hiding behind a rock” while the “Beep family” (pause to hang head in shame) lines up “on the road in back of the depot.”  Not only is neither the “road” nor the “depot” not pictured, the illustrator (the drawings are credited to one “Leon Jason Studio” — wow, not only did Leon Jason get work, he had a studio cranking out these glib, off-model atrocities) has lined up the Beeps facing nowhere but the exact spot where Coyote is “hiding.”

“Wow — this I’ve got to see!” exclaims Wile E. Coyote.  Why?  Why does he got to see this?  If I’m not mistaken, Wile E. Coyote’s one and only motivation is to catch and eat the Road Runner.  How will watching the “Beep Family” race a train serve that mission?  Is he hoping that they will be hit by the train, and thus splattered all over the desert landscape?  Does he think that eventuality is likely in a 24-page book designed for preschoolers to read?

Here, another first — a human enters the world of the Coyote.  A human, with a face and a voice.  And, since he has a face and a voice, Coyote stops to talk to him.  So, not only does the Coyote drive a car, he speaks to humans.  And they speak to him.

Meanwhile, the Beep family “strut[s] proudly up and down.”  Really?  Hey, Coyote, remember that creature you live to catch and eat?  Well, he and his family are STRUTTING UP AND DOWN, instead of running away from you.  And your car.  Why don’t you stop chatting with the engineer and catch them?

Oh look: a conflict presents itself.  Here comes drama.  Only one problem: it doesn’t involve the protagonist.  No, now we’re going to sit for two pages and listen to the troubles of a brand new character, one completely unrelated to to mythos of source material.  The “big redheaded engineer” has a problem.  He’s going to get in trouble with his boss, and the Coyote has taken it upon himself to help the engineer out of his jam.  So this story has stopped being about the Coyote at all, and is now about the Coyote’s service to the big redheaded engineer.

But the biggest curveball is yet to come.

What the fuck is Bugs Bunny doing in this story?  And why is he running a filling station?  Talk about a wrong turn at Albuquerque — Bugs is doing menial labor!  What happened?  How is this possible?  And why does Bugs decide to help Coyote slow down the Road Runners?  He’s not a Coyote, he’s a rabbit.  In fact, HEY!  COYOTE!  WHY DON’T YOU EAT THE RABBIT?!  He’s obviously on the lam, hiding out from the east-coast cities he usually hangs out in.  Maybe he killed a drifter and headed out west where his face isn’t so recognizable, here’s your chance!  With Bugs Bunny dead, you will rule the WB roost!

Now we learn that Coyote and Bugs have “some friends” who own trucks.  Who are these friends?  What do they look like?  Are they people or animals?  Why do they have nothing better to do than haul truckloads of big tumbleweeds from all over the desert?  And, perhaps most important, what the hell is that supposed to accomplish?

The coyote is undone.  His plan, whatever it was,is unraveled.  At least I think it is — the illustrator cannot be bothered to actually depict the action described.  Instead, a vague rush of motion is depicted.

So, okay, I’m sorry — the “five Beeps” are out-running the new express train how?  By running backwards over the tumbleweeds?  How is that supposed to work?  They “jump” from one tumbleweed to the next, and this puts them out ahead of the train?  Even though the illustration shows nothing of the sort?  Now my head just hurts and I want the story to end.

What the hell kind of railroad company is this?  Why the kind that gives out medals to birds, that’s what kind!  And it seems as though that was the Beep family’s secret plan all along!  To earn the good regard of a railroad company.  Now why didn’t Chuck Jones make a series of cartoons about a bird family who desperately seeks the approbation of a railroad magnate?  Now that’s comedy gold!

I like here how Wile E. Coyote is accosted not by the sheriff, but by “a big man in a sheriff’s uniform.”  Given the fact that he’s threatening to arrest a coyote, it’s hardly surprising that he’s not actually a law-enforcement officer.  But that doesn’t stop Coyote from obeying him.  He could, I suppose, I don’t know, run off into the desert or something, but then he’d have to abandon his convertible.  Coyote, sadly, is burdened not just by tumbleweeds but also by his possessions.

And what happened to Bugs?  Why, “the smart bunny was gone.”  What a blow!  And how is Coyote going to find him?  After all, he only runs a filling station, he must be completely off the grid by now.  This just gives credence to my “Bugs killed a drifter” scenario — he turns tail and runs at the first sign of the law, risking wandering in the harsh desert sun instead of simply sticking around to help his friend the Coyote pick up some tumbleweeds.  I can imagine a sequel to Tumbleweed Trouble where, as in Von Stroheim’s Greed, Coyote pursues Bugs into the desert on a suicidal mission of vengeance.

The final blow: Poppa Beep speaks.  In rhyme.  This is the sound of my heartstrings breaking.  I could put up with the humans, the dialogue, the pointless guest appearances, but there are rules in the Road Runner universe, and the first one is: THE ROAD RUNNER DOES NOT SPEAK, AND CERTAINLY NOT IN RHYME.  The authors intend for the reader’s heart to soar withthe final passages of this book, to exult with their triumph over the Coyote’s foolish and wasteful schemes, to imagine the gaeity that awaits them on their adventures playing in the desert, but the only logical response to this ending is to hate the Road Runner.

When one watches the Road Runner cartoons, one feels for the Coyote and his boundless optimism in the face of a harsh, cruel universe and the carefree sprite who thrives in it.  The characters are powerful archetypes and we respond to them because the universe often feels like that to us.  This book sides with that universe, gloating over the Coyote’s loss and frustration.  The Coyote wasn’t even trying to eat the Beep Family, his only hope was to help the big redheaded engineer (who, pointedly, does not make an appearance in the final act of Tumbleweed Trouble).  Never before or since have authors shown such remarkable ineptitude and contempt for their inspiration.