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7/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 7/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. I Eats My Spinach remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have seven minutes to kill and a soft spot for classic rubber-hose animation, sure. It’s exactly what you expect: Bluto is a jerk, Olive Oyl is in distress, and Popeye saves the day with a can of greens. If you’re looking for a plot that breaks the mold, look elsewhere.
It’s the kind of short that feels like it was drawn in a fever dream. The rodeo setting is just an excuse for Popeye to do things that would probably get a normal human arrested or flattened by a steer.
The steer wrestling bit? Pure nonsense. Popeye doesn’t just wrestle the bull; he turns the poor thing into a literal pretzel. It’s got that specific 1930s kinetic energy where physics is just a suggestion rather than a rule. Everything moves way too fast.
Bluto is peak insufferable here. He’s got that wide, chest-puffing swagger that makes you genuinely want him to get launched into orbit. When he tries to show off, you can almost hear the animator’s pencil scratching away, desperately trying to keep up with how much Bluto loves looking at himself.
It’s not as atmospheric as The Phantom of the Forest, but it’s got way more punch. There’s a frantic, jittery pace to the animation that reminds me a bit of the chaos found in The Rounder, though with significantly more cartoon violence.
The whole thing just sort of stops once the bull is taken care of. No big goodbye, no wrap-up. Just a quick fade and you’re back to reality. It’s a classic case of "we told the story, let’s go home." Sometimes, that’s all you really need from a cartoon. 🥬