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4.3/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 4.3/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. The Fireman remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, only if you are a completionist for 1930s animation or just have six minutes to kill while eating breakfast. If you hate old-school rubber-hose animation or get annoyed by characters who make high-pitched noises for no reason, stay away. It’s not exactly high art, but it’s weirdly charming in how it just doesn't care about making sense.
The whole thing starts with Oswald just doing his job. Or trying to. The fire truck looks like it’s made of wet noodles, which is exactly the kind of physics I expect from Walter Lantz. Then Hoodoo shows up, and the movie basically abandons any pretense of having a story.
The nephew character is a bit much. He just kind of appears and starts hanging around like a bad smell. Why is he there? The movie doesn't bother explaining. It just assumes you'll roll with it. I did.
About halfway through, they stumble into the three blind mice. It feels like a fever dream. The animation style shifts slightly, or maybe I just stopped paying attention. It’s jarring, but that’s the fun of these old shorts. They aren't trying to be L'abbé Constantin or anything serious.
Everything is squishy. Everything bounces. If you throw a bucket of water at someone, they don't get wet—they just fold like a deck chair. It makes me miss that kind of total disregard for reality.
It’s not as polished as The Story of Petroleum, but it’s got a pulse. It’s a messy, loud, and completely nonsensical few minutes of film history. Sometimes, that’s all you need. 🚒