Hong Kong Phooey is yet another of Hanna-Barbera’s long line of cartoon creations that seems to have had a far longer on-screen life than he actually did.
In truth, the entire series which is comprised of 16 episodes which in turn broke down into 2 sub-episodes, only ran for a very short time, from 7 September 1974 to 21 December 1974.
But while it may have only enjoyed a short run on the US ABC network, its creators clearly had a huge amount of fun bringing the show to life, giving us in the process a delightful parody of the martial arts movies and TV shows that were all the rage at the time such as Chinatown (1974) and the Kung Fu series (1972-1975).
Channelling a Mel Brooks-ian sense of the absurd – though to be fair nowhere near as sophisticated as the great comic master – Hong Kong Phooey was a delightfully inept crime fighter, a humble police station cleaner by trade but America’s greatest superhero when needed.
Drawing his inspiration from a correspondence course book, The Hong Kong Book of Kung Fu, and with no actual training in any form of martial arts, Hong Kong Phooey aka Penrod “Penry” Pooch (Scatman Carothers, who also sang the theme song), was more high-minded intent than an actually successful crime fighter in his own right.
In all honesty, if it hadn’t been for Spot the cat, who often freed him from the filing cabinet in which he changed into his outfit, and who got him into position to bring the bad guys to justice – many of whom, for some strange reason, seem to like to dress in drag, usually as an older woman – he wouldn’t have been as successful as he was, nor as revered by the general public. (A running gag throughout the series is the effusive adulation Hong Kong Phooey receives from everyone he encounters, be they hotel doormen, window washers or even, hilariously, the criminals themselves at times.)
He really is quite the accidental superhero, a product of his own mind more than actuality, but then that’s a great part of his charm.
You can’t help but love his endless chutzpah, his trenchant self-belief, which never comes across as arrogant or boastful, just sweetly self-assured, and his endless tenacity, his refusal to give up no matter how great the opposition he faces.
He is a character who believes quite firmly that he has what it takes, and that all he needs are the wise words from his correspondence manual to be successful, and you can’t help but admire that.
Sure it is grist for the comedy mill, and each episode makes merry with the fact that the baddies only ever make it into custody because Spot is more capable than his master, but there’s something about someone going hard at it come what may that is infectiously charming and yes, funny too, and it doesn’t take long for Hong Kong Phooey to find a place in your heart.
One person who loves Hong Kong Phooey more than most was Rosemary (Kathy Gori) the telephone operator at the police station who always answers the switchboard calls with a delightfully alliterative phrase such as “Hello. Police Headquarters. Rosemary, your loveable lady fuzz… you don’t say… you dont’ say… you don’t say!” or “Hallo, hallo, police headquarters, this is Rosemary, the lovely lassie with the classy chassis”, all delivered in an intoxicatingly-appealing Fran Drescher-thick Queens accent.
But while Rosemary adores Hong Kong Phooey, Penry’s boss, Sergeant Flint (Joe E. Ross), your classic Irish-American cop who brooks no nonsense, and doesn’t particularly like Phooey’s alter ego Penry, isn’t quite as enamoured.
He is far too circumspect a man to get carried away with such nonsense, the only person in all of America, if you can believe it, who doesn’t think the sun, moon and crime fighting stars shines out of Hong Kong Phooey.
But our eponymous hero is never troubled by Flint’s lack of enthusiasm – he believes in himself, the public adore him and he (well Spot effectively) gets the baddies and that’s all that matters.
Another notable aspect of the series are the gorgeous watercolour backgrounds, drawn by Lorraine Andrina and Richard Khim, whose artwork gives more of a suggestion of time and place than an actual location.
They immerse the adventures of the none-too-bright but good-hearted titular superhero in a world that is quite magical and not anchored to any sense of reality which is appropriate given that so much of what propels Hong Kong Phooey through his crime fighting capers is a figment of his imagination rather than any actual ability on his part.
The backgrounds also don’t repeat themselves too much, a rarity in Hanna-Barbera cartoons which have a propensity to repeat their artwork over and over, particularly in chase scenes such as those in Wacky Races.
The music too is a delight with everything from the quirky opening theme song, written by Hoyt Curtin, William Hanna, and Joseph Barbera, to the incidental music, reflecting a 1960s retro feel including the use of that decade’s favourite instrument, the glockenspiel.
In the end, what makes Hong Kong Phooey such an appealing show to watch is the way it mixes childhood silliness – in one scene he rides his Phooeymobile, which bursts out of his secret dumpster lair at the start of each episode, through a ton of freshly-laid cement; he earns no opprobrium from the workers who are honoured to have their hard work ruined by the hero – and its gift for satirising the martial arts fascination of the time.
It may not be the most sophisticated cartoon ever produced by the studio but it has heart-and-soul in great helping handfuls, a sense of the silly and the absurd and a protagonist who gleefully charges his way through life, convinced that he, a costume and a correspondence course book can change the world.
How canyou not like that?
I remember this cartoon with great fondness and introduced it to my son.
Oh that’s cool. I’m thinking I should introduce my nieces and nephews to it too. Think they’d enjoy its goofiness.