Release Date: February 10th, 1940
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Ben Hardaway, Cal Dalton
Story: Jack Miller
Animation: Dick Bickenbach
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Mel Blanc (Beggar, Swenson, Lead Elf, Screwball Elf, Jerry Colonna Elf), The Sportsmen Quartet, Pinto Colvig (Chorus)
(You may view the short here or on HBO Max!)
Dissatisfied with his tenure and the environment at MGM, Friz Freleng left the studio in April 1939 to rejoin his colleagues at Schlesinger’s. Therefore, he was able to gain his unit back and prepare to direct more cartoons.
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| Ben Hardaway. |
With Hardaway and Dalton having been the ones to adopt the Freleng unit upon his departure in September 1937, that meant demotions were in order. Cal Dalton was demoted back to an animator, animating in the very unit he lost. He would flit around units, working under the direction of Norm McCabe, Frank Tashlin, Bob McKimson and Art Davis before his departure in 1947.
Ben Hardaway’s departure was much sooner. So soon, in fact, that he had already left by the time this cartoon was released. He was demoted back to a writer, given the prestige that is “Head of Story”, though that was quick to last—he left in January 1940 to head over to Walter Lantz’s studio. Perhaps it was there where he garnered the most fame, for he wrote and would later even voice Woody Woodpecker himself.
As such, this is the final cartoon directed by the duo before their demotions. In a cartoon that seeks to be heartfelt, we follow the failing bakery of one Swenson. When it’s revealed that the elderly beggar he gave his last donut to is actually an elf in disguise, the elf calls upon his fellow bakers to whip up all kinds of goods to replenish the bakery, repaying Swenson's gregariousness.
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| Cal Dalton in the 1939 Termite Terrace gag reel. |
As a cartoon that seeks to replicate the tone of Disney cartoons rather than appeal to the more wisecracking Warner identity, we open to a series of moody establishing shots. Hardaway and Dalton seek to show off the nighttime village by lingering on certain shots of unrelated buildings, a building in the foreground parting as the camera trucks in to emulate the multi-plane pans seen in Disney’s cartoons. While not to the level of sophistication seen in other faux multi-plane pans utilized by their own coworkers—Tex Avery in particular comes to mind—it at least adds the slightest bit of depth that wouldn’t have been present otherwise.
After straining to establish a mood by focusing on unrelated, somewhat blobby buildings thanks to the looser painting style of Art Loomer, the camera finally settles in on a bakery. A cross dissolve and truck-in seek to keep momentum moving.
It is no secret that Ben Hardaway is a creature of contradiction. While that can be helpful depending on the context, it comes as a detriment when making a point to assert the bakery’s lack of business. A half eaten donut touting a flashy price tag of 1¢ is fine, marked down prices succinctly illustrating a story in itself—the sign next to it advertising “We can’t complain a lot our business — THERE AIN’T NONE!!”, however, reeks of insincerity rather than a witty side note and deliberately betrays the pathos attempting to be established through idyllic shots and a sleepy, forlorn atmosphere.
Regardless, it successfully establishes the conflict of the cartoon, which is furthered by the aimless pacing of an elderly baker. His design is mushy and unappealing, but meant to evoke sympathy through old age and anxious mannerisms. Through glacial, even movements, melty construction and gratuitous head tilts, the animation is easily identifiable as Gil Turner’s as he reaches into a flour barrel to judge the amount he has left.
Not much. Vestiges of flour clinging to the bottom of the stick almost seem to exaggerate the emptiness more than having the stick be completely dry, as though the few crumbs remaining are a cruel reminder of what was once there. Needless and unnecessary camera close-ups on the red, emboldened lettering of “EMPTY” ensure we positively understand the strife of the baker.
Synonymously gratuitous shrugs at the audience follow the same school of thought. That, and a somewhat laborious sequence dedicated to the baker opening an empty cash register, reaching through the bottomless bottom and into a tin can where miscellaneous pieces of junk take residence.
Hardaway and Dalton were particular fans of close-up paintings in their cartoons, with this being no exception. Excessive clarity is better than excessive confusion and vagueness, but the point has clearly been made that business isn’t doing so hot. An overabundance in obvious storytelling can lead to the audience getting annoyed—most undesirable when attempting to evoke sympathy through characters and story.
Nevertheless, the clang of a bell offscreen indicate a promising shift, for both the audience’s attention span and the patronage of the baker.
Enter a feeble, hunchbacked old man who hobbles up to the counter and asks if the baker could spare “a poor, hungry old man a few crumbs of bread.” While not an obnoxiously glaring issue, the donut for sale in the close-up shot is completely missing in the wide shot, counters appearing much more barren in the latter as a result.
For the mercy of the audience, Busy Bakers consists of more pantomime than dialogue, thus sparing the viewer from typical, Hardawayesque meandering dialogue. However, the few lines that are present in the cartoon are obnoxiously self indulgent—particularly the accent on the baker as he forks over his last donut. Sentimentality with a bite of humor (and vice versa) is always a good balance to have, but much like the sign at the beginning advertising the lack of business, it seems like a disingenuous betrayal rather than an endearing or amusing footnote. Humor attempting to be derived from the baker’s ridiculous accent takes away from the sympathy very clearly attempting to be garnered.
Regardless, the old man thanks the baker and gives him a warmly cryptic message: “You shall be rewarded for your kindness!” Dick Bickenbach gives away his handiwork not only by the drawing style, particularly through the highlighted, close together eyes, but the graphic lines that emanate off of the donut upon the old man’s wrist flicks as well.
Carl Stalling’s ever succinct accompaniment of “Melancholy Mood” transforms from lugubrious to alarmed as the old man takes off in a sprint—not after more unnecessary, unweighted hobbling or arbitrary glancing around, of course, a lack of weight in the animation thus conveying a lack of conviction in the action. We follow the old man as he sprints into the sanctity of a windmill, inevitably indicating that he’s of an otherworldly status. That is, seeing as decrepit old men typically don’t live in windmills.
Darting up the stairs and armed with more weightless animation that weakens its urgency, the old man strips his clothes to reveal himself as an elf. His cloak and fake hunchback courtesy of a pillow are exchanged for a baker’s hat and an apron—to the credit of the animators, they cheat his putting on glasses by having the spectacles appear after the apron goes over his head. Much more smooth and transitionary than delegating a bloated sequence to searching for his glasses.
As it turns out, he’s not the only one present. Shakes of a peculiarly lumpy bed prompt two layers of elves to rise from the blankets—one of them includes a caricature of assistant producer Henry Binder, a few others not unreminiscent of Jerry Colonna and Harpo Marx.
To embrace the fantastical nature of the baker elves, the lead elf speaks his dialogue in rhyme—a device that admittedly reads as more annoying and disingenuous than it does clever and endearing. He warns his fellow cohorts about the perils of the baker: “His store is empty, he hasn’t a crust—we must work fast ‘fore he goes bust!”
Thus ensues a vast ensemble of elves to get dressed in their baking uniforms before sneaking into the bakery. To the credit of the crew, the changing sequence isn’t too laborious, and a difficult feat to split up the action between so many characters performing so many different actions at different times. Pacing feels natural and believable by dividing the action—one elf may be putting on a hat while another is still changing out of pajamas, etc.—but remains clear enough to inform the viewer.
The lead elf peers into the window to ensure the coast is clear, therefore prompting a view of a sleeping Swenson, whose construction is much more detailed, large, and complex to a very uncanny degree. Perhaps meant to stress the juxtaposition between the size of him, a regular human and the elves, the amount of detail is incredibly antithetical to his introductory sequences in the film where he appears squat, mushy, and vague.
Nevertheless, through the courtesy of a shot that is about 3 seconds too long —particularly all of the bakers entering the shop in a repeated cycle that lingers to an uncomfortable degree—the elves get to work. Rod Scribner animates the lead elf speaking in rhyme yet again, instantly identifiable through elongated pupils, constant motion, and a plethora of wrinkles on both clothing and skin alike.
Cue the song number portion of the cartoon. Seeing as this is the final outing with Hardaway and Dalton, it’s only fitting that the number be filled with every single self indulgent Hardawayism possible, much to the displeasure of the viewer. Perhaps even worse than the self indulgence is that the song number—despite being incredibly annoying—is rightfully catchy, the elves singing about their occupation as the self proclaimed “slappy happy snappy little baker men”.
Self indulgences manifest in something as subtle as blatant misspelling of “appul butta” or as flagrant as a cross-eyed baker singing off key, erupting in a hiccup, and prompting a pot to fall on his head and stare sheepishly at the audience in a lingering beat. Most of the gags in the song follow the lead of the latter—an elf jumps two octaves between verses, another cracks eggs on the floor and deposits egg shells in the batter, or the Harpo adjacent elf tripping and billing his newfound mess as a very purposeful upside down cake.
Despite the annoyances, the song is serviceable and chipper, again catchy to a degree that is almost frustrating. It gets the job done, sets the tone for even more baking gags to follow, and is certifiably of Hardawayian influence—for better or worse.
Baking gags synonymous to those displayed in the song number (albeit more elaborate without the need to constrain themselves to the length of a song) consist of the short’s next 2 minutes. As expected, some are more amusing than others—compare an elf battling with some dough that refuses to be rolled versus filling up donuts with air like tires—but are nevertheless carried in interest through Stalling’s snappy arrangement of “In An Old Dutch Garden”.
While the character designs themselves may not be the most appealing, there is a notable meticulousness present in the shading of the bakers and their utensils alike—an entire pumpkin in a can touts seemingly unnecessary shadows (which provide added definition on the globs of pumpkin goo when the baker smashes it into a pie), the donuts have added definition in their own shading, likewise with of dough, jelly, custard, and even the shading on the bakers’ hats.
It does boast clarity and render the drawings more appealing and constructed, but further demonstrates a desire to look tidy, neat, perhaps comparable to the cartoons put out by Disney. The same shading certainly wasn’t present in a cartoon like Fagin’s Freshman, to name an example.
Out of the entirety of the montage, the scene that commands the most attention is the Dopey-esque, terminally cross-eyed elf from the song number battling with a particularly stubborn batch of dough. While the sequence is twice as long as it needs to be, animation of the elf pulling himself out of a tin can particularly awkward and even in its timing and spacing, it is energetic and commands attention through creative sound effects (sickly Velcro sounds when the dough sticks the rolling pin to itself and the table succinctly exaggerate the weight and tension of the dough) and energetic slapstick. Particularly when the dough morphs into a sentient hand and jabs its creator in the eyes à la The Three Stooges.
Presumed Dick Bickenbach animation—identifiable again through graphic lines emanating from the blinks of the elf—greatly contribute to maintaining attention and appeal of the scene as well. His drawings are broad, believable, energetic, benefitting especially through brush trails and impact lines for added snap and vigor to the movements. All of the above manifest when the baker tackles the dough itself, brush trails and impacts a-plenty as he wrestles with the yeast and pins the man-shaped mix on the table victoriously.
Admittedly, the brawl is inherently awkward, as it reads exactly as it is—an elf fighting with a slab of dough. While it would benefit from the Stooges-esque retaliation and sentience by throwing more punches, thus making the fight seem less one-sided and absurd, the energy in the drawings and sound effects are nevertheless plucky enough to be serviceable and amusing.
Gags that follow are more polite but savored through rhythmic timing and a catchy musical backing track. One baker gets flattened by his own jelly roll, gratuitous camera close-ups and befuddled blinks ensuing, while another gets hit in the face with banana custard by grabbing an empty pie tin. Much of the appeal comes from the coloring of the objects themselves and the shading—vibrant purples, blues, yellows, etc. are a refreshing contrast against the vague, mushy, somewhat dull amalgamation that are Art Loomer’s background paintings. Vibrant purple jelly and bright blonde tufts of hair are a welcome juxtaposition against murky grays and browns.
A gratuitous clinking noise—unnatural through its singularity rather than a succession of noises—prompts Swenson to awaken and find his bakery occupied and stocked. Similar to the establishing scenes of the elves changing into their baking garb, success in believability is derived through differing actions from differing characters in differing locations. Synchronization in movements is more rhythmic and cohesive here than in the former example, but seeing as much of the baking gags themselves are rhythmic in pace and meant to feel somewhat fantastical, the united momentum isn’t a deterrent.
Quick to flee the scene, the departure of the elves maintains their mysticality. Is there some sort of elven law preventing them from being seen? How many bakeries have they given such a treatment to? How long have they been in business? All questions not meant to be answered, but encouraged to be thought of.
Telltale clanging of a bell offscreen distract from any more questions on the enigmatic roles of the bakers—instead, focus is placed on the now bustling bakery. As endearing as the tone is, completed by a jolly reprise of the short’s song number, the crowd shot is incredibly messy, vague, and horribly stiff; patrons all pump their arms in eerie, uncanny synchronization, their actions stilted and mechanical rather than one of believable catharsis.
Nevertheless, customers are customers, even if their movements are awkward. To the credit of Hardaway, Dalton, and writer Jack Miller, success of the bakery getting business is displayed through a montage. Diagonal, unconventional angles arouse interest, overlaid footage indicates a passage of time and action, and the food leaving shelves and fists full of money all speak for themselves.
While nothing groundbreaking, it’s a refresher to see such creativity in a Hardaway and Dalton cartoon, especially since the montage consists of entirely new footage. One shot of “SOLD” signs peppering all of the goods in particular is a striking and effective creative liberty, boasting a graphicness seldom seen in the realm of H/D cartoons.
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Weightless groping of coins ensues to indicate Swenson’s newfound wealth. In spite of the customers flashing dollar bills beforehand, the tactility, quantity, and pure sound of a pile of coins reads as a more exaggerated symbol of wealth than the same amount reflected in some dollar bills. The Scrooge McDuck effect.
In yet another clever maneuver, Hardaway and Dalton bookend the cartoon by having the lead elf return to the store back in his old man disguise. He repeats the same as before: “Could you spare a poor, hungry old man a few crumbs of bread?”
Swenson is all too happy to fork over a pie. The elf repeats his “Thanks very much!”, sans promise of being rewarded.
Though a no-brainer of a conclusion (seeing as it’s unlikely such a stampede of customers would flock the bakery in the wee hours of the morning), the indication of time passing bestows its own sentimental weight and closure, literally marking the dawn of a new day. A newfound period of transformation for Swenson has begun. All of this seem to be conveyed in the finality of the elf’s departure, accented through Stalling’s music chord that indicates an end.
Again, it is very fitting that the end of the final cartoon directed by Hardaway and Dalton be a Hardawayism in itself: a contradiction. Swenson steps outside to look for his latest customer, lulling the audience into expecting a reconciliation. Will he thank the old man for his business? Will the elf reveal himself through a wink at the camera or an accidental flub in his disguise? All serviceable means of an end to the short. Instead,
“Hey, mister! I forgot to tell you that there’s a five cent deposit on the pie pan!”
He is promptly answered with a pie in the face.
Swenson’s heavily accented topper of “That’s gratitude for ya,” and the entire act of the pie throwing/deposit joke feel more insincere than they do witty, following similar complaints to the sign touting “We can’t complain about our business — THERE AIN’T NONE!” in the beginning. As mentioned before, irony isn’t a problem, but more so the application. Seemingly witty contradictions such as this one seem to betray the message and intent of the cartoon rather than serve as a cute, endearing footnote. But, if there’s any solace, it’s that such vagueness and directorial confusion is a very appropriate close to the directorial partnership between Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton.
Busy Bakers is a fitting send off, in that it isn’t groundbreaking nor is it outright horrible. Rather, it is undeniably a cartoon directed by Ben Hardaway and Cal Dalton. All of the Hardawayisms are there—contradictions in tone, constant interruptions, an irksome overabundance of clarity, sluggish pacing, unappealing character designs and a surface level cast as a whole. It is elevated through a sentimentality somewhat anomalous to the Hardaway/Dalton efforts—at least when uninterrupted by contradictory signs or snarky jabs—and meticulous attention to color and shading give it an identity.
Yet, like most of the Hardaway and Dalton catalogue, it isn’t a cartoon that is actively breathtaking nor worth one’s time. The novelty present in its release 82 years ago has waned through a much more solid competition of cartoons, but that isn’t something that can be helped by the filmmakers. Can’t fault someone nearly a century ago for not possessing appropriate foresight—which leads me to pontificate about the filmmakers themselves.
I will be blunt and cut directly to the chase—the disbanding of the Hardaway and Dalton unit is one of the best things to happen to the studio.
Admittedly, I’m more sympathetic to some of their cartoons than I know I have a right to be. I don’t at all think their cartoons nor tenure are of complete waste—after all, Hardaway is responsible for conceptualizing one of the most beloved fictional characters of all time, even if it took a complete retooling of the character from a much more competent director to make that happen. There are certain aspects of their cartoons I enjoy: the ending of Porky the Giant Killer, much of Bars and Stripes Forever, the occasional piece of animated inspiration such as the montage seen here or live action footage of a record spinning in Count Me Out, or song numbers that are catchier than they have a right to be like in Hare-um Scare-um. I find it hard to completely disavow the people who directed the infamous “son of a bih-be-beh-buh-bih-eh—gun” blooper, even if the credit mainly goes to Rod Scribner for his animation and Mel Blanc for his vocals.
Still, had they lasted longer than they did, I don’t believe they would have contributed anything of much worth. Hardaway was a much better fit for Lantz than he was Schlesinger, as there was such a solid stream of talent at Warner Bros and the cartoons were evolving at such a rapid pace that his ideas and sense of humor absolutely floundered in comparison. It doesn’t help that Friz Freleng, who is considered by many—and myself included—as the funniest director, was their replacement. Likewise, Cal Dalton was a better fit as an animator where he could have a bit more say in his influence and identity. As mentioned in previous reviews, the issues with the Hardaway and Dalton cartoons can largely be attributed to Hardaway.
One of my main criticisms of these shorts is that they are too self indulgent; I think that is as respectable as much as it is a detriment. I’d rather a director have too much of their voice permeate the cartoon than a cartoon have no voice at all. Self indulgence in itself isn’t exactly an issue so much as it is regulation and application—the self indulgent humor of Ben Hardaway was not aligned with the reigning attitude of the studio nor adjacent cartoons themselves and often sparked issues more than it could be endearing, and he didn’t exactly have a writer solid enough to keep those indulgences at ease. Very similar to Chuck Jones’ cartoons with Mike Maltese as his writer and those without, particularly those that came after Maltese’s departure to Hanna-Barbera in late 1958. The post-Maltese era is bogged down by countless Jonesian self indulgences that slow or weaken the cartoon without a strong writer to keep him in moderation. A strong voice and itch to enjoy one’s own work is never the issue—overindulgence is.
Regardless, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved at the news of Hardaway and Dalton’s departure. They were by far some of the weakest directors at the studio, shortcomings highlighted by the otherwise rapid growth and evolution from their coworkers alike. The pace of change and evolution was too fast for them to keep up with, and their absence was ultimately for the better. If anything, I think their cartoons are an important stressor of the evolution that took place in the studio—it’s easier to appreciate the best of the best when knowing the bumps in the road that proved to be an obstacle and how that hindered or even inspired more progress. Certainly humbling, if not humanizing, and a reminder that the success of the studio is a mass product of trial and error.
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