Release Date: December 5th, 1942
Series: Merrie Melodies
Director: Friz Freleng
Story: Tedd Pierce
Animation: Gerry Chiniquy
Musical Direction: Carl Stalling
Starring: Pinto Colvig (Dog, Bulldog), Sara Berner (Brooklynese dog), Tedd Pierce (Lovebird)
(You may view the cartoon here!)
Ding Dog Daddy, albeit seemingly unremarkable beyond being the final Freleng effort of 1942, marks an intriguing collision of names and faces--some old, some new. Of greatest relevance to us is that this marks the first time Tedd Pierce has been paired with Freleng as a writer.
Pierce would offer his services to both Freleng and Chuck Jones throughout the '40s, eventually pairing with Mike Maltese and maintaining a joint venture with both aforementioned directors. But after a disagreement with the two after Maltese was out for a few months in 1946, Maltese would work exclusively with Jones, and Pierce with Freleng--that is, until Warren Foster assumed Pierce's position as Freleng's designated writer in 1949, with Pierce assuming his position under Bob McKimson and remaining there ever since. Thus, this short marks the first of a considerable tenure between Pierce and Freleng.
However, that isn't the only union. Pierce has a reunion with Pinto Colvig, who returns to voice our eponymous dog, both having worked together at Fleischer's Miami studio as writers.
Colvig yet again extends his Goofy voice to more nameless, goofy-in-nature cartoon characters, this time giving voice to a hopelessly lovelorn dog. Said dog is so hopeless that the only one who will reciprocate his affections is a metal statue of a dog whom he falls madly in love with. Unfortunately for him, a series of obstacles seek to get in his way, whether they be self-proclaimed vicious dogs or the war effort to recycle scrap metal.
If the heart motifs in the title card didn't make the short's theme of love exceedingly clear, then the opening shot makes up for any lost hints. With a saccharinity that's somewhat surprising for Freleng's default--which, as we will see, is entirely the point--the audience is introduced to a pair of lovebirds crooning and cooing amongst the falling flower petals, serenaded by a schmaltzy score of "When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano". Having their backs turned to the audience is a charming acting choice. It shuts out the viewer, scoring that this is a private affair; we're spying on them rather than openly invited.
All of this unobstructed mawkishness is begging to be contested. It exists in such a concentration so that the eventual refutation stings all the more with typical Freleng-esque bluntness.
The beginnings of such are realized when the camera pans down, revealing an invasive but quaint spectator. His big, lovelorn sigh fits perfectly into the running theme of unquestioned mush.
"Gawrsh... ain't love be-yoo-tiful?"
While, as mentioned in the introduction, this isn't the first instance of Colvig appropriating his Goofy voice for a dopey character, the comparisons seem to run particularly strong in this cartoon with the vessel of voice being a goofy--adjective--dog.
He repeats his lovelorn sigh after his wistful proclamation. This is far from the cloying extremes that other directors may and have and will go in terms of portraying their own cloyingness, whether sarcastically or earnest, but for Freleng's standards, this is quite the spectacle of affection. A lot of joyous, somewhat cynical belaboring of the point that everything here is roses.
That way, the inevitable realization of this being false can be more crushing. Almost immediately, the camera cuts back to the lovebirds, whose attitudes turn sour.
Tedd Pierce offers the nasal, drawling snarl of the protective boyfriend, channeling the eternal wisdom of Red Skelton: "Ahhh, let's not get nosey, bud."
Dog Tired presents a similar gag and setup of a cloying lovebird suddenly lashing out at a canine spectator in the interest of privacy. Tired's gag is much more exaggerated, both in terms of the bird's affections and his quest for intimacy, cushioned with the safety net of the ol' reliable Mel Blanc yell.
This scene is much more cut and dry and perhaps going-through-the-motions in comparison, but that's not entirely a complaint--its bluntness and absence of frills feeds into the equal bluntness of the bird's rejection. Likewise, one scene has the benefit of Mel Blanc screaming and the other doesn't; one is bound to stick out much more in comparison.
Either way, the point and contrast is clear; the birds don't want any. In a callback to one of Freleng's earliest cartoons, 1935's Along Flirtation Walk, they exercise their desire for privacy by hiding behind their fanned out feathers. It's intriguing that Freleng is reusing such an old gag and playing it pretty straight, but the cynicism of the situation proves a benefit in its individuality.
Insult to injury is the flurry of hearts that thusly fill the air. They feel so mechanical and convenient that they get a laugh through their contrivance; it doesn't feel like a symbol of their love, but, rather, the release of a symbol to rub said symbol in the dog's face. Freleng and Pierce are weaponizing love rather than utilizing it. Mischief meets brutality.
Our downhearted dog is unable to appreciate the artistic mischief of the situation. Having taken the point, he indulges in a crab-walk of shame--a random bit of business that lacks motivation beyond random for the sake of randomness. Its intention seems to be to score his silliness, showing that he moves and behaves in unconventional ways, but it accidentally reads as if he's trying to avoid the call of nature right below the birds; a somewhat common joke in these shorts, with A Wild Hare making a particularly notable spectacle of it. Either way, it succeeds in being idiosyncratic--just perhaps not to the degree that was intended.
His peculiar means of transportation nevertheless awakens him to greener pastures, as his eye is caught on something--or someone--else. His surprise take, while amusing, could use some support. It's a funny take and a palpable contrast in energy, but the specificity of it, with him recoiling and seeming to gnash his teeth, feels like it could benefit from an accompanying sound effect. The opening and closing of his mouth with no noise is somewhat odd.
The source of his attention is soon revealed through a camera pan. Stalling's sardonic, almost drunken motif of "You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby" scores the thoughts of the Colvig dog quite plainly. Stylization of this female dog is nice--obedient to many stock character designs in which the girl is prim and sleek, the boy generic, but the contrast is very effective and beneficial to the context of this short. This dog has prestige; the slender, wavy build, the pompous walk, and especially the giant pink bow all indicate a degree of pampering.
Our dog puts on the charms almost immediately--to predictably disappointing results. Now, Stalling comments on the mood through a mocking, sardonic, wah-wah accompaniment of "Would You Like to Take a Walk?", very open in its disingenuousness. The irony is laid on a bit thick, as we can gather the same irony of the situation through the dog's awkward attempts to flirt ("Ahuh huh... would you like to be my gi-rull?"), but it nevertheless offers a fitting complement.
Further embracing this awkwardness is a cut dedicated solely to showing off the dog's inane guffawing. So awkward, in fact, that it reads a bit oddly in the shot flow--the staging seems as though it could be better considered, with a bit too much unnecessary negative space to the right. Likewise, albeit being the point to score such an oddity, it does seem a bit aimless to cut to an entirely new camera angle just to show the dog wheeze laughing. Keeping it on the same wide shot would have been fine.
Nevertheless, this cut is made in the name of constructing a parallel: his "girl" repeats the same shtick with the exact same staging and cadence; merely mirrored. Even the issue of compositional imbalance extends to this cut as well.
That's where the similarities start and end. Following her guffawing, she's quick to snarl in a thick, Brooklynese drawl: "No, I wouldn't like t' be ya gi-yuhl--!"
Intriguingly, it seems that a word was cut from the soundtrack, which is seconded by the ill-fitting lipsync. From the way it cuts, it seems possible that she was going to say "girlfriend" instead of "girl" to match the parallel. While a pretty noticeable cut, it doesn't deter from the clarity of her rejection.
Particularly because it's carried over into the next shot: her dismissal of the dog's affections can't get any more clear than her sauntering away. Cutting back to this wide shot is a wise decision; she could have just as easily walked away in the close-up, but cutting wide reminds us of the Colvig dog's presence and, with it, his reactions. Seeing his visible dejection as she walks away introduces more pathos that makes us feel for the dog. The scale of the Brooklynese broad is much different--and smaller--than in the preceding wide shot, making for a consistency error, but not one that gets in the way of communicating the overall intent of the scene.
One of this short's most valuable and memorable assets are its backgrounds. There's a particularly careful consideration in this short with how they convey and feed into the overall mood. No longer are we surrounded by idyllic gardens and baby pink flowers that signify budding love. Instead, skies are dreary and overcast--brick buildings, iron bars and tall fences communicate an intimidating seclusion. Our dejected dog feels particularly alien to his surroundings as he sulks past an imposing mansion (though he didn't exactly "belong" to the idyllicism of the gardens, either). Stalling sells the alienation and depression of the tone through an apt commentary of "Blues in the Night".
Not all hope is lost, however--something catches his eye. The clouds in this shot of the mansion's open gate are "cheated" essentially, with clear skies populating the horizon. That way, the slate colored silhouette of a statue clearly stands out among the negative space.
A close-up shot to demonstrate just what's nabbed our dog's fixation. The "Daisy" proudly emblazoned on its metallic collar is, most likely, a nod to Daisy Outdoor Products, home to the ever-beloved Red Ryder BB gun. It was around this time that the real Daisy manufacturing company momentarily ceased its production of BB guns due to metal shortages, and instead focusing production on parts that could support the war effort--gaskets, washers, dies, and so on.
This, logically, means absolutely nothing to our dog who shows no awareness of the current wartime climate and potential risks of metal confiscation. Instead, Dick Bickenbach animates a particularly appealing close-up shot of his smittenness, huffy guffaws abound.
"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! She's a re-goo-lar Hedy Lam-err!"
More guffaws follow. There's a presiding feeling of pointlessness through this all, but there's something about it endearing nonetheless. Stalling's joyous accompaniment of "I'm Happy About the Whole Thing" connotes a genuine enthusiasm on behalf of the dog; one that comes as a refreshing rebound following his prior rejection. And, for as much as his laughs milk the short's time, it's difficult not to crack a smile at the wheezy redundancy. Likewise, as mentioned above, Bickenbach's appeal in his animation make for a welcome match in selling the off-kilter warmth of the scene.
Gil Turner's animation in the following cut somewhat stresses just how useful Bickenbach's appeal is. As observed consistently throughout this blog, Turner's animation has improved considerably during his tenure, his draftsmanship solidifying. He isn't "the bad animator" of the group; rather, his style just tends to be very noticeable, especially through their idiosyncrasies. He still hasn't shaken off some of the arbitrariness in his acting or sense of timing.
This shot of the dog flirting with the statue feels particularly bloated, offering an apt example of some of the trappings Turner's work can fall into. It looks good, but spends a lot of time stalling as the dog engages in some odd theatrics--theatrics intended to showcase his endearing dopiness, but instead come off as leaden and awkward. The most apt example of this is the dog burying his head in the ground bashfully, only to un-bury himself upon no reaction, but nevertheless popping up--now with a ring of dirt around his neck--as if he received a warm reception anyway. Though the intent in conveying his idiosyncrasies is clear, the execution suffers from feelings of directionlessness. A meandering that doesn't entirely seem intended.
At any rate, the following cut compensates by directly getting down to business:
Mother Nature does the same. Not only are the storm clouds intended for ambience, aptly reflective of the dog's prior melancholy, but they also motivate the strike of lightning that makes contact with Daisy's tail...
...and the dog's mouth on the other end.
His frenetic, electrified reverberations are very well handled. The promptness of the reveal contributes to the prevailing boldness within the scene--there's no fat to be found, in build-up nor execution. That this comes from such a slow and meandering bit beforehand is especially welcome, as the stark contrast in tone embraces the violence of the jolt. Freleng's trademark bluntness is felt in the delivery. The drawings are funny, the effects palpable, and Brown's sound effects--both the electric buzz of the lightning and rubber twanging simulating the dog's reverberations--all combine for a very funny end product.
Knocked to his feet, though surprisingly free of smolderings, this does not humble our lovelorn dog. Instead, it emboldens him further, opening the gates for another endearing performance by Colvig:
"WWWWAOOOOWWWW! Gawsh, can she ki-yuss! It's jus' like bein' strick by lightnin'!"
Mindlessly joyful gymnastics follow in conjunction with Colvig's guttural guffawing--not incomparable to the antics of a primordial Daffy Duck. There's a stream-of-consciousness feeling to the directing that doesn't exactly seem intentional, as his outburst isn't nearly as calculated or motivated as the aforementioned Daffy's HOOHOOing spells are. There is a method to such a madness, and one that isn't really felt to its fullest extent here. Even so, the mindlessness and potential flatness of the performance is oddly befitting of the dog's nature. It's certainly entertaining nonetheless, especially in part to Colvig's endearingly over-the-top vocals.
With lust and hope renowned, the dog is back to his "springtime", his environments aptly reflective of such: a flower garden prepared for him to kick and frolic as he pleases. This, too, is still mindless, but endearingly so and through some amusingly obtuse symbolism. The floral backgrounds are especially nice to look at, with a painted cel overlay further the illusion that the dog is basking in flowers.
Similarly pleasing in an aesthetic sense is the contrast in colors in the following shot: a bright, chartreuse doghouse pops out against a steel burgundy fence, immediately corralling the viewer's eye to its presence. With the doghouse comes a menacing bulldog and a sign conveniently advertising its viciousness--the particular emphasis on "vicious" is quaintly amusing through its bluntness. Usually, a standard "beware of the dog" sign is enough to cut the mustard; the obtuseness, not unlike the obtuseness with the symbolism of the dog's renowned love, makes for an entertaining, very Freleng-esque wry objectivity.
Dick Bickenbach is responsible for this introduction of the other dog; a fine casting choice considering the dog's quickness to leap into a mad scramble. It calls to mind a similar take that he animated with a practically identical design in Double Chaser--some nice multiples on the arms, a palpable feeling of weight and momentum as he gears up, with streaks of drybrushing populating the action and rendering it more frenetic. Another Freleng cartoon, another aggressive bulldog.
In most Freleng shorts with a bulldog, our protagonist--or antagonist, depending on the circumstances--knows to be wary of the brute. This is where Ding Dog Daddy diverges. Completely oblivious, the Colvig dog happily bestows a wreath of flowers unto the dog like a prize racehorse. Gil Turner's animation is fitting for this sequence, embracing the happy, unquestioning mindlessness of the Colvig dog's behaviors. There's no need for the snappiness or abrasiveness in Bickenbach's scene, as the focus is--momentarily--back on our simple-minded pooch.
Thus inspires a close-up of the bulldog to bring the humiliation home. Again, that persistent feeling of "stuff happening for the sake of stuff happening" nags beneath the surface, perhaps exacerbated by the fluffiness of Turner's animation and redundancy of the Colvig dog heaping another load of flowers atop the dog. Regardless, considering how meandering our pooch's behavior is, it isn't not in character, and it's certainly too silly to raise Cain over. Likewise, for as floaty as his timing can be, Turner deserves his own flowers for animating the flowers in this sequence; keeping track of all the petals is no easy task.
So oblivious is our star canine that his adversary has to remind him of his own aggression--thanks to, you guessed it, the coy sign from before. The word "vicious" is now emphatically highlighted in red, scoring its importance; continuity between the two scenes would be nice, seeing as the red lettering is unique to this scene, but is a small nitpick. It certainly gets the point across in the moment. The reverberating settle on the sign as the dog jabs it into the ground is a nice dose of energy, and his usage of the sign at all is an amusingly human bit of acting for him. It's funny that this seemingly lunkhead dog is aware of his own aggression and weaponizing his warnings.
The real lunkhead, however, is the Colvig dog, who struggles to read the verbiage on the dog. Colvig noodles some amusing deliveries with his various mispronunciations of vee-vysh-uh-vishi--vivacio--vicious.
"Vicious dawg??"
His surprise take offers more opportunity for him to move in unconventional, silly ways, all to connote his dopiness. Mainly, backpedaling away from the garden with some airborne backstrokes. The urgency is welcome, but somewhat lacking; with all of this prior emphasis on the flowers, it feels like this would've been a good spot for him to kick up some flowers as he's leaving--perhaps spraying the dog in flower petals and motivating his vengeance further.
Note: the end of the cel that fosters the flower overlay is briefly visible during the camera pan.
With unobstructed ease, the dog whisks himself out of bounds from the mansion, sternly observed by the bulldog guard dog. Freleng is able to eke some directorial economy by merely having the Colvig dog dip off-screen, and largely communicating the exit through the remainder of Brown's whirling sound effects and the steely glare of the guard dog.
And, playing on the aforementioned humanity, that continues with a close-up of the dog locking the gate door. A decidedly domestic action that greatly clashes with his animalistic nature. This unlikely sophistication feels rather Mike Maltese-ian, as it seemed to be a pet trait of his stories--including the ones he did for Freleng.
Time thereby passes... pretty quickly. A cross dissolve to the exterior of the gate does a serviceable job of conveying that some time has passed, but this button moment of the dog turning the key feels like it's asking for the kitschy finality of a fade to black. That would certainly transfer better into this next little bit of the cartoon, in which the Colvig dog schemes his way back into the garden.
After some dejected pantomime, spirits momentarily brighten for the pooch as he gets an idea, signified through his happy reaction take to the camera. His pondering, planning, and execution all happen in the same cut, again calling to mind that Freleng-esque directorial bluntness and economy. It's not like this is a sequence that requires a bunch of different, elaborate cuts, but the way it survives now does feel slightly stagnant. Especially since this is a rare--and somewhat big--moment of the dog using all of his brain power to hatch an idea; not something that comes easily to him.
Nevertheless, doggy see, doggy doo--he does what he saw in a "feature pitcher", using a stick to poke the key out of its hole and retrieve it with a newspaper. A close-up of the key falling adds a (literal) gravity and emphasis to the action that the scene benefits from.
With the retrieval of the paper comes a seemingly random close-up on the dog. It feels a bit needlessly claustrophobic at first...
...but is all in service of the gag. The close framing cheats and supports the reveal of the guard dog's sudden appearance. While the execution of this entire bit could be streamlined (including the error of the dog's ears not inked all the way through, intending to be cut off closer than what actually was), the payoff is successfully funny--particularly through its proud nonsense.
The Colvig dog thusly returns the goods from whence they came with a warranted surprise take. His act of returning said dog could benefit from more of a struggle; right now, he seems to slip right back in as a major cheat--a bit too convenient, even beyond the asininity of the gag. Some sort of bulging mass being siphoned through the crack of the door would have been nice for the benefit of tangibility. That the Colvig dog's hands aren't as anchored to the door as they could be emphasizes the feeling of looseness present.
Through some amusingly frenetic and perhaps unnecessary scrambling, the dog gallumphs into his exit, only to stumble upon another entryway. Having some sort of in-between shot would have been helpful, or some attempt to clarify and lay out the geography a little clearer. Right now, going from one identical gate to the other feels a bit redundant. At the very least, the audience picks up on the most important information: our dog has gone from point A to point B. Gentle reaction lines to indicate the dog's heart thumping, as well as the arched U eyebrows, indicate Bickenbach's hand.
Both points, as it so turns out, are occupied by the same threat. Despite the somewhat ill-fitting growling effects on top (as the dog's mouth is closed in the painting, making for a disconnect in the filmmaking), the close-up painting is hilariously menacing. Such careful attention to the dog's eye in particular heightens the feeling of confrontation.
Our dog, though shaken, remains determined--what seems to be a frightened exit is actually a segue into another means of breaking and entering: digging. A cross dissolve separates these scenes, communicating a passage of time; the pause between both scenes could be a bit greater, however. Perhaps a fade to black for that additional confirmation that we're firmly going from one idea to the other.
Digging nevertheless proves to be effective: with a bush as disguise, our dog has successfully broken in. His sneakiness is scored through some conspicuously furtive hops, scored accordingly in Carl Stalling's backing accompaniment:
"Cam-y-fladge!"
Before he goes any further, something catches his eye; thus prompts another take that could benefit from sound. Though amusing animation, without sound, it comes off as somewhat awkward convulsions. Even a surprised sting from Stalling would help make up the difference.
We thusly see that he's been reunited with his steel sweetheart. This moment could again benefit from a greater fanfare than what's actually present--perhaps some dialogue, or a greater build-up to the dog's eagerness to kiss. The execution as it survives currently feels just a tad floaty and restrained.
He nevertheless gets his kiss in, as heightened through a strategic truck-in of the camera to highlight the moment--just not with his ideal subject.
While a funny interruption, this, again, could use some exaggeration. The dogs kiss, only to immediately cut to the both of them spitting and coughing. Fine in itself, but an added beat of the Colvig dog opening his eyes and realizing his mistake may have been nice to allow the moment to sink in. There's an abruptness present that isn't ill-fitting for the context; it could just stand to be delegated a bit differently.
Clearly unhappy with the Colvig dog's repeated interruptions, the camera settles on a somewhat lengthy close-up of the bulldog growling violent threats. The voice is amusing--Keith Scott attributing it to, again, Colvig--but the animation and presentation feel aimless. Lasting for a few moments too many, the action inherently repetitious (the dog scuffing his paws for about 12 seconds straight, a long time in animation), the shot itself feels tangentially inserted into the shot flow. It seems odd that this would be the moment of big confrontation, as the animosity directed towards the Colvig dog has been pretty clear throughout.
Losing that scene and directly having the dog growl at the Colvig dog, prompting the latter's escape, wouldn't have lost much--if anything at all--in the context. Bickenbach's animation of the Colvig canine's surprised take and leave in this scene are refreshingly spry and limber, a welcome contrast to the meandering of the prior scene.
His escapades are nevertheless short lived, as he's confronted with a visitor. This purposeful lapse in logic is funny, particularly with the Colvig dog freezing in mid-air, but, again, feels like it could be tighter in its execution. Perhaps an overshoot into the dog's frozen pose, or the sound of brakes squealing; the pace of his running feels too slow in comparison to the staunchness of the punchline (freezing so suddenly). It begs for a greater whiplash in tone.
So, if escaping above ground isn't an option, then the Colvig dog settles for the next best thing: digging below. His scrambling and digging animation is very appealing; his limbs are gently distorted with some smears and drybrushed multiples to enhance the freneticism of his action, particularly during his take that segues into his digging.
This underground escape route prompts a segment that acquaints the audience with the geography of the grounds, splitting up any monotony of the chase thus far and making the environments more interactive. It likewise offers a room for some gags--quaint gags, such as the dog implied to be hitting his head along the fence, carried through Brown's tactile, hollow wood sound effects, but gags nonetheless. Gopher Goofy does the same idea to a bit of a greater fanfare; it feels like the action could be a bit more dramatic than it is currently.
Perhaps that's in reaction to the payoff, which is a bit underwhelming and confusing. The dog's tunneling leads him to a fountain, where his dirt trail now turns to bubbles indicating his presence. A cute transition--especially with the single, sustained bubble as everything comes to a pause, the dog pondering his whereabouts...
...solved through a violent burst of the bubble as he scrambles back to safety. The bubbles caricaturing his emotions is a fun, playful touch, but doesn't amount to much--the dog, realizing he's underwater, quickly reverses course and returns exactly from whence he came. Why? With the set-up, it feels like the dog should have lept out of the water for air, perhaps aimlessly scrambling in a frenzy--he zips to safety, which is unintentionally back within the clutches of the guard dog; only he's too panicked to notice. That's essentially what happens here, but played much more straight and meandering. His panic and return to the dog doesn't have much motivation behind it. Mindlessness is certainly a fixture of this cartoon, given its lead, but this feels mindless in a way that's somewhat uninspired rather than a purposeful commentary on the character.
At any rate, his return beneath the dog--no matter how he gets there--is to motivate the next sequence: our protagonist pooch, taking himself to be sneaky, attempts to slink inconspicuously through the garden grounds. He is charmingly oblivious to the fact that he's transporting a passenger.
This sequence runs a bit long and belabored, but is affectionately amusing. The Colvig dog feeling like he's being stealthy, and the contradiction sitting proudly on his back, exceedingly conspicuous to everyone but its carrier. The extremely lugubrious impact of a tree branch prompting the bulldog to rigidly topple over is a highlight--its about as mindless as the Colvig dog.
Mindlessness is the name of the game: out of habit, the Colvig dog retraces his steps to pick up what he lost.
This entire scene is arbitrary and meandering, beyond the intended effect. It's still a funny concept, though, and successfully illustrates the Colvig dog's dopiness and obliviousness. The contrast between the bulldog staring him down and regarding him with a springloaded aggression, just waiting any minute to snap, against the innocent idiosyncrasies of the Colvig dog is effective and endearing. It's just that conveying this, as well as many other things in the short, could be about three times as fast than is currently the case.
At any rate, our star pooch eventually comes to the inevitable crushing realization. One so crushing that it goes right to his head: he develops a pounding headache.
An intriguing idea in theory, it barely makes any sense here. His heart pounding out of his chest would make more sense than his head; while the intent seems to be to go for a more "human" reaction, and the polite, comedic contrast therein, the head throbbing animation is a bit awkward and the execution itself feels loose and tangential. Hiss and Make Up does a similar gag to greater effect--all the way down to the main punchline being the innate humanity of a cartoon animal taking aspirin, and the comedic contrast therein.
His pill taking nevertheless allows for a more prompt exit--such rapidity of his leave is very refreshing after how slow and meandering these hijinks have been. Particularly the rhythmic organization of his leave outside the gate, comfortably native to Freleng's directorial impulses. The start-stop execution of the gag isn't unique just to Freleng, but it's a refreshing combination of musicality and urgency that is well associated with our director, and a comfortable reminder of his handiwork. It's certainly more involved and true to his senses than the lugubriousness of the antics preceding it.
However, it is a bit of an odd solution as--spoiler--this is the last we see of the bulldog, with the Colvig dog effectively having tricked him and locked him out. Arguably, the cartoon is strongest when focusing on the Colvig dog's relationship with Daisy, so this is a benefit. Regardless, considering how strong and persistent the bulldog's antagonism has been, to simply get rid of him this way feels unceremonious.
Nevertheless, the hypothesis of the cartoon's strength lying with the dog's affections for Daisy remains true. Dick Bickenbach animates the dog's reunion with his sweety, the gently gallumphing music score of "Would You Like to Take a Walk" making its return as a symbol that the dog is free to lust over his statue with no more interruptions. Bickenbach's animation is charmingly lithe and bubbly, as always, conveying the innocence of the dog well; this change of pace and liveliness is refreshing in its elevated energy.
Thus prompts a direct reprise of how the Colvig dog fell for her in the first place--right down to the same exact animation. Perhaps it's a cheat, directly reusing the same shot set-up, flow, and animation, but it establishes continuity and feels like an earned indulgence, considering all of the interruptions preceding this moment. Likewise, there's a certain humor to how faithful the reprise is.
It certainly establishes a resilience on behalf of the Colvig dog, who remains joyously unfazed. His "She still loves me!" is utterly infectious in the dopey earnest and bombasm of Colvig's delivery; truly, the cartoon is at its most engaging when humoring the dog. Obviously it's understandable that there has to be some form of conflict, but the moments of the dog's rapturous joy--even if they're a direct repeat--are certainly a highlight. Colvig's casting is certainly integral to the short's appeal.
Ecstatic, guffawing gymnastics ensue, just as they did the first time. While this again comes off as just another way to fill time, the mania of Colvig's laughter is so amusing that the cheat-iness of it all earns a pass. Perhaps that’s also an instinct of endearment from the audience, wishing to allow the dog to bask in an uninterrupted victory.
His celebratory flower bask, just as it did the last time, ushers in a turning point. The tone is suddenly much more ominous as the camera cuts to a group of movers hauling the statue away.
A big moment that impacts the remainder of the cartoon, it comes on a bit too suddenly--some overlapping build-up would be nice to sell the tension, perhaps something as small as the sound of the moving van's engine in the background. Its confiscation is supposed to be sudden, but the abruptness in execution here feels beyond intention.
Their reasons for hauling away the statue are soon revealed through a somewhat shaky camera pan to the van's facade. Recycling scrap metal was a very big part of the war effort--certainly big enough to warrant multiple jokes and cartoon premises to it. There's something compelling about the layers of the conflict here, with the dog stuck between pursuing his love or acquiescing in the name of doing his country good.
Admittedly, the former is the only real concern for him. He eventually catches on and sees the truck disappearing; this reaction shot would've been nice to have at the start of the sequence, in line with the above claims of milking the suspense.
The shot of the truck driving away offers a healthy dose of pathos: part of the truck's behind is open, allowing us to view the statue as it's directly ripped from the Colvig dog's metaphorical hands. Showing her face is a reminder of what the dog is losing, giving the statue and the action of its disappearance some humanity.
Hardly any time is wasted on fluffy exposition. Within the same cut, just after the truck has left the frame (almost quite literally, as the Colvig dog begins to enter on the very last frame that the truck is in the scene), our hero is on a hot pursuit. An economical directing decision--considering how desperate the dog's reactions to the statue have been throughout the cartoon, it feels odd that we don't get a reaction shot from him during this most damning moment--but one that conveys its own pathos with how immediate the dog's chase is.
A fade to black and back in marks a finality from this sequence and moves onto the next--one that adopts a much more moody and impressively cinematic tone. The foreboding presence of the factory where Daisy is to be smelted is playfully introduced through the smokestacks puffing black, heavy clouds in strict accordance to Beethoven's 5th. Somehow, the mischief of the "gag" doesn't take away from the menacing atmosphere; it's a carefully straddled line that Freleng walks well, and one refreshingly native to his talents.
Impressively, the smokestack orchestra maintains its timing, even as the camera engages in a slow, rolling pan down the facade of the factory. The layout is as impressive as the musical timing. Comprised of sharp, geometric shapes and neutral colors--save for the occasional splash of red for some eye-popping value--the shape language and color temperature give off an unwelcoming, cold, and harsh exterior. Inorganic and mechanic.
No place for an organic, decidedly un-mechanic dog to roam.
Viewers thusly receive a visual lesson in smelting. Just like its exterior, the layouts all throughout the factory sequence are stellar. A lot of the shots are structured with a mechanic symmetry in mind: buckets and metals all heading to the same direction, staunchly repeated actions, more clean and cold geometric shape language. This sameness and symmetry contribute to the aforementioned lack of organicism, which feeds into the tonal overwhelm.
Ditto for the bombastic scale of the factory itself; with each shot, the dog frantically dashes into frame and helplessly views his love be recycled for the war effort. His diminutive scale certainly sticks out through just how tiny he is, rendering him more alienated and, thusly, helpless. With that helplessness comes our pity.
The actual background paintings are incredibly effective within this sequence, too; the shot of the metal pouring through a vat is largely carried through the background painting, the vat painted with a red hot gradient to simulate the heat of the metal--the liquid metal itself is merely a tangle of gray lines on celluloid. The visual is stunning and memorable.
Likewise with the first shot of the factory's interior, where the metal pouring into a bucket prompts a momentary cross dissolve between backgrounds--one painted with the same gradient technique in mind to convey the same illusion of heat. Two painted backgrounds for a short little snippet, all in the name of conveying mood. This is the sort of directorial concentration and embrace that the short greatly benefits from.
Through a series of cross dissolves, it's revealed that the scrap metal is being recycled into bombs. More harshly synchronized actions in both display and intention. The bombs themselves are given highlights and shadows to convey their metallic texture, offering a stronger visual priority and, with it, an irreversible gravity. Not only is Daisy not coming back from this, but it's now impossible to tell which bomb is made up of her remains.
Not that it's a deterrent for the dog. More inspired cinematography ensues with the dog's hopeless pursuit of his lost love. Feelings of symmetry and mechanical overwhelm are concentrated as the dog is lost in a sea of bombs, all rigidly alike. The strict organization is so drastic a juxtaposition from the organicism and even general tone of the short leading up to this. There's a directorial embrace of the dog's alienation and the sudden arrival of austerity.
Intriguingly, not a single human worker is present in this entire sequence. No guards, no signs of organic life beyond the dog. Perhaps this lessens the drama, with no threat of ejection--but, at the same time, it highlights his loneliness and, with it, desperation, playing on the audience's empathy. His "fish out of water" feeling is directly amplified through. The coldness of his surroundings and futility of his mission are enunciated.
So much so that our dog has no other choice but to admit defeat. Sobbing against a pile of bombs--still maintaining rigid organization as an antithesis to the organicism of the dog--he comes to a tearful acquiescence:
"I guess I've lost ya, Daisy...an' I'll never see ya again...!"
Fate, of course, works in mysterious ways.
It's almost comedic how convenient the dog's escape from the factory is. Again, no security to kick him out or threaten him--it's just himself against the world, but now with his true love back at his side. It would maybe be nice to have the additional threat of a disembodied security guard throwing him out, scoring a sensation of a literal underdog and perhaps embracing his "uniqueness" of the situation. Regardless, it's all in service of getting to the next destination.
While our hero has been reunited with his "girl", the resolution isn't exactly all that simple nor happy. Stalling's whiny, mournful reprise of "You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby" is a beautifully ironic commentary that adheres to the dog's own lamentable grief: "Oh, my Daisy... what have they done to you? What have they done to you? They changed you!"
Kudos to Pierce for the particular use of "they"; it makes it seem as though neither the dog nor Daisy had any say in the matter (the latter being, of course, because she is a metallic statue) and a matter of lost consent through outside forces. There's a heavier gravity than if the dog had just simply mourned that she's "different now". In fact, the very "they" that the dog is so in disagreement against can be seen in the background; the factory is still quite visible, as are the foreboding, billowing clouds from its smokestacks. A tangible reminder of who is responsible for Daisy's fate and the dog's grief.
Even so, that doesn't stop the dog from trying to recapture a lost spark.
A spark that is still given.
Despite the brief error in which the explosion briefly dissipates, revealing the dog kissing the bomb before cutting back to smoke, this is a fantastic reprise. One strengthened by the reused animation of this kiss shtick from before, as well as the dog's numerous attempts to kiss her to begin with. Not only that, but it's a logical--term used loosely--outcome. Added points for adhering to the rule of three's; not counting the dog's encounter with the bulldog, this is the third time he's successfully kissed Daisy--comedy is said to come in three's, and this certainly makes for a powerful conclusion on the trifecta.
What remains consistent throughout every kiss is the dog's unbroken ecstasy: "She hasn't changed a bit!"
Having the damage extend to the background is a great consideration that brings home the hypothesis of this short's primary strength being through its backgrounds. A vast breadth of destruction that makes the contrast posed by his innocent jubilation much stronger, more endearing, and, of course, more funny.
With one final note of happy, secure continuity, the dog engages in old habits: contortions and guffaws and cartwheels abound with his happy theme music of "I'm Happy About the Whole Thing". An apt assessment of musical commentary.
Per The Film Daily:
Ding Dog Daddy (Merrie Melody)
Warner 7 Mins. Amusing
A lot of cleverness has gone into the making of "Ding Dog Daddy," a Technicolor cartoon from the Leon Schlesinger atelier. The footage tells the story of a goofy hound that falls in love with an iron dog that stands on the lawn of an estate. A watch-dog interferes with the romance but cannot dim the goofy one's ardor. Tragedy enters the picture when the iron dog is taken away and converted into a shell in a munitions plant.
This short is a bit of an odd duck--er, dog. It's not a particularly strong effort for either Freleng nor Pierce, but is such a likable cartoon--despite not really offering that much to contribute to such a metric--that its flaws are pretty easily forgiven.
Obviously, the conflict between the Colvig dog and the bulldog serves a purpose. This short, which struggles enough with meandering pacing as is, would have been even more directionless without some sort of barrier to keep the dog from getting his steel sweetheart. Regardless, the short is at its best when it focuses on the Colvig dog's affections for Daisy. Many of the interactions between the Colvig dog and bulldog feel arbitrary, directionless, or even nonsensical. There isn't a whole lot of motivation beyond obligation; that's felt especially when the bulldog is unceremoniously locked out, after all that back and forth and build-up.
Indeed, this short does feel a bit "looser" than Freleng's usual standards. There's a lot of his bluntness and cynicism inherent to the short's premise alone, but there isn't very much that makes this a standout to his strengths--save, of course, the factory sequence. There just seem to be some oversights and loose ends that could be more secure than they are currently. A lot of fat to be trimmed--we don't need 12 seconds of the bulldog grumbling about how he wants to hurt the Colvig dog, when that's been pretty clear with all of their interactions beforehand. Nor do we need an awkward cut of the dog burying his head in the ground and a bunch of aimless, visual noise to convey his coyness towards Daisy.
This short can be loose, unfocused, and arbitrary at times... but still manages to remain endearing. Pinto Colvig is truly the star of the short; perhaps that's the drug of novelty with him using his Goofy voice for a character that could pass as Goofy's cousin, but he really does inject such a saving grace of warmth and endearment into his deliveries for the dog. He turns this no-name character into one we want to root for, or at the very least observe in contented, gentle condescension, tittering at his antics and feeling good about our own superiority as we, intellects, are too smart to fall in love with metallic statues. I imagine my feelings on this short would be much colder if it were "just another" Mel Blanc vehicle. Again, Mel is a great talent, but the diversity of voice casting--where applicable--really carries more weight with these shorts than one may assume. Colvig is essentially this short's identity.
Maybe that doesn't bode well for the quality of the short if it hinges so heavily on one single aspect like that. Even so, it's said out of endearment for Colvig's role rather than out of critique for the short. Likewise, the backgrounds are as much a starring role as Colvig, adapting to and conveying the mood with great strength and flexibility. Stalling's score continues to please. And the premise has real promise, stupid as it may be--in fact, it's because of its stupidity that it has such promise. It has its soft spots in the directing, as Freleng is capable of cutting the fat much more than is present here. Regardless, as mentioned above, the short still remains very likable, if flawed. Not dissimilar to the Colvig dog.
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