Lady and the Tramp
|  Although often extolled as such, it is only partially true that The Lion King (1994) is the first Disney animated feature not based on previously published source material—whether it be a book, myth, fairy tale, or symphony. Lady and the Tramp, Disney’s 15th animated feature, began life as a series of sketches in the late 1930s by Disney artist Joe Grant that were inspired by the reactions of his Springer Spaniel’s response to his newborn baby. Grant’s ideas were eventually merged with a character inspired by Ward Greene’s 1943 short story “Happy Dan, The Whistling Dog,” which was originally published in Cosmopolitan. Numerous writers were subsequently involved in shaping the story, which Greene published as a novelization in 1953, two years before the film debuted. Thus, while Lady and the Tramp is credited as an adaptation, it is really more of an original story and therefore a unique Disney production for the time.It is, however, a Disney movie through in through. No doubt about that. In fact, in many ways it is closer to the man Walt Disney’s view of the world than any of his preceding films, especially the way it is filtered largely through his sense of nostalgia for the Victorian era into which he was born and its associated comforts of hearth and home. The story takes place near the turn of the 20th century in an idealized New England town of manicured Queen Anne Style homes. The film begins in perfect bliss, as a cocker spaniel puppy named Lady (Barbara Luddy) joins the family of Darling (Peggy Lee) and Jim Dear (Lee Millar), a happily contented young couple who treat her like their child. Lady’s blissful existence, which begins each morning with a romp in the yard chasing birds and convocation with the neighboring Jock (Bill Thompson), a feisty Scottie, and Trusty (Bill Baucom), an old bloodhound, is disrupted when Darling gives birth to a new infant. Further disruptions ensue with the arrival of Aunt Sarah (Verna Felton), a fussy old maid who sees Lady as a nuisance and a threat, and Sarah’s vicious Siamese cats, whose slinky sadism is neatly encapsulated in their immortal “We Are Siamese” chant, which, while reeking of stereotypical Asian fear-mongering, is nevertheless unforgettable as a character piece. Into Lady’s previously unruffled life also comes Tramp (Larry Roberts), a devil-may-care stray mutt who relishes his freedom as much as Lady relishes her creature comforts. One imagines that James Cameron had Tramp in mind when he wrote Jack Dawson’s speech in Titanic (1997) explaining why his “rootless existence” is so “appealing.” Tramp literally lives on the wrong side of the tracks (which, in this film’s world, still have aesthetic appeal despite their hard-scrabble drearinesss), but he has nothing to confine him beyond his own desires. It doesn’t hurt that everyone in the neighborhood seems to love him, most of all Tony (George Givot), the owner of an Italian restaurant who is more than happy to feed the stray whenever he wanders by. Thus, Tramp’s existence is by no means bereft of the basic necessities, and he gleefully mocks Lady and the other members of the “leash and collar crowd.” Yet, the film’s ultimate message is that Lady’s existence is the more desirable of the two. Even though she absconds with Tramp for a while and shares his unleashed lifestyle (including a night spent together that has some not-so-subtle sexual connotations), the film is ultimately about incorporating Tramp into the domestic space—getting him into a collar and by the roaring fireplace, happily married and raising a litter of pups. While conservative messages are hardly rare in Disney cinema, something about the ending of Lady and the Tramp feels almost excessively so, especially given the conviction and appeal of Tramp’s earlier celebration of his free-wheeling life. You can sense the taken-for-grantedness of this social conviction in the fact that Tramp’s change of heart is left entirely off-screen. Once he saves Jim Dear and Darling’s baby from a marauding rat and is rescued from being taken to the pound, he immediately adopts and is adopted into Lady’s human family, no questions asked. Messages aside, Lady and the Tramp is certainly a gorgeous film (also the first animated CinemaScope production), lovingly drawn and painted in a way that evokes both the incredible detail of its idealized Victorian world and the uniqueness of dog behavior. Just as they did when making Bambi (1942), the Disney animators spent a great deal of time observing dogs in order to animate their peculiar movements in just the right way; any dog owner will immediately recognize the way that Tramp stretches out his back and legs when waking up in the morning, the way Trusty smashes his nose to the ground when following a scent, or the way that Jock bounces up and down when aggravated. Directors Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, and Hamilton Luske (who would go on to make One-Hundred and One Dalmatians six years later) also wisely keep the view at dog level, especially inside Jim Dear and Darling’s house, which means that most of the human characters are reduced to legs and feet and arms and hands. This is not to say that there isn’t plenty of anthropomorphism going on as well, especially in the character of Peg (also voiced by Peggy Lee), a sultry stray who has clearly spent time with Tramp and sings a salacious ditty in his honor that would make Mae West proud. It’s just one of the film’s numerous memorable moments, as well as a much needed bit of spice in a film that is otherwise contented with domestic bliss.
Copyright ©2012 James Kendrick Thoughts? E-mail James Kendrick All images copyright © Walt Disney Home Entertainment | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Overall Rating: 
(3)
