One Hundred and One Dada-lmations

For nearly 100 years, the name Walt Disney has been synonymous with top class, polished, and popular animation. Teams of animators churn out major films every couple of years, often to great financial success, and usually with a very particular ‘Disney-esque’ style. Timothy White purports that this style is, at least partly, typified by an attempted realism and continuity editing, typically associated with “Hollywood” cinema (1992: 3-16), meanwhile Paul Wells similarly ascribes a “mimetic” quality to Disney’s style, describing it as “orthodox” (2003: 220). However, a word seldom used to describe Disney animations is “abstract” and equally as rare, perhaps, is “experimental”. Indeed, “abstract” is part of Wells’ description for “experimental animation”, which he views as entirely separate to Disney’s “orthodox animation”(2003: 220). There are notable exceptions to this, for instance Fantasia (James Algar et. al, 1940) that explored the fanciful in animating to classical music, or perhaps the “pink elephants” sequence in Dumbo (Ben Sharpsteen, 1941), which attempted to realise the effects of alcohol over-consumption, though neither film delves fully into the realm of the abstract. In his writing, Wells separates “abstract” from “experimental”, explaining the former as a primary characteristic of the latter, though notes that abstraction is present to some degree in all animation (2003: 220-221). According to Michael Betancourt, experimental techniques began finding their way more regularly into commercial work in the 1950s and 60s, especially in title sequences of feature films and television shows (2019: 52).

Fig. 1 - One Dalmatians (Wolfgang Reitherman, Hamilton Luske & Clyde Geronimi, 1961).

There are numerous subcategories of experimental film; one of these is Dadaism, which gained particular popularity in the 1920s. The Tate website notes that it began as an anti-war, anti-bourgeois art movement in the early 20th century and would later develop into Surrealism, influencing a wide range of media including painting, journalism, and film. Artists like Hans Richter, Marcel Duchamp, Man Ray, and, later, Oskar Fischinger (though he was arguably more of a Surrealist, by R. Bruce Elder’s account [2013: 385]) were just a few of the many champions of this movement, as described on the Departures website (2019) that mostly fizzled before Disney even released its first feature film, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (David Hand, 1937). Yet as this post argues, it was whether by coincidence or design that the animators at the Walt Disney studios in the 1960s created a similar sensation to the Dadaist works with the opening credits of One Hundred and One Dalmatians (Wolfgang Reitherman, Hamilton Luske & Clyde Geronimi, 1961). This foray into more experimental territory is unusual for Disney, and while the studio is perhaps seen as a polar opposite to experimental filmmakers (Wells terms it as orthodox in compared to categories of “developmental” or “experimental” [2003: 220]), this post argues that One Hundred and One Dalmatians might offer more of a connection between the two than previously thought.

Disney Insider tells us that, in 1961, One Hundred and One Dalmatians used Xerox technology for the first time, resulting in hazy, “ragged” animation in which pencil lines were still visible and there was an “undeniably funky vibe” (2019) (Fig. 1). Disney himself reportedly “hated” it, according to the Reel History blog (2011). The whole film has an energy and life to it as a result of Xerography unlike anything else Disney had released before. Quite obviously animated to the music, it is the credit sequence that also marked a departure from the previous ‘Classic Disney’ storybook openings, with their sweeping scores and title cards featuring static backgrounds fading into one another, such as is featured on Bambi (David Hand, 1942) or Sleeping Beauty (Clyde Geronimi, 1959). The title sequence of One Hundred and One Dalmatians can be understood in terms of what Betancourt describes as “visual music” (2019: 52-54). Dalmatian spots vibrate, swirl, and dance about the screen in time to the jazz score. Jump cuts change the size and shape of some dots, while others take on an amoeba-like quality and grow, shrink, or simply flash. The animators in charge of the title sequence were Jack Boyd and Les Clark (Mayerson 2008), who were both lifelong Disney employees and known more for classically animated work like Sleeping Beauty. However, those familiar with Dadaist animation and the work of a filmmaker such as Richter can draw some similarities between their work on One Hundred and One Dalmatians. In fact, it was Richter who produced more experimental animations in the 1920s with striking similarities to the opening credit sequence to Disney’s film.

For example, Richter’s film Rhythmus 23 (1923) can be particularly compared to the opening of One Hundred and One Dalmatians. Jannon Stein argues Rhythmus 23 was made as part of a series of short films, in which Richter experimented with shapes and movement in an effort to explore rhythm (2011). Stein further notes that Richter saw film as the perfect medium to demonstrate the “relationships of light” (2011) and he demonstrated the contrast between light and dark using black and white moving shapes. Rhythmus 23 features squares and rectangles moving about the screen in a comparable manner to the opening credits of One Hundred and One Dalmatians. The film feels controlled yet indeterminate. Both Rhythmus 23 and One Hundred and One Dalmatians use shifting shapes – rectangles and ‘spots’, respectively – and both are animated in a such a way that results in a jittery, jumpy movement of the shapes. In Rhythmus 23, this seems to have been done primarily as an abstract geometric experiment - Jon Krasner notes that Richter “explored the linguistics of rhythm and motion through the use of geometric structures” (2013: 168) - whereas the shapes in 101 Dalmatians have a specific referent (e.g. dalmatian spots).

The rhythm created by the movement and cuts in Richter’s film feels slightly uncanny too and this is perhaps because, unlike the Disney animation, it features no soundtrack. Only the faint hiss of projection (a remnant of film’s physical form, audible even on digitised versions) accompanies the pullulating rectangles. This reinforces its abstraction, removing it from any possible referent. 101 Dalmatians, meanwhile, animates the ever populating and mutable spots to a hot, jazzy score, which acts as a viewer’s guide to the movement. However, take the music away from One Hundred and One Dalmatians and what remains is an abstract and geometric non-sequitur. Equally, a jazz score placed behind Rhythmus 23, even possibly the very same jazz score, might appear as though it fits the animation perfectly. Take for instance these two brief moments from each sequence below:

Figs. 2-5 (L-R) - Hans Richter’s Rhythmus 23.

Figs. 6-8 (L-R) - One Hundred and One Dalmatians.

Figs. 9-12 (L-R) - One Hundred and One Dalmatians.

Figures 2-5 (above) from Richter’s film are silent, whereas the credits sequence from One Hundred and One Dalmatians (Figs. 6-12) features a fast, alert run on the trumpet. The two soundtracks could easily be swapped. Furthermore, examining the brief sequence – the clip in question lasts only a few seconds - from One Hundred and One Dalmatians from a purely visual standpoint, the animators have used experimental jump cut techniques to mimic the blaring trumpet. The spot, beginning as a small point in the lower left, jumps back and forth between larger and smaller sizes, before finally becoming the static text background in Figure 11. The overall background is entirely abstracted and unidentifiable beyond colour and texture. Removed from context, the animation of Figures 6-12 is as abstract as that of Figures 2-5, and this is true for most of the beginning of the opening credits of the Disney film; there is a discernible departure once the spots begin to mimic notes on sheet music, approximately halfway through the credit sequence, after which point the animation tends to be much less abstract and contains readily identifiable visual references, mostly dogs. However, the first half of the credits up and to that point sits firmly in the abstract, verging on the realm of visual music. They use not only the jump cuts demonstrated above, but also play with the movement, size, colour, and shapes of the spots. Another short clip from the credit sequence features a spot blaring from black to white and back again; this also occurs over an abstracted, textured background (Figs. 13-15).

Figs. 13-15 (L-R) - One Hundred and One Dalmatians.

Separated by nearly 40 years, with markedly different runtimes, and sat squarely in very different genres, these two films at first blush bear very little resemblance to one another. While the animation squad over at Walt Disney’s studios may not have realised it, the abstract influence can be found in One Hundred and One Dalmatians and is most evident in its opening credit sequence. The geometric shifting, jump cuts, and rhythmic movement, though ostensibly inspired by the jazz score, harkens to Dadaist animation, such as Hans Richter’s Rhythmus 23. There is what Paul Taberham might describe as an overall experimental feeling in this opening sequence; no narrative unfolds throughout it, but rather, meaning is provoked by the undulating shapes (2019: 23). As a result, One Hundred and One Dalmatians shares some striking similarities with the politics of an anti-capitalist art movement from the 1920s, despite being an overtly commercial endeavour.

**Article published: May 15, 2020**

References

Annie, Little Orphan. 2011. “Reel History: Disney’s One Hundred and One Dalmatians,” Reel History (August 9, 2011), available at: http://norlinreelhistory.blogspot.com/2011/08/disneys-one-hundred-and-one-dalmatians.html.

Anon. 2016. “Why Does 101 Dalmatians Look Like That?,” Disney Insider, available at: https://ohmy.disney.com/insider/2016/01/11/why-does-101-dalmatians-look-like-that/.

Anon. 2010. “Our Art Belongs to Dada,” Departures, available at: https://www.departures.com/art-culture/exhibit/our-art-belongs-dada.

Betancourt, Michael. 2019. “Experimental Animation and Motion Graphics,” in Experimental Animation: From Analogue to Digital, eds. Miriam Harris, Lilly Husbands and Paul Taberham, 51-68. London: Routledge.

Elder, R. Bruce. 2013. DADA, Surrealism, and the Cinematic Effect. Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press.

Krasner, Jon. 2013. Motion Graphic Design: Applied History and Aesthetics. Burlington, MA: Focal Press.

Mayerson, Mark. 2008. “Mayerson on Animation: 101 Dalmatians: Part 1,” Mayerson on Animation, available at: http://mayersononanimation.blogspot.com/2008/03/101-dalmatians-part-1.html.

Stein, Jannon. 2011. “Abstract Films from the 1920s: Making Rhythm Visible,” The Getty Iris, available at: https://blogs.getty.edu/iris/abstract-films-from-the-1920s-making-rhythm-visible/.

Taberham, Paul. 2019. “It’s Alive If You Are: Defining Experimental Animation,” in Experimental Animation: From Analogue to Digital, 17-36.

Wells, Paul. 2003. “Animation – Forms and Meanings,” in An Introduction to Film Studies – Third Edition, ed. Jill Nelmes, 213–238. London and New York: Routledge.

White, Timothy R. 1992. “From Disney to Warner Bros.: The Critical Shift,” Film Criticism 16, no. 3: 3–16.

Biography

Jacqui Griffin currently works a lecturer in film and TV production at the University of Bradford and is pursuing her PhD from the University of East Anglia. Her areas of interest include poetic film, Stan Brakhage, and installation. Alongside her academic career, Jacqui actively works in film production as a director and sound editor.