Christmas morning. Sylvester keeps eating Tweety. Cats will be cats. The holly part suggests how do-gooders will keep trying to turn human/feline nature against itself. Fine, if one believes in reform and repentance. And who doesn’t? On the other hand, what folly! The next present extends this line of thought very nicely. Now we have a dog, who keeps eating Sylvester.
The cowboys-and-Indians part is nice. “Okay, Hoppy, I’m pulling your cork.” Those WB shot gun sounds are so reassuring, so satisfying. And Indian Granny’s intervention—a plunger—is surprising, pleasing. In this one they keep using Mozart’s K. 545 as Tweety’s motif. The toy train climax is really wonderfully staged and executed. Track/swallow/swallow/out/out—gag architecture! Granny and Tweety conclude with a superb, squeaky “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” It’s kind of touching!