Jolly Good Benny

The Brits had exposure to Jack Benny during World War Two through radio transcriptions. And he played the Palladium in London several times after the war ended. But it wasn’t until 1956 that he made his TV debut there.

It seems, perhaps with one exception, the British came away more impressed with Jack than noted Englishman Ronald Colman did on the Benny radio show.

Here is a sampling of stories and opinions about the broadcast on Sunday, June 3, 1956.

British TV Critics Hail Jack Benny
LONDON, June 4 — (UP) — Television critics hailed Jack Benny today for teaching British comedians how to be funny.
The veteran American comedian appeared Sunday night on an uproariously funny "spectacular" on the British Broadcasting Company [sic] television program that drew loud cheers from all the critics.
"Irresistible," said The Daily Herald.
"Now I know why the Jack Benny show has been a favorite on American television for six years. His sedate drollery brought a gust of badly needed new life to British comedy."
Benny used every trick in his veteran bag during the hour-long show. He tossed out the names of Dennis Day and Phil Harris — unfamiliar to many of Britain's viewers — and brought roars of laughter.
He was on for 53 of the 60 minutes and drew a solid string of laughs from start to finish.
The program was the first of a series Benny is doing for the BBC. Last night's program, however, was "live." All the rest will be on film.
This was TV comedy deluxe —a superb exhibition of the art of comedy by a world master," said The Daily Express.
"The Jack Benny show must rank very, very high in TV comedy — and I hope all the TV comedians of Britain were watching to see how it really can be done," The Express said.
Benny combined his "reputation" of being a violin player with being a penny pincher in one of the show's best laugh getters:
"It (his violin) has been in the family for years," he said. "Great-Grandfather gave it to grandfather. Grandfather gave it to father. Father sold it to me."

Under the headline “Good Fun From Jack Benny,” the Eastern Daily Press reviewer wrote the next day:

UNDOUBTEDLY the event of the week-end on television was the appearance last night of Jack Benny, the celebrated American comedian, in his own show. Most viewers would be asking if he would live up to his reputation, which is always unenviable ice for a great comedian to break, so let it be said at once that he did. His opening two turns, when he was interrupted by singer Teddy Johnson and schoolgirl-violinist Yvonne Larvin, gave the show an unorthodox and ingenious start. Jack Benny's comedy is individual and original, backed by perfect timing and a face that is at its most expressive when it seems to be frozen solid. If the film series to come is of the same standard as last night's live show, viewers can look forward to some rattling good fun.

G.A. Olden wrote in the The Irish Times:

A GREAT comedian made his first British television appearance last Sunday. For years, Jack Benny reigned almost unchallenged in American vaudeville and radio; his film roles have been as memorable as they were rare.
Now "The Jack Benny Show" has come to television; and this clever man’s hypnotic control of an audience can be seen as well as heard. What makes Benny a comedian among comedians? His patter is not explosively witty, nor is it crammed with the topical and local allusions so beloved of Bob Hope's script writers. Far from exerting himself to entertain us at all costs there are moments when. Mr. Benny almost falls asleep on his feet. Yet the laughter comes rolling in from audiences that may well.be unaware of the superb technique that excited it.
All great clowns work in a convention of their own devising—they create a comic personality and then live up (or down) to it. Mr. Benny has created the legend that he is mean, vain and slow of understanding. His insincere smile, the air of pensive bewilderment with which he reacts to the points scored off him by the supporting players, the dawn of comprehension in his sad eyes as he savours some outrageous insult are all great strokes of comic acting, Relaxation is his keyword, which is, perhaps, why Sunday's biggest laugh came when, after very chastely kissing Moira Lister, he announced, without a trace of expression: "I feel a wreck."
Aspiring comedians would do well to note that Jack Benny, far from trying to "hog"' the comedy, gives most of the best lines to his stooges. His function is to react, and there are few funnier spectacles than a Benny reaction. He is not in the great creative class of Chaplin or Danny Kaye, but among the vaudeville-trained technicians — a worthy group that includes Bob Hope, Fred Allen and George Burns—he is still supreme in any medium.

And after reviewing other televised offerings of the evening, Stephen Potter of the Evening Standard of London wrote:

[T]he programme honours of the evening went to Jack Benny. This was Mr. Benny's first appearance on TV here, but we attach to him so many vague but pleasant memories, film and radio, that his name seems like a household word, even if we are not quite sure which one.
Every now and then a leg is kicked, a song is sung, in this speeding programme hour. But mostly it is Benny, and Benny making his joke.
For that is the key to Benny. I believe that, basically, he has only one joke. The question is asked, hopefully, expecting the answer "Yes "—and back comes the answer "No."
"Does the glamorous lady film star think he would make a good lover?" Well, actually, not. "Was he asked to dine at No. 10, Downing Street like some other U.S. celebrities?" Not absolutely—but he got a very good invitation from No. 9.
The rebuff
It scarcely seems funny at all in print. But watching Mr. Benny's face, motionless with rebuff, we yet somehow see, mounting beneath it, the sense of inexplicable wrong. The tragedy of the unappreciated. The personification of the unwanted. And we laugh, and we shall go on laughing, because Mr. Benny is a fine artist and a first-class comedian.

A Reuters dispatch from London the next day observed:

Last night Benny—operating without Rochester—spoofed British institutions and made fun of himself. One critic calculated that he appeared on the screen for 53 minutes of an hour-long show.
Only the Daily Mail critic could find cause for complaint for the show which was seen by an estimated 20,000,000 Britons.
"Mr. Benny," he said, "revealed few visual humors other than a periodic display of his profile in mock affront, but he was obviously such a nice man that it would be captious to complain."
All the critics commented on the lack of dialogue they usually associate with comedians from the United States.

The day before, the European wire service reported on a Benny news conference, where Jack joked about Rochester, and explained a flair-up involving one person not happy with the show.

Jack Benny Greets England
LONDON, June 3 (Reuters) — Hush-hush arrangements prevailed tonight as Londoners got set for another B-K visit.
But this time the laughs would be intentional as Benny Kubelsky — better known as Jack Benny — presented an hour-long evening TV show for the British Broadcasting Corp.
Benny has made a tremendous impression on the British during his stay in London rehearsing for his show.
Consistently over-tipping doormen at his expensive hotel, Benny has nevertheless managed to retain his reputation as a tightwad.
While being interviewed, Benny casually ordered a meal—for one—and ate it while he chatted with the hungry reporter.
Asked why his faithful valet, Rochester, had not accompanied him, the 62-year-old comedian replied: "Think of the expense."
Benny also made news when a British expert in Cockney dialect angrily walked out of the show rehearsals because American writers tried to teach him the "correct" Cockney accent.
"I speak five different dialects of Cockney," he exclaimed indignantly.
"I feel real mean about that," said Benny. "What we wanted, you see, was a Cockney who would be understood by Americans."
Benny was remembered on top in the United States since 1932 because he has built up an audience of loyal fans who know that inconsequential remarks made early in the show may become the theme of later jokes. They know that Benny gets a maximum of effect from a monosyllabic "hmnn" or "yipe" or even a slight change of facial expression rather than the joke-a-sentence type of humor Britons associate with American TV comedians.

The person who grumbled “I think I know more about [a Cockney accent] than any American” was Peter Sellers.

Tweety and Tweetie

The Warner Bros. cartoon studio never won an Oscar until 1947—thanks, Walt Disney and Fred Quimby—when Friz Freleng directed Tweetie Pie.

There are so many routines in this cartoon that were used again and again. Sylvester tie-toes back and forth in the background to set up his scene (dropping a piece of something on his way). A halo of innocence pops above his head. Building a stack of odds and ends he can climb to reach the bird. He prays as disaster is about to befall him. He waves at the camera before gravity takes its evitable hold and he falls out of the scene.

In this short, there’s also a Rube Goldberg-type contraption, reminiscent of something Wile E. Coyote would create. It’s not a surprise since Mike Maltese co-wrote the story with Tedd Pierce. The frames tell the story of how strings pull on this or open that, though you have to watch the cartoon to see Friz’ excellent timing. Layouts are by Hawley Pratt.



Manny Perez provides the new animation. I say “new” because the footage with the iron, ironing board, steaming tea kettle and the fridge all come from Trap Happy Porky (Chuck Jones, 1945, written by Pierce). Mel Blanc supplies Tweety's voice. Sylvester is silent and is called “Thomas” by his owner (Bea Benaderet). “Sylvester” was a character played by Blanc on The Judy Canova Show on radio, with the same voice he eventually gave to the cat.

George Delmerico interviewed Freleng on Oct. 29, 1989 about this cartoon.

GEORGE: To take one of the best examples that you’re associated with, Tweety and Sylvester. But Clampett started Tweety off in one direction. Was that film “Tweetie Pie” (1947) sort of underway, roughly, when he left?
FRIZ: Well, that’s the story. I know that he was making one, or was in a process of doing, and he left, and I was doing a thing with a woodpecker.
GEORGE: I remember “Peck Up Your Troubles” (1946)...
FRIZ: Yeah. I did a woodpecker. And I didn’t like the character of the woodpecker: he was just a “nothing” character. And when I wanted to do the next one with the woodpecker, about the time Clampett left, well, I said “Since Clampett’s gone, I think I’ll put Tweety in there.” I told Ed Selzer, who was the boss at the time, I said, “I’m gonna put Tweety, who was in Clampett’s pictures, in with Sylvester.”

What happened next is recorded in some interview with Freleng I’ve seen transcribed. You think I can find it? Grrr. Anyway, Jerry Beck and Will Friedwald, in their book Warner Bros. Animation Art (1997), pick up the story.

During production of this short, producer Edward Selzer orders Freleng to use a woodpecker from an earlier film instead of a canary; Freleng hands Selzer his pencil and quits. That night, Freleng is called at home and rehired by a conciliatory Selzer. When the short wins Warner Bros. Animation's first Academy Award the following March, Selzer accepts the statuette.

The Los Angeles Times reported March 22, 1948, in an unbylined story:

There was a quiet party at the home of Edward Selzer, whose “Tweetie Pie” won an Oscar as the best cartoon. "I'm afraid,” Selzer said, “that my family was more excited about it than I was. No I don’t have the Oscar here now. I let Fritz Freleng [sic], the director, take it home to show his daughter.

Selzer, of all people, actually (are you sitting down for this?) got laughs during the ceremony. Lloyd Sloan of the Hollywood Citizen-News recorded for posterity:

This year, the Awards committee tried a new system in making the presentations. The major Oscars were not all presented at the end, and the “best actor” award was made early in the evening. Even that, unfortunately, failed to lift the lesser presentations from their rather lifeless routine category.
The fact was ably brought home by Edward Selzer, who paused at the microphone, after receiving his “best cartoon” statuette from Shirley Temple, and said: “I’ll take a minute, because cartoons have saved many a show before.” It was the remark that broke the tension, and it brought down the house.

The version of the cartoon on home video is a Blue Ribbon, shorn of opening titles when re-issued on June 25, 1955 (it was originally released on May 3, 1947). The marvellous David Gerstein (who I wish blogged more) located a black-and-white print in a private collection in 2011 and we have screen grabs of the original credits thanks to him.



I don’t want to plough old ground (aka trivia) you’re likely familiar with. You know the character was originally based on Bob Clampett’s baby picture, and named Orson on the model sheet (by Rod Scribner?) for A Tale of Two Kitties (1942), though Tom McKimson’s later sheet for Clampett calls him "Tweety."

In this picture, he would seem to be named "Tweetie." Freleng’s next Tweety picture was I Taw a Putty Tat, released April 2, 1948. When it was put into production, I don’t know, but somewhere along the way the spelling of the bird’s name changed back. (Devon Baxter has sent word that Keith Scott's hunt through Warners files shows the dialogue was recorded January 1947).



Tweety proved to be a long and durable character, even co-starring in a TV show starting in 1995. Friz was right to give that woodpecker the heave-ho.

Blackboard Revue

Stick figures dancing on a blackboard are one of the highlights of Teacher’s Pests, a 1932 Water Lantz cartoon. Among the crew was Tex Avery.

Avery included stick figures in Porky’s Preview (1941), but another cartoon was based around them a year earlier.

Blackboard Revue was produced by Ub Iwerks for release by Columbia in 1940. The story itself is an old chestnut. Inanimate characters come to life at night, sing and dance, then when dawn breaks, they rush to become inanimate again.

The school teacher in the cartoon is an imitation of Tizzy Lish, who was a female impersonator on the Al Pearce radio show.



Some of the "students." And a dopey student.



A late student comes in and tells the teacher a tale of being stopped by Indians. Teacher: "Indians?! Were they Blackfeet?" Student: "How should I know? They were wearing shoes."



He jumped into an eagle's next, then tangled with the eagle.



He landed in front of a cave, and out stepped an enormous black bear. Teacher: "A cinammon bear?" Student: "How should I know what flavour?" (The Cinammon Bear was a kids radio show).



The student escapes from the bear by hoisting himself using the chalk numbers and letters on the blackboard.



The teacher believes none of it, and asks what he expects to be when he grows up. Now the cartoon switches gears and the student launches into a song, with the Rhythmettes singing behind Blanc. He wants to be an engineer. A girl student wants to be a movie star. Caricaturist Ben Shenkman gives us another approximation of Clark Gable. A hand-on-hip nancy boy wants to be a fireman.



"Well, shut my mouth!" This chalk drawing taps just like Bojangles Robinson.



The dullard student wants to lead a band. Everybody dances!



A bird on a tree outside sounds reveille. The drawings rush back to where they came from. The camera pulls away from the blackboard and the scene dissolves to outside the schoolhouse, which is how things started.

Ub Iwerks is the only artist credited, with both Eddie Kilfeather (music) and Joe De Nat (musical direction) getting credits. Among the staff at Cartoon Films in 1940 were Ed Benedict, Tom McKimson and Paul Fennell.

Porky Burns Up

Daffy Duck continually outsmarts Porky Pig in My Favorite Duck, a 1942 cartoon from the Chuck Jones unit.

At one point, Daffy tricks camper Porky into blowing up his tent, lawn chair and even trees into the sky. After a bit of time, the law of gravity enforces itself and Porky falls to the ground.

Porky is all burned up about it. Literally. After spontaneous combustion, the smoke and ashes remaining re-form into the pig.



This is an excellent cartoon, with interesting layouts by John McGrew, attractive backgrounds by Gene Fleury (neither credited) and clever gags by Mike Maltese, including a fourth wall at the end. Rudy Larriva is the credited animator.

If I was given a choice between watching this cartoon and Jones’ and Maltese’s Robin Hood Daffy (1957), I know which one I’d pick.