More Than Hazel

At first, it would seem ridiculous that a woman who won an Oscar, a Golden Globe and a Tony for a heavily dramatic role in Come Back, Little Sheba would be cast in a light-weight domestic sitcom on TV. But Hazel was far from Shirley Booth’s first stab at comedy. For that, you have to go back to radio and “Where the Elite Meet to Eat.”

Here’s a feature column from the Associated Press, Sept. 17, 1961.

Shirley Booth Late to TV
By CYNTHIA LOWRY
HOLLYWOOD — The last time Shirley Booth had a continuing role in broadcasting was 20 years ago when she played Miss Duffy, the waitress, in radio’s great and well-remembered Duffy’s Tavern.
On September 28, Miss Booth comes to television as the star of NBC’s Hazel, a situation comedy revolving about the maid who runs the Baxter family with an iron glove on a velvet hand.
Between Miss Duffy and Hazel, she has become one of the great stars of the American stage and screen, winner of a bucketful of acting awards, including an Oscar and the official title of “world’s best actress,” for her performance in “Come Back, Little Sheba.”
Booth fans may legitimately be a little nervous about the vehicle which will bring this versatile performer into their living rooms each week. Hazel was born as a cartoon character in a weekly magazine in 1942 and has been appearing regularly ever since. It is hard enough to give life to a cartoon character. It is even harder when the background is upper-middle-class family life, so thoroughly explored in TV comedy it has become a cliche.
Miss Booth, however, feels confident and calm.
“I guess I’m a little late getting into weekly television,” she said, almost apologetically. “But then I always get in at the tail-end of everything. But as long as I’m occupied and busy with plays, I’m perfectly content.”
She has had Hazel on her mind for several years, however, Ted Key, the cartoonist who created the character, wrote a play about his brainchild several years ago and presented it to Miss Booth.
“I didn’t feel that it was right—I thought even then that one play was not as good for Hazel as an episodic medium.
“But once we were under way, the thing I had to do was get some depth, a different dimension to her character. The comedy will take care of itself, but the problem was to give her warmth. The only really important job of the actress is to get the audience interested in and caring about the character.”
‘Create a Character...’
Key’s job as a magazine cartoon-1st is to produce one laughter-evoking picture a week. Miss Booth’s job in creating a flesh-and-blood Hazel was “to create a character, not a caricature.”
“So the audience won’t always laugh,” she continued seriously. “That would ruin everything. To build up comedy, you must build up some protection around the funny lines. You must have arid spaces—a desert—before you can have an oasis. So you must have contrast to humor to make it effective.”
Now in her early 50s, Shirley Booth has been an actress since she was 12 and joined a Hartford, Conn., stock company.
In 1925 she was the ingenue (with Humphrey Bogart, another youngster) in the Broadway production of “Hell’s Bells.” In 1939 she won critical notices that topped those of Katharine Hepburn for her acting in “The Philadelphia Story.” But although the rave notices—for serious parts and for comedy—rolled in over the years, stardom came with “Come Back, Little Sheba” in 1950, when she played the poignant, lost Lola Delaney in the Broadway play.
Has Two Poodles
A small, round-faced woman with a quiet wit and easy smile, Miss Booth has hedged her Hollywood bets. She continues to maintain her New York City apartment, is having an addition built on her Cape Cod home—and is sharing her apartment-hotel quarters with her two poodles, “Prego” and “Grazia.”
Her marriage to comedian Ed Gardner ended in divorce in 1942—and it also ended the best years of his Duffy’s Tavern because she left the cast. She subsequently married investment broker W. H. Baker Jr. who died 10 years ago. “I keep very busy,” she confided. “My emotional life now? You can see the answer to that easily: I own two poodles.”

Booth’s Hazel caught the eyes of viewers. Among them were Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera, always looking for sources for new cartoon characters. In 1962, The Jetsons debuted. Just as they tagged The Honeymooners on The Flintstones, TV critics equated The Jetsons with Hazel, thanks to Jean Vander Pyl’s portrayal of the robot maid, Rosey, who suspiciously sounded like Booth’s Miss Duffy. Writers had her calling George Jetson “Mr. J,” just as Hazel addressed her boss as “Mr. B.”

There is only so much you can do in a domestic sitcom, and Hazel staved off disappearing from prime time in 1965 by switching networks and replacing almost all of the cast. Hazel polished the silver for one more season. Booth had been hospitalised for exhaustion and likely didn’t want to carry on with a weekly series.

Better make that “weakly” series. The new Mr. B., Ray Fulton, complained to Dick Kleiner of the Newspaper Enterprise Association that the scripts stunk; they were full of basic grammatical errors, plot flaws and repetitions, and sloppy writing. “What’s amazing,” he said, “is how Shirley Booth can make something out of nothing. It has been an education to watch her work.”

The Associated Press talked to her again after the cancellation. This is from April 16, 1966:

Shirley Booth Chooses ‘Menagerie’ Role on TV
By CYNTHIA LOWRY
HOLLYWOOD (AP)—A Hollywood trade paper recently carried a note that a producer of a television series was trying to get Raymond Burr, whose “Perry Mason” series recently came to an end, to play a trial lawyer in one episode. It is extremely doubtful that, no matter how attractive the series, money or role, Burr could be persuaded to take the assignment. This is typecasting, more dreaded by actors than a low Nielsen rating.
“Well,” said Shirley Booth with a smile as she concentrated on maneuvering her hardtop into a right-hand lane for a turn onto Sunset Boulevard, “nobody has offered me any parts as a domestic.”
Miss Booth, an Oscar winner—“Come Back Little Sheba”—and a three-time winner of Broadway’s “Tony,” has wound up five busy years of playing the title role in “Hazel,” a comedy that earned her an “Emmy” as well.
* * *
The first assignment she accepted was the lead in a CBS special, Tennessee Williams’ “The Glass Menagerie,” which will be produced in London in October for broadcast early in December.
“Of course, I’ve been offered lots of guest star roles,” she continued, moving into the noon-hour stream of traffic. “And some series. I really don’t want to get into another series but I’m very reluctant to say ‘never’ about anything because something might come along and I’ll change my mind.”
When the chance to do the Williams play turned up, she said, she was even reluctant about that, at first.
“I remember Laurette Taylor in the Amanda part,” she said. “I remember that performance so vividly — she really contributed something important to theater with it. I didn’t feel as if I wanted to take on something in which I’d just be doing an imitation of somebody else.”
She drove into a driveway of a handsome little house on a hillside in a secluded section and there followed a leisurely luncheon in the patio. One eye was on the clock, however, for she was due back at the studio in midafternoon to wind up chores on a two-hour film, “Package Deal” she is making for NBC’s “World Premiere” series next season.
“I also decided to do this film, even though it broke into my Cape Cod summer,” she continued. Pleasant parts — women with humor and wholesome outlooks — are hard to find these days, and I just didn’t feel like playing a lady drunk or a woman of loose morals and those parts are all over the place now.”
* * *
Meanwhile, re-runs, of “Hazel” will be on television channels all over the lot—which provides a painless steady income for the star.
Miss Booth, still remembered fondly as “Miss Duffy” in radio’s immortal “Duffy’s Tavern” and as a musical comedy star of Broadway’s “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” has four homes.
Her voting residence is the hillside house in Los Angeles. For weekends and holidays in winter, there is her recently acquired desert home beyond Palm Springs. Back East she has her summer home in Chatham on the Cape, plus the co-op apartment she owns in New York.
A widow, she enjoys movie and theater going, does a little Sunday-type painting, collects antiques, and is a passionate art collector. Most of all, though, she likes acting.

There were plenty of pre-broadcast newspaper publicity interviews by Booth for The Glass Menagerie. She got an Emmy nomination for that role, too.

One more sitcom awaited Booth. She played a widow in A Touch of Grace, that ran on ABC in 1973. Why did she come back to television? She told a press junket (as reported in the Omaha World-Herald) she had read the scripts for three series and preferred Grace. “I like the regimentation of doing the show, because I like to be a certain place at a certain time. For a lonely woman, it’s nice to have a built-in family.”

The show had a very good cast—J. Pat O’Malley, Warren Berlinger and the wonderful Marian Mercer—but eked out only 13 episodes. The finale featured a monologue by Grace to a table that represented her late husband’s gravestone. O’Malley and producers Saul Turteltaub and Bernie Orenstein cried when Booth rehearsed the scene and, as reported by Cecil Smith of Los Angeles Times syndicate, the two long-time TV show-runners quietly marvelled to each other about her acting abilities.

Booth decided to retire not much later and lived until the age of 94, passing away in 1992.

Van Beuren Farm Fun

Unexpected, funny things used to happen in early 1930s Fleischer cartoon, like a plant being watered, coming to life and waving “Thanks!” In a way, what happened seemed logical.

At Van Beuren, unexpected things happened and you were left wondering “What was that?”

I swear John Foster and whoever helped him got drunk on bootleg booze during story sessions and decided to go with any weird idea they could think of.

In The Farmerette (1932), two cows are grazing on pasture. One google-eyed cow stands up and pulls her tail and the one next to her. Their skirts go up. Why? Who knows. It’s a Van Beuren cartoon. (Note in the third frame, the horns are inked in. The animation is in a cycle so the horns kind of flash).



Then the horns turn into horns that honk.



The two cows dance and collapse. One gets up to sing “Hey, hey!” to end the scene.



First, an inking error, then a camera error. In some cartoons, you’ll see a blip on the screen when a character loses a body part on a separate cel for maybe a frame. In The Farmerette, one poor “dog in the kennel” loses his entire body for 12 frames.



Foster and Harry Bailey get screen credit for this short.

Off With His Head

Bugs Bunny reacts to being fired on in Rebel Rabbit (1949).



This is one of those cartoons where parts of a character’s body disappear out of the frame during a take. I’ve never understood why a drawing would be shot that way. Below, Bugs’ head springs back into the frame.



Here, Bugs’ head springs out of the frame.



Multiple brushwork hands. This is one of several similar drawings.



There are about ten frames where we don’t see Bugs’ head as he runs in mid-air.



The Bob McKimson unit made some good Bugs cartoons in the late ‘40s (pigs, genie) but this isn’t one of them. I never bought Warren Foster’s plot that Bugs was outraged about a bounty. To me, Bugs didn’t care. I could see Daffy getting upset about a duck bounty.

Anyway, Manny Gould, Chuck McKimson, Phil De Lara and Jack Carey are the credited animators on this one.

Warm Warner Cartoon Birthday Greetings

By now, I’m sure you’ve read it on the internet. 90 years ago today, Warner Bros. officially released a landmark cartoon featuring one of the most beloved animated characters of all time. Yes, we’re talking about I Haven’t Got a Hat. Let us, then, wish a happy 90th birthday to that charming cartoon favourite:



We mean none other than Miss Cud.

Sure, Disney had Clarabelle Cow. But Miss Cud entertained the world in at least three cartoons. Besides her dynamic role as an elementary school teacher in her debut, she briefly appeared in Hollywood Capers (1935)



Jerry Beck has identified Miss Cow as the bovine homeowner in Porky's Moving Day (1936), giving an outstanding dramatic performance while wearing an Olive Oyl skirt. If Jerry says it's Miss Cud, I won't argue.



The story has been oft told, in Michael Barrier's Hollywood Cartoons and elsewhere, about how Leon Schlesinger wanted to replace the incredibly lacklustre Buddy as the star of his Looney Tunes series, and the idea was floated to rip off the popular Our Gang series and create an animated group of animal kids. Bob Clampett and Friz Freleng both took credit for naming two members of the “gang,” but nobody ever claimed “I came up with ‘Miss Cud’!” Shame, shame.



As you can see by the title card above, poor Miss Cud wasn’t considered star material. It showcases Little Kitty, Beans, Oliver Owl and Porky Pig (sorry Ham and Ex).

Miss Cud, at least in her debut, was played by Elvia Allman. Elvia’s career was bittersweet. She was based in Los Angeles and began appearing on radio there in the mid-1920s. This was an era when the West Coast had its own strong network of stations, with broadcasts originating from San Francisco or Los Angeles being heard on stations in major cities up to Seattle. NBC and CBS didn’t reach the West until the late ‘20s.

Allman was a bona fide star then, doing monologues, voices and comedy songs. But when the big radio comedy stars began moving west in the mid-‘30s, and bringing their shows with them, regional programmes began dying off. Allman's starring days were done. She moved into character roles and was in very much in demand on radio and, later, television (The Beverly Hillbillies is where I first saw her).

The best you can say about Miss Cud is she never was a has-been, because she never got that far. We can say that about the “gang” character originally plucked from cast of I Haven’t Got a Hat—wise guy Beans the Cat. Jack King starred him in seven cartoons. In the meantime, Schlesinger made the incredibly wise decision to hire Tex Avery as a director. Avery directed a Beans picture (Gold Diggers of ‘49, 1936) but gave a larger role to Porky. It was clear to Avery that the pig had more potential than the smart-alec cat, so he tossed Beans from his desk at Termite Terrace and starred Porky in the fine cartoon The Blow Out (also 1936). That cartoon also had a silent Miss Cud-like cow.

Beans’ fate was sealed. And Leon now had a real star.

The Hollywood Reporter of January 28, 1936 mentioned I Haven't Got a Hat was up for consideration for an Oscar. It never got nominated.

Jerry has advised cartoon fans not to accept release dates in his book (or elesewhere) as when cartoons first appeared on screens; theatres could rent and show anything as soon as it arrived at the local exchange. To the right, you see an ad for a movie house in North Carolina which includes I Haven’t Got a Hat on its programme two days before the “release.”

Regardless, birthday greetings are in order for Miss Cud. As for this post, th-thee-th-thee-th-That’s all, folks.

First Stop, Kansas

The Jack Benny radio show’s humour became so honed after World War Two that when Jack took his show on the road he knew exactly what elements he needed for success.

Eddie Anderson was one. Another was Phil Harris. The bandleader once said “Jack and I did our own routines in lots of theaters, and we were a good team and always kept the audience laughing.”

One of the Benny entourage’s stops was in Wichita, Kansas in 1950. Going along with the three were guitarist Frank Remley, who was regular travelling company of Jack’s, drummer Sammy Weiss, and the Wiere Brothers. Jack loved them so much, he tried to get them on TV. Eventually, they succeeded in breaking onto the schedule in mid-season 1962, and succeeded in being cancelled before the season was done.

The Wichita Eagle of May 17, 1950 featured several stories about the record-breaking shows the night before.

8,200 at Show in Forum
Jack Benny’s Troupe Plays As Radio Audiences Like It
By TED HAMMER
(Eagle Staff Writer)
If Wichita’s city dads are asked soon to repair the roof and rafters of the Forum, blame the Jack Benny-Phil Harris show which played there to two standing—room-only audiences Tuesday night, setting a new stage attendance record. More applause and laughs were provided by the show than ordinarily might come from a good season of top attractions.
The principles just played themselves, as radio audiences have learned to like them. Jack Benny appeared hurt when numerous performers declined to let him accompany them on the violin, he finally got to play “Love In Bloom,” and Phil Harris showed him how to play a love scene. Eddie (Rochester) Anderson was brought on after a telephone bell interrupted a Benny speech, just as it happens on the radio every Sunday night when the CBS show is broadcast by KFH, KFH-FM here.
Benny found the easy way that if he doesn’t get a new radio contract and doesn’t click in television, he can return to his old time single act, a monologue. And Wichitans loved him just as they did back in 1922 when he played at the Orpheum, before he became famous on screen and radio.
There just wasn’t time enough for Harris to satisfy the audience with his southern style songs, but he had to sing four of them before he and Benny started s new routine to stop the applause. Vivian Blaine of the films did three songs which proved why she has been given her own television show next fall. And Rochester demonstrated that his singing and dancing are just as good as his gags spoken in the crackly, high pitched voice which radio fans enjoy so much.
The three Wiere Brothers, who also have been in pictures and are internationally famous, could have stayed on the stage another half hour with their violins, dancing and comedy. They proved more than equal to advance billing as top jugglers, with some hat and stick feats new to Wichita theatergoers. Phil Harris baud was responsible for much of the show’s success.
The Stuart Morgan Dancers, three fellows and cute girl, did some breath taking adagio which made the audience believe Benny when he said he went to a lot of trouble to get them.
Closing the show was a musical routine featuring Benny and Miss Elaine with members of the Phil Harris band. Dressed in weird costume they provided “mountain music,” with Benny as director and violinist, while Miss Blaine played it deadpan, Sam the drummer and Frank Remley guitar player, were in this group, the “Beverly Hillbillies.”
Good as the others in the cast are, it was a Benny-Harris show, marked by gags and songs of the type for which they’re famous—even including the band leader’s “That’s What I Like About the South” and “Is It True What They Say About Dixie?”
The Wichita shows were attended by more than 8,700, with some 100 persons allowed to buy standing room, to set a record. Extra seats were placed down in front and in corners at the last night to accommodate a few more persons, according to Mrs. Mary Floto who handled the ticket sale.

It’s Informal But Lively at Rehearsals
In rehearsals of the Jack Benny-Phil Harris show, It’s “Phil, or Curly,” when members of the band or cast address the leader. And everyone calls Benny “Jack” or “Jackson.” The latter is the nickname used by Harris since they became associated 14 years ago.
When the drummer was called to the telephone during rehearsal at the Forum Tuesday, Harris took his place, even going through a number he was to sing in the show.
While Harris handled much of the musical rehearsal, Benny took care of “business” and timing. When Vivian Blaine asked Benny if she could use a different opening song than previously rehearsed, he told her “fine,” and she ran through it with the band.
“After all, Wichitans don’t know that we had the other number ready,” Benny said as he resumed his chair in a corner of the Forum stage. He was on his feet a moment later to hurry beck and forth, making suggestions.
Once, while Miss Blaine, Benny and Harris discussed a bit of business, the drummer called out, “Let’s go, we’ve got a show to do tonight.” Show time was four hours away, but everybody laughed.
In an interview on Don Anderson’s “Harmony Ranch,” over KFH, KFH-FM. Harris credited Benny with much of his success. After stating that he grew up in the show business, the son of parents who were in the theater, he said Benny helped him get the show started in which he and his wife, Alice Faye, are co-starred.


Benny and Company Make Vet Patients Noisy with Mirth
A hollering houseful of patients at Veterans hospital Tuesday saw a funfest fostered by Jack Benny and his company.
In the end they found that Benny, the consummate master of ceremonies, can really play the violin. Hot violin, too.
He’s no Joe Venuti, but he can finger the fiddle. With confidence and savoir—faire that best can be described simply as Benny-like, he finally fiddled after frustrating interruptions by Phil Harris, Rochester, and Vivian Elaine. The latter interruption was most welcome to Benny and audience.
An eight-man outfit from the Harris orchestra pulled the curtain ahead of schedule and entertained the ex-GI’s with improvisations that added up to Dixieland. The drummer, a bigger man than Broderick Crawford, used a folding chair and a tissue box for traps.
Benny entered to assure the vets that he isn’t stingy. I throw money away. Not very far, but..”
Harris interrupted for a routine with the boss and then did “Preacher and Bear” and “Darktown Poker Club.” The boys found out that Harris is not good, but perfect, and that he has to be a lot faster than it sounds like on the phonograph.
Vivian Blaine insulted the be-junior out of the boss with a frank appraisal of his sex appeal—zero—then caressed the patients with two numbers, including a job on “You Made Me Love You” that created a lot of hot but harmless humidity.
Then came Rochester, who apologized for making the boss look like a cheap skate. (“I have all the luxuries. Shoes, bread ...”)
Rochester, of course, stopped the show with “Sunny Side of the Street” and a return to his original occupation, booting, that gave the lads a laugh with every lunge.

Three thousand people greeted Jack and his group as they arrived on a TWA Constellation the day before. They were travelling by air because of a railway strike. A 50-passenger passenger plane was chartered along with a second plane to haul scenery, costumes and props.

The schedule was grueling—21 cities in 21 days. Stops included Montreal and Toronto. It climaxed at Carnegie Hall. Afterward, Benny, Harris and Rochester boarded the Queen Mary for return engagements to the Palladium in London and the Empire in Glasgow.

Greeting him on his return was a new radio season. And a new medium. He began his 15-year television career that October 28th.

Juul Haalmeyer

The best worst dancer in television has left the stage.

Amsterdam-born Juul Haalmeyer was part of one of the most brilliant shows of all time to come out of Canada, SCTV. He may have played an inept dancer and choreographer on the show, but his actual costume designs were incredibly stunning and creative. He put together an outfit for Andrea Martin as Edith Prickley as Queen Elizabeth I in one day. It took 36 people to make it. He even out-Divined Divine, creating an over-the-top outfit for John Candy as John Waters’ favourite drag queen.

He was Anne Murray’s personal designer. He came up with outfits for Phyllis Diller for her Vegas shows. He got a call out of nowhere in 1979 from Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, performing at Maple Leaf Gardens, asking him to redesign the band’s stage-wear. His answer was leather and mediaeval style capes, and went on the road with the group for two weeks. He had never been to a rock show before and never went to one after.

Reports today on Facebook say Juul has passed away. He had been suffering from cancer.

Juul told me he had been in musicals in high school. He was a loud singer but a mediocre dancer. I had an affinity with him. I explained to him in my chorus boy days in high school, I danced like a lawnmower and fumbled with a recalcitrant prop that seemingly mocked my inabilities on opening night.

The Toronto Star came out with a fine feature story on May 14, 2000, when Juul was 51. It’s a little long, so I’ll quote from the last half.

Haalmeyer came to Canada a draft dodger in 1969.

“I was a singer, but I took every job that didn’t require a university degree,” he reminisces, exhaling ciggie smoke. “My first job was as a shipper at the McCaul location of Malabar where Michael Scheider hired me as his apprentice. At that time, Malabar was dressing 94 per cent of the operas in North America: the San Francisco Opera, the Seattle, even the Met. They were so good.
“(Designers) Bob Mackie and Ret Turner came in to do Sonny & Cher, and I became their liaison with Luigi Specca at Malabar to buy fabric. I asked to come to see how the show was put together in the studio. ‘Hey! I could do that.”
“I auditioned for the CFTO costume department. They said, ‘We realize you’re not a costume designer. If you sweep the floor in the carpentry shop for six months, ...’ I was so excited. I was in showbiz.”
His first gig was Kenny Rogers Rollin’ On The River. Here he had to dress Mr. Rogers, and he’d never so much as sewn on a button.
“I locked myself in a room with a rented sewing machine and a pattern. I learned to sketch — my father was an artist, and he told me to take the catalogue and sketch every model. So I did.”
And he points out a sketch of Todd Eldridge, world champion figure skater, in one of his designs.
Haalmeyer likes the variety of doing film and TV. “There is always something different — one day it’s a Hollywood babe and 40 American cops. The next day, a children’s show. Someone comes up with a script, and you can come up with something more suitable.”
And sometimes you come up with yourself. Haalmeyer fronted the legendary Juul Haalmeyer Dancers on SCTV.
“I was a bad dancer at SCTV,” he says proudly. “They couldn’t hire dancers as bad as me, so I got dragged around into sketches as the Juul Haalmeyer Dancers.
“It all started when I was costume designer (he got the gig through attrition: the former designer moved on), and Catherine O’Hara was doing a number as Lola Heatherton. They were auditioning dancers, but they couldn’t move badly enough, so I was told to take five or six guys from the crew and form a dancing group. I picked Rick Moranis, Eugene Levy, two of the writers, a grip or prop guy. And the six of us were the worst.
“So every time they needed cheesy dancers or a bad singer. . . .I also appeared as myself, a costume designer.”
He offers up a photo of himself, Catherine O’Hara and Rick Moranis as the Polyesters, a takeoff on the Nylons. Haalmeyer looks alarmingly like early Robert Goulet.
“I still get stopped on the street,” he grins. “I was shopping at the Salvation Army in Bowmanville, and this woman was checking out in front of me with a stroller. All of a sudden, she let out this blood-curdling scream: ‘I know you — you’re that bad dancer.’”
He’s the bad dancer that Carol Burnett adores.
“She was on the set of SCTV while she was in town doing Between Friends, that movie with Liz Taylor,” he explains. “She came right over to me, kissed my feet and said. ‘Juul Haalmeyer, I want to bear all your children.’
“She did a walk-on as herself in a court scene. She is a fabulous woman, just so warm.”
Ah, but then there are the stars who were not so hot. “The ones that made me wish I had gone into props,” Haalmeyer groans.
Like the sitcom star who had a hissy fit over her “stolen” dancing shoes. She made such a scene that Ruth Buzzi, who had the adjacent dressing room, stepped in, slapped her face and demanded, “Are you a jerk-off or a professional? Pull yourself together!”
Meanwhile, Haalmeyer spray-painted 30 pairs of dancing shoes and told her to choose.
He shops for wardrobe everywhere from Kmart to vintage stores to lawn sales from Bowmanville to upstate New York.
He has worked on more than a thousand shows, dressing the famous and infamous. In 1974, he worked with Margaret Trudeau doing Perils Of Pauline.
One of his last projects was outfitting extras for the Nathan Lane film Laughter On The 23rd Floor.
“I did all the ‘70s variety shows,” he calculates. “I made Anne Murray’s Vegas clothes, all the beaded stuff. Every lamp in our house (where he lives with his mom, Trudy) is beaded with fringe. It takes 2,000 hours to do a gown. You go blind, and you have to charge the price of a car and still don’t make any money.”
He worked with the series CODCO for four years and considers it his hardest gig.
“We did 26 episodes in five weeks; it was breakneck speed,” he says, stubbing out another cigarette. “They needed 27 Elizabethan costumes in primary colours within 24 hours.
“Or they’d call and say, ‘I’m the last cod in the ocean. We need the costume in the morning — with cod-piece.’ So I bought a wetsuit and a smack of sequins and glued the sequins to make it scaly — he was a fish. It was scary. I came out (Codco was shot in Halifax) with 112 wardrobe containers. After I saw the scripts, I had stuff flown in every say from Toronto.
He produces a pair of fabulous ‘50s cat’s-eyed glasses trimmed with rhinestones.
“They belonged to Eugene Levy’s mother. When she died, Fred Levy, Eugene’s brother, who is my accountant, gave them to me.”
Which brings up finances. Haalmeyer did the Alice Cooper Welcome To My Nightmare special, and it lived up to its name.
“I never got paid,” he shrugs. “The company folded as soon as they called ‘wrap.’...
“I am owed over $300,000 for 30 years; I could have owned a house by now.”
And he needs one.
“My aim is to have a very large building and have most of what any body needs for a movie. My home is floor-to-ceiling with clothes. I have three racks around my bed; I have to move a rack to get into bed.”
If he had to do it all over again, he would be an opera singer.
“I had the pipes and the potential scholarship from Juilliard. Then I took up smoking and drinking, and it was game over.”
Besides, if he were an opera singer, he could wear outrageous hats like the ones he designs for Noddy.

Noddy was a live action/animation kids show produced in Ontario in the late ‘90s.

Besides collecting a mountain of awards for his costume design, Juul was a humanitarian. The Star of March 16, 1989 reported on it:

Stories in The Star and on CBC radio prompted a flurry of calls to The Star’s Halifax bureau asking for information about how to help some of the New Brunswick families living in appalling housing conditions. Some of the calls are starting to bear fruit.
Toronto costume designer Juul Haalmeyer has sent two batches of clothing to a New Brunswick self-help organization for unemployed rural workers. [...]
When Haalmeyer read a Star story detailing the squalor in which one such family lives, he telephoned the newspaper’s Halifax bureau and asked how he could help.
Haalmeyer designs costumes for stage and television shows, and has to dispose of them when the productions are finished.
“We donate a lot of clothes to a home for battered women,” he said. “And any time there’s an international disaster we send clothes off.”
Then he read about New Brunswick’s rural poor.
This week, he sent two bundles of clothing for distribution by the Unemployed Workers of Rural Canada, based in Woodstock, N.B.

On a Christmas promo during an episode of SCTV, Juul was part of a subtle commentary on Hollywood phoniness and the closet. He and Lola Heatherton cozied up like they were the ultimate heterosexual show biz couple. But when Lola got to her usual declaration about wanting to bear his children, reality broke through. Juul gave a look of repulsion and walked off. Lola dropped her show-bizzy façade, using a normal voice while following after him, saying “it doesn’t mean anything.”

His design work may be summed up in a review in the Ottawa Citizen of Nov. 23, 1982. A staff writer panned a stage play, except to observe “the outrageous costume designs by Juul Haalmeyer were far wittier than any of the lines.”

That was never the case at SCTV, where everyone abounded in talent that meshed together perfectly. That included the deliberately hackneyed terpsichory of Juul Haalmeyer and his troupe of enthusiastic, but less-than-able, dancers.

Fleischer's Snow-White

The Fleischer studio cartoons of the early 1930s are among my favourites of all time.

Their attitude is different than the happy musical setting you’ll find in a Harman-Ising cartoon for Warner Bros. The Fleischer cartoons are bleaker, nightmarish at times, and, given the musical artists featured, not very white. In urban New York, that meant alcohol, drugs and illicit sex.

Jerry Beck’s “The 50 Greatest Cartoons” (JG Press, 1998) skips past Swing You Sinners! (1930), but includes three great Fleischer cartoons in its top 20. Number 19 is the Betty Boop version of Snow-White. Unlike the Walt Disney feature version, the dwarfs here are not likeable with child-like personalities. They’re zeroes. Instead, we get Betty in the title role, Bimbo and Koko as palace guards who rescue Betty, the Wicked Queen and her magic hand mirror.

The songs given to Betty (Mae Questel) are fairly ordinary, but the cartoon gets into bizarre territory when the four characters go into a mystery cave and Koko acquires Cab Calloway’s voice and sings “St. James Infirmary Blues,” with Betty in an icy “coffin” (she is still alive and moving) and the clown into a high-stepping ghost enacting the lyrics. It’s a far cry from Foxy singing “Smile, Darn Ya, Smile.”

A real highlight is the background art in the cave sequence. I suspect some of you have seen this video, but it’s new to me. Someone has managed to clip together the panned backgrounds from two scenes. It must have taken forever to get around the characters that take up most of the foreground. Then there’s always a problem (as I have discovered trying to do the same thing) of making the black-and-white tones from one frame match another. I don’t have fancy software to help; I use an ancient version of MS Paint. I gather that’s what this person has done.

You can see a video of the backgrounds below.



To look at the background recreation from frames, you can go here.

We’ve posted Film Daily’s review of the cartoon elsewhere on the blog. Here are some capsule comments in The Motion Picture Herald of the day:

SNOW-WHITE: Betty Boop—Clever cartoon that features “Saint James Infirmary Blues” sung by Cab Calloway. I featured this in my advertising and believe that it helped.—H. B. Schuessler (Martin Theatres), LaFayette Theatre, LaFayetts, Ala. Small town patronage.

SNOW WHITE: Betty Boop, Cab Calloway—One of the very best cartoons we have shown. It deserves billing. Running time, 9 minutes.—A. B. Jefferis, New Piedmont Theatre, Piedmont, Mo. Rural and small town patronage.

SNOW-WHITE: Betty Boop—good filler on any program. Running time, one reel.—D. E. Fitton, Lyric Theatre, Harrison, Ark. Small town patronage.

PICK-UP: Sylvia Sidney, George Raft—Dated this with Paramount short “Snow White” and RKO “Century of Progress.” Patrons liked feature and business was excellent, due probably to extra draw of the shorts, which we had advertised heavily. Played October 1-3.—Avece T. Waldron, Blue Moon Theatre, Oklahoma City, Okla. Suburban family patronage.

And from the March 1933 issue of the journal of the National Board of Review:

SNOW WHITE (Talkartoon)—Paramount. Family audience. Junior matinee.

Yup. Entertainment suitable for children. Approved by censors. Depression-era kids were a hardier lot than the “Oh, you can’t show guns on Saturday morning cartoons. Think of the children!” Mind you, you couldn’t show kids a cartoon cow’s udder back then. Every generation has its ridiculousness.

Calloway was a Fleischer favourite, appearing first in Minnie the Moocher (1932), then in Snow-White and, finally, The Old Man of the Mountain (1933).

While Doc Crandall got the sole animation credit for this short, the background artist isn’t credited. That’s a real crime.

Pool Around With Me, Will Ya?

Popeye and Bluto take their punchfest underwater in I Wanna Be a Lifeguard (1936).

Their fight in a swimming pool is mainly on a five-drawing cycle.



Bob Rothberg and Sammy Timberg composed the title song, which gets a workout from Bluto and Popeye in the cartoon.

Dave Tendlar and Bill Sturm get the animation credits.

Flames and Frog

Inanimate objects come to life as Flip the Frog is captured by cannibals in Africa Squeaks, a 1931 cartoon from Ub Iwerks.

The King claps twice. Cut to the entrance of a cave. Ub’s animator treats us to more of those lines around the head continually found in Iwerks cartoons. A living pot trots out of the cave and reacts to a pile of wood off-screen.



The pot gallops over to the sticks, rubs its bottom against them to settle in, and smiles.



The fire is lit. Hey, where did those huts in the background come from?



Ah! Flip has an idea.



He conveniently has a piccolo with him (what frog doesn't?) and starts playing. The flames become living creatures and begin a dance.



Flip stops briefly, then blows into the piccolo again. But now (because anything can happen in a cartoon) it sounds like a bugle. The flames crook their “ears” to listen, salute, and then at the sound of a bugle charge, rush off to chase after and burn the cannibals and their king, who runs into the background and out of the cartoon.



Iwerks is the only person to get a screen credit.