And Away We Go

Of all the people whose fame came from television in the 1950s, Jackie Gleason may have been the one with the biggest influence on theatrical cartoons. And not just from the Honeymooners sketches he turned into a series.

Gleason’s variety show started with a monologue, then called for “a little travelling music.” He moved to a mark near the stage curtain, lifted up his arms and legs, shouted “And away we go!” and dashed off stage in profile.

Cartoon characters were known to do the same thing; maybe a well-known example is Yogi Bear in his first cartoon, Pie-Pirates (1958). But it happened several times in the Walter Lantz cartoon, I'm Cold (1954), starring Chilly Willy. The cartoon was written by Homer Brightman and directed by Tex Avery, who turned his Southern wolf from MGM into a furry guard dog (played again by Daws Butler), commenting on the cartoon in progress in a little more of a low-key way than the wolf did.

Both the dog and Chilly have cycles of Gleason-action, four movements up, three movements down before vanishing out of the scene, leaving behind dry-brush strokes.



The cartoon is full of good gags inside a basic plot, and Clarence Wheeler’s music is suitably comedic, with percussion effects when necessary. Don Patterson, La Verne Harding and long-time Avery collaborator Ray Abrams are credited with the animation.

The Head's Coming at Us Again

Debate, if you want, that A Toytown Tale (1931) is a Christmas cartoon. Yes, it has “Silent Night” (and “Jingle Bells”), and snow and toys, but there’s no Santa or Christmas tree or presents.

What there is, is a truly disjointed story, the kind only the Van Beuren studio could conjure up. The moon comes out of the sky and hides behind some trees. A toy soldier flirts with a girl (they sing) but are threatened by a toy elephant. Suddenly, the elephant disappears from the plot and a monkey shows up. The soldier gets frightened. A new toy character comes out of nowhere to sock the monkey. Now the girl goes for him.

Meanwhile, a crazy jack-in-the-box shows up off-and-on throughout the cartoon to screech and clap and laugh. He’s clobbered by a toy policeman. Here comes the Van Beuren Head Zoom!



But the jack-in-the-box awakens, smiles, gives us a silly "Yankee Doodle" laugh and then sticks out his tongue to end the cartoon.



Then it’s another round of bootleg hootch for the writers.

John Foster and Mannie Davis get the “by” credit, and the music is supplied by Gene Rodemich.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: When The Pie Was Opened

“Surreal” may be the best way to describe one short produced for the British Ministry of Food in World War Two.

When the Pie Was Opened (1941) follows a sad little girl, who fantasizes about the blackbird pie served to the king in a famous nursery rhyme. Even if people ate blackbirds (and her father tells her they don't), meat was in shortage during the war, so the girl’s mother tosses together potatoes, cauliflower, turnips and lord-knows-what into a vegetable pie. Yum, yum! The happy girl chows down on it to end the short.

Besides the weird day-dream sequence, which includes the king dropping a pie plate (with an immobile blackbird) in slow motion, there is American blues juxtaposed with a British kiddie chorus, sound effects of farm animals, hacksaws, marching, and shouting children in the background, with plenty of close-ups.

What's Funny, Doc?

Mel Blanc made a very good living from network radio. But when it died in the 1950s, what next?

That’s what a number of radio actors were wondering.

In Mel’s case, he was still employed at Warner Bros. but, as you know, the studio would close in the early ‘60s. He found his way onto the Hanna-Barbera payroll. And, occasionally, he showed up on Jack Benny’s TV show, but that ended in 1965.

Much like Alan Reed had a novelty business, Blanc decided to go into business as well. At first, he teamed with former Warners boss John Burton. Blanc admits in his autobiography the partnership didn’t work out, so he set out on his own.

Blanc had been voicing TV commercials. This was pretty lucrative, especially when the cartoon characters he played being endorsers. Reed said when he wasn’t doing much else, he made a comfortable living being Fred Flintstone pushing cereal. Blanc would have being doing the same—plus raking in cash from being Bugs, Sylvester and all his other characters in TV spots.

However, Blanc eyed the profits the makers of the commercials took in. Local commercial radio had taken over the airtime formerly contracted to networks, and there was an opening for anyone canny enough to write and produce commercials and brief filler programming. That’s where Blanc put some of his energies.

Here’s how the Associated Press explained it on May 24, 1967.

Commercials Need Humor, Blanc Claims
By GENE SANDSAKER
HOLLYWOOD (AP) — Most listeners likely will agree that radio commercials featuring mindless jingles, strident voices or weird sounds are a nerve-jangling bore.
And that a few, made with taste and a light touch, can be charming.
But best of all, says one expert, are the ones with wit.
"Humorous commercials are stronger than dirt," quips Mel Blanc.
Mel is the man of many voices who did the talking for Bugs Bunny and Porky Pig in movie cartoons. Now he makes commercials—hopefully funny ones.
His competitors in Hollywood include satirist Stan Freberg, who kids his clients' prunes, chow mein, coffee, tea or airline service—and grosses $500,000 a year. A half-dozen other firms grind out plugs for everything from carbonated drinks and potato chips to a stomach remedy to take after overindulging.
Blanc, 58, squat and swarthy, with a glum face but cheerful disposition, is a onetime Portland, Ore., violinist, tuba player and radio-band leader.
In Hollywood 30 years ago he originated the voices of Bugs. Porky, Daffy Duck, Tweetie and other Warner Bros. cartoon characters. On the Jack Benny radio show he played a parrot and a Mexican character and even supplied the sputtering sound of Benny's dying Maxwell.
Six years ago, Blanc's commercial venture—and Mel himself—nearly failed to get off the ground. On the very day that brochures hit ad agency mail-boxes, announcing the formation of Mel Blanc Associates, a head-on collision accordioned his car and broke, he says, "every bone in my body except my left arm."
Hospitalized two months in traction, Blanc went home in a body cast and there continued recording the voice of Barney Rubble in the "Flintstone" TV series. He now uses a cane only on stairs.
Revived 3 1/2 years ago, Mel Blanc Associates has since doubled its business annually. With 22 writers, Mel says, he sells "entertainment, imagination and comic invention."
In one skit, elephants squirt suds from their trunks to prove that linoleum coated with the client's wax resists detergent. In another, insects cry alarm at the hiss of a bug spray. Another product, called "Superfun," consists of more or less hilarious sketches which radio stations can play between commercials or records.
Mel was at work the other afternoon in his studio.
Standing at a microphone, his bald spot shining under the fluorescents, he jiggled merrily in time with the recorded children's chorus he could hear in his earphones. In Bugs Bunny's voice he sang the praises of a kiddies' drink-mix "for fun that never ends."
"A little happier, Mel," said a visiting producer for whom he was providing the sound track.
Mel made it happier.

Mel’s company also put together public service announcements. Here’s one ironic campaign, outlined by a syndicated news service on March 4, 1968. It’s ironic because Blanc was a heavy smoker. (Reports say he eventually quit).

New Commercials Fighting Cigarettes
By LAWRENCE LAURENT
WASHINGTON — Radio stations across the nation are receiving a new collection of commercials. Some are 10 seconds long, some last 30 seconds and some run a full minute. All have the same punch line: stop smoking cigarettes.
The commercials were commissioned by the American Cancer Society. The creative work was done by Mel Blanc Associates of Hollywood. A humorous approach is used in all ten of the commercials.
One tells of a man being tortured to death. He is forced to smoke cigarettes.
Another uses the sound of a gunshot to illustrate "murder"; the sound of a crashing automobile to show "accident" and the sound of a cigarette lighter and a puffing man to demonstrate: "suicide: stop smoking cigarettes."
Here's an example of one of Mel Blanc's 10-second commercials: "the next time you think you're dying for a cigarette . . . you might be right."
One commercial is based on "hate" and offers this advice: "the next time you have to give something to someone you don't like, give 'em a carton of cigarettes. And if you really hate this person, give two cartons. Right?"
COMEDY ROLE
The "humorous,” approach comes naturally to Mel Blanc. For more than 20 years, he provided a variety of voices for Warner Bros. animated cartoons. These included Bugs Bunny and Woody Woodpecker. He still can be heard on tv in cartoons of Secret Squirrel and Sinbad Jr. (in which he furnishes the voice of the parrot). He can also be heard in tv commercials for Kool Aid, Raid and Kellogg Co. cereals.
Blanc's radio commercials are to be broadcast as part of a station's public service programing. No payment is made.
The station may feel obligated to broadcast them, in light of a Federal Communications Commission decision that smoking is 'controversial,' and, therefore, subject to the FCC's "fairness doctrine." In essence, the FCC says that a station carrying cigarette commercials has a "fairness" obligation to carry anti-smoking messages.
Blanc also claims: "We're telling the truth. We believe our campaign will be effective because it will force the listeners to have involvement through humor.”
His work on the commercials even had an effect on Mel Blanc. He switched from cigarettes to cigars, but "that was awful."
Right now, Mel Blanc is concentrating on "cutting down."
The anti-smoking tv commercials have been made chiefly by Tony Schwartz of New York. His main theme is the parental obligation toward children and the work is so subtle that the final pitch has the impact of an unexpected karate chop. Schwartz shows children putting on grown-up clothing. They chat happily. A narrator notes that children imitate grown-ups and asks, "have you thought about quitting smoking."
Another commercial has a child happily copying every action of his father. They sit under a tree and the father lights up. The child picks up the pack and plays with the cigarettes. Again, the narrator notes that the child likes to imitate his father.
Tony Schwartz, by the way, doesn't smoke.

Comedy radio commercials running on a national basis seem to be few and far between these days. For quite a number of years, a fellow named Dick Orkin created many. About the only criticism you could level is they all sounded the same, with Orkin’s droning voice cold-opening them, so it was a little difficult remembering what he was advertising.

Here's Mel talking in 1966 at a lunch gathering of the Independent Station Representatives Association.

Getting Tex Avery's Goat

Hurrah, I say, to the new generation of animation researchers. They deal in facts, not connecting dots based on wishful thinking. Even long-time cartoon fans like me learn something and I’m always impressed with what they find.

Some time ago, Thad Komorowski posted a list of production numbers of MGM cartoons. There are lots of items of interest here, among them are cartoons that never got made.

He has one entry that reads:

261: BILLY THE KID (rejected) – Lundy

That’s the only information. It doesn’t say why it was rejected or how far into production it got.

Enter fine young animation researcher Devon Baxter.

I’m never sure where Devon finds things, but he recently posted model sheets from this cartoon, so we know it got that far.



Unfortunately, there’s no date on this, but you can see it’s yet another Dick Lundy-Jack Cosgriff-Heck Allen short where Barney Bear has to deal with a small animal that does what it wants (like head-butting into Barney’s butt). If you’ve seen one, well, you know the saying.

But those of you who know your MGM cartoons are likely saying “Hey, that goat! Tex Avery made a cartoon with a little goat!”

Of course, you would be correct. Billy Boy was released in 1954.

Thanks to Thad, we can give you a bit of a timeline.

Lundy directed two more cartoons after Billy the Kid was proposed for production—Sleepy Time Squirrel (Production 263) and Bird Brain Dog (Production 265). Then Avery returned from a “sabbatical” in October 1951 and Lundy’s services were no longer required. His first new cartoon was Little Johnny Jet (Production 267). His next short, Three Little Pups (Production 269) featured the Southern wolf who survived when Mike Lah was hired to direct after Avery’s unit was disbanded. The wolf was borrowed (in attitude and voice) by Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera when they came up with Huckleberry Hound in 1958.

Billy Boy was Production 272. The goat’s horns and legs in this cartoon are smaller than in the proposed Lundy short. He is obviously younger than Barney’s antagonist. But is there any doubt one design is based on the other?



Heck Allen stuck around to write when Avery returned, but I can’t picture most of the gags in Tex’s cartoon being found in a Lundy cartoon. Avery, fortunately, eschewed making anything with Barney Bear. So instead of Paul Frees’ low mumble, we get Daws Butler with a bright, enthusiastic voice, which counter-balances all the crap the kid goat puts him through. The Exhibitor declared the cartoon "excellent" and "hilarious."

So, what happened? Did Avery go through a pile of story ideas and character designs left behind and figure he could salvage a good cartoon out of one?

Perhaps the new breed of animation researchers can find out the answers. They’re up to the task.

The Friars, Pennies and Benny

Jack Benny died on December 26, 1974 and, for a number of years, around the anniversary of his death, I've posted a newspaper editorial or column from the next day or so where the writer outlines what Jack meant to people and to comedy.

This time, I’m just going to pass along a few clippings of tribute. These are from 20 years earlier.

Eddie Cantor had a syndicated newspaper column. He had been a huge vaudeville star before Jack (growing up in New York helped) and made a mark in the early days of talking pictures. Jack evidently liked Cantor, who appeared a number of times with him on radio and TV. Jack also lobbied for him after Camels cancelled his radio show for speaking out against bigoted broadcast haranguer Father Coughlin. Stingy jokes stuck with Benny until the day he died:

Here’s Eddie’s note about Jack in a column of Dec. 8, 1954.

“I don’t think Jack Benny got his money just from saving pennies. Of course, that helped. I’ll never forget a part at his house a few years ago. Several of us were kidding around with each other’s theme songs. Rudy Vallee sang “Love in Bloom”; I sang “My Time is Your Time”; Jack Benny sang “I Love to Spend—.” That’s as far as he got—he had to be put to bed, hysterical!”
As the MC’s say, “Seriously Folks,” it’s surprising that Jack Benny can remain a millionaire, what with all the contributions he made to worthwhile causes. You can take it from Cantor, the old “chnorrer” (beggar, to you). No one in show business, but no one, gives more than Mary Livingston’s [sic] husband. I know. That’s the “jack” in Benny you never heard about.

Hy Gardner had a show on WPIX in New York and became one of the principals in the disastrous replacement for Steve Allen’s Tonight show in 1957. He went on to To Tell the Truth until Mark Goodson or someone realised Tom Poston was funnier. But he was, by profession, a New York newspaper columnist whose work was syndicated.

One of his columns dealt with that venerable New York institution of the first half of the twentieth century: the celebrity testimonial dinner. Jack Benny (and others of his vintage) referred to them on their radio shows. Here’s a snippet from Gardner’s column of Dec. 8, 1954. I can’t help but wonder if Benny’s writers came up with the first-mentioned joke.

Mary Steals the Spot
All the thunder of a shindig the New York Friars threw for Jack Benny, when Jack moved to Hollywood, was stolen by his wife, Mary Livingstone, even though she wasn't present.
She was home, but her telegram, read aloud, got the biggest laugh of the night. Milton Berle, Harry Hershfield, Doc Rockwell, Jay C. Flippen, Lou Holtz — all the regulars were on the dais; one after another they eulogized Benny until he began growing a third head. At the height of his flight into the clouds, a Western Union messenger arrived with a telegram. The toastmaster read the wire to himself, then stood up, put his hand solemnly on Jack's shoulder and read the message aloud: "Dear Jack," it said, "when you come home tonight, don't forget to put the garbage in the incinerator. Lovingly, Mary.” . . .
On George Washington's birthday this year, Jack Benny flew in from Hollywood to turn the tables on [George] Jessel and act as toastmaster at a testimonial dinner. Introducing Mayor Wagner of New York, Jack said that Bob had the third most important job in the country. "Being President, of course, is first, the second," he explained, "is being head waiter at the Copacabana when Martin and Lewis are appearing there."

Erskine Johnson was another columnist, syndicated by the Newspaper Enterprise Association. In December, he had a few brief notes about Jack:

Jack Benny had lunch in a Fairfax Avenue delicatessen and the owner hastily scribbled this sign for his window: “Jack Benny is eating lunch here.”

Jack Benny about movies on TV: “They’re like furniture—either early American or old English.”

And there came this unusual complaint Johnson reported on Dec. 4:

Jack Benny can do no wrong as far as I’m concerned, but TViewers are complaining to me about his smug “isn’t this funny” smiles directed to the camera in the midst of his laugh ploys. They say they don’t mind Jack playing to the camera in his opening monolog, but that his lens-peeking between plot lines is irritating and unnecessary.
“Never look at the camera,” is rule No. 1 in the ABC’s of movie emoting.
Maybe it should apply to TV laugh-getting, too.

Some viewers don’t seem to have understood Jack’s expression was facetious. And it was his expressions that helped build his television career and kept him on the air until he died.

Our Seasonal Best to You

I am not a celebrator of holidays. But some of you are, I suspect, so my season’s greetings to you. Thanks for reading. We’re about to end posts indefinitely again.

I do like some Christmas cartoons and have posted frames from them over the years here. And I have a soft spot for A Charlie Brown Christmas, which turned 60 this year. I was a big Peanuts reader at the time it premiered, cutting strips out of the paper and pasting them into scrapbooks, and buying all the Fawcett paperbacks.

The special was enjoyable, though the music was a little odd to nine-year-old me, as I expected cartoon music.

The reviews were mostly favourable. Jerry Coffey in the Dec. 11, 1965 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram said, in part:

It really is impossible to do justice to this delightful show by summarizing the story. Indeed, any attempt to reflect the elusive charms of the “Peanuts” people in mere words is doomed to frustration.
But at least it can be said that the TV version was remarkably true to the original. The reason undoubtedly is that creator Schulz himself prepared the script, from familiar material.
The transition from print to TV was less exact in the animation—or, as the credits grandly put it, "graphic blandishment"—than in spirit and characterization, but the drawings were quite good enough.
The mischievous wit, gentle satire and touching warmth of the story were admirably supported by interesting and well integrated original music. The use of piano and percussion only was just the right touch.
"A Charlie Brown Christmas" was shown in kiddie prime time, but I suspect the program appealed to adult viewers even more than youngsters.
In any case, it clearly was a high point on the holiday TV schedule, and I imagine Charlie Brown will be with us on the tube from now on.

Anne Miller Tinsley offered this review in the same edition:

Good grief. I was as startled last night as Charlie Brown is every day when I switched on the television set to watch Charles Schulz's animated Peanuts perform in "Charlie Brown's Christmas."
I have long been a loyal reader of Schulz's precocious moppets who gaze clear-eyed at the ferocious world around them.
But somehow I have never thought of them as kids. They're too much like too many adults.
So it struck me as extremely odd when I heard sweet, child-like voices coming out of those animated little mouths.
Although it was a highly entertaining 30 minutes, I think I get more pleasure from reading the comic strip. That way I can imagine that Lucy the fuss-budget has a shrill and flippant voice, that Linus doesn't speak with a lisp, and that Snoopy really does hum when he dances on the piano.

Our custom is to give the gift of one of the Seven Liberal Arts—music. Vince Guaraldi’s light jazz score is a beloved part of the Peanuts special. Much of it seems wintery, as opposed to Christmassy, and is enjoyable year-round. Here are some of the instrumentals you have heard over and over for years, but I’m sure you won’t mind hearing yet another time.




O TANNENBAUM


LINUS AND LUCY


CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE


SKATING


CHRISTMAS IS COMING

Granny's Holiday Home

Granny (Bea Benaderet) will force the Christmas spirit on Sylvester (who has tried and failed to eat Tweety) and her bulldog (who has tried and failed to eat Sylvester) whether they want it or not in Gift Wrapped, a 1952 Merrie Melodies cartoon.

The short ends with Granny playing a secularised version of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” at her old organ.



Cut to Tweety happily singing.



Cut to Tweety, and a glowering Sylvester and dog. There’ll be no more swallowing now. Fade out.



Whoever animated this has the characters’ turning from side to side and up and down a bit to ensure the scene isn’t static.

Ken Champin, Manny Perez, Virgil Ross and Art Davis are the credited animators for director Friz Freleng with fine backgrounds by Irv Wyner. If I had to pick a favourite Warners Christmas cartoon, this would be it.

Cartoon Video News

It’s always a good day to read about restored cartoons that can find their way to your home.

Once again, the Warner Archive Collection is coming through with what you see on the right as of March 24th. You can see the list of shorts HERE.

There’s a lot of Chuck Jones in this two-volume set, but there are some cartoons by Art Davis, one by Tex Avery (The Heckling Hare) and even two of Norm McCabe’s efforts (the less than exciting Hop and Go and the in-need-of-restoration The Daffy Duckaroo). And there’ll be a clean, clear version of Jim Backus as the Hubert Updyke III genie in Bob McKimson’s A Lad in His Lamp that was last seen on laser disc.

Don’t expect Bosko or Buddy to show up here.

If you’re a fan of Famous Studios, you’ll be happy to hear word from Cartoon Logic that a 1940s collection will be distributed soon by ClassicFlix. There will be more about this in the new year.

These shorts really needed loving care; it seems the versions I’ve seen are either faded or turning a shade of pink. In fact, the TV prints I watched in the ‘60s don’t strike me as being all that great.

You can watch a clip below. The restoration is exemplary.

Snowy Stinking Skunk

For whatever reason, Tex Avery and gagmen Rich Hogan and Heck Allen set Rock-a-Bye Bear (released by MGM in 1952) in the winter.

It’s a typical Avery string-of-gags outing involving a character trying to sleep, while another character tries to force a third character to make noise to wake him. The third character runs out into the distance to be noisy. It’s similar to the later Deputy Droopy and my favourite late Avery cartoon, The Legend of Rockabye Point for Walter Lantz.

One sequence in Bear involves Cartoon Rule 514: All skunks smell.



“P.U,” says Spike (played by Tex Avery).



And it’s back to the house for the next gag.



Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Grant Simmons animated this short. Pat McGeehan is the bear and dog pound officer.

Cubby and the Code

“Pre-Code” does not mean “Pre-Code.”

The Motion Picture Production Code did not suddenly appear in 1934. There was a code in 1930, and other measures going back to the silent era. It’s just that enforcement was lax until 1934.

One wonders if a gag in The Last Mail, a 1933 Van Beuren cartoon, would have gotten past the Code if it were made a year later. It stars Cubby Bear as a mail deliverer on a sled pulled through the snow by squirrels. The film cuts to a scene of beavers building a snowman. Emotion lines indicate they see something in the distance and they run away. It turns out to be Cubby.



Cubby and his sleigh plough through the snowman.



Here’s where the Code comes in. The snowman comes to life and checks his privates. They’re gone!



The snowman runs into the distance, a standard Terry/Van Beuren scene-ender going back to the silent days.



Somehow, I don’t think the Code would go for a Cubby Castration™.

Mannie Davis is the director of this one.