Gambling on Women

T.V. of Tomorrow was no kiddie cartoon. Gags were aimed at sex-starved 1950s suburban men. There’s a television set with a Faye Emerson-esque “plunging neckline.” An annoyed man has his set shoot down a small plane for distorting the picture while he’s watching a bathing beauty. There’s another set “which allows you to see all of the picture,” which happens to be another young lady in a swim suit.

There’s yet another gag featuring another bathing suit model, this one in repose. The TV set is the “Las Vegas Special, for you two-bit gamblers, lets you gamble on your channel.” It’s a one-armed bandit set. The viewer put in two bits and, well, the pictures tell the story.



If you’re wondering, the “tired businessman” gag featuring the TV with a full-sized film of Joi Lansing posing is in the earlier House of Tomorrow cartoon (released 1949).

The voiceover for this gag is provided by John Brown. Paul Frees did the rest of the cartoon. I have no idea why Avery switches voices.

At least one gag appears to have been edited out of this cartoon. At the 0:53 mark, there’s a sudden cut in the soundtrack. But if you listen to the soundtrack of the cartoon on the Scott Bradley music CD that came out some time ago, you’ll hear the music that was under the gag (the soundtrack is 30 seconds longer than the cartoon in circulation).

Heck Allen assisted Avery with the “story” in the 1953 release, with Ray Patterson added to Avery’s usual unit of Mike Lah, Grant Simmons, Walt Clinton and Bob Bentley.

Such Language in a Cartoon

The familiar theme of noise/silence is explored yet again by Tex Avery in his final theatrical cartoon, Sh-h-h-h-h-h (Walter Lantz, 1955).

Unlike Avery’s other cartoons with this plot device, Mr. Twiddle doesn’t run into the distance and make noise. He and other characters hold up little signs instead.

In one scene, Twiddle stubs his toe on a footstool.



Cut to the sign gag and topper.



Notice Twiddle has a red nose like an Avery character at Warners in the late-'30s.

The cartoon is a disappointment to me. The idea of the hotel staff maintaining quiet is completely violated when noise comes from the room next to Twiddle’s. Why aren’t they taking any measures to deal with it? And in the opening scene, Twiddle’s reaction to the noise is weak compared to the emotional reactions of Avery’s wolf in Northwest Hounded Police at MGM ten years earlier.

Avery left Lantz after this cartoon and, after a bit, worked on TV commercials, which he found less stressful.

The picture everyone seems left with is Avery was a sad and broken man when Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera gave him a job near the end of his life, where he had to deal with the restraints of television and the sausage factory attitude of the studio.

As this was Avery’s final cartoon for the big screen, this is our final post as we go on an indefinite hiatus. Thank you for reading.

The Duck Takes It Off

Who'd shoot a soon-to-be-mother duck? Well, either the dog version of George or Junior in Tex Avery's Lucky Ducky (at least someone told me they're a revamped George and Junior, though they don't act like it).

The mother's egg is shot down from the sky, but breaks its fall by partially hatching on the way down.



The duckling hatches at the edge of our heroes' boat, then dispenses with the unneeded shell à la mode Gypsy Rose Lee to a familiar MGM song (If anyone has the title, please post it).



Getting screen credit for animation in this cartoon are Walt Clinton, Preston Blair, Louie Schmitt and Grant Simmons.

This is the cartoon with the terrific “Technicolor Ends Here” gag. Unfortunately, the original end title animation has been replaced. However, E.O. Costello has advised us that it (well, a re-creation) has been posted on-line. See it below.

Solving the Fridge Mystery

“To clear up the mystery of whether the light stays on or goes off when you close the door of your refrigerator,” says the narrator in The House of Tomorrow (1949), “we have this model equipped with a window, so you can see just what happens to the light when you close the door.



Cut the next scene which reveals the answer. A tinkling bell accompanies the gnome as he comes in and goes out.



Jack Gosgriff and Rich Hogan worked with director Tex Avery on the spot gags, while Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Grant Simmons provided the animation.

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.

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.