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.

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.

Of Dog and Jowls

Tex Avery said (paraphrased) that if you gave him an idea and a string of gags, he could make a cartoon.

That certainly describes what he did in later years (think of The Legend of Rockabye Point), but he also had some nice cinematography and interesting layouts in his earlier shorts.

In several cartoons, he engages in a slow pan across one of Johnny Johnsen’s background paintings, with something in the foreground on a cel moving at a different frame rate to simulate depth without resorting to a multiplane camera (Disney) or sets (Fleischer).

One of a number of examples is Of Fox and Hounds, 1941 Warners release. It has been nicely restored so you can see the cartoon opening. The sign and stone fence are on a cel.



The scene fades into what I can only presume is rotoscoped action. There are no gags here, and these shots don’t really set up a gag (not like the opening of, say, Screwball Squirrel at MGM a few years later).



Even the next scene when Willoughby slides into the frame is Disney-esque in the way it handles follow-through and overlapping action as the dog shakes his head.



The cartoon is basically Avery (and writer Rich Hogan, I guess) doing a different take on the Bugs Bunny-Elmer Fudd relationship. Bugs and Elmer are stronger characters; the fox is far more casual. The difference is the dopey character wins in the end. I always liked that watching this over and over as a kid 60-some-odd years ago and I still like it today.

Dry Brush Wolf

Tex Avery’s first cartoon with Droopy was Dumb-Hounded (1943) and one where he pushed the boundaries of takes with the wolf (expanding even further in Northwest Hounded Police, released three years later).

Here are some random frames after the wolf (played by Frank Graham) discovers that, somehow, Droopy is already where he’s gone to hide from him.



The MGM ink and paint department should receive recognition for all the dry-brush lines as the wolf twists, turns and zooms.

No artists are credited.