Paul Terry, Innovator

No one really thinks of Paul Terry being at the cutting edge of animation. By 1950, his cartoons looked positively old-fashioned at times next to, well, everyone else’s. But in the silent days, it was a different story. Terry’s cartoons were universally praised in newspaper write-ups in 1924, and one syndicated columnist decided to do a feature piece on what he found ground-breaking in the Terry shorts.



Much of what you’ll read is probably pretty familiar if you’re into animation, but it would have been unknown to the average person in 1924. The drawing you see above accompanied the column, which appeared in different papers on different dates (undated feature pieces like this being banked for whenever something was needed).

Background To Photoplays Prove To Be All Important
By RUTGERS NEILSEN
Even life itself is played against backgrounds. Events take place in varied settings—ou the land, on the sea, in the air, and beneath the earth’s surface. Backgrounds are to cartoon movies what the platinum setting is to the diamond in the ring, or the frame is to a good painting. They literally back up the subject in more ways than one. Atmosphere, that quality which tends so much to give reality to a drawing, play, or whatnot, is injected by well developed backgrounds.
Yet, despite the rapid advancement in motion picture art, backgrounds in their present high state of development, are a comparatively recent feature of pen drawn movies. Therefore, our title—“Backgrounds To The Forefront"—is not as paradoxical as it sounds because settings have not heretofore kept pace with animation.
Paul Terry illustrates some of the best examples of the latest, up-to-the-minute development of drawn backgrounds in his “Aesop’s Film Fables” distributed by Pathe Exchange, Inc. These modernized versions of the ancient fabulist’s brain-throbs are so well staged that when one is seen on the screen, you forget that the movie is a series of animated drawings instead of portrayals by human actors and trained animals.
For years, a few roughly sketched lines to give depth—as you see in newspaper comic strips—sufficed for the backgrounds in movie cartoons.
Under the direction of Paul Terry, the artists at the studios of Fables Pictures, Inc., pay strict attention to appropriate atmospheric backgrounds, highly developed.
Since we are laying stress on backgrounds, we want to correct any impression that may creep into your mind that this feature of the cartoons is given the most attention. Such is not the case, for animation comes first. But the better the backgrounds are the better they display the action of the characters and heighten the reality of the scenes.
Fully detailed backgrounds have been made practicable by the use of celluloid sheets for the series of final drawings that give the animation to the characters. Heretofore when a complete character together with the background had to be executed upon drawing paper for every exposure—and there are 16 to a foot—it was not feasible to draw any more setting detail than was absolutely necessary. However, with the system developed by Paul Terry, only the actual members of the characters’ bodies needed in action need be drawn to give the effect of life-like motion. So, now, the background has to be drawn but once and may be given more attention.
Under the modern Paul Terry system, the sketches that animate the characters are super-imposed upon the backgrounds and photographed. Through the transparence of the celluloid, the background is registered with all its detail. That part of the background which is not wanted in the particular scene is blocked out by painting over the character on the under surface of the sheet. This is necessary, for instance, where Farmer Al Falfa is supposed to walk past a building. If Farmer Al were drawn merely in outline upon the celluloid sheets, the drawing of the building in the background sketch would show through the transparency. So, in each sketch the character’s body and limbs are “filled in” with paint.
To show Henry Cat fishing, the following procedure is carried out by Terry and his artists. The spring board upon which Henry is to be seated, with its landscape surroundings, is drawn upon the background sheet of paper. On celluloid sheet the cat’s body is drawn in a sitting position, so that superimposing it over the background shows him in a natural position for one fishing, except that his arms, rod and line are missing. These are drawn on a second celluloid sheet, which, when super-imposed over the first sheet, complete Henry Cat. Then, the two sheets are super-imposed upon the background and photographed. To show Henry getting a “bite” his arm is made to raise the rod by drawing the “arm”, rod, etc., in successive positions on several sheets of celluloid. The photographing of various combinations of drawings animate the Cat. This procedure eliminates the necessity of drawing the entire body over and over to register the fishing movements.
Having explained how it is now possible to use detailed backgrounds, we shall discuss briefly the backgrounds themselves. These important features of Paul Terry’s animated drawings composing the “Aesop’s Film Fables” are painted in “wash” upon heavy drawing paper. Black and white paints are used in executing these shallow settings. By varying the mixtures of these “colors” all necessary tones and definition are secured.
The older type of background has mere lines which only suggest atmosphere. It is not so far removed from the system in the time of Shakespeare when the sign “Forest” or “The castle” was used upon a bare stage in lieu of better setting. But, as modern stagecraft has advanced, so has the staging of the animated cartoon movie.
It is surprising how much better a background looks upon the screen than when viewed as a “still” drawing upon paper. The screening, of course, shows the characters in action “before” the settings, thus intensifying the depth. Probably other features help to heighten the illusion of the mere “wash” drawings in the background and make them realistic. After you view some of the latest Paul Terry creations in the “Aesop’s Film Fables” series, you can draw your own conclusions as to just what feature you think heightens the realism. We feel sure that you will agree with us that now backgrounds are to the forefront.

Considering how few newspaper features were written about animation, it’s significant that Terry was the subject of one of them. Yet, even then, his studio was being eclipsed by the far more amusing adventures of Felix the Cat. And within a few years, sound, a mouse and a chap named Disney would overtake them all.

Cagney the Cartoon Gent

Type Mae Clarke’s name into an internet search engine and it will likely add the word “grapefruit” before you’re finished. She’ll be forever known as the woman who had one crunched into her face by James Cagney in ‘The Public Enemy’ (1931).

Warner Bros. took advantage of the movie moment in advertising for other films with Cagney. Here’s one with some glorious (and, unfortunately, anonymous) caricature art for his 1934 comedy drama ‘Jimmy the Gent.’

That Prince! Where Have I Seen Him Before?

Walt Disney greedy? Walt Disney gouging theme park patrons? Walt Disney not a union member?

No, none of this describes Walt Disney. It describes the prince in the Fractured Fairy Tale ‘Sleeping Beauty’ (1960), part of the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. And the prince just happens to look like, well...



While Bob Clampett’s ‘Beanyland’ episode a few years later settled for puns (“Darn Old Duck Pond”) and parody (an ersatz version of “Wish Upon a Star”), ‘Sleeping Beauty’ is almost The Revenge of the Jay Ward Employees. They’re commenting on, if not attacking, Uncle Walt and his “child” in Anaheim.

It’s significant Sleeping Beauty was picked as the subject of the cartoon for Disney had completed his ‘Sleeping Beauty’ not many months earlier—then promptly fired a whole bunch of employees, some of whom had been at the studio for a number of years and were no doubt close friends of their union brothers and sisters at the Ward studio. In another shot, the Fractured Fairy Tale is drawn in a minimalist style. It couldn’t be more opposite of the “Illusion of Life” animation that became the hallmark and mantra of the Disney films.



Probably the biggest blast at Uncle Walt’s Disneyland was Sleeping Beautyland’s admission fee for every one of what are pretty banal attractions—“Stair Land” and “Entrance Hall Land” among them (the attractions being a hall and a flight of stairs). The Walt stand-in is seen counting his money over and over which, according to historian Keith Scott, made the sponsor nervous that Disney might sue (Jay Ward would have responded “Please sue us. We love the publicity!”). To add to the shysterness, the voice Daws Butler gives the prince is the same as Hokey Wolf, his variation on the scheming Sgt. Ernie Bilko played by Phil Silvers.



The Fractured Fairy Tales are, well, just about everything on ‘The Bullwinkle Show’ (né ‘Rocky and his Friends’), still funny, despite some crude drawing. Take a look at ‘Sleeping Beauty’, with the correct opening and closing music, though the sound only comes through one channel.

The Star Who Survived Bad TV Spin-Offs

You have to wonder why Harry Morgan agreed to star in the best-forgotten “After M*A*S*H.” He should have known it would be a critical and ratings failure. Why? Because it wasn’t the first time he was thrust into the starring role of a sequel to a hit show that hadn’t a hope of reaching the popularity of the show he had just been on.

While Morgan, who died this week at the age of 96, is best known for the revived ‘60s version of “Dragnet” and his Emmy-winning performances as Colonel Potter on “M*A*S*H,” Morgan’s big television break came in the sitcom “December Bride,” which debuted in 1954. About all he was known for at that point was he was not the same guy as radio satirist Henry Morgan (as it turns out, neither of them used their real names).

For those that haven’t seen it, “December Bride” centred on a widow played by Spring Byington who moved in with her daughter and son-in-law and hoped to land a husband. The comedy was actually in the hands of the wonderful Verna Felton, who played her friend, and Morgan, who played the next-door neighbour grouching about his wife. The gimmick was the wife was never seen on the show.

It’s a television truism that time always eats away at the ratings of top-rated shows. Producers respond by adding babies (“I Love Lucy”) or guest stars (“I Love Lucy”) or going on location (“I Love Lucy”) or new neighbours (you get the gag). In early 1959, “December Bride” (produced at Desilu, which brought the world “I Love Lucy”) was no different.

In Hollywood
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
HOLLYWOOD, Jan. 24 (NEA)—A change of time or the drop of a few audience points, after a TV show has gone along in spectacular style for five years, can start panic buttons buzzing and cue frantic calls for “Let’s Do Something” conferences.
It happened recently, to “December Bride.”
A new time, the drop of a few audience points did it.
Parke Levy, the little fellow with the big sense of humor who created the show, came up to the conference from his boat moored 40 miles away at Balboa Bay. People from the CBS network and from the agency were there and Levy did the evaulating of all the ideas. There were many — “gimmicks” to boost ratings. “New Look” ideas.
Marriage maybe for Spring Byington?
“No,” Parke said, “too many fans liked her to be free.”
Marriage for Verna Felton, who plays Hilda? Parke dismissed that idea with:
“But what would Hilda and her husband have to talk about?”
No one could answer that question.
“How about Frances Rafferty and Dean Miller becoming parents?” someone suggested. Parke had a big “No” for that idea.
“Then,” he said, “Spring would be a grand-mother and we would have a grand-mother show, which it isn’t. It’s a mother-in-law show.”
A teen age boy as a next door neighbor? Parke didn’t think the teen age influence would mean much to the show’s middle-aged fans. He was really frank about it. He said, “I really don’t know what audiences want next on TV.”
They had one new “December Bride” gimmick going already, Parke reminded everyone Next door neighbor Pete — played by Harry Morgan — and his wife, the never-seen Gladys, were having a baby. The baby, Linda, would be seen for the first time. Jan. 22—
the first cast addition to the show in five years. There will be babysitting routines now, etc.
Parke added that there are plans for Spring Byington & Co. to take a trip to Europe or to the Orient for a change of scenery. Then Parke broke the meeting up by thinking out loud:
“We’ll have Pete’s baby grow up fast, buy her a pony and then we’ll have a western.”
The meeting adjourned then. Everything that could be done was being done for “December Bride.” The meeting couldn’t do much about TV fans suffering from what Parke called, “Double claustrophobia — people in living rooms watching people act in living rooms.”
“December Bride Out West,” is a shuddering thought, at that.
“Well, it was interesting. They say imitation is the sincerest see us doing any imitations of form of flattery, but you’ll never them. For one thing, I don’t think it would fit into our format.”

The Harry Morgan baby idea didn’t work, though it did result in lots of newspaper publicity. By September, Parke Levy had figured out what to do. He’d try to save what was left of “December Bride” by spinning Harry Morgan’s character off into his own show. Of course, that left a small problem. So Levy decided what producers did years later when “Columbo” spawned a “Mrs. Columbo.” They’d destroy the unseen wife illusion and cast a woman to co-star with Morgan. The role was cast the following year.

Harry Morgan With Own Show
By VERNON SCOTT
UPI Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD, Aug. 24 (UPI)—Remember Harry Morgan — the snide little guy on the defunct “December Bride” teleshow who constantly complained about his wife Gladys?
Well, Morgan is returning next season in a new series, “Pete and Gladys,” a star in his own right. As a supporting character in the “Bride” series, Harry, along with Verna Felton, kept viewers laughing for five years. He and the character actress have joined forces in the new venture.
Must Tone Down
There's one other important addition — Gladys.
“On the old show I just complained about Gladys as a battle ax.” Morgan said. “Now that she will be seen I’ll have to tone it down.
“I still have a mother-in-law who doesn’t appear on the show and I continue to blast her pretty well. I think that’s why the character of Pete was so popular, especially with men.
“I spoke for all men with latent hostility to wives and mothers-in-law. Guys used to stop me in the street and congratulate me.
“But the mothers-in-law of the country thought I was an ogre."
Miss Felton, who played busybody Hilda Crocker, will continue to be the target of Pete’s barbs on the CBS-TV entry.
Sample dialogue, Pete to Hilda: “You would have made a wonderful Miss America. . .only they hadn’t discovered it yet. The years have been good to you, yes, but some of the weekends must have been murder.”
Cara Williams Stars
Because shapely, red-haired Cara Williams is playing Gladys, Morgan’s stinging wit will be softened when it comes to defaming his wife.
“She’s frumpy sometimes, and there is still plenty of unpleasantness. And when I’m not around here I still talk a lot more severely than the circumstances warrant.”
Off screen Morgan is quiet and not given to scathing observations about married life. He has been happily married for 21 years and is the father of four teenage sons.
“This is one of the few times a character has been taken from one series to star in another,” Morgan said. “I remember ‘The Great Gildersleeve’ was more of a supporting character in ‘Fibber McGee and Molly,’ and that show turned out to be a big hit.
“I don’t expect to find any hazards by switching to a new show. Matter of fact, I think
‘Pete and Gladys’ will be much funnier than ‘December Bride.’”

Morgan put on a brave face in the interview, but even he must have known the show was doomed from the start. The producers did what producers obsessively do—they go with an idea because it’s wildly popular then completely change it to eliminate everything that was popular to begin with. Having an unseen wife allowed the TV audience, for five years, to build up in their mind what Gladys looked like and behaved like. Suddenly, Cara Williams was sprung on those same viewers. She wasn’t what they pictured. And, just as suddenly, Pete was acting differently toward her. The characters the audience knew were gone. Substituted, instead, were wisecracks against a motherly-looking senior citizen. Oh, and a redhead who did physical comedy (“I Love Lucy”) alongside another supporting actor, Gale Gordon (“The Lucy Show”).

It’s a wonder it didn’t kill his career, but he can partly thank Ben Alexander for that. Alexander wasn’t contractually available to return to “Dragnet” when Jack Webb revived it in the ‘60s, so he picked Morgan. And Morgan supplemented his residuals some years later with his best role, being MacLean Stevenson’s sequel as the commander of the 4077. And then came “After M*A*S*H.”

If you really want a taste of that show, you’ll have to find it yourself. But here’s a taste of “Pete and Gladys.” And we do mean “taste.”

Hollywood Kitchen Magic

You’d expect a forgotten, low-budget movie studio like Regal Films to have problems putting together believable props and effects for its 1958 classics ‘Space Master X-7’ and ‘Wolf Boy’ (not starring Taylor Lautner). You wouldn’t expect the prop proprietors to have difficulty with a loaf of bread. But such is the nature of Hollywood.

You may recall in the ‘I Love Lucy’ episode “Pioneer Women” (1952), Lucy Ricardo baked a long, long trailer loaf of bread. The show actually used real rye bread from a commercial bakery because it was cheaper than building a phoney prop. But, apparently, Regal Films decided to splurge and go with the phoney kind. Because That’s Show Biz.

The United Press revealed all in an amusing column in papers of May 31-June 1, 1949.

Baking Old-fashioned Loaf of Bread Stupendous Task for Movie Magic-makers
By VIRGINIA MacPHERSON
HOLLYWOOD, May 31.—(U.P.)—Baking an old-fashioned loaf of bread almost proved Hollywood’s undoing this week.
The movie magic-makers can move whole mountains and whip up tropical hurricanes without jatting an eye. But it took ‘em six whole days, a batch of rubber cement, and a can of brown paint to knock out a hunk of the “staff of life.”
And the baker they hired to make sure it looked real stalked home in a grave state of shock, swearing he’d never work on another Hollywood epic as long as he lived, so help him.
The kitchen catastrophe took place on the set of Regal Films’ “Mrs. Mike.” The script writers, homespun lads all, decided it’d be a nice touch if Evelyn Keyes baked Dick Powell a loaf of bread.
So far, so good. The powers-that-be called in Joe Pheipos, who runs a bakery in San Fernando Valley, to function as technical adviser on the sifting, kneading, baking, etc.
But in the movies nothing is what it seems, and regular flour, which was good enough for Pheipps’ Greek ancestors for 5000 years, wasn’t white enough for he movie-makers. Joe protested, but they added a little bicarbonate of soda to “dress it up.”
When it came time to knead the dough they decided to sling in a generous supply of slow-flowing rubber cement to give it a “cinematic” touch. By now, Joe is goggle-eyed.
Next, it turned out the backwoods oven, fired by pine logs, wasn’t hot enough. So prop man Johnny Orlando built a modern gas range inside, and pretty soon the aroma of baking bicarbonate of soda, flour, water, and rubber cement began to waft through the studio.
There was even a thin ribbon of smoke trickling out through the oven. It looked like the bread was baking. Actually, it was coming from a burning cigarette.
“You drive-a me craze,” Joe stormed. “What a helluva way to make da movies. No wonda you guys got ulcers!”
He stuck around just long enough to eye the finished product—And that's when he got the crowning insult. A painter rushed up to tint the loaf a crispy brown.
Joe threw up his hands.
“You tell me come over, be technical adviser,” he ranted. “You pay me lotta money. But who wants it with ulcers?
“You keepa your damned ulcers! And your movie bread! From now on I stick to my own recipes!”

‘Mrs. Mike’ (as opposed to the old Mr. Mike’s Steakhouse) was Regal’s second film. The company specialised in, well, it was the ‘50s after all, westerns, space/science fiction features and filmed a token musical epic—‘Rockabilly Baby’ (1957) featuring those noted rockabilly artists Irene Ryan (Granny on ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’) and Ellen Corby (Grandma on ‘The Waltons’). One of the songs was written by Dick Kallman, who took acting lessons from Lucille Ball at her Desilu Workshop. Therefore, ‘Rockabilly Baby’ would have been one Regal Film where a loaf of bread wouldn’t have been a problem.

Kiss of a Gruesome Twosome

One of the great things about cartoons on DVD is, interlacing aside, you can stop them whenever you want and check out individual frames. That way, you can appreciate Rod Scribner even more.

Scribner’s animation in the Bob Clampett unit at times wasn’t really so much animation, where one drawing grew out of the other. It was a series of stark, at times rubbery, poses, one for each frame, that eventually led to a conclusion. Scribner seems to get credit for all these drawings, as if he never had an assistant (we know he did, as Bill Melendez was one of them for a while).

Here’s one of many examples. This is in ‘A Gruesome Twosome’ (released in 1945) that’s almost two cartoons in one. Warren Foster wrote in a similar structure later, especially at Hanna-Barbera, where the plot changes direction in mid-cartoon. The stars are a pair of cats, one a rip-off of Jimmy Durante, and the half-first of the short sees them vying for the attention of a girl cat. Then she disappears and the pair vie for possession of Tweety.

The first half features one of those interrupt-the-action-and-talk-to-the-audience bits that Clampett loved. The cats are somewhere off camera fighting. A dog rises up into the shot, he’s designed like something in the Clampett unit of the later ‘30s. He looks very average.



But the dog goes nuts because he has a chance to kiss the babe. And Scribner’s animation goes nuts. Just some of his drawings.





Then the kiss. Just one of the drawings.



And then the reaction. We even get a butt shot at the camera.





The other credited animators on this are Manny Gould, Basil Davidovich and Bob McKimson; Melendez’ name appears on Clampett cartoons before and after this so why he’s not on this one is a mystery.

The Takes of Rockabye Point

Chilly Willy suffered an ignominious end at the Walter Lantz studio, surrounded by unfunny supporting characters, stiff animation and the hack directing of Paul J. Smith. Even Daws Butler couldn’t get enthused enough with the gag-less dialogue to come up with new voices; a gooney bird must have had a mother who mated with Peter Potamus because that’s whose voice it’s got.

But there was a time when things were different, when Chilly was in the hands of Tex Avery. Tex directed only four cartoons at Lantz, two of them Chillys. They’re both pretty good but the best is ‘The Legend of Rockabye Point’ (1955). You can’t miss Tex’s style. It moves along at a great clip; Tex is into the next gag as soon as the last one registers. There’s his run-to-the-hilltop-and-scream routine he used several times at MGM (‘Deputy Droopy’ probably his best-known); even the layout looks much the same.



And Tex shows his love of teeth, and jagged takes, the kind of thing Grant Simmons used to draw for him at Metro.





Simmons wasn’t with Tex on this cartoon, of course; he had opened his own studio. Tex still had a good group of animators—Don Patterson, La Verne Harding and Ray Abrams, though he bluntly told historian Joe Adamson the work was “pretty crappy.”

Mike Maltese is the writer but, considering how Averyesque the gags are, you have to wonder how much he contributed. He revealed to historian Mike Barrier that he went to Lantz to complain that “I wanted to earn my money there.” Avery was known for having his hands on, and worrying too much about, every phase of each of his cartoons.

Tex arrived at Lantz on February 1, 1954 and left (the same day as Maltese) on August 20th. Alex Lovy took over his unit and finished up a couple of his cartoons, perhaps the best ones Lovy made at Lantz. Maltese headed back to Warner Bros. Tex got out of the theatrical animation business. Perhaps his timing was right. The industry was in a decline from which it never recovered. But if anyone could have made funny cartoons in that atmosphere, it would have been Tex Avery.

The Horn Blows—And So Does the Movie

Unlike Bob Hope or Red Skelton, movie stardom wasn’t really in the cards for Jack Benny. Popularity on radio didn’t translate to popularity on the big screen. He seemed to go from studio to studio making a couple of pictures along the way, all of which got plenty of publicity but mixed reviews.

Critics seem to agree Jack’s best film was ‘To Be or Not to Be’ (1942). Jack’s writers seemed to agree his worst was ‘The Horn Blows at Midnight’ (1945). At least, they agreed that way when it came to writing a running gag. Jack milked the supposed mediocrity of the movie for practically the rest of the run of his career in radio.

Instead of posting a review, here’s a little insight into the filming from the Vidette-Messenger of Valparaiso, Indiana of October 19, 1945, some six months after the film was released.

Leave It To Comedian Jack Benny To Be Working On An Angle
Jack Benny’s world is coming back to normal these days after a stretch on the Warner lot where the comedian made his latest picture, “The Horn Blows at Midnight,” currently at the Premier Theatre, in which he is co-starred with lovely Alexis Smith.
If Mr. Benny walks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, it can be blamed upon Hugh Reticker, art director for “The Horn Blows Midnight,” who designed one of the cock-eyedest sets over seen on a sound stage.
Certain exciting sequences of the picture take place on the roof of a skyscraper hotel in Manhattan. The clock tower and penthouse part of the roof-line were built by Reticker on Stage Seven at Warner Bros. and it looked as though a high wind had tilted it 20 degrees to the southwest.
The cameraman, headed by Sid Hickox, viewed the set with considerable satisfaction and with much less alarm than did actor Benny. To them the odd angle at which it stood was an advantage because it helped them in registering the tower as of great height. above the street.
Part of the roof-top scene was made on the highest available roof In Los Angeles. But the close-ups were photographed on a set built to duplicate exactly, the roof line of the tall building selected.
The tower clock was set at twelve o’clock because that is the moment the script willed for Jack to blow Gabriel’s trumpet.
The hands of the clock were manipulated by hand, so that they could be shown approaching the zero hour in scenes just previous to the midnight one.
The clock was built on a bias but this was straightened out by the camera’s lens without making the cameraman stand on his head to photograph it.
It is all a matter of mathematics, the camera crew told Jack Benny again and again. Nevertheless, it left Mr. Benny loaning more than slightly to the left.
“I go home at night,” Jack complains, “and twist the pictures on the walls into all kinds of ridiculous angles. I’m so used lo seeing things on a slant that I’m convinced my piano at home has one short leg.
“I’ll be glad to get bank to heaven—in the picture—where everything is finally straightened out.”

‘The Horn’ sounded the end of Jack Benny’s starring career in Hollywood. He made a cameo appearance in ‘It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World’ (1963) and a few other films but never again had his name above the title. It hurt nothing than perhaps his ego. His radio career was never affected, he segued into the small screen with no problems and was considered a show business legend before he died.

Juke Box What?

That Tom and Jerry! Remember that funny cartoon about the..... well, actually, I don’t remember this one. Billboard magazine announced it in its edition of June 2, 1951:

JUKE BOX MOUSE GETS FILM NOD
CULVER CITY, Calif., May 26—Metro-Goldwyn Mayer cartoons are set to produce Juke Box Mouse with this film the next on the schedule. Dealing entirely with popular music, it follows a long series of cartoons featuring classical tunes. These include Academy Oscar winner Cat Concerto, Hollywood Bowl Cat, Saturday Evening Puss and Johann Mouse.

There are several problems with the story. ‘Saturday Evening Puss’ featured jazz, not classical music. ‘Tom and Jerry at the Hollywood Bowl’ is the proper name of one cartoon. And, finally, the most puzzling question:

What cartoon is ‘Juke Box Mouse’?

It’s nowhere to be found in the list of MGM cartoon productions Thad Komorowski has on his blog (the product of several fine and accurate researchers). And I can’t think of a cartoon which came out after all the ones listed above that involves a juke box (when I write stuff like that, someone quickly comments to jog my failing memory).

We mentioned in this post that MGM changed the name of a number of its cartoons. The book Contemporary Theatre, Film, and Television, Gale Research Co. (2007) reveals a few others from the Hanna-Barbera unit, though I don’t know the source of its information.

‘Cat Nipped,’ ‘Kitty Foiled’ released as ‘Mouse Trouble’ (1944).
‘Mouse to Dinner’ released as ‘The Mouse Comes to Dinner’ (1945).
‘Love Boids’ released as ‘Flirty Birdy’ (1945).
‘Manhattan Serenade’ released as ‘Mouse in Manhattan’ (1945).
‘Hold That Lion’ released as ‘Jerry and the Lion’ (1950).
‘Party Cat’ released as ‘Saturday Evening Puss’ (1950).
‘City Cousin, ‘Muscles Mouse’ finally released as ‘Jerry’s Cousin’ (1950).
‘F’r Safety Sake’ released as ‘Safety Second’ (1950).
‘Tyke Takes a Nap’ released as ‘Hic-Cup Pup’ (1954).
‘One Quack Mind’ released as ‘Happy Go Ducky’ (1958).

I can just hear Fred Quimby tell Bill and Joe that the word “boids” doesn’t have the dignity associated with MGM.

Something else the story tells you is how long it took for MGM to release some of its cartoons. ‘Johann Mouse’ didn’t appear on screens until March 1953, almost two years after this story came out. That backlog of cartoons is the reason MGM gave for closing its studio (something it called “temporarily” at the time) in 1957. That forced Hanna and Barbera to go hunting for new work, something that changed television animation forever.

Farewell to a Roach

One third of The Roaches died this week.

That happens to be Alan Sues, though the only way you’d know that is if you saw an Edie Adams TV special in 1964 where she, Sues and Soupy Sales did a Beatles spoof as The Roaches (their hit was “Don’t Step on Me”).

One of the great fallacies about ‘Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In’ is the thought that the cast, except former sitcom star Judy Carne, came out of nowhere. All of the players had previously worked in television in varying degrees in the ‘60s, including Sues. Here’s a feature story about him from Pasadena’s The Independent Star-News of June 5, 1966, a few years before he was hired by George Schlatter for the ‘Laugh-In’ cast.



Not Just Nervous, Completely Nuts
Madman From the Mad Show
By Ray Duncan
ALAN SUES says he learned much of value in Pasadena to aid him in his current career.
That statement may or may not be a tribute to our city. He is one of the stars of “The Mad Show.”
That wild and irreverent theatrical non-sequitur, at P.J.’s Theatre in Hollywood, is based on the contents of Mad Magazine. Those contents require a high level of eccentricity for their interpretation. Sues was one of five performers picked to make the madness come to life in Southern California, in a production running concurrently with the highly successful version operating off-Broadway, and with two other companies now being organized for other cities likely to appreciate insanity.
His Pasadena preparation for this role consisted of attendance at Pasadena City College and Pasadena Playhouse, after his family had taken up residence here when he was 9 years old.
“I won a book of Shakespeare at Pasadena City College,” he remembers, “for giving the best reading from that author’s works. But I recall even then, when I was trying to be tragic, everybody seemed to laugh at my Hamlet’s soliloquy.”
For several years he continued to resist the tragic fate of being comic. He graduated from the Playhouse in the same class with George Nader, but not without being kicked out of school a couple of times for insubordination, for circulating angry petitions, and for fomenting student protests. Even as a student-protest leader he was not recognized as a comedian.
And in New York, where he went to study at the American Theatre Wing, he was taken seriously. And on Broadway, in his first big break, he was cast as the semi-tragic young man in “Tea and Sympathy,” creating the leading role opposite Deborah Kerr, and continuing to play it opposite Joan Fontaine and Mary Fickett.
Even in films and television he has usually been cast as a reasonably solid citizen, in “The Americanization of Emily” and “Move Over, Darling,” and “The Wheeler Dealers”; or on “Twilight Zone” and in “Many Happy Returns” or “Wild, Wild West.”
“But in ‘The Wheeler Dealers,’” he says, “somebody discovered that I looked funny when I rolled my eyes. After that I got a lot of offers to do eye-rolling scenes, but I turned most of them down. That kind of thing can ruin a career.”
To express his horror at the thought of it, he rolled his eyes. He has startling eyeballs that are inclined to bulge, and a habitual half-hurt, half-humorous look of protest.
The discovery of his comic cast of mind occurred — as many Hollywood discoveries do — at a party. He and his wife, Phyllis, were so funny together that somebody suggested they ought to do a night-club act. Matters were set in motion toward that end. The act was a success, and is still reactivated between acting assignments.
“Actually,” he says, “I hate night-club work. See this scar on my forehead? I got that when a drunken woman threw her glass at me. Another time a man reached out and ripped my wife’s dress. The women are the worst. The next day they always come back and apologize—the nicest people you can imagine. But in night-clubs, drinking, they can be vicious.”
What he likes about “The Mad Show,” which is a series of skits and sketches and songs and nonsense, is not merely that nobody throws glasses (only soft drinks are served in the intimate little cabaret-theatre), but that each of the performers gets a chance to play a wild variety of roles during the evening.
He likes it also because it avoids the danger of typecasting — except as a madman. “I was becoming type-cast in films as the nervous, harried person. In ‘The Mad Show’ I’m not just nervous, I’m completely nuts.”
His family has abandoned Pasadena for a ranch near Solvang, but he occasionally gets back here to renew old friendships. For the future, he has written a movie script (“Several studios are willing to buy my script, but the author won’t sell unless he can pick the star, which will be me”); and he has a TV pilot making the rounds. He is also deep in the greeting-card business, with a new humorous “gimmick-card” coming on the market. It is too secret for him to describe, but he laughed aloud at the very thought of it.
Meanwhile, there is always “The Mad Show,” if he can survive the demands of its demented script. He has lost 30 pounds since the strenuous show opened several weeks ago, but he insists that he has not lost his sanity.

There’s an interesting gay subtext to the article. Nader had a long-time husband—both were close friends of Rock Hudson—and when Sues’ wife got a divorce in the late ‘50s, she was working in Liberace’s stage show.

Sues’ main sketch characters on ‘Laugh-In’ were outrageous gay stereotypes. Then, they were seen as fun campiness. Who knows what future generations will think; people over the years have warmed less and less to any kind of stereotypes. Sues himself is far less remembered today than two other not-very-veiled gay men on TV about the same time—Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly. Those two had the advantage of playing “themselves,” spouting clever, bitchy wit on game shows. Sues was buried in a bunch of characterisations on a show that very quickly flamed out of the top of the prime time ratings. Still, there he was, lending a “we’re here, we’re queer” validation to ‘60s gays looking to see any positive trace of themselves anywhere. That’s not a bad legacy.

‘Laugh-In’ hasn’t aged terribly well, and the show’s ubiquitous laugh track annoyingly stepped on everyone’s punch lines, but there’s something you have to like about Sues as Uncle Al the Kiddies’ Pal screaming back and forth at the constantly-interrupting Jo Anne Worley. Alan Sues made people laugh. Even as a musical Roach. That’s not a bad legacy, either.