Oooooh! I'm Dyin'

Bugs Bunny discovers after he promises to help a penguin get home that penguins are native to the South Pole.





You know the next line.

Bugs says does the “dyin’” routine later in the cartoon but the animation’s different.

Credited animators in 8 Ball Bunny are Phil Monroe, Ben Washam, Ken Harris, Lloyd Vaughan and Emery Hawkins.

Woody Rings Chime

Woody Woodpecker, Andy Panda and a mouse zoom to a food-laden party in “Banquet Busters” (1947). After four drawings of Woody’s finger stretching to the doorbell, the rest of his head and hat catches up in six frames.



Then Woody’s neck.



Finally his body.



This footage is the work of Les Kline. Thad Komorowski has passed on this helpful know-your-animator chart from this short.

This is a good one to learn animator styles from, because only three animate the bulk of the footage.

0:57-2:06 — Les Kline
2:07-3:00 — Pat Matthews
3:01-4:14 — Ed Love
4:15-4:59 — Matthews
5:00-end — Love
Pies are animated by Sidney Pillet.

Late Night TV With ... Who?

You know about all the late-night talk/variety hosts who graced the TV airwaves in the 1950s. Jack Paar. Steve Allen. Jimmy Blaine. Jerry....

Wait a minute. Jimmy Blaine?

Blaine was a singer who may be best known for hosting a Saturday morning kids show starting in late 1957 on NBC that played Ruff and Reddy cartoons (along with ‘Columbia Favorites’ like “Lo the Poor Buffal”). You can be forgiven if you didn’t know he hosted a late-night show. For one thing, it aired for a few months in 1953. And it may have aired on only one station (further research is needed). The show was called “The Talk of the Town,” and not because that was indicative of the show’s popularity. It’s because “The Talk of the Town” was the motto of the Knickerbocker Beer Company which sponsored it. “Town” aired on WABC-TV opposite news broadcasts on the other New York stations. It debuted April 27, 1953, the same day NBC first aired “Bob and Ray” and DuMont brought the world “Jimmy Hughes, Rookie Cop” for the first time.

The Long Island City Star Journal covered opening night in its April 30th edition.

Radio and Television
By JOHN LESTER
‘Talk of the Town’ Debuts on ABC-TV
TV station and network executives are tossing in their sleep these night—and have been for some nights past—over the perplexing problem of late hour programing.
Feature films are one of the very best answers, of course, but the quality of these has dropped alarmingly in recent months due to the fact that everything has been shown 15 or 20 times over. There are still plenty of good films in the movie studio vaults that haven't been seen on TV yet but Hollywood is unloading them second and third (and worse) stuff first, and at its own prices, maintaining a strong sellers’ market.
This is no doubt good business but it’s sure tough on the viewer.
Meanwhile, producers are wondering what kind of entertainment to slow in the late hours that will interest wide audiences and still stay within a reasonable budget.
ABC-TV tried its luck Monday night, 11 to midnight, by borrowing a page from the now-defunct “Broadway Open House,” the NBC-TV series starring Jerry Lester, Dagmar, Ray Malone and Milton Delugg and his band, and premiered a similar show titled “Talk of the Town.”
An incredibly cheap show money-wise, "Talk" stars Jimmy Blaine, as the emcee-singer, dancer Ray Malone, songstress Elise Rhodes, the Buddy Weed band, comic Louis Nye and announcer Bill Williams, in addition to weekly guests.
The latter include, for this week, singer Donald Richards and dance-team Diane Sinclair and Ken Spaulding, who will appear with the cast the rest of this week.
As a show, Monday's premiere of "Talk" was halting, loose-jointed and badly in need of some strong, suitable cohesive.
On the other hand, it displayed good possibilities and promised to give television some new stars, no less than one and the probability of two or three.

RAY MALONE is no newcomer to television, of course, having hit the viewers hard on "Broadway Open House" and other shows. Given some latitude and good treatment on this new series, there is no telling what this lad might do. The chances are he will one day be the greatest dancing star in America, anyhow, and this might just as well come sooner as later. Handling will hurry or delay it.
Malone, a veteran of Eddie Cantor's Broadway period for all his youth, has incredible talent—everything, in fact, the perfect dancer must have.
His sense of timing and rhythm is literally breath-taking. He apparently is skilled in several dancing styles and has a "feel" for all. He's an attractive looking little guy with a gay quality that especially lends itself to eccentric numbers, mood studies and certain types of characterizations as interpreted in the modern dance metier, and, as if that weren't enough for six or seven people his size, he is an instant choreographer of real inventiveness and imagination.
MALONE was a star when he hit "Talk," but he can become much bigger with it.
Comic Louis Nye, on the other hand, is no TV star at the moment, but he'll be the comedy discovery of the summer season, provided he can continue the pace set Monday night when he appeared as the broccoli grower and the sanitation department worker.
The broccoli grower was a fine characterization coupled with some really good material that had the studio audience the show-band in good-sized stitches much of the time. The sanitation worker skit was a notch lower—purely a matter of personal preference—but it like-wise put Nye across as strong potential for the comedy big-time. And how badly we need more top comics.
The dance team of Sinclair and Spaulding has been around from time to time, but nothing can build stature and a following like regular appearances on this powerful medium.
DIANE SINCLAIR, the girl, is gorgeous, dances like a dream and the boy, Ken Spaulding, seems to be her technical equal. Together, they make an exciting, handsome team that could also be headed for top stardom.
Singer Elise Rhodes, an attractive girl, did well on the premiere but didn’t impress as strongly as Malone, Nye, and Sinclair and Spaulding.
Buddy Weed and his band have long ago found their niche, a very high one in the opinions of followers of the jazz sound, and Buddy played some piano Monday night that probably had a lot of these followers hanging on the ropes, gasping.
If "Talk of the Town" can be tightened slightly, production-wise, and be made to run a bit smoother, it might soon be the talk of the town. If not the show, then certainly certain of its elements.
That’s for sure.

The Brooklyn Daily Eagle’s TV columnist took notice of the show. Here’s how he described it on May 3rd.

Channel 7's 'Talk of Town' Nice Fate for Stay-Up-Lates
By BOB LANIGAN
PREMIER PREMIERE—“Talk of the Town,” the new five-times-a-week, full hour show for stay-up-lates, was launched on Channel 7 at 11 p.m., Monday, and has been sailing merrily along ever since.
Emceed by Jimmy Blaine, and with a cast that includes tap dancer Ray Malone, Buddy Weed's orchestra, pop singer Elise Rhodes, comedian Louis Nye, and Bill Williams, these variety shows offer a little bit of practically everything, but not much of anything that hasn't been seen on TV many times before.
Whoa, thar, I'm not kickin', stranger! For people who are mighty tired of looking at movies that were never filmed with TV in mind and suffer (along with the televiewer) by being reproduced, this show is ideal. It is also a welcome relief from self-styled news analysts, and weather reports that would be amusing if they weren't so darned confusing.
“Talk of the Town” is a “live” show in every sense of the word. It moves right along, and no “dead” spots were in evidence last week. It's a pleasant show and, as you watch it, you soon feel everyone connected with these nightly presentations is going all-out in his attempts to please you.
Producer Milton Douglas, consciously or unconsciously, accomplished a very desirable end in a show of this type, when he refused to engage one "big name" star who would outshine all other members of the company. His guest stars last week included Diane Sinclair and Ken Spaulding and vocalist Donald Richards. Big names? Not too. Talented? Very. But they fitted snugly into the evening's festivities and seemed more like an integral part of the shows than guests. I hope Douglas' guests this week as just as well chosen.
There is absolutely nothing in these “Talk of the Town” presentations that will cause the top ten shows in TV any cause for alarm concerning their ratings. They're not supposed to. If the “Talk” shows stick to what was on exhibition last week, i.e., a sincere striving to please with no attempt at being smart alecky, I'm sure the customers who are not sack-happy will have no cause to complain.

Lanigan revisited the show in his June 22, 1953 column.

'Talk of Town' on TV Seen Living Up to Its Name
By BOB LANIGAN

EXCLUSIVE? "Talk of the Town," the WABC-TV 11 p.m.-to-midnight program, is getting to be just that.
When this show premiered it fulfilled a long-awaited need for a late-hour program that would take the place of coffee in keeping televiewers awake. The format has remained more or less static, but it has taken on a patina that no one had any right to expect.
Milton Douglas, the producer of these five-time-weekly shows, refused to go along with the thought that people who stayed up late didn't have sense enough to go to bed, and therefore would accept anything. He and others planned and produced this show with all the care and attention given to the biggest network shows, which are usually seen at a much earlier hour. Integrity paid off.
Last week host Jimmy Blaine had as his guest Brooklynite Henny Youngman. Henny, as usual, proceeded to fracture the people. Henny is being held over this week and starting tonight "Talk of the Town" will be enhanced by another Brooklynite, Alan Dale. But wait . . .
Next Monday Alan Dale and Henny Youngman will join Jimmy Blaine and Buddy Weed's 15-piece orchestra as permanent members of the cast. In addition, Marilyn Ross, a singer possessing a great voice and figure to match; Betty George, ditto; Bunny Briggs, a tap dancer, frequently compared to the late Bill Robinson, and the dance team of Nelle Fisher and Jerry Ross will round out the all-star cast.
As you will see, if you look, I use the term "round out" advisedly. Tune in this one any night and have a real time of it.

Sounds like the show was on its way, right? Afraid not. Sponsor Knickerbocker decided to go elsewhere. Blaine, who Variety said was nervous, self-conscious and stiff, was replaced with Dale on June 29th in a complete overhaul. Nye, Williams and Rhodes were out. Youngman took Nye’s comedy spot but soon replaced Dale as emcee (Variety, July 1). Still not good enough. The new vice-president of WABC, John Mitchell, checked the expense charts and his first decision was to cancel “Talk of the Town” (Variety, July 8). The show died on July 24th. Youngman went to Vegas the following week and WABC went back to old movies. Lanigan of the Eagle laid the show to rest in his July 29th column.

INSIDE TV: "Talk of the Town," the 11-to-midnight five times weekly program on Channel 7, which folded while my back was turned, was a victim of over-production.
When this show opened, it did so with a pleasantly diverting format and a very engaging personnel. Producer Milton Douglas utilized the talents of Jimmie Blaine, Ray Malone, Billy Weed and his orchestra, Bill Williams and Louis Nye, and others, and showed them to good advantage against cleverly-devised backgrounds.
Then, after a few gratifying weeks, the "Big Brass" decided to get into the act. It was the old story of too many cooks spoiling this TV broth. Boom!

Too many cooks, all right. But not necessarily management. Many years later, one viewer would sum up the problem with “Talk.” One act would be on for ten minutes, then another would take over the show for ten minutes, then another and another. Too many people. But there was someone that one viewer really liked, comedian Louis Nye. That viewer was about to launch his own late-night endeavour locally on WNBT New York on July 27th and suggested that Nye could join him some day. And Nye did, launching himself into national stardom. That viewer was Steve Allen. His sponsor was Knickerbocker Beer. More next week.

Tex's Shocked Rabbit

“Mm-mmm! I can taste that fried rabbit now,” says the hunter (played by Patrick McGeehan). The Disney-esque rabbit in question overhears the culinary prediction. Here’s the shock take.



The cartoon is Tex Avery’s “Doggone Tired” (1949), which consists mainly of gags of the rabbit trying to keep a hunting dog awake all night. There are several shudder-fear drawings in this scene. Here’s one.



Bobe Cannon, Walt Clinton, Grant Simmons and Mike Lah are the credited animators. Avery used both Rich Hogan and Jack Cosgriff as gagmen in this one.

Cubby's Drunken Orchestra

Animated cartoons were au courant in the early ‘30s, what with references to Ghandi, George Bernard Shaw, Bing Crosby—and beer.

Near beer (3.2% alcohol and below) was legalised in March 1933, and the Constitutional Amendment forcing Prohibition on America was repealed the following December.

Animators, if rumour is to be believed, enjoyed a drink or two on rare occasion, so it’s no wonder alcohol found its way into cartoons. There are a couple of beer gags to open “Cubby’s Picnic” (1933). Cubby opens the cartoon conducting an orchestra. A tuba player hooks up a nearby keg to his instrument and uses it to drink beer.



A cellist deftly picks up a stein with his bow and finishes it off.



Pretty soon, the whole band is drunk. Apologies for the fuzzy resolution on the frame, but it’s kind of appropriate for a scene with drunks (unfortunately, higher-quality versions of this cartoon on the internet have been killed).



Cubby really isn’t on a picnic in this cartoon even though it’s called “Cubby’s Picnic.” Why? Because it’s a Van Beuren cartoon! You don’t expect it to make sense, do you?

Steve Muffatti directed the short, with Eddie Donnelly receiving the animation credit. The sad irony is Muffatti died an alcoholic on September 8, 1962 at the age of 51 (thanks to Thad Komorowski and Jerry Beck for the information).

Before She Was Alice

There was a time that Ann B. Davis was worried about being typecast in the role of Schultzy, which brought her a pair of Emmys. But who remembers Schultzy today?

Blame the relentlessly ticking clock. Schultzy appeared on “The Bob Cummings Show” more than 50 years ago. It wasn’t a show too many boomers grew up with (dad may have appreciated the female models that surrounded Cummings, though), and disappeared from reruns when colour punted virtually every old black-and-white show off the air (“I Love Lucy” and “The Honeymooners” being notable exceptions). “The Brady Bunch” came along 12 years later, appealed to tons of kids, and played in reruns forever (and probably is on some channel somewhere, even today). Those kids are now grown up and remember Davis as the likeable stalwart maid Alice.

Davis’ death at the age of 88 was reported today.

She once told Associated Press reporter Bob Thomas (in a column published May 6, 1958) she appeared in tent shows in Erie, Pa. for $20 a week—then got a raise to $25 because she helped set up the tent. In 1949, she headed to California to the Porterville Barn Theatre, then accepted stage roles in Monterrey and San Francisco before heading to Hollywood. In 1954, she was working in the Christmas card line of a local department store. Then came Schultzy.

Here are a couple of columns done about the same time as the Thomas interview. The Niagara Falls Gazette of April 13, 1958 reported:

‘Schultzy’ Leads Double Life
Television may be here to stay, but Ann B. Davis is taking no chances.
Ann, the girl with the bun hairdo, is in her fourth year as Charmaine Schultz, the irrepressible secretary on the highly successful “Bob Cummings Show” on (Tuesday, 9:30 p.m.) Chan. 17.
You would think that would be assurance enough, but Ann is sticking to the night club job that she had when discovered by Bob Cummings and George Burns. Every night, after the work is done for the television show, Ann returns to a small place called The Cabaret Theatre on Sunset Boulevard in downtown Los Angeles. It is a little walk-down cellar place. You have to look carefully, or you'll miss it.
Night Life
There Ann, with three or four other performers, does songs, satires and funny sketches, most of which she writes herself. It is a pleasant little place. It has what the newspaper boys call “Atmosphere.” And always, it is crowded. Ann will do a bit entitled “A Streetcar Maimed Ammonia” that would make Tennessee Williams quit writing if he ever sees it. And another thing is called “Typhoid Mary.” All of which gives you an idea.
One night in 1954, two friends told Ann that Bob Cummings was looking for an actress for a new television show. They arranged an audition. She read for Bob and Mary Cummings; George Burns, who is part owner of the show; Paul Henning, writer-producer, and Frederick de Cordoba [sic]. She had never met any of them.
“I've never met with more patience and consideration since I walked through that door,” she recalls.
However, Ann flubbed a line and she was sure that error wrote finish to her efforts. She could not have been more mistaken, because immediately, auditions were called off and Ann B. Davis was signed to her first television, series, bun and all.
Movie Work
Other television roles followed, and some movies.
“My first movie was ‘Strategic Air Command,’ but my bit was cut out.” However, the tight schedule for “The Bob Cummings Show” does not give her time for much else.
“I continue my work at The Cabaret Theatre. Well, in the first place. I like it.” She says. “It gives me a great opportunity for keeping in practice and for developing new routines. I can try anything there.”
Ann Davis was born in Schenectady, and then the family moved to Erie, Pa. Her mother was interested in amateur theatricals. Ann and her twin sister Harriett made their joint debut at the age of four. They recited before clubs, etc. By the time they reached ten, they were doing their own puppet show and making the puppets themselves. Harriett still has some of them.
Ann attended the University of Michigan, and had some vague ideas about studying medicine, but the taste of theater was too strong.
Ann Davis now lives in Hollywood with a poodle and two parakeets, “as near the studio as can.”
The role of Schultzy definitely has affected Ann's life. People recognize her everywhere, on the streets, in restaurants and at theaters. They yell, “Hi, Schultzy. When are you going to marry Bob?”

And this story is from June 21, 1958.

The Three Faces of ‘Schultzy’
There’s Ann, Her Twin And ‘Typhoid Mary’
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
NEA Hollywood Writer

Hollywood—You've seen or heard about “The Three Faces of Eve,” of course. But do you know about the three faces of Ann?—Ann B. Davis? Or “Schultzy” to you.
The Emmy winning comedienne of The Bob Cummings TV show. The sharp-witted, rubber-faced doll who wears her hair in a bun atop her head and a sign, “I Want A Man,” in her eyes.
There is Ann's TV face of Schultzy. That you know. But even while she is working on a sound stage in Hollywood, there is the face of Ann 3,000 miles away in Lexington, Mass.
The face is the same — of her identical twin sister Harriet Norton. When Harriet twists her hair into a bun atop her head she can fool J. Edgar Hoover into believing she's Ann. Or Schultzy.
Harriet, in fact, almost joined Ann in the cast for one Cummings show during a visit to Hollywood. They dressed her like Schultzy for a double vision plot. They made a film test but Harriet, a mother and a housewife, couldn't handle the lines and the idea was shelved.
• • •
THE THIRD FACE of Ann is one only a few people have seen.
She used it as an unknown comedienne in a little downstairs beer and wine only bistro at the wrong end of Sunset Blvd. here. Ann was known as “Typhoid Mary” in those struggling-for-recognition days.
She had a bun on her head then, too, but it was pierced by a big chicken bone set at a rakish angle. She were a sarong, high-laced shoes, horn-rimmed glasses and a lei around her neck. She came out on the little stage by stages— first sticking a bare leg out from behind a curtain. The other leg and the arms and the rest of her followed while the customers pounded heavy beer mugs on the red-topped tables.
Then Ann sang about having a romance with an Englishman in a song she says “made no sense at all.” Her salary didn't make sense, either. A couple of dollars or so a night. But Typhoid Mary helped the career of Ann B. Davis far more than all of her six years of little theater, stock companies and touring musicals in the bush leagues.
People in Hollywood who knew people who knew other people passed the word about Ann's flair for comedy. One of these people was an agent and after a couple of passes at the movie studios—all turned her down—Ann auditioned for the role of Schultzy.
• • •

THERE WAS NO question about it. She WAS Schultzy.
Every now and then on the show Ann comes up with some fourth face to keep the laughs coming. Like when she slipped her head into a blonde wig and her hips into a high gear wiggle for a Marilyn Monroeish character called “Flaming Charmaine.”
Charmaine was quite a challenge. But it's why, after three years as Schultzy, Ann isn't a bit weary or frustrated, like some TV series show regulars, about the limitations and the monotony of it all.
“Our writer, Paul Henning, is a genius,” Ann says. “He keeps throwing challenges at me.”
• • •
The Ann B. (for Bradford) Davis who ditched plans to study medicine at the University of Michigan, switching to drama (class of '48), is a native of Schenectady, N.Y., and a member of the “I Live Alone and Like It” Club. She has a Hollywood bungalow, where she chatters to a French poodle and a parakeet and where she cooks, reads science fiction hair risers and keeps a weight chart—“I have to count calories”—which is down 30 pound points since 1953.
But quite unlike Schultzy, there are nights when Ann hits the night club beat on the arm of some male pal and takes tourists by surprise with a mean rhumba.
She's a doll with romantic frustrations on TV, but she's had her chances as Ann, she will tell you.
“I could have married for love, once and once for money,” she told me. “But I would have had to give up acting—and that I can't do.”

Davis never did marry but she did give up acting. She was heavily into religious studies for several years before her death and quite content.

Ann B. Davis had a life of happiness and gave happiness to others in return.

Benny and the Bard

They remained in their jobs for years, content with their work and well-paid for it. They were Jack Benny’s writers.

A number of newspaper stories were written over the years about the longevity of Benny’s writing team. Benny praised them as the best in the business. And it must have been an accomplishment for them to come up with new material within the structure of the well-established characters on the Benny show (in many cases, they didn’t. They reused old jokes and scripts. The fans didn’t seem to mind).

Here’s a United Press International column of July 29, 1961, supposedly written by Benny himself. Guest columns weren’t unusual. John Crosby of the Herald-Tribune had them. In this instance, UPI entertainment writer Vernon Scott was on holiday. Benny compares his scribes to one of history’s most celebrated playwrights.

One wonders if Stan Freberg took Benny’s needling of his fees in a good-natured way.

Could Shakespeare Write for TV?
By JACK BENNY
Written for UP-International
Hollywood—A short time ago five Emmy Awards were presented to a group of talented folk who brought "Macbeth" to television—but the chap who wrote the script was not among those honored.
I mention this because, though my show was fortunate enough to have been chosen the best comedy effort of the season, its four writers were not rewarded.
True, they have won several Emmys in the past—but they seemed to draw comfort from the fact that this year they were not alone: William Shakespeare, too, went home empty-handed on Emmy night.
Truth to tell, there is room for doubt regarding Shakespeare: If, indeed, he were alive today, could be make the grade as a television writer? It is fashionable to associate Shakespeare with snob appeal—but he wrote for the masses who sat on rough board benches in the theater, guzzling whatever preceded popcorn as generally accepted showtime refreshment in his era.
He was the combination Desi Arnaz and Rod Serling of his time, writing, directing producing and even acting his way through an amazing volume of product.

But—and it's an interesting question—could he have withstood the pressures of a weekly TV deadline? Could he have pleased both sponsor and audience?
Could he have integrated a commercial for Lipton tea into "King Lear," if he had so desired, and still retained his audience's good will? And, if he were alive today and active in TV, would he be toiling for Davis Susskind or, perchance, might he be under contract to me? I'd like to have him—he could turn a phrase as neatly as Stan Freberg and he'd probably only cost half as much.
But since Shakespeare is not available, let me record here and now that I'm content with Sam Perrin, George Balzer, Al Gordon and Hal Goldman, the four humorists who work so closely with me in tailoring our weekly CBS shows.
Together we were lucky enough to build a character which has been somewhat more resistant than my hairline has been to time's ravages. Many people don't really know where the character ends and I begin.
I must admit I find it fun to pick up the phone to have someone try to sell me spare wheels for my Maxwell (I've never really owned one). My great kicks come from appearances as soloist with leading symphony orchestras—and let's face it, if it were not for my broadcast character as the world's worst fiddle player I'd never get any closer to the stage at Carnegie Hall than the balcony.
One gag we've used through the years, however, does cause occasional embarrassment. It is the portrait of miserliness in which I've been painted. I find myself constantly face to face with it.
For instance, in order to call attention to the start of our coming TV season, a public relations chap who is, to say the least, original, suggested at a recent meeting that the government be asked to put my face on a commemorative penny.
Now this is, of course, a ridiculous idea at best—but I still question the emphasis of a bystander's comment:
"Benny doesn't need his face on money," this fellow said. "He's content just to get his hands on it."
I wonder, if Shakespeare had written my scripts would he have painted me differently?
Perhaps heroically? Could be—but the TV schedules are full of dashing heroes whose options are dropped without warning. And my writers have kept me working a long time.

Speaking of television, to the best of my recollection, Benny never parodied Shakespeare in his sketches. He pretty much stuck to movies. Still, it might have been interesting to hear Frank Nelson as Rosencrantz to Benny’s “Hamlet” (“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason. How infinite in faculty. How like a God.” “Ooooh! Am I!”) or Benny as Richard III dramatically shout the phrase “My kingdom for a Maxwell,” followed by Mel Blanc’s loud, deathly sputtering, and the line “On second thought...”

Illusion of Life, 1918 Version

Walt Disney wanted cartoons to evolve where they would caricature human action. “The illusion of life,” as it was called in Ollie Johnston and Frank Thomas’ book on Disney animation. Disney wasn’t the first studio with that goal in mind. Max Fleischer wanted to accomplish it, too, and felt he could do it by inventing the rotoscope.

It worked. But the rotoscope was only one of Fleischer’s tools. What made the Fleischer cartoons of the 1920s entertaining is their stories and clever gags. As the ‘30s wore on, the public wanted what Disney was putting on the screen, and that’s the direction the Fleischer studio went.

The public has always seemed to be interested in how animated cartoons are made. Here’s a story from the Syracuse Herald (and appeared in other papers) of February 12, 1918 on how the rotoscope works. The drawings accompanying the story are close but not identical to the ones Max Fleischer filed when applying for a patent.

How ANIMATED DRAWINGS Are NOW MADE to ACT Perfectly LIFELIKE
ANIMATED hand-executed pictures, or, as they are termed, moving picture cartoons, as now produced by the usual methods, while recognized as having their distinctive advantages and desirable features, usually are not lifelike. To overcome this fault, Max Fleischer of New York city has invented a device by which improved cartoon films may be produced, depicting the figures or other objects in a lifelike manner, characteristic of the regular animated photo pictures.
Mr. Fleischer describes his invention as follows:

"In producing cartoon films by my improved method, scenes are enacted by the aid of living actors depicting the subjects to be displayed by the cartoons, and, through the instrumentality of a moving picture camera, pictures of the enacted scenes are taken, and from these pictures, line pictures or cartoons of the characters or objects to be portrayed are made. The series of cartoons are then photographically reproduced on a film or equivalent medium, and the photographs of the cartoons thus obtained are projected on a screen and displayed in the usual manner by any approved moving picture machine.
"The invention will be particularly explained, in the specific description following.
"Reference is to be had to the accompanying drawings forming a part of this specification in which similar reference characters indicate corresponding parts in all the views.
"In the center illustration is shown a perspective view representing conventionally the taking of moving pictures of actual scenes by the aid of an actor or actors, depleting the characters to be presented by the cartoon moving pictures.
"A face view of a photographic film portraying the scenes thus actually produced is shown in the drawing at the right.
"The drawing at the left shows a perspective view of the apparatus for projecting the photographic pictures thus produced and permitting the tracing of the characters thereof.
"In carrying out my invention, having decided upon the subjects of the cartoons to be projected by a moving picture machine, I cause a scene to be enacted presenting the characters to be portrayed. In Fig. 1, the numeral 10 indicates an actor in a life scene going through the performance of wigwag signalling. During the performance a moving picture camera 11 produces a series of pictures of the scene. Several pictures thus taken are produced on a film 12 (Fig. 2), as indicated at 13. The film will thus give a true portrayal of the characters to be presented by the cartoons.
"The pictures on the film 12 are now projected in single succession by a suitable apparatus, preferably arranged as in Fig. 3, which an inclined platform 14 is provided and supported by suitable legs 15. A frame 16 at the upper end of the platform 14 carries a screen 17 at the back, of which is placed suitable tracing paper 18, on which the artist traces the lines of each picture 13 or such elements thereof as is necessary for the cartoon. A projecting apparatus and appurtenances, designated generally by the numeral 20 and is the main of known form, is employed, including a suitable projecting apparatus 21 which is placed on the platform 14. The numerals 22 indicate the reel boxes while 23 indicates a known form of lamp house.
"It may be desirable to provide means whereby the artist may manually control the projecting machine tram his position at the back of the screen, and for that purpose I may employ suitable means, there being shown a pull-cord 24 having a handle 25 and passing over suitable guides 26, through the platform 14 to a connection with a spring-acted lever 27, carrying a pawl 25, engaging a ratchet wheel 29, controlling the mechanism of the machine 21."
The projected photographically produced series of pictures of the actual performance lead realism manually to produce cartoons having radically new characteristics, due, first, to the absolutely accurate relative positions of the moving object in the successive cartoons and relatively to the fixed photographed background, and, second, the method leads to the manually produced cartoons the realistic effects of the photograph by the artist arbitrarily selecting and tracing lines and features represented by the projected photographs.
"In the present methods of producing moving picture cartoons, the greatest skill of the artist is required to obtain an approach to accuracy realism in the relative positioning of the moving object in successive cartoons and in giving lifelike poses thereto.
"In tracing the cartoon the skilful artist, instead of following accurately the lines of the photograph, can exaggerate or modify particular elements or features of a grotesque character for instance, while preserving the truthfulness of the photographic portrayal in its essentials or dominating lines. In photographing black-face characters, for example, the actor is made up with special reference to facilitating the subsequent making of the line cartoons, a part of the makeup being, for example, distinct and prominent white rings about the eyes to bring out prominently in the photographs the lines to be traced. The method possesses advantages in depicting a wide range of grotesque characters or objects. Thus, for example, a dog, masked by the representation of a horse’s head, may be photographed in action, the final result being motion pen drawings of what appears to be a miniature horse going through a performance."

Dodsworth

Bob McKimson seems to have had hopes he could create another successful new cartoon character in a fat, lazy, con-artist cat named Dodsworth. He even went to the trouble of bringing in Sheldon Leonard to voice the character. But perhaps Dodsworth was too low key for any kind of stardom. He disappeared after two cartoons—“Kiddin’ the Kitten” and “A Peck o’ Trouble,” both copyrighted in 1951. The former has the Rosemary Clooney kids song “Peterkin Pillowby” as the opening theme.

Here are some of Dodsworth’s expressions from “Kiddin’ the Kitten.” He spends about half of the short with his eyes closed. He fumbles his hands and arms around when he’s startled and, below, you can see him cross-eyed when he’s surprised by his owner’s shouting at him.



The “calmed” version of Rod Scribner, Chuck McKimson and Phil De Lara are only ones who get an animation credit on this cartoon. Bea Benaderet and Mel Blanc provide the other voices.