He did some terrific work for Bob Clampett and then for Bob McKimson before quitting Warner Bros. in 1947 to work for Jerry Fairbanks.
I love the work Gould did in “Daffy Duck Hunt” (1947). Gould handles the climax scenes at the end of the cartoon. Warren Foster does a switch on an old joke where Daffy cons Porky Pig and the McKimson dog into singing “Jingle Bells.” In mid-song, Porky checks the calendar and sees that it’s April. There’s a cut. Gould and the in-betweeners did a great job. Porky seethes. The dog keeps singing (note how he gestures daintily).
Look at the dog’s pupils. He finally notices Porky’s expression.
Porky grabs Daffy’s Santa beard and pulls him down with one hand, then grabs his neck by the other to pull him out of the Santa suit and swings him toward the camera. The dog runs for cover.
Wham!
Porky goes for the axe. The dog tentatively peers at the action.
Porky notices something. Then comes the take.
The stamp on Daffy reads “Do Not Open Until Xmas.” Daffy has one last wisecrack before the cartoon irises to Daffy’s eye, which closes to end the cartoon.
Chuck McKimson, Phil De Lara and John Carey are the other credited animators, but McKimson’s animator credits for the first few years are inexplicably incomplete.
I’ll bet you can guess who was responsible for odd takes in a few scenes near the end of The Haunted Cat, a 1951 Terrytoon.
Little Roquefort the mouse ties a ghost balloon to a cat’s tail. The cat (with different-sized eye whites and pupils every two frames) spots the “ghost.”
The shrinking head take!
The fuzzy take!
The cat then turns around while walking on its fingers. It’s animated on ones. Here’s one of the drawings.
A frightened, goofy take.
The mouse then uses a slingshot to blow apart the balloon. We get a growing head take.
The final two drawings alternate as the background slides to the right, then the cat races off into the next scene.
An usual, Jim Tyer and the rest of the Terry animators are uncredited.
Walt Disney, his studio and his legacy have been—and likely will continue to be—written about endlessly, so you don’t need me to state the obvious or pontificate.
I suspect many readers of this blog are Disney fans, so let me mark the 50th Disney Deathiversary today with two pieces from the Palos Verdes Peninsula News of December 18, 1966. Instead of talking about Disney the Visionary, or Disney the Businessman, or Disney the Moulder of Animation, this first story deals with Disney the Example to Others.
Former Disney Prodigy Recalls ‘Remus’ Role
By JO MOSHER
“I felt like part of my world dropped away,” Glenn Leedy Allen told the News on hearing of the death of Walt Disney. He heard the words on a morning television newscast at home.
Allen, process cameraman for Palos Verdes Newspapers, Inc., was a child actor and played Toby in his first role in “Song of the South,” - the famous Uncle Remus musical produced by Walt Disney Productions.
“He was out-of-sight and up tight,” Allen described Disney. “That means too much, and that was better to me than beauty.” He oversaw everything on the sets and knew everything that was going on at all times,” he added.
Allen, who will be 30 years old on Dec. 31, was discovered by Disney Scouts while playing on the school grounds at Booker T. Washington grammer [sic] school in Phoenix, Ariz., in 1945.
He was called into the office with about 10 other children, he recalls, and at six years old, was in mischief most of the time, he added. Expecting chastisement of some sort, he was surprised to be asked to repeat a number of words given him and the other children. They were sent out of the room for about 10 minutes, called back in and asked to again repeat the words.
“My memory was great then, and I rattled them off. Also they had seen me walking around on my hands, so with those recommendations they asked me if I could cry easily. My mother had died when I was four, and I was living with my grandmother, Ivy Allen. All they had to do was ask if I would cry if something happened to my grandmother, and the tears came,” Allen remenisced [sic].
The talent scouts convinced Mrs. Allen to move the family to Los Angeles, all expenses paid, and young Glenn was in show biz, as the saying goes.
“I was on top of the world at my young age,” Allen said. He was known as Glenn Leedy then.
“It was about this time that Mr. Disney changed the entire format of my life,” he recalled. “I guess I was getting too big for my britches - what with a private chauffeur taking me to and from the studios, a private tutor and appearing at public appearances for the studio so Mr. Disney went to Hattie McDaniels, my relative in the movie, and James Baskett, who played Uncle Remus, and they called me into their dressing rooms one at a time. They gave me “what for,” he smiled sheepishly.
“They told me how to be nice in this world and what not to do and what Mr. Disney expected of me. I’ll always remember Mr. Disney for that. I’ve really tried to be a good citizen and not be scared of life, and I’ve found it’s easy to like everybody if you give all you’ve got. That’s what life’s all about, anyway, and its a lesson I learned from Mr. Disney.”
Allen, who is known to everyone hearabouts [sic] as “Tiger,” keeps everyone smiling with his good humor and sunny outlook on life. He resides in Compton with his wife Blanche and their four children - Glenann, 11; Glenn, Jr.,10; Ivy, 9, and Paul, 8.
“One of the proudest moments was attending the Academy Awards banquet to see Walt Disney, receive awards for “Song of the South”. My grandmother was there and my sister, Leslie Leedy Kellum, who was five then and had played in the movie with us.
This eulogy was found on the paper’s editorial page and reflects views still held by many today. The reference to The Sound of Music is a little puzzling as it wasn’t a Disney film. And it’s nice to be reminded when we hear nostalgia for days gone by, that people in days gone by were nostalgic for the past, too.
Walt Disney -- Quality!
Thousands of words of tribute are being written this weekend following the death of Walt Disney. The words are all superlatives: “fabulous,” “ a great artist,” “an irreplaceable man,” “one of the few true geniuses.” Governor-elect Ronald Reagan declared, “The world is a poorer place now.” Governor Brown said, “Our state, our nation and the world have lost a beloved and great artist.”
The newspaper stories remind us of the wonderful imaginery [sic] characters created by Walt Disney for the enjoyment of millions. Mickey Mouse. Snow White. Pinocchio. Donald Duck.
Disneyland, often described as a Taj Mahal or a Niagara Falls, is perhaps more than any other creation of the mind of Walt Disney a monument to hi[s] talent and his creativity.
But in all the words flowing forth about this fabulous man, his life and his Horatio Alger financial success, few note an aspect of his life that transcends all his other accomplishments, yet is probably the largest factor in his success.
Walt Disney succeeded with products of quality and wholesomeness in an industry that often has sought financial success in the gutter. An American parent has never had to check a Disney movie or TV special before granting permission for viewing to a teenage daughter or son.
Walt Disney built an empire on wholesome entertainmen[t] that never played to the enticements of sex, horror, or smut. His characters, his plots and his production techniques never offended anyone.
It would be impossible to count the millions in this country and aboard who went home after viewing a Walt Disney movie with a smile on their lips and a contented heart.
The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are excellent examples of films that were winners in a moviemaking era that has seen good taste take a back seat.
Walt Disney never lowered his standards, never cheapened his product. His name has stood for years for high quality productions. And as tributes pour in from all over the world, and as we find that Mickey Mouse has been translated into dozens of languages, this nation knows it has lost its top Goodwill ambassador to the world.
When we see some of the entertainment trash that goes overseas with the U.S.A. stamp on it, the loss of Walt Disney becomes even more acute. This nation can only hope that those who have worked with Walt Disney and learned his principles and ways will carry on his traditions. The entertainment world and the nation needs such talents.
Fred Allen’s radio show is known mostly for his jaunt down Allen’s Alley, a vehicle for satiric commentary on items in the news. The Alley appeared in the first half of the show. The second half always contained some kind of sketch or parody. Some, to be honest, are really painful. Others are incredibly creative.
Two of his best may have been parodies of the musical “Oklahoma” and the morning wake-up radio shows (based in New York) starring married couples. In both cases, he re-worked the ideas and presented them again, using a lot of the same material in the second go-around.
The radio parody was—get ready for this one, folks—right up Allen’s alley. (Wait for laughs). Allen wasn’t enthralled with much of his own industry, and that included the phoney cheerfulness of the husband-wife shows where every sentence was a lead-in to an advertiser. What a perfect target to rip apart. And who better to help than Tallulah Bankhead, who wasn’t exactly known for being quiet and reserved.
New York Herald Tribune radio writer John Crosby loved Allen’s observations, and mentioned him many times in his column. The Mr.-and-Mrs. parody was the first time Crosby reviewed Allen, and it found print on May 10, 1946.
Incidentally, the third person who took part in the sketch, not mentioned in Crosby’s column, was Minerva Pious as the little girl. You can hear the version edited for the Armed Forces Radio Service below (Allen’s Alley is butchered because it was either too topical or political for the AFRS).
Radio in Review
By JOHN CROSBY Breakfast With Freddie and Tallulah
Last Sunday, Fred Allen, who has eyes like venetian blinds and a tongue like an adder, teamed up with Miss Tallulah Bankhead, a scorpion in her own right, in a parody on the “husband and wife” breakfast programs so coruscating that, according to “Variety,” it has brought loud complaints from the husband and wife performers. These programs have been parodied before, but never with the explosive violence that radio’s greatest wit applied to them. So cutting was Mr. Allen’s satire that many of the injured parties have requested permission of N.B.C. to hear a transcription of the program, under the theory they couldn’t have heard aright the first time.
To give you a specimen of Mr. Allen’s sharp mind and also as a commentary on the breakfast programs themselves, I present below a condensed version of the Allen-Bankhead parody which seems destined to become something of a radio classic. Take it away, Freddie and Talullah!
FRED: Ahhhh! What coffee! What aromatic fragrance! It must be. . . .
TALLULAH: You’re right, lovey! It’s McKeester’s Vita-Fresh Coffee. The coffee with that locked-up goodness for everybody—grind or drip . . . Peach fuzz, you’ve spilled some on your vest.
FRED: Goody. Now I can try some of that Little Panther Spot Remover. No rubbing.
TALLULAH: And, imagine, a big two-ounce bottle for only 35 cents.
FRED: Or, if you are a messy eater, you can get the handy, economical forty gallon vat. . . . Your hair is breath-taking. That sheen! That brilliance! What did you do it it?
TALLULAH: I just did what so many society women are doing these days. I went to Madame Yvonne’s Hair-Do Heaven at 424 Madison Avenue—in the loft.
FRED: It’s divine, fluffy bunny.
TALLULAH: Madame Yvonne uses a sensational hair-dressing. It contains that new mystery ingredient—chicken fat.
FRED: I hear it’s on sale at all the cut-rate cigar stores. (Jasha, the canary, twitters.)
TALLULAH: Ah, little Jasha is so happy, so carefree. And why shouldn’t he be happy.
FRED: Yes, he knows that the newspaper on the bottom of his bird cage is New York’s leading daily, “The Morning Record”—thirty-two columnists, eighteen pages of comics, and all the news no other newspaper sees fit to print.
TALLULAH: Excuse me, apple honey. I have a letter here from Mrs. T.S. Button, of Molehill, Idaho. Mrs. Button had a splitting headache for forty years until she heard about Pepso-Bepto on our program.
FRED: Only Pepso is guaranteed to fizz twice. Once before you drink it and once after.
TALLULAH: Here’s another interesting letter—from a kleptomaniac. She writes. . . .
CHILD’S VOICE: Good morning, mumsy and daddy.
FRED: Why, it’s out little three-year-old daughter, Amber.
TALLULAH: Isn’t she cute? Amber, I love the way your tooth is shining this morning.
AMBER: Yes, I brushed it with Dr. Pratt’s Homogenized Toothpaste.
FRED: Ha. Ha. Ha.
TALLULAH: What are you laughing at, love duck?
FRED: I just thought how witty Oscar Levant was last night when he poured that bottle of catsup over Jim Farley’s head.
TALLULAH: And wasn’t Mr. Farley a good sport? He just say there grinning and smacking his lips.
FRED: You, too, will smack your lips if you taste Klotnick’s concentrated catsup—the only catsup that bears “The Hobo News” seal of approval.
After a bit more of this cheerful patter Fred and Tallulah decided to put a little realism into their early-morning conversation. On one of their grouchy mornings the program sounds like this:
TALLULAH: Hey, Knucklehead, get out of that bed! We’ve got a program to do.
FRED: Six o’clock in the morning. Who’s up to listen to us—a couple of garbage collections and some burglars?
TALLULAH: If you want to go back to hustling gardenias in front of Childs, go right ahead. (Jasha twitters.)
FRED: Shut up! I thought I told you to give that canary some of Dr. Groober’s Bird Seed.
TALLULAH: I did. Now Jasha is the only canary in the country with an ulcer. . . . What’s in the mail today, chowderhead?
FRED: A summons. Some one took that Pepso-Bepto and dropped dead. Where do you find these sponsors—at a police line-up?
AMBER: Good morning, mummy and daddy! (Allen slaps her and she howls.)
FRED: Sneaking up on your parents with that one tooth like an old elk. Little Amber!
TALLULAH: I told you we should have finished reading the book before we named her.
I’m afraid our time is up, as they say on the air. There was lots more of it and it was all hilarious. It was also perhaps a little too unkind to the husbands and wives who slave away at these programs morning after morning for only $2,500 a week. Some time soon, I shall discuss the breakfast programs in milder tones.
Wally Walrus (Jack Mather) adopts Woody Woodpecker (Ben Hardaway) as his son in Wacky-Bye Baby. One of the gags has Woody riding Wally on a carpet like a horse. However, a safe being pulled along the carpet. Yes, a safe. Everyone has a huge safe on a carpet runner.
If Shamus Culhane had been directing this, the off-camera impact between Wally and the safe would have resulted in a camera shake with drawings in long and close shot turned every which way. Not Lundy. He relies on a sound effect as the camera rests on a drawing for at least 32 frames.
Wally is turned into a slot machine. Lundy saves a bit on Walter Lantz’s United Artists budget by animating only a cycle of fruit drawings in Wally’s eyes.
Fade to the next scene.
Pat Matthews and Les Kline are among the animators, while Fred Brunish contributes some nice watercoloured backgrounds.
Simon Legree makes off with the cash register and is about to leave Uncle Tom's Cabaña....
....when little Eva appears on stage. It’s Red from all those other Tex Avery cartoons. You generally know what’s going to happen next.
Legree gets excited—and so is the cash register. It pushes out and in, up and down and finally out, spilling all its green.
Preston Blair, Bob Bentley, Ray Abrams and Walt Clinton are the credited animators. MGM was already advertising this cartoon in March 1945. It opened June 24, 1947 with Fiesta at the Egyptian, Wilshire and Los Angeles downtown theatres. It went into full release on July 17th. Its current owners don’t want you to ever see it again.
