Early Bird Gets the Cat

Tex Avery liked dopey dogs, the stupider the better. They’re in his Warners cartoons and in the ones he did at MGM (especially in the Screwy Squirrel series). Eventually he discarded the idea, but here it is in The Early Bird Dood It, the first cartoon he put into production at Metro.

The cartoon shows Avery’s love of signs to comment on the action, including one that shows the characters know they’re in a cartoon. And there are two scenes where there’s violence underscored by eliminating the background drawing and substituting a bright coloured card instead.

Here the brain-dead cat chases the early bird around a tree. It’s a gag you’re familiar with. The bird jumps out of the chase and clobbers the cat.



Showmen’s Trade Review rated it “very funny” while one theatre owner described it to the Motion Pictute Herald as a “crazy color cartoon that drew lots of laughs.” Avery would only get better and better.

Irv Spence, Preston Blair, Ed Love and Ray Abrams are the credited animators.

Vallee, the King, Santa and Ozzie

John Crosby wrote four columns a week for the New York Herald Tribune and its syndicated papers and below you’ll find a week’s worth from 1949. It makes for lengthy reading so I don’t want to take up your time with much of an introduction.

A couple, directly or indirectly, deal with the aftermath of Jack Benny jumping from NBC to CBS at the start of the year. Benny was replaced on NBC by bandleader Horace Heidt. Crosby wasn’t too impressed. Never were listeners. Heidt was moved from the spot after mid-April. The change also planted Ozzie and Harriet as the lead-in to Benny. I’ve always thought the radio show was a little too contrived but Crosby seems to have liked it. And, of course, it stayed on the air until 1966, having moved to television years earlier.

Crosby talks about Rudy Vallee’s appearance on what we know today as the Ed Sullivan Show; Vallee was probably the first huge radio variety star in the late ‘20s. And he has some odds and sods as well.
■ ■ ■

January 7, 1949
The Vagabond Lover Is Back
Shades of 1928, look who’s back on Broadway. Rudy Vallee, matured, but looking much younger than a man of 47 has a decent right to, drifted out on the stage of “Toast of the Town,” the C.B.S. television show (Sundays 9 p.m. E.S.T.), and set the place ablaze. It must have come as quite a shock to everyone except Vallee who has always possessed over whelming self-confidence.
It certainly came as a surprise to me. I have rather idly kept track of Mr. Vallee's acting career for 20-odd years now with diminishing hope. I sat through his early movies, a painful experience; I have before me Brooks Atkinson's review of Vallee's stage appearance in The Man in Possession (1939): “He is reported as willing to spend considerable time to learn the profession. To judge by his acting last evening, the apprentice period is going to be long enough to try the patience of his friends,” wrote Mr. Atkinson.
● ● ●

Just two years ago I wrote sorrowfully of Vallee's lamentable radio program: “Bandleaders just aren't comedians and never will be. Mr. Vallee still approaches a comedy line with the enthusiasm and innocence of a barroom acquaintance telling you what Bert Lahr said last night.” Well, I take it all back. In his more recent movies, Vallee seems to have caught the hang of the thing. The apprentice period, as Mr. Atkinson predicted, has been long enough to try the patience of a saint, much less a critic. But it's over now, and Vallee is entitled to great praise for perseverance alone.
On “Toast of the Town,” this new, highly polished, and extremely self-possessed Vallee walked out on the stage, exchanged pleasantries with Ed Sullivan, the emcee, displayed a dry and fetching humor and sang a whole roster of his old favorites. He dwelt a little too long on the hardships of his early career, which couldn't really have been so severe since he was making hatfuls of money before he left college.
The songs—“Deep Night,” “I'm Just a Vagabond Lover,” “Kansas City Kitty,” “Maine Stein Song,” “If You Were the Only Girl in the World,” “Betty Coed”—took me back 20 years more rapidly than I care to travel. Vallee's voice is still thin, nasal and almost non-existent but it has picked up authority. The voice doesn't really matter much any more.
SOMEWHERE IN his long, long apprenticeship, Vallee has learned the mystery of stage presence. He has a lot of charm and the advancing years have greatly improved his looks. (His face seems somehow shorter and his forehead has lost much of that tortured look.) He'd make a fine emcee of a television variety show of his own. Since Mr. Ed Sullivan, the emcee of “Toast of the Town,” has just written an essay deploring writers who try to take jobs from other writers, I'd like to make it clear that I'm not recommending Vallee as emcee of “Toast of the Town.” I just think he'd make a good emcee somewhere or other on television. Everyone straight on that now?
● ● ●
The original Vallee radio show which started on NBC in 1929, when radio was not much more advanced than television is now, was an hour-long variety show almost identical to those television is now spawning. Toward the end of its 10-year run it got pretty thin, but it was a wonderful show when it started. On that program Vallee launched an imposing roster of radio stars—Edgar Bergen, Burns and Allen, and Bob Burns, to name only a few.
He appears to have a talent for that sort of thing, and television could sure use it right now. At the conclusion of his act incidentally, he'll be back there next Sunday night too—Sullivan predicted that Vallee would be “even bigger in television than you ever were in radio.” It's one of the rare times when Mr. S. and I agree.

January 10, 1949
Supersonic
I was one of the minority that hung around the No. 1 Spot in America the other night to hear the debut of Horace Heidt. (No, children, the No. 1 spot in America isn’t the White House any more. Guess again). Mr. Heidt moved into Jack Benny’s sacred niche on N.B.C. to the accompaniment of a thunderous roll of drums from the N.B.C. drum-beating staff, a hard working outfit, and heralded by full-page ads from coast to coast.
“H-Hour will arrive on the National Broadcasting Company network Sunday, Jan. 2, at 7 p.m., E.S.T.: wrote one of N.B.C.’s war correspondents under a White Plains dateline.
All this breast beating, though well intentioned, was actually a handicap to the bandleader. His show—it’s called the “Youth Opportunity Program”—is good enough in its way but it wasn’t worth all the fuss and feathers, and I imagine there were some severely disappointed listeners. Not too many, though. H-Hour on the No. 1 Spot in America got a Hooper of 11.7, a drop of 5.6 over his previous rating, while Benny opposite him on C.B.S. got the highest Hooper of the year, 27.8. (And incidentally, Phil Harris, who has always leaned pretty heavily on the Benny show just in front of him, dropped from 19.4 to 14.5 for his low of the season).
● ● ●

The Heidt show is just another talent show with a few unusual features. The emphasis, as they never tire of telling you, is on youth. Most of the contestants are in their teens, nearly all of them are singers or musicians and, I’m ready to admit, there are very talented kids—if you like trumpet players.
Heidt must have studied the methods of the late George Washington Hill pretty closely. His show is loud, fast and on the beam. It moves, in fact, like greased lightning and is punctuated frequently by police whistles and bells to be sure we’re all still awake, as if any one could get to sleep under such circumstances.
The first contestant on the opening show on the No. 1 spot was a saxophone player—his name sped past me a little too rapidly to catch—who played “Dizzy Fingers.” That’s an appropriate name for what turned out to be a finger exercise played at supersonic speed and it was performed with extreme agility—if that sort of thing is one of your enthusiasms.
“Look out, Benny Goodman!” shouted Mr. Heidt when it was over. Heidt makes a habit of warning older members of the profession to keep an eye on their laurels in the face of these young kids. (“The Andrews Sisters—look out!” “Look out, Harry James!”) The pandemonium that greets these efforts is beyond description. Heidt’s show plays, not in small studios, but in auditoriums around the country to as many as 6,000 excitable people and they can make a whale of a lot of noise. Frequently they start making it in the middle of the number, obliterating the rest of it.
“Terrific!” shrieks Mr. Heidt. “Listen to that applause! I can’t stop it! I can’t control the crowd!” Actually, the crowd doesn’t get that far out of hand though the intensity of its enthusiasm is sometimes mystifying.
● ● ●
All told there were six acts on that opening No. 1 spot, all but done at breathless speed. Speed apparently counts heavily. The winner played “Twelfth Street Rag” on a banjo and you can imagine what that was like; the youngster could get around that banjo faster than any man I’ve heard since Eddie Peabody. However, Heidt, who works hard at it, has dug up some extremely talented kids. It’d be better, though, if they’d be permitted to slow down a little and if the audience were kept out of the act. He has enlisted the support of quite a few prominent people and of civic organizations, thus giving the program an air of public service respectability. On Dec. 19, Vice-President Alben Barkley appeared on it, spoke of the great contribute Heidt was making to the youth of the nation and gave him an award from the Junior Chamber of Commerce. Robert P. Patterson appeared Jan. 2, congratulating the program for developing America’s youth and gave Heidt another trophy.
In spite of these weighty tributes, I don’t think Jack Benny has much to worry about from the No. 1 spot in America. The pace is a little too breathless over there.

January 11, 1949
Indignities on the Illustrious
A number of interesting indignities have been committed recently by or on celebrated individuals on the radio, a medium which has little respect for privacy. Here are just a few.
King Peter of Yugoslavia was interviewed on the television version of “Meet the Press” the other night. King Peter may or may not be the first monarch—if he still is one and he says he is—to confront the intrusive press in front of a television camera. But he's unquestionably the first king I’ve ever seen in an uncomfortable position. First crack out of the box one of the reporters asked:
“Do you prefer to be called king or mister?”
His former majesty blinked a moment; then admitted candidly: “I prefer king.”
The shy, rather charming and surprisingly intelligent young man was battered for several minutes by questions concerning his relations with our State Department, with Tito and with the Yugoslav people; then came another of those direct questions the American press more or less specializes in:
“How are you financing yourself now that you're not in the business of being king any more?”
Peter was momentarily dum-founded: “That's a very embarrassing question,” he said finally. “I could ask you the same thing,” “I'm working,” snapped the reporter.
● ● ●
GEN. JONATHAN WAINWRIGHT has contributed one of his personal swords as part of the loot on a "Stop the Music" jackpot. The sword is not, as has been reported, the one he wore at Bataan. Still it's associated with Wainwright and consequently with Bataan and with a painful moment in United States history. There has been no attempt by the American Broadcasting Company to disassociate it from our history and it would have no particular significance on a give-away program if it hadn’t such an association.
Wainwright is national commander of the Disabled American Veterans and his gesture was made to call attention to the plight of disabled veterans and stimulate contributions for them at Christmas time. Granting all this, it seems a poor way to do it. Giveaway programs are one of the most disputable manias of our time: they have repeatedly courted respectability by sidling up to charity organizations; now they are wooing national heroes; next thing you know they’ll throw in General Grant’s Tomb, ostensibly to stimulate contributions for research on the black plague and only incidentally to get a little publicity and a higher Hooperating for the program.
In the future, I hope the generals avoid the giveaways. Pershing didn't enter dance marathons, did he?
● ● ●
Dr. Clement Clarke Moore, the author of “A Visit From St. Nicholas,”—better known by its opening line, “ ‘Twas the night before Christmas”—was impersonated on a Philco television commercial, happily praising Philcos. An actor dressed in the fashion of 100 years ago was led around from one Philco to another gushing a parody of one of the most famous verses of all time. This one was called “The Night After Christmas” and, of course, it was heavily studded with references to the beauty of Philcos.
The performance was one of the less touching memorials to the shy parson who died in 1863. It took 21 years for Dr. Moore to screw up his courage to the point where he admitted authorship of “A Visit From St. Nicholas,” which was first published in a Troy, N.Y., newspaper in 1823. Thought it was too frivolous for a clergyman. It would take, I imagine, several thousand years for the scrupulous person to become reconciled to the parody of his verse dedicated to selling a radio set. The indorsement of the living, I think, ought to be enough. Let's let the dead stay out of this.

January 12, 1949
Nice Family With a Housing Problem
One of the chief casualties from the rearrangement of Sunday nights is the Ozzie and Harriet program, which has an unfortunate habit of moving from one place to another at the worst possible time. For years the Nelson family roosted at the 6:30 p. m. time Sunday nights on C.B.S., a very nice time except that people in those days—gee, remember way back when—used to kept their radios tuned to N.B.C. on Sunday nights.
Then C.B.S.decided it was foolish to try to throw one of their best shows against N.B.C. Sunday and moved it to Friday nights. Well, nobody seemed to listen to the radio Friday nights. A projected all-star Friday line-up on C.B.S. fizzled and Ozzie and Harriet were worse off than ever. This year it looked as if everything would be just dandy. The Nelsons moved to N.B.C. at 6:30 Sunday nights just ahead of Jack Benny, heading a very popular line-up. After all these migrations, the Nelsons seemed permanently settled. Their Hooper was around 13, not good enough for the first fifteen but good enough. Everything was lovely. Then Benny moved to CBS. Ozzie and Harriet's Hooper on the first show dropped to 8.2. Again it seems the neighborhood is not right and they may have to move again.
● ● ●

This is a shame because Ozzie and Harriet are the nicest young married couple on the air and one of the most human. “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet”—that's the full name of the show—is the least hyped-up program I know. Nelson, who writes it, has an irreproachable feeling for good taste, a rare commodity in radio. In the trade his show is known as situation comedy, and undoubtedly that's what it is. Ozzie gets himself into some odd (though credible) situations: yet you never find a blonde in the bathtub at the climax.
There are darn few bromides—you can't expect there won't be any—in Nelson's comedy. He meets a girl on a bus who shows an uncommon interest in him: he gets the idea she's pursuing him; she isn't: she just wants back the bundle he inadvertently took. That's about as far into adventure as Ozzie ever gets—in other words, no further than the rest of us—and out of such slender material he fills a half hour with more honest laughter than seems possible.
HIS WIFE, an understanding female with a sense of humor, picks up after him patiently. Occasionally she pokes a little discreet, though not unkind, fun at him. Once in a while she upsets his routine, which isn't much of a feat. She served fried eggs one morning in place of the boiled eggs sacred to Ozzie's breakfast. He was, of course, upset.
“How come fried eggs?”
“You didn't like them?”
“Well I ate them.”
“You didn't smile.”
“I never smile when I'm eating eggs.”
● ● ●
THE NELSONS' dialog never gets much fancier than that—no gags about capital gains or Truman’s piano or Cukamonga. The Nelson family is also distinguished for having two of the most winsome children in radio—Rickie and David. In fact they're the only two I can abide. They look upon their father with a nice blend of affection and skepticism and are the only children anywhere who consistently under play their lines.
There are other characters—Ozzie’s close friend Thorney, Harriet’s mother and a bobby-soxer with the usual collection of abverbs. They’re all nice people, but the real attraction is Ozzie, whose personality and intelligence hold the show together. It’s a one-man operation, which may be why it is so consistently good. Now if someone would just find it a good spot and keep it there.

Electric Batcats

Pandora’s Box is a pretty entertaining Terrytoon. Not uproariously funny, but it has winged cats, some top-notch backgrounds and some neat effects.

One part I like is when the batcats create lightning in the clouds. These frame grabs have digital fuzz but you can get the idea. The use of colour is excellent.



Connie Raskinski directed this Super Mouse (later re-named Mighty Mouse) cartoon, copyrighted in June 1943.

The Eyes of Louie

More brushwork and multiple eyes from Dough, Ray, Me-Ow, a 1948 release from the Art Davis unit at Warner Bros. I imagine this is the work of Don Williams. Louie the parrot shuts the door on Heathcliff the cat. I love the wild door knocking. The door opens again three frames after Louis goes to the doorknob in some fine timing.



Bill Melendez, Emery Hawkins and Basil Davidovich also animated this cartoon from a story by Lloyd Turner.

Jack Works For Mel

One of Mel Blanc’s many employers was Jack Benny, first on radio and then on television. But did you know there was a time when Jack Benny was employed by Mel Blanc?

In the 1960s, Blanc set up his own company, first in partnership with Johnny Burton, the former cartoon producer at Warner Bros. Blanc decided to try what Stan Freberg was doing—make funny commercials for radio, as well as provide comedy drop-ins for disc jockeys using some of the top voice talent in Hollywood (the ‘60s was the era of quick, funny recorded bits heard on music shows until consultants came along and said “Just play music”).

Blanc’s company created and produced humorous public service messages as well, and one campaign was designed to counter the massive advertising budgets of cigarette makers. People looking at history through today’s lens are shocked that cigarettes were allowed to be advertised on TV. Why, children could be watching! But back then, no one thought anything about it. Cigarette companies had advertised for years on radio and in magazines. No one knew what we know today. Then medical studies started being published concluding that cigarette smoke did more than irritate your nose and throat (though Chesterfields did it less than the others, sayeth the ads). That’s when the anti-smoking campaigns began. The biggest one was in 1964 by the Advisory Committee to the Surgeon General of the U.S.

Mel’s company became a part of it. And to assist, he brought on board Jack Benny and Jack’s closest friend, George Burns. The irony is Blanc smoked cigarettes and Benny and Burns were both cigar lovers. Oh, and Benny had been sponsored by American Tobacco. But a gig’s a gig. And this particular PSA doesn’t involve cigarettes, but getting a check-up.

Here’s Broadcasting magazine from February 7, 1966 on what Blanc, Benny and Burns put on the radio.

Humor to be used in cancer prevention
Cancer isn't funny. Yet Mel Blanc Associates, Hollywood is trying to sell cancer prevention to the American public with a light touch.
When asked by the American Cancer Society to create a series of public-service radio spots, the commercial-production house analyzed the situation. It found that in the past few public-service promotions on radio were played, fewer still motivated audiences. MBA decided not to emphasize fear but to seek amusing situations with which most people can identify. The objective is three-pronged: to create something stations will want to play, to make the commercials compelling enough so that once played they'd also be heard and to make people buy what the message is selling.
To encourage stations to play the spots and the public to listen, MBA is using celebrities. But not in the usual way. They are not making endorsements. They will not even be identified. Instead their unique talents in selling characters and a line of dialogue are what's being used.
The commercials will feature, for example, George Burns as a doctor and Jack Benny as his patient. Another spot will have Jimmy Durante as an auto mechanic and Milton Berle as his customer.
Pairoffs of these and such other star twosomes as Eva Gabor and Eddie Albert and Mel Blanc (as Bugs Bunny) and Vince Edwards, through entertaining situations, will attempt to sell the idea of taking a cancer test along with a regular yearly checkup. Sample dialogue from the Benny-Burns confrontation goes:
Jack: Listen doctor, you've kept me waiting long enough. I want to see you right now.
George: Well don't get so excited.
Jack: You're darn right, I'm excited. I came in here last month for a simple little examination and look at this bill. I'm not going to pay it.
George: Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful when you're angry?
Jack: Oh . . . you noticed.
George: And that "simple little examination" even included a cancer check-up.
Jack: Oh.
George: I knew you wouldn't take the time to come in here just for that alone, so I included it as part of the examination.
Jack: Well that's different. You know . . . you're right. I wouldn't have taken the time to come here' just for that. Even though I know how important it is. George: Unfortunately, that's how most people are.
Jack: But your bill. Isn't $300 a bit high?
George: The bill's for $30, not $300.
Jack: How silly of me. Of course it is. There it is in black and white. I don't know how I could have made that mistake.
George: What you ought to do is donate the difference to the American Cancer Society. It's a wonderful cause.
Jack: I will. I will.
George: Then go see an eye doctor. I think you need glasses.
Jack: I know this is going to sound silly. But you don't happen to know an eye doctor who specializes . . .
George:... in blue eyes? No.
Jack: I didn't think so.
Twelve 55-second radio spots are being produced. The on-air phase of the campaign will start April 1.

It would appear the anti-smoking campaign was successful. Blanc’s company was called upon again for a special set of PSA by the American Cancer Society. Broadcasting doesn’t reveal whether Benny was involved in this, but I pass it along only to show you how much power cigarette advertisers and their agencies had.

Antismoking spots to shock through humor
MEL BLANC TO PRODUCE ATTACK FOR CANCER SOCIETY
The American Cancer Society is preparing its strongest attack ever on the cigarette-smoking habit. Radio is going to carry the brunt of the attack. Television will be called on to lend additional impact (CLOSED CIRCUIT, Oct. 2).
The material used in the campaign will be strong. Indeed, it's aimed at being stronger than anything ever presented about cigarette smoking on the air before. Many stations are expected not to want to play the antismoking commercials unless forced.
The anticigarette-smoking campaign, which is a special project of the ACS and not part of that organization's annual national crusade, is being handled by Mel Blanc Associates, Hollywood-based commercial producer. MBA is charged with creative supervision and production of radio commercials for the campaign and creative supervision of the TV spots.
Shocking Humor ■ According to Richard Clorfene, creative director for MBA, the premise of the campaign is simple and singular. "We're not out to inform the public," he says. "The public is informed. We're out to scare the public, period. It will be shock through humor, but shock, shock, shock, shock. We know that's the only way you can have an effect.

The first campaign approach Mel Blanc Associates is taking—via a series of probably eight 60-second spots—will be direct lampoons of current cigarette advertising on radio and television.
"We're turning the tables on them," Mr. Clorfene explains. "We'll take their keynote and twist it against them." (One such tactic already being considered would be the following parody of the Winston slogan: "It's not how you make it long, it's how long you make it. Stop smoking cigarettes.")
Actual production of spots is about a month away. Plans call for pressings of the radio spots to be sent to American Cancer Society offices all over the country before the end of the year. From there they will be distributed to just about every radio station.
This ACS project is a paying account for MBA. The production company has handled the cancer organization's national crusade for the last two years and is doing so again next year (the first year on a voluntary basis, the last two for a fee). But MBA feels the special project is sort of a loss leader, one on which "we'll probably spend a lot more than we're getting."
Risky Business ■ And the campaign already has cost the production house dearly in other directions. Reportedly, the company "walked out" on one account that was in conflict with the anticigarette drive and broke off negotiations with a national cigarette manufacturer for the same reason.
"There's no question about it," reports Mr. Clorfene, "this is a calculated risk. If we do this lampoon on Winston, it's unlikely that William Esty is going to give us much of their business. We think it's worth it philosophically as well as economically."
As a condition of taking on this tricky and potentially risky assignment, MBA has asked for a virtual free hand in production. "We're going out on a limb and we want our staff to read exactly as we prepared it," explains Mr. Clorfene.
From that limb, MBA intends to drive home such points as cigarette advertisers spending $200 million a year to encourage people to smoke and that cigarette smoking kills and cripples. Always the objective will be to shock the public's sensibilities.

The tide turned and, finally, cigarette ads were banned from TV in the U.S. after January 1, 1971. Blanc gave up smoking in the 1980s. It was too late. He died of emphysema in 1989.

Omnimoose

Time for more irreverent comments from those two irrepressible wags of Cartoonland, Bill Scott and Jay Ward (does anyone even use the word “wag” any more?).

Here’s a United Press International story published May 25, 1962 (and on other dates) where the producers of the Bullwinkle Show take more shots at their network, NBC. Among many things, Ward and Scott didn’t think the network promoted their show or even really cared about it. In fact, at the start of the second season, NBC tried to broadcast Bullwinkle in black and white until some affiliates got upset.

The two also used their time with UPI to plug their syndicated Fractured Flickers show and make fun of TV shows that were on the air at the time, though I’ll bet Scott actually said “77 Gaza Strip.”

In case you weren’t around then and need some references, Alistair Cooke was an English newspaper journalist who later hosted Omnibus and then Masterpiece Theatre on PBS. Clifton Fadiman was the moderator (emcee would have been too gauche a term) of Information Please, an intellectual guessing game on radio enlivened only by Oscar Levant’s ad-libbed puns.

Ward used the Sumac gag in a phoney brochure of his programmes he mailed out around the time of this article. His three-show “Jay Ward Pak” also included “Sing Along With Bing” (Rudolf Bing) and “Sing Along With Hopalong” (Bill Boyd comes out of retirement).

If you want more great Ward/Scott material, get Keith Scott’s book The Moose That Roared.

Will Title Be 'Omnimoose'?
By VERNON SCOTT
Hollywood—Culture lovers have had it!
The revered video time slot—5:30 Sunday afternoons—has been subleased to savages.
It will be remembered that this hour formerly was devoted to the likes of the hifalutin Omnibus and The Seven Lively Arts.
Next season that spot will be taken over by . . . hang on tight now . . .Bullwinkle Moose. In other words, the longhairs have been given a crewcut.
A cartoon show for kiddies and adults, the Bullwinkle series fits into the Sunday cultural ghetto like Soupy Sales in "Hamlet." But producers Bill Scott and Jay Ward are delighted their program has been renewed for a second year.
"It gives us the opportunity to further irritate our network, NBC," Scott said triumphantly.
"We are a hotfoot on the body politic," said Ward. "We keep NBC on its toes."

Bullwinkle and his friends—Rocky the squirrel. Dudley Doright and others —- have been moved up from 7 p.m. time period where it can be seen opposite Lassie.
"We are coming on earlier to avoid the Sunday drinking hours." said Scott "This year we couldn't enjoy our own show because we were stoned by the time it went on the air."
"I kept seeing it in color," Ward agreed, "and all I have is a black and white set."
Scott said they may change the title to "Omnimoose" to satisfy disgruntled intellectuals.
"We hope that when scientists dig up a time capsule 5,000 years from now they will say that Jay Ward was ahead of his time—by at least eight minutes," he said.
"It is possible we may use Alistair Cooke as the voice of Bullwinkle," Ward said, "with Clifton Fadiman as Rocky. It would add a note of culture to the program."
The producers aren't content with having only a single show on the air. They still have dozens of unsold series in stock. "We have more pilots than the U. S. Air Force," Scott said.
He listed 77 Gaza String and The Law and John Birch as examples.
"Also there is Sing Along With Yma Sumac for people who have outgrown Mitch Miller. For the more discerning there are The Max Schmeling Show, The Alger Hiss Hour, Cuban Eye and Edsel Theater," he avowed.
In a more serious vein, Ward said the company's Fractured Flickers will be on the air next fall.
"We figure the only segment of the American population we haven't offended are silent movie buffs," he said. Those people who are excited at the mere names of Thomas Meighan and Carlyle Blackwell, not to mention Bessie Barriscale, will be enraged with our show."
To culture conscious televiewers Ward and Scott argue that they will spread more culture than their predecessors.
"Look at it this way," said Scott, "if we are half as cultural as Omnibus but seen by three times as many viewers we can't help but disseminate more culture."

Popeye and Catwoman

Before there was a Batman comic, there was a Catwoman. Kind of.

In Never Kick a Woman (1936), Olive Oyl gets annoyed at the attention some Mae West-like gym teacher is giving Popeye, so she eats some spinach and beats her up—but not before the spinach turns her briefly into a hissing cat, ready to pounce.



I’m sure some think-piece could be written about sexuality and how Popeye assumes the female role (coy and even blushing), the gym teacher the neuter (during—dare we say—the climax, when she loses her masculine ability to fight and her feminine breasts) and Olive the male (even wearing Popeye’s hat and smoking his pipe at the end), but you can read that at a pontificating blog. This blog just posts funny screen grabs.

Seymour Kneitel and Doc Crandall get the animation credits and there’s yet another good opening song (by Sammy Timberg?).

Woo Hoo!

It’s always fun to see Daffy Duck bouncing around going “Woo Hoo!” He started out that way but as time went on the Warners directors and writers took him in other directions.

But he still does it in a scene in Frank Tashlin’s The Stupid Cupid (1944). Here are some of the drawings. I like the yellow and black brush lines to indicate movement.



The Independent Film Journal liked the cartoon, remarking in its edition of December 9, 1944: “Built around a novel idea it contains a goodly quantity of laughs and is suitable for a spot on any program where a bit of comedy is desired.”

Izzy Ellis, Art Davis and Cal Dalton were animating for Tashlin at the time of this cartoon, but the credits no longer exist on Blue Ribbon versions in circulation. Showman's Trade Review of Dec. 30, 1944 gives the credit to George Cannata.

The Granny of Beverly Hills

Irene Ryan wasn’t a grizzled old woman when she made her name as Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies, nor was she a newcomer to show biz. She and her ex-husband Tim Ryan (her maiden name was Noblette) appeared in vaudeville and then in short films and on radio; in fact, they headlined a show called Carefree Carnival in 1933 that went from KECA Los Angeles to the NBC network, a time when shows rarely were broadcast from West to East. When the two split up, Irene continued on the airwaves, perhaps enjoying her greatest success in the late ‘40s/early ‘50s as one of Bob Hope’s stooges.

On Hillbillies, Granny’s son-in-law Jed Clampett became a millionaire. In real life, Ryan did, too. She was generous with what she earned, setting up a foundation two years before her death to give scholarships. The American College Theatre Festival named an award in her honour a year after she died.

Here’s what that great Los Angeles-based publication Radio Life had to say about her in its edition of October 13, 1946. It’s before she arrived on the Hope show.

AT HOME ON RADIO
Comedienne Irene Ryan, Proud of Being One of Radio's Pioneers, Returns to the Ether as Jack Carson's Newest Nemesis.
By Peggy Carter
IRENE Ryan turned the tables on us. We, who are supposed to know all about radio, found ourselves learning about radio's early days from Irene—and we couldn't have picked a better raconteuse!

The petite, blonde, and very attractive comedienne is the lady who keeps the air-lives of CBS' Jack Carson and Arthur Treacher [in photo, right of Ryan] in a constant flurry. And even if you've never seen a performance of the Carson show, you're probably still familiar with Irene. She's appeared in a score of movies and was once co-star of the Tim and Irene Show.
There were a hundred questions we were anxious to ask Irene when we met her, but she just threw up her hands and cried, "Stop! I'll start at the beginning"—and she did.
At thirteen, Irene Noblette made her debut in a professional show. "I must have been awful, but I was so stage-struck I couldn't think of anything else. Then followed years of stock companies until I met one Timothy Ryan. We were married, formed a team and joined vaudeville circuits. We were the type who stuck to the bitter end. Even while we saw vaudeville folding, we refused to believe it."
"Carefree Carnival" Days
"It was while we were living in San Francisco during the late twenties that we decided to look into this radio thing"—with a vague wave of her hand—"and they offered us a job without even an audition. "Because we liked radio, we stayed and finally landed on a wonderful show called 'Carefree Carnival.' That was the first time I'd ever heard of Meredith Willson, Tommy Harris, and Senator Fishface."
To date Irene has had several seasons of her own show, and regular spots on the Ransome Sherman and Rudy Vallee shows. "So don't look upon me as a newcomer," she grinned, "because I knew radio in the days when—"
Irene, who is now Mrs. Harold Edwin Knox, is as gay, informal, and chatty as you'd expect Irene Ryan to be. At present she's bubbling over with enthusiasm about her new home in Westwood.
"You don't know how much a home can mean to you after having been on the road for years. I love it so much, I hate to leave it for a minute."
Learning to Cook
It's a thrill to the comedienne to be able to discuss the price of meat with the butcher, and the laundry situation with the launderer. "I feel just like a bride," she giggled.
Because Irene is well known for her quivering lip, crying songs, we weren't happy until she had performed over the luncheon table for us. "I don't mind," she confided, "because strangers constantly ask me to cry. But a gal can't cry all of the time."
From where we sit, it looks as if Irene's "crying days" are over. She's a successful comedienne, a charming woman—"And best of all, a contented housewife, who likes to do her own work and is just learning to cook!"

Not all the critics were kind when The Beverly Hillbillies debuted in 1962. Granted, the first show was kind of like an extended joke about stupid yokels, with the worst laugh track in TV squawking in the background. But the Bunch from Bugtussle quickly rose in the ratings because people wanted to see the underdog beat the pretentious and/or not-terribly-honest city slickers.

Ryan doesn’t talk about ratings, or even the show, in an interview with the Newspaper Enterprise Association not long after the programme started. She talks about how television suddenly made her a household name. This appeared in papers on March 23, 1963.

IRENE RYAN—PERSISTENCE PAYS
Veteran Performer a Big Star Now—Has Tax Problems
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
HOLLYWOOD (NEA) — TELEVISION can put you to sleep, baby sit, keep you awake and entertain visiting relatives. It also can send a gal to heaven—show business heaven.
That's where Irene Ryan is.
“How do I feel about all this?” she said. “It's like I had gone to heaven.”
She's "Grannie" [sic] of the Beverly Hillbillies. Since the age of 11, when she won an amateur kiddie singing contest, she had pursued big time fame. Then — wham! — she's co-starring with Buddy Ebsen in the nation's top television show.
Suddenly, after all those years, Irene Ryan has discovered the real meaning of those words, “There's no business like show business.”
• • •
“HONESTLY,” she said, “It's so funny I sit and just laugh. Six months ago no one cared whether I was alive or dead. Now everyone I meet asks:
“ ‘How old are you, really, Grannie?’
“ ‘Well,’ I ask, ‘how old are you?’
“So you’ll never know,” she said. “Let's just say I'm older than Shirley Temple but younger than Sophie Tucker.”
• • •

SHE WAS sitting in a booth at the Brown Derby in Hollywood. In a high fashion gown, silk scarf over her head and diamond ring glittering on a finger, Irene looked about as much like Grannie as Sophia Loren looks like Ma Kettle.
She dropped a clue about her age.
“Honey,” she said, “I’m getting letters from people who remember me when I acted with a stock company at the Empress Theater in Omaha in 1925.” She kept repeating, “It's so funny.”
Funny, that is, in a great big wonderful way.
A year ago she was doing a night club act in a Seattle spot when word came from Hollywood that the Hillbillies had been sold to television. Suddenly, as we talked, a part of what was funny made Irene wince.
“Now, at my age,” she said, “all of a sudden I have income tax problems.”
• • •
EVERYBODY wants Irene for something. Her price has gone way up for personal appearances, and the tax now becomes a problem in determining personal appearances. Still, she flies out on week-ends with Donna Douglas and Max Baer because she can't say no, and besides it's good for the show. Buddy Ebsen, who plays Jed Clampett, doesn't like to fly, so he stays at home.
“We appear in costume,” says Irene. “That's the attraction.”
• • •
IRENE SERVED in vaudeville, stock companies, radio, movies, and in television roles.
In radio there was some success in “The Tim and Irene Ryan Show.” Tim was her husband, gone now.
She was always on her toes, always giving slick performances. But never a big, big star.
“But I loved show business,” she said, “every minute of it. Why? To really love show business you have to be of it, not just in it. That's me, honey. I'm of it.”
• • •
A $500 WIG and those duds she wears are about all Irene needs to transform herself into Grannie. There's make-up, sure, but it is 90% talent that transforms chic Irene into the role.
Out of character, and wearing slacks, a silk blouse, high heels, people who work on the show sometimes fail to recognize her.
About her talent, director Richard Whorf comments: “She's fantastic. She puts facial takes on top of facial takes.”
She's been a regular on television before, in Bringing Up Buddy, with Ray Bolger in Where's Raymond? But as Grannie, Irene finally has it made. She predicted the show would click even before air time.
“It's so simple—just good old-fashioned comedy,” she explains. “No one is neurotic; we solve no world problems, and there's no message about anything.” Except, for Irene Ryan, that “there's no business like . . .”

The years took their toll on The Beverly Hillbillies. The show finally became just too silly and was practically a comedy soap opera when it left CBS prime-time in 1970-71, an era where the network was dumping any show smelling of hay and hickory switches. Ryan died only three years later. She had a stroke on stage in a production on Broadway and passed away in hospital in Santa Monica six weeks later.

The Critics Have Enough

The critics doted on Mr Magoo. They loved Gerald McBoing Boing. All hail UPA, they said.

That was in the early ‘50s. By the late ‘50s, they had enough.

Here’s a review from the magazine of the British Film Institute from 1959:

HAM AND HATTIE No. 2 (Sailing and Village Band), U.S.A., 1958
Straining to be original, UPA cartoons are in danger of toppling into preciosity. The first part of this cartoon deals with Hattie, a small girl sailing her toy boat on a pond to the accompaniment of a simple song. The drawings are simple to match, so simple that they often become dull. The second section tells the story of Ham, who, with his dog, his cat, and his bird, provides his English village with a brass band to welcome a visiting dignitary. Although the mood is, if anything, more fey than in the first half, the drawings of the flag-decorated streets are delightful. Nevertheless, the freshness and spontaneity of previous UPA work is missing; the result is forced and outré.

UPA became all about artwork. Still artwork. There was not a lot of movement in Village Band and some of it was reused. Here are the streets the author referred to. Compare these first two drawings (granted they’re not in register).



The train animation gets reused. So does the drawing below. The train station is on an overlay, the foreground characters and characters behind the station are on separate cels.



See the townsfolk on the left? This is the first of three held drawings of them. They move less than Bullwinkle moose. Come to think of it, that green cat is from a Fractured Fairy Tale, isn't it?



Fred Crippin directed this short with designs by Jimmy Murakami, and a “color” credit to Jules Engel and Jack Heiter. Only two more Ham and Hatties were made. UPA lost its distribution deal with Columbia in 1959 then tried to peddle some Magoos on its own until the studio was bought in 1960.