Woody Outlines

Dr. Horace N. Buggy isn’t very happy with Woody Woodpecker vanishing in his office only to come knocking at the door (How did it happen? Because anything can happen in a cartoon).



The doc grabs Woody by the throat and pulls him toward him. The outline drawings are consecutive frames. The Walter Lantz studio seems to have liked outlines and they’re found in the studio’s shorts for several years in the ‘40s.



Mel Blanc is both Woody and the doctor while Berneice Hansell and Margaret Hill-Talbot also provide voices. The animation is credited to Alex Lovy and Ray Fahringer.

Leon Schlesinger in All His (Old) Glory

It’s 1939. You’re a cartoon producer who isn’t making a feature and isn’t named Walt Disney. How do you get publicity?

You wave the flag.

Leon Schlesinger managed to keep his name in the trade press, thanks to publicity director Rose Horsley. Some of the news spilled over into the popular press—such as when he withdrew his shorts from Oscar contention because of Disney and when he worked out a deal with Jimmie Swinnerton to put his Canyon Kiddies in a series (which turned out to be one cartoon). But one story which garnered a jackpot of press was when the studio made Old Glory.

With war brewing overseas, Warner Bros. had decided to make a series of patriotic two-reelers in live action. Schlesinger quickly jumped on the idea and soon let it be known to the world he would “personally supervise” the production of a patriotic Porky Pig cartoon in time for Easter release (Film Daily, March 21, 1939). The Newspaper Enterprise Association’s Hollywood columnist nibbled and interviewed Schlesinger about it. Leon seems delighted to have been able to talk about himself.

In Hollywood
BY PAUL HARRISON
HOLLYWOOD—(NEA)—The movies’ patriotic parade has even reached the field of animated cartoons. Leon Schlesinger’s cartoons, anyway. He makes the Merrie Melodies and the Looney Tunes which are released by those busy eulogists of the land-of-the-free, the Warner Brothers.
Thus it may be possible during a single evening in the theater (preferably the evening of July 4) to see a stupendous patriotic feature, a mildly colossal four-reel featurette from American history, a patriotic newsreel and a patriotic Porky Pig.
“The Star-Spangled Banner” probably would be heard, too. It already is being played in many of the Warner theaters at every performance by executive order. Nearly all the Schlesinger films are satirical, but “Old Glory” will be played as straight as is consistent with the whimsical notion of Porky sitting on Uncle Sam’s knee and listening to stories about Paul Revere, Bill of Rights and Yorktown.
At the beginning, Porky is lying in the grass trying to memorize the Pledge to the Flag. He finds it difficult and gives up to take a nap. So along comes Uncle Sam, in a dream sequence, and shows him some inspiring flashes from the past. In fact, just about the whole cavalcade of American history is being put into a seven-minute color cartoon.
Tries Anything—Once
Schlesinger makes more movie cartoons than anybody else in the business. His output is 42 a year now and the studio is geared for 52—one a week. Walt Disney’s huge factory, pre-occupied with three features, produces only 18 shorts a year.

The Merrie Melodist doesn’t expect ever to be bothered with full-length animations, although his personal slogan is “I’ll try anything once.” He just doesn’t believe that cartoon features will be very popular if they get out of the novelty category.
“Double bills promise to be pretty generally abolished one of these days,” he said, “and that’s going to boom the shorts market. We may make a few two-reelers here, but nothing longer. I think 650 or 700 feet (about 6 minutes) is the ideal length. Hit ‘em and run, leaving ‘em wanting more. The best compliment anybody can pay me is to say, ‘Your stuff is too short.’”
The cartoon factories all are rather remarkable for their lenient, generous treatment of employees and the co-operative spirit they foster. The reason is, of course, that hand-made movies are an especially exacting, nerve-wracking task requiring rest periods and relaxation. Also, the spontaneity and zip of these short films depend a lot on the enthusiasm of the many departments through which they pass.
Coach Inspires Cartoonists
Schlesinger is a good boss with the inspirational talents of a football coach. His staff of 200 is smaller, compared to annual output, than that of any other animator. Yet he is the only one who actually is ahead of his production schedule. He was the first to inaugurate the five-day week, and his plant never has worked Saturdays or Sundays except for the many shifts of cameramen who work every day and night.
This studio, unlike Disney’s, also gives screen credit to its producers, directors, writers and animators.
Every outgoing picture is subjected to the criticism of every employee. They file into the theater and are handed printed forms for their comments. These forms are not signed when they are filled out. On the strength of these opinions Schlesinger has held back many a film for revisions.
He let me see a picture made last winter for the studio’s annual Christmas party. The staff worked on it secretly for weeks in its spare time, and the film is a pretty biting satire on the organization’s morale and its esteem for the big boss. Schlesinger is prouder of it than if it had been a fulsome tribute on a golden scroll.

Once the cartoon was finished, Mrs. Horsley supplied some facts and figures to reporters and United Press put together the following story. Note that it’s as much about Schlesinger as it is about the cartoon. It mentions no names of anyone who worked on it.

First Patriotic Cartoon In Hollywood's History Set for July 4 Release
200 Artists Work 10 Weeks at Full Blast Turning Out "Old Glory."
By Frederick C. Othman
United Press Hollywood Correspondent.
HOLLYWOOD, June 16—Leon Schlesinger, the cartoon producer who couldn't draw a picture if his life depended on it, completed today Hollywood's first patriotic cartoon for July 4 release by the brothers Warner, flag-wavers extraordinary.
This is important news for number of reasons:
1. Schlesinger set an all-time record for speed by producing and photographing 20,000 separate drawings in 10 weeks flat; the average cartoon of the same length takes 10 months to make.
2. The picture marks an extraordinary turnabout of the old phrase, "From the sublime to the ridiculous." Schlesinger's cartoon went from Porky Pig to George Washington and Abraham Lincoln.
3. It was an excellent production and included more American history in one reel than ever has been packed together before. Schlesinger said live actors would have taken a full-length feature picture to tell the same story.
The business of producing a cartoon in 10 weeks, with drawings in full color being made at the rate of 2,000 a week, turned the Schelesinger headquarters inside out. When he thought of the idea in bed one night in March, the boss told his scenarists to write a patriotic story and then he set all his 200 artists working on it. For the full 10 weeks, they didn't do a lick of work on a merrie melodie or a looney tune, the Schlesinger specialties which he turns out at the rate of 42 a year.
"And it costs me 25 per cent more than any other cartoon," he said, "and I'm bound to lose money on it. Only return I'll get is the satisfaction of having made it."
Called "Old Glory."
The film is entitled "Old Glory." It opens with Porky Pig trying to memorize the pledge of allegiance to the flag: he falls asleep and in his dream Uncle Sam comes to life and shows him the history of the United States, including high points in the lives of Paul Revere, Patrick Henry, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, with some thing of the American epic westward, thrown in for good measure.

A 50-piece symphony orchestra plays patriotic music and when the picture ends with Porky Pig learning the pledge, letter-perfect, it gives you a bit of a tingle in your spine. That is an accomplishment. No movie pig ever caused anything before but chuckles.
The gray-haired Schlesinger is something of an anachronism, even in the movie business. He makes more film cartoons than any other producer, yet he never has even been interested in trying to draw pictures. As a boy, he was an usher in a Philadelphia theater; later he became a vaudeville press agent, and eventually he came to Hollywood in 1922 as sales manager for a raw film factory. Three years later he organized the Pacific Title and Art Studio, which still flourishes in the manufacture of fancy titles for feature pictures.
This concern, of course, had to be staffed with commercial artists who could draw pictures and designs for shining on the silver sheet. It thus was a cartoon studio, fundamentally, even before the drawings were cartoons.
"You Make, I'll Sell."
So Schlesinger hired scenarists and animators and told them to make cartoons; he said he'd sell 'em.
"I always figured that I was a business man and that art and business didn't mix," he said. "I never saw an artist who could handle his own bank account. And never saw a business man who was any ready hand with a paint brush. So I merely hired the best artists and writers I could get and let them go to it. It seems to have worked out all right."
Schlesinger has a $300,000 annual payroll, a plant of his own, a Beverly Hills mansion and a medium-sized yacht. And that's not bad for a cartoonist who admits he can't draw anything but checks.

Old Glory was released July 1 but the trade press got a sneak peak. Film Daily called it “Stirring entertainment,” and referred to director Chuck Jones, animator Bob McKimson, as well as Johnny Burton, Milt Franklyn, narrator John W. Deering and the Paul Taylor vocalists by name; the latter four likely never got screen credit. Motion Picture Daily declared it “compact and pleasantly palatable lesson in Americanism” and “a nice job of cartooning, more serious than most” while Showmen’s Trade Review dismissed it as “okay as propaganda.”

It’s a matter of speculation why Jones was picked. The other directors at the time were Cal Dalton/Bugs Hardaway, Bob Clampett and Tex Avery. Clampett was working on animation on the Republic feature She Married a Cop while the Dalton/Hardaway unit had finished sequences on the Robert Benchley short How to Eat for MGM. Jones may have been the best choice but the cartoon suffers through his slow pacing, though perhaps he (or Leon) wanted a reverential gait.

The Shy Guy

The Students Stock Company of the Wallis School of Dramatic Art in Los Angeles celebrated the school’s 14th anniversary in September 1922 by performing a four-act comedy. The name of one of the supporting players should be recognised by fans of The Andy Griffith Show—Howard McNear.

He was 17 years old.

McNear carried on acting until he physically couldn’t. He suffered a massive stroke while working on Griffith and when he returned, he had trouble moving and, worse, remembering his lines. He was almost 64 when he died in 1969.

Before the Griffith show, McNear’s biggest claim to fame was on the radio version of Gunsmoke; he played Doc. McNear learned you could be anonymous in radio because no one ever saw you, but television was different and brought a whole bigger level of fame.

Here are a pair of articles where McNear talks about his career. The first pre-dates Griffith and the latter was published just after he started on the show. The first column is by Hedda Hopper and is dated January 12, 1960. It gives you an idea of the kind of man Jack Benny was (Joe Kearns had played McNear’s part earlier on radio). The second story appeared starting around April 1, 1961.

Howard McNear Discusses His Portrayals
HOLLYWOOD, Jan. 11 — When top comedians chew the fat about their craft, Howard McNear's name is bound to come up. He's played with all of them, bringing a unique type characterization to their shows which no one has succeeded in imitating.
I knew him first on my radio shows, later as the "Mr. Hamish" of the George Gobel time. I've watched him with George Burns and Gracie Allen, Tennessee Ernie Ford and with Jack Benny. Recently he stepped out of his favorite characterization to play the doctor in "Anatomy of a Murder"; it's brought him a slew of offers for straight roles.
George Cukor will pay him his price to read one line in his inimitable manner: . . . "But I don't like to play straight parts any more," he told me. "Just last week I turned one down.

IRKED—"My agent could have killed me and so could my wife. But it was a serious thing — they wanted me for a judge who was committing a girl to a mental institution. I don't think it was right for me. I prefer specialized bits."
McNear, who refers to himself as "second banana" in the laugh field, realizes his jittery frustrated character, who leaves sentences hanging in the air at times while pantomime finishes out the idea, is too intense to be done too often.
"He's a sort of nervous wreck and you can't be on too much with it," he explains.
"I fitted him into the part of an absent-minded lawyer for a Jack Benny show which isn't released yet and he's called me for another show on the 18th.
AGREEMENT — “At first he wanted me to play it straight and I tried it for a couple of rehearsals. Then they agreed it would be better for me to do it my own way. Jack said he thought I was master of this peculiar thing and he couldn't remember anyone's doing a character quite like it."
He has a theory that such characterizations aren't copied from any one thing or combination of things the comedian has seen or heard.
"I think they evolve from the person himself. I think perhaps it's my own mannerisms—exaggerated of course. I've often wondered if such portrayals aren't built up from the subconscious. I've worked with practically all the big comics and have arrived at that conclusion after analyzing their techniques.
PAINFULLY SHY —"As a young fellow I was painfully shy. I'm still shy. I really feel perfectly at home only when I'm on stage. Meeting people is far harder for me than being behind the footlights; perhaps that's because I can feel I'm someone else when I'm acting.
"I was trained for an architect because my father was an architect and bank vault engineer."
Howard McNear has played Doc in radio's "Gunsmoke" for eight years with the same producer. "Bill Conrad plays the Matt Dillon role that Jim Arness does on TV and is also a director."
IMPACT—"They use the radio scripts as a tryout for the TV," he said. "I think radio has great emotional impact and that it was sold out too fast. Recently I got a letter from a Coast Guard family stationed where there is no TV.
"They wanted a picture of our cast and when they came to San Diego for Christmas phoned to tell me how much it meant to them.
"There are drop-off places where there's not only no TV but where radio scarcely reaches — places like Eagle Pass, Tex. We get wonderful letters from shut-ins and from the blind and near-blind who live by radio."

Actor Howard McNear Became 'Barber', Won Greatest Fame
By J. A. ST. AMANT
HOLLYWOOD (UPI) – Howard McNear, a member of a pioneer Northern California family from Petaluma, so-called "egg basket of world," has been an actor for years, but he had to become a barber to start being recognized on the street.
After long years with stock companies, on the radio and in the movies, he's achieved his greatest fame through TV playing Floyd, the fussy barber, on the "Andy Griffith Show" (CBS-TV), and his services are much in demand.
"I can't understand it," he said. "After all these years, now people are beginning to recognize me on the street and in restaurants. They even mistake my brother for me and he's quite flattered."
He's appeared on TV with George Gobel, Jack Benny and in the Peter Gunn series among others, and for 10 years had been voice of Doc in the radio version of "Gunsmoke."
“My first TV show was with George Gobel,” said McNear in an interview. "I was scared going out there in front of 30 million people—all at once—but George was very helpful to me.”
McNear said he was shy as a boy and he claims he still is shy.
He speaks in awe of Jack Benny – "He's a big star but he took the trouble to call my wife once and tell her how well he thought I did in one of his shows. My wife was in tears afterwards—she was so happy."
Sometimes it is difficult to tell whether McNear, in his whimsical fashion, is pulling one’s leg.
"They say Jack Benny is cheap," he said, but I don't think so. He paid me $800 for a little commercial."
Howard got his first dramatic training from Patia Power, mother of the late film star Tyrone Power. "My mother agreed to let me go to the school," he recalled, "but I was so shy I walked up and down in front of it for three days before I had the courage to go inside."

McNear was born in the heart of Los Angeles at Hope St. and Jefferson Blvd. His mother was born in Petaluma. His father died at age of 27, but there are many McNears left in northern California.
The family name is perpetuated along the coast in such spots as McNear's Beach and McNear's Point.
McNear grew up in San Gabriel near Los Angeles and drew inspiration from a kindly neighbor, John S. McGroarty, California's beloved poet laureate. McCroarty wrote and staged the annual Mission Play depicting the life of the Franciscan missionary Junipero Sevra. McNear got his first taste of theater life as an usher at the play and then won a part in it.
For many years he was with the Savoy Players Stock Company in San Diego, Calif.
He was not confined to comedy in those days.
“I played the part of a young man who was executed in a very dramatic thing called ‘The Noose’,” he said. “I played the part of a prizefighter in ‘Izatso?’ and my opponent hit me harder that he meant to oh the nose. I bled all through the next act.”
At 55, McNear is content with his career. One of his main interests in life these days is his 16-year-old son, Christopher—Kit.
The boy was named after a McNear ancestor who was a sea captain.
Young Kit doesn't want to be on actor like his dad.
“He wants to be a fishing boat captain,” said shy Howard, shaking his head at the intrepidity of the youngster.

That Old Banjo Tongue Blues

Early ‘30s cartoons were sure musical. Almost everything became musical.

In the Fleischer studio’s Hot Dog (1930), Bimbo whips out a banjo in court and starts playing a blues song. At one point, everything in the courtroom sways to the music.

The court reporter takes testimony (the scat lyrics Bimbo is singing) and plays his tongue like he’s strumming a banjo.



It’s a shame the bulk of Talkartoons haven’t been restored. They’re fun and weird.

No animators are credited. Dave Fleischer gets a screen credit as a director.

Doggone Blow Out

Screwy Squirrel uses tacks to slow down a truant officer dog chasing after him. The dog suffers a blow-out. Fortunately, he’s prepared for just such an emergency.



“Oh, brother! Now I’ve seen everything,” laments the squirrel, who simply goes on to the next gag.

The Screwy Truant has familiar sign, dog breed and title card gags you all know and love, as well as a war/pop culture reference at the beginning. It was animated by Preston Blair, Ed Love and Ray Abrams.

The Suave Man of the Palace

He said it so many times, he probably believed it was true.

Jack Benny oft remarked how he started his radio career with a guest appearance on Ed Sullivan’s radio show, and tossed in his opening line on the programme.

It wasn’t true. What the short spot on March 29, 1932 did was help him get his own network radio show less than two months later. We’ve chronicled on this blog some of his earlier radio stints. One we’ve missed until now was on Friday, September 4, 1931 on the NBC-WEAF (Red) network. He showed up on the “RKO Theatre of the Air” show, which aired from 10:30 to 11 p.m.

There’s a very good reason he was booked on that programme. The following night, he returned after a seven-week absence to act as master of ceremonies at the Palace Theatre in New York—which happened to be part of the RKO empire. Nothing like a good cross-plug.

Joining him were Abe Lyman, making his first appearance at the Palace since 1924, and Kate Smith, whose popular standing was thanks to her radio show. Incidentally, Benny, Lyman and Smith reunited on the Benny radio show in March 1938.

Here are two reviews of opening night at the Palace, the first from the New York Daily News and the second from the New York Sun. I wish more was said about Benny’s stand-up. Not mentioned at all were the Robbins Trio, a roller-skating novelty act which opened the bill, and Gordon, Reed and King, a dance act in the number-two spot.

All the reviews call Benny “suave.” The New York Times’ review of opening night opined: “Few comedians have his suavity, few his ability to make a point with ease and surety. Through such simple devices as looking at his audience, pursing his lips or taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket and reflectively wiping his mouth, Mr. Benny can be funnier than can most comics with a whole stageful of gags and paraphernalia.”

The show ended up being held over. In the meantime, Benny was supposed to begin a gig with Earl Carroll. It eventually led to a proposed salary cut and Benny wondering if maybe his talents should be heard elsewhere.

ENTER JACK BENNY AS NEW PALACE M. C.
By JOHN CHAPMAN.

The Palace Theatre, having found a large, new public during the course of a seven weeks' run of Lou Holtz and company, is attempting to retain its customers by assembling a new offering in which Jack Benny, Harriet Hoctor and Abe Lyman's band are featured.
Just for luck, too, the management has kept a couple of features from the Holtz fiesta. It will be interesting to see if the new program can approach a long-run record; to see if Benny is as successful a master of ceremonies as was his predecessor.
Miss Hoctor Returns.
Benny's scheme is different. Holtz, a sure marksman with a scatter gun, aimed for howls and got them. A shrewd interpreter of the vaudeville patron's mind, his humor was broad, low and loud. Benny's wit is sharp, dry and cynical.
Miss Hoctor returns in complete loveliness with a new dance to replace her successful "St. Louis Blues" ballet.
In a black velvet dress and with a perky black hat set upon blond hair, she whirls and drifts about the stage in precise but effortless grace. In another number she has no inconsiderable partner in Charles Columbus.
Lyman's band has rhythm and go—and some jerkily conceived arrangements. It serves for a funny scene in which Benny doubts that a leader's baton-waving amounts to much.
Left by Holtz.
"After all," says Jack to Abe, what could you do with this stick if the band didn't show up?" So Benny tries some stick-waving of his own with ludicrous results.
Inherited from the Holtz era are William Gaxton and Kate Smith. Gaxton reverts to his boss and office boy sketch with George Haggerty, which has more zip than that "Kisses" act.
Miss Smith calls to the Mississippi without even the transmissive aid of a broadcasting network, and the house is hers. Vaudeville customers know what they want, and there is no doubt about their wanting Miss Smith.

NEW BILL AT THE PALACE
HAVING seen the wisdom of building programs that may tenant the Palace on longtime leases the R.-K.-O. executives offer again this week a bill that well could weather for some weeks the gales that blow shows on and off of Broadway. With the exception of William Gaxton and Kate Smith the talent is fresh and of a very different flavor from that of the unique program which has put out the S. R. O. sign for the last three weeks.

The new master of ceremonies is Jack Benny, the suave, slow-spoken and subtle satirist who so philosophically is the butt of blunders sprinkled into the evening's routine. His violin solo during a break in the newsreel is interrupted by the blaze of trumpets at Fort Something-or-Other when the film is mended. His protege, a jujitsu "champion," is carried off on a shutter, and Mr. Benny's attempt to conduct Abe Lyman's band causes mutiny, only the piccolo player remaining loyal to the baton.
Mr. Lyman and his musicians stop the show, as is their right. For smooth, distinctive music they have few peers, and there is in their turn just enough showmanship to make their effects a little breath-taking. Mr. Lyman is to be congratulated also on his vocal chorus arrangements.
The other new act is that of Miss Harriet Hoctor, the dancer about whom this reviewer already has written many superlatives. She again reveals herself in her three numbers the mistress of her art. During her interpretation of the popular blues chant, "Mood Indigo." one sits bewitched, oblivious of the Palace, the orchestra, the audience and of even the day of the week. Of her assistants only the young eccentric dancer is fittingly skillful for her act.
Mr. Gaxton offers his well-known skit, "Partners," well suited to his playful and energetic manner. It is most amusing if you haven't seen it too many times. Miss Smith is again her most likable self in a new repertoire of songs.
The other acts of the bill are the Robbins Trio and Gordon, Reed and King. T. P. H.

Tired of Magoo

After a while, an actor just gets tired of playing the same role. How many stories have you read over the years about someone on TV wanting to move on to something different?

Jim Backus was the same way. He had been a fairly successful radio actor, mainly on The Alan Young Show, and then on TV was cast opposite Joan Davis in I Married Joan. In between, his buddy Jerry Hausner got him a voice job at UPA which eventually blossomed into another career for him. He won the part of Mister Magoo.

Then came “after a while.”

We’ll get to Backus’ unhappiness with Magoo in a moment. First, let’s see what else he was doing in 1959. Gilligan’s Island was five years away (and may be what Backus is known for these days). Backus was always a good interview. Here, he bares all to columnist Hedda Hopper in a piece published on November 3rd. This, by the way, may be the only time you see the name “Jim Baxes” on this blog. He was a journeyman minor league infielder and bounced around the Pacific Coast League in the ‘50s. If I recall, he spent a little time in the majors with Cleveland. The PCL had left Los Angeles (it still had a team in San Diego) when this interview was done.

Irons in the Fire
HOLLYWOOD — I asked Jim (Magoo) Backus how many irons he had in the fire. "I have so many in the fire I'm afraid I might put the fire out. I've been working in 'Ice Palace' since July and the end is not in sight."
"Oh, that will let you put a new wing on your house."
"Yes, and I'm going to make it for name it for Vincent Sherman, our director. Until this picture I haven't done much that was important since I played Jimmy Dean's father in 'Rebel Without a Cause,' and getting this was a coincidence. I was on a plane to New York with Jack Warner. He'd asked me were I'd been. I told him I hadn't been able to get near his studio since I did 'Rebel.' He said, 'I'm marking it down and you'll be working within two weeks,' and I'll be darned if I wasn't. Did you know 'Rebel' is still playing in Paris in both English and French, also in Japan?"
"You must have made a mint on your book 'Rocks on the Roof.' "
"I would have if my publishers had been more co-operative. You know I had to pay my own expenses to New York, St. Louis and Chicago to pro mote it then I d get into a town and there wouldn't be any books there."
"I think it would make a funny picture. Have you sold it yet?"
BRIGITTE SOUGHT

"No, but there have been inquiries. If they do it, Henny wants Mitzi Gaynor to play her and Lemmon for me. But I'd like Henny played by Brigitte Bardot and play myself. However, by the time you write your life story you're too old to act in it.
"I have 'Magoo's 1000 Arabian Nights' [sic] coming out around Christmas time; it's the first full length color cartoon since 'Snow White' and 'Sleeping Beauty.' " "But your bank account got fat on those Magoo ads, didn't it?"
"It would have if I had not had a lousy agent; he was so busy getting mirrors for stars' dressing rooms and kowtowing to big name clients he didn't have time to make money for me.
"I have a record coming out that'll set music back 50 years titled 'I Was a Teen-age Reindeer'; on the other side is a monologue 'The Office Party,' a Magoo type businessman character. And I'm making a TV pilot called 'The Newspaper Story.' We need a young girl like Eve Arden for my secretary."
"Residuals are still rolling in from 'I Married Joan,' the series you did with Joan Davis, aren't they?"
"It's gone around six times and is being shown over the world. You have to be careful before taking on a TV series. When you do one it's the biggest step you can take outside of getting married." Then he said with a sly wink: "I have a new TV quiz, Stop the Money—I give away music."
TUNNEL TO SAKS
I asked if his wife Henny has any picture plans. He told me no but she has a new sable cape and is burrowing a tunnel through to Saks.
"Did you know that Henny bought a book by Bill Randall called 'The 12th Step' and sold it to Columbia? It's about alcoholics—a sort of 'Grand Hotel' of sanitariums and Bob Ryan will star in it. I hope there'll be a part in it for me. There is good one, but whether I'll get it or not is a moot question."
We got on to the quiz and he told me that Steve Allen once said: "When I was in school the teacher gave us the answers all year long and some of us still flunked."
"I was with Jackie Coogan the night he blew the $64,000 question," Jim said. "He was given an area they were going to question him about but he still didn't know the answers."
'GIANT' ON ROCKS
I asked Jim which of his pictures he liked best. "Well," said he, "that's something like romance, you always love the last one. I think 'Ice Palace is good. Carolyn Jones has the best acting part and she's great in it. As Bob Ryan says, 'It's "Giant" on the rocks, a saga of a family.' I was disappointed I wasn't finished in time to play in 'Elmer Gantry,' but you can t do everything. Richard Burton, who's in 'Palace,' and I became great friends. And glory be, our wives liked each other too. His wife Sybil has gone to their home in Switzerland to have the baby which is expected in December."
"I hear you made some funny cracks at the stag dinner given for ballplayer Larry Sherry."
"Oh, I merely said, 'The reason I came was to honor Mr. Sherry—I thought it was Dore, and the reason they invited me was because they thought I was Jim Baxes, so we were even. I understand Mr. Sherry is from Fairfax Ave. and Jewish. Baseball has become very popular with the Jewish people but then they've always been very athletic. There was that fellow who hit that big guy with a slingshot And I learned something, too, when I went to see 'The Vikings'—even the Vikings were Jewish—Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis.' "
And with that, he said: "I've got to go now and be made up as a 75-year-old for 'Ice Palace.' I age from 28 to 75 and it takes two hours to get the stuff on my face, then when it's off I scratch for another two—Well, so long."

But what about Quincy Magoo? Backus talked of being tired of voicing the character and explained why in this wire service story of October 7, 1959.

Jim Backus Tired Of Being 'Mr.Magoo'
By JOE FINNIGAN
UPI Hollywood Writer
HOLLYWOOD.(UPI)—Jim Backus, originator of chuckle-voiced "Mr. Magoo," is "getting awfully sick" of the near-sighted little character.
"He causes me lots of trouble sometimes," Jim says. "For instance, drunks come up to me in bars and insist I do the 'Magoo' voice for their whole table. "I've almost had fights because I wouldn't," he said with mock horror. "Thank goodness, I'm a devout coward."
"Mr. Magoo" is being heard on TV commercials these days, but contrary to what many people think, Backus isn't doing the voice work.
"Imitations of 'Magoo' are being done every day on TV and there's nothing I can do about it," Jim said. "I'm flattered, except when I go to the bank. The only money I get out of 'Magoo' on TV is from one commercial.
"Oddly enough, though, if another actor went on TV and imitated 'Magoo' it would be O.K. But, I need permission from the company that owns the character rights if I want to do him.

"That's because I originated the voice" he explained.
Waiting in his dressing room before facing the cameras in "Ice Palace," Jim claimed little "Magoo" has even cost him movie roles.
"My name has come up for a role in the past and a producer would say 'He's the Magoo guy, sorry, we can't use him,' " Jim complained.
On rare occasions "Magoo" comes to Jim's rescue.
"I remember one time I couldn't get a table in a busy restaurant when I called them up," he said. "So, I just called back and used Magoo's voice. I got the table!"
Because of the voice characterization in cartoons and his "I Married Joan" TV series, Jim is thought of as a comedian. However, he claims only three comedy roles in 82 movies.
"I usually play "best friend' roles," he said offhandedly. "It seems I'm always in the stands with the football player's wife.
"The lines in that case would be: 'Gee, look at him go. You're married to a great guy.'"

What strikes me as odd in these stories is 1959 was the year Stag beer had a contest to “Name Mr. Magoo’s car” (a fancier one than in those weak TV Magoo cartoons). Backus most definitely did the voice of Magoo in the Stag spots and, to be honest, I’ve never heard anyone else in the role.

When Magoo’s theatrical run ended, Backus did the TV Magoos, as well as a number of series and specials over the years starring Rutgers’ most famous graduate. Backus spent the last few years of his life in poor health and died in 1989. Backus’ Magoo lives on for those who have snagged DVDs over his theatrical and TV cartoons and even 1001 Arabian Nights during the last decade.

No Ogg-scaping

The baker at the Ogg Café thinks he can avoid the “invitation” by Martian Dictator/Commander-in-Chief Ogg to Ogg Memorial Stadium to hear him introduce Colonel Cosmic.



Not so fast.



Destination Earth from John Sutherland Productions was animated by George Cannata, Russ Von Neida, Tom Ray, Bill Higgins and Ken O’Brien. The great designs are by Tom Oreb and Vic Haboush.

Not This Time, Flip

Flip the Frog gets a false face so his girl will go for him in Funny Face (1932), but a bully cracks it off with continual punches.



Flip checks the mirror.



Flip clearly says the word “Damn!” but no vocal is heard on the soundtrack.



The word “damn” can be heard in at least two other Flips, The Cuckoo Murder Case (1930) and Bulloney (1933). As the latter was released after this one, it’s silly to believe it was somehow banned in this cartoon.

TV Tallu

You’re NBC. You’re paying a star on radio a large amount of money for a big show. In fact, “The Big Show.” But ad revenues are down because sponsors are moving to television.

What do you do? You put the star on television after a big publicity build-up.

Such was the circumstance under which Tallulah Bankhead made her TV debut.

The “glamourous, unpredictable” Bankhead had been hired by the network in 1950 to front a 90-minute radio variety show featuring big names, ostensibly to show listeners and ad agencies there was still life left in the old medium. NBC took it off the air after two seasons and a lot of red ink.

But maybe the problem was radio. The network decided to put her on television. And the timing was perfect. Bankhead’s controversial autobiography had just been released, raising her profile even more.

So it was that Bankhead debuted on “All-Star Revue” opposite Jackie Gleason on CBS on October 11, 1952. That same day, a small newspaper syndicate published a column about it. Bankhead’s opening routine that evening would be a critics satire co-starring Groucho Marx and Ethel Barrymore (hardly noted for her comedy). The syndicate decided to satirise the satire. The material is about at par with what I’ve seen from a transcription of the broadcast.

The Once Over
By H. I. PHILLIPS
(Released by The Associated Newspapers)
Tallulah Meets The Critics
("Tallulah Bankhead is opening her first video program with a sketch in which, with Groucho Marx and Ethel Barrymore, she burlesques the "Arthur Meets the Critic' program."—News item)
Tallulah.—Well, Groucho, you read my book, of course.
Groucho.—Yes, I enjoyed every chapter of "Crusade in Europe."
Tallulah.—That's the wrong book.
Groucho.—Oh, I remember now, you wrote that new one, "Giant," with Edna Ferber.
Tallulah.—Buster, when I write about Giants they're plural and the scene is the Polo Grounds, not Texas. The title of my book was "Tallulah."
Groucho.—I wish I could make the questions that tough on my program.
Tallulah.—What part did you enjoy most?
Groucho.—I liked the part where the big fish towed you four days and nights and the sharks stripped It to the bones by the time you got back to Havana.
Tallulah.—That was Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

Groucho.—My mistake. You're the author of "Tallulah the Old Girl of NBC." I read your other story, "Blood, Sweat and Tears."
Tallulah.—That was just the chapter in which I told of my row with Lillian Hellman and my experiences with Billy Rose, Leland Hayward, Louis B. Mayer and Somerset Maugham. Do you think my book has suspense and drama?
Groucho.—Yes. I think it falls somewhere between "Kon Tiki" and "Gone With the Wind."
Tallulah.—In my book I do not fight the Civil War all over again or cross the ocean on a raft.
Groucho.—Some of the people you wallop in that yarn will feel as if they had been through both experiences.
Tallulah.—Tell me, Groucho, has it a chance to be chosen the Book of the Month?
Groucho.—Only if the jury is spiked with Southerners, baby.
Tallulah.—Mr. Marx having indorsed (what am I saying?) my book, I turn to you, Miss Barrymore, for unfavorable criticism. Did you read it?
Ethel.—No, but I thought it wonderful.
Tallulah.—How could you enjoy it if you never read it?
Ethel.—That's the only way I could like it.
Tallulah.—What was your chief impression?
Ethel.—I thought it a little shocking in its candor.
Tallulah.—What did you expect, "Herbert Hoover's Memoirs"?
Ethel.—Yes.
Tallulah.—Sum up, Ethel.
Ethel.—I would say few authors have told so much about so many for so much. But it will leave your public pretty sore. You confess to being in love with only two men, one of whom is dead. The other, who is still alive, you keep secret.
Tallulah.—Maybe I should boost sales by identifying the man now and end the guessing.
Groucho.—Not here, sister. Save it for my quiz show, "You Bet Your Life." Give the answer there and you can win a $2,750 jackpot!
Ethel.—And remember, Tallulah, NO PROMPTING!

Being a child of Broadway, Tallu naturally did what anyone on Broadway would do on opening night—go to a restaurant for a party and await the early newspaper reviews. This syndicated story appeared on October 15th.

Tallulah Goes to Rescue Of Big Show in Her Honor
By MARY FRAZER
NEW YORK, Oct. 15.—Tallulah shouted "Quiet!" in a southern accent that should have been heard clear back home in Alabama.
A few seconds before the microphone was dying and Sid Ceasar's [sic] master-of-ceremonies routine was falling flat on its face. For one, horrible moment it had looked as if the private "Little Big Show"—a magnificent $1 million worth of talent set to perform for the guest of honor—was going to do exactly the same thing.
Then, when the imperious "Quiet!" startled everyone into attention, Tallulah signaled singer Johnny Johnston. Johnny inched his way through a Pen and Pencil restaurant so jam-packed with celebrities you could scarcely tell Van Heflin from Eva Gabor. As comedian Ceasar walked away with an "I've had it" gesture, Johnny joined Tallulah at the mike.
Old Song
"Let's everybody sing . . . 'Harvest Moon,' Johnny said.
He and Tallulah gave with the first chords. And everybody followed.
It was the gol-darndest community sing ever staged, with Dorothy King and D. Sarnoff, Vivian (Guys and Dolls) Blaine, Cobina Wright Sr., Don Ameche, Eddie Arcaro and Beatrice Lillie just few of the members of the star-spangled chorus.
Thus was New York's gayest and most glittering party in many a moon climaxed.

The affair feted Tallulah. The reason was fourfold. It began at midnight, celebrating Tallulah's television debut of a few hours before. It was a "Ta Ta Talloo, saying goodbye to the inimitable Alabaman who goes to Hollywood for her part in the movie, "Broadway to Hollywood." It inaugurated host John Bruno's new policy of maintaining late hours for show folk and show-goers. And it was an excellent excuse for some 200 lucky friends of Tallulah's to have the time of their lives.
Wears Low-Cut Gown
Tallulah, wearing a low cut black velvet gown, entered regally to hold court at a table set against a backdrop of covers from her new book. Cass Canfield, head of Harpers Publishing Co; comedian Reginald Gardiner; Celebrity Service President Earl Blackwell; harried Publicist Michael O'Shea (who had everything from cops to autograph hounds outside to uninvited guests inside to worry about) were her table-mates . .. for a relatively quiet 10 minutes. Then the singing started.
The guests sang everything that came into Johnny's or Tallulah's minds. Then the two rambled the room, singing "May the Good Lord Bless and Keep You."
The "Little Big Show" ended with a warm, Christmas-Eve-ish sort of feeling . . . with most of those who'd been slightly startled at "Silent Night" being included in the repertoire deciding maybe it was a fair idea after all.

NBC had a mild disaster on its hands. The show was kinescoped for the West Coast to be broadcast a week later. But some columnists in the West complained that the huge NBC hype machine caused their editors to leave space open for reviews on opening night, so they had to see the show right away. In 1952, that wasn’t so easy. After some frantic calls to 50 Rockefeller Plaza, a special closed-circuit line was opened so critics could see the show in a Los Angeles restaurant as it happened.

Perhaps that was a bad idea. Critics had mixed opinions. All of them didn’t seem to like the writing, some felt Tallulah rose above it. That’s not the best way for a network to start an expensive, promising show. On March 17, 1953, Variety reported Gleason outdrew Bankhead almost 2 to 1 on her final starring show of the season three days earlier, despite a change in writers (Neil and Danny Simon were now putting words in her mouth). It appears everyone had enough. Bankhead decided she’d go to Vegas where she could let loose far more than on television, and NBC announced on April 1, 1953 she would appear in a sitcom next fall. Bankhead and the other rotating stars joined together for a last broadcast on April 18th. All-Star Revue was cancelled by month’s end.

It turned out NBC had no plans for her. She appeared periodically on talk shows and, famously, as the Black Widow on Batman a couple of years before her death. In a way, she was another radio star who didn’t make the transition to television but she really didn’t fit either medium. The stage was her real home.