Disney or Money

How many young men and women wanted jobs in animation because they watched cartoons when they were kids?

Without providing you with any proof, I suspect the number is countless.

Well, let’s provide a smidgen of proof.

Walt Disney Productions attracted would-be Freddie Moores and Bill Tytlas, as revealed in this article in the McClure Newspaper Syndicate’s “TV Keynotes” column that appeared in papers starting around March 4, 1957. The service had a little chat with animator Volus Jones about life (and pay) at Disney; he animated the scene from Clown of the Jungle to the right. Jones worked in a number of other studios, including Columbia/Screen Gems and Walter Lantz, then headed to Hanna-Barbera. He died on May 3, 2004 at age 90.

Hopefuls Write To Walt Disney
by STEPHEN H. SCHEUER
Every week, hundreds of kids write Walt Disney asking to work for his mammoth organization.
When they become older, and a bank account takes precedence over membership in “The Mickey Mouse Club,” the job has less appeal.
“Beginners start at Disney as ‘in-betweeners,’” admitted animator Volus Jones, “making between $55 and $60 a week.” (About what errand boys earn at the other Hollywood studios.)
An “in betweener” has the tedious task of sketching hundreds of individual cartoons which go “in between” an animator's major drawings.
“Of course,” continued Jones, “the salary shoots up after a while. A top Disney director earns up to $25,000 a year.
“That's high in the art field, but mighty low for motion pictures and TV. A man directing a 'live' movie is usually worth $100,000 or more.”
At this salary scale, it might seem that Disney would have trouble keeping his best men. Which is partially true. Graduates of the Disney studio who have set out on their own include Walt Kelly, creator of "Pogo Possum"; Hank Ketchum, responsible for the antics of "Dennis the Menace"; and Ace magazine cartoonist Virgil Partch.
Why has Jones (who played a major role in developing Donald Duck), remained with Disney for more than twenty years?
“I like Walt,” he answered. “And there's more creative freedom at our studio than with any other cartoon outfit in town.”
Turning to the problems of animation, Jones noted that the toughest figure to draw is a human being. “Which is why we often roto-scope humans,” he said. Using the roto-scope technique, a model is photographed, and the photo traced on drawing paper. Marge Champion was, for example, the original model for Snow White.
“The smaller an animal,” continued Jones, “the easier to draw. A mouse may be a frightful thing to find in your kitchen, but animators love them.”
Squirrels are also popular. It could be because they work for peanuts.

Figaro?

Sylvester avoids stuff thrown at him by Elmer Fudd in the terrific cartoon Back Alley Oproar (1948).



Sylvester ducks down, slowly pops his head up and asks “Figaro?”



Satisfied the bombardment has ended, he jumps up onto the fence and enthusiastically finishes his song just as a boot comes flying to boot him off the fence.



Friz Freleng’s next two releases were Buccaneer Bunny and Bugs Bunny Rides Again. Three real winners, all written by Mike Maltese and Tedd Pierce.

Pugilist Pudgy

The underwhelming Pudgy the Watchman (1938) climaxes with the title character getting into a fight with a Jack Mercer cat that has taken his job.

Four drawings are used in a cycle (one per frame) with the background slightly moving to give the scene more of a feeling of motion.



Pudgy bites the cat’s tail. Another cycle, this one with three drawings. They alternate 1-2-1-3, one per frame.



So let’s see. Betty wants Pudgy to catch mice. Pudgy won’t. Betty hires a cat to catch mice. The cat catches mice like Betty wants. Pudgy still has a home, but has one less thing to do that he’s not doing anyway. But the cat’s the bad guy. Oh, well.

Tom Johnson and Hal Walker are the credited animators.

Two Comedy Greats, One Silent, One Not

Groucho bets on people
he finds he likes them after forty years in show business
GROUCHO MARX, whose NBC show, You Bet Your Life, has been consistently among the Nation’s favorites, has been accused of sometimes presenting contestants in an unfavorable light in order to get laughs. It’s one charge that can cut through the poise built up during 40 years of show business.
“I don’t insult people on my show, I spoof them,” Groucho says indignantly. “Others who did insult contestants have failed. You Bet Your Life wouldn’t be a hit, if I did. There’s a big difference between kidding and ridicule.”
As a matter of fact, Groucho, whose barbed wit was the highpoint of many shows and movies before he turned to television, has grown to genuinely like and appreciate people while doing the thousands of interviews involved in his quiz show.
“My estimation of people has risen tremendously in the past six years,” Marx says. “There are a lot of wonderful people in the world, and this job has given me a chance to meet them.
“I’ve seen poor people give their prizes to charity. I’ve met baseball umpires and the motorcycle cops who hide behind billboards, and they’re nothing like what you’d expect.
“I find that they enjoy the fun of the shows, whether they win or not, and they like a lot of spoofing. That goes for everybody, because I’ve quizzed people from some 50 countries, and the list has included Congressmen, admirals, and other people you might expect to be stiff and formal.”
In six years, Groucho has learned to take everything in his stride, including a woman with two husbands named Bodovnic, triplet sisters from Pinsk, Russia, and the Irish janitor of a synagogue.



“I’ve never been stumped yet,” Marx says. “I guess those years of trouping do something for you.”
In fact, he considers being a quizmaster a soft job. “Next to robbing a bank, it’s about the easiest of all,” Groucho contends. “But this is the culmination of years of hard knocks, believe me. Maybe I’ve earned this kind of job.”
In spite of his gruff pose, Groucho is happy that his show has succeeded and pleased that it appeals to a full cross-section of the public.
He gets letters and an occasional gift from viewers all over the country. Contestants strive for a place on his program, not only for the prizes and the fun of matching wits with Groucho, but because it can be a stepping stone to the movies. One young Mexican, a natural comedian, was signed to a Hollywood contract immediately after appearing on Groucho’s show.
This happy way of life caps nearly 40 years of nomadic trouping in vaudeville, stage, motion picture and radio roles for Groucho.
He started in 1906, at the age of 11, when he joined a Gus Edwards troupe as a boy soprano. Born Julius Marx in New York City on October 2, 1895, he and his brothers Leonard (Chico), Adolph (Harpo), Milton (Gummo) and Herbert (Zeppo) were spurred to theatrical careers by their mother Minna.
Early Days Were Hard
The hardships of the early days in their struggle for success still cling to Groucho’s retentive memory. On a vaudeville circuit in Canada he strolled by a theater one day and was stopped by the unrestrained sounds of laughter. He looked in and saw a bushy-haired, baggy-pants comedian, recently immigrated from England. It was Charlie Chaplin.
Their tours finally brought them to Los Angeles simultaneously and there a film producer spotted Chaplin and offered him $100 a week in pictures. “I won’t take it,” said Chaplin.
“Why not?” asked Groucho.
“Nobody can be worth that much money!” scoffed Chaplin.
Several years later, Groucho returned to Los Angeles. He received an invitation to Chaplin’s home for a party. It was a palatial residence, with formally-dressed servants, sparkling silverware and all the accoutrements of costly living.
The few years had brought a striking change in Chaplin’s manner of living but not corresponding mental satisfaction. “He once said to me, ‘You’re the greatest comedian of all’”, Groucho recalls now, “but I attribute that to his admiration of someone who could speak on a stage, instead of being confined to pantomime.



A Comfortable Life
To Groucho, the experiences of 58 years of hardy living have brought beneficial results in that he knows what he wants and achieves his desires. He lives comfortably in Beverly Hills. His program has settled into a relaxed weekly schedule.
Groucho spends much of his free time with old friends, like Norman Krasna, Hollywood writer, and with his children. His two oldest children, Arthur and Miriam, are writers. Groucho’s youngest daughter, Melinda, 7, finds him always willing to take time to play with her.

P.S. from Yowp: This article, with accompanying photos, appeared in TV Guide of July 24, 1953.

Clothes in Context

The villain doesn’t lie in Tex Avery’s The Hick Chick. He promises Daisy June more clothes than she has ever dreamed of. “All about you will be clothes, clothes, clothes!”



Cut to the gag shot.



Avery and gagman Heck Allen carry it further. “Here are your clothes, my little dove,” gestures the villain. “Millions of clothes. And all of them dirty!” Cut to the next gag shot.



The villain forces Daisy June to wash them all in an animation cycle.



The cartoon was released in May 1946 but you can see by Claude Smith’s model sheet, it was in production well before then.



Preston Blair was still in Avery’s unit then, along with Walt Clinton, Ed Love and Ray Abrams. Frank Graham attempts a Charles Boyer voice for the villain.

Lantz Links

A panorama shot of a golf course by Fred Brunish opens the 1952 cartoon Woodpecker in the Rough.



Brunish died on June 25, 1952, nine days after this cartoon was released.

The Smell of Entertainment

How loud is a smell?

That question—a quite logical one, in my mind—was once raised by Jack Benny. Whether he got an answer, we may never know.

The response is not revealed in Charlie Einstein’s “Top of the Town” column in the San Francisco Examiner of August 28, 1960. But he does reveal some of the goings-on at a Benny stage show rehearsal and why Jack continued to work and work until his death in late 1974.

The column is interesting, but not as much as Einstein himself. Wallace Stroby wrote this wonderful remembrance in this blog post. Charlie’s father was radio’s Parkyakarkas, Harry Einstein. Read the blog for more.

Jack Benny's Three-Fold Reason for Hard Work
The Comedian Rehearses for A Cabaret Act
“WHY,” SAID somebody with awe in his voice, “does a man with so much money want to work so hard?”
He was talking about Jack Benny, who was knocking himself out in a marathon rehearsal for his new stage show at Harrah's South Shore Room at Lake Tahoe.
The question was relayed to Mr. Benny.
He seemed puzzled.
“Why work so hard?” he said, and reflected for a time. “Well, maybe there are three reasons. One is that I don't know any other way to work. One is that people are paying money that they worked hard for to watch my show. And one is there's a face I have to look at in the mirror the next morning.”
Those three reasons in combination are good enough. Matter of fact, any one of those three reasons would be good enough.
The man in charge of the rehearsals that makes the Benny show as top-flight as any in the business is a gentleman named Jack Benny. He has forgotten considerably more about his job than any two of his high-priced floor men ever knew.

Sample: there is a gag interlude in his supper club show where two elderly ladies, arguing with the head waiter every step of the way, forge from the back of the room to a table directly beneath the stage, demanding to be seated close to their idol all this while Benny is playing his violin, serenely unaware of the commotion.
“Jack,” one of the floor men said at rehearsal, “at what point on their way down the aisle do you want the spotlight to pick them up?”
“At no point,” Benny said. “It's an audience gag. People are supposed to think it's real. If it's the genuine thing, who’s going to be ready with a spotlight?”
At another point in the show, Benny is supposed to think aloud. He does this through the medium of a recording of his voice, which is played as he saws at his fiddle.
The first time they tried it in rehearsal, Benny thought the record should be played a trifle louder.
“Just a smell louder,” one of the floor men agreed.
“Wait a minute,” Benny said. “A smell louder? What precisely, if I may ask, is a smell louder? What is the sound of a smell?”
He delivered these lines exactly the way you might imagine a Jack Benny delivering those lines. This is not his secret, but it is one of the things that makes up his secret. Jack Benny is Jack Benny, offstage as well as on. And when a few hardened professionals, and a vaguely dressed orchestra, sitting in on a tech rehearsal in the nakedness of a swank supper club at 1 o'clock in the afternoon, find themselves laughing at the same things the audience will laugh at in the tinseled surroundings that night—and laughing just as hard—then the fellow in charge has got to be pretty good.
He is pretty good. He and his wife came to Tahoe accompanied by their lifelong friends, George Burns and Gracie Allen.
“Where's Burns?” Benny said, looking around the empty room during rehearsal.
“He said you'd kill him if he showed up,” a friend answered. It's true. Burns looks at Benny and Benny collapses.
“He's probably at the blackjack table,” Benny said. “He'll win $40 and give it to Gracie.”
Burns was located at the swimming pool.
“What've you been doing?” he was asked.
“Not much of anything,” he replied. “Taking it easy, getting a little sun.”
“Play any blackjack?”
“Just a little.” “Do any good?”
Burns took the cigar out of his mouth. “Won $42.”
“What'd you do with it?”
The cigar went back in the mouth. “I gave it to Gracie.”

Sound Cartoons the Van Beuren Way

They weren’t well animated, their stories were all over the place, their gags were sometimes indecipherable, but I still can’t dislike the early Van Beuren cartoons.

The Van Beuren studio was simply the Fables studio with a new name for a new decade. It had been making silent cartoons through the 1920s under the direction of Paul Terry. But at the end of the decade moneyman Amadee Van Beuren had a falling out with Terry and fired him. Terry and Frank Moser started their own studio while Van Beuren put John Foster in charge and went into the sound cartoon business. (Van Beuren also made other kinds of sound shorts for release by RKO).

With sound, drastic changes were needed and instantly. Cartoons now had to be timed to the beat of the music. Vocal and sound effects had to be coordinated with the picture. That didn’t seem to be too much of a problem. But stories needed to more structured than in the silent days and Van Beuren’s staff appeared quite happy with just tossing around odd gags until they ran out of ideas and put a cap on the ending.

I think Amadee Van Beuren really was interested in making good cartoons instead of just churning anything out to meet a release schedule. If he wasn’t, there’s no way he would have signed Amos ‘n’ Andy to a contract to turn them into animated characters. The pair were at the height of their popularity and didn’t come cheap. Van Beuren bought the rights to The Little King. He also used popular songs when Gene Rodemich was his musical director; while some studios got them gratis due to tie-ins with their distributors, Van Beuren had to pay. And as his cartoons looked shabbier and shabbier compared to the ‘A’ list studios, he opened his chequebook and hired Burt Gillett from Disney at the height of Gillett’s career.

By the time Amadee Van Beuren spent more money on the rights to Felix the Cat and the Toonerville Trolley characters, it was almost all over. Both could have made strong series, especially with young animators and writers like Joe Barbera, Dan Gordon, Bill Littlejohn and Jack Zander on board, but RKO had enough and essentially closed the studio by signing a contract with Walt Disney in 1936.

Let’s stroll back a bit to 1930. Sound cartoons were about a year old and aroused curiosity from theatre-goers. This unbylined story was syndicated to newspapers and this version comes from February 13, 1930. Frame grabs are from The Haunted Ship, a 1930 Fable that’s one of my favourites.

How Aesop's Sound Fables Are Made
Caught up in the resistless wave of sound motion pictures, animated cartoons which once passed silently on the silver screen have had their production methods readjusted to bring them in line with the needs of the day. Their producers have been taxed to the limit in work, gags, ideas and new effects.
As in the silent cartoons, between six and seven thousand separate drawings are necessary to complete a reel. In the making of Aesop's Sound Fables it was found necessary to augment the staff of animators, tracers and gag-men, and to add to the staff an expert on synchronization, a musical director, an orchestra of twenty-four pieces and seven well trained "effects" men.
The making of a silent animated cartoon was difficult and arduous, but child's play as compared with the making of a cartoon in sound. Technical difficulties are such that the time necessary in production is greater, the cost almost tripled, and despite the enlarged staffs two shifts of animators and tracers are necessary to turn out the laughter-makers on schedule time.

Before the artist starts his work, the musical numbers are selected, and artist, synchronization expert and musical director have had their conference. Seated at a large desk the three figure out mathematically the timing of the cartoons to match with the timing of the music. This work usually requires at least a week before the actual animation by the artist begins, but as a result the artists, synchronizers and musicians are working together. Orchestrations for twenty-four instruments must be made for each musical number, and while the animators are busy making their thousands of drawings the musical director is rehearsing his orchestra, timing all the while with a stop watch.
With drawings, photography and orchestrations completed, the film of the Fable is shown upon the screen of the recording studios before the orchestra and "effects" men. The latter have upon a table before them hundreds of devices designed to imitate the animals in the cartoon. In front of them are four microphones. Another "mike" is used by the actor or actors whose voices will be heard on the film Usually at least ten rehearsals are necessary before sound and effects are recorded. The quacks, barks, growls and cackles must be made in perfect synchronization with the cartoon as it is passed on the screen. Often long experimentation is necessary before the best results are arrived at. Animal effects are simple, but the rushing of water, patter of feet, firing of a gun and the like offer many problems. In the "monitor" room sit two experts who report on the quality of the effects as heard by them through the connection of room with microphones.

Illustrative of the queer pranks made necessary by the recording, a playing card flipped sharply before the "mike" may sound more like the firing of a cannon than the cannon itself. A handful of rice poured slowly upon a bass drum head sounds like rushing water. All these devices must be originated and tested, rehearsed and improved, before the start of the actual recording. Three "takes" are made. Each is looked at on the screen and the best one finally selected. The next time you see Pathe's "Aesop's Sound Fables" it will be interesting for you to try and figure out how the realistic effects were produced.

How Now Singing Cow

Ub Iwerks’ Jack and the Beanstalk hewed to the Disney formula of songs and animals (birdies fly around in the opening scene with trees on overlays in the foreground).

The studio’s writing staff tried to get some humour into the opening song after Jack’s mother cries. The lyrics are a little mild, but it is a Disney imitation, after all.

Mother: We haven’t any food and we haven’t got a cent
Jack: It’s weeks and weeks since we paid the rent.

Pan to a shot of a picture on the wall of eaten food. Pan to a cat.



Cat: Meow! I’m hungry! I’d like a little fish.

Cut to the fish. He’s not skin and bones. He’s just bones.



Fish: Now look at me. I’m not your dish.

Cut to a cow. The designer’s done their best by coming up with bent blue horns and having a spider live underneath it. It has the Iwerks tear-drop eyes (Flip was drawn the same way sometimes).



Cow: I must have some hay but I ate it all up.

Cut to the spider. I can’t really tell what he’s singing but it ends “since I was a pup.”



Jack and his mom agree to sell the cow. The characters are happy.



I like the dancing beans and the singing purse and some of the designs (like the mysterious blue guy who sells Jack the beans). Carl Stalling (uncredited) has the beanstalk growing in time to the beat of the music in places. And there’s some imaginative (for 1933) dissolving where drawings remain in place while the backgrounds and characters fade out and in.

This was the first of the ComiColor cartoons produced by Iwerks. Unfortunately, they were released on a states-rights basis and not a major studio which could have pumped in the capital needed to make colour shorts during the Depression. The series finally petered out in 1936 and the cartoons found their way into the home film market.

Look For the Union Label

An inside joke opens What’s Buzzin’ Buzzard, a 1943 Tex Avery cartoon.



Local 852 was the local of the Screen Cartoonists Guild in Hollywood. The background artist of this cartoon, Johnny Johnsen, was a local member.