Guess Who?

Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny took away stardom from mild Porky Pig. Donald Duck took away stardom from mild Mickey Mouse. And so it was Woody Woodpecker took away stardom from mild Andy Panda.

It was just in time for the Walter Lantz studio, too.

Lantz toodled along through the ‘30s as Oswald the Lucky Rabbit became, well, mild. He tried cartoons with monkeys. He tried cartoons with a Great Dane. He tried a kid mouse. He tried a stereotyped black boy. Finally, he hit on a panda. So it was cartoons were made with a boy panda and a slow-burning, somewhat clumsy father.

Enter Bugs Hardaway.

Hardaway had quit Leon Schlesinger’s studio in 1940 but brought with him an idea which was with a heckling, insane rabbit. Hardaway put a bird suit on him, and Woody Woodpecker was born. He stole the show from the pandas in his debut, Knock Knock, which was released 80 years ago today. Lantz had signed a deal with Universal on August 27, 1940 and Variety reported on September 4th that one of 13 proposed cartoons was Knock Knock. Evidently it had been in the planning stages.

Here are some frames of Woody making his entrance. Daddy Panda fails to swat him with a two-by-four and Woody responds with a cartoon nose honk.



And, because I like looking for these, here are two consecutive frames. Where did the sawdust go?



Don’t buy the story that Woody was invented because of Walter Lantz’s honeymoon with Grace Stafford. They were even married yet. That tale started surfacing some time in the 1960s. Hardaway and long-time Lantzer Lowell Elliot get the story credit in this short. Alex Lovy and his brother-in-law Frank Tipper are credited as “artists” and former Harman-Ising musical director Frank Marsales is credited with the score. Darrell Calker wasn’t signed by the studio until December. By then, Lantz was having trouble with the Hays Office, which rejected the title Crumbs Along the Mohawk and he had to change it to Syncopated Sioux.

Sara Berner is Andy Panda and Mel Blanc plays Woody and Daddy Panda. Background artist Edgar Kiechle is uncredited.

Woody went through several designs—I still like the gooney design in this cartoon—and starred in some pretty fair cartoons in the 1940s. Lantz was forced to shut down for a couple of years, then cheapened out when he re-opened in the ‘50s. Woody went through a slow decline until he was as unfunny as he was unwatchable in the early ‘70s. He was revived for television some years later but remains one of the big stars of the theatrical cartoon era.

How To Murder a Cuckoo

The Cuckoo Murder Case was the fourth Flip the Frog cartoon released by MGM and it’s miles ahead of the first one that hit theatres earlier in 1930. There’s atmosphere as the cartoon opens with a storm with flashes of light in a living room.

Cut to a close-up of the cuckoo clock with a gag involving (what else?) the hand of the clock stabbing the cuckoo in the butt.

Cut to a shadow of a gun, then the murder. A bullet misses the bird, but reverses course and puts a hole in its target. In the absence of a lily, the bird uses a daisy as it dies and falls out of the cartoon.



The Motion Picture News from November 1, 1930 gives these as the Flip release dates:
Fiddlesticks, Aug. 16, 1930
Flying Fists, Sept. 6, 1930
The Village Barber, Sept. 27, 1930
The Cuckoo Murder Case, Oct. 18, 1930

The trade paper’s review:

Cuckoo Murder Mystery
(M-G-M)
Okay
FIFTEEN or more of animated cartoons on the market at one time make the going tough for this short. That is, unless they’re turned out with the cleverness of “Cuckoo Murder Case,” of the “Flip the Frog” subjects produced by Ub Iwerks. Here, the cartoonist takes the usual mystery slant but send it over with loads to spare. The answer is in the treatment. Iwerks has Flip go through the most amazing contortions. This shows real thought.

Dealing With a Masher

Art Davis’ only Bugs Bunny cartoon has some fine animation. Watch for how the animators move Bugs’ fingers in some of the scenes.



The extremes are good, too. Here’s an example from a scene animated by Don Williams where Bugs pulls his drag act to fool Steve Brody (voiced by Billy Bletcher). These are five consecutive drawings.



Here are some drawings showing three open-mouth extremes and how Bugs gets there from various positions.



Basil Davidovich, Emery Hawkins and Bill Melendez are also credited with animation. Bill Scott and Lloyd Turner get the story credit on Bowery Bugs. This one doesn’t have the slam-bang action of a Freleng cartoon, nor the sly poses of a Jones cartoon, nor the small-eyed, large-mouthed characters of an early McKimson cartoon. It would have been interesting to see how Davis could have developed Bugs, but he never got a chance.

Benny On Broadway

There are several types of fans. Some are simply casual ones; they like something but they don’t deliberately seek it out. Some enjoy someone’s work but realise not everything will be a hit. And there are some who like everyone someone did, no matter how mediocre, and get angry when someone criticises it.

I fall in the second group for a number of things. If you’ve read my other, on-indefinite-hiatus blog, you’ll know I like the earliest half-hour series produced by Hanna-Barbera, though some individual cartoons don’t quite work for me. Same for Jack Benny. I generally like his radio show, but some episodes or routines simply aren’t entertaining to me.

Jack’s start came on the vaudeville stage. In 1963, he went back to New York to, in essence, put on a vaudeville show. There were a number of different acts, with him emceeing, no different than what he did in the ‘20s and then in the ‘30s when he made some lucrative personal appearances across the U.S.

The way some reviewers put it, the show wasn’t A-list Benny, except maybe for hard-core, Benny-can-do-no-wrong fans. That’s the suggestion from Newsweek magazine’s review, and that was definitely the opinion of—of all people—cartoonist Al Capp, who wrote a syndicated column.

First up is the Newsweek piece of March 11, 1963, the Capp from the Boston Globe the previous day.

Jack Benny is so wise to his following that the moment he steps out on the stage of the Ziegfeld Theater he knows what the talkative womenfolk are buzzing into their escorts’ ears. He says it first: “My God, he looks so much younger on TV.” From there on, the audience at this nameless review could almost play the same trick on Benny. His big blue eyes still serve him as a topic of infinite jest, along with his parsimony and the quirks of the stage entourage he made famous on radio. Delivered with the old familiar mannerisms—hand on cheek, one limp knee bent inward—the running gags still work, even in a production which looks like the only USO show ever cheeky enough to open in New York at a $7.50 top. Of all our illustrious clowns, Benny is the one who can do least, but when he catches himself in the reckless act of discarding some stray horsehairs from his violin bow and frugally pockets them instead, nobody could excel the princely finesse of it. Benny has the glowing patina of the vaudeville veteran, and the stage dins when he walks off. His co-star, Jane Morgan, is a torch howler whose welcome depends heavily on the way she makes an evening gown bulge, and there is a troupe of gospel sings who bully the eardrums beyond human limits. But there is also a two-man juggling act called the Half Brothers whose skill skirts the supernatural. Even Benny is at his funniest when this amazing team interrupts him in the middle of a joke to make him the stunned pivot of a terrifying whirl of Indian clubs.

Beloved Jack
By AL CAPP
Jack Benny appeared in person the other night for the first time in 30 years in a Broadway theater. It was one of those largely one-man shows, carrying a few other acts whose main function is to stay on long enough for the star to catch his breath or change his shirt.
Benny is the most beloved entertainer of our time, and it was clearly an act of love that so many of his opening-night audience remained in their seats. A few heartless ones walked out.
Us faithful glared at them with contempt. Also, to be truthful, with a bit of envy.
For in a democracy all beloved entertainers have equal rights. Jack Benny has as much right to exhaust us as Carl Sandburg or Maurice Chevalier, anyone who does anything to deprive him of that right, such as getting up and walking out, simply has come with the wrong attitude.
The wrong attitude is to expect that buying a ticket at Broadway prices to a Broadway theater entitles you to an entertainment up to Broadway standards, by an entertainer who has achieved the title “Beloved.”
Anyone who attends the Ziegfeld Theater with that in mind, for the next six weeks, is going to get either mighty fidgety or home mighty early.
The right attitude is the one you bring to a testimonial banquet—where you pay for your ticket for the privilege of paying your respects to someone who has devoted his life to making this a better world, such as Albert Schweitzer or Herbert Hoover.
You don’t expect the distinguished guest of honor to knock himself out all over again to make you happy that night, but to express your appreciation for all he’s done for you in the past.
For nearly 40 years Benny has worked himself into his present exhausted state providing fresh and charming comedy for us, and he certainly is entitled to take it easy for the next six weeks at the Ziegfeld, while we do something for him.
Benny’s show opens with a sort of two-man juggling act which quips, “What a way to make a living!” while they go about their equally obsolete japes.
And then Benny comes on, and I dare say there wasn’t a heart in that immense audience that wasn’t warmed by the sight of him.
Not even Bob Hope or Red Skelton, for all their years of making this a cheerier world, evoke quite the quality of affection he does.
There’s something so unmistakably defeated, yet so unquenchably hopeful about Benny, so irreparably decomposed, yet so stubbornly vain, that he makes his own secret foolishness more laughable than shameful.
Benny so profoundly understands, and sympathizes, with the average dumb and doomed human, that by reflecting him in his hilariously crazy mirror, he comforts him, and that is a great and rare gift.
For his first 15 minutes, Benny was delicious. And this is the limit a standup comic can be mercifully expected to last, as a fighter is expected to last 15 rounds, but no longer. It is as cruel to demand that a comedian slug it out for two hours, as a fighter.
After that first glorious 15 minutes Benny began losing his wind, and his control, but like any champ with heart he kept going.
At his worst he was embarrassing; at his best he had the amiability of the sort of guy you meet at any convention, who talks a bit too long and about subjects you’re not too interested in, but who is so pleasant you don’t resent him.

Sgt. Kling and George the Wonder Dog are Missing

George the Wonder Dog, where are you now?

You probably haven’t heard of George. That’s because he never made it to movie or TV screens. But he tried.

George was the invention of the people at Animation Inc., one of a number of companies making animated TV commercials in the 1950s. It was formed May 1, 1955 by Earl Klein, who quit as president of 15-month-old Storyboard, Inc. to open his own firm. Storyboard was an award-winning company, known at the time for spots for Heinz Worcestershire Sauce, the Ford Car bird and E-Z Popcorn (I believe all of these are on-line somewhere). It soon expanded its operations and hired people like Ed Barge and Irv Spence. Saul Bass was employed by Animation Inc. to create the animated titles to “Around the World in 80 Days.”

By 1960, when commercial companies like TV Spots (Calvin and the Colonel) and Grantray-Lawrence (Dick Tracy) were getting a piece of television cartoon action, Animation Inc. decided to do the same thing. And they came up with a concept that sounds like a cross between Lassie and the yet-to-air Dudley Do-Right.

August 16, 1961
Animation Inc., long-time producer of animated TV commercials, has entered the field of entertainment films with “Sgt. Kling of the Preston and His Wonder Dog George,” an adult-geared animated film. Earl Klein, president of Animation Inc., is producer of the half-hour program.

August 31, 1961
Howard McNear will be the voice of Sgt. Kling in Sgt. Kling of the Preston and His Wonder Dog George,” new 30-minute animated film series being produced by Animation, Inc. Hal Smith will be the voice of the dog, with Dave Barry and Mae Questel doing the audio tracks in other roles.

December 5, 1961

Earl Klein of Animation Inc. says he’s going to bring to the TV screens the first “adult northwestern” with his “Sgt. Kling of the Preston and His Wonder Dog George,” animated series now in production.

August 23, 1962
Six segments of “Sgt. Kling and His Wonder Dog George,” an animated film series prepared for theatre distribution, are being readied for early release, according to Earl Klein, president of Animation Inc., producer of the series. First segment is completed, said Klein.
“This is the first major series of animated cartoon short subjects to be geared to the growing theatre audience,” Klein states. Howard McNear is the voice of Sgt. Kling.

Unfortunately, Wonder Dog George joined prospective TV cartoon shows such as Keemar, the Invisible Boy (Format Films) and Sir Loin and His Dragon (TV Spots/Creston Films) and a number of others in sitting on the shelf when the bottom fell out of the prime time cartoon business in 1962. Within five years, Klein was a supervising director for DePatie-Freleng.

I’d love to show you a clip or even some concept art with the show, but perhaps it has been lost to the ages. I heard about this cartoon only by randomly leafing through old editions of the Hollywood Reporter. Perhaps Mike Kazaleh or someone will have a little more information about this cartoon that never was.

Morphing Bandmaster

Krazy Kat slowly but surely becomes a shadow as he conducts his orchestra in The Bandmaster (1930).



Look! He’s now Paul Whiteman!



He turns again. Oooh! Now he’s Charlie Chaplin (as the little tramp).



Is everybody happy? It’s Ted Lewis.



Now, an extended gag. Lewis’ clarinet playing is so hot, the instrument has to fan itself, then uses the handle of the fan as a hose to drink water.



He turns again. I don’t know who this is supposed to be, if anyone.



Ben Harrison receives a story credit, with Manny Gould credited on animation. There are a few off-the-wall Fleischer-like gags here; unfortunately, Charlie Mintz’s cartoons weaned themselves away from that kind of thing.