Swirling Simple Simon

The inking department at the Ub Iwerks studio got a chance to use their brushes to create swirling effects on the Comicolor short Simple Simon (1935).

Basically, it’s another just-there imitation Disney fairy tale from the studio with Carl Stalling filling it with songs. The pie man is chasing Simon’s pet goose but gets caught in a fair turnstyle.



Simon rushes up a giraffe and jumps onto a trapeze, sending him somersaulting through the air. (One of the characters that grabs him looks like Willie Whopper’s girl friend. Willie wasn’t doing much in 1935).



Simon lands inside a barrel, which is rolled by two different performers. I like the guy with the Robin Hood hat in the lower left hand corner. If it’s supposed to be Walt Disney, that’s funnier than anything else in the cartoon.



The barrel crashes. Staves come flying at us in perspective.



The impact has Simon imagining harem girls—with curly antenna on their heads! He starts hugging one but she dissolves into the angry pie man.



Much like the recording of Bill Hanna’s yell that was used in all kinds of Tom and Jerry cartoons, the Iwerks frightened warbling yell is heard two or three times in this short, and a number of other Comicolors. Actor unknown.

He Doesn’t Speak Arabic

Hans Conried was articulate, sophisticated and, like other actors who catch the fancy of the public, very employed at one time.

Conried once told host/historian Chuck Schaden he began his radio career doing Shakespeare on KECA in Los Angeles. And while the Hollywood Reporter of June 26, 1937 reveals he had been cast in the second show of the Shakespearean series (“Richard III”), the same paper of February 24, 1937 reveals his employ in a comedy-satire on the “Hollywood Theatre” programme on KHJ. And his career carried on from there (even though he has no occupation in the 1940 U.S. Census).

Somewhere in this blog (I’m pretty sure I posted it), Conried gave Mel Blanc credit for getting him into radio comedy after the war, as he played the head of Zebra Lodge when Blanc had his own show on CBS for a season.

Television didn’t stop Conried’s career when radio died (for him, in 1953, he told Schaden). He was making semi-regular appearances on several shows. He talks about two of them in the article below, published April 11, 1958. The “tattoo” show was on the Target anthology series and aired on November 24. The same night you could see him on Danny Thomas. And as you can see by the newspaper ad, he was in the cast of a music film that year.

Conried Fears TV Overexposure
By HAROLD STERN
"I don't know anything about Dody Goodman! I don't want to know anything about Dody Goodman! But everywhere I go, people buttonhole me, begging for inside information!"
Hans Conried looked at me despairingly. "All I want," he said, "is for Jack Paar's office to keep calling me to ask when I'll be available again. I'm not at all controversial. I'm everybody's friend."
Hans, who may currently be seen on almost every television show on all three networks, is now preparing for his next major T. V. appearance, that of the witch in Yasha Frank's April 27 N. B. C. production of "Hansel and Gretel". Whatever you may think of the merits of doing "Hansel and Gretel" on T. V. and whatever your opinion of Hans Connects talents, you’ll have to admit this is pretty exotic casting.
"It's been over a year since I've had a week off," Hans Conried admitted, "and though you say you see me everywhere now, that can rebound: People may say: 'Oh, Conried's all right, but who wants him again?' "
At the moment, that thought hasn't entered any one's mind. In recent weeks Hans has been on the Jack Paar Show, Omnibus, the Red Skelton show, the Danny Thomas Show as an old Shakespearean actor, Maverick, plus several films completed but not as yet released.
He'll continue to reappear on the Danny Thomas Show as Uncle Tonoose and will occasionally play other roles as well. His success on that series almost frightens him.
"Because of my appearance as Uncle Tonoose," he told me, "I have acquired a whole new following of Syrians and Armenians. Now, when I make public appearances," he added incredulously, "they expect me to make speeches in Arabic. I don't speak Arabic!"
Also coming up is a Telephone Hour Science Show in which he plays the heavy, the Mad Hatter, in "The Alphabet Conspiracy", an investigation into linguistics (he won’t have to speak Arabic here).
"I have an excellent film coming out soon," Hans exclaimed. "In it I play an international dope pusher, posing as a tattoo artist, who gets pinned against a wall by a fork lift. It's the kind of action I do well. Unfortunately, I don't remember the title or the series, but you "can't miss it."
Getting back to "Hansel and Gretel", I asked Hans if he had any thoughts on what seemed to be a trend of fairy tales to T. V.
"Well, why shouldn't there be?" he answered. "Here the industry is barely 10 years old and we've written ourselves out. There isn't enough talent in the world to feed this medium. And, if you're fond of horror stories, think of what television will be like in 30 years!"

Conried didn’t have many starring vehicles. Two were in feature films released in 1953—The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T and The Twonky, both too odd to generate huge box office response. He shot a Mr. Belvedere pilot film in 1959 but none of the TV networks picked it up. He may have been relieved. He told columnist Erskine Johnson “I'm not sure I want a show of my own. I'm the happiest when I'm doing something different every week.” Oddly, he found most of his work after the 1950s (Jay Ward Productions notwithstanding) on the stage where you’re doing the same thing every night. And he toured college campuses.

The story mentioned The Alphabet Conspiracy, a fantasy/educational film “Produced under the personal supervision of Jack L. Warner.” A beat-up copy that’s been on the internet for ages (surely, someone must have restored this) is posted below. Hans Conried gets a credit, but there’s no music credit. That’s because the music was supplied by the Capitol Hi-Q library. The opening theme is by Bill Loose, but I haven’t found it in my ‘M’ series collection. At 2:56, you’ll recognise cues by Spencer Moore if you know your Gumby or Huckleberry Hound music before Conried’s entrance.

Crashing Kitten

A poor abused kitten is toinged toward the ceiling by a bulldog in Tex Avery’s Bad Luck Blackie (is “toinged” a word).



The bulldog looks concerned about the fate of the kitten.



It’s all a ruse. His expression changes and the kitten splatters to the floor. The bulldog (played by Avery) lets out with a wheezy laugh. Somewhere else in the MGM studio, Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera think “Hey, we can steal that from Tex and use it in a dog at our own studio someday.”



Rich Hogan assisted Avery with gags and the animation was by Preston Blair, Grant Simmons, Walt Clinton and Louie Schmitt, all of whom had worked at Disney before this. In 1949 Disney was filling the screen with Donald Duck squawking at Chip and Dale. The cartoon was re-released in 1957 and 1967, and even appeared in 1963 at the Chilliwack Drive-In about 20 miles from where I grew up.

Barney, It's a Cliff

The first go-around of Barney Bear cartoons (there were three, a fourth was announced) didn’t feature eye takes, but here’s one in The Unwelcome Guest (released Feb. 17, 1945). It’s not exactly Tex Avery territory, but I wouldn’t expect it in a Barney Bear cartoon.



Mindful of the war still going on Showmen’s Trade Review of April 28, 1945 called this “One of the most delightful characters that ever graced the imagination of a cartoonist’s pen is delineated in this Technicolor short in the form of a playful skunk who threatens the life of the placid berry-picking Barney Bear. For children this should prove to be a barrel of fun; for the elders it might bring them back to a world less strewn with sorrow.

Mike Lah, Jack Carr and Ed Barge are the credited animators. This was the last Barney cartoon until his revival in 1948.

Note: Thad Komorowski has pointed to an unpublished interview with George Gordon and Mike Lah that Lah directed this short.

Benny on Broadway

It would seem pointless to publicise a stage show that’s already sold out, but Jack Benny did it anyway when he appeared in New York in 1963. After all, he still had a TV show on the air and he was getting free newspaper space to keep it in the spotlight.

Jack had been around so long, and his radio character was so well known, there wasn’t too much new to ask him. So the story below from the Camden Courier-Post of March 4, 1963 may seem fairly familiar.

Below it are two reviews of what was basically a vaudeville show, one from columnist Hy Gardner and the other from Newsweek. They’re both from March 11th. Jack gave audiences what saw on TV every week, along with a singer and some unknowns. It wasn’t an all-star extravaganza, but he gave them what they wanted, including the duelling violin routine with Toni Marcus.

Benny Pays Tab For Group’s Dinner
By NANCY VAN TINE
NEW YORK—A year or so ago, Jack Benny descended upon New York, recruited a group of Broadway celebrities and invited them to dine at a “famous restaurant.” He walked them to the eatery, lined them up outside, handed each guest 10 nickels, told them to live it up, and marched them into an Automat.
He stepped out of character this past weekend. He invited a group of TV editors, drama critics and celebrities to dinner at the Warwick and then to a private Sunday viewing of his “Jack Benny” show at the Ziegfeld Theatre . . . and . . . Mr. Benny picked up the tab!
BENNY BLAMES . . . and loves . . . his writers for creating his public image as a tightwad who still drives a Maxwell (circa 1922) and never pays Rochester, his man Friday.
This mirth-making illusion probably reached its crescendo on his weekly (pre-TV era) radio show when after having parked his ancient chariot in his garageless driveway he was confronted by a ruffian who stuck a pistol into his midriff and growled, “Your money or your life!”
There was dead silence on the air waves for seconds, then minutes, until the thug snarled impatiently, and Benny querulously bleated,
“Give me more time. I’m trying to make up my mind!”
“MY writers created the image of Stingy Benny,” the comedian told the pros Sunday. “They also were responsible for the violin bit. If I hadn’t been a comedian, I’d have been a virtuoso on the violin . . . but a lousy one. It was like being a golfer who likes to play but hates to practice.
“But I’ve kept this item a secret far too long—I HATE ‘Love in Bloom!’”
BENNY, a perennial 39 going on 70 (he celebrated, without fan-fare, his 69th birthday anniversary last week) is pleasantly and familiarly at ease in his virtually one-man show. But—
“Isn’t it a h—uva time to bring me back to Broadway for a six-week engagement? A snowstorm, a newspaper strike and Lent! Whether the show lays an egg because of those handicaps, I have a window handy on the 28th floor of this hotel.” (Aide to Benny fans: don’t worry, the six-week engagement is sold out.)
“I didn’t get my asking price for this job, but Billy Rose said I could have his lemonade concession,” the insouciant comic grinned. “But I don’t know what my net will be until Mary Livingstone finishes her shopping . . . that is, IF she ever finishes.”
AFTER telling his startled captive audience that because people really believe he is a miser, he leans over backwards to tip generously, he said he bawls out his Tuesday night audiences.
“They should be home watching my TV show!”
On the nights off he’d like to see other shows, but the tickets cost too much. “I went off-Broadway . . . and say, there’s a dilly in Scranton this week!”
So what comes after the six-week run? “I thought of going to Florida but . . . Ponce de Leon couldn’t find what he wanted most, so why should I waste time?

It's Not Just the Jack That Keeps Benny Working
By HY GARDNER
NEW YORK — Jack Benny can make more people laugh hysterically with a famous take, a stare, a grimace or an inaudible grunt than most contemporaries can achieve with a polished script. It's gratifying to see him on television, but you must feel his warmth over the footlights of the Ziegfeld Theater to really appreciate his subtle wit and droll humor.
Why Jack, at this stage of the game, took on the grueling job of playing seven (or is it nine?) live shows a week for six weeks is something only he and Billy Rose, who inveigled him into the trap, can explain. Benny says the answer is a five-letter word, m-o-n-e-y.
But the man who built up the image of a tightwad isn't that money mad. As a matter of fact friends will tell you that whenever they have lunch or dinner with him he puts up a helluva fight to pick up the check. The fact that he never wins is irrelevant. It just goes to prove what a master of timing he is.
The truth is that Benny, like Chevalier, Sophie Tucker, Jimmy Durante, Joe E. Lewis and the other handful of great entertainers in their 60s or 70's, use work as therapy for staying young. Every performance gives them something to look forward to and less time to look backwards.
When they face an audience they're ageless, finer performers than they were a decade or two ago. Their's is a mutual lifelong romance with their audiences. It creates a chemistry that no youngster can concoct. The word for it is Charisma.
At the opening, Benny, in self-defense, said that Chevalier is even more money-mad than he is.

Benny on Broadway
Jack Benny is so wise to his following that the moment he steps out onto 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 revue could almost play the same trick on Benny. His big blue eyes still serve him as a topic of jest, along with his parsimony and the quirks of the stooge entourage he made famous on radio. Delivered with the familiar old 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 dims 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 singers who bully the ear drums beyond humane limits. But there is also a two-man juggling act called the Half Brothers whose skills skirt 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.

The Eyes of Don Williams

Even those of you who have trouble figuring out who animated what in the days of yore should have no trouble picking out the work of Don Williams once he was put into Art Davis’ unit at Warner Bros.

Williams developed a habit of stretching a character up, then dropping him down leaving a trail of multiple eyes.

We’ll talk a bit about Williams in just a moment. Let me give you some examples of what I’m talking about.

From Mouse Menace, released Nov. 2, 1946 (Porky’s head looks like Davis’, bald and jowly).



The Goofy Gophers, released January 25, 1947.



The Foxy Duckling, released August 23, 1947.



More Williams in just a moment. But first a brief look.

To the right you see Williams’ draft card from October 1940. It shows that Donald Harold Williams was born on April 21, 1906 in Rochester, Minnesota. But you’ll notice the name “Murphy” written in the side margin. That’s because his birth name was Donald Harold Murphy. His father James Murphy was a “laborer” when he was born, but soon opened a crockery shop with a Jonathan J. Miller. The City Directory for 1913 shows that Murphy and Miller had moved to North Battleford, Saskatchewan. It’s not clear when or where his parents divorced, but his mother Susie was living in Long Beach in 1919 when she married George A. Williams.

Don Williams worked as a clerk in 1925-26, then got a job as an usher in 1927. The 1928 City Directory refers to him as a “commercial artist” and in 1930, the Census reveals he’s working at a film studio. Presumably, it was Walter Lantz’s; he was a witness at Sid Sutherland’s wedding in 1931 and both worked for Lantz at the time. He was married the following year.

Williams told historian Mike Barrier of being approached in 1933 to jump to the brand-new Leon Schlesinger studio, and he did. His first screen credit were on Those Were Wonderful Days, released in April 1934. Williams moved over to Disney from August 1936 to February 1938.

The MGM Studio Club News mentions him in its edition of December 23, 1937—but in the art department, not in the cartoon department. His draft card puts him at Paul Fennell’s Cartoon Films in October 1940, but the MGM newsletter has him at the studio again and promoted to the production department in May 1941. He ended up back in animation, possibly because the studio was losing too many animators to the draft, and he’s credited on two sorts, Wild Honey, released Nov. 7, 1942 and The Stork’s Holiday, released Oct. 23, 1943 (Metro had not begun crediting animators on every cartoon yet).

We then find him at Columbia, where he got an animation screen credit for The Playful Pest, released December 3, 1943. By then, he had been working at Walter Lantz again for almost a month. His last credit there was on Woody Dines Out, released May 14, 1945; he used the cascading eyes effect when he was there.

A Warner Club News montage photo puts him at Warners no later than April 1945; Davis became a director a month later. The Club News says little about him, other than he was thrown by his pet horse once and dropped 20 pounds before fall of 1947.Williams’ first screen credit came in Hollywood Canine Canteen, released April 20, 1946. He lasted until the dismantling of the Davis unit by the start of 1948 and was let go.

How he made a living during the ‘50s is unclear. He did some work for the Kling studios, as his name appears on the industrial short The Butcher, the Baker, the Ice Cream Maker. He did have exhibits of his watercolours at a number of galleries around Los Angeles. The Hanna-Barbera studio threw him some work in 1959 on its two syndicated shows, Huckleberry Hound and Quick Draw McGraw. His name surfaces on the Q.T. Hush series in 1960. When DePatie-Freleng formed in May 1963, Williams was among the first animators hired and he remained with the studio until his death on June 17, 1980. He was 74.

There’s great animation and dialogue in What Makes Daffy Duck, released February 14, 1948. Bill Melendez gives Daffy a pile of expressions as he sways his head during dialogue. And here’s Williams.



Dough-Ray Me-ow, August 14, 1948.



And, finally, The Pest That Came to Dinner, released September 11, 1948. Notice the last two consecutive frame. Dry bush is added to mimic movement. The only thing moving is Sureshot's mouth.



Davis had an excellent unit, but I gather he was more comfortable animating than directing. On top of that, he had to deal with studio politics. He only got to direct Bugs Bunny once. He got two rookie writers (who went on to better things) after George Hill was fired over a drunken escapade and never seemed to mesh with them. Williams was no stranger to alcohol and it seems to have waylaid his career for a bit. Still, he survived in the business and turned out entertaining animation. And quirky eye streams as well.