America's Pinocchio

It was called The Chase and Sanborn Hour, but nobody except maybe some agency people and the sponsor called it that. To everyone else, it was “The Charlie McCarthy Show.” Not “The Edgar Bergen Show,” even though he created Charlie and provided his voice and personality.

What’s odd isn’t the fact “there was ventriloquism on the radio.” What’s odd is everyone knew McCarthy was a dummy—there were even references and jokes on the show to his being wood—but people were quite willing to treat him as if he were real and separate and apart from Bergen.

And accept him they did in large numbers. It seems the show was in the top five for years and years. The debut show for the 1946-47 season was a mere half-point behind the first place Mr. District Attorney.

Herald Tribune syndicate critic John Crosby was a fan—he didn’t think much of Mortimer Snerd, who was outrageously dopey enough to get laughs—and had a short review, along with some gripes about his holiday on Fire Island. It’s a tough life, Mr. Crosby. The column appeared September 6, 1946.

McCarthy Is in Season Again
The flame trees are turning scarlet on Fire Island, the Atlantic feels like shaved ice, and the smell of wood smoke is in the air again. Last Sunday night, like the smell of burning leaves, came another small but mistakable sign that autumn is almost here.
“Why are you late?” inquired Edgar Bergen of the small razor-tongued hedonist whose voice is familiar to about 70,000,000 Americans.
“Because I didn’t get here on time,” said Charlie, who hasn’t changed a bit.
“Why didn’t you get here on time?”
“Because I was late.—You want to go around again?”
* * *
Lordy, lordy, I said to myself. I’ve been treading water all summer long and at last land is in sight. The McCarthy show was the first smart comedy program I’ve heard in what seems like forever. If I get a little hysterical, ignore it: I’m over-wrought. In fact, I’m fed up with summer, let’s face it. I’m tired of wet bathing suits and sand in my hair and Flynn’s bar and grill. I’d like a martini, very dry, at the St. Regis and I want to wear shoes again, the leather kind, and I wish Fred Allen were back.
* * *
Charlie was in rare form. He’d intended, he said, to pass the summer improving his mind but passed most of it improving his technique. And his technique, one of the most subtle and sure-footed in radio, is as sharp as ever.
After considerable meditation, Charlie tells Bergen he plans to quit radio.
“You don’t know what you're saying,” says Bergen.
"Oh, yes I do. I read your lips."
Bergen points out that quitting radio is a serious step but Charlie is adamant. "I decided I'm getting no place and you're helping me."
"But Charlie . . ."
"No no no no no no. I say no and that's final. I'm using my veto power. I’m walking."
“But you mean so much to everyone.”
“Especially you. You get your pound of flesh for 75 cents.”
"But if you left radio, what would you do? Remember, Charlie, Satan has work for idle hands."
"Yeah? What does he pay?"
I've heard better dialogue but one thing every McCarthy show has is a distinctive McCarthy flavor. Charlie is a rounded, fully developed character with more flesh and blood than a dozen Abbott and Costellos. Over the years, Bergen has endowed this small self-possessed cynic with a heart and a soul as well as a highly articulate set of vocal chords. Charlie is America's Pinocchio.
* * *
I’ve never been a Mortimer Snerd man. Snerd, it seems to me, is one joke, endlessly repeated. But, in my new benign end-of-Summer mood, I even felt a faint warmth toward this slack-jawed imbecile who is only barely conscious he is alive. Mortimer, in case you hadn't heard, spent the summer in school. It came as a great shock to him to discover that school has been out all summer, though, he said, he'd become a little suspicious when he won all the games at recess.
Guest star on the McCarthy program last Sunday was Jimmy Stewart, who proved again that movie stars, particularly one who has been in the Army for five years, shouldn't get mixed up with the experts in front of a microphone. Mr. Stewart, bless his shy, wide-eyed American soul, was just plain awful and, if he didn't have such a fine war record, I'd tell him so.

Bergen’s show was, as best as I can determine, the last hour-long variety show on network radio (though five minutes was shaved off for news on both ends). CBS carried him on Sunday nights at 7 until July 1, 1956 and then replaced him with Mitch Miller.

The McCarthy show never made the transition to television but another show Crosby reviewed in the same week did. Ethel and Albert was a 15-minute show with low-key humour involving a husband and a wife; it became a half-hour in the late ‘40s. Alan Bunce and Peg Lynch played the roles on radio, then TV, until six days after Bergen left radio. Crosby seems taken with the show in the September 3rd column. He discusses DuPont’s Calvacade of America on the 2nd, Allen Prescott’s audience participation show on the 4th and has a funny story on the 5th about a game show contestant who firmly denied her answer was wrong—and she was right. Good for her. Click on any of the stories to enlarge them.

Just Who Is In That Egg?

Here’s where fanboys get whipped up into a frenzy.

In the Friz Freleng short Curtain Razor (1949), a hen auditions for talent scout Porky Pig, and lays an egg. Really.



The chicken takes her egg and rather snootily walks away. Porky takes care of her through a trap door.



But wait a minute! Looks who’s in the egg!



It looks like Tweety. But Tweety isn’t a chicken.

So is it really Tweety? It is the Freleng unit just reusing a character design? Or is it Tweety playing the role of a chicken?

It doesn’t make much difference, but some fans get all anxious about this kind of thing.

Gerry Chiniquy isn’t credited among the animators in this cartoon, for some reason. Manny Perez, Ken Champin, Virgil Ross and Pete Burness are.

Firey Sandwich

A smouldering cigarette creates a cute little flame that starts cheerily destroying everything in the forest in Red Hot Rangers.

He makes a sandwich out of a leaf and a pinecone in between “No Smoking” and “Help Prevent Fires” signs.



Soon, George and Junior will be on the scene and Junior will screw up everything, though the little flame dies in the end.

Ray Abrams, Preston Blair, Ed Love and Walt Clinton are Tex Avery’s animators in this cartoon. Irv Spence drew the character models for this short in February 1945 but it wasn’t released until May 3, 1947.

Leftover Aspirin Available

Some stars know the value of good publicity. That means being organised and not being a jerk.

A lot goes on behind the scenes to make a publicity tour a success. A good example can be found in an interesting story in the January 30, 1950 edition of Broadcasting magazine.

Jack Benny was appearing in Houston at a charity football game on December 17th staged by Glenn McCarthy, oilman and owner of the Shamrock Hotel. He was on CBS radio at the time and the local affiliate wanted to take advantage of the visit. It involved an awful lot of coordination. In fact, an advance party of Benny people showed up two days beforehand to work out the logistics.

Because Jack was not one to lord over everyone—nor tolerate it in his staff, it would seem—things went off incredibly well, culminating in a special broadcast for CBS stations in Texas that could clear the air time.

Something the story doesn’t mention is that writer John Tackaberry was a Texan and that’s likely why he was picked to be part of the entourage. And also along for the trip was Phil’s guitarist Frank Remley.

WHEN MR. STAR Comes to Town
By MONTE KLEBAN
EXECUTIVE STAFF, KTRH HOUSTON
WHEN an affiliate station executive is notified that a network star is coming to his town, his first thought is to double the supply of aspirin in his desk drawer. Too often, Mr. Big Name turns out to be Mr. Little Man, bringing with him assorted cases of jitters, recriminations and other troubles.
So, when the perfect guest-star comes to your city he deserves not only a tribute, but for the good of the industry, his methods of operation should be explained to other travelling celebrities.
Jack Benny and his first-team were in Houston, to entertain at the Charity Bowl football game, Dec. 17. Although my years of hinterland-radio have brought me into contact with most of the network big names, I had never worked a show with the laugh-master before. When I learned he was coming I doubled my aspirin supply.
Anybody want to buy some aspirin cheap? My supply is still intact.
Let's take a look at the visit, from its inception, and point out the results of the expert handling of his appearance. First, an affiliate is usually notified by his network stations relations that such and such a star will be in his city on such and such a date and will the affiliate please contact him upon arrival. This, of course, gives the station-executive no time to plan anything until he has consulted with the Great Man, after his arrival.
In the case of Jack Benny's appearance in Houston to take part in the charity show, this first station hardship was adequately avoided. Several weeks before his arrival I received a letter from Irving Fein, promotion manager of Amusement Enterprises, Mr. Benny's holding company. Irving invited suggestions as to what we would like to do with and for Jack Benny, to promote attendance at his appearance and to help promote his regular Sunday night programs, while he was in our city.
We were able to rig two local broadcasts by letter in advance, giving us time to allocate our engineering and announcing personnel, to publicize the coming broadcasts and to start our actual planning.
Point number one: Of the dozens of stars whose public-appearance I have handled, this was the first time anyone with savvy and authority took the trouble to set-up firm dates for local broadcasts in advance. In practically all the other cases, they had been last-minute, catch-as-catch-can, mumbly, trite interviews. Point number two: Irving Fein arrived in Houston two days before Jack Benny and his troupe. We got together immediately and were able to crystallize our planning and to release more and better news stories and pictures to build up the appearances and our own planned programs. Sitting in Mr. Fein's hotel room, calmly setting up the schedule, I remembered too well the other stars, the last minute hectic arrangements, the program log changes, the lack of advance notice, the engineering failures because of lack of time for lines and facilities, the nerve-wracking rush and bustle.
Point number three: No network star can be expected to remember the call letters of every affiliate in every city. Very often, in the past, stars from our network have come to town and have done shows on other stations under the delusion that they were building ratings on their own network station. In this case, Mr. Benny and his people were told to look for our special-events man, Lee Fallon, who was at the station at dawn to meet them, along with mike-men from other stations in town. Result, we got a fine beat interview on their arrival.
Point number four: The travelling team itself usually has at least one officious, bossy individual who tells you what, where, when and how Mr. Big will be seen and interviewed. There were none of these in the Benny entourage.
First, Jack Benny himself is one of the few really important radio people who is calm, affable, friendly and a reliable ad lib artist. Then with him, Phil Harris who, in spite of his standing, seems as appreciative as a puppy for any attention paid him. Mr. Harris is, as an old shoe, easy to work with as Jack Benny himself and gives you a show every time he hits the mike and the same goes for Artie Auerbach, Benny's Mr. Kitzel.
Pleasing Cooperation
John Tackeberry, the writer who came along with Mr. Benny, could have proven the weak-point from our experience with other stars who brought writers along. Instead, he worked with us as smoothly and easily as though he were a writer on our own staff, turning out material for our local shows as good as any Sunday night's show script.
Then, Hilliard Marks, producer of the Jack Benny show. Here, too, we were wary. We had had producers come down on us like trip-hammers, trying to do everything but tell us how to tie our shoe laces. Not so Mr. Marks. With quiet, unobtrusive control he handled himself and cast, including some of our own people, with absolute efficiency.
And so with the rest of the Benny party. The point here is, of course, that too many visiting stars bring hectic Hollywood characters with them, who manage to antagonize everyone on the affiliate-station staff, create utter confusion and wreck what might have been a good-will tour.
Point number five: Because of the ease with which everything was working, we were able to expand our plans. Instead of a local show we cleared time on other CBS stations in Texas for a nighttime half hour show. We were able to give them the booking in time for publicizing in their own cities. Score another point on the Hooper-upping card. We were able to arrange a cocktail party and dinner, from which the broadcast originated, inviting the city's V. I. P. top-layer. Through this, we secured still wider publicity and build up.
Point number six: Jack Benny, John Tackeberry, Hilliard Marks, Phil Harris, Artie Auerbach and the entire cast of our now-regional show, put as much time and effort into the writing, rehearsing and producing of the program as though it were a TC origination. When the show hit the air, it was network calibre, the kind of program the several million listeners in Texas expect to hear from a man named Benny. This is probably the most important point of all.
Most of the stars who come our way should have stayed home in the first place, as far as helping themselves, their shows and their sponsors are concerned. Nothing will lose ratings faster for a performer than to hit a town and disappoint the local and regional listeners with a careless, loose, dull show. I have seen Hoopers fall after appearances by stars in. local markets. Jack Benny is due for a rise in Texas.
Point number seven: Too few stars realize that the affiliate station which carries their program is composed of people. If these people are well-disposed toward them, their programs surely have a better chance than if they aren't. The Benny troupe made friends of every one on the staff. I have seen other stars convert former friends into detractors. Even though we are local radio people, we are human and have our weaknesses.
In a Nutshell
Here, then, is the net result of the Benny visit to Houston from the affiliate-station personnel standpoint. Our promotion people, when they allocate spot announcements, newspaper ads and stories promoting our shows, will hit the Benny show more often than they did. Our commercial and public-service departments will somehow find ways to keep demands for time by politics and other events away from the Benny show time.
(I know of one specific case where a so-called star appeared in a city where he antagonized the staff of a station. It was odd, during the next political campaign, how many candidates demanded and got the time at which that star's show should have been broadcast. He never recovered his ratings in that market.)
Our engineers will remember the pats on the back, instead of the usual carping and complaining and will ride the show, each week, more carefully than any other on the schedule. Our merchandising man will go a little further helping to sell Benny's sponsor's products in our market. And so on down the line.
Finally, comes the question: Is it wise for network stars to make appearances in local markets? As a gray-beard of local radio who has handled these people and seen the tangible results over a period of years I'd say that the best insurance a radio-star can have for lasting popularity and high ratings is to get out and around the country, especially for charity purposes as Jack Benny does. The top names, Hope, Crosby, Benny, seem always on the move. They go where the people are, the people who are called for ratings and who buy the products they advertise.
For a concrete example of appearance-importance, look at the life span of the Dr. I. Q. show against the hundreds of other static quiz-hows which have come and gone. There is nothing a listener likes more than to have his star visit his town.
But, and this is a very big but, these appearances can do more harm than good if not handled properly. Everyone can't be a Jack Benny or a Phil Harris, with their charm, modesty and ability. But every network "name" can work carefully to make his appearance smooth and successful. Instead of taking in laundry to supplement his income, Jack Benny might well give a course of instruction to radio celebrities on how to get along with the public on tours.

The Buzz About the Bees

The Harman-Ising short Honeyland (1935) is an exercise in overkill. More cute characters than Disney! More colours than Disney! That seems to have been the attitude.

The problem is putting all those bees on the screen at the same time and umpteen colours in the palate have nothing to do with the story. They’re there to show off. If you strip down the film, it’s the same old thing Hugh and Rudy were doing in 1930: singing and dancing in the first half, the gang rescues the girl from the villain in the second.

I imagine Hugh, Rudy and Metro were now giddy with the fact that Disney’s exclusive hold on three-strip Technicolor was over (effective September 1, 1935) and any studio could now use it. So they did. MGM began printing cartoons with the “new Technicolor” at the start of the 1935-36 season; first The Old Plantation and then this cartoon.

Variety of May 29, 1935 does not give numbers for MGM, but talks about the other cartoon studios getting ready for the new season:

Leon Schlesinger will make 13 three-tint cartoons for Warners; Max Fleisher delivers six to Paramount; Disney's two groups call for total of 18; Charles Mintz expects to close negotiations for 13 three-color Screen Gems for Columbia, and Radio deal for 13 is virtually set.

“Radio” means Van Beuren, referring to the Rainbow Parade series. As Ub Iwerks’ ComiColor series was released via states rights through Pat Powers’ Celebrity Pictures, it is not mentioned.

Enough about the gaudy colours. As for the bees, there are hives full of the things in this cartoon, with big eyes and child-like proportions for extra “Awww” factor.

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The cartoon got pounded by critic W.J. Turner in the New Statesman and Nation, published in London. He especially took aim at Scott Bradley (who did not get screen credit for the short). Under “Music For the Films” in the April 13, 1940 issue, Turner sniffed:

I recently visited a cinema where a Technicolour [sic] film was shown called Honeyland in which the dramatis personae were bees. I thought the film hideous in colour (as are the majority of colour films from Disney onwards) and boringly vulgar in conception, the humour particularly being of the adult school-boy type. Nevertheless, it had the slick efficiency of most American films of this kind, an efficiency which is in itself sufficient to account for their popularity in the present degraded state of public state. What struck me most, however, was the badness of the music for a subject which to a composer of taste and some invention offered exceptional opportunities.

The article complains about the lack of original scores in movies of all types, and how music was heard at times when the action on the screen called for silence.

The faux Disney era carried on for a few more years but, slowly, other influences came into play. Variations on Warner Bros. phoney travelogues and heckling animal characters started appearing at other studios. Even at MGM, a pair of new directors named Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera realised you could have rich settings that were muted, not garish, and entertain audiences with characters expressing a variety of emotions within a logical narrative. Realistic colour became the means to an end, not the end itself.

Cartoon Familiarities

Time for a game! Put on a bunch of Harman-Ising cartoons from the early ‘30s.

● Take a drink every time a female character says “Yoo-hoo!”
● Take a drink every time a female character asks “Ain’t he cute?”
● Take a drink every time a male character does that slip-step dance.

I’ve never actually figured out the numbers, but I don’t think you’ll be able to walk after a while.

All three can be found in Moonlight for Two, the eleventh Merrie Melodies cartoon, released June 11, 1932.

Here’s Goopy Geer doing the stomp-in-place. Frames one and 11 are the same. Drawings one and six are held for two frames, the rest are on ones.



And the plant, shift and slide. We won't show the whole thing, just some key frames.



The title song was published in 1932 by Harms (as was The Queen Was In the Parlor, which also became a Merrie Melodie), with words by Irving Kahal and music by Joe Burke.

The credited animators are Friz Freleng and Larry Martin.

Backgrounds from UPA's Spring

Can anyone explain who was supposed to be entertained by the “Ham and Hattie” series from UPA?

In watching and listening to Spring (1957), I get the feeling it exists for little ones in cribs who can be diverted by the pretty colours and the calm, child-like song.

Hattie, her expression never changing, skips rope and rides her tricycle as other characters move with no in-betweens. Animator Fred Crippen doesn’t appear to have been overloaded with work on this short.

Something I do like are some backgrounds by Jules Engel and Erv Kaplan. Very attractive.



And here are the happy characters seen in this short. They don’t move. The camera pulls back and the cartoon is over.



Lew Keller, who went over to Jay Ward, is the director.