Songbird of the Ozarks

Fans of Tex Avery’s wonderful cartoon Little Rural Riding Hood (1949) may not realise the title character owes an awful lot to a radio star. She appeared on stage barefoot and in pig-tails, and was probably the most famous backwoods woman character on the air, even more so than Minnie Pearl of the Grand Ol’ Opry.

She was Judy Canova.

Canova, her brother Zeke and sister Annie had a singing act that took them from the far South (she was from Florida) to Broadway. But it seems Judy was the one who was in demand and fairly soon, she was on radio and starring in movies for Republic Pictures. She got her own network radio show, a summer replacement on CBS in 1943. She signed up some of the best supporting radio actors in Hollywood. Mel Blanc did both his Sylvester and Speedy Gonzales voices on her show before either character was in cartoons. Verna Felton and Joe Kearns were regulars, along with Ruby Dandridge playing (are you shocked about this?) a maid. Hans Conried and Sheldon Leonard appeared as well.

The Canova variety show didn’t make the jump to television and it died on radio in 1953 when sponsor money abandoned it for the small screen.

Blanc praised Canova’s talents in his autobiography, but unless you liked yokel humour, her show probably wasn’t for you. Critic John Crosby wasn’t impressed, and he outlined his reasons in his column of September 9, 1946. He didn’t have a lot to say, so he finished off his column with a review of Walter Winchell’s return to the airwaves.

RADIO IN REVIEW
Recipe for Genius Missed
By JOHN CROSBY
NEW YORK, Sept. 9.—Genius, said Thomas Alva Edison in a careless moment, is one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration. This questionable aphorism has, I'm sure, been studied closely by Miss Judy Canova, whose variety show returned to the air a couple of Saturdays ago. (N.B.C., 10 p.m. Saturdays.) Miss Canova is one of a large group of lady funny-faces whose ideas on comedy are as fixed and changeless as the movement of the stars. She brays, she whinnies, she paws the ground. After every program, I’m sure she’s wringing wet with genius. She just doesn't make me laugh, is all.
The trouble, I think, is that Miss Canova has not scrupulously observed the Edison formula. The inventor's recipe for genius is already too strong for my taste. Too much gin, not enough vermouth. Yet even he conceded you must have some vermouth. Miss Canova's comedy is 100 per cent perspiration, which ruins the flavor. Straight gin, Miss Canova, doesn't stimulate; it paralyzes.
I have the same complaint about Miss Canova's gag writers: Straight perspiration.
“Did I miss you?" says Canova's boy friend at one point. "Why, if you leave me again, I’ll throw my heart at your feet."
"Shucks, wouldn't that leave a big hole in your chest?"
That gag, I should say, came at the end of the afternoon, the end of a strenuous day. Too many cigarettes, too much coffee, went into it. It needs fresh air, a simple diet and complete rest. But then I’m an amateur at the business. Let's call in Dr. Red Skelton, a very great scientist in this line. I have a handful of Miss Canova's jokes, carefully preserved in formaldehyde. I wish you'd make an examination, doctor, and tell me what's wrong. Take this one, for instance.
"Judy, your kisses sure send me."
"Shucks, some people don't care how they travel."
And here's an even more difficult case:
"Pedro, why do you wear a red necktie on the beach?"
"That was no red necktie. I was chasing my girl up the beach and my tongue was hanging out."
Any hope for that one, doctor? Too old, eh? That's what I thought. Overwork and too little exercise. Well, do your best doctor. If you think it'll do any good, call in Eddie Cantor. If anyone can patch up a joke to last out one more season, it's Cantor. Expense is no object.
* * *
Walter Winchell has returned from his vacation and, along with about 20,000,000 other Americans, I hung on every word of his first broadcast (A.B.C., 9 p.m. Sundays) to hear what the oracle had learned on his vacation; what, if anything, I could expect from the world. "Give us the word, O soothsayer", we 20,000,000 were saying. "Is it to be peace or war?" Right in the middle of the broadcast it came—or at least I thought it came. Mr. Winchell talks too fast for me but I thought he said: "The next World War will break out before the end of 1946."
Well, I thought grimly, here it is. Now take it easy, Crosby, Let's be practical. First thing in the morning, call the tailor and cancel that suit; I’ll not need it. The apartment? Well, the GI Bill will take care of the lease, but what about the furniture? It'll work itself out somehow; it did the last time.
Perhaps I'd better call the network and confirm it first; perhaps he even said what DAY it would break out. It would be much easier to make plans if I knew the day, or even the month.
Well, I called the American Broadcasting Company and I feel a little silly. Mr. Winchell's exact words—and I quote—were: "General de Gaulle's off the-record opinion—off-the-record to others, not to Winchell—is that the next world war will break out before the end of 1946." Sit back and relax, everyone. It wasn't Winchell who predicted it; it was—only De Gaulle.

As for the columns for the rest of the week, we’ve already transcribed the one from Sept. 11 where Crosby gives a mixed review to one of his favourite satirists, Henry Morgan. On Sept. 10th, he looked at Mutual programme about war starring The Unknown Soldier. On the 12th, it was Theatre Guild of the Air’s version of the play that later became the movie “Gaslight.” On the 13th, it was a programme on the bombing of Hiroshima and a different way of approaching the story. Click to enlarge.

Rabbit Every Monday Background

A not-too-well snipped together background of the opening pan from Rabbit Every Monday (1951). The rotisserie, etc., are on cels over top of the background.



This is the work of Paul Julian.

Snatching a T-Bone

Tex Avery fills Crazy Mixed Up Pup with dog-acting-like-man and man-acting-like-dog gags. Here’s one. Expressions and reactions to expressions.



Now the turnaround.



The routine ends with one of those running gags of the flags and cuckoo birds springing out of the man’s head (Avery uses it over the end title card as well).

Don Patterson, La Verne Harding and Ray Abrams get animation credits.

Political Puns and Dollars

A couple of short newspaper pieces about Jack Benny from 1961.

Jack was known for getting stars on his show who didn’t do television—Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, Gregory Peck—and he apparently got stars to say things they normally wouldn’t. This is from April 17th.

By CYNTHIA LOWRY
NEW YORK (AP) — Jack Benny is such an institution of broadcasting that his show doesn't often cause much comment. Chuckling appreciatively at Jack's age; miserliness and vanity has become a sort of weekly American habit.
But Sunday night, news was made on the Jack Benny Show: Peter Lawford, who has made such a big thing of banning all television references to his relatives in the White House, broke the silence himself.
It wasn't much of a break, to be sure, and it was dragged in by the heels, but the dam has now burst.
Jack, Peter and Diana Dors were involved in an English drawing room triangle (Jack, in a curly wig, was the lover; Peter, the husband).
"Derek," said Jack to Peter, "you are very democratic."
"Yes, Cecil," replied Peter, "it runs in the family."
The laughter was loud and appreciative as Peter mugged a bit

At the time, Lawford was the president’s brother-in-law.

This one has to do with an offer from Benny. It was easy to mine publicity out of this one. The story appeared October 7th.

Is Jack Benny Slipping?—He Gives Away Money
WAUKEGAN, Ill. (AP)—Comedian Jack Benny loosened the grip on his billfold and the stork was quick to take advantage.
In a rash moment Benny announced he would open a $39 bank account for every child born Thursday in Waukegan, his home town, and 13 mothers delivered 13 takers. Births in Waukegan have been averaging four a day, but the redoubtable miser of radio-TV fame apparently picked the wrong day to step out of character.
"I'm getting worried. This is costing me money," said Benny when informed of the mounting births late Thursday night. He retired before the final count was announced.
In keeping with his favorite age—39—the $39 is to be left in trust for 39 years. Illinois banks compound interest semi-annually and at 3 per cent each of the 39-year-olds will collect $124.57 in 2000 A. D.
Benny was in Waukegan to tape a television show in a new junior high school named in his honor.
Just before taping the television show which will be presented over the Columbia Broadcasting System network on Oct. 22, Benny said he had received a telegram from fellow comedian George Burns.
"Glad to hear this," wired Bums on learning of the school named for Benny. "I suggest you attend school for at least three years—it will do you a lot of good."

Fall of 1961 for Benny was busy. His own show returned to the air (taped in New York with guest star Phil Silvers), he appeared on “Carnegie Hall Salutes Jack Benny,” he co-chaired a Friars event honouring Mervyn LeRoy, appeared in clip form on NBC’s “DuPont Show of the Week” looking an comedy (even though he was now on CBS) and another programme honouring the USO, dedicated the junior high school named for him in Waukegan, performed a benefit for the Bloomington-Normal Symphony, headed across the Atlantic with George Burns to do a show before the Queen Mum at London’s Palladium, and, well, you get the idea.

Jack Benny wasn’t slipping. But he might have been tired.

The Dragon Slayer

The industrial cartoons from John Sutherland Productions were never nominated for Oscars, even though some appeared in theatres. Perhaps Academy rules stated that only entertainment cartoons were eligible.

Yet the Sutherland shorts did win honours at various festivals. An example is The Dragon Slayer, a short designed by Du Pont to explain its security plan to company employees. It was honoured at the tenth Edinburgh Festival in 1956.

Only a handful of Sutherland’s output is on-line for viewing. I imagine reels of these industrial films are turning to vinegar somewhere in storage. This cartoon doesn’t appear to be on-line. The humans look similar to ones in other Sutherland cartoons around this time, such as It's Everybody's Business (1954)

Business Screen magazine of March 1956 ran a profile of the cartoon with some frames from it.



Showing Workers Facts on Security
E. I. du Pont de Nemours Sponsors "The Dragon Slayer" to Show Range of Employee Benefits in Palatable, Entertaining Picture
Sponsor: E. I. du Pont de Nemours & Co.
Title: The Dragon Slayer, 19 min, color, produced by John Sutherland Productions, Inc.

■ Du Pont's new film on the company s industrial relations plans is a fascinating allegory based on the security available to all employees through the nine various plans for disability wages, accident and health insurance, hospital-surgical coverage contributory and non-contributory group life insurance, payroll allotment insurance, vacation, pension and thrift.
Sir Evans, a knight of old, goes forth to battle the menacing dragons. Only through the protection of armor made for him by his trusty squire, D.I.R.P. can he slay the dragons without being singed by their fiery blasts.
But knights in legends aren't the only ones to fear dragons. Most of us, like Ed Blevins, hero of this tale, have the modern-day dragons of insecurity to reckon with. But Ed, like Sir Evans, also has the protection of D.I.R.P., in this case the Du Pont Industrial Relations Plans, which are outstanding examples of how a company helps its employees help themselves.
The Dragon Slayer is an animated cartoon in Technicolor. It succeeds in telling the D.I.R.P. story, and at the same time provides a good deal of entertainment. Particularly attractive are scenes in which the backgrounds are painted on tapestry material, a fine setting for dragon slaying.
Du Pont will show the film to all employees and their families.

The British Film Institute site states that Bill Melendez directed the short with Marvin Miller providing narration. I don’t recollect who the other artists were at Sutherland then. Maurice Noble might still have been doing layouts. I can’t help but wonder if “Sir Evans” is named for Osmond Evans, an animator with Melendez at UPA.

If a dub of this short is hidden away on the internet, please let me know as I’d really like to see it.

You Know What's Going to Happen Here

“And over here we have Hot Foot Hogan the Firewalker,” barks the circus barker in Tex Avery’s Circus Today (1940). “This miracle-of-the-age man has defied science with his amazing exhibition of walking over red-hot coals with his bare feet, folks.”

Avery’s already telegraphed the gag.



“Hogan” refers to writer Rich Hogan, who left Warners to work with Avery at MGM in 1941. The writer of this cartoon (at least in the revolving credits) is Jack Miller. Sid Sutherland’s the credited animator on non-Blue Ribbon versions. Virgil Ross and Rod Scribner were also animating in the unit, and I believe Bob and Chuck McKimson were with Avery as well.

Cake Landing

We all know what’s going to happen in Bosko’s Party (1932). We see footage of Bosko and a cake.



Cut to Wilbur stuck. There’s no reason for the cat to be hanging like that except for one purpose. You can see the gag coming.



Bosko blows out the one lit birthday candle (though it's Honey's birthday). That’s all, folks!

Friz Freleng and Larry Martin are the credited animators in this Warners release. Bosko resists the temptation to do his slide step dance.

Serious Soupy

Other than they talked to the same age group, there wasn’t a lot in common between Captain Kangaroo and Soupy Sales.

The Captain was very low key. Soupy was energetic. The Captain was full of common sense. Soupy was silly.

Yet Soupy had a serious side, too, that he chose to express off the air. Here’s a story from September 29, 1962 about how Milton Supeman tried to help teenagers.

The Serious Side of Soupy Sales
By BOB THOMAS
AP Movie-Television Writer
HOLLYWOOD (AP)—It's tough on new comedians to discover that the established comics have taken up most of the known diseases for their pet projects.
The rules of show biz are such that a funnyman must also have his serious side—as spearhead for some worthy cause. Soupy Sales realized this as he started pushing into the television bigtime as slapstick favorite of the younger crowd.
He chose as his particular cause that disease afflicting thousands of teen-agers—drop out.
The youngster who drops out of high school and goes no further with his education has been getting attention from many civic-minded persons, up to and including President Kennedy. They reason that the drop out is a waste of the nation's resources. Further, education is increasingly important in today’s world, in which automation is replacing work done by unskilled labor.
"I had been doing charity work, but it wasn't being directed toward anything," said Soupy. "Jerry Lewis has muscular dystrophy and the other comedians have their own causes. I thought since I had worked with kids, I should find something that affected them.
"Combating the drop out is just as important as fighting any dreaded disease. This is a kind of disease that can blight lives, yet it can be cured by the people themselves, if given enough love, understanding and guidance."
Soupy has gone all out with special television and radio spot announcements to coincide with the return to school. He also carries on the campaign with his daily television show in Los Angeles. The local station, KABC, has put together a 25-minute short called "Drop Out Blackouts."
Last week the film was presented to Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare Anthony J. Celebrezze for use in the nation's schools. I saw the film and it is an effective piece of salesmanship, getting to the teen-agers with Soupy's unique brand of humor.
“Don’t be a drop out,” warns Soupy, and a body plunges off a high roof.
The comedian revealed he almost dropped out of high school as a lad. "I figured I was going into show business," he said. "You don't need a diploma to tell jokes, I thought.
"But I changed my mind and even graduated from Marshall College in Huntington, W. Va., getting my degree in journalism. I'm glad I did. Now I write all my own material."
Parents might find this a poor argument for his campaign, but at least the teenagers are on his side.

1962 was an interesting year for Soupy. He, rather improbably, was picked as a guest host for the Tonight show. NBC was using fill-ins of all kinds, awaiting Johnny Carson’s contract on another network to expire so he could permanently take over.

Perhaps the most sour critic in America, Harriet Van Horne, disapproved. Mind you, she seemed to disapprove of almost everything, judging by some of her other columns we’re transcribed here. This one is dated June 6, 1962. She has a low opinion of everyone who filled in for Paar, and Paar himself.

Tonight Show in Soup
Substitute MCs Keep Program In Embarrassed Suspension
By HARRIET VAN HORNE
Scripps-Howard Staff Writer
NEW YORK, June 6—Until Johnny Carson—a pro—assumes command of the Tonight show on Oct. 8, NBC is flinging substitute M.C.'s onto the screen as if they were dummy hands at bridge. From a viewer's vantage, a malign hand would seem to be dealing—and from a rather soiled and tattered old deck.
In consequence, the Tonight show is now in a state of what might be termed embarrassed suspension but live and in color.
This week the master of the revels is one Soupy Sales. I've seen Mr. Sales' name in the daytime TV log a thousand times. But until recently, I was under the impression that Soupy Sales was an animated cartoon.
Well, having viewed the Tonight show I can now report that Soupy Sales is not a cartoon, though his animation is such that it nearly qualifies him for the rank. An anxious man with blurred diction and the arrogance that probably hides a sinking heart, Mr. Sales has made a notable success of his kiddie shows. In his own field, I am advised, he is superbly at ease, with a golden arm for pie-throwing.
In truth, Soupy, if I may be so familiar, made his name and fame hurling pies. It was taken for granted that he would open his week's run on Monday by tossing an open-faced custard at some poor stooge standing there (at union minimum) braced for impact.
Ah but Soupy staged a stunning surprise. He resisted the obvious and hurled a man into an enormous pie. Versatile you might say. A man who refuses to be a dupe to his art.
To give you a full account of all that transpired on the Soupy show last night would tax your credulity. I still can't believe it myself.
First, we had Marie Wilson. While her host was busy grimacing and offering footnotes of total irrelevance, Miss Wilson told us some backstage stories. How she once borrowed Zsa Zsa's wig in Las Vegas—a lovely Blue wig—how she usually dresses for a show (a low cut bathing suit turned frontwards) and so on. For whatever it means to her, Miss Wilson had our sympathy.
Not so Gene Shepard, the disk jockey, idol of the "night people," a man of raw and un-concocted conclusions. Mr. Shepard offered what I can only describe as a skull solo. He thumped his head with his knuckles while the band played "The Sheik of Araby." Bowing modestly to the studio applause, Mr. Shepard volunteered that he keeps his head in condition by soaking it in ointment. I believe you, Mr. Shepard.
I expect there was a great deal more of this sophisticated entertainment but my little screen suddenly went dark—by arrangement.
It strikes me that all the substitutes seen so far on the Tonight show have one quality in common with Jack Paar. That is, a note of privileged vulgarity runs through every sentence. There's also a tendency toward petulance, the egomania that's almost out of bounds. Perhaps it's something the Paar "personal," as they say, left in the studio air.
While I've not watched every new face on the Tonight show, it would seem that the M. C. viewers found most at ease was Merv Griffin. A number of viewers have said so in their letters. I must beg to disagree.
Mr. Griffin is a man of over-weaning courtesy, and as such a pleasant change from some of the others. But he's a graceless, non-listening interviewer, the sort who smiles cheerily as he interrupts a good story with a senseless question.
Mr. Griffin has another habit I find annoying. He tells brittle show business stories, the sort of stories that must be told with a theatrical air, and gets them all wrong. Also, he relates these glittery yarns in the tone of a man putting a child to sleep with a bedtime story.

Soupy talked to adults later in his career when he appeared as a panelist in the ‘70s syndicated version of What’s My Line?. The show shed its Park Avenue atmosphere of the ‘50s and ‘60s and became a little more down-to-earth. Arlene Francis was still charming and got off some clever humour. Anita Gillette was bright and friendly. And Soupy, well, couldn’t help being “on” some of the time, but at the same time he made fun of himself, especially if one of his jokes didn’t go over. It was a really good mixture.

Arrogant? Hardly. Sinking heart? Give me a break. Soupy Sales was a guy who liked a little innocent, and perhaps corny, fun. There was more to him than tossing a pie or two. I guess he had that in common with the Captain, too.

Headless Horse

I don’t know what the fascination was with wooden horses in cartoons of the late ‘20s and early ‘30s, but I think every studio had them. I mean, just draw a regular horse.

A wooden horse enters into the picture in the Van Beuren short Hot Tamale (1930). As you can expect from Van Beuren, the cartoon is twisted.

A mouse and a cat vie for the attentions of a Latina mouse. Why cartoons have cats that want to date mice is confusing at best, but back to our story. Milton the mouse gets away on his wooden horse. But to slow down the cat’s wooden horse, he unscrews its head and shoves rocks inside the body, then put the head back on.

The rocks weigh down the horse so it can’t chase after Milton and the girl on their horse. Finally, it gets moving only for the cat, after yelling with no noise coming out of its mouth, flips off the wooden animal. The horse’s head comes off. We gets spinning eyes that change shape.



The cat registers shock.



He kicks the horse’s body, which gallops into the distance. Meanwhile, he rises up into his sombrero, which twirls around. What?!



But the horse’s head is alive! And it bites him and hangs on. The two of them twirl around.



John Foster and Harry Bailey get the “by” credit and Gene Rodemich supplies the score.

Fudd Take

Huge eye takes were almost a thing of the past in the 1950s, and they’re something that Bob McKimson eschewed as his unit’s animation became more and more watered down.

But here’s a take in Design For Leaving, a 1954 release with his pre-shut down animators. Anticipation and then the take. Not big, but big for McKimson about then.



And can someone explain something? Why did McKimson love putting eyelids on eyelids? They're in his cartoons before and after the 1953 shutdown, so it wasn’t the trait of one animator.



Chuck McKimson, Phil De Lara, Herman Cohen and Rod Scribner are the animators using layouts by Bob Givens.