Bewitched Bunny Backgrounds

Here’s Phil DeGuard’s work in Bewitched Bunny, the first of the Witch Hazel cartoons released by Warner Bros. Even though there are characters in front of some of them, they’re worth studying to see what DeGuard put on the walls.



Maurice Noble draughted the layouts. The cartoon was released in 1954.

Mrs. Wilson

It took Jack Benny several tries before he found an announcer that would stick with him for years—Don Wilson. And it took Wilson several tries before he found a wife to share his life with.

She was Lois Corbet, who was acting on a number of radio series. One of them was Glamour Manor, starring Kenny Baker, where Wilson was the announcer. They were married in 1950. Lois appeared occasionally on Jack’s radio and TV shows as Wilson’s wife. When they retired to Palm Springs, they were on the air together.

Radio Life magazine profiled Lois in its edition of March 9, 1947. She and Donzie would have met by this point; Wilson and his third wife Marusia filed for divorce in mid-1949. Wilson is not mentioned in the article.

Corbet, Camille and Camillias
Lois Corbet's Hobbies Keep Her as Busy as Her Radio Work Does
By Joan Buchanan
Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 9:00 a.m.
ABC—KECA-KPRO-KFMB
LOIS CORBET seems as far removed from "Jane J. Corbet" as a person can be. Though Lois portrays the pugilistic "Aunt Jane" on "Glamour Manor," in real life she's an attractive lady with a sense of humor all her own.
"I've never been an ingenue, though," she averred when we exclaimed over the difference between her and her characterizations. "On both the stage and radio I started out doing characters and gradually got younger." Lois names as her favorite parts those she does on mystery programs. " I like the neurotic parts with lots of screaming and frenzy. Yes, they're wearing," she agreed, "but it's such a good workout." She also likes her comedy work as "Aunt Jane" and as "Mrs. Potts" on the Frank Morgan show.
"When I was a very little girl I wanted most of all to play the leading role in 'Girl of the Golden West,' " Lois laughed. "After I grew up I wanted to do 'Anna Christie' and 'Alice-Sit-by-the-Fire'—and I still do."
Raised on the California countryside Lois first decided through poring over the Victor Book of the Opera that she was going to be an opera star. Her father, a short story writer, had had stage ambitions, and her grandfather had managed an opera house in the middle west. Father suppressed his own stage ambitions, according to Lois, because he thought he wasn't tall enough to be a hero. Lois, however, inherited the ambition and at a very early age was a veteran theatergoer, busy hatching secret plans of her own.
"Whenever we came to Los Angeles I was taken to the theater and at five and six I was soaking up movies," she recalled. Her vocal ambitions were restricted to singing in church, but Lois admits that she used to practice trills a la Galli-Curci alone in her room. "One day I tripped in the middle of a trill," she sighed, "and decided to be an actress."
Memorizes Easily
She joined a stock company doing character parts and dramatic leads, sometimes learning as many as one hundred sides each week. "I couldn't do it now," she admits. Lois and the ingenue lead, being the youngsters of the company, learned each new part with ease and spent their spare time going out on dates with the local boys. The older members of the company, who had to work to do the memory. task each week, still have Lois's sympathy. "They were actors in the day before it was fashionable to be an actor and they worked hard all their lives," she said, reflecting on the comparatively easy life actors live now. (Although when Lois arises at six in the morning for "Glamour Manor" and extends her working day to include the Frank Morgan and Borge –Goodman shows at night, it still doesn't sound like a terribly easy life!)
"We played all the tank towns and every city in the state. Now, whenever I take a trip, I recognize theaters where I've played in every little jerkwater town we pass."
In Los Angeles and Long Beach she appeared with the Majestic and Morosco players. Introduced as a native Iowan, she received a mighty ovation from Long Beach audiences, neglecting to mention that she had left Mason City at the age of three Gayne Whitman, J. Ronald Wilson, Victor Rodman and Hanley Stafford were some of her fellow artists in these companies. Lois and Hanley had the big reunion last year when Lois appeared on the Fanny Brice show as "Mummy."
"My hobby," replied Lois in answer to a question, "is a French poodle, Camille. It started once when I was low and discouraged. My sense of humor was at a very low ebb. I happened to read one of Alexander Woollcott's stories about French poodles and their wonderful sense of humor. I got one and—well, I haven't had a dull moment since!" she exclaimed.
Smart, Indeed
Lois has owned as many as five French poodles at one time and while she claims that none of them has lived up to the reputation the breed has for intelligence, that their sense of humor is as unpredictable as advertised. Which is why Lois's other hobby, the raising of camellias, takes place in the front yard while Camille is ensconsed in the back. It seems that Camille was so impressed one day by Lois's dainty clipping of flowers that she carefully bit off all the blossoms in the yard and deposited them neatly on the badminton court.
Camille, according to Lois, dislikes people and loves other dogs, who, however, don't like her. "Her idea of a good time is to catch me climbing up the hill. She runs about one hundred feet ahead, turns, and charges straight down for me. I scream and beg her to stop, but she butts right into me and down we both go".
Lois said we could do her a favour by helping correct the mistaken ideas people have about her favorite breed of dog. "They're not sissies or lap dogs," she exclaimed, pointing out that people still think of them as the tiny white variety that was popular at one time. The large, or standard, size poodle is used as a work dog and hunter in Russia and Germany, and though their fancy haircuts may make them look sissy, they're not, according to canine fancier Corbet.
"By the way," we asked, "how are the camellias doing this season?"
"Well," sighed Lois, "in spite of the fact they're kept away from Camille—not too good."

The two left Hollywood for Palm Springs, where they had a TV show together until one of those “we’re going in a different direction” conversations with management. Lois died in January 1983, less than nine months after her husband.

Portis, Portis, Everywhere

Bing Crosby appeared in Paramount features for years. Bingo Crosbyana appeared in one Warner Bros. cartoon.

History doesn’t record whether the idea for the cartoon Bingo Crosbyana or its title song came first. The song was written by Irving Cahal and Sanford Green, and published by one of the Warners-owned music publishers. But it doesn’t appear to have been used anywhere but in this 1936 animated short. It seems odd to go the trouble of writing a Bing Crosby parody song just for a cartoon, but I can’t see Warners including something like that in a feature.

This cartoon is a gold-mine when it comes to Portis references. Portis, Kansas was the home town of writer Tubby Millar and someone in the background department liked sticking “Portis” on things in his backgrounds. You can see “Portis” in Porky's Pet, Porky in the North Woods, Porky's Road Race, Sniffles and the Bookworm, The Case of the Stuttering Pig and four times in this cartoon.



Other cartoons around this time had “Millar” in background art. Someone must have loved ol’ Tubby at the studio.

Is it true a lawsuit resulted from the cartoon? Yes. Well, presuming it was filed. The Hollywood Reporter told readers in a front-page story on August 5, 1936:

A potential blow to cartoon producers who caricature stars is seen in the legal threat by Paramount and Bing Crosby, Inc. against Warner Bros. over the latter company’s cartoon titled “Bingo Crosbyana.” Through the law firm of O’Melveny, Tuller & Myers, the Crosby corporation has demanded that Warners cease distribution and exhibition of the reel. The demand states that the Crosby voice is imitated and the character of “Bingo Crosbyana” is shown as a “vainglorious coward.”

The cartoon was still being shown in November so, no, it wasn’t pulled. It was never re-issued, but that could be a coincidence.

Crosby didn’t get the worst of it in this cartoon. Look what happened to the spider, thanks to an egg-beater.



There were any number of imitators (individual and in groups) on the air in Los Angeles at the time who could have supplied the impersonation of Crosby. Billy Bletcher plays the evil spider, the Rhythemettes are the fly girls (how meanings have changed!) singing away. Norman Spencer supplies a typical score, with an off-beat wood block and one of my favourite J.S. Zamecnik cues, “Storm Music” (published in 1919).

Friz Freleng directed this short. Not only did he have an earlier Mexi-insect short (The Lady in Red starring happy, dancing roaches) but earlier in the year, he directed a crooning Crosby chicken in Let It Be Me. These cartoons are pretty weak when it comes to parodies. Things were more fun in later years when, just like on radio shows, cartoons made fun of Bing’s lousy thoroughbreds, his Hawaiian shirts, his pipe, his “war” with Sinatra. By then, Crosby was like an old shoe, the ultra-laid-back host of radio’s Kraft Music Hall and, later, Philco Radio Time who recorded one of the biggest hits of all time, “White Christmas.” That’s a change from being a cartoon Cuban fly in a kitchen-full of things made in Portis, Kansas.

Krazy For Hawaii

It’s not George Herriman’s Krazy Kat in Honolulu Wiles, a 1930 Columbia cartoon, but it’s a fun cartoon.

Not much was expected in a 1930 cartoon. Lots of music. Singing. Dancing. And if odd gags could be stuffed in, all the better.

This cartoon opens with Krazy happily playing mice’s tails like a Hawaiian guitar while palm trees sway. There’s even the moon reflecting in the tide. Pretty good stuff for 1930.

Everything’s a musical instrument back then. In this scene, Krazy plays the bamboo of a house like a marimba, then lies down and blows into the reeds. His girl friend emerges from a window and sings “Boop-oop-a-doop!”



Maybe the most outrageous scene is Krazy playing the nose rings of the natives like bells, as they click their teeth like castanets.

Ben Harrison and Manny Gould are credited on this short, along with musical director Joe De Nat.

No Rags, But There's a Musical Cat

Bimbo plays a garbage man with a jazz-playing cat in his wagon in Any Rags, a 1932 Talkartoon.

The cat’s on a cornet, which he turns into a machine gun. Then a horse comes out of the horn, whinnies, goes back in, then the horn develops teeth and plays “wah-wah-wah.”



Betty Boop loses her blouse a couple of times, and Koko does a swish routine, amongst other gags. Willard Bowsky and Tom Bonfiglio are the animators.

Take a listen to Arthur Collins’ version of the song that you’ll hear in this cartoon.

Whoa, Nelly

Dick Lane was likely the first big TV celebrity west of the Mississippi, making regular appearances before there were networks.

Lane had appeared in all kinds of feature films and radio shows; he played Jack Benny’s publicity agent, for one. He was hired by Paramount’s video station to appear on camera during its limited schedule. The station was still named W6XYZ at the time. By 1945, Billboard was critiquing his appearances. One of his shows was “Fashion Guide,” a 15-minute effort featuring designer Edith Head. Another saw him and Keith Heatherington read comic strip dialogue balloons over slides of artwork. And he emceed and acted as straight man on a variety show named “Hits and Bits.”

But Lane made his lasting television fame when he began calling wrestling matches. He admitted he invented names of some of the holds out of sheer necessity. And just like Dennis James’ “Okay, mother” on the Du Mont TV wrestling shows in New York, Lane had his own phrase, shouting “Whoa, Nelly!” when a particular piece of action struck him as astounding. He handled blow-by-blow for boxing and roller derby as well.

Appearing in front of a camera or microphone wasn’t Lane’s only source of employment. I would say “source of income” but the income appears to have been minimal in his other ventures. This United Press story is from March 19, 1944. There’s no mention of television, let alone his involvement in Columbia’s Boston Blackie serial.

Dick Lane Puts Acting On Mass Paying Basis
By FREDERICK C. OTHMAN
HOLLYWOOD, March 19 (U.P.) — There are 52 weeks in the year for everybody, except Dick Lane, the movie actor. For him the average year has around 70 weeks of paychecks.
Richard is a phenomenon of Hollywood. No movie actor ever was so busy. The producers have to stand in line for his services in grease paint, his agents operate on the basis of first come first served, and Richard has issued one ultimatum: accept no job unless it carries a two weeks guarantee.
A while back he worked one day in a Jack Benny picture, but he was paid for two weeks. Another time he went to work in an Abbott and Costello movie at 9:30 a.m., and finished the chore at two p.m. He got his two weeks' pay nonetheless. Four figure pay, per week.
At this writing the Lane is playing an army sergeant in the Edward G. Robinson picture, "Mr. Winkle Goes to War." He had a day off the other day and used it to collect two weeks' salary as an admiral in somebody else's film. So you can gather that he is quite a guy.
"I left George White's 'Scandals' in 1937 to come out here under contract to R-K-O," he said. "I was with that studio for 18 months and in that time I worked in 33 pictures. It was good practice for what was to come."
IN 167 FEATURES
So far he's played in 167 features; nobody else has worked in so many in so short a time. So you're probably wondering what he does with his spare time.
Well sir, Richard bought himself an automobile agency a few years back. He established a Venetian blind factory. He began raising silver foxes. He subsidized a dentist. He bought himself three wrestlers.
He went into the chemical business for the growing of tomatoes in water tanks. He invented a candy bar and began the manufacture thereof. He had a few other businesses, too, but he doesn't exactly remember them all, because he also was working on the radio at night and making a few appearances in army camps. So far he's done 380 shows for service men.
The chemical tomatoes didn't go so well. The war ruined the automobile business. And the Venetian blind business fell off because nobody could build houses. He had to lend his three wrestlers to his Uncle Samuel for the duration. He sold the silver fox farm. The dentist paid up his debt.
That left Lane collecting royalties on his candy bar. He had time on his hands.
IN PAINT BUSINESS
"And I met a young fellow who had invented a new kind of paint remover, that would take the paint off the wall, but not the skin off the painter's hands," he reported. "You spray this stuff on and whoosh, off comes the paint in sheets. Fortunately it is not explosive."
So the paint remover factory is working 24 hours a day, trying to keep up with the demand, most of which is coming from the navy. For the first time in history paint remover, Dick Lane's paint remover, is listed as being safe for carrying in ships' stores.
This has been a break for sailors, who have been forced — since the days of galley slaves — to spend most of their spare time chipping old paint off and slapping new paint on. Now all they need to do is squirt on a little of Richard Lane's dope, wait 30 seconds for it to do its work, and half their job is done.

Theatrical features and shorts weren’t the only kind of films Lane made. He was also hired for industrials. There’s a U.S. government film called Don't Be a Sucker (1947) where he plays a bigoted agitator (Catholics, "negros" and foreigners are bad for America, his misguided character shouts. So are Freemasons). The one below is Telephone Courtesy, released by Wilding Picture Productions in 1946 (according to this site). It’s missing part of the beginning. Lane plays Henry Burton, who has the nicest, most efficient switchboard operator in the history of business telephony. Of course, she wasn’t always that way. But watch the film for more.

Oreb-esque

Symphony in Slang is an interesting experiment. Tex Avery liked visual puns, so he accepted the challenge of turning them into a seven-minute narrative.

For this different kind of plot, he brought in Tom Oreb from Disney to design and lay out the short. There are bits of Johnny Johnsen’s work in backgrounds but it’s mostly Oreb. These certainly don’t look like anything Johnsen would come up with.



Oreb, by the way, was let go at Disney on the same day as writer Roy Williams, who also ended up with Avery after a stop at Jam Handy in Detroit. Rich Hogan was the writer for this cartoon.

Scott Bradley's score was copyright September 11, 1950. The cartoon was released June 6, 1951.

The Enemy Alerted

Snafu bypasses the censor to get his secret information to girl-friend Sally Lou in Censored (1944). Naturally, she blabs it out and it reaches the ears of the Japanese on Bingo Bango Island. Reinforcements and disguises are on the way.

The artwork designs and camera angles are really good here.

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The Frank Tashlin unit worked on this 1944 cartoon, so the animators would have included Izzy Ellis, Art Davis and Cal Dalton.

This short has probably the most sexual scene ever made at Warners. It's of a room adorned with pin-ups of bare-breasted women while Snafu is hidden under a blanket, with a long thin lump sticking up like... Well, if Tashlin put out a cartoon like this for civilian theatres, he would be greeted by the censor.

Television's Successes

What makes a TV show a success?

There’s no one, specific answer.

In 1963, one columnist looked at three shows that had been on the air for quite some time—two Goodson-Todman game shows, and Jack Benny’s weekly prime time sometime-variety show—and did brief examinations of each. To sum up, all three shows had things going on that kept the viewer interested.

The situation didn’t stay the same. Garry Moore quit I’ve Got a Secret, Benny’s show was cancelled in 1965 and What’s My Line suffered the same fate a few years later.

Perhaps it’s no coincidence, but I’ve heard from quite a number of Benny fans who enjoy the original What’s My Line. Benny appeared on the show as a mystery guest, as did Dennis Day (and, of course, Fred Allen became a panellist until his death in 1956).

Two Guessing Games, Benny, “Indestructable”
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
Hollywood Correspondent
Newspaper Enterprise Assn.
HOLLYWOOD (NEA) — “The Indestructibles” of television—the 10 longest-running, regularly scheduled television programs—include two guessing game shows: “What’s My Line?” and “I’ve Got a Secret.”
Their long-running success is a combination of deeply planted roots dating back 13 years for “Line” and 11 for “Secret” and, above all, ordinary people. It is the constant parade of people—people with offbeat occupations and in offbeat situations—which has given both shows their great success.
Television fans say so, and so do Mark Goodson and Bill Todman, the creators of both shows.
Says Goodson:
“The real entertainment comes from watching people as themselves, placed in a format which creates a tension. It is the competition that exists between panel and the opponent. In turn, the viewers at home identify themselves with panelist and opponent in some fashion.”
Added fillip for “What’s My Line?” includes the weekly mystery celebrity, the good-natured John Daly, the sharpness of its veteran panelists in playing the guessing game.
These draw the publicity. But it is the show’s guests, ranging from lady plumbers and girdle manufacturers to a cow manicurist, a man who blows himself up with dynamite at county fairs, a girl who sells life insurance for chickens, an 11-year-old boy who writes a column of advice to parents—these are the people who intrigue outdoors and in the home, a its weekly loyal audience.
Incredible Confessions
Ask Chester Feldman, producer of "I've Got a Secret," the reason for the success of his show, and he says:
"I can tell you in two words—Garry Moore."
On that I'm sure the fans of Garry will partially agree. But again, it is people and their competition with panelists. The people who guest on the show make confessions as incredible as the occupations turned up on “What's My Line?”
They have included the 100-year-old man on his honeymoon . . . a Holstein cow that had quints . . . the girl who announced she was becoming Mrs. Tommy Manville (he reneged and she sued) . . . the man who squeezed a hard-boiled egg into a milk bottle by building a fire inside . . . Merle Oberon dressed like a fashion model in a $9.95 outfit.
Such are the stars of “I’ve Got a Secret” who guarantee the show an always-curious audience.
Tied with “Line” at 13 years of regular television exposure is Jack Benny. He wears as well on home screens as he did on radio for 18 years before the coming of test patterns. Many other radio personalities failed in the visual switch, but Benny walked into the electronic picture zone without altering either himself or his show.
As he says, “I had no show to alter. We’ve always been different every week.”
His long-established character of the fellow who hates to part with a dime, who won’t admit his right age, and who vocally delights in the blueness of his eyes was as tailor-made for television as radio.
“It is the character,” Benny says about his success. “Everyone knows someone like the fellow I play. The jokes aren’t that important, and we try to do everything in good taste.”
There are other keys to Benny’s success—letting others get laughs while he deadpans—others such as announcer Don Wilson, who has been with him for 29 years; Rochester, for 26 years, and Dennis Day, for 24 years. They know the Benny character as well as two of the show’s writers, Sam Perrin and George Balzer.

Running Butch

In Chips Off the Old Block (1942), Butch the cat gathers orphan kittens in a vase and runs away with it, trying to hide them from the mistress of the house. As dramatically loud music by Scott Bradley saws away, the cat doesn’t run in a straight line. That’d be kind of boring, right? So he runs toward and away from the camera in perspective.



The woman is rotoscoped in scenes where she’s reading, but there are other places in the cartoon where parts of her body are made up of nothing but outlines and dry brush to make her movements look faster.



The cartoon does raise questions like: why do the kittens look like Butch? Is he the daddy? Is that why they were left in a basket on the doorstep? Why aren’t kittens with their mommy cat?

Yes, it’s pointless to try to make sense of a cartoon designed to be seen maybe once by someone in a theatre as they’re being urged to buy War Bonds.

The director of the cartoon was Bob Allen, with animation credits to Al Grandmain and Carl Urbano. I will bet you the final scene is animated by Pete Burness. He has the same “beard” that, as Mark Kausler points out, Burness gave to Tom in Puss Gets the Boot (1940)



It would appear, by my reading of the timeline, that this cartoon was made after Hugh Harman left the studio. There are no credits on MGM cartoons until this one. Jerry Brewer and Allen both directed at least two cartoons, then it seems producer Fred Quimby bypassed them and went outside to hire Tex Avery to direct in September 1941. MGM’s studio was rife with politics from the beginning. Bringing in someone from outside, even someone as brilliant as the Oscar-nominated Avery, couldn’t have soothed anyone’s ambitions. Allen, a fine designer, left in October 1942 to work for Harman (though in Mike Barrier’s Hollywood Cartoons, he says the two were not on speaking terms in 1938). Brewer decided to use his middle name and wrote for radio, television and films—including The Incredible Mr. Limpet—as Jameson Brewer. He died in 2003.

MGM loved putting Donald Duck’s voice in cats. The original Tom in The Alley Cat (1941) had one and the same actor voiced Butch in this short (no, it is not Clarence Nash). I’d have to listen closer but my wild guess is Martha Wentworth is the housewife.