Flea Sees Flea

Homer Flea, who lives on the back of a hobo hound, wakes up and sees something.



No, he’s not interested in a dog’s butt. It’s what’s on the butt.



Yes, it’s a girl flea. Homer reacts by jumping out of his clothes and little hearts pop up, just like they did for the lovelorn skunk in Little ‘Tinker. In fact, that was the next cartoon Avery worked on after beginning this one (interestingly, neither one of those two shorts had story credits).



Walt Clinton, Bob Bentley and Gil Turner received the animation credits in What Price Fleadom, with Johnny Johnsen providing the backgrounds. Pinto Colvig voices the hobo dog.

An Interview?

There are several kinds of celebrity interviews. There’s the kind where they bare their souls and you get something pretty honest. Then there are the fan magazine fluff interviews where the writer will add a helping of fiction if it makes the story read better. And then there are joke interviews where nothing is real and it can’t be taken seriously.

Jack Benny did all three kinds. An example of the last kind is below, taken from Microphone, a newspaper aimed at fans, from November 23, 1934. It’s pretty evident the conversation below never happened. Mary’s character at the outset was somewhat of a ditz. You can see that here. Jack and Mary were on a comedy show so the newspaper did a comedy interview. The photo accompanied the article.

The Bennys At Home, Or Jack And Mary On Speaking Terms
Jack Bares All In An Interview
They Have Tiffs Like Everyone
The scene is the living room of the Mr. and Mrs. (MARY LIVINGSTONE) JACK BENNY apartment in New York City.
It is impossible to give the time or the day because Mr. and Mrs. BENNY are never at home. Or practically never, what with broadcasting, personal appearances, theatrical work and earning a living.
Nevertheless, through the use of tiny mirrors, the BENNYS are in and are observed seated as follows: (Left to write) MARY LIVINGSTONE (she is Mrs. JACK BENNY) and JACK BENNY, who is the husband of MARY LIVINGSTONE. No one else is present except dust on the piano.
A Crisis in the Family
It is apparent (no puns about fatherhood) that there is a crisis in the lives of the BENNYS. JACK is biting his nails and clipping his words. MARY has her words all neatly clipped. A look of deep concern, even care, yes, even anxiety is noted on the faces of both.
JACK is poring over a folder. MARY is pouring a roast beef sandwich. A folder has just arrived by dog train from the National Broadcasting Company. Peeking over JACK'S shoulder (excuse it, please) we find it is a questionnaire sent to JACK to fill out for publicity purposes.
One glance, well perhaps two, and JACK has found that to answer the questions he "must bare all." He can hardly bear it. So can MARY.
There are millions of questions, or so it seems. But hush, the microphone is open. They are speaking—and to each other.
JACK—But MARY, it asks my professional name and my real name. What does that mean?
MARY—Oh, just say you’re my husband and let it go.
JACK—Oh, all right (Writes) "Mr. MARY LIVINGSTONE."
MARY—This next question about where you live and your telephone number. Skip it.
JACK—But MARY . . .
MARY—I said, skip it.
JACK—Have we got a press agent?
MARY—Yes; MARY LIVINGSTONE and JACK BENNY.
JACK—Now it asks, "What do you do?"
MARY—Well, we have fun.
JACK—But it wants to know what we do on the radio.
They "Have Fun"
MARY—Oh! Well, well, tell 'em we have fun. It IS fun, isn't it?
JACK—For you, yes. But think of all the hard work I do. All you do is act natural.
MARY—Is that so? Just because you write dumb lines in for me, I suppose you think I'm that way. I was smart enough to marry you, wasn't I? And besides—
JACK—Jump it. What program are we on now?
MARY—Some General; but I don't remember whether its Tires or Foods.
JACK—Look it up in the papers.
MARY—Ohh, look! It says how tall are you. Well, put down that you have to bend over a little when you kiss me and that you weigh too much to sit on my lap but not enough to ruin your figure and that you've got the nicest complexion, all tanned and everything, and that your hair is fascinatingly black and grey.
JACK—This was a questionnaire, not a romantic novel . . .
MARY—Ain't I telling the truth?
JACK—I know, but let's get on with this. What is my marital status?
MARY—Oh, we have our little tiff the same as other folks.
JACK—No, MARY. You don't get it—my marital status!
MARY—Well, I said you were about five feet and nine inches.
JACK—All right, all right. I'm married. That's the answer.
MARY—That's what I've been telling everybody.
JACK—(Reads) "Where and when were you born?"
MARY—I wasn't there at the time so you'll have to answer it by yourself. And probably get it wrong.
The Aging Mr. Benny
JACK—All right. Chicago, on—but perhaps I shouldn't tell my age.
MARY—Oh, getting temperamental?
JACK—No, just cautious.
MARY—All right, all right. (Reads) "First professional engagement? Any special circumstances? Anecdotes? Humorous incidents ?" How would you answer that one? Hey Toots?
JACK—Excuse me, Miss LIVINGSTONE, this is serious.
MARY—Wrong again. The serious was in Detroit and St. Louis.
JACK—Delete it. Anyway I left school to take a job in vaudeville in a theatre in Waukegan, Ill. The theatre closed the following week.
MARY—Why knock yourself?
JACK—I had nothing to do with it.
MARY—You can believe that—if you care to.
JACK—But I haven't got any anecdotes.
MARY—Well, if you have, save 'em for the program. It needs them.
JACK—Why, MARY!
Using the "Old Ones"
MARY—I'm sorry, JACK. You ARE using all those old ones, aren't you?
JACK—Why, MARY!
MARY—Skip it!
JACK—That settles it. I won't do anything more. You're even stealing my lines in private life.
MARY—Anyway, people don't want to know about you. Just wait until they send me a questionnaire. I can ask as many questions as anybody.
JACK—But you don't ask questions in a questionnaire, you answer them.
MARY—Well, they shouldn't have sent you one, then. Remember the other night when I asked you why you kept me waiting . . .
JACK—Skip it, twice.

Sing Like Stalling

People used to sing in movie theatres.

Why? Maybe it was an outgrowth of “community sings” in the earliest part of the 20th Century. Whatever the reason, animation fans will recall the clever and creative Song Cartoons with the bouncing ball put out by the Fleischer studio. They went back to the silent days, debuting in 1924, though some were made with the DeForest Phono-film system before sound became popular.

However there was an earlier attempt to get people to sing along with individual words on the screen. And a patent application for the process was filed from a logical but surprise source—Carl Stalling.

Before being immortalised in Warner Bros. cartoon credits, before scoring the first Disney sound cartoons, Stalling had been an organist at a number of theatres in Kansas City, Missouri. He developed a system entitled “Method of Recording and Depicting Motion Pictures” in 1923.

This is how his patent application put the purpose of his invention:

The object of the invention is to provide a method for making moving picture films bearing individual words of a song to be projected upon a screen, one at a time, and to appear thereon synchronously with the duration of the musical tone or note of the Song. A further object of the invention is to provide a method for making moving picture films bearing individual words to be projected upon a screen, one at a time, and to appear thereon synchronously with the musical tone or note and the volume of expression of the same, by means of differentiating degrees of light.

In other words, instead of one slide with all the lyrics, or a chorus, the words appeared individually in time with the music. It seems a little silly, to be honest. By the time someone reacts to the word appearing, the score may be on to the next word. Or if it’s an eighth-note long, it appears on the screen far too briefly.

However, Stalling was granted a 27-year patent on April 8, 1924. Whether the process was ever tried at one of his theatres, I don’t know.

If you’d like to read the full document, it can be found here.

Not Enough Overlays

We’ve talked before about how directors at Warner Bros. used overlay cels with scenery placed over top of the animation and panned at a different rate than the background painting to give a sense of three dimensions. Tex Avery, in particular, liked to open his cartoon with one of those kinds of setting pans.

Frank Tashlin decides to go nuts with overlays in Little Pancho Vanilla, released October 8, 1938. Here, you see three senoritas carrying fruit and singing, while going behind some overlays.



They make a 180-degree turn from behind a rock. Suddenly, there’s a whole new set of overlays for them to walk behind.



1930s Warners cartoons have the weirdest camera movement. At the start of this scene, Tashlin has the camera truck in and down. You can see the camera is not steady. Then the camera starts panning to the left and pulling back. At the end of the scene, the camera stops, then it trucks down and in a bit to get a shot of the senoritas’ feet, then moves up.

You know, I wish I could get into Tashlin’s cartoons but, for the most part, I can’t. They’re populated (at least in the ‘30s) with huge-eyed characters. This one is full of unlikable characters. Pancho mumbles most of the time. The girls ridicule him. The mama wants to repress her son to be a child forever. The bull has little personality. Nothing really funny happens in Tedd Pierce’s story.

Bob McKimson is the credited animator. I couldn’t tell you who else was in the unit at the time. This is the second-last cartoon of Tashlin’s before he left for Disney. Bob Bentley and Joe D'Igalo were in his unit but they were soon animating in Miami for Max and Dave Fleischer. McKimson became “chief animator” at the Schlesinger studio in August 1939. Tashlin moved from Disney to Columbia back to Warners before finally reaching his goal of going into live action.

Becoming Mr. Mouse

The best part of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Mouse (1947) are the transformation scenes of Jerry after he drinks the potion Tom has concocted.

Al Grandmain was MGM’s effects animator and he gets screen credit for his work.



The little ball becomes a musclebound mouse.



Ken Muse, Ed Barge and Mike Lah are given animation credits; my wild guess is this is Lah’s Tom in this scene.

Scott Bradley comes up with some great dramatic horror music, and there’s excellent using of colour as Tom mixes his concoction.

New! Mild! Bob and Ray!

Bob and Ray had seemingly countless time-slots and shows that it’s hard to keep up with them.

I really liked their 15-minute shows on NBC starting in 1951 and CBS in 1959. NBC had musical interludes like their half-hour show in Boston, CBS stuck pretty much with characters interacting and sketches.

In between they did a longer show on Mutual that is a little too cumbersome for my liking. They played pop songs that came out of nowhere and had an announcer doing intros and real commercials.

Apparently, one of NBC radio’s formats was a late-night, hour-long jock show. It was eagerly anticipated in Minneapolis by Star Tribune TV-radio writer Will Jones. First up, a note from his column of May 13, 1953:

AFTER LAST NIGHT
By Will Jones
Sometimes TV Is Worth While
Some choice items that have made TV watching worth while in the past few days:. . .
Bob and Bay's takeoff on a hobbyists' convention (5:30 p.m. Monday, Ch. 5). It was a gathering of people who collect things that disprove old clichés—a moss-covered rolling stone and microscopic particle over which Bob exclaimed: "Isn't that the ugliest bug's ear you ever saw?
An avid Bob and Ray fan called the other day to assure me that KSTP radio's failure to carry the new late-night Bob and Ray disk show is no loss. He said that by fiddling a little bit with his radio dial he has been able to hear the show three times in one night at 10 p.m., 11 p.m. and midnight, from stations in three different time zones.
I started out at 10 p.m. trying to duplicate his luck. I couldn't find Bob and Ray, but I did pick up Henry Morgan from WMGM in New York at 1050 on the dial. Reception got muddy around 11 p.m., and in fiddling with the set I suddenly found I had Bob and Ray, a fraction of an inch away on the dial. The reception, again, was a little muddy. But it all beat the stuff that comes in sharp-and clear from the local stations.

KSTP changed its mind. Here’s the column from May 25, 1953. There were even box ads in the paper for the show for the first few days.

AFTER LAST NIGHT
By Will Jones
We'll Write If We Get Work
It might be fun to sit down by a radio all day just to hear the advance announcements KSTP has planned for "Bob and Ray."
The local bow of their new night-time program is being heralded with announcements like this:
"KSTP more or less proudly announces the new Bob and Ray show will be heard over most of this same station every night. Monday through Friday—at 11:05 p.m. It's the program that was one of four which did not win the Ohio State university award in 1953."
For people who can't spend all of today by a radio waiting for the station breaks, however, here's a brief anthology of the announcements. They were created by Joe Cook of the KSTP promotion department, with some liberal help from Bob and Ray:
*There's real drama tonight at 11:05 when Bob and Ray present another thrilling episode of "Arthur Sturdley—Boy Jerk." Bob and Ray present NBC tonight at 11:05.
*Webley Webster wants you ... to dial Bob and Ray tonight at 11:05. There are many exciting new things to hear such as an interview with the inventer [sic] of the link sausage. Remember, the new milder Bob and Ray at 11:05.
*Kindly old Bob and Ray return to KSTP tonight with such interesting and instructive things as "Appendectomy, Self-Taught" . . . "How to Become a Successful Smuggler."
*Enter the new Bob and Ray contest . . . "I would like to own a state because . . ." First prize a real state with a real governor, police, land and waterways.
*There are bargains galore . . . on the Bob and Ray show tonight! Big sale on box hedges made from real boxes! Breeze-ways with real breezes! Un-tinted sun glasses for cloudy days! Hit phonograph records only slightly cracked. These records were dropped ONLY A FEW INCHES off the delivery truck! A heap of wonderful things at 11:05 on the Bob and Ray show. Miss it!

The midnight (Eastern time) jock show doesn’t appear to have lasted long. It vanished from the NBC schedule after September 18, 1953. replaced with Skitch Henderson. The two were already doing Pick and Play With Bob and Ray from 9:30 to 10 on radio in addition to a 15-minute early evening TV show. They stuck with the latter two. For a while. Bob and Ray were all over the radio dial, it’s like there was a change every year. Fans ignored the ad advice. They didn't "miss it."

Cat Tail For Spring

The only real puzzle in Alice Solves the Puzzle (1925) is why did the cartoon have a superfluous diving scene in the middle of it?

Bootleg Pete wants Alice’s half-completed crossword puzzle and chases her up a lighthouse. Julius comes up with a rescue idea. He’ll use his tail as a spring to vault himself to the top of the lighthouse.



There’s a fight for Alice’s honour. Or her crossword puzzle. Anyway, Henry, uh, Felix, uh, Julius, knocks the bear into the sky. Being a Disney cartoon, there is naturally a butt impaling gag.



Alice actually does solve the puzzle in a cute little ending that was switched a bit in The Major Lied ‘Til Dawn at Warners about a dozen years later.

Wolf, Stay Away From My Door

Viewers are behind Swing Shift Cinderella getting a view of the wolf feverishly running toward her. And the door slamming.



Cut to the wolf.



The credited animators are Ray Abrams, Preston Blair and Ed Love. Swing Shift Cinderella was released in 1945.

Writing For Jack Benny, 1941

There’s a bit of there’s-more-to-this-story in an article about Jack Benny’s writers published by the Dayton Daily News on January 13, 1941.

The article mentions Jack Benny decided in 1936 he needed an assistant writer. It neglects to mention why and leaves the impression Jack was all alone writing his show for the first four years. That wasn’t the case at all, as Benny fans should know. Harry Conn was hired at a top salary to write the show but flamed out in a fit of ego.

Morrow and Beloin did some great things on the show, and some lousy things. To me, it seems like they were at it too long and ran out of ideas. Jack was saddled with animals—a polar bear, then an ostrich, then a camel, and then a horse. They added an insurance salesman character played by Mel Blanc who was uncomfortably wimpy (whereas over at Fibber McGee and Molly, Bill Thompson did a milquetoast guy who was funny). And Jack seemed to be yelling at everyone an awful lot.

On the plus side, they invented the Maxwell and, for that matter, invented Phil Harris; decided two dopes were one too many, so Mary became a sarcastic, insulting foil; developed the Fred Allen feud; modified the Kenny Baker character to fit Dennis Day (throwing in Verna Felton as a motherly bonus); and came up with some funny movie parodies (along with the Buck Benny Westerns). Oh, and Rochester. He arguably became the most popular person on the show next to Jack, and the writers (and Jack) eventually moved him away from a switchblade-chicken stealing stereotype. Fortunately, for the brief period he drawled he wasn't near Stepin Fetchit territory.

One other note about the article: the writers talk about up to 11 pages of changes for the repeat broadcast. Besides the spurious reasons (accommodating a couple of hundred people in a studio?), wouldn’t changes have to be run by the NBC censor? I can see a line or two, but more than five minutes of air time? I’ve never heard that extensive of a change in any of the east/west broadcasts available for listening on the internet.

Social Notes Of Interest For Gags Is Benny Woe
BY BETH TWIGGAR
NEW YORK, Jan. 13.— "Well you see," began Edward Beloin. "It's this way," continued William Morrow.
These two, Beloin and Morrow, have much to do with concocting Jack Benny's radio broadcasts on Sunday nights and they have worked together so much that they talk often as one man.
"It's a tough life," said Morrow. "As gentle as being the rear gunner on a bomber," Beloin added.
But it's hard to feel too sorry about their tough lives; they looked happy as they sat in the living room of their hotel suite, here, joking into the telephone, which jangled chronically, and finishing each other's sentences as they discussed their mutual job. Laughs were spaced about every two minutes, effortlessly. They were in the city from Hollywood for the opening of "Love Thy Neighbor," a large portion of which they wrote.
"Writing for the screen is a cinch," Beloin said, "compared to radio work. You can work the script over and revise." "Yeah, and when it's done you don't have to do it all over again for next Sunday," added Morrow.
For the radio programs the collaborators work on a flexible schedule. "But never in advance. Every once in a while Benny gets the idea it might be a good thing to have two or three programs piled up ahead, but like most of these things, it ends right there. We're last-minute men. We work under pressure."
Sometimes it gets to be Thursday, with the Sunday hour approaching like inevitable doom, and neither Beloin nor Morrow has an inspiration. "But one of us always snatches an idea out of the air from the window we open to jump out. So then we jump for the typewriter instead."
As a rule, even though the script is not written out in advance, one or the other, or both, have thoughts stored up for the future, Monday is supposed to be a day off. On Tuesday, Sunday is still a relaxingly long way off and they seldom do more than discuss the possibilities. Wednesday maybe they settle down to work, and maybe not until Thursday.
"Sometimes Benny will get ornery and wants to see what we've done before we've done anything. Then all three of us go through a little act. I'll insist Eddie has the first draft, and he claims he gave it to me. One of us says, 'Anyway, Jack, it goes like this,' and starts ad libbing. The other plays up. And Jack, having gotten us going, tiptoes away."
The Benny program is broadcast twice on Sunday nights. In New York, for instance, it goes on the air at 7 p. m. for the east and 11 p. m, for the west. In Hollywood, whence the program usually comes, the first broadcast is in the early afternoon, California time, and the second in the early evening. The double airing complicates the script-writers' chore, but not enough to feeze [sic] them.
Generally, by Friday, the first draft is ready. It'll be written four times before the two publics hear it. First Benny himself blue-pencils. After the second writing there's rehearsal and the lines are smoothed out. Sunday morning after the mike rehearsal, there is a third revision. Between the early broadcast and the late one the show is actually rewritten, with as many as 11 pages of changes put in.
"Why? Several reasons. New lines keep the cast up to scratch. If they repeated the same show verbatim, they might get lazy. Or it might throw them off, if the second studio audience didn't laugh where the first one had. Then it's a good thing for the audience to see the band enjoying the program, which they wouldn't do very obviously if it were all stale stuff. Occasionally, people want to listen to the first show at home, over their own radios, and see the second at the studio theater. They don't want to hear the same thing twice. So we write them a new program." Just like that.
Beloin and Morrow never put a gag in the script that they haven't laughed at first. "You see, we never write down to the audience. If we can't make each other smile even faintly, we know no one else will smile at all."
With one of the pair at the typewriter, they "talk" their creations, taking all the part and making up the lines are they go along. They're likely to start at it any time of the day or night, and keep on until the first draft is finished, regardless of food, sleep and social engagements. The "last-minute men" have found their tardiness advantageous more than once.
"If we had the show all rehearsed and set by Tuesday, and then one of the cast couldn't show up Sunday, we'd probably be in a devilish dither."
As it is, they can turn an emergency into fuel for comedy. Rochester's absence a few weeks ago is an example. Rochester is Jack Benny's famous butler, a mainstay of the program; Fred Allen says he's the star of the show. Anyway, Rochester was unavoidably detained, but the boys made a rousing asset out of what might have been a liability. The show centered around his whereabouts, with a telephone search through Harlem. When Jack Benny had a cold, Beloin and Morrow refused to ignore it. Instead of pretending he really wasn't sniffling at all, they made Benny's ailment the theme of the program. "Anything's funny, if you use it right," remarked Bill. "Even cliches." "Especially cliches," assented Eddie. "You [go with] a joke as long as it lasts, and drop it just before people get tired of it," said Bill. "That's the trick, knowing when to drop it," said Eddie. It's no trick at all, apparently, thinking them up.
It was five years ago that Benny decided he needed an assistant to help with the program. Individually Beloin and Morrow, who did not know each other, got in touch with him. Eddie had been writing pulp stories and finding that $12 a week was riot quite enough to live on. "Twelve-fifty is about the minimum," he observed, "to maintain our American ideals." Bill, among other things, had worked on the old "College Humor." "Fitted in just as though I'd gone to college, too," he remembered. They met by accident in a Chicago hotel, and started collaborating right off the bat.
"We’ve been doing it ever since," Bill said. "Both working together and living in hotels," finished Eddie.
Three weeks after the meeting, it was all settled. Benny found, somewhat to his surprise, that he had not one assistant, but two. And in the year since, their Sunday program has kept its popularity.