Storm of the Cuckoo Clock

Artwork, sound (music and voice) and camera movement aren’t the only things that play a role in animation. So does lighting.

Here’s a good example from the opening of Tex Avery’s The Cuckoo Clock for MGM. The cartoon starts during a creepy thunderstorm, so colour and lighting are used to create a lightning effect over Johnny Johnsen’s background painting.



I suspect Tex would have indicated the effect he wanted on the sheets given to cameraman Jack Stevens (I believe Stevens was still at Metro when this was shot).

Mike Lah, Grant Simmons and Walt Clinton animated this cartoon, with narration by Daws Butler.

Oh, Boy, This is Ducky

Popeye wasn’t the only one to eat spinach in the Fleischer cartoons. Olive chowed down on it to turn beat the crap out of a woman gym rat in Never Kick A Woman (1936). Bluto had it shoved down his throat to beat up Popeye and put him in hospital with nurse Olive in Hospitaliky (1937). And Popeye fed it to a duck to turn it into a helicopter in I Never Changes My Altitude (also 1937).



The duck and Popeye reach the chortling Bluto, who has thrown Olive Oyl out of his plane. You know what’ll happen next.



Willard Bowsky and Orestes Calpini are given the animation credits.

Belle Province Benny

Allied troops around the globe took a brief break from World War Two by enjoying one of the top comedians of their time in front of them on stage.

No, we don’t mean Bob Hope. We’re talking about Jack Benny.

This isn’t meant to denigrate Mr. Hope’s dedication. But Benny showed up in the jungles of New Guinea, bore the sweltering heat of Iraq and even took down the names of injured servicemen and hand-wrote to their families once he got back home.

The Benny radio show went on tour, too. It broadcast from various American military bases, and appeared in Vancouver and Toronto for Victory Loan efforts.

Let’s talk about a Canadian stop wasn’t part of the broadcast schedule. Benny and his cast appeared in Montreal on February 10, 1943, playing at the Home of the Habs, the Forum. The Montreal Gazette gave a fine account of the show the next day, along with a sidebar story about Benny’s coming tour. Unfortunately, it was waylaid a month later when he was bed-ridden with pneumonia and couldn’t appear on the air for five weeks.

Let’s give you the sidebar first, followed by the review. Unfortunately, the photo in the paper of Jack and his cast on stage doesn’t reproduce well enough to augment this post. Being the keen showman, veteran vaudevillian Benny lined up his show well, reserving the last spot for Rochester, who was loved by audiences everywhere. McIver’s orchestra appeared with Benny on his Toronto broadcast on February 14th.

Jack Benny Signs U.S.O. Contract
Will Go Overseas to Entertain Troops, Comedian Says Here
Jack Benny and Company, which include Mary Livingstone, Dennis Day, Don Wilson and Rochester, will be heading overseas this summer to entertain the American troops. The comedian signed a contract with the U.S.O. Camps Shows just before he left for Montreal to launch his voluntary tour for Canadian servicemen here yesterday.

The USO Jaunt, whether to Alaska or North Africa, will not come, however, until the holiday break in his radio program leaves him free. It means, however, that instead of staying in Hollywood to make a film, he will start travelling for Uncle Sam.
He has just completed one picture, The Meanest Man In The World, which is to be released shortly. He says it returns to an older pattern of film-making for him, with Rochester teaming up with him throughout. But on the whole, the comedian finds the type of film like To Be Or Not To Be, Charley's Aunt or George Washington Slept Here more satisfactory. In them he felt he was playing a straight part, with a character being created other than that he has built tor himself on the air.
Benny likes making pictures because they are comparatively restful after the grind of broadcasting. For the air there is always the driving immediacy of the next week's program and the endless conferences with script writers. For the screen everything has been worked out by the studio. The possibility of retakes, if a laugh line doesn't quite go over, eliminates much of the nervous strain of the radio, where a thing once said can never be improved.
But despite the fact that now, in addition to the radio show grind, he and his wife have the strain of steady troops shows, both of them looked well and fit as they chatted with reporters and servicemen at the Windsor Hotel yesterday. Mrs. Benny (or Mary Livingstone) had a relapse two weeks ago but is recovered and looking forward to the week in Canada. Both she and Mr. Benny feel it's a privilege to be allowed to play for the troops, and that goes for anywhere they are sent, be it Alaska or overseas.

TROUPE PLAYS TO PACKED HOUSE AT LOCAL FORUM SHOW
Local Servicemen Pack Forum, Accord Benny Rousing Welcome
With a crowd of about 14,000 whistling and cheering servicemen and their girl friends, Jack Benny and the personalities of his radio show launched their whirlwind tour of shows for the Canadian troops at the Forum last night. In a show that lasted over an hour and a half, the radio comedian won the wholehearted applause of Canadian troops and the title of "Public Morale Builder No. 1" from Air Vice Marshal Albert de Niverville, who thanked him at the close of the show.
This was a show for the troops, with a minimum of formality attending it. At about a quarter to nine, the men of Alan McIver's band walked onto the stage at one end of the vast building, by that time packed with an expectant crowd of soldiers, sailors, airmen and men of the Merchant Marine. They were followed by Jack Benny and the show was on.
The appearance of the grey-haired comedian, walking onto the stage with the familiar swagger, brought the first burst of applause of the evening. He walked out to the bank of microphones and quipped, "H’m he looks a lot older than he does in the movies, doesn't he!"
He then looked around about him and off into the far reaches of the Forum and exclaimed: "Why, it's bigger than Waukegan."
The show which followed was the show which Benny and his associates have built up from extensive touring of U.S. Army posts. It differs from the regular broadcasts in being a series of solo specialties by the members of the cast, rather than a show built on a consecutive comedy theme. And, contrary to expectations, neither Benny or the others worked from a script.

First of his company to be introduced was Mary Livingstone, with an admonition from Benny: "She's my wife, fellows, so lay off." And Miss Livingstone's contribution, as all had hoped, was one of her famous poems. It was a salute to the Canadian forces and finished up on a high note of international amity:
"Here's to the Canadian people,
"Our neighbors loyal and true,
"Although our flags are different
"They're both red, white and blue."
A guest singer, Alice Rowe, came on next and sang three songs, leading up to the introduction of the regular Benny vocalist, Dennis Day, who scored a hit with his tenor rendering of I Just Kissed Your Picture Good Night, There Are Such Things and an old Irish tune.
Don Wilson, genial and rotund announcer of the program, was next in line with a few remarks, including a reminder of the Benny-Allen feud, by now an integral part of any Benny show. Sam Hearn, well-known as Schlepperman to audiences of a few years ago, came on with more comedy, including a lengthy parody set to a medley of popular tunes, and a clever imitation of three violins.
Schlepperman's violin duet with Benny introduced what was one of the high-spots of the evening when Benny played his famous Love In Bloom. And just to show that he wasn't as bad as all that, Benny followed it up with a bit of string swings. More music was supplied by Jimmy Shields, vocalist of The Army Show, who made a guest appearance which won him generous applause.
But the loudest single burst of applause of the whole evening came with the introduction of the next performer, the inimitable Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, complete with a double-zoot suit and broad-brimmed hat. The crowd opened right up then and let the colored comedian have a real Canadian welcome. Rochester sang a bit, danced a lot and had to beg his way off the stage.
Then suddenly, and all too soon, the show was over, and Air Marshal de Niverville was saying a few brief words of thanks to the assembled company. Jack Benny and company had finished their first big troop show in Canada, and Montreal servicemen had set a high standard of appreciation for the gesture which brings them that rare phenomenon, a first-rate American comedy star, to brighten their lives and further establish a bond between Canadians and Americans in wartime.

The Tennessee Teacher

Tennessee Tuxedo and His Tales was one the first made-for-Saturday-morning cartoon series, but unlike the old theatricals and refugees from other time slots, they weren’t altogether entertainment cartoons.

There was an education component that fit completely with the plot of the cartoon, so kids didn’t realise they were being taught something (or perhaps, in some cases, it was something they already knew).

Critics have bashed Saturday morning shows for so long, it’s hard to believe there was a time where they applauded programming. The reviews of Tennessee were favourable.

Here’s a syndicated story from May 17, 1964.

Children Learn By Talking Penguin
BY DON ROYAL
NEW YORK—Why aren't there more good and popular educational television shows for children? Thousands of parents and television critics—to say nothing of the Federal Communications Commission—would like to know.
Not that the networks have completely abdicated their potential, the power to disseminate education and encourage the development of curious young minds. They have tried, but apparently have, for the most part, failed to find a workable formula.
One children's educational show that seems to have found one is "Tennessee Tuxedo," seen on CBS-TV Saturday mornings. When the program came on the air last fall, it was given only average chance of success.
That it did better than average is indicated by the fact that it has been renewed for a second 52-week season. It will not leave the air all year, even for the usual summer hiatus. "Tennessee Tuxedo" dominates all network viewing when it is on the air, with an estimated 10 million plus viewers weekly.
By this time you may be ready to ask: "Who—or what—is Tennessee Tuxedo?"
Tennessee Tuxedo is the name of a hyperthyroid penguin with the native curiosity of a five-year-old and the brash, know-it-all bravado of a young teenager.
Along with his yes-man, a chumpy (what else?) walrus named Chumley, he walks out of the zoo each week only to become helplessly— and hilariously— involved in the complex human world around him.
For instance, the penguin's sheer brashness lands him a job as an automobile mechanic. But he doesn't know a carburetor from a cardinal.
In the process of learning, he—and his young viewers—are given a beautifully simplified explanation of the workings of an internal combustion engine.
In another episode, the penguin makes an effort to link all the cages in the zoo by phone so the animals can chatter sociably with one another.
He works himself into a series of embarrassing situations while discovering the essentials of telecommunication.
And so it goes, like when Tennessee and Chumley manage to wreck the zoo's huge clock. In a do-it-yourself repairing spree, they illustrate the principles of Einstein's relativity theory so graphically that its basics can be grasped even by 5 to 10 year-old minds.
In similar fashion, the perky penguin and his pals explore the fields of farming and irrigation, astronomy, space, physics, photography, sculpture and music, bridge building, ancient history, marine navigation, party politics, democratic electoral systems, and others.
Their frequent companion is a Frank Morganish genius named Mr. Whoopee, the proprietor of a magic blackboard with the tremendous power of reducing complex subjects to easily comprehensible essentials.
The program is the brainchild of Cyril Plattes, cereal marketing chief of the vast General Mills corporate empire, which spends some $45,000,000 on advertising annually.
Public Service
Plattes figured some of this money should be spent in furthering television's potential as a medium for uplift and public service.
" 'Education' has always been a dirty word in show business," he says. "Attach it to a movie or television show and it's the kiss of death.
"The networks haven't been entirely delinquent about educational shows: they have tried with such laudable efforts as 'Exploring' and 'Discovery,' but too many viewers stay away.
"It was my contention these and other shows did not fail because they were educational, but because they did not properly cultivate and maintain an audience."
"Education is easier to digest if you think your swallowing something else. "It's like an exotic foreign delicacy say, stewed butterfly wings or chocolate-coveted ante. I'm told they taste great if you don't know what you're eating."
Plattes knew his projected series had to entertain if it were to educate, and it had to win a large audience and help sell cereal if it were to survive.
If he were to please the youngsters, he had to discover what appealed to them most. Instead of consulting a team of psychologists, he consulted the kids themselves.
"We employed a firm to question thousands of children of all social strata across the country. They told us that of all entertainment forms they like animated cartoons the best. And they liked to laugh.
"So we decided to use comedy as a teaching tool and animation as our medium."
Plattes enlisted the aid of a long-time New York manufacturer of video programming, Peter Piech and a creative animation firm, TTV (also known as Teaching Television).
Inborn Hunger
Together, they realized the best way to hold a child's wandering interest was to involve him in the adventure at hand, to bait him with his own inborn hunger for knowledge.
With this in mind, they tabulated a set of questions kid most frequently ask. How big is space? Why do airplanes fly? How does steam move an ocean liner? What is fire and how is it fought? What is electricity, and how does it produce light?
The questions and their answers form the basis for each of the weekly half-hour shows. Subjects are very carefully researched and the nation's schoolteachers were even invited to submit suggestions.
The voice of Tennessee Tuxedo is provided by Don Adams, a nightclub comedian and the father of a nine-year-old girl. He is never seen on the show, only heard.
"One recent Saturday," reports Adams, "my daughter came running into the bedroom, woke me up and hollered, 'Daddy, there's a bird doing an imitation of you on television.'
"I asked if the bird were a penguin and she said yes. I told her to relax—it was me imitating the penguin."
Adams enjoys doing the show. He and his associates, including mimic Larry Storch, assemble in a New York recording studio once a month and are given four new scripts. They rehearse a while, then record the dialogue. The resultant soundtrack is then shipped to the cartoonery where animators draw the many thousands of individual full-color sketches that make up each program.
Educators have been lavish in their praise of "Tennessee Tuxedo," and recognized authorities claim the program has pioneered new techniques in visual education.
Reduction of inherently complex matters to easily understandable premises can be difficult, but this program manages it.
What makes the show all the more remarkable is that it doesn't deal with sex, violence, hillbillies or cowboys and Injuns.
It is, however, an adventure series—an adventure in learning so subtly executed the viewer doea not know he's learning anything.
The sponsor is happy with the results. The audience has built steadily and remains loyal.
Surveys indicate youngsters look at the program of their own volition—parents do not drive them to the set.
But a surprising number of parents look in, too.

While Adams gets mentioned, it should be pointed out the voice work overall was solid. Larry Storch does my favourite Frank Morgan impression and, here, he becomes a character rather than an imitation of someone. His Mr. Whoopee easily holds the interest of young viewers. Brad Bolke is likeable as Chumley. Mort Marshall's Stanley Livingston is amusing (he used the voice elsewhere at TTV). And I've always been a fan of Kenny Delmar, who never seems to get credit for his versatility (everyone thinks of him as Senator Claghorn on the Fred Allen radio show but he did much more than that).

Add to that stories that don't pound things into kids' heads (unlike any didactic TV cartoon from the '80s) and you have a fairly entertaining series that deserves a look even today.

Ha Ha! Ha ha ha! Too funny!

Original comedy abounds in those dazzling, 1969 Warner Bros. cartoons.



A horse yells for help. After sound effects lifted from a Squidly Diddley cartoon, the horse says “Give me a hand.” I don’t possibly know what could happen next.



What?? Cool Cat claps?! As in “giving him a hand”? Oh, my sides! Who could guessed that was coming?

Or this? The Indian Brave says “Me give-um you squaw,” hands a hefty woman to Cool Cat, and then runs away. The suspense is killing me about the response.



“Indian giver!” yells C.C.

Don’t you get it?? He’s an Indian who gave. Indian Giver! That’s genius. Aren’t you uncontrollably shaking with laughter? I don’t know if I can take any more of this hilarity.

Hey, an Indian is painting eyes, a nose and a mouth on a bucket.



“Me, pail face.”

Pail face! Paleface! I’m retching with laughter. I know you are, too.



Thus ends Injun Trouble, the last Merrie Melodies cartoon of Hollywood’s Golden Age. About time for a Cool Cat reboot, isn’t it? Maybe team him with the Marvel Universe or Sonic or the Tennessee Williams Snagglepuss in that comic book series. Now that’s comedy!

They're Still Hungry

A cat is still hungry after he and Woody Woodpecker eat a full-grown moose. “Yeah? So am I,” says Woody. (Note the wiggling fingers in the air).



Woody and the cat need only four drawings to get into position. The dry-brush drawing is held for two frames.



And then the fight scene that fades out to end the cartoon. It’s a cycle of four drawings, one per frame. They’re eventually covered in brush swirls to indicate speed.



Pantry Panic (formerly titled What’s Cookin’) gives an “artists” credit to Alex Lovy and Les Kline, with Bugs Hardaway and Lowell Elliot producing the story. Danny Webb is Woody, the cat and the moose. The cartoon was released November 24, 1941.

Before Lucy

They kicked Vivian Vance out of town. And that was a good thing.

It happened after August 16, 1932. She was performing with the Albuquerque Little Theatre for nothing, and some people got together with the idea that she should be on Broadway. So a special performance was held that day and every cent from the box office was handed to her to pay for a trip to New York.

The Daily News related this in its September 15th edition, adding Vance hadn’t found work yet. Within a month, she had signed for a chorus part in Music in the Air at the Casino Theatre. She sang in cabarets and eventually made it to Broadway in a show starring Ed Wynn.

Newspapers across the U.S. picked up syndicated Broadway columns. It seems rather odd as someone reading, say, in Kansas, would likely never see a show on the Great White Way. Nonetheless, here’s a syndicated column about Vance that appeared around December 9, 1937.

Albuquerque Sent Her To New York; Now Vivian Vance's Name Is In Lights
As Singing Girl—Chance Came She Was Hired
By EDD JOHNSON
NEW YORK, Dec. 9.—If you go to see "Hooray for What!" take an especially long look at the blonde with the accent who plays the part of the international spy.
There, in the elongated person of Vivian Vance, you will see a dream walking—and singing. She's the dream of the sun-baked Albuquerque, N. M., and the fact that her name is up in lights on Broadway is the most exciting news out there since the murder of that snake-in-the-grass who was fooling around with the rich rancher's young wife. Four years ago the town opened up the old opery house and turned out for the event of the season—the benefit performance to raise money to send Vivian Jones to Broadway.
Off for Broadway
The play was "The Trial of Mary Dugan," presented by the Albuquerque Little Theater, with Vi playing Mary. It was such a success that before the cashier added up the receipts from the gala performance Vivian was on the train, bound for Broadway and stardom.
She reached Broadway on schedule, but then there were several detours. In private life, Vivian Jones became Mrs. George Kock, of Jackson Heights, wife of a violin player in a dance band.
Professionally, she became Vivian Vance, who sang in a couple of choruses, moaned into the mikes of some of the swankier east side night spots, and understudied Ethel Merman in "Anything Goes" and "Red Hot and Blue."
Name in the Lights
Miss Vance was to have been one of the singing girls in "Hooray for What!" but on the second night of the Boston tryout Kay Thompson stepped out—and presto, there was Vivian Vance with her name in lights.
Those wise to Broadway's ways will tell you that when a girl gets her name in lights it does things to her. and that a few years will find Miss Vance with a Pekingese, an English accent and temperament.
But today, positively giggling with excitement, she talked about herself in an accent that was strictly Alf Landon. She says she guesses she got to talking that way when she lived in Independence, Kan., before the family moved to Albuquerque. She was cheer leader of I. H. S., she said.
"Gee, I guess I got to be glamorous," she said, shaking out her blond hair. "My hair was really this color until I was 16, then it started getting ash blond—you know, just like a mouse."
Likes Plain Food
And while the subject of glamour was up for discussion. Miss Vance added that her favorite meal is one comprising mashed potatoes and gravy, meat, pie and cawfee.
"I'm a good cook, too," she says, "but that's not very glamorous. Say, can I make fried chicken and beaten biscuits and gravy. Boy!
"My car's glamorous, though. It’s cream-colored, a convertible. Boy, I've been crazy about cars ever since I was 11 and that darned old horse threw me. My hip still hurts sometimes.”
The other actors in the company say "Viv's a trouper," which is higher praise than colossal or terrific. They swear she's going places, and for that reason it might be interesting to set down a few facts about her as she appears, after her first night of Broadway success, in case she goes upstage on Albuquerque.
Not a Drinker
She chews gum and wears her hair done up like an Apache squaw at rehearsals. She doesn't like to drink. If she ever approaches Louella Gear as a singer she'll be satisfied.
Her favorite colors are red and blue, and she kids herself about the hump in her nose. She says "Volp" when she takes her cue in a song and dance number, and doesn't argue with the director about anything, or try to tell her partners what to do.
She doesn't go in for massages, and doesn’t have any trouble nowadays keeping her weight at 120—although she admits weighing 154 when she left Albuquerque. She calls her mother "mamma" most of the time, and her father “papa.”
She has no use whatever for “fancy” cooking and thinks the people she works with are just the grandest ever. Albuquerque historians of the future, please note.

The Associated Press put out a squib on Vance’s performance as well.

Varied Reaction
NEW YORK, Dec. 2 (AP) — New York reviewers were generally favorable today although some critics were not overly impressed in their reception of Miss Vivian Vance, Albuquerque, N. M. singer, in her performance in Ed Wynne’s [sic] musical comedy, "Hooray For What."
Miss Vance, said the World Telegram, "has beauty and did her big number, 'Night Of the Embassy Ball,' with impressive naughtiness.
The Herald-Tribune writer found Miss Vance "a blues singer of the Ethel Merman school, handsome and lively as a beautiful international spy.”
Not so enthusiastic was the New York Sun, which said: "June Clyde and Vivian Vance ornament the scenes, if neither of them gives their songs their due.”
"June Clyde and Vivian Vance sing as well as they can, which is nothing remarkable,” was the opinion of the Times.
Jack Whiting, member of the "Hurray For What" cast, was unable to appear last night because of illness.

And the New York Daily News said “Vivian Vance is the torch lady, hailing, I suspect, from the night club circuits. Her voice is a night club voice, at any rate. You get used to it after awhile.”

Despite the write-ups, real fame didn’t come for Vivian Vance just yet. She had to wait 14 more years when she met up with a redhead and a Cuban bandleader on the small screen.

Look of the Cook

A dough-covered cat lands inside the pants of a cook in Ub Iwerks’ Reducing Crème. That gives whoever animated this scene a chance to hold some poses.



Berny Wolf and Grim Natwick are the credited animators in the 1933 Willie Whopper short. Art Turkisher is responsible for the score.

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.