A Frog in the Throat

Wonderful weirdness abounds in the Krazy Kat cartoon Alaskan Nights, a 1930 production of the Charles Mintz studio.

There’s a great sequence with a piano dancing to its own music. A stuffed moose head on the wall appreciates the performance. He applauds with his antlers.



Next, the moose grabs a beer with an antler.



It starts to sway and sing. Then comes the bizarre gag. The moose turns to the camera, opens its mouth and a frog jumps out.



The moose isn’t quite done. It continues to sing. Its neck contracts and its tongue stretches out. The moose pulls it back in with an antler-arm and then congratulates itself.



No doubt this is the product of the minds of Manny Gould and Ben Harrison.

Coinidentally, there is a Moosehead Beer in Canada. Alaska's just next door.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: What's Happening To Television

You hear it all the time. Television was so much better in the old days. News coverage is biased, not like when Uncle Walter was on the air. Too much junk. Anything decent on streaming services gets cancelled. Yes, the old days were better.

Of course, this is all bunk.

Cronkite, Chet Huntley and David Brinkley all had their critics (mainly people who wanted partisan spin accepted as truth). Shows like The Beverly Hillbillies and Gilligan’s Island were among the many shows bashed for being inane. Westerns and detective shows and even the Three Stooges were denounced for violence. The networks let live drama die, and shoved newsmaker interview shows to the least-watched parts of the day, if not emasculating them (eg., Ed Murrow’s See It Now).

In other words, nothing has really changed.

As proof, we present to you this hour-long documentary that aired on NET (it became PBS) on April 4, 1966. “What’s Happening To Television” unabashedly states that quality TV programme should win out over ratings. It never does say where the money would come from to pay for it. The show was rerun later that season.

Interestingly, it does not have a host. Instead, the producers hired freelance commercial actor Joe Sirola to narrate (uncredited) off-camera.

You should be able to play both halves of the show. See how many of these complaints (and excuses) are still heard.

Jack Benny on Comedy and Chimpanzees

What does Harry Truman have in common with a couple of simians?

They both appeared on TV with Jack Benny in 1959, about a month apart.

There were technical issues on the first broadcast, recorded in the Truman library, and the appearance of the Marquis Chimps resulted in some infighting amongst Benny’s writers (if I correctly recall a story from George Balzer).

The chimps also proved to be good for ratings. They originally appeared on Benny’s show in March 1959 then made a repeat performance.

The Paterson, N.J. Call had two Benny stories in its Sunday edition of November 7, 1959. One was unbylined and dealt with Jack examining his popularity, the other was a wire service piece. Both mentioned the chimps.

Benny Plays Host To 2 Chimps
Comedian Still Acting The Miser
The most durable joke in show business is freely conceded to be Jack Benny's miserliness.
But if other long-running gags were to be advanced as competition to Benny's legendary reluctance to part with coin, they, too, would be found to come from Jack's personal repertoire.
All Benny fans have their favorites. Some laugh the heartiest at the vain Benny lyrically describing his own blue eyes. Another long-time chuckle-getter is Benny’s insistence on remaining 39 years old over the seasons. His fictional Maxwell automobile has amused more millions.
Benny Talks

The real-life Benny, reflecting on the longevity of his favorite jokes and all their nuances, says, "I think everyone knows somebody like the character I play. It might even be someone in their own family—an uncle, maybe, who always shows up at Thanksgiving dinner but never invites the rest of the family to his house.
"The important thing is that the friend or relative be liked, and that his friends find humor in his shortcomings. The character I play can be petty but never mean, vain but never overbearing. If the character went over the line of good taste, he would be rejected in short order.
Be Irritating
"Perhaps the explanation is that some irritating qualities are laughable, but only up to a point. And I think a comedian is safer trying to make an audience laugh at him rather than with him at somebody else."
Television viewers again will be offered a look at how the Benny brand of comedy stands up over the years when Jack stars in the special "Jack Benny Hour" Saturday, Nov. 7 (7:30-8:30 p.m.,) on the CBS. It is the first special Benny program of the season, and Jack has invited fellow funnyman Danny Thomas, the singing McGuire Sisters, and the Marquis Family of trained chimpanzees to join him in the hour-long music and comedy show.

To appear With Jack In TV Skit
By JOE FINNIGAN
HOLLYWOOD (UPI) – Jack Benny, no cheapskate he, goes first class when entertaining banana-eating chimpanzee friends at lunch.
Jack's smash hit scene with chimps some months ago is being re-run on his Nov. 7 show along with another sketch.
The sometime fiddle player greeted two hairy guests, Mr. Marquis Jr. and Mish Candy like long-lost cousins (which indeed they could well be) when they arrived to dine at CBS-TV.
"I don't know if they'll recognize me," Jack said nervously. "After all, I haven't seen them since they were on my show the last time.
"Are those my little babies?" a smiling Benny asked, as a pair of eight-year old chimps sauntered nonchalantly into the room.
Sweeping the little simians up in a bear-hug embrace Jack declared, "you two are the nicest thing that happened to me on television."
They Were Bored
Dressed in white trousers, shirt, maroon and white striped sweater and white shoes, the chimps surveyed the studio with expressions of boredom—until they spotted the spread of bananas, puddings and coffee.
Marquis screamed in delight, hoping to tear into the banana bowl, but a word of caution from trainer Gene Detroy sent the anxious three-footer scurrying back to his chair.
Little Candy, rising above it all, awaited a signal to join the diners, then quickly downed two cups of coffee.
To heck with the coffee, Marquis gestured, picking up a spoon and going to work on the puddings.
As is the case at festive Hollywood luncheons, the inevitable picture-taking ceremony took place.
Placing one chimp on each side of him in the classic "see no evil" etc. monkey pose, Benny looked the part of a proud father showing off twins.
Admitting the cute little animals could walk off with the show, Jack said he couldn't care less.
"They can steal a scene from me any time they want to," he said. "They'd better, because if they don't we won't have a good show."

Tex Avery's Clementine

“Hey, Bill.”
“What, Joe?”
“Remember how we took Tex Avery’s Southern wolf and turned him into a dog?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, why don’t we take that ‘Clementine’ song Tex used in ‘Magical Maestro’ and give it to the dog?”
“Joe, that would be the Chuckle-berriest!”

Okay, the conversation didn’t go like that. But you have to admit some of Tex’s ideas at MGM were the same as the ones the other unit at the studio put in its TV cartoons when Metro shut down production.

Magical Maestro (released in 1952) is one of Tex’s “revenge” cartoons. Mysto the magician gets revenge on Poochini the opera singer for not buying his magic act. Poochini then gets revenge on Mysto for screwing with his performance of “Largo al Factotum” from Rossini’s “The Barber of Seville” (well, what other opera IS there in cartoons? Unless you’re Bugs Bunny on a plump horse, I mean). Mysto and his wand turn Poochini into all kinds of singers, and the situation is reversed at the end.

Oh, for good measure, Tex and writer Rich Hogan have completely refined a gag from his Warner Bros. travelogue Aviation Vacation (1941) involving a hair getting “stuck in the projector.” Instead of Mel Blanc’s character on screen screaming at an unseen projectionist, Poochini pauses in his act just long enough and casually takes care of the situation.

This is one of those cartoons you have to freeze-frame to appreciate the expressions as Poochini is controlled by Mysto’s wand. Here are a few from the Clementine scene. These two are consecutive.



The next pose is below. No in-betweens to smooth things over. Tex wanted to show the abrupt change in Poochini and does it by making a sudden switch in positions so enabling the singer to go into a little Western song and cowboy stroll while playing the guitar. He walks wide because he is wearing furry chaps and that is how someone wearing them would walk.



Some random frames. The animation is on twos. Tex has the background moving every frame.



Poochini butt.



A look of contentment.



The contentment evaporates. He realises he’s not singing Rossini now.



He shoves the guitar away (while still playing it). He’s seething.



He’s angry now and back to singing “The Barber of Seville.”



Mysto’s rabbits suddenly appear. Tex has them show up here and there during the cartoon so you don’t know when to expect them and are surprised when they appear.



Poochini didn’t expect them. When he realises he’s holding onto those rabbits again, he throws them out of the scene.



Avery comes up with various ways to change costumes back to the tuxedo, some of them using an obscuration gag. That’s what he does here with the oversized cowboy hat.



I believe this is a Grant Simmons scene. Mike Lah and Walt Clinton also animate; I can never figure out Clinton scenes. Judging by the opening scene of the old brick theatre, Johnny Johnsen is the uncredited background artist. And, as you have likely read elsewhere, the orchestra conductor is a parody of MGM musical director Scott Bradley.

This cartoon is full of great little scenes. Far better than this one, in my estimation is Poochini as Carmen Miranda and as the Ink Spots.

Daws Butler should be recognisable as the voice of Mysto. Historian/impressionist Keith Scott went through studio records. People who guess at actors’ identities and get it wrong don’t have to guess who you are hearing in this cartoon any more. Read them here.

Warners has done a wonderful job restoring this short for a BluRay release (as a side note, I am happy their latest version of Car of Tomorrow is minus some very frustrating DVNR issues). You can see unrestored versions of other scenes in earlier posts by clicking on the “Magical Maestro” label to the right.

Pieces of Spike

Daredevil Droopy is a compilation of gags that you can probably figure out how they’re going to end, at least if you’ve seen enough Tex Avery cartoons. Avery and gagman Rich Hogan even re-use the “Timmmm-br” gag as their topper. Evidently it was the strongest gag they could come up with.

Here’s one of Avery’s old favourites—the bad guy being sliced into pieces and collapsing. It starts off with Spike cutting the tightrope Droopy is on. You pretty much know what’s going to happen. The bad guy is always victimised by the law of gravity. The good guy is not.



Spike’s panicking until he looks below.



Any Avery fan can guess what’ll happen. The scene ends with one of Avery’s eye blinks.



Avery came up with several of these competition cartoons, The Chump Champ, Droopy’s Good Deed and this short, which was officially released in 1951 but played at the Loew’s State and Egyptian theatres with Pagan Love Song on December 29, 1950. It was supposed to be remade in Cinemascope, but the cartoon studio shut down. Instead, the Academy Ratio version was re-released in 1958.

Mouse Musicale

There’s a cartoon where a mouse heckles a piano player. Tom and Jerry, you say? Bugs Bunny, you say? No. Some 17 years before The Cat Concerto and 16 years before Rhapsody Rabbit, the Fleischers came out with the Screen Song Come Take a Trip on My Airship.

The title has really nothing to do with the plot of the cartoon, which involves an anonymous female cat having a piano delivered to her apartment. Kitty is playing away when a mouse jumps onto the top of the piano and starts hitting the keys.



The cat is not happy and swats the mouse off the keys. Unfortunately, the keyboard goes flying, too.



The mouse is not dismayed. It continues to play the keys like a xylophone until kicked out of the picture.



Here’s a great in-between. The piano re-grows a face and pulls the cat back toward it.



Earlier in the short, the cat and the piano hugged and kissed each other.

I have no idea what company decided to black out the original lettering of the song lyrics, but the substituted ones with upper and lower case that stand still while the film behind them moves slightly are a little disconcerting.

The song, by the way, goes back to 1904 and was sung on a recording back then by Billy Murray, who was later heard in Fleischer cartoons.

That Show Seems Awfully Familiar

Even as a pre-teen kid, I noticed after watching Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, a bunch of Laugh-In imitations popped up on TV.

Little did I know this was a long established, tried-and-true tradition in broadcasting dating back to the radio days.

We’re not talking about Milton Berle lifting gags. Whole programmes were carbon-copied if they were a success, some not so well as others. After Jack Benny’s writer, who helped develop Benny’s format of stooges and a sketch, departed under not-so-pleasant conditions, he felt he could do Benny’s show just as well as Benny. So he duplicated it. CBS picked it up. It lasted 13 weeks. Then there were a number of comedy shows in the mid-‘40s starring sincere-but-socially-inept young men, including Mel Blanc, Alan Young and Eddie Bracken.

This unbylined article appeared in the Pittsburgh Press of January 16, 1937.

Originate a Radio Stunt And Watch Your Imitators Follow
Who Sets Mode for Program Might as Well Pass It Along, for If It Clicks It Will Promptly Bob Up Elsewhere, Perhaps a Bit Changed
Radio has developed an odd set of rules about ownership of ideas. No man with an idea for a program has any right to keep it for himself. If the program becomes successful a lot of other program makers immediately take over the idea, with whatever improvements they can think of.
Within the industry they merely follow the current mode much as a man might start wearing bell bottom pants if some of his neighbors did. Anyone who talks about theft of ideas is treated with the gentle courtesy due an innocent new to big business. Radio is Communist about ideas. The dull boys share what the bright ones originate.
There was a time, back in pre-radio days, when comedians bought jokes and considered them their private property. If another comedian stole jokes there were howls of agony and denunciatory ads in Variety, the theatrical weekly. Frequently the despoiled comedian would pick up a burly acrobat friend and pay a call to the man accused of themt [theft].
Jokes are now in the public domain. Anyone in radio considers it his right to use anything that appears in print or on the air. Writers for comedians maintain files, gathered almost entirely from humorous columns and magazines. The magazine writers who think of the jokes in the first place complain frequently, but they are the innocents who are smiled at. Those writers don't get much money selling their jokes to the magazines, and around radio people who don't get much money don't get much respect. The radio script men who take the jokes and put them into comedy routines get the money.
George Burns Talks
George Burns tells a story about a small time vaudeville couple spending all its savings on a novel finish to the act. Bookers saw it in the tryout theater and advised, "Not a bad act, but you should change that finish. Better finish with a song and dance."
"But everybody finishes with a song and dance," the man protested.
"That's right. And everybody's working except you.”
"If everybody is doing something," George points his moral, "it must be all right. We'll do it, too."
Jack Benny was the one who developed the idea of making a whole group—conductor, soloist, stooges, etc.—into a little informal stock company. He understood the radio rules and probably did not give it a thought when Burns, Baker and a lot of others took as much of his idea as they could use. Don't get the idea this is said in any spirit of disparagement. I am certain Jack would be furious if anyone accused these good friends of using a Benny idea dishonestly.
O’Keefe Original
A Walter O'Keefe program started playing games with its audience this fall. "Show Boat" executives liked the idea and adopted it. Major Bowes did not create the original idea of an amateur show, but he was the one who adapted it to radio with the gong and amateurs telling their sad or comical stories. Before the Major even landed on a network there were amateur programs going full blast with gong and everything else.
Amateurs were added to Fred Allen's program against his wishes. Harry Tugend, a writer working with Fred at the time, made some fiery remarks at one of the program conferences. “I come from the theater, and there we would consider that idea as belonging to Major Bowes. Taking it would be theft."
The executive group liked Harry and considered him a very competent author, but, as Harry said, “They just waited until I finished and paid no attention."
Radio Has Rules
Radio understands its rule, but the courts have lagged behind. Tess Gardell had spent many years on the stage as "Aunt Jemima," but she wanted more than a sponsor was willing to pay to bring the character to radio. So the sponsor engaged a less expensive singer and simply called her "Aunt Jemima" instead. Miss Gardell was awarded something over a hundred thousand dollars in court, but the case has been appealed.
Barbara Blair, who had appeared in Herman Timberg's vaudeville act as "Snoony," came into radio with the character and also used the comic dialogue Timberg had written. Under the law, not yet modernized to conform to radio customs, Timberg was able to sue for a whopping sum for each of the 40 network stations on which the program was broadcast. The case was settled out of court for an undisclosed sum, but it was easily a record price for any author's couple of minutes of dialogue.
Such cases straying into court are, of course, exceptions. Radio really is Communistic about ideas—except that the executives call each other such things as "J. H." or "L. W.," instead of "Comrade."