The Return of Carlo's Cat

When you have a nice piece of animation that hasn’t been seen in seven years, why not re-use it?

That was the attitude of Mannie Davis at Terrytoons when it came time to make the Heckle and Jeckle cartoon King Tut’s Tomb in 1950. The magpies ended up trapped inside an Egyptian pyramid. Say! That sounds familiar to a cartoon Davis made in 1943 called Somewhere in Egypt starring Gandy Goose and Sourpuss. It contains some of Carlo Vinci’s best animation for Paul Terry involving a dancing girl cat. So Davis decided to haul the drawings out of storage and put them on the screen again.

Drumming cats.


Somewhere in Egypt


King Tut’s Tomb

A mummy turns out to be a dancing girl cat.


Somewhere in Egypt


King Tut’s Tomb

Gandy dances with the cat. Heckle (or Jeckle) dances with the cat. Because the magpie is shorter, Vinci has had to account for that in the cat’s right arm.


Somewhere in Egypt


King Tut's Tomb

The Heckle and Jeckle cartoon borrows a gag and some drawings from the earlier cartoon involving a skeleton fireman and his Egyptian hounds. In both cartoons they bash into our heroes, water from buckets lands on one (with the Terry Splash) while the fireman’s skull lands on top of the other.


Somewhere in Egypt


King Tut's Tomb

A take. Then the skeleton takes back his head.


Somewhere in Egypt


King Tut’s Tomb

Vinci never got screen credit for any of his work at Terrytoons. Nor did any other animator until Terry sold the studio and CBS hired Gene Deitch.

Phil Scheib’s Egyptian dance cue is heard in both cartoons.

TV of Yesterday

Watching cartoons when I was a kid 60-plus years ago, there were things in them you never saw in real life any more. One of them was a candlestick phone. No one had one in the 1960s, but they were in cartoons and old movies.

Here we are in 2023 and there are plenty of things I was used to see in 1963 that young people today have likely never seen in real life. One of them is the dial phone that replaced the candlestick phone.

There are plenty of other examples in the ironically-named T.V. of Tomorrow, released in 1953. The cartoon opens with a gag about TV antennaes. When was the last time you saw a house with one of those?

The TV of tomorrow is apparently still a box, with a black-and-white screen, and knobs in front that a viewer has to walk to the set and turn. If I were a six-year-old today, this would probably confuse me, too.

There’s also a gag about something else that’s obsolete: horizontal control. Sets that weren’t receiving the signal properly would have the picture roll up to the top of the screen. Tex Avery and Heck Allen’s gag here is that the viewer rolls up as well.

The gag keeps going with the annoyed viewer holding onto a hassock so he won’t roll up. It doesn’t work. His eyes roll up instead.



Ray Patterson and Bob Bentley were added to Tex’s usual ‘50s crew of animators: Grant Simmons, Mike Lah and Walt Clinton. Paul Frees is the narrator, except when John Brown shows up in the "two-bit gambler" gag. Backgrounds are by Joe Montell, judging by the dotted flower blooms at 1:31.

Let's Give Jim Backus a Show

Today, you probably know him as Thurston Howell III or Quincy Magoo. But in 1947, before those two characters existed, Jim Backus’ main claim to fame was portraying snooty east coast millionaire Hubert Updyke III on The Alan Young Show on radio.

1947 was also the year Backus stepped out the shadows of being a much-in-demand supporting player and got his own show.

It had happened once before. From June to October 1942, Backus emceed a half-hour on CBS featuring Ambrose the talking horse (as well as singer Mary Small, the Eight Balls of Fire singing group, Jeff Alexander’s orchestra, announcer Frank Gallop and an actor called Art Carney).

This new Sunday night enterprise was on Mutual. That meant a slight problem. Mutual wasn’t a super-rich network with a big, cash-cow station it owned in New York City. It was a conglomeration of individual stations, many of them daytimers or small watters, that exchanged programmes, while shelling out money for news and technical people. Money was tight. A comedy show cost a lot of money. Backus managed to save cash by spinning records between his funny character routines. No orchestra needed. He and his wife wrote it. No writers needed. He did hire a few top stooges—Jerry Hausner and Dink Trout were on the debut show—and very versatile announcer Frank Graham.

The series began sustaining, but the papers reported a sponsor would come on board September 7 (the premiere was August 3). As far as I know, no transcriptions of this programme are on-line. Too bad. There was a funny bit on the opening show, the kind of phoney visual thing I did as a disc jockey decades ago. Backus introduced MGM star Esther Williams, KHJ soundman Art Surrence made the noise of a splash, then Backus thanked Williams for coming.

My favourite radio magazine, Radio Life, profiled the show in its October 5, 1947 edition. The photos came with the article.



Solo for “Hubert”
In Which Alan Young's Pal, "Updyke the Third," Premieres as Star of His Own "Jim Backus Show"
By Judy Maguire
JIM BACKUS, Mutual's head-long new comedian, streaked into the control booth to pick up a script. Absently he shook hands and returned to a muttering perusal of his lines. "Uh . . . very little rehearsing goes into this show, you'll notice," he added on his way out.
During the following few hours of broadcast preparation, Radio Life "noticed" no such thing. Touring the stage with great rubber-heeled strides, slamming himself into chairs, springing up and charging for the microphone, big Backus kept himself hard at it more rigorously than the most Legreeish producer. Reading out LOUD, he went over and over his gags, while background personnel gave its solicited opinions, but suppressed his mad flamboyance to build the program "from scratch" again.
And during most of the turmoil, engineer Bob Glenn and sound man Art Surrence laconically played cards, announcer Frankie Graham went out for a cup of coffee, and producer Stu Garner (a nice quiet chap wearing glasses and a blue sports shirt) sauntered through the uproar lighting a cigarette and murmuring “Yeah. This goes on all week.”
Friends say: “Jim's a pretty gay guy.” Modifying that, we'll add, “and a worrier.” For, although he can't help being funny, has a gift for creating phrases likely to start a jabber-epidemic and can entertain crowds any size, any time, Jim expresses a seething ambition to outdo even himself on his new show. That's a hard drive for anybody, but admittedly the Backus program, which started out quite happily as it was, has continued to build to even greater hysteria through these weeks, with a panic-stricken season stretching ahead.
So Versatile
It's comedy of a rare type. Jim's 1944-originated caricature of “Hubert Updyke III” on the Alan Young show has been called by many the funniest "yock" spot in radio. With equal talent he has bolstered the Don Ameche program as a leering-eyed busboy, the Bob Burns time as a shifty-eyed brother-in-law, and the Bill Goodwin piece as a wild-eyed boss. Now, on his own show, he's everybody put together, and he's moving with unblockable velocity. The Backus running commentary is cozy and at the same time devastating. He has an answer for almost anything. Witness, replies to routine interview questions:
Talent specialty? “Sleeping . . . with or without audience.” Father's occupation? “Bookie for Mexican jumping beans.” Education? “You too can study air conditioning. Hesitation waltz degree.” Favorite book? “The Bobbsey Twins.” You get the idea.
“How long does it take you and Henny to write your show?” someone else wanted to know. (Henny, short for Henrietta, is Jim's actress-sculptress-writer wife, and his co-writer on the program). “Well, lemmee see,” the star reflected, “we plan on two days. But then maybe you sit for nine hours and write nothing but ‘THE JIM BACKUS SHOW.’ Then, of course, there's the Research. You know what I mean — the Ten Thousand Best After-Dinner Jokes of the Year, . . . the Radio, (other comedians) . . . et cetera. You know what I mean.”
Tall, good-looking Henny, one gathers, goes along with all witticisms, script or otherwise, which her exuberant spouse cares to pull. Jim affectionately terms her "The Starving Man's Sylvia Fine." Their marriage, as Jim describes it, was a melodramatic affair:
"We were married on January 14 and 16, 1943, because on Monday the 18th I was to go into the Army. We were married initially in Camden, New Jersey, on the 14th, because my mother wanted a big wedding in Cleveland on the 16th, and we weren't sure we could make it, and in case we couldn't we wanted to be sure we were married before I went into the army on the 18th. Sooo, after all that marrying and dashing around, the Army rejected me on the 18th. Seems I have a vertical stomach (no gag, really) and I have to eat five or six times a day. I wouldn't have known if the Army hadn't told me. Henny got the X-rays as a wedding gift. She says she'll make a lampshade from them some day."
Chatter like this has rightly made Jim recipient of the nomer, “Best Newcomer of the 1946-47 Season”, but actually he has been in radio for over twelve years. He graduated in 1933 from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and returned to Cleveland stock-theatre work. An attack of appendicitis forced even less-wearing activity, so he accepted radio bits (his first, with "Lum and Abner") to pad out a period of comparative retirement.
He began anouncing [sic] over WTAN, Cleveland, soon after; then moved on to Detroit and New York. From 1936 until his "Hubert Updyke" era, he worked steadily at metropolis radio, appeared with Keenan Wynn in Broadway's "Hitch Your Wagon", and did further theatrical work in "Too Many Heroes". He's been in Hollywood broadcasting since 1946.
Contrasts
At rehearsals, Jim looks distressingly untidy. He's a big man, with the build and features of a truck-driver. His shirt yawns open at the neck, his trousers are baggy and his collar droops with a yanked-around, tired disconsolateness. But by showtime, a good dinner and grooming have achieved remarkable changes, and the star steps forward looking both prepossessing and spiffy.
The half-hour ensuing is lively with yammer and melody. Jim reels off his lickety-split humor and a non-talkative stage mate (Walt Radke) throws on the platters. Announcer Graham acts as foil, and his short, bow-tied, curly-haired appearance gives impression of a jitterbug delightedly going along with gags as though they were hep steps to the Woodchopper's Ball. Also jumping around is sound man Art Surrence, who knocks over a deafening assortment of ladders, dishpans, glassware and gongs during the thirty minutes. Just to keep the party happy, a little man, blackfaced a la Larry Parks, may tear in to make like Al Jolson, should the record choice be “California.” Or anything else can happen.
So far, studio audiences are standing the exercise beautifully . . . all praises from the press have been technicolored . . . and everybody in radio is overjoyed to see Backus make a bang with his first single effort. Briefly, it looks as though this "Solo for Hubert" should be first-rate successful for heap many seasons to come!

“Many seasons to come”? Not this programme. Backus’ show lasted until the end of the following May. It was replaced by It’s a Living, a show that spotlighted unusual professions, on June 6, 1948. But this wasn’t the only show Backus lost. He had a Thursday night show on Mutual called The Jim Backus Talent Hunt. It also ended in May, replaced with a similar programme on June 3 hosted by John Reed King.

However, network radio had just about peaked. Television was growing. Backus went on to co-host a local show on KECA with Dick Wesson, married Joan Davis, and got stranded with Gilligan on a tropic desert isle. That last one blossomed in reruns for many seasons to come.

Cheering Hot Dogs

Multi-character animation cycles take up a portion of Touchdown Mickey (1932); in fact there’s one cycle that director Wilfred Jackson re-uses.

Maybe my favourite one in the short involves a cheering hot dog vendor, with his hot dogs cheering as well. (The vendor is a pig so we can hope these are not pork hot dogs).



There are 19 drawings in the cycle. Some thought has been put into it as the vendor’s movements are animated both on ones and twos, but something moves (puffs of steam, for example) in every drawing.

Here is a slow version.



This speed is a little different than what you’d see in the actual cartoon.



No artists, as usual in a Disney cartoon of this era, are credited.

Stretched Duck

Here’s a question for people far more knowledgeable than I am about animation.

You read, even on this blog, about certain animators who had smears or stretch in-betweens in their work. Were those left to in-betweeners, or did the animator himself draw them? Were they indicated in the character layouts?

Here’s an example credited to Phil De Lara in Daffy Duck Hunt (1949). Daffy is holding out and emptying bullet shells he is taking from a box.



Director Bob McKimson cuts to a wider shot with Daffy doing a Lew Lehr impression: “Duck hunters is the cwaziest peoples!”



John Carey, Manny Gould and Chuck McKimson are also credited with animation, while Pete Burness is left off the screen credits.

Benny Has Heart

The “King of Hearts” turned out to be a man who was hopelessly inept at lady-killing on network radio, but had a long and loving marriage in real life.

That man was Jack Benny.

The coronation took place at a benefit in New York, sponsored by the American Heart Association. Then he was crowned by Fred Allen and other old friends as he accepted the honour.

The ceremony took place on April 6, 1949. Columnist Earl Wilson, for whom Jack seemed to be a favourite subject, filled newspaper space with his take on the proceedings.

Jack Benny Splendid MC At Heart Fund Benefit
By Earl Wilson
JACK BENNY and Fred Allen were still swapping good-humored insults about which is the cheaper when I left the big Heart Fund benefit at the Copacabana at 1:30 Thursday morning.
"Jack Benny," said Fred, "is the only man in California who has a burglar alarm on his garbage can.”
BENNY REPLIED that Fred's frugality has never been properly appreciated. He said Fred started saving money before he was even born. Indeed, alleged Jack, Fred's mom said to Fred's pop, “I can't wait to have him, because he's already saved $800.”
THE BIG SHOW, for which customers paid $100 to $1000 a table, was run by Columnist Ed Sullivan of the Heart Fund drive.
This evoked from Allen the remark that "with Winchell fighting cancer and Sullivan fighting heart disease, there's nothing left for Earl Wilson and Leonard Lyons to combat but indigestion and athlete’s foot.” Benny had come from Hollywood to act as master of ceremonies for the show.
He said in Hollywood they always ask Bob Hope first and he’s usually doing a show in Syracuse or North Africa and can’t make it, then they ask George Jessel and he’s either having a date with Greer Garson or Margaret O'Brien, and then they get to him.
“You probably heard about my capital gains radio deal,” Benny said.
“I claim the gains should go to me and the government claims the gains should go to the capital,” he continued.
ALLEN SAID, "Benny left NBC for CBS and I'd just like to remind him that Gen. Eisenhower only lasted three months at Columbia.”
Benny, with his easy manner, made a splendid m.c. although Allen said, "He's the first man I ever heard of who would work in a show three hours to get into the Copacabana without having to pay the minimum charge."
HOW—HE ASKED—could a club like the Copa operate at such a low price regularly? Tomorrow it would have to go back to its usual higher prices.
BENNY ALSO BROUGHT news of Al Jolson who, he said, might not be able to continue much longer.
“After all,” he said, “Larry Parks isn’t getting any younger.”
HENRY FONDA, Ethel Merman and other stars had been on, and others were waiting. One of those waiting was Kate Smith who, 17 years ago opened at the Central Park Casino. She hadn’t worked or even been in a cafe since that year, until Wednesday night.
IRVING BERLIN CAME out and sang a few songs. Benny said, “Isn’t it wonderful? Here's a man who must be 60 years old and he hasn't got a grey hair in his head—tonight.”
Berlin sang, "Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning,” just one of his great hits, and told a true story of how he had sung the song for a Hollywood picture.
HE SAID AS HE SANG IT, a stagehand, who didn't know who he was, muttered, "If the guy who wrote that song could hear this guy sing it, he'd turn over in his grave.”

Incidentally, Kate Smith was named “Queen of Hearts.” Coincidentally, the two had been employed by General Foods and both sold Jell-O on the air. Smith and Irving Berlin had a connection, too. She once or twice sang of song of his called “God Bless America.”