Run, Clown, Run

There are some who say their first exposure to opera and classical music was from Warner Bros. cartoons. My father listened to classical music and opera, either on an F.M. station or from his own collection, so it was familiar around our house.

However, what I heard for the first time thanks to cartoons were songs from 1930s musicals and Broadway shows. “Shuffle Off to Buffalo” immediately comes to mind. Another was “I Love a Parade,” a 1931 composition by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler for the Cotton Club revue “Rhythmania” (for which they also composed “Kickin’ the Gong Around” and “Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea”).

The song became part of the “Let’s sell Warners’-owned sheet music” campaign via Harman-Ising’s Merrie Melodies cartoons. The song may be memorable, but the cartoon for which is it named isn’t. There’s no climax, let alone plot; the last gag is a lion getting rid of fleas, and then the cartoon just stops. There is the usual open-mouth-with-slit-tongue expression all H-I characters had, reversal gags (eg. a hippo rides a horse, the scene disappears and when it returns the horse is riding the hippo), a Ghandi caricature, plus the old run-toward-the-camera-with-mouth open routine, which went back to the silent days.

It follows cycle animation of a clown (who doesn’t appear outside the beginning of the cartoon) flipping over.



Tom McKimson and Ham Hamilton are the credited animators in the 1932 release.

The fast song over the opening titles is “Oh, You Circus Day!” a 1912 composition by James Monaco and Edith Lessing. You can hear it sung in the video below. Gee, that piano player seems familiar. I wonder if he has a connection with old cartoons.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre: A Sign of the Times

Before TV stars became TV stars, you can see them in the darndest places! One of those places is industrial films.

Bewitched’s Dick York was cast in a number of Coronet Instructional Films in the late 1940s in Chicago, where he was on radio. Harvey Korman co-starred in the 1959 Swift and Company-funded Carving Magic, where he learns how to carve meat sold by you-know-who (the film would have benefitted from Tim Conway as the meat-carving friend). Fame awaited them. And before his television fame, Martin Milner played a young suitor in the Bell Telephone industrial Of Many Voices, a 1951 John Sutherland production which also included Whit Bissell in the cast.

All these roles were uncredited.

You can add another one to the list.

Gulf Oil sponsored A Sign of the Times, a 1963 film urging gas station operators to maintain competitive prices. A little more than a quarter of the way into the film, a uniformed pump jockey walks up to a 1959 Chevrolet. He’s known better for a string of sitcom failures (Tim Conway would fit that, too) and one large success—as Col. Blake on M*A*S*H. Yes, it’s McLean Stevenson.

While some of the other actors in this industrial film seem familiar, there’s something in it that sounded familiar to viewers watching this in 1963, and maybe even today. Depicto Films of New York used the Capitol Hi-Q music library in the background, and one of the cues is ‘TC-430 Domestic’ by Bill Loose, better known as the theme for The Donna Reed Show. Likely, the contract terms with Reed’s producers gave the show exclusive television rights to use the cue, but that wouldn’t have covered films.

The film opens with ‘C-20 Light Activity’ (Loose). At 3:38, you’ll hear ‘TC-431 Light Activity’ (Loose-John Seely) and at 5:58 ‘LM-11A Metro Main Title’ (Spencer Moore).

This film isn’t all that campy, like other industrial films (okay, maybe that the tacky imitiation of a Top 40 rock jock is). But it gives you a chance to watch Stevenson being friendly and earnest, check out the late ‘50s/early ‘60s cars, and cringe at the price of gas and groceries.

Molehills and Jersey

Fred Allen’s feud with Jack Benny began with an Allen ad-lib in late 1936 and carried on even after Allen’s radio show came to an end in 1949.

Radio fans know (I hope) it was all fake. But his real feud was with network and sponsor ridiculousness, climaxing, perhaps, with Allen’s show being cut off the air for almost a half-minute in 1947 when he started to make fun of an imaginary NBC executive. The public, rightfully, sided with humorous Allen over the humourless network.

There was one place where NBC couldn’t fade him out—well, other than newspaper interviews where he continued to drip venom on radio and television—and that was during his audience warm-ups. One can only imagine the reaction in the sponsor’s booth while he did this.

That fine publication, Radio Life, published a series on audience warm-ups; unfortunately not all of them are available. The first one was about Allen’s show, published on July 25, 1948.

Acid-Tongued Fred Allen Takes Advantage of His Warm-up Time to Enlarge on the Subject That Once Got Him Faded From the Network!
NEW YORKERS will tell you that one of the best shows to see in town is one that isn't advertised and not listed in those “where-to-go" guidebooks. Natives and visitors to the city both try to accomplish the difficult feat of getting in to see it. Money can't get you in, since the show costs nothing to produce or to see. Only three hundred people can be admitted to the theater where it plays.
This entertainment rarity is Fred Allen's fifteen-minute audience-warm-up period before each of his Sunday broadcasts. The small studio at NBC in New York holds the three hundred lucky devotees who've managed to wangle tickets to the broadcast.
Veepees vs. Allen
Fred, famous for his acid views on certain phases of radio, gained extra fame a season back by suffering a rather severe reprimand for poking sarcastic fun at the network vice-presidents. He was cut off the air. He takes advantage of the warm-up period, naturally, to express himself more fully on the vice-president subject.
“Radio's vice-presidents are men who do not know what their jobs are," Allen explains to the audience, "and by the time they find out, they are no longer with the organization.
“In the early days of radio, the vice-presidents used to work hard.
When they arrived in their offices ... in the morning, they used to find a molehill on their desks. Their job was to build that molehill into a mountain by 5:00 p.m.
“ . . . all vice-presidents were haunted by the fear of going to 'heck.' 'Heck' is a word invented by the National Broadcasting Company, which denies the existence of hell and the Columbia Broadcasting System, though not necessarily in that order." According to Fred, these are the sins that speeded a vice-president to “heck"; “tearing a clean memo, sprinkling water at the water cooler or springing the buzzer in a fit of executive pique. On the other hand . . . if they did their jobs well, they were assured of going to the Rainbow Room, where the cover charge was to be eternally removed."
Now, however, times have changed for vice-presidents. “They function by means of conference —a conference is a group of people who singularly can do nothing and collectively agree that nothing can be done." Fred does admit that when they are rushing around the corridors they make a colorful picture — “so colorful that the travelogue people come every spring to take pictures of the vice-presidents going up-carpet to spawn."
Other Gag Targets
Second favorite Allen target is radio itself. He begins his warm-up by explaining that he has a cold. For this ailment he claims to have followed the prescription of a guest expert (“an interne in a pet hospital") on radio's outstanding medical program, “Young Doctor Malone." “I swallowed a remedy which claimed to fight colds four ways," he continues. “The tablet worked one way four times and, as yet, the other three ways have not been heard from." Concerning warm-ups, Allen warns the audience about “one of the more animated comedians in Hollywood who overdid his warm-up and cremated three hundred and fifty people in his audience." [Note: an Earl Wilson column revealed Allen was talking about Red Skelton].
Another great favorite among Allen's comedy topics is people from New Jersey. This is evidently a local joke in New York, in much the same spirit as Hollywood's Anaheim routine. Allen tells a poignant story of how a group of New Jersey dance-lovers made an expedition to the Radio City Music Hall to see the Rockettes. Becoming confused, as people from New Jersey are apt to do when they emerge from their natural habitat, they wandered into the RCA Building and were borne into the Allen show. To console this group for the temporary loss of the Rockettes, Fred lifts a trouser leg delicately to display the Allen calf.
At one time the comedian used to create a new warm-up for each show, but he found that they were too well appreciated. Other comedians were showing a touching regard for his material. Now he sticks to pretty much the same routine and it's still greeted with the same hilarity — particularly by network vice-presidents and people from New Jersey!

We mentioned the Benny-Allen feud. If you’re wondering whether Allen varied his warm-up when Benny showed up on his show, here’s a portion of a column from the Des Moines Register of July 8, 1979.

Silence wasn't golden in radio's golden age
By ED KINTZER
A big event each year on radio was when Jack Benny brought his cast from the West Coast to New York so he and Fred Allen could exchange guest shots — usually for their last shows of the season.
This was the scene at NBC's Radio City studios on Sunday, June 27, 1948.
Fifteen minutes before the 7 o'clock air time, announcer Don Wilson walked onto the large, uncurtained stage of Studio 8-H, welcomed the audience and introduced Phil Harris, who led the band in a number with wild and exaggerated musical directions.
Then Wilson introduced the rest of the cast as they took their places on stage: Sportsmen Quartet, Dennis Day, Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, Artie Auerbach (who played "Mr. 'pickel in the middle, mustard on top' Kitzel”) and Mary Livingstone. Benny sauntered out from behind the 8-H control room throwing kisses, and while he was joking briefly with the audience, a nasal-twanged voice came from the rear of the studio: "I wouldn't throw a fish a line like that." Fred Allen came down the middle aisle and joined Benny on stage to trade Insults until air time.
Later that night down in Studio 6-A, Fred Allen's warm-up consisted of Fred Allen. Unannounced, he stepped before the curtain and welcomed the audience, and then proceeded to throw barbs at his sponsor, the Ford Motor Co. Less than a minute before the 8:30 air time, the curtain opened. Announcer Kenny Delmar, script in hand, and orchestra leader Al Goodman, baton raised, watching the control room for the go-ahead signal.
No introduction was made of the cast seated in front the orchestra: Parker Fennelly, who played “Titus Moody”; Minerva Pious, "Mrs. Nussbaum”; Peter Donald, "Ajax Cassidy”; Portland Hoffa; Jack Benny, and the five singing DeMarco Sisters. Announcer Delmar also played the popular Senator Claghorn.

You’d think Allen would have brought Benny up on stage, as the audience would no doubt have loved it, but Allen doesn’t appear to have wanted to waste any off-air time he could spend attacking things he couldn’t slice and dice on the air.

As a side note, the article mentions that Bert Parks announced the Vaughn Monroe Show on CBS, but the warm-up act was someone who never appeared on the programme—Frank Fontaine. Before long, Jack brought him on the Benny show to do variations of his John L.C. Sivoney night-club act (and impressions), and the exposure gave a huge boost to his career.

It’s also interesting to read that Jack was given cavernous Studio 8-H at Rockefeller Centre. It was designed for Arturo Toscanini’s NBC Symphony radio broadcasts but people today know it as the home of Saturday Night Live. You, perhaps, are familiar with Allen’s small Studio 6-A. A gentleman used to broadcast a late-night show from there. His name is David Letterman.

TV Spots

You couldn’t get much more honest in the name for a company that made commercials for television than TV Spots.

Here are some trade paper ads from 1955 and 1956 showing off some of the designs in the company’s animated commercials. You can click on each strip to make it larger.



TV Spots got into the television business when there were only two stations in Los Angeles, and only one was allowed to air commercials. It was the brainchild of animator Bob Wickersham. He had been a cartoonist in high school and contributed to the Los Angeles Times as early as 1926. His obit in the April 30, 1962 issue of Broadcasting says he joined Walt Disney Productions in 1932, and moved to Columbia/Screen Gems in 1941. In 1943, Wickersham was responsible for the art in a campaign by Mobil Oil about “gremlins.” And we learn from the Oxnard Press-Courier of April 25, 1946 he drew sequences for the Rosalind Russell movie “She Wouldn’t Say Yes” and “To Each Their Own” starring Olivia de Havilland.

The obit states he organised TV Spots, Inc. in 1947. Evidently business wasn’t altogether good for a while, as his name turns up on screen at Warner Bros.

Now, Shull Bonsall enters into the picture. Bonsall had money and he liked to play hardball with it. He bought Consolidated Television Sales in 1954 (Variety, March 3) which gave him ownership of 195 Crusader Rabbit cartoons made several years earlier by Alex Anderson and Jay Ward. His next move was buying control of TV Spots in 1955 from Wickersham (Broadcasting, Aug. 8) and shipping the company president to New York, putting creative director Sam Nicholson in charge of production. As you might guess, Wickersham knew he had no future at his old company. In 1956, he became president and partner of Chadwick, Inc., in New York, then left two years later to work as the art director for TV commercials produced by Leo Burnett in Chicago. Wickersham died in 1962 at age 51.

Bonsall had big expansion plans for TV Spots. He owned the old Crusader Rabbit cartoons and wanted to make new ones. As Keith Scott’s book The Moose That Roared explained, Bonsall threatened Ward and Anderson with lawsuits to drive them into bankruptcy if they didn’t sell him all rights to the Crusader characters. Defeated, they accepted a paltry $50,000. Bonsall then announced he was making new Crusader cartoons (Crusader’s voice, Lucille Bliss, received her own my-way-or-the-highway threat from Bonsall. She chose the highway. She claimed Bonsall mounted a campaign against her in revenge).

Regardless of what was going on behind the scenes, TV Spots was turning out some pretty attractive, modern-looking commercials for clients on both coasts. In 1958, the company’s animation director was veteran Paul Sommer, who soon accepted an offer from Hanna-Barbera.

H-B was getting rave reviews for its half-hour syndicated shows and more ratings success with the debut of The Flintstones on ABC in fall 1960. Animation in prime time was suddenly hot, and Bonsall wanted a chunk of the potential profits. He set up a division of TV Spots called Creston Studios to make television cartoon series. After animating for Leonardo Productions’ King Leonardo and his Short Subjects for Saturday morning, a handful of Popeyes for syndication directed by Gerry Ray, and some Fractured Fairy Tales for Jay Ward, the studio broke into prime-time in 1961 with Calvin and the Colonel. Creston’s “nifty animation” was praised in a review of the debut show in Variety, but chided “No matter how you slice it, it’s still Amos ‘n’ Andy, and times have changed.” The show lasted a season.

Suddenly, the prime-time animation craze was over. Creston proposed a satire series called Muddled Masterpieces (Fractured Fairy Tales ripoff, anyone?), another about a talking dog called Shaggy Dog Tales, and Sir Loin and Socrates, an English version of Don Quixote, all designed by Norm Gottfredson. None of them sold. By February 1963, Nicholson was producing The Funny Company for former ad agency senior v-p Ken Snyder; Broadcasting of Feb. 11 stated he had been creative director of TV Spots since 1953. Creston Studios, the corporate name for TV Spots since late 1961, was no longer listed in the Radio Television Daily Yearbook. It was bye-bye Bonsall.

Did Someone Put a Curse on the Columbia Cartoon Studio?

We at the Tralfaz blog sometimes watch cartoons so you don’t have to.

Today, we have, with mouth wide open in astonishment over how bad it is, sat through yet another six-minute waste of time from Columbia/Screen Gems, a black-and-white “Phantasy” from 1944 called As the Fly Flies.

Narrator John McLeish needed someone like Chuck Jones to keep him under control (as in The Dover Boys (1942). At Columbia, he must have thought the more over-the-top you are, the funnier it is. His wild overacting is unnecessary and irritating.

Ed Seward’s story is a zero. The main character, Professor Puzzlewitz, for no discernable reason, hides, rides a unicycle, wears a Napoleon hat, and looks through a pipe like a periscope because, well, I guess Ed Seward thought it was funny.

The professor shows off his invention. It’s a house that kills houseflies. He explains a Rube Goldberg contraption, where a phoney female fly lures its victim through a door. That results in a match lighting a wheel of fireworks, which sets off an ancient gun, where its bullet (more like a ball) is shot around inside a French horn and lands on a button, which activates a conveyer belt that moves the house and smashes it.



The cartoon is half over. Having spent all this time setting up this machine, it doesn’t figure into the story. Instead, Puzzlewitz spends the rest of the cartoon shooting at a fly with his blunderbuss (because they look funny!). He aims at machinery. Could the end result be telegraphed more? We all know what’s going to happen.

His “palatial estate” (which looks like an observatory) destroyed, Puzzlewitz crazily yells he’s killed the fly. Cut to the fly, very much alive. Why did he think it was dead? Wait. I’m expecting a Columbia cartoon to make sense?

Howard Swift directed this mess. Grant Simmons is the credited animator, who went on to work on to work with Tex Avery (talk about outhouse-to-penthouse). Puzzlewitz sounds like a Harry Lang voice but this cartoon has left me so unmotivated, I won’t go through Keith Scott’s book to check.

Eventually, Columbia put some good cartoons on the big screen. They were made elsewhere and starred Mr. Magoo.

Not Quite a Candlelight Dinner

Tom was one of the great pantomime cartoon characters of all time. The expressions the crew of animators gave him (and Jerry) over top of Scott Bradley’s scores is what made them shine on the screen.

Here’s an example from The Mouse Comes to Dinner, released in 1945. Jerry sets up the situation.



Check out Tom’s varied expressions.



Huh?? He’s seen something and turns to check it out.



He realises. There’s an eight-frame (half-second) stare at the camera as the flames rage, just long enough to register with the audience. Then the reaction (some random frames).



If you’re looking for a logical story in this one, forget it. The maid sets out a full dinner, then disappears. She’s gone so long, Tom has time to call a girl over to join him to eat it. But where are the dinner guests? Who leaves a dinner sitting on a table that long to get cold? Why doesn’t she hear the noise Tom and Jerry are making (like she does in other cartoons)?

Oh, well. The cartoon exists so Tom and Jerry can show off their range of expressions (and the cat can get beat up), and Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera’s animators were able to draw excellent ones for a good many years.

Pete Burness is part of the H-B unit on this short, with Ken Muse, Ray Patterson and Irv Spence.

I Wanna Be On a Game Show

If you watch game shows from TV’s black-and-white time, you’ll notice contestants are pleasant but without an awful lot of personality; even Let’s Make a Deal started out reasonably sedate.

There was a reason for it.

The Quiz Show Scandal of the ‘50s was a great cleanser. People got morally outraged, the shows they were outraged at were taken off the TV schedule, and then they carried on watching game shows as if nothing happened.

NBC’s game shows in the ‘60s were, I believe, for the most part filmed at Rockefeller Centre. This gave producers plenty of potential contestants from New York or New Jersey to pick from.

The philosophy behind screening potential prize winners was revealed in several newspaper articles of the day. The first one below caught my attention because of the cartoon that went with it; I wish it were of better quality, without the print bleed-through from the other side of the page. The story below appeared in a Sunday edition of The Daily Sentinel of Grand Junction, Colorado, March 6, 1961. There’s no byline and it’s written like a sales pitch, so I’ll bet it came from the NBC publicity department.

Genius, Crackpot, Keep Out
It was Jimmy Durante who first remarked, "Everybody wants to get into the act.”
The Schnozz might have been referring to "The Price Right, seen weekdays and Thursday evenings on KREX-Tv. Not only does everybody want to take part, quite few succeed.
This assistance is a source of pleasure to host Bill Cullen who, despite a staggering work load (25 hours a week of broadcasting), insists, “I’m basically lazy. I'm happy for all the help I can get.”
Cullen believe that the real stars of "The Price Is Right,” are the contestants, who vie for merchandise on the show.
“The reason they have so much appeal is because they are amateurs," he explained. Contestants on our show are selected from the.studio audience. We don’t go looking for geniuses or crackpots.”
Cullen also appreciates the assistance of statuesque redhead June Ferguson and vivacious blonde Toni Wallace.
“June does most of the fashion modeling, fur coats and the like, while Toni’s our demon driver,” noted Bill. "They sure brighten the scenery, eh?”
Another contributor to this team effort is announcer Don Pardo, whose mellow voice describes each lavish prize. A strapping six-footer, Don isn’t seen during the telecast but, before air-time, he’s the center of attention as he warms up the studio audience. He does this atop a ten foot Iadder, the only way the entire audience at NBCs huge Colonial Theatre in New York can see him.
“Don gets the audience so wound up, it’s sometimes tough to restrain them," continued Cullen. "But this is the way we like it. The enthusiasm of the crowd, encouraging the panelists, is part of the show.” The ides, insists Cullen, is to get as many people working as possible.
"The logical conclusion will be reached when I can sneak into my dressing room during the program and take a nap,” he said.
“Time was when shows went looking for unusual, off-beat people,” said Cullen, "The kind of folks who might be termed ‘kooky.’ You know, like a fellow who fights alligators or a 90-year-old woman who owns her own locomotive and three miles of track.”
Then television producers discovered that viewers enjoy sympathizing with contestants who are much like themselves. The result was "The Price is Right,” and other programs in which the contestants are plucked directly from the studio audience.
“We don't want publicity seekers, exhibitionists, or those with a personal axe to grind,” Cullen explained. “I remember one chap who used to show up in the audience every day with a crow sitting on top of his head. We saw him, but he never had a chance of getting on.”
The first rule for eligibility as a "Price is Right” contestant is, of course, to attend the telecast in New York. Tickets can be obtained by writing to Tickets NBC-Tv, 30 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, N.Y.
After each telecast, fifty to seventy five of those who have indicated a desire to appear, are interviewed briefly. This group is narrowed in more comprehensive interviews.
"FinalIy, we're down to three people, and that’s it,” said Bill.
'Why these three?
“Usually, they are people who balance each other. If we're having an elderly man on the show, we might want to put a pretty young girt beside him. If one of the contestants is from Alaska, another might be from Florida. The idea is to get a representative group so that each will react differently on the air.”
“The Price is Right” looks for lively, animated folks. But extroverts and showoffs are quickly dismissed.
"They're the first to clam up during the show,” explained Cullen.
The same goes for people whose interest in appearing is predicated purely on the fact that lavish prizes are given away.
"These folks usually turn out to be sore losers,” explained Cullen. “The fun of the show is in the bidding and all that goes with it. The prizes, no matter how stupendous, are secondary.”
Which gets us back to the first question—how to get to be a contestant.
“Be yourself,” said Cullen. “That's the key. Don’t act up or clown around because you think you’ll be noticed. You will . . . but in the wrong way. We’re interested in good natured, friendly, intelligent people.”
In other words, you could be next!



This Associated Press story from July 23, 1961 broadens the field a bit.

How To On Get A Quiz Program
EDITOR'S NOTE — If your profession is exotic, your hobby odd, your past dismal and your future bleak — you've got an excellent chance to be selected as a contestant in a TV game show. Assuming, that is, that you have a happy, wholesome, average American face.
By BERNARD GAVZER
NEW YORK (AP) — Critics may deplore and sociologists analyze TV's quiz and game shows, but most fans have only one question when they visit the TV capitals of New York and Hollywood: How do you get on a show?
The Answer
Here's the answer.
The field is wide open. There are 20 game-quiz type shows. Some are strictly variations of games played in parlors in olden days before TV—and you can win prizes even if you haven't enough talent to tie your shoelaces (“Video Village”). Some are pseudo-cerebral, requiring a degree of brain-work (“Concentration”). And others seem to be designed for hardluck characters who would break a tooth biting whipped cream (“Queen For A Day”) or who have strange and bizarre occupations or claims to fame (“What’s My Line?”, "The Groucho Show”).
Since the great scandal, operators of games and quizzes have been extremely sensitive. In a way, this has worked to the advantage of dreamers who want to win their way to riches and glory. To show that everything is on the up-and-up, and that no amount of pull can get you on most of the shows insist on picking contestants from the audience.
This is true, for instance, of "The Price Is Right," biggest quiz in popularity and prizes. NBC gets requests for 60,000 tickets each month for daily daytime telecast and the night show, hosted by amiable Bill Cullen.
Ticket holders are giving cards to fill out when entering the studio. While the show is on, staff members cull the cards for likely candidates. Hometown, birthplace and occupation have something to do with choice since the producer likes to get variety in background.
The Prizes
The prizes on the nighttime show have total price tags ranging from $16,000 to $23,000. That's one reason so many people try to get on it.
In shows like "What's My Line?" and "To Tell The Truth," being in the audience has nothing to do with getting on. The nonpanelists are ferreted out by staff people. Publicity men get into the picture by trying to get clients on such shows, not for the prizes but for the publicity.
Staff workers on shows like "Camouflage" and "Play Your Hunch" do a lot of random searching beside selecting from the audience, figuring they can find suitable people in any crowd.
At a recent telecast of "Play Your Hunch," Merv Griffin finished the show, addressed a few pleasant remarks to the audience, and then an associate producer took over.
"If there are any couples who wait to be contestants and who will be here until Monday," he said, emphasising Monday, "please remain in your seats. Also, if there is anyone who wishes to be a challenger, remain seated." Most of audience of about 200 cleared out, but there were six couples remaining, as well as a mother and three children. All were out-of-towners. The producer spoke with each of them briefly, and then selected one couple as contestants to standby for a show being taped that afternoon. One boy was picked as a possible challenger. All challengers get a flat $20.
The kind of people sought vary according to the general pattern of the show. You wouldn't be likely to see one of Jack Bailey's "Queen For A Day" potentials trying to exchange patter with Hugh Downs on "Concentration.” "Queen” contestants are picked from the audience. They fill in cards stating their big wish and telling something about themselves. About 21 are selected for quick interviews, and then four finally are picked. The Bailey show travels, so it could practically come to your doorstep.
"Concentration" is a different kettle of fish. You apply, just as though you're looking for a job. There's a quiz, just to see if solve a picture and word puzzle. And then there are personal interviews.
The Factor
Well, some of them like to get expectant mothers, so expectant there's an element of suspense. Others go for people of foreign birth, but not with heavy accents, unless it is British. Off-beat occupations have a particular lure.
It helps if you're attractive, "not good-looking, but looking good, since we don't want beauty queens and matinee idols."