Boris Gorelick

Such is the life of an artist that one can go from creating intense artwork of a lynching to painting a cartoon village for Speedy Gonzales to one-up Pussy Gato Sylvester.

The description applies to Warner Bros. background artist Boris Gorelick.

We tend to think of the three units at the cartoon studio as being fairly stable in the senior personnel after the shutdown ended in 1954 but there were comings and goings. It’s difficult to say when they happened because cartoons with opening credits were released more than a year after they were finished. We have to rely a bit on the Warner Club News staff newspaper but in the 1950s it stopped mentioning departures and omitted some arrivals.

Gorelick was assigned to the Freleng unit. Irv Wyner gets credit for backgrounds on Friz’s releases at the start of 1957. Several of Freleng’s cartoons do not mention a background artist, then Gorelick’s name appears on the acclaimed Birds Anonymous. He is also credited on Bugsy and Mugsy, Greedy for Tweety, Show Biz Bugs, Gonzales’ Tamales (all 1957), Hare-less Wolf and A Waggily Tale (both 1958). His name disappears and Tom O’Loughlin is credited afterward until the studio closed (and even later with DePatie-Freleng).

The Warner Club News does not mention Gorelick’s arrival. It does not list him under birthdays in its June 1956 issue, but does in June 1957. It reported in the October 1957 edition that O’Loughlin had been hired.

Gorelick’s birth year is in question. He claimed in a 1964 interview he was born in 1912. The World War Two Draft Card he signed says he was born on June 24, 1911 in Eketarinaslau, Russia. As a young child, he arrived in New York with his family; his father Aaron was a clothing designer. He has no occupation in the 1930 U.S. Census, the 1940 Census records him as “artist” and the 1950 Census gives his occupation as “artist, art school.”

By this time, he and his parents were living at 1770 North La Brea Ave. in Los Angeles. His Draft Card, dated Oct. 16, 1940, lists him as a “freelance artist.” The card has one New York address crossed out and replaced with another, which is also crossed out and an address in Los Angeles written above it. A Voters List for the 1944 election gives his La Brea address, occupation “illustrator” and his party affiliation as a Democrat. This shouldn’t be surprising, given his activist leanings. As you might imagine, the F.B.I. had a file on him, claiming as of March 1, 1961 he was a member of Club Number 2, Beverly-Fairfax Section of the Southern California District Communist Party. An unnamed informant is the source.

An extremely helpful book by Frances K. Pohl called “Of the Storm: An Art of Conscience” (Chameleon Books, 1995) gives this short biography:

BORIS GORELICK (1909—1984) was born in Russia and emigrated to the United States in 1911. He lived in New York and studied at the National Academy of Design, the Art Students League and Columbia University. Among his significant instructors were Nicholai Fechin, Sergie Soudekin, Leon Kroll, Sidney Dickinson, and Hugh Breckinridge. Gorelick received a Tiffany Scholarship and studied for a while at Oyster Bay, Long Island, as well as at the Yaddo Colony in Saratoga Springs, New York. Like Ribak and others of his generation, Gorelick was employed in the early 1930s by the Morgan Committee—a philanthropic organization set up during the early years of the Depression that paid artists to decorate New York City churches and synagogues. Gorelick and others from he hundred or so artists on the Morgan team were the core group behind the formation of the Artists Union, which in turn was instrumental in fomenting the Federal Art Project under the wing of the Works Progress Administration. Gorelick was president of the Artists Union for a number of years, contributed to the union’s journal, Art Front, and addressed the American Artists’ Congress in February of 1936. In 1933, he was involved in Treasury Section murals at Riker’s Island and King’s County Hospital with Michael Loew and O. Louis Guglielmi. Gorelick was a member of the New York lithography workshop from its inception, and in 1935—36, traveled to Phoenix to set up the local FAP school of art and design there. He moved to California in 1942, and during the war, did industrial design for Lockheed and the Hughes Corporation. Around 1945, Gorelick began working in the movie idustry as an animator and designer. He taught part-time at the Otis Art Institute and was involved in several mural projects for leading California architectural firms. Sources: Archives of American Art: Betty Hoag interview, May 20, 1964; Park and Markowitz, New Deal for Art, pp. 9, 88; Fowler, New Deal Art, p. 46.

The 1964 interview mentioned above reveals he started at UPA as a designer. Film Daily announced his hiring in its issue of August 13, 1945. Among the industrial shorts he worked on were Brotherhood of Man (1946), the oil industry propaganda film Man on the Land (1951) and the cancer warning short Man Alive! (1952). He continued his activism; the 1946 through 1948 Year Book(s) of Motion Pictures list him as a member of the executive council of the Hollywood Writers Mobilization (along with Chuck Jones), representing the Screen Cartoonists Guild. When the interview was conducted he was working for Ade Woolery’s Playhouse Pictures.

We’ll jump back to animation in a moment.

A 1936 newspaper story from New York reports a Gorelick piece called “Circus Wagon” (evidently a water colour) was on display at the Federal Art Project Gallery (7 East 39th St.). Perhaps his most important work was “Strange Fruit.” Pohl’s book not only reprinted the lithograph, but told its story.

A final example of the numerous images of lynchings that appeared in the 1930s is Boris Gorelick’s Strange Fruit (1939). Gorelick chose to present his condemnation of lynching in a surreal, dreamlike—or, one could say, nightmarish—manner. The title of Gorelick’s work comes from a poem written by Abel Meeropol (a k a Lewis Al1en) in 1936, which was turned into a song first performed by Billie Holiday. The first verse reads:

Southern trees bear a strange fruit, blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black body swinging in the Southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.”

The origin of the print was not, however, the text of this song. It was, instead, a newspaper story of a lynching Gorelick came across in the 1930s. In a letter he says:

I tried to incorporate and juxtapose all of the known facts of the event as reported. However, I meant it to be more than “Graphic Reportage.” It was a personal statement of outrage and protest. The story shown is of a young Negro, in the dark of night in Mississippi, snatched from his bed and family by the local sheriff and his posse, and dragged to the jail-house where the keys are thrown to a waiting mob of klansmen who lynch him by hanging him from the nearest tree. His body is later found by his wife and buried by his family and friends. It is a cry from the grave.” [Gorelick, Aug. 30, 1976, quoted in Marlene Park’s Lynching and Antilynching, pp. 349-50]

Through distortions of scale, macabre shadows, and exaggerated gestures, Gorelick achieves his “personal statement of outrage and protest.” The body of the lynched man in the center of the Composition is both present and absent: it dissolves into dust before our eyes, the dust falling into a waiting coffin; it casts two shadows, one to the left and one below on the ground. The right side of the composition is filled with grotesque hooded figures and threatening trees. On the left the lynched man’s family and friends lay him to rest. In the center of the image are the keys, symbolic of the betrayal of justice that lynching embodies. The print is a compendium of the iconography of lynching that appeared with such frequency in the works of artists, African American and white, during the 1930s.

If you wish to see Strange Fruit, it is reproduced here. A web search will direct you to some of his other works. Here are two. The first one is “Flood,” the second “The Case Of...” both from the 1930s.



In the early 1950s, newspapers mentioned some of murals that Gorelick designed and painted. He created the backdrop for Penelope at the Players Ring Theater. Ann St. John’s column in the Hollywood Citizen-News of Aug. 7, 1952 included this:

The new Brazilian Room of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel made its bow with a cocktail party showing off its new dress. It’s bound to be a popular rendezvous, for it has the lush intimacy so desirable in such a spot. We had quite a chat with Artist Boris Gorelick, who did the murals, a delightful fellow with a sense of humor. He was proudest of the fact that the Brazilian consul told him his scenes have “the feel of Brazil.” “When I finished the French Room murals recently in the Fairmont Hotel in Phoenix [sic], people asked me how long I had lived in Paris,” Mr. Gorelick recalls. He was born in New York and has never been in either place. “It’s a matter of research,” he says. “I find it all in the library.” It’s worth a trip just to look at them.

In the mid-1960s, he taught art on a freelance basis. He had one class at the Westside Jewish Community Center, and another in life drawing sponsored by the Palos Verdes Community Arts Association. 1967 was also the year Gorelick joined other Democrats in signing an open letter in the Los Angeles Times to President Johnson demanding an immediate American pull-out from Vietnam.

As for animation, it’s unclear what Gorelick did immediately after leaving Warner Bros. He found work painting backgrounds on the UPA feature 1001 Arabian Nights (1959), then was hired on April 12, 1960 to do the same (with former UPA artist Jules Engel) for Jack Kinney’s studio making Popeye cartoons for television (1960). Kinney was tied in with Herb Klynn’s Format Films, and when Format was picked to make The Alvin Show the following year, Gorelick was among the background artists. Other jobs included Linus the Lionhearted (1964, the series was originally made on the West Coast) and various shows for Filmation.

Gorelick died July 27, 1984.

For interest’s sake, here are frames from his background work at Warners, following the layouts by Hawley Pratt.


Birds Anonymous


Mugsy and Bugsy


Greedy for Tweety


Show Biz Bugs


Gonzales' Tamales


Hare-Less Wolf


A Waggily Tale

Gorelick shows a varied pallette of colours and I suspect Pratt was pleased to have someone who had worked at UPA to paint his more modern designs. Though he worked on the Oscar-winning Birds Anonymous, with Warren Foster’s story gently satirising some aspects of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’d like to think of Gorelick as a fighter of racism and social injustice through art.

Zooming Owl Head

The Van Beuren Studio’s original idea of a sound Fables cartoon was to make them just like a silent Fables, but add a music track in the background. A great example is Summertime, released in 1929. There’s no attempt to match mouth movements to voices, or much real dialogue at all. I get the impression sound effects were recorded when musicians and others watching the cartoon made appropriate noises when they saw something on the screen.

The only attempt at synchronisation is when a mouse jumps on piano keys to play the first four notes of “How Dry I Am.”

However, this short has something that was a staple at Van Beuren for a few years—a head zooming toward the camera. In this instance, it’s a sleeping owl disturbed by a squirrel outside enthusiastically cheering a performance of “Aba Daba Honeymoon,” a 1914 song written by Walter Donovan and Arthur Fields. The owl kind of hoots (see the lines coming out of its mouth) then the head retreats.



Musical notes fade on and off the screen while being played by a frog and a monkey (in the woods?) while the words “Hooray!” “H-ray!” appears when the squirrel shouts. This may seem superfluous but there were still theatres not equipped for sound, vainly hoping it was a fad and they wouldn’t have to spend money on equipment to pipe in the noise.

Other songs in Carl Edouarde’s score include “The Arkansas Traveler” (played by the frog on a mushroom), “In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree” (mice clarinet/spring sequence), and “Fire! Turn the Hose on Me” by Richard Whiting and Byron Gay, composed in 1926 (Farmer Al looks at thermometer, sun zooms in).

John Foster and Harry Bailey get the “by” credit.

Invisiblity is Screwy

Screwy Squirrel spends most of The Screwy Truant (released in January, 1945) finding ways to bash Meathead with a mallet.

The chase takes them into farm country, where Screwy notices a barn being painted. Here`s where director Tex Avery and gagman Heck Allen go next.



The stretched nose on Meathead is from Screwy honking it.



And it's on to the next gag.



The pace of this cartoon gallops along as Tex fills it with gags. For example, he uses only three frames between when Meathead notices the mallet to when Screwy bashes him with it (four frames).

As animator Mark Kausler learned from personal experience, Avery wasn’t fond of the Screwy cartoons, but they have some really funny gags. (My favourite in this cartoon is probably the 500 yards of phoney squirrel tail). Boxoffice loved it. Its opinion in the April 28, 1945 edition:

Hilarious. Speedily paced and gagged to the limit, this short-reel comedy will delight patrons of either sex and all ages. In it Screwy Squirrel not only plays hooky from school but manages to bedevil the pursuing truant officer into a state of near frenzy. A novelty ending brings in Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf for a sequence of additional laughs.

Showmen’s Trade Review liked Screwy, too. It proclaimed this cartoon “Good” in its May 12, 1945 edition, continuing:

Screwy Squirrel is a pleasurable enough character, and his antics with a truant officer who would lead him on a straight path furnish seven minutes of good entertainment.”

It could not be better worded.

Not Our Miss Brooks

Eve Arden enjoyed a huge success starring in Our Miss Brooks. It was one of the shows that transferred from radio to television quite well, despite the fact Dick Crenna was far too old to be playing a high school student. Arden had an earlier venture on radio that, well, isn’t remembered today.

The Sealtest Village Store originally started out as a variety show starring Rudy Vallee with Joan Davis as a Vera Vague type who chased after him. When Vallee left in 1943, Davis took over and the show became a sitcom called the Sealtest Village Store. She was soon joined by Jack Haley. Davis quit in 1945, and Arden was signed as her replacement. Haley departed in 1947 and was replaced with Jack Carson. The store was closed the following year.

Herald Tribune syndicate reviewer John Crosby caught Arden and Haley. It was around Christmas time, but his opinion of the show wasn’t holly or jolly. Some of the humour is really painful. Here’s what he wrote on December 26, 1946.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
Another Village Store
Jack Haley and Eve Arden, an ill-assorted pair of comedians, may be heard once a week in what professes to be comedy (NBC 9:30 p.m., EST, Thursdays) and, if you hear them any two weeks in a row, you have no one to blame but yourself. Years ago, when she was a very bright young thing on the musical comedy stage, Miss Arden was one of my favorite comediennes. She had a cool and devastatingly feminine manner of delivering comedy lines and, though it wasn't necessary, more than her shake of food looks.
Over the air, you can't see the looks and the style has flattened considerably due to repetition, or possibly because Miss Arden's material is pretty dreadful. Mr. Haley, who at one time was in danger of becoming a permanent juvenile of the musical comedy stage, escaped by diving into radio where he is no better and is possibly a little worse. So much for the principals of this comedy series.
* * *
Mr. Haley and Miss Arden are, respectively, proprietor and employee of the Village Store in which they spend as little time as possible and apparently do little business. A village store, I guess, just sounded like a good idea to the writers when this series started, which must have been a long time ago. Mr. Haley and Miss Arden do not sound as if they ever saw a village much smaller than Manhattan or would remain in it longer than it takes to buy gasoline. Nevertheless, through some whim of their sponsor (Sealtest Ice Cream), they are marooned in this Village speaking in their imperturbably metropolitan accents the devious and aged jokes which are cast into their laps. What the villagers think of all this, I cannot say since they never appear.
In a recent sketch, Mr. Haley was feeling the spirit of Christmas in a dim way. "Always at Christmas time I try to remember people who work for me,” he tells Miss Arden. “You’re Eve Arden, aren't you?"
“Yes,” says Miss Arden tremulous with expectation.
"See, remember you."
However, the joke is not allowed to rest there. Mr. Haley hands her a large box; reminding her coyly that she has always expressed a wish for pearls. Overwhelmed at the thought of such a large box of pearls, Miss Arden plans to open it Christmas morning but Mr. Haley advises her to get right at it. "It'll take you a week to open 300 oysters,” he says.
However, my favorite example of Haley and Arden pitter-patter occurred some weeks back. Miss Arden is parading around the store in a bare midriff dress. "Is that dress a fuchsia?" asks Mr. Haley.
"I don't know if it's got a fuchsia,” says Miss Arden gaily. "But I've always done well with it in the pash."
As an example of the skits these people get themselves into, let’s consider a recent one. Haley is mixed up in some sort of Christmas songfest on the village green. Who should walk in but Lauritz Melchior. There is an immediate and painful case of mistaken identity, despite the fact Mr. Melchior is the most recognizable singer anywhere with the possible exception of Frank Sinatra.
"I’m Scandinavian."
“Are you Swedish?"
"No."
"Are you Finnish?"
“No, I just started."
Finally, Mr, Melchior is unmasked for what he is and is prevailed upon to sing "Silent Night" which was almost worth all the beating around the bush.
* * *
They do this tame sketch with minor variations again and again at the Village Store. Not long ago, Mr. Haley was running opera night or some such thing and needed a good orchestra to accompany a Metropolitan Opera singer. He wound up with Spike Jones, who massacred a couple of numbers. The guest stars practically keep the Village Store running.
Mr. Jones was also forced to say to Miss Arden, presumably against his will: "I've met many women in my life, but you're head and shoulders over all of them."
"You mean I'm so beautiful?"
"No you're so tall."
There is also a sort of running joke you're likely to bump your head against every time you enter the Village Store. It goes like this: “I consider you two nit wits."
"Now, look here." . . .
“Just a minute, nit. I'm speaking to wit."
Any other questions about Miss Arden and Mr. Haley? Christmas is over, and we may all speak our minds frankly.

Critic Crosby had better things to say about the comedy game show Can You Top This? It was sedate compared to It Pays to Be Ignorant, where old vaudevillians mangled the English language and pitched horrible puns in answer to listeners’ far-too-easily answered questions.

Dialect jokes are passé at best these days, but none of the ones mentioned below require one, with the exception of the one that makes fun of people who believe in racial stereotypes. The syndicate sent out this column for publication on December 24.

RADIO IN REVIEW
By JOHN CROSBY
Can You Top This?
“Can You Top This?" (NBC 9:30 p. m. E. S. T. Saturdays), which has just celebrated its seventh anniversary on the air, is a sort of "Information, Please" of jokes. It originated on WOR In 1940, and New Yorkers can still hear it over this station at 8 p. m. Wednesdays as well as the NBC presentation on Saturdays. The three wits on this program know as much about jokes as John Kieran about birds or Franklin P. Adams about the lyrics of old songs. In fact, many of the jokes are as old as the songs. These are not the newfangled one-line type of joke: there are few topical allusions in them; they are rarely ever distinguished by brevity; they go on and on and on and are, in spite of it all, very, very funny.
What makes them so is the extreme skill with which they are told by Harry Hershfield, Senator Ford and Joe Laurie jr., all old vaudevillians, toastmasters and storytellers from way back. So expertly do they sling these yams that many a lame duck of a joke sounds like a whistler swan.
* * *
The format of the show is simplicity itself. Listeners send in jokes which are told and highly embellished by Peter Donald, a specialist in all types of dialect. Even when a joke doesn't require dialect, Pete usually provides one just to exhibit his repertoire. The object of the experts is to top whatever figure Pete gets on the laugh meter. Since Pete almost invariably can dress up even the weakest joke well enough to get 1,000, which is tops, it’s impossible for the exports to get better than a tie, but they almost always manage that.
Here is a listener's joke, which earned 1,000 on the laugh meter. I won’t attempt to duplicate the Irish accent.
"Paddy, we’ve been friends for long time. I been observin' you and notice you always drink milk with your eyes open; you drink water with your eyes open; but you always drink whisky with your eyes shut.”
“Well, I’ll tell you why that is. I see that beautiful whisky there in the glass and it makes my mouth water. And I don't like to drink it diluted.”
The way Pete told it, it went on for minutes and the Gaelic brogue made the windows rattle. They had barely ceased rattling when Harry Hershfield was on his feet with his own drinking joke. It may be an oldie, but I never heard it and I think It's worth 1,000 on anyone's laugh-meter.
A drunk, lurching down Fifth Avenue, bumps into a passerby. “Shay,” he says. “Can you direct me to Alcoholish Anonymush?"
"Why?" inquires the passerby. “You want to join?"
“No, I wanna resign.”
* * *
Here’s another listener joke about jobs which was told in an almost vanished German dialect that was very popular 30 years ago. One German immigrant bumped into another on the street and asked him how he was doing in the New World.
“Fine!” says the immigrant. “I’m a diamond cutter now."
"That’s great. It must be a highly paid job."
“Oh, no!"
“Why, a diamond cutter is a highly skilled profession. It ought to be a highly paid profession. It takes years and years of apprenticeship to learn the trade. The pay ought to be very high."
“You misunderstood me. I mean I cut the grass in a ball park.”
Then there was the one about Mrs. Popilicoff, who went to an adult class to learn some of these new ideas about nutrition. The lecturer kept harping on proteins, fats and carbohydrates and a lot of other words Mrs. Popilicoff couldn't understand. At the end of his lecture he asked her what were the three things she had to eat to keep healthy.
"Breakfast, lunch, and supper," said Mrs. Popilicoff promptly.
This provoked from one of the experts one of the numerous and presumably authentic Madame Chiang Kai-Shek stories that you may have heard before. Before she was well known in this country Madame Chiang attended a dinner where she was pestered by a woman next to her who insisted on talking to her in pidgin English.
“You likee country? You likee dinner?"
Madame Chiang ignored her and rose later to deliver a speech in her best Wellesley English After he sat down she turned to her neighbor and said brightly: “You likee speech?"
* * *
“Can You Top This?" is a good-natured show if you like that sort of joke. It sounds likr a stag dinner after the speeches are over and the boys have settled down to tell the one they heard on the way to the Cleveland convention. The only difference is that these jokes are as clean as a hound's tooth.

The other Crosby columns for the week:

Monday, December 23, 1946: Two painful two-somes. You may have heard of Sweeney and March.
Wednesday, December 25, 1946: Christmas programming highlights.
Friday, December 27, 1946: The Arkansas Traveller, Bob Burns.

Click on them to read them better.

Buried Alive

Bob Clampett doesn’t strike me as a director that went in for a lot of perspective scenes, but here’s a frame from one in The Old Grey Hare (released in 1944). Clampett employs shadows here, too.



Showmen’s Trade Review rated the cartoon “Excellent.” Its review:

Elmer, the intrepid rabbit hunter, still trying to “get” Bugs Bunny, is whisked back through time to the year 2000. Now an old man with a new rocket gun, he discovers the hare at his elbow with that “What’s up Doc” routine. He shoots Bugs who, in feigned death throes, gives Elmer an album with photographs of the days when they first met. The rabbit starts to dig his own grave (so Elmer thinks) and remorse sweeps over the aged hunter. Bug says his goodbyes, shoves his friend into the hole and throws dirt in the face of the unsuspecting Elmer. This audience laugh feast for young and old was supervised by Robert Clampett from a story by Michael Sasanoff.

It was dubbed “a howl” by Film Daily. The main thing I thought when I first saw it was that 2000 was very far away.

Bob McKimson is the credited animator.

The Land of Oz is in Canada

Being Canada Day today, it’s only appropriate to celebrate an early success in Canadian animation.

Before Nelvana and Trillium Productions (the folks who brought you Rocket Robin Hood), there was Crawley Films. It was an Ottawa company that made commercials (some animated) and short industrial films in the 1950s.

The Tales of the Wizard of Oz was an ambitious project. Crawley signed a contract with Videocraft International of New York for 130 five-minute cartoons. A story in the January 17, 1962 of The Financial Post said 45 cartoons had been sent to Videocraft, the company was working on number 60 and that 10 cartoons had to be made every month to meet the schedule. The company employed 45 people including artists (Rod Willis was a key animator), cameramen, checkers (led by Gerry Savage) and a sound-track reader.

The Montreal Gazette profiled the studio in a feature story published on Dec. 9, 1961.

TV Cartoon Series In Production At Ottawa
Crawley Making Wizard Of Oz
Marking a milestone in Canadian film making for international television, an animated color cartoon series, Tales Of The Wizard Of Oz, is underway at the Ottawa studios of Crawley Films.
With the largest group of artists in Canada engaged on the project, which may be worth approximately $500,000, nearly a third of the series has been completed. The series consists of 130 four-minute color cartoons with an option for another 130 segments.
What could result in a new industry for Canada, Tales Of The Wizard Of Oz is an international enterprise involving Videocraft International of New York and Crawley Film Limited of Ottawa. The series is based on the original characters of I. Frank Baum's [sic] book Wonderful Wizard Of Oz, which is now in the public domain. Videocraft is supplying the story line and the key outlines of the main characters.
Voices of the characters are being recorded in Toronto by Bernard Cowan with such well-known Canadians as Larry Mann, Paul Kligman, Alfie Scopp, James Doohan and Pegi Loder.
Crawley Films recruited trained animators from Canada, the United States, England and Spain to form a crew which is the largest in North America, outside of Hollywood.
Under Tom Glynn, producer, seven key animators are working on the project backed by seven junior animators. This crew follows the general story line and develops the action frame by frame.
Next step is the tracing and painting, with some 18 artists completing the action and adding color, all the time making sure the drawings line up with the sound track.
Then comes the actual photographing in color of each frame and, finally, the synchronization of the film with the sound track. While animations for TV commercials are being done in Canada, this project is the first of its type and magnitude here.
Graeme Fraser, vice president of Crawley Films, hopes that the Wizard of Oz may lead to the establishment of an animated industry for entertainment purposes in Canada. He noted that Crawley has had an animation department for many years but "this project is a great challenge for us in terms of the future."
The Wizard Of Oz series follows the new trend to "limited animation" in which not every move of the subject is drawn. This was first started by UPA's Mr. Magoo and broke the Walt Disney system of slavish attention to every movement.
For Tom Glynn, in his job as producer, the series means a return to the department where he started with Crawley Films 16 years ago.
He came to Crawley as an animation cameraman and then was head of the camera department for 11 years. A spell of three years as production manager followed and then he was production supervisor on the RCMP television series.

I have no recollection of these cartoons being on the air on the West Coast of Canada in the early ‘60s. Mind you, my cartoon-watching schedule in mornings and afternoons was full with old Warners and Fleischer Popeye shorts, Mighty Mouse, the Huckleberry Hound, Quick Draw McGraw and Yogi Bear shows (along with Lippy the Lion and lesser Hanna-Barbera cartoons), the Famous Studio sausage factory stuff and a lot more. All American.

Perhaps the Wizard cartoons were entertaining for younger kids, but I don’t find them as funny as other TV cartoons of the era. If you’re looking for anything resembling the Oz books, don’t bother. The designs and colour are good. The flat and sponge-painted backgrounds remind me of Fernando Montealegre’s work at MGM and Hanna-Barbera. The animators copy the formula Mike Lah used at H-B, where the characters were held and mouth-lines on the face were all that were animated.

The actors from Toronto are top-notch. One of my favourite Canadian announcers, Bernard Cowan, can be heard as a commercial announcer in The Witch’s Boyfriend (some frames are below). You likely know that Videocraft, which later became Rankin-Bass, used Canadians quite a bit. I’ll spare you a list of credits you can find elsewhere on the internet. (Yeah, yeah, Yukon Cornelius. I know).

The Oz cartoons led to another Videocraft-Crawley deal for The New Adventures of Pinocchio. Cowan, Paul Kligman, Larry D. Mann and the rest were back for more voice work. It seems to have been a good pairing. But Crawley started moving in other directions and eventually foundered financially.

Even if you’re not enthralled with the Oz cartoons, they played an important in the history of Canadian animation and are worth a look on this Canada Day.

You can read more about Crawley and these cartoons in THIS POST and THIS POST.