The Loving Bug

The final sequence of The Bug Parade (1941) involves a spider who loves little flies. Not only does he have Billy Bletcher’s evil laugh, but I really like his design. Here are some drawings.



The spider assures us “I just love little flies!” The gag is that he literally does.



He looks at the audience watching the cartoon. “I told you I love little flies, didn’t I?”



Iris out.

Reviewers in 1941 called the cartoon “The Bug Parade” but it was copyrighted that year as “Bug Parade.”

The Showmen’s Trade Review called it “clever”:

In a manner that has marked this series [Merrie Melodies] as one of the most entertaining on the cartoon market, “The Bug Parade” delves into the various habits and peculiarities of many well-known insects. The Technicolor subject is replete with subtle gags which should make it popular with adult audiences. Leon Schlesinger produced.

The story credit went to Dave Monahan and animation to Rod Scribner. Director Tex Avery was omitted; he was at MGM when this cartoon was released.

What Word Do We Use Here?

One of Jack Benny’s many quips on the air involved his utter dependence on his writers. Like the ownership of a polar bear, it was fake. It’s pretty clear, even in interviews with his writers in later years, that Jack was involved in the writing process of his radio show and had the final authority of everything written for broadcast (okay, outside of network censors and meddling ad agencies and sponsors).

This is confirmed in a column by Zuma Palmer of the Hollywood Citizen-News of June 4, 1935. She returned from a first-hand look to report of her readers. Her readers would have known Don Wilson from his radio career in Los Angeles before going to New York and eventually auditioning for the Benny show when General Tire took over sponsorship.

The timing, the smoothness and precision with which one act follows another, the sound effect contraptions, the movements and facial expressions of the entertainers make a broadcast most interesting to watch. But, it does not compare with a rehearsal for there one sees a program in the building. Saturday night I was invited to the NBC studios on the RKO lot to hear the cast of the Jack Benny broadcasts work on their dialog for the next day's radio appearances.
Sitting informally in group were Mr. Benny, Don Wilson, Mary Livingstone, Frank Parker, Cecil Underwood and others. Hovering near every now and then was Harry Conn, gag writer. As the lines were read, Mr. Benny teetered back and forth on two legs of his chair, chewed a cigar, with which he gesticulated occasionally, and waved a pencil when emphasis was needed. He knew the word effect, the voice inflection he wanted. He seemed to sense whether or not gag would go over A word, phrase would be added or deleted, the length or necessity for a sound effect discussed. It was rather amazing at times what result would be obtained with small change. When the scripts were corrected, actors took their places before the microphones and went through the routine. After almost two hours, another rehearsal was called for 1:15 Sunday. Apparently not satisfied with the script, Jack Benny, Harry Conn and one or two others went into huddle to go over it again. The atmosphere of the rehearsal had been friendly, calm and quiet. There was nothing superior or temperamental about Mr. Benny's direction. He realizes that he must keep alert, do the very best he can to stay at the top of his profession. Comedy is no easy field and the competition is keen.
Don Wilson did not need to say that he enjoyed being in this series of programs. His eyes, his smile, his interest and enthusiasm tell you that. His success in New York has not changed him one iota. Mary Livingstone, who rightly very proud of her husband, Jack Benny, likes it out here and is enjoying working in Hollywood as much as she did in the East. That is well since the broadcasts may continue to originate out here when they are resumed in the fall. The programs will leave the air in July.
It may be interesting to know that the script used on Sunday was considerably different from that rehearsed on Saturday night, probably the result of the huddle aforementioned.

Palmer was right in that Jack abandoned New York as his permanent base of operations, thanks to his movie career and technological improvements that made broadcasting from the West Coast to the full NBC network practical.

In case you’re wondering about Cecil Underwood, he was with NBC. In 1925, he was hired by KHQ in Spokane, then brought to NBC San Francisco as an announcer in June 1929. He was made assistant programme director for the Western Division in April 1934 then put in charge of production at the new NBC studios in Hollywood that August. He later went on to direct Fibber McGee and Molly and produce The Great Gildersleeve.

Here’s another story from 1935 about putting together the script, from the Los Angeles Times of June 4. It’s mainly an interview with Harry Conn, who has calls Jack Benny a “reader” before more self-promotion. He’s pretty dismissive of Mary Livingstone, too. That was a dangerous thing to do because Mary could play hardball if she wanted to. (Conn’s wife famously told Mary her husband’s brains paid for Mary’s fur coat. Conn must have been a marked man after that, if he wasn’t before). Conn spent time in 1935 and 1936, more or less, taking credit for Benny’s success and complaining to whatever columnist who would listen that he deserved more accolades and more money.

BENNY RATES "TOPS" AS DIALOGUE READER
Harry Conn, Jack’s Comedy Writer, Reveals That Radio Gags Are Funnier Because Actor “Leans on His Lines”
BY CARROLL NYE
Tonight at 7:30 o'clock, If you dial KFI, you’ll hear some dialogue which will go something like this:
Don Wilson: “Now, on Mother's Day, we bring you Jack Benny."
Jack Benny: "I don't like the way you say that, Don. After all, I'm not a mother. Don't let my photographs fool you."
What! You're not convulsed? Harry W. Conn, Benny's comedy writer, didn’t anticipate you would get much of a bang out of it when it appeared in cold type—and more than he expected to panic me with the gag when pulled the first sheet of this script out of the typewriter and shoved it under my nose.
GOOD DIALOGUE MAN
"Only Jack Benny could read that certain line and get anything out of it," Conn remarked. "There isn't a comedian in the business who can touch him as a reader of comedy dialogue.
"Jack hasn't told four jokes in as many months on the air, yet he is rated top radio comic. He's the center pole of the circus. Instead of playing 'straight' for his stooges, as it may appear to some listeners, his stooges are merely ‘guy ropes.’ It takes little more than a grunt from Benny to build the other actor's gag into something that will give the audience a laugh. In the parlance of the theater, Benny is a master at ‘leaning on a line.’
Conn's understanding of Benny's forte is the keynote of his own success. The comedy writer has turned out Benny's scripts ever since the suave comedian has been on the air, and their teamwork has resulted in a steady climb to the top. The forthcoming Crosley report rates Benny 10 points above his nearest competitor.
MANY SCRIPTS WRITTEN
Conn has written 245 radio shows, dating from the time he started turning out scripts for Burns and Allen. Previously, he admitted, he was a "street-corner wag."
"Peddling gags along Broadway was profitless," he declared. "Nobody took me seriously. They thought I was at my funniest when I asked for a job. Now that I have one, I save the humor for the scripts.
"I don't need a gag library for my material because I have a 'hoke' mind that makes it easy for me to get comedy out of almost any sort of situation.
“Since I have the mind of the average ‘mug,’ I can write stuff that appeals to the average listener. You can't cater to any particular class in writing comedy for radio. The 'stuffed shirts’ laugh as loud as anyone at a bit of hokum. It takes the starch out of them.
SATIRE ON SHAKESPEARE
"I turned out a satire on ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for Jack's broadcasts, but I don't know a thing about Shakespeare. The idea probably would have been a flop if I had been a student of his plays.
“On the whole, however, we rely on topical material to keep alive the interest in the broadcasts. Today it's Mother's Day that gives us the backbone of the broadcast. Perhaps it'll be the soldiers' bonus later.
"In the way we never got stale. If we use catch lines we drop them before they die.
Although Conn follows a formula that is planned several weeks in advance, the actual preparation of the shows is inspirational and spontaneous. He bats out a script on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday he and Benny go over It together. Jack makes changes here and there at the reading; often ad libs during the broadcasts, but to date he hasn’t rejected any of Conn’s scripts as a whole.
SPONSOR CHECKS IT
Conn injects comedy into the commercial blurbs and turns the script over to the sponsor on Friday to give him a chance to turn thumbs down on the commercials or the comedy. The advertising is handled so adeptly that it is never obtrusive.
(Incidentally, I was surprised to find that the sponsor's product was mentioned thirty times during last Sunday's broadcast. I would have guessed that the "shimmy sauce" had been plugged four of five times.)
"Jack Benny inspires the writing of good material," said Conn. "In addition to his showmanship, he's a swell audience. If anyone springs a gag on him that strikes him right, he'll roll on the floor convulsed with laughter."
Conn calls Mary Livingstone (Mrs. Benny) an "indifferent comedienne." He has written a Mother's Day poem for her to intone today. "I don't care how I write them,” he said, "and she doesn't care how she reads them so, between us, we get a laugh."

Conn and Benny very unpleasantly split after Conn abandoned the show in Baltimore before a March 22, 1936 broadcast. Conn went on to obscurity. Benny went on to increasing fame with new writers who created most of the situations people associate with Benny today (in Conn’s time, there was no Rochester, no Phil Harris, no Dennis Day, no Mel Blanc, no Frank Nelson, no Sheldon Leonard, no “39”, no Maxwell, no vault, the list goes on and on).

Conn deserves credit for helping to lay the foundation of the show. But as Zuma Palmer found out, and George Balzer and Milt Josefsberg confirmed in later years, the show's writing was ultimately controlled by Jack Benny.

Cat Concerto

The Cat Concerto has the distinction of being a cartoon that won an Academy Award before almost anyone saw it.

Its official release date was April 26, 1947, but the cartoon must have had a special screening some time in 1946 to be eligible. I have not been able to find out where or when. Showman’s Trade Review on January 4 reported “Fred Quimby, head of MGM’s short subject department, has selected ‘The Cat Concerto,’ a Tom & Jerry cartoon, as his entry for the Academy Award for 1946.”

The Motion Picture Academy’s Jean Herscholt announced on January 26 the cartoon had been nominated for an Oscar. It won on March 13.

Even before the nomination, the Motion Picture Herald obliquely referred to the screening, writing on January 25 “Due to the favorable reception accorded MGM’s Technicolor cartoon, ‘The Cat Concerto,’ Fred C. Quimby, head of the studio’s short subjects department, plans to produce a series of similar cartoons featuring well known musical compositions. The musical score for the second in the series will be based on Johann Strauss’ ‘Tales of the Vienna Woods’.” This was likely another PR puff piece by Metro announcing cartoons that never got made, but Hanna and Barbera did use the same idea later, creating Johann Mouse, released in 1951.

The Cat Concerto was not copyrighted until April 10, 1947.

The short seems to have been in the planning stages for some time. Variety reported on January 2, 1946:

Jose Iturbi is virtually a stand-in for a tomcat these days. No offense—his finger movements are being copied for transfer to the tomcat who plays the Second Hungarian Rhapsody in Metro's "Tom and Jerry" cartoon.

Iturbi appeared in the MGM feature Anchor’s Away but not in the same scenes as Tom and Jerry. That didn’t stop MGM’s PR people from sending newspapers photos of Iturbi watching Tom and Jerry at the piano.

Variety printed this blurb on March 27: “John Crown recorded 88 work on the 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody yesterday at Metro for ‘Cat's Concerto’.”

Crown was a professor of piano forte at University of Southern California. An earlier posting on this blog mentions that MGM sound department records show Calvin Jackson was the pianist, and recorded his work on April 8, 1946. Jackson was an assistant director of music at MGM, scoring musicals at the time the cartoon was made. Meanwhile, the Hollywood Reporter of July 17, 1946 ran an unsourced item that “Chopin’s 24th Prelude will serve as a background for ‘Cat’s Concerto’.” This is possible; Bill Hanna wrote in his autobiography that Chopin had been considered as the musical background for the cartoon.

MGM sent out the usual publicity materials for columnists. I’ve found this in several papers, including the Salt Lake Deseret News on March 14.

JERRY MOUSE SHOWS MAESTRO CAT LIVELY TIME IN NEW MGM CARTOON
To the names of Joseffy, De Pachmann, Rubinstein, Schnabel and other immortal pianists, must now be added that of a new impresario—Maestro Tom Cat, concert pianist extraordinaire. Tom gives an exhibition of his virtuosity in the new M-G-M Tom Jerry Cartoon, "The Cat Concerto" and it is a performance that has to be seen and heard to be believed.
Tom makes his appearance before the concert audience and begins what he hopes will be brilliant rendition of the Liszt Second Hungarian Rhapsody. Resplendently dressed in white tie and tails, he is a picture of classical dignity, and with a grandiloquent bow, he begins to play. But what Mr. Liszt didn’t reckon with when he composed the immortal Rhapsody was the presence of a mischievous Jerry Mouse inside the keyboard of the piano. To Jerry's anti-symphonic ear, music is nothing more than a lot of noise and he registers his disapproval by trying to break up the concert.
In the ensuing riot of music and mayhem, no piano ever took more punishment—and no pianist ever was so harrassed. Chords turn into discords; arpeggios, trills and cadenzas become embroiled in a series of flying piano keys and hammers as Jerry goes to work to systematically plague the pianist. Tom responds with his usual alacrity.
Since Jerry can keep thinking up more ways to annoy his perennial foes than could be imagined, the antics of the feuding duo keep things humming at a hilarious pace until the number has come to a finish that has exhausted the palpitating pianist. In the end, it is a triumphant Jerry Mouse who takes the bows and receives the overwhelming ovation of the audience. Fred Quimby produced “The Cat Concerto” which won a special Academy Award last night.

Going through the popular press at the time, reaction to the cartoon was electric. Before it was released, Hedda Hopper wrote on March 20 “It’s as sensational as Walt Disney’s ‘Three Little Pigs,’ and should be just as popular.”

This is from the May 28, 1947 edition of the Syracuse Herald Journal

ON THE SCREEN
Tom and Jerry Oscar Winners
By MARJORIE TURNER
WHEN FRANZ LISZT wrote his immortal Second Hungarian Rhapsody he probably never expected it to inspire loud and long laughter, but there is nothing sacred, it seems. The Liszt composition was worked into a Tom and Jerry cartoon by MGM's Fred C. Quimby, and it took an Academy award this year as the best cartoon production of the year.
"THE CAT CONCERTO," which completes the bill of "The Yearling" at Loew's this week, is a bit of rapid fire nonsense which translates human emotions through the cat and mouse principals. Tom Cat goes swanky, puts on tie and tails, and proceeds to give a highbrow concert. Jerry Mouse is outraged at his presumption, and sets out to embarrass him and spoil the show. It's as simple as that, but the humor and the art which went into the mysterious process of the animated cartoon put it at the top of the list for the drawing board funny men. This is the fifth year that Mr. Quimby has produced a prize winning nonsense film.
ANIMATED cartoons have a definite place in the motion picture world, a place which has been established not alone by the technical development of that branch of motion picture making, but by certain characters which amount to a legend with children—and grownups. After all, if the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Science thinks cartoons are that important, and if 7,000 kids will trek downtown on any Saturday morning to see an all cartoon show, it is a force to be reckoned with.

From the Akron Beacon Journal, May 9, 1947:

'Cat Concerto' Superb Cartoon
By BETTY FRENCH, Theater Editor
OSCAR SMITH, music-lovers, and just plain movie-goers, please note:
Don't miss "The Cat Concerto," at Loew's.
That's the cartoon which won this year's Academy award. It stars Tom and Jerry, the feuding cat and mouse who have scampered off with five Academy awards in the past seven years—a record unmatched by any other cartoon characters.
And it contains the most delightful portrayal of a concert pianist in screen history.
* * *
The role of the pianist is played by Tom, the puss whose composure Jerry, the mouse, loves to ruffle.
Tom never has been more composed, and more majestic than he is at the start of this picture.
In immaculate full-dress, he comes on stage, bows, and seats himself at the piano with greater dignity than Rubenstein and Horowitz combined.
His expression of benign superiority is priceless. His mannerisms are perfect, even to lifting his coat-tails, rubbing his paws, and wiping them daintily with his handkerchief.
* * *
Then he starts playing—Liszt's Second Hungarian Rhapsody. His technique is excellent. M-G-M does not credit the real pianist, but it might even be Iturbi, who is on the Metro payroll.
Tom's playing awakens Jerry, who has set up housekeeping in back of the keyboard. He begins to try to break up the concert. He doesn't break it up but he joins in, wears out Tom, the virtuoso, and takes the bows himself.
* * *
THE CARTOON runs for seven minutes, and is a pleasure every one of the seven.
Throughout the seven minutes it has a continuous background of piano music. Tom keeps playing—with his hind feet when his fore-paws are busy bashing Jerry.
And Jerry helps him out by adding improvisations of his own, including boogie-woogie, by jumping about on the keys or by pounding them with the piano's own hammers.
The cartoon contains not a word of dialog, not even a squeak or a meow.
Whereas most cartoons have many shifts of scene, and bring in many different props for their characters to use in attacking each other, "The Cat Concerto" uses only Tom, Jerry and the piano.
Yet it has speed and variety. It is a masterpiece of unity, ingenuity, and humor.

The Selma Times-Journal of May 4 concluded its story with “A melange of melody, mirth and mayhem follows to make ‘The Cat Concerto,’ an unique and memorable bit of musical tomfoolery.

And the literary section of The Age published in Melbourne, Australia, on Aug. 27, 1947 had this to say:

TRIUMPH of the CAT CONCERTO
Although full animated features such as Fantasia and Snow White took leading places, deservedly, in their years of release, it is not often that an animated short has claims to rank among the first ten. But I think when the show down comes the cartoon, Cat Concerto, will be there for 1947.
This crazy but utterly delightful fantasy in color which is being screen at the St. James is, I think, easily the best thing of its kind that has yet been made. It is one item on a supporting programme of shorts. The feature film, Fiesta, is worth seeing, but if there were nothing else than The Cat Concerto showing it would be worth full admission prices to see it alone.
The cartoon is one of the famous Tom and Jerry series, all of which have been good, but this one, which won an Academy award, deserves half a dozen Oscars instead of one only. In it Tom is Maestro Tom Cat in full evening dress, oozing dignity at every pore—and paw. He makes a perfect platform entrance, and crosses to a grand piano. There his bow before he takes his seat is a gesture of rare beauty. Then there is some entrancing business with a snowy handkerchief as he wipes his hands. With one hand poised over the keyboard he glances towards the unseen conductor, and bursts into the Liszt Second Hungarian Rhapsody.
Hackneyed as it is, that composition never took such a beating from an artist as from Maestro Tom Cat. What Tom did not know was that Jerry Mouse was asleep inside the piano. Jerry resented the interruption of his slumbers, and the vengeance he took on Tom, Liszt and the piano made the performance something unforgettable.
Despite Jerry's fiendish devices to wreck Tom's composure and dignity, Tom sticks to the keyboard with heroic fortitude. The battle which lasts for ten minutes' playing time, is that much highly concentrated hilarious fun in which the piano battles with the laughter of the audience for a hearing. Last seen the perspiring and exhausted maestro is standing back, while the impenitent Jerry takes the spotlight.
It is claimed by the studio that the making of the cartoon occupied its artists for seven months. Few who see it will doubt the statement. Its creation demanded a reckless sense of humor, patience, elastic imagination and an intimate knowledge of the innards of a piano, combined with first-class artistry in every department. But everyone connected with The Cat Concerto may be justly proud of his or her share in the creation of a masterpiece.

It is worth repeating the insight of Jerry Beck that cartoon release dates in the trades had nothing to do with when films arrived at an exchange, and they could be booked once they did. In other words, cartoons appeared on screen before the official release. On April 2, a newspaper ad for the Fox in San Bernadino read “SCOOP” and announced the cartoon was appearing that afternoon with Sinbad the Sailor, starring Doug Fairbanks, Jr. On April 10, it was booked into Loew’s Palace in Washington, D.C. and Loew’s State in Cleveland. And “Extra!” read an ad for the Boyd in Philadelphia on April 18. It had been added to the bill.

The cartoon did not appear in New York City until May 7. The Hollywood Reporter revealed it would only be seen at the Broadway with Monsieur Verdoux but the Tom and Jerry short Salt Water Tabby would debut that same day in 30 Loew’s theatres in the city. That’s how you treat an Oscar winner?

Meanwhile, the Interstate Theatre chain controlling 160 houses in Texas and New Mexico, was making arrangements to screen a 90-minute programme made up of nine shorts from various studios, tied together with narration by Mel Blanc. The Cat Concerto was one, so were Tex Avery’s Hound Hunters and the Warners cartoon Birth of a Notion, according toThe Hollywood Reporter of May 7. Interstate was the theatre chain which employed Besa Short, the woman credited with getting Fred Quimby to get MGM to put out a second Tom and Jerry cartoon after Puss Gets the Boot.

If you want to learn more about this Oscar-winner, you can do no better than to read Thad Komorowski’s diggings in this Cartoon Research post.

I shy away from embedding videos in this blog because links can very easily go dead. However, I will link to a couple of versions of the cartoon, thanks to Devon Baxter, the finest young researcher out there today. The first is from a DVD featuring a commentary by animator Eric Goldberg. The second one gives a breakdown of the animators and their scenes. As you know, Ken Muse did a masterful job in much of the cartoon, but there is uncredited footage by Don Patterson and Dick Bickenbach, who may also have laid out this short.

Got a Magnifying Glass?

One of the reasons Tom and Jerry won all those Oscars under Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera was because the characters were great actors. They were wonderfully expressive.

The Cat Concerto (released in 1947) is a fine example. Ken Muse turned out some fine footage of Tom as the high-brown pianist, with Irv Spence providing looney expressions when Jerry exacts revenge for having his nap inside the piano disturbed.

That brings us to Carmen Get It!.

In a way, comparing a cartoon made in the early ‘60s to one from the later ‘40s isn’t quite fair. At Warner Bros., what was being made in 1962 was pretty lacklustre compared to the cartoons from the period of Rabbit Hood or Back Alley Oproar. The later Tom and Jerrys produced by Hanna and Barbera weren’t as attractive as the ones made when they were winning Oscars (wide screens, flattened designs and a changeover of animators in the mid-‘50s didn’t help).

Still, cartoons should be entertaining. And I’m afraid the Tom and Jerrys under the eye of Gene Deitch were not.

One of a number of things that bothers me about them is what I mentioned off the top is the expressions. Deitch seems to have loved a number of things, and one of them was long shots. It’s smart to vary shots in a cartoon but the problem with Carmen Get It! and a number of other Deitch shorts is the characters spend too much time in wide shot, which eliminates any chance to give the characters expressions and let them act, as Hanna and Barbera used to do.

These are just some examples.



In the scene below, Jerry has a rose between his teeth. It’s a good idea, but Jerry is so tiny you can’t make out the rose. So what’s the point of it?



Okay, but the closer shots, you’re saying. The M-G-M animators—Ed Barge, Ray Patterson, Spence, Muse, Mike Lah—were able to make the characters act. You knew what they were thinking. What they were thinking motivated the next part of the story. Deitch’s animators simply went for goofy expressions.



And what about Tom below? I’m sorry, it’s a pretty wretched drawing. It’s more or less held for five frames. Could you picture Muse drawing something like this?



There are some good things going on with the story in this cartoon. The last scene was no surprise, but I like it anyway. But Tom and Jerry just didn’t mix well with Gene Deitch.

Deitch moved on to create a dozen cartoons starring Nudnik, a stylish little series. You won’t find long shots like those above. Nudnik’s actions and motivation are clear for the audience to see. Will Jones of the Minneapolis Star Tribune praised the Paramount-released cartoons in a column on Oct. 10, 1966, where he recommended arriving early or staying late to watch From Nudnik With Love at a local theatre. Among his “few nice words about the Nudnik cartoons,” Jones wrote:

Visually, the cartoonists who make the films indulge in the same sort of elaborate sadism that is a characteristic of the Roadrunner and the cat-chasing-mouse cartoons, but with a most important difference in point of view. It is not just one cartoon creature trying to do in another, or outwit another. It is Nudnik, simply trying to bring something pleasant into the world, who triggers the action. And it is the whole that is the sadist, rejecting Nudnik and anything he has to offer. . . .
A fellow named Gene Deitch gets credit as writer and director for the cartoons.

Deitch was praised for later films, winning the San Sebastian International Film Festival’s “Golden Seashell” in 1969 for Obri in the best short film category. (It was banned in Czechoslovakia, where it was made).

As for the aforementioned The Cat Concerto, we’ll have some words tomorrow.

It's All About the Money

Cartoons of the early 1930s included inanimate things that come to life for the sake of a gag. Dave Fleischer was great this because the springing-to-life came out of nowhere and ended quickly after a wisecrack or some silly bit of business.

Here’s an example from the Iwerks studio, in the Flip cartoon Laughing Gas (1931). A patient walks out of a dentist’s shop without paying its bill. Doctor Flip doesn’t do anything about it, but his cash register is outraged.

There’s no dialogue so these frames can tell the gag.



It’s not really funny, but it’s a cute scene.

Iwerks sure loved those irradiating lines, didn’t he? They all over his cartoons. (In an interview with Mike Barrier, Hugh Harman called them “flicker marks”).

Iwerks’ name is the only credit on the screen in this short.

Not Grouchy About Groucho

Alexander M. Jones had the right idea.

He put a personal ad in the New Brunswick, N.J. Daily Home News reading: “Alexander M. Jones earnestly and respectfully requests that his friends, business associates, relatives and all others refrain from telephoning his home, or otherwise disrupting its serenity between 9 and 9:30 o’clock of a Wednesday evening. These 30 minutes are regularly observed as the Groucho Marx half-hour.”

You Bet Your Life still makes me laugh. Groucho is funny to begin with, but You Bet Your Life producer John Guedel had the brilliant idea of keeping the TV cameras running after a half-hour and then editing out the weakest parts for a stronger show. It’s even funny on radio. In fact, even in the dying times of network radio in 1950s, Groucho was re-run over the summer because audiences wanted it. He remained on the nightime schedule on NBC radio into mid-1960.

Groucho’s return for the 1954-55 season caught the eye of Los Angeles Mirror columnist Hal Humphrey. He gave it a rave in his column of September 24, 1954.

THERE’S ONLY ONE GROUCHO
For sheer pleasure and entertainment Groucho Marx still gives the video viewers the biggest bargain.
A half-hour invested with this jester and master of the quick quip gets you drama, comedy and the keenest insight into human nature since O. Henry.
Last week Groucho began his eighth year as the "You Bet Your Life" maestro (his fifth for both radio and TV), and on this first show proved that he is better than ever.
This Marx brother has the happy faculty for making intelligent comedy out of situations where the average emcee or quizmaster is content to shout some inanity at the contestant like, “You don’t say so!"
Groucho’s talent for balancing his remarks precariously between pure kidding and the barbed crack is a camouflage which fools everyone and no one at the same time. Even George Fenneman, Groucho’s trusty announcer, frequently looks askance at the master in a failed attempt to discern the real meaning of certain "Marxisms."
He can pull a contestant’s leg, so to speak, and the audience thinks they are in on the gag, until they see the contestant laugh, too. When this happens, the audience no longer is laughing at the contestant, but with him. And the contestant is laughing because Groucho Marx is a funny man saying funny things.
A Knowing Look Gets a Laugh
A WAC corporal teamed up with Gen. Omar Bradley was asked by Groucho why she wasn’t wearing any medals.
"Haven’t you seen any action?" he asked her.
When the gal replied she had not, Groucho asked if she had a Good Conduct medal.
“No, I haven’t," she replied.
"Why, you rascal, you," countered Groucho, "I think you’ve seen more action than you care to admit.”
By the time Groucho got to Gen. Bradley with the same question and the latter admitted he had no Good Conduct medal either, the quiz maestro didn’t have to do a thing but cast that knowing look at the audience to envelop it in gales of laughter.
A few of his jealous colleagues and those people who take great pride in being "in on the know” will tell you that anyone could do the show. If he had all of the help Groucho has.
They point to the fact that many contestants are hand-picked, that the show is filmed and taped (for radio) for 50 minutes and edited down to just the cream, and that there are writers hovering in the background.
Groucho even is accused of rehearsing some of his contestants, a canard with no basis in fact. He has a capsule dossier on his subjects—their hobbies, background, etc.—as do all quiz and panel emcees, but has met none of them prior to the show.
Viewers Not Aware of Film
The fact that the show is filmed and edited simply attest the shrewdness of Groucho and his producers. It not only is a better show being on film, but explodes the "immediacy" myth of so-called live" TV.
Many viewers of the TV show are not aware that Groucho is on film. Most people attending a studio performance are amazed to see the eight 35mm. film cameras grinding away as he works over the contestants.
But to a legion of fans it doesn't matter what the mechanical procedure is, or how Groucho does it. All they know, or care to know, is that he comes up each week with a brand of entertainment which tops most of the stuff on TV or radio, and apparently defies imitation because there is only one Groucho Marx.

Groucho’s jokes weren’t confined to radio, television or his colleagues at the Hillcrest Golf and Country Club. Erskine Johnson of the Newspaper Enterprise Association related this in his column of Jan. 5, 1954.

A TV rating company’s Tuesday night telephone call to the home of Groucho Marx, who told them he was listening to Groucho Marx. “But you’re not on a Tuesday,” a pal said when Groucho told him about it.
“I know,” said Groucho, “I just want to see if I can get a Tuesday night rating, too.”

One of the great things about the internet is, with a simple connection, one can watch or listen to Groucho whenever they want. Today, he could have a Tuesday night rating. And one every day or night of the week. Alexander M. Jones’ home would have trouble not being disturbed.

Curious Puppy Backgrounds

Paul Julian is probably known best for his background art seen in cartoons directed by Friz Freleng after World War Two. However, he worked on Warner Bros. cartoons before then. Julian was Chuck Jones’ background artist before leaving the studio to paint murals as part of the war effort.

Julian’s work wasn’t given screen credit then. All background artists at the studio suffered the same fate. One of the shorts he worked on was The Curious Puppy, a 1939 effort. Jones put two dogs in several cartoons that may have been his version of Disney’s Pluto. They don’t talk. They react to situations. This cartoon has a lot of doggie head-shaking.

The Curious Puppy was released many years ago on laser disc. Fortunately, Strummer has sent me a restored copy and the colours are much brighter than on the murky disc.

Here is some of Julian’s art from this cartoon.

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This was the last cartoon from the Jones unit to be released in 1940. Julian was soon gone, replaced by Gene Fleury in February 1941. The layouts for this short were by John McGrew, who told historian Mike Barrier he became Jones’ layout artist in 1939 and Julian began to paint the backgrounds. Julian revealed to Barrier that McGrew provided “small color sketches I would turn into backgrounds.” You can get an idea of McGrew’s and Julian’s creativity from the frames above.