One End to the Other

The city wolf spends a good portion of Little Rural Riding Hood trying, with absolutely no success, to get his country cousin wolf to stop reacting to Red’s nightclub stage performance.

In one gag, the country wolf (Pinto Colvig) gets a look at Red’s butt and begins whistling. The city wolf (Daws Butler) casually puts his fingers in the country wolf’s mouth to stop it, but the whistling simply gets transferred from one mouth to another. So much for the city wolf’s reserve.



The city wolf reacts to the viewing audience. Tex Avery holds the drawing for five frames.



Colvig has my favourite line in this short when he turns to the audience and observes “Kissed a cow” after we see him kissing a startled cow.

Grant Simmons, Walt Clinton, Mike Lah and Bobe Cannon are the credited animators (though Preston Blair did Red), with Rich Hogan and Jack Cosgriff sharing the story credit.

The cartoon was released on September 17, 1949, though we’ve found it was playing at Loew’s State in Memphis on Sept. 8th. It was re-released by MGM in 1956 and 1966.

Dennis Day Tries It Again

One of the many running jokes on the Jack Benny radio show was singer Dennis Day had two shows (and that somehow made him—“HA!”—superior).

With the passage of a few years, Day had no shows.

A Day in the Life of Dennis Day debuted on October 3, 1946 on NBC. It was a sitcom where Dennis Day played Dennis Day, but not THE Dennis Day. He played a small-town shy-boy with the same name as the singer, which enabled the producers to bring in a cast not associated with the Benny show.

The series carried on (called The Dennis Day Show after a story-line and cast change) until Colgate-Palmolive decided to pull some of its money out of radio. First, sports spinner Bill Stern. Then sometime-hillbilly singer Judy Canova. Then Dennis Day. All of them were told by the tooth-powder maker to take a powder. Dennis’ last show was June 30, 1951 and he was replaced with two obscure announcers from Boston named Bob Elliott and Ray Goulding.

Network radio may have been sputtering but it wasn’t quite dead. Day was still a bankable commodity. Not only was he still with Benny, but he was appearing at state fairs and nightclubs/casinos, recording for RCA-Victor and performing occasionally in films.

So it was that The Billboard trumpeted in its May 29, 1954 issue that Day was coming back to radio on Sunday, Sept. 19 from 5:30 to 6 p.m. as Nutrilite decided to push its food supplement on the air. Now, Dennis was no longer singing about tubes of tooth goo, but pills of parsley (with watercress and alfalfa).

You’d think a return to the radio dial would have resulted in all kinds of newspaper wire service or columnist interviews. But in 1954, radio wasn’t a big deal any more. I haven’t been able to find one with Dennis promoting his coming show. Instead, there were publicity department profiles of Day, some with “Paid Advt.” at the bottom.

In the meantime, Day, like Jack Benny, jumped into television. In September 1951, he turned down on offer to front a Monday through Friday daytime show on CBS-TV (similar to what future Benny bandleader Bob Crosby had been doing). Instead, he was given a spot on prime time, starting February 8, 1952, for RCA-Victor on NBC. He played what the press called “a swinging single,” but there was an air of familiarity as Verna Felton was brought back to play his mother, as she did during the run of the Benny radio show.

On September 6, 1952, he debuted as one of the rotational hosts on All Star Revue. Starting October 3, he was back on TV with RCA-Victor and then was renewed the following season. But he couldn’t have been given a worse spot on prime time, and even joked (in song) about it in his club act. The show died (in a rerun) on August 2, 1954, thanks to Benny’s real-life next door neighbour.

Here’s what columnist Earl Wilson wrote for publication Jan. 27, 1955. Day was performing in New York; this explains his absences from the Benny radio show in its final season. Day’s engagement at the Copa had been delayed from September as his wife was having their fifth child. The Bing Crosby episode Day refers to aired March 16, 1947.

That sweet Irish lad from the Bronx, Eugene Patrick McNulty—"Dennis Day"—has been dispensing a few truths at the Copacabana.
He confesses publicly that Lucy and Desi knocked him out of television.
"I had the program that people switched off to turn them on,” admits the father of five (Patrick, Dennis, Michael, Margaret and Eileen).
"I was replaced by Medic," he further testifies there on the cafe floor. "I made NBC sick—and they cashed in on it."
* * *
Such frankness is unusual in these days when everybody boasts about a rating.
Later in his suite at the Hotel 14, Dennis said:
“I wasn't kidding. This year Lucy and Desi are down to about a 56. Down! That'd be going up for everybody else.”
Right now NBC's working on a new TV show for him. He trusts he doesn't have to go on opposite Jackie Gleason. He lasted a year against "Lucy" and a year against Ozzie and Harriet [1952-53 season].
Yet many think of him as that nice young chap who's frequently on with Jack Benny.
And with permission of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, he'll tell a tale about that.
“Jack and Bing Crosby used to swap guest appearances on radio—it didn't cost either one anything,” Dennis recalled.
* * *
“Once Bing was on Jack's show and didn’t know we were on 'live.' He didn't start out very good.
“Suddenly he said, 'Who the hell picked this key Dennis Day?' ”
It was heard round the country and Bing—who'd played a cleric in two previous films—was worried and asked Dennis if he should do something.
“I don't know, but in your next picture, you'll be wearing a tie,” prophesied Dennis.
* * *
Watching Dennis perform—he has a pleasant manner—I was struck by the durability of Jack Benny's "cheap" joke.
For not only does Jack still use it after all these years, but so does Dennis. He mentions that Jack has a sign in his bathroom reading LSMFT.
Translated: "Leave Some Money For Towels."
And who perpetuates this one joke? J. B. himself. He sent Dennis a telegram saying: “I would come to your opening, only I understand they have a minimum.”

The debut show got reviews in The Billboard, Variety and Broadcasting-Telecasting. They were mixed. Here’s what Variety wrote on Sept. 22, 1954:

DENNIS DAY SHOW
With Rosemary Clooney, Jimmy Durante, guests; Jimmy Wallington, Robert Armbruster Orch.
Producer-director; Fred R. Levings
Writers: Irving Taylor, Allan Wood
30 Mins.; Sun., 5:30 p.m.
MYTINGER & CASSELBERRY
NBC, from Hollywood (transcribed)
(Dan B. Miner)
Dennis Day, out of the video ranks this season, is back in radio and with one of those current rarities in network broadcasting, weekly half-hour sponsor. Bankroller is Nutrilite, the food supplement; and this alone points up the changes that have taken place in AM from the time when a big-name variety segment in prime Sunday time would have no other bankroller than one of the top 10 food, soap or tobacco spenders.
Another change is the fact that Day is formatted in a show that five years ago would have been rated a good one, but today shapes as no more than satisfactory. It’s a straight comedy-variety segment, leaning heavily on guest stars, along with Day’s impressions and singing and the traditional byplay among the comedian, announcer Jimmy Wallington and bandleader Robert Armbruster. All of which adds up to pleasant though un-exciting entertainment which provides little incentive for redialing.
Guests on the opener were Jimmy Durante and Rosemary Clooney, the latter soloing “All the Pretty Little Horses”, and dueting with Day on “Light of the Silvery Moon” and the former running through his familiar paces with the band on “Inka Dinka Doo.” Day joined him on the latter with a carbon of Durante’s voice, and this combined with some evident adlibbing by Durante made the turn a funny one. Day soloed “From This Moment On” and “September Song” and reprised “Moon” as the Ronald Colman’s would sound.
How long the show will remain a fixture on NBC is hard to say, what with the shaky state of half-hour sponsorships in network radio. Program itself does little to insure its own longevity. Chan.

Day relied on his Benny connection for the show. Benny guest-starred on the Jan. 16, 1955 episode, with guest shots by Eddie (Rochester) Anderson, Mel Blanc (two appearances), Sara Berner and Andy Devine.

Murdo Mackenzie was brought in to direct the show by the start of 1955, and George “Ballad of Gilligan’s Island” Wile took over as musical director, but, like the Benny radio show, its days (no pun intended) were numbered. Neither returned for the 1955-56 season. Magee Adams from the Cincinnati Enquirer of Feb. 28 explained:

FROM THAT ever-present source of information, the trade grapevine, comes a report that the Dennis Day show is to be dropped by its commercial sponsor March 13. According to the now fashionable view, this just goes to show why radio networks are having economic difficulties.
As that sort of thing goes, Dennis Day’s Sunday evening airing on NBC-WLW Radio is an ambitious variety show. In addition to the star, it has been making liberal use of “name” guests, for musical and comedy acts. On the drawing board, this is a formula that simply couldn’t miss, but taking it by ear discloses something else about the show.
As its star, Dennis Day evidently believes that the height of entertainment is a low of dialect impersonations wearily reminiscent of the “life of the party” kind of thing. And the guest acts have been shrunk to a mold as just meager. In short, the show’s variety formula has everything except an idea with enough entertainment muscle to lift it out of its adolescent groove.
For Dennis Day, this is no novelty. He scored with a previous radio flop with a purported comedy patterned after his witless youth role in the Jack Benny show. But it might have been expected that this mistake would not be repeated twice.
It is not the fault of radio that the Dennis Day show failed to satisfy its commercial sponsor. More clearly than some of the other examples, it demonstrates the oldest and most familiar principal in broadcasting—there is no substitute for program quality. In 1955, you might suppose this would not need proving.

Day could have used one of those Irish good luck shamrocks. Three days after Nutrilite lowered the boom on his show, and the day after St. Patrick's Day, he ended up in hospital with pneumonia and had to cancel his shot on a big NBC colour show on the 27th where he would play all the characters in Allen’s Alley with Fred Allen (Allen, for his part, joked to the UP’s Vernon Scott that Day should have been treated on Medic).

Plans for another go at a TV series (including one where the pilot was to be shot at the Copa) fizzled, so Day had to be content with guest appearances in addition to the rounds of show-rooms, recording studios, fairs and maternity wards. He was lauded by everyone, it seems, as a nice man and a wily investor, and always gave credit to Jack Benny for his success.

Felix the Cat, By the Numbers

At the start of 1927, E.W. Hammons’ Educational Pictures offered theatres a brand-new cartoon every week, with two different series alternating each week. One was the quite forgotten “Life” cartoons from the man who was later behind the misbegotten sound series Buster Bear—John R. McCrory. The other series was far better remembered—Felix the Cat from the Pat Sullivan studio.

Felix was one of the great cartoon stars of the 1920s. He quickly became a has-been by the end of the decade as everyone wanted to hear cartoon characters talk. Felix didn’t, unless you include the falsetto muttering added to the soundtrack of silent cartoons made by Copley Pictures for any theatre that would take them.

In 1927, Felix still had an audience, and was still talked about in the public press. Here’s a story chock full of trivia. It’s possible Educational sent out this information to newspapers; most versions of the story I’ve found don’t have a byline. This is from The Oregonian, March 20.

Felix the cat, famous black feline star of the movies, has just completed an inventory at the studios where his boss, Pat Sullivan, puts him through his paces. And Felix was so surprised at the amount of material used in making his one-reel cartoon comedies that he let out one long, loud “me-e-e-ow.”
He discovered that four animators, two inkers, three tracers and one cameraman are employed at the Sullivan studios in New York making the Felix the Cat cartoons, which are released to the movie houses every other week, by Educational Film Exchanges. Sullivan and four assistants do the original pencil work, which is then inked in by the studio inkers. From 250 to 300 drawings are made daily by each of these five men. Tracers fill in the non-moving portions of the cartoon scene and blacken the parts supposed to appear black in the picture. Then the scenes are ready for the cameraman.
Drawings are made on bond paper, cut a little larger than the usual letter head size. Felix estimates that enough paper has been used since Mr. Sullivan began making Felix the Cat cartoon comedies to stretch in an unbroken path 12 times around the world.
His figures show that a fire pail full of ink is needed for every one reel picture.
Enough erasers are used during a year’s time in producing animated cartoon comedies to supply a fleet of flivvers with “shoes.”
The wood in pencils used up in sketching Felix would lay a deck on Old Ironsides, while the lead in a year’s time would make a lead conduit extended from America to Liverpool and back.
Blotting paper consumed since the studio started is sufficient to dry up the Atlantic ocean.
Approximately 200,340,000 sheets of paper have been used since the studio started.
Electricity used at the Sullivan studio is great enough to flash a message to Mars.
Enough gray matter was employed on new ideas to supply all the colleges of Siam.
If all the Felix cats drawn at the studio were joined paw to paw, it would make a solid string of black cats from New York to Shanghai, and what a howl they would make on a fence.
The question “Where do you get the ideas?” was asked about 1,740,285 times.

How many colleges WERE there in Siam then, anyways?

Perhaps the tallest yarn in these figures is the one about Sullivan doing any work at all. It’s generally conceded he did little than collect profits; Otto Messmer and artists such as Al Eugster did all the work. Sullivan wasn’t even in New York at one point. In November 1927, he took an extended trip across the U.S. then to Vancouver, where he boarded the Aorangi for Australia.

Other newspaper stories—and we’ve transcribed some here—pushed Sullivan’s claim his wife invented Felix. It wasn’t quite that cut and dried, either.

Though Felix disappeared from screens until the TV version in the late 1950s, several cartoons at Van Beuren excepted, he continued his career in the newspaper comic pages. Below is his debut on May 9, 1927.

The first comic strip story is based on the second Felix cartoon released in 1927. Here is the list from the Motion Picture News of the Felixes in the first half of the year, and their release dates by Hammons’ Educational Pictures.

Felix the Cat Dines and Pines, Jan. 9
Felix the Cat in Pedigreedy, Jan. 23
Felix the Cat in Icy Eyes, Feb. 6
Felix the Cat in Stars in Stripes, Feb. 20
Felix the Cat Sees ‘Em in Season, Mar. 6
Felix the Cat in Barnyards [sic], Mar. 20
Felix the Cat in Germania [sic], Apr. 3
Felix the Cat in Sax Appeal, Apr. 17
Felix the Cat in Eye Jinks, May 1
Felix the Cat As Roameo, May 15
Felix the Cat Ducks His Duty, May 29
Felix the Cat in Dough-Nutty, June 12
Felix the Cat in ‘Loco’ Motive June 26

Dines and Pines is one of my favourite Felixes, full of imagination in the nightmare scenes. Let’s leaf through the News and read the reviews of all 13 of these Felix films.

"Felix the Cat Dines and Pines"
(Educational-Sullivan Cartoon — One Reel)
“DR. CALIGARI'S CABINET" in an animated cartoon; that is what results in this Pat Sullivan when his protege, “Felix," eats not wisely but too well. The dream that results would satisfy the most exacting, futuristic impressionist. Before this he has worked out a most ingenious progressive dinner. The illegal drink that should precede all dinners (with apologies to Volstead) he secures by sucking the contents of a punch-bowl in a convenient window through a bit of spaghetti. The soup is gotten by wringing the beard of an old gentleman who vociferously inhales his. The chicken problem is unsolved because the descendants of the fowl intended for consumption come to their mother's aid and rout "Felix." It is because of this that he descends on a refuse heap and consumes an old shoe, and then the nightmare which might have been staged by a German movie director. "Never Again!" is the logical vow of "Felix" in the matter of indiscriminate meals.
Snappy stuff and out of the usual run and so should score.— PAUL THOMPSON.

"Felix, The Cat, Is Pedigreedy"
(Educational-Pat Sullivan Cartoon — One Reel)
FELIX wishes to go to an extremely swanky night club. Pedigree rather than the size of the bankroll seems to be what counts. (Needless to state, the locale of the animated cartoon is not in New York). Thrown out once because lacking a pedigree, he returns to tell the awe-inspired club members and the employees a tale of his ancestry. Associated with Noah as navigators and life-savers, with Rameses, the king, not the cigarette of Egypt's royal family, as the originator of the Charleston and finally with Columbus as a demonstrator of the round-earth theory his predecessors on the family tree are all that the most exacting can ask. Does he get the job, pardon me, membership? He sure does.
Some highly entertaining and amusing ideas are thus incorporated in this Pat Sullivan conceit. It will keep up the deservedly high reputation the series enjoys.— PAUL THOMPSON.

"Felix the Cat in Icy Eyes"
(Educational-Pat Sullivan Cartoon — One Reel)
ALAS for unrequited affection! Felix sees what he thinks is his ideal but she turns him down cold. And then, man-like, to get her attention he undertakes some fancy skating before her unappreciative eyes. He even rescues her from an icy plunge through the ice. But even that nets him no smiles or appreciation. But when he solves a jewel robbery and recovers the gems and has become famous and wealthy she relents. Alas, it is too late; she has become fat and unattractive, so that the critical Felix spurns her with eyes that are just as icy as hers had been earlier in the reel when both were younger and she was slender and svelte — whatever that quality may be.
Felix is alright as a sleuth but not so strong as a suitor. His shortcomings here are a merit and Pat Sullivan tells a tale with a moral that he who runs or skates can read. — PAUL THOMPSON.

"Felix the Cat Stars in Stripes"
(Educational-Pat Sullivan Animated Cartoon — One Reel)
AND all because he was trying to act the role of a good Samaritan and amuse a baby Felix lands at the rock pile. Hard lines, but humanitarians often get stung that way. Felix's imitation of Charley Chaplin, I thought, was very good, but the crying baby he was trying to get to sleep evidently did not share my critic's viewpoint. Accordingly the obliging cat tries a stick of candy and then what looks to the child like a larger stick of candy, a barber's pole. Result, arrest, conviction and stripes and the rock pile. Foiled once in an attempt to escape, the second time he and a fellow crook succeed. They bore their way to freedom. .A horse converted into a zebra facilitates the escape afterward, but the horse pays the penalty, because of the artificial stripes, by taking Felix's place behind the bars.
An amusing tale that will bring laughs rather than tears at the woes and tribulations of the long-suffering cat that owns up to a Pat Sullivan parentage.— PAUL THOMPSON.

"Felix Sees 'Em in Season"
(Educational-Sullivan — One Reel)
A MILDLY amusing effort is projected in this latest Sullivan cat cartoon, which deals with the cartoonist's observance of the arrival of spring through the eyes of Felix. Coincident with the coming of this season is the period in which everyone is afflicted with that mysterious malady known as spring fever. The greater portion of this reel is devoted to pen and ink impressions detailing the efforts of birds, beasts and fish to battle the ennui superinduced by the disease and their failure to overcome it. Felix fares no better, even to the extent of tolerating a mouse. — HAROLD FLAVIN.

“Felix the Cat in Barn Yarns"
(Educational-Sullivan Animated Cartoon — One Reel)
VERY materialistic this creation of Pat Sullivan; very little of the spiritual. Always his object in life sems to be food. This issue differs not a whit from many of its predecessors in its motif even if the treatment is varied. Temporarily discouraged from stealing a diner's food by a dose of pepper, Felix pursues a duck as a possible meal. To the edge of a pond he follows on. Onto the pond goes the daring cat. Of course the duck swims but Felix does not. He sinks but is rescued by the conscience-stricken decoy. The latter wins the cat's undying friendship. The first proof of this is when Felix inserts a piece of pipe in the duck's throat so that the farmer's axe has no effect. Then the farmer attempts to drown Felix, but he is rescued by three fish. To repay them for their kindness the cat unhooks worms from the farmer's line. It is good fun. — PAUL THOMPSON.

"Felix the Cat in Germ Mania"
(Sullivan-Educational — One Reel)
THIS is one of the most amusing numbers of the "Felix" series yet screened. Though viewed in a projection room without the aids of music or the festive spirit of an audience to help the risibles it nevertheless caused a continuous chuckle. Felix wanders into a scientific laboratory and starts some experiments on his own hook, playing around with fluids with alleged enlarging and contracting faculties; he incurs the enmity of a microbe and the usual chase ensues with Felix emerging the victor. — HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat in Sax Appeal"
(Sullivan-Educational — One Reel)
ANOTHER amusing number of the Felix series and this time the poor cat is deprived of his sleep by the wailing notes of a saxaphone [sic] played by his boss. The composition of these cartoons reveals great ingenuity on the part of the artists who must lay awake nights planning stunts for the cat. In this number, Felix, having stolen the sax from his boss, buries it, but a burrowing mole discovers the mouthpiece and as a result Felix is regaled with underground music. This is only one of the many entertaining bits of business introduced in the reel.
It is to laugh long and loud.— HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat in Eye Jinks"
(Educational — One Reel)
FELIX in an occulist's store undergoes the same experiences as the well-known "bull in the China shop." He is hired to exterminate the mice but they prove one too many for him numerically and intellectually, making him the butt of a series of mousy jokes which annoy him and should amuse the spectators.
This is worth-while seeing. — HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat as Roameo"
(Educational — One Reel)
THESE cartoons become more entertaining and ingenious with each succeeding issue as the artist's bag of tricks seemingly has no bottom; he never appears to be at a loss in devising new antics for Felix to perform. This week we see the cat as the great lover who travels from country to country leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him until he is finally confounded when his sweethearts get together. Good for a lot of giggles.— HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat Ducks His Duty"
(Educational — One Reel)
ANOTHER of the highly humorous issues of the "Felix" series with a number of new bits of business and the always amusing facial expressions of the cartoon characters. This one treats of war — declared by the mice against their ancient enemies, the cats. Felix, one of the prime movers in the conflict develops "cold feet" while at the front and deserts. He falls in love with a fair maiden who, after marriage, develops shrewish tendencies of such a violent nature that friend Felix decides that while "War is hell," an unkind wife is an even more hellish proposition, so back to the field of valor he wends his way and likes it, though he arrives in the midst of a barrage projected by both armies.— HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat in Dough-Nutty"
(Educational — One Reel)
FELIX the Cat and his antics furnish the usual amount of entertainment but we don't care for the introduction of the human figure into this pen-and-ink creation, nor, we believe, will your patrons. This idea of the combination of the human figure and the pen-and-ink-drawing has been used in another series of cartoons but we've never been able to understand the reason for so doing as there seemed no need for it especially as the human figure contributed little or nothing to the enjoyment of the reel.
Here's hoping they leave Felix alone to work out his own difficulties.— HAROLD FLAVIN.

"Felix the Cat in 'Loco' Motive"
(Educational Cartoon — One Reel)
THE news prints are full these days of recountals of the various American flying expeditions over long stretches of ocean to some spot thousands of miles away from our own shores. Now, when most everyone, talks and thinks of aviation, the wide awake Pat Sullivan and staff send Felix to Europe in an airship of his own devising. As is nine times out of ten the case with Felix his thoughts and ambitions were sent winging Germany way because of hunger. When he beholds a well nourished Teuton the cat concludes that Germany must be a land overflowing with milk and honey. And so it is not long after that he faces Eastward and sets out to conquer the air. Though he meets many obstacles and conquers them one by one your sympathies are with the lone cat flying over a waste of water. A really good cartoon storm, pelting rain, dark threatening clouds, a veritable downpour with thunder and lightning, hits the intelligent feline but he manages to stay up in the air and continue his trip, arriving in Germany where a great multitude awaits him. Presenting Felix in a new role, up-to-date, it is good stuff.— RAYMOND GANLY.

Perhaps the day will come when these fine little public domain films will be restored. I hope so. Felix deserves it.

Rubber Hose Race

Spaghetti-limbed characters didn’t quite go out with the early 1930s. UPA used them on Gerald McBoing Boing and other cartoon shorts 20 years later.

Here’s an example from Bosko’s Fox Hunt (1931). The middle sausage-shaped horse in this ten-drawing cycle has no joints, just rubber legs and neck.



There is such a sameness about the Harman-Ising cartoons for Warner Bros. There are cycles in this cartoon used over and over (one has 12 frames of dogs running). H-I characters all have the same open mouths at a three-quarters angle. There always seems to be a scene when they run out of the frame at the exact same angle (borrowed from the silent Oswalds). And, in this short, they needed a fox, so they simply used the same design as Foxy in the Merrie Melodies shorts released earlier in the year.

Ham Hamilton and Norm Blackburn received the animation credits on this one.

And the Champeen Is...

In 1943, there was a war on, so you'd expect a certain amount of sabotage to be going on around the world. Unfortunately, one place where it shouldn’t have been happening was in the Warner Bros. cartoon studio, where Norm McCabe’s directorial efforts were continually sabotaged by weak stories.

One of them is the one-shot Looney Tune Hop and Go, released February 6, 1943. There are some pretty good visual touches in it, but the story (credited to Tubby Millar) stars three weak characters. There’s a dopey kangaroo (who doesn’t have an Australian accent), a rabbit (who has a Scottish accent for some reason) and another rabbit with no personality who barely speaks.

Somehow, Millar wants us to connect with these characters and to a plot about who is really the “champeen” hopper. But does anyone really care? Maybe he thought the early ‘40s love of heckling cartoon characters could somehow carry the film.

On top of that, McCabe seems to have been stuck shoehorning patriotic war stuff into his shorts. In McCabe’s The Ductators, it works well because the characters are clear-cut Axis bad guys. In this one, the ending just seems obligatory. And the best Millar could come up with a name for the kangaroo was "Claude Hopper"?

McCabe has future UPAer Dave Hilberman as his uncredited layout man, and the two try to be creative. The opening is shot at the kangaroo’s visual perspective with the scene hopping up and down. There are attempts at perspective animation. And there’s great use of light and shadow after the kangaroo is catapulted into the night atmosphere by the rabbits.



Claude lights a match to see where he is.



Suddenly, the sound of anti-aircraft fire. Claude twirls around, with his body alternating in shadow, or partly lit.



Now we see the anti-aircraft fire.



Cut to a long shot of Claude flying through the search lights.



There’s an explosion and a crate put in the kangaroo’s pouch by the rabbits jostles out.



As Claude falls, he realises what the crate contains and tosses it away. Claude hit the earth and hops away. The crate hits the earth. Nothing hops away.



Dissolve to Claude, telling us that we now know who the “champeen” is. Cut to a longer shot. Claude has destroyed Tokyo. Cue Porky bursting out of the drum.



Interestingly, the background artist (Dick Thomas?) spells it “Tokyo.” McCabe’s next cartoon spelled it “Tokio.” But the less said about that one, the better.

Cal Dalton is handed the rotating animation credit on this one. Izzy Ellis and John Carey are likely artists on this as well.

Pinto Colvig appropriates his Goofy voice for the kangaroo. Mel Blanc plays both rabbits, with one having his standard Scottish accent he gave to Botsworth Twink on the Abbott and Costello radio show.

He Was Never in Kirk Douglas' Swimming Pool

Who gave the toast at Roger Ebert’s wedding in 1992?

No, it wasn’t Gene Siskel. And don’t bother guessing the name of a big-name movie star.

It was Lou Jacobi.

He was one of those character guys who popped up continually on TV. He was at home in drama. He was at home in comedy. I remember him on Dean Martin’s TV show.

Jacobi has so many credits; Ebert wrote in 1999 about how Woody Allen wrote the play Don’t Drink the Water for him. Allen cast him in Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex. Barry Levinson put him in Avalon. Ebert told of Jacobi’s record albums: Tijuana Al and his Jewish Brass and The Yiddish are Coming! The Yiddish are Coming!. And he told how, in 1947, Lou was working a club in a dress, blonde wig, sprawled out on a piano and singing about a naughty lady named Sadie.

The purpose for Ebert’s story is to relate that he showed up to see Jacobi give a star on Canada’s Walk of Fame. Until reading the article, I didn’t know Jacobi was another Canadian export to the U.S.

Here are a couple of earlier clippings. First, from a weekend feature story by Morris Duff in the Toronto Star of Jan. 14, 1961. Americans reading this will think of Don Harron as a cast member of Hee-Haw.

Once Stag Comic Now Character Star
NEW YORK—Everything Toronto-born Lou Jacobi touches turns to gold. This week he is rehearsing by day for the new Broadway comedy “Come Blow Your Horn.” By night he continues to play Schlissel, the synagogue-going atheist, in Paddy Chayefsky’s “The Tenth Man.”
At 47, Jacobi is entering the category of high-paid character actor. Just 10 years ago he was a borscht circuit comedian in Toronto making a living by playing stags, smokers, bar mitzvahs and banquets. In summer he travelled to Muskoka or other holiday areas as a social director at lodges.
Salary Jumps
Today, Jacobi’s salary is five times higher than the one he received just two plays ago when he first appeared on Broadway in “The Diary of Anne Frank.”
Don Harron, another Toronto actor in “Tenth Man” recalled meeting Jacobi in a restaurant on Bloor St. about a decade ago.
“He was a joke teller and I was a college actor,” Harron explained. Harron took a lofty view of his work and a low one of Jacobi’s, but the two became fast friends” At Harron’s suggestion the stag party comedian was invited to the New Play society to perform material written by Harron for “Spring Thaw.” He had a burlesque appeal the revue needed.
By 1951, Harron was in England and encouraging Jacobi to join him. Lou decided to accept and was about to leave when he got word that Harron was returning. “So I did a loner, Jacobi recalls. “I faced a new country with its fog and rain without friends.
Different Ambition
Harron had suggested he work in English variety. But a different ambition had been kindled in Jacobi. He wanted to get into the West End theatre.
Agent after agent turned him away with, “My dear fe11ow, what have you done?” Then he met a girl from Vancouver who was an agent’s switchboard operator. She told him about auditions for “Remains to Be Seen.”
The Canadían got the part as the chief detective, he found out later because he looked like the actor who did the role in the U.S.
“I played the part with a slight lisp,” Jacobi recalls. When the reviews came out they scorned the play but praised star Diana Dors and the policeman with the lisp.
Against Advice
Jacobi’s career in London developed through musicals such as “Guys and Dolls” and “Pal Joey.” Then, against the advice of his agent, he took a series of small parts in “The World of Sholem Aleichem.” He was seen in it by Garson Kanin who decided the Canadian should come to Broadway for the role of Mr. Van Daam in “The Diary of Anne Frank.”
Jacobi is the first to admit his career is filled with luck and breaks “Garson Kanin might not have come to England for another 20 years. But the point is when I got the breaks I was ready.
“An actor must prepare himself and always be ready and then he must get fortunate. Nobody heard me complaining when I wasn’t getting the breaks. I didn’t quit to go into some other business.”
In Jacobi’s view of Jacobi, his lack of a formal or the conventional theatre acting background has been a good thing. He feels his own background worked better.
Smokers Toughest
“To be a raconteur you have to be an actor. Entertaining men at smokers is the hardest thing to do. You have to get them right away. You have to be an actor to give it color. So I really had been an actor for years, without knowing it.
“My talent is intuitive. I can’t say how I do it. I’m a non-academic actor.”
A few days before “Tenth Man” opened, Jacobi got a call from movie producer Billy Wilder. He was wondering what Jacobi was doing in a new play when he had written a special part for him in an upcoming movie, “The Apartment.” It is generally agreed the role was wonderful and would have been great for Jacobi. Only trouble was Wilder neglected to tell Jacobi what he was doing.
Jacobi, who has appeared in several films, doesn’t consider loss of the movie role too serious. Next time, Wilder will know better than to expect Jacobi to just sit waiting.
Salt and Pepper
“And ‘The Tenth Man’ was wonderful for my career. . . . I like roles with lots of salt and pepper in them, I don’t like them to be bland. It was an exciting creative work.”
As the result of “The Tenth Man,” Jacobi was able to get a six-week “out” clause in the new play. If there is another call from Wilder, or if a particularly tempting movie or play role comes along, Jacobi will be able to give notice and take the new assignment.
“Actually I don’t think an actor should worry about his career. He should just move from job to job . . . trying to keep working and doing the best he can with whatever parts he has.
“Once an actor starts to worry about his career he’s in trouble.”

Here’s a 1963 column from the Newspaper Enterprise Association where Jacobi gives his feelings about Hollywood.

Old Pro Jacobi Looks at Hollywood
By ERSKINE JOHNSON
Hollywood Correspondent
HOLLYWOOD, Apr. 23 (NEA) — What people DON’T talk about on movie and television sound stages is bugging Lou Jacobi almost as much as why Kirk Douglas’ swimming pool is so “chic.”
As for some actors being reluctant to remove their make-up because, he reasons, they must not like themselves—well, he’s just sorry.
Before going into these idle but piercing thoughts-while-looing-at-Hollywood, let me introduce you to Lou Jacobi. The face may be familiar, but probably not the name.
Come to think about it, the face is tricky, too.
He’s always behind a beard or mustache for his movie and stage roles.
Behind mutton chops he was Franz Liszt’s manager in “Song Without End.” Behind a beard he was Mr. Van Daan in stage and movie version of “The Diary of Anne Frank.” Now he’s behind a mustache with ends that curl up like teapot spouts in “Irma La Douce.”
He plays a barman – raconteur called “Mustache” by Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine in the film, and he does more talking than listening.
Most of the time he’s way cut with cock ‘n’ bull stories about his adventures as soldier, sailor, 1awyer, doctor or what have you. Every story ends up with “Mustache” saying:
“But that’s another story.”
The way Lou Jacobi reads them the words could catch on as the year’s most quoted movie line.
As an old Pro (from Toronto, Canada) who has been in show business since the age of 12, Jacobi is amazed at what he hears on movie and television sound stages.
“No one talks about acting out here,” he grumbled. “It’s fantantic. The talk is about real estate, cars, money, where to go on vacations. The whole idea seems to be to ignore acting, grab the money and run.
“When not acting, everyone in town seems to be in Kirk Douglas’ swimming pool. That amazes me, too.”
This, he explained, came to his attention while living in a theatrical type apartment house in Hollywood, while working in “Irma La Douce”
“I knew swimming pools were chic out here,” he said. “But I didn’t realize you have to be in the swim in the RIGHT pool.”
While relaxing in the apartment’s swimming pool, he met a young actor also living in the apartment. Later they met again, at a big Hollywood party. In a group with a round of introductions, the young actor said to Jacobi:
“Oh yes, we’ve met before — in Kirk Douglas’ swimming pool.”
With mustache ends twirling, Jacobi stormed: “I’ve never been in Douglas’ pool, and I’m sure that young fellow hasn’t either. But an apartment house pool just isn’t chic.”
Jacobi says he’s one of those actors who can be happy as a person and “that’s rare these days.”
“The curtain” he explains, “comes down at 6 p.m. and then I’m just Lou Jacobi, another person.
“I feel sorry for actors who are reluctant to take their make-up off.
When they do, they must discover they don’t like themselves.
“As actors who like the roles they play better than themselves, they lose control of acting. To give a good performance, you have to control the roll 100 per cent.
“I’m grateful that I always have a self to come back to.”

Jacobi was 95, a widower and under care when he died in New York in 2009. He was a thoughtful actor, a keen observer, and his career went swimmingly in all but one way.