How To Be a Star

George O’Hanlon is known today only as George Jetson and it’s a shame. O’Hanlon’s original fame came from a series of funny one-reelers released by Warner Bros. in the 1940s and ‘50s which deserve wider exposure.

The Joe McDoakes shorts weren’t really rerun much on television (unlike one-reel animated cartoons or the Three Stooges two-reelers) and attempts to put together a McDoakes sitcom failed. It’s too bad, because the few shorts in the series I’ve seen are enjoyable. They benefit not only from good comic acting but the direction and writing of Richard Bare. The best of the McDoakes have some gentle spoofing and, at times, they get surreal, similar in a way to Bare’s great TV series “Green Acres,” where the bizarre was accepted as a normal way of living.

O’Hanlon and Bare talk a bit about their light pokes in this United Press interview from 1947. O’Hanlon died in 1989 after a stroke (he had just finished a recording session as George Jetson). Bare is still with us at age 101.

Advice on How to Be a Movie Star By a Couple of Gents Who Are Not
By ALINE MOSBY
HOLLYWOOD, Feb. 18 (UP)—The brothers Warner would have fallen right out of their gold-trimmed swivel chairs if they had seen two of the 2,504 hirelings today. These two characters, ignoring their bosses’ blood pressure, were handing out advice. On how to be a movie star.
Yet they’re quite a stretch from being in that category themselves.
Well, except in a way. They look like movie stars. George O’Hanlon resembles Burgess Meredith a bit and Richard Bare might pass for Cary Grant in the dusk. O’Hanlon and Bare grind out those 10-minute comedies that flash on the screen while you’re out in the lobby having a smoke, waiting for Burgess Meredith and Cary Grant to come on in the main event.
So how come these fellows know so much about being movie stars?
“We look so much like ‘em,” explained O’Hanlon, “that movie stars are always mistaking us for movie stars. We’re on the inside, see?”
Besides, he added, if a movie-towner wants to know something he should ask some yokel who’s not suppose to know. Then he’ll find out.
They gathered their advice by eavesdropping under tables at the Brown Derby and loafing, disguised as lampposts, at Hollywood and Vine.
Then they rolled it into a comedy short, “So you wants be a movie star.” This neatly fits into their “so you wanta” series, which points a stern finger at cringing movie patrons. Things like “so you want quit smoking,” and “so you wanta have a nervous breakdown.”
“We’ll tell you some things about stars that you won’t find in our picture,” hissed Bare.
Here’s their formula. If you wanta be a star, turn bald, elope with your best friend’s wife and report your house robbed once a year.
“A man can’t have more than 10 hairs on his noggin,” explained Bare, parking his number 10’s on somebody else’s desk while we prayed Mssrs. Warner & Warner weren’t peeking. “Haven’t you heard of the hairdressers’ union—Jack Benny, Bing Crosby, Charles Boyer?”
A star should also have a face that takes two hours to paint and four hours to light, our experts continued. Gives the makeup men and electricians something to do.
And when an actor is told to choose a script, they said, he rips the title page from a best-seller and writes new insides. That’ll make him a star, says Profs. O’Hanlon and Bare.
Now we come to a star’s social life.
Our hero, they said, must get married only one (whazzis?) Otherwise he’ll be broke coughing up alimony. His one wife, they said, should have been his best friend’s.
“It’s being done, you know,” said O’Hanlon, glancing at a picture of Van Johnson.
“And for publicity,” said O’Hanlon, “what’s better than having your house robbed?” Or giving advice on how to be movie stars?
An actor also can have himself paged at a nitery for only two bucks a month, Bare pointed out. Of course, the star never answers the page at first. He waits until everyone is looking at him.
Now if you’re not a star in two weeks under this formula, said Bare and O’Hanlon, tactfully examining their nails, better leave town. They are.

My favourite of the McDoakes shorts is “So You Want To Be A Detective,” a brilliant spoof where the killer turns out to be narrator Art Gilmore. I spotted another short the other day so watch it before the inevitable corporate take-down order. The mechanical sight gags are ingenious and Bill Lava cooked up a nice little score. The short was released on June 27, 1955, which seems late to be parodying the John J. Anthony radio show (complete with “Don’t touch the microphone”), but the people watching this at the time would be familiar with it. And you should be familiar with the uncredited actor who plays Mr. Agony. He’s Arthur Q. Bryan, the voice of Elmer Fudd. He’s a lot thinner in this than he was in the early ‘40s.

Talking Knives

Knives come to life during an argument over how much they cost in “Choose Yer Weppins,” a 1935 Popeye cartoon. “Aw, make up your mind!” they exclaim in unison.



The background work is always a treat in the earliest Popeye cartoons. Popeye runs a very cluttered pawn shop. I can’t snip together the backgrounds because of the characters being in the way, but here are a couple from the climax of the cartoon, when Popeye and Olive beat up on an escaped crook who tries to rip them off (The sailor man practically strips him. The less said about that the better). The street-scape doesn’t have wonky lamps or crooked buildings but it’s nicely designed and rendered.



Funny, earlier in the cartoon, the shop is on a corner.



Billy Costello, William Pennell and Mae Questel provide the voices while Dave Tendlar and George Germanetti get the animation credits.

The Supreme of the World

What’s playing at the local theatre? Cartoons. Looney Tunes, in fact. Check these posters outside the theatre in “The Film Fan” (1939).



“Valley of the Giants” was a 1938 Warner Bros. release. Apparently the theatre couldn’t book “The Wizard of Oz” but was able to get a print of “Ahs of a Wizard.”

This Porky Pig short was from the Bob Clampett unit. Dick Thomas was Clampett’s background artist, so he was responsible for the settings (the unit was technically part of the Ray Katz studio, which was considered separate from the main Leon Schlesinger studio, certainly for the purpose of union negotiations).

Radio Emergencies

One wonders how Mary Livingstone managed to work with her husband on stage in vaudeville. In radio, there was a seemingly constant concern she’d pass out in the middle of a broadcast.

It was revealed to the world in a feature story in the Rochester Democrat Chronicle of September 13, 1936. It’s part of a piece on unexpected things happening during radio broadcasts. I’ve transcribed the whole story. My favourite is the clueless client; such people, I understand, still populate the radio industry.

Blanche Stewart was an unsung heroine of the Benny show of the ’30s. She performed all kinds of roles almost every week for a number of years, she made animal noises, she could scream on cue. For whatever reason, she faded away from the Benny show and ended up as a regular with Bob Hope before returning for periodic appearances toward the end of the ‘40s. She never had the chance to be a secondary player with a character, like Mel Blanc, Bea Benaderet or Frank Nelson, but she was just as talented as far as I’m concerned.

Saving the Situation By RUTH ARELL
Radio Headliners Speedy Thinking Keeps Air Alive

THE time was 7:11 of a certain Sunday night. Jack Benny had just gotten a snappy answer from Mary Livingstone in their half hour of radio fun. In an aggrieved tone he replied, "Oh, yeah?" at which the studio audience howled with glee and Mary stepped forward to take a bow. She beat slightly at the waist but, instead of straightening again, toppled over in a dead faint.
Not waiting for an introduction, Johnny Green immediately swung into the next musical number as Jack polled a bottle of smelling salts from his pocket to bring Mary back to consciousness. While this dramatic by-play was going on, the program continued smoothly on the air.
Those in the studio saw a young lady come forward and stand beside a mike.
In the meantime, the smelling salts began to penetrate the fog that surrounded Mary. Groggily, she got to her feet, realised where she was, and walked over to the mike, waving the young lady away. Johnny Green's music came to an end. Jack announced the name of the song, and he and Mary went into their next bit of comedy dialog.
As far as the radio listeners were concerned, everything had gone off smoothly. Only those actually seeing the broadcast knew about those anxious moments as Jack gave restoratives to Mary. Despite her hearty voice, she is a pretty frail person. So much so that Benny always carries a bottle of smelling salts with her for emergencies. And because of Mary's heeling-over habits, Blanche Stewart, a minor member of the cast, serves as perpetual understudy.
This time Mary's faintness lasted just for the musical interlude and she recovered in time to pick up her cue. If she hadn't Miss Stewart who had come to the microphone while Mary was "out," would have jumped in in her place and imitated her voice to carry on the program.
THAT’S how it is in broadcastland. Every once in a while on the best run programs, something happens that isn’t in the script. It comes suddenly and unexpectedly. When this occurs and the program is on the air, there is only one rule of conduct: The show must go on. And it must go on in such manner that the armchair audience at home never guesses that anything out of the ordinary has happened.
"Lights Out" is a popular song, and is played a lot in the studios. If "Lights Out" had only stayed a song title, all would have been well. Instead, the studio lights actually did go out during a broadcast, and then it was a case of plain sweating agony until they came on again.
Leading his men in a very difficult concerto, Erno Rapee was in the middle of the composition when all the lights in the studio were doused. Rapee breathed a prayer, folded his arms, and left it up to his men. There was nothing else he could do, since they couldn't see his direction. The last half of the concerto was played in total darkness. But so well was the orchestra rehearsed that each man knew his part well and there wasn't the slightest slip-up. As far as the tuner-in could tell, everything was as it should have been. The ability of the musicians had saved the day.
Lights also went out accidentally once during the broadcasting of the Crime Clues program. But one of the actors had the presence of mind to pull out his pocket lighter and use it as a torch. Two others followed his example and those without lighters used match after match. By such flickering light did the show go on.
The following episodes took place during rehearsals, but are funny enough to be used as examples of what can happen while a program is being prepared. Lou Holtz, the comic dialectician, is probably the most nervous guy on the networks. And this despite the fact that he has been on the stage for years.
When he made his very first microphone appearance, he knew nothing at all about broadcasting technique. He stepped up close to the microphone, as he had been told to do, and in a confidential manner read his lines into the mike's waiting ear. He didn't know that in rehearsals there is a “speak-back” attachment to the microphone so that the program director and the engineer in the control room can give instructions to the performer without leaving their booth. Evidently Lou was just a bit too close to the microphone, for he heard a low, rumbling voice say. “Stand back, fella; I can't take it that close!”
“Help! It's haunted!” shouted Lou, and his natural pallor turned a sickly green as he all but passed out It took the entire studio staff to convince him that the microphone itself bad not been talking, but only the engineer who wanted him to step back a bit.
WHILE a certain large orchestra was rehearsing for its commercial broadcast the sponsor came around for a visit to see how things were going. At that particular time the boys were playing a selection that called for string instruments only, which left the woodwind and brass players idle like the unemployed. Noting this, the sponsor jumped up and stormily asked the conductor: “What’s the matter with those men that they are just sitting around doing nothing?”
Surprised, the conductor explained that the music called only for strings. But that left the man who footed the bill far from satisfied.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m paying out enough money for an orchestra. It’s larger than I wanted in the first place so, since I’m paying for all those musicians, I want you to use songs that all of them have to play instead of letting only half of them work.”
But to get back to embarrassing moments on the air, Fred Allen’s came when, on his April Fools Day program, he had a number of guest stars who pretended that they were competing in his amateur contest. One by one he introduced them and each did his bit. Then he came to a certain lady and he gave her a terrific build-up. He dwelt long and lovingly on her career on the screen, on the stage, and in radio. And when he came to mention her name, he plumb forgot it. He had to ask Irene Rich to tell the folks who she was. Was his face red!
SOMETIMES it happens that unfortunate things happen during a broadcast which cannot possibly be kept from going out over the air. When that is the case, they are covered up in the best way possible and every attempt is made to turn an embarrassing situation into a laugh.
Thus, when Ozzie Nelson once lifted his baton to begin the accompaniment to Harriet Hilliard's song, a large, heavy cigaret case slipped out of his pocket and fell to the floor with a resounding “bang.” No mistake about it, that sound went out over the air. Quickly Ozzie turned to the mike and said, “Boy, set 'em up in the other alley!” That made it seem as if the bang was a planned sound effect to introduce his wife's vocal number. It got a big laugh from the studio audience and only those connected with the program really knew bow unforeseen the big noise was.

While a well-known news commentator was airing his views, the page from which he was reading slipped out of his hand. Calmly be bent over and picked it up. And then to explain the split second of silence, he said: “Pardon me, folks, but a blond just passed by.”
WILLIE AND EUGENE HOWARD, two boys who are fast on the trigger in an emergency, saved their program from the embarrassment of “empty air.” Willie always puts his script on a music stand instead of holding it to read his lines. Making a sweeping motion with his hands to emphasize a certain word, he inadvertently swept the script off the stand, scattering the pages in all directions. Eugene looked petrified but Willie, quite as if it had all been planned in advance, switched into the patter of one of their memorized old vaudeville routines. Eugene caught on immediately and gave the proper response when he got his cue. In the meantime somebody got them another script pointed out the proper place, and they went back to their radio material. And the world at large was none the wiser.
Thus, when you listen to a broadcast and admire the clock-like regularity with which the show seems to go off, you seldom can tell if everything really is all right or whether something went wrong, but quick action, fast thinking or just plain luck prevented you from knowing that for a little while some ether favorite was on the spot.

Tom and Jerry 3.0

Yesterday, we wrote about how MGM suddenly sprung on its own shareholders the surprising news in March 1961 that a deal had been signed six months earlier with producer William Snyder to make Tom and Jerry cartoons. Enough were made for one theatrical season—13 cartoons—and that was that for Snyder and his director, Gene Deitch.

MGM wasn’t finished with Tom and Jerry, though. It was still making money on them, not only from the Deitch cartoons, but a package of old ones made by Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera before Metro got out of the cartoon business. The studio inked a new deal in summer of 1963 to keep the cat and mouse cash cows on the big screen.

Walter Bien had been a film editor for MGM, Monogram and Eagle Lion studios in the 1940s before opening his own TV production company in 1950. By 1954, he was the head of the Universal TV commercial department, had the same job with Warners in 1956, then headed Four Star Productions’ commercial division; the company made animated ads for TV. He opened SIB Productions in August 1960 (I can’t find the reference now but I read the “B” was for “Bien,” “S” and “I” were for his children) to make commercials and industrial films in association with Paramount. But Bien had other things in mind. Daily Variety of October 8, 1962 reported he formed a side company, Bien Productions, “to make fictional vidpix series. ‘The Manager’ is first projected skein.” Then Variety declared on July 26, 1963 he had delivered 14 segments of the Lou Scheimer-directed “Rod Rocket” series to Desilu for distribution. And at some time, he landed a far bigger deal, one that wrested a cat and mouse away from Deitch.

The SIB Productions arrangement with MGM was the centrepiece of a front-page story in Variety of August 30, 1963 on the lay of the land in the West Coast cartoon business. Among many things, it vaguely explained why Metro dumped Deitch.

SEE BOOM IN CARTOONIST JOBS
MGM Revives ‘Tom-Jerry’ Shorts After 6 Years, Walter Bien Producing
Sharp increase in Hollywood animated film activity, indicated during the next few months, should see IATSE Screen Cartoonists Local 839 membership 100 percent employed by end of the year. Prediction was made yesterday by union's biz rep Larry Kilty, who said that at present only 60 percent of the 826 members are working.
Sparking resurgence is deal disclosed yesterday which will put MGM back in the cartoon field for the first time since it shuttered its shorts department in 1957. Walter Bien, it was learned, has been pacted to produce top-budgeted "Tom And Jerry" shorts on a one-a-month basis. As an indie producer, Bien will produce films off the Metro lot, with the studio putting up coin and distributing. Bien, heretofore active only in commercial and industrial film field, has set director Chuck Jones, long associated with Warners cartoon production before studio closed its shorts department in January, to helm films. Jones will bring bulk of crew he has worked with in past which will include writer Mike Maltese.

Cat and mouse team was launched by Joe Hanna and William Barbera [sic], who segued into indie production when Metro halted its shorts production. Their creations, however, remained property of studio. No specific number of cartoons has been set for production under deal, according to Bien. The agreement stipulates that films be made for "as long as they are satisfactory to everyone concerned."
Productions will be in "full animation" as opposed to the "limited animation" common to tv. Illustrating difference, Jones declares that average weekly output for the "limited" animator is equal to from 160 to 200 feet of completed film whereas in "full" artist usually accounts for no more than 30 feet.
WB Also Prepping?
Foreign income derived from animated shorts has long gone largely unnoticed, according to Cartoonists rep Kilty. He asserts that recent reappraisal by Warners of this factor has sparked recurrent rumors that studio is also prepping a return to cartoon production.
No Dubbing Factor
Fact that many of the popular animated series are done in "pantomime" with no dialog and hence no need for dubbing or new tracks on prints shipped overseas is a prime factor in their record of lucrative foreign returns, according to Jones. He notes that "Tom And Jerry" and his "Coyote" and "Road Runner" cartoon series are of this variety.

Foreign production and sharp drop-off in animated skeins in recent seasons has pushed Local 839's employment from virtually 100 percent two years ago to current meager level, according to Kilty. Predicted upswing will be wrought by producers returning after bad overseas experiences and work already on the boards for fall, he asserts. MGM has made several "Tom And Jerry's" in Italy following 1957 halt to local production, asserts Kilty, though studio confirmation on this was not forthcoming.
Hanna-Barbera Active
Among diverse animation activity slated for this fall, according to Kilty, in addition to the Metro work, includes "Whistle Your Way Back Home," the Hanna-Barbera feature already in production for Columbia release [released as “Hey There, It’s Yogi Bear!]”; one feature to be made here by Boston producer Norman Prescott, "How The West Was Lost (Almost)" and another which was 60 percent completed in Denmark, "Return To The Land Of Oz," he plans to complete here; a lengthy animated insert into Disney's predominantly-live action "Mary Poppins" plus two features "Jungle Book" and "Winnie The Pooh" now in story stage, two new Hanna-Barbera tv skeins in addition to "Flintstones," a carry-over from previous seasons; a variety of syndicated animated tv fare from such producers as Ed Graham, Al Lovey, Sam Nicholson and Larry Harmon—plus feature title work and an increase in animated commercials, field which usually employs 10 to 15 percent of Kilty's membership and which, according to the biz rep, usually runs in cycles and is due for turn upward.
UPA, adds Kilty, has large-scale Christmas spec in works similar to one they produced last season and Walter Lantz, one of pioneers in cartoon field, continues consistently active.

As a side note, Al Lovey is Alex Lovy, who seems to have briefly left Hanna-Barbera, only to return.

In October 1963, SIB set up a facility in the Sunset Towers Building, hence the company’s later name of SIB-Tower 12 Productions. It had opened an office in Chicago and a separate company in New York in August.

Bien’s crew delivered seven cartoons by the following October. And then production stopped. MGM stepped in. Here’s Variety from December 31, 1964:

NEW MGM CARTOON UNIT TO DO T& J, ALSO BIZ-ED FILMS
Metro, once a major source of cartoon shorts, has come full circle back into the animated production camp. Studio, which disbanded its animation wing several years ago, subsequently releasing cartoons made by indies, now has formed Animation-Visual Arts, a wholly-owned subsidiary which vet animation director Chuck Jones will head-up. Les Goldman is his associate. Unit has begun production on 12 new Tom and Jerry cartoon shorts, continuing characters created in 1937 by William Hanna and Joe Barbera.

Metro, which had released several foreign-made Tom and Jerrys in recent years, early this year inked deal with Walter Bien’s animation-commercial firm for production of a new cartoon series featuring the cat and mouse team. In October, after completing seven of them, Bien’s company struck financial trouble and ceased production. Difficulties, which involve a suit brought by employees for back wages, are now being unraveled by courts, with an out-of-court settlement also a possibility.
In addition to theatrical cartoons, Jones and company will make commercial and educational films. To that end a research and development fund has been formed for unit’s use. Unit, most members of which had been working for Bien, will [remainder of sentence unavailable].

Metro was anxious to keep Tom and Jerry going. A Variety piece on August 5, 1964 estimated the Tom and Jerry series was good for at least $1,000,000 a year in sales to foreign markets alone. As for Bien, he signed with Rock Hudson’s Gibraltar Productions in late March 1965 to head the company’s new commercial and industrial film wing.

A month before Bien ceased production, he sold SIB’s New York subsidiary to the man running it, no doubt to raise cash.

MGM Visual Arts eventually moved into new territory involving a Grinch, Oz and a Phantom Tollbooth. The studio quietly decided to leave theatrical shorts behind. After the release of “Purr-Chance to Dream” in 1967, the 34th short after end of MGM’s contract with William Snyder, there was no more Tom and Jerry. Well, until they resurfaced in TV form under their old bosses, Hanna and Barbera, about eight years later. But that’s another story.

Thermos Cartoon Violence

Violently jerky camera movement on impact was not uncommon in the Gene Deitch Tom and Jerry cartoons. Here’s an example from “Sorry Safari” (1962). The unnamed hunter (played by Deitch’s buddy Allen Swift) bashes Tom with his thermos. Each shot is taken twice.



The Deitch T&Js are generally a sorry mess, not a sorry safari, but the elephant design in this one is funny.



Deitch’s cartoons were produced by William Snyder, who seems to have worked out a secret deal with MGM for the cat and mouse shorts. Here’s the part of a Daily Variety story from March 9, 1961 dealing with the cartoons:

Mochrie Details MGM Plan To Resume Tom & Jerry Cartoon Prod’n Abroad
New York, March 8. – Bill Snyder’s deal with Metro for production of new Tom & Jerry cartoons in Europe, closed more than six months ago, today was publicly announced by Robert Mochrie, sales veepee, to more than 75 delegates before winding two-day sales sesh at Astor Hotel.
During past several years Metro reissued T&J's in color and other shorts singly and in packages. About five years ago Metro curtailed all shorts production when cost per subject was found prohibitive. Snyder, through his Rembrandt Films, has produced cartoons abroad for half Metro's tally sheets. He's been quietly making T&J's to build backlog for one a month release starting May 8.
Former trade paper reporter, Snyder has imported numerous foreign features and shorts, one or two winning Academy recognition.

And contrary to popular belief, the cartoons weren’t all done at Deitch’s studio in Czechoslovakia. Here’s Variety again, from April 21, 1961:

Bill Snyder, whose “Munro” short won an Oscar Monday, has five units working on new product in four foreign countries: one each in London, Zurich, Milan, Rome and Prague. Stories, soundtrack and layouts are prepared in Gotham, he said. Three of 13 “Tom & Jerry” subjects for Metro have been completed

While Deitch et al were making their shorts overseas, MGM continued to release Tom and Jerrys from its own closed studio in a compilation “Tom and Jerry Festival of Fun.” Finally, Metro announced a change. The headline in a lengthy front-page Variety story of August 30, 1963: “MGM Revives ‘Tom-Jerry’ Shorts After 6 Years, Walter Bien Producing”. Thus ended Gene Deitch’s brief connection with a 23-year-old cat and mouse team. We’ll have the Bien story tomorrow.

Cow vs Train Silently

Jerry’s on the job as a steam locomotive engineer in “The Wrong Track,” a 1920 cartoon produced by the Bray Studios.

The cartoon’s under three minutes and it consists of one joke with a long set-up. But there’s some nice perspective animation as Jerry’s train comes in at an angle and is stymied by a recalcitrant, cross-eyed cow.



Jerry tries pulling the cow off the tracks.



The cow then kicks the train back a few yards.



Jerry doesn’t give up. He revs up the train and runs into the cow, killing it and the train in the process. I liked the scrunched up cow in the first drawing below. When did cartoonists stop drawing crosses on the eyes like that?



You can read more about the Jerry on the Job series HERE and if you click around, you’ll learn about the fine work Tom Stathes is doing to preserve silent cartoons. My thanks to Devon Baxter for the frames.

It's True! It's On The Radio!

People believe what they hear on the radio, even if it’s obviously false. Jack Benny went out of his way to tip people to prove to them he wasn’t a tightwad like he was on his show. But there was a little blurring of lines when it came to Benny because on the radio he played Jack Benny, Radio Comedian.

There was no blurring of lines when it came to soap operas. The characters were made up. Their settings were made up. Yet for some, the acting was so convincing, they believed the ridiculous idea that someone had microphones planted all around them and their friends, and that real lives were being broadcast live, accompanied by organ music, an announcer and convenient commercial breaks.

Radio soap actress Mary Jane Higby devoted a chapter in her autobiography to misguided listeners who simply and steadfastly refused to believe it was only a show. Higby was one of a number of stars who had first-hand experience with delusional fans. And it is one of Higby’s shows that columnist John Crosby referred to in his thoughts on soap addicts in one of his columns published in late 1946.

RADIO IN REVIEW
Soap Opera Addicts
By JOHN CROSBY
NEW YORK, Dec 30.—The dim twilight of soap opera la not everyone’s world. It is a special world, it would appear, built purposely for those persons whose credulity has no apparent limits. To the sceptical listener with a ready fund of humor the agonies of soap opera offers neither escape nor amusement. For that sort of listener, of whom there are a great many, a far more rewarding study than soap opera is that of, the people who listen to the darn things, or, as someone, put it so well, the proper study of man is man.
Soap opera is not so much a taste as an addiction. Even broadcasters will admit that the soap opera fan listens not to just one but to several, sometimes five or six a day, deriving from the later ones even more comfort than from the early ones when they sink further and further into the nebulous world of fancy and farther and farther from the prosaic world of the dishes. Just how virulent this soap opera drug can become was well illustrated by a recent occurrence in New Jersey.
A Mrs. Davis of Hillsborough township, near Somerville, New Jersey, recently received a note on which was scrawled: “Steve killed Betty MacDonald. Irma has him on her farm. I hope you will come out of this with flying colors.” Mrs. Davis turned the letter over to police who traced it without difficulty to a woman in Brooklyn, from whom they wrung this remarkable confession.
The writer told police that she listened every day to a soap opera called “When a Girl Marries.” On this program recently a Betty MacDonald was killed and Harry Davis of “Somerville” was arrested. The Brooklyn letter writer went on to explain that Harry Davis was really innocent. The real murderer, she told the startled cops, was a man named Steve, Betty’s lover, who was now hiding out on Irma's farm. (Irma loved him, too.) She had written the letter to Mrs. Davis to reassure her that everything would come out all right and to assure her that her faith in Mrs. Davis and Harry remained unshaken.
That’s all there is to the story. The police presumably told the Brooklyn lady not to write any more letters and may even have advised her against taking soap opera so seriously. The reaction of the Brooklyn addict to a visitation from the cops remains unknown. Does she still listen to “When a Girl Marries"? What went through her mind when she discovered that Harry and Irma and Steve were people of fancy, not fact? Was she outraged at this betrayal of her implicit trust and, if so, has she found anything to take its place? Or, to put it more plainly, are there any other anodynes so satisfying and undemanding as soap opera for credulous ladies from Brooklyn?
The spy psychiatrists will have to take it up from there. This column is out of its depth.

A Wild Fudd

Elmer Fudd is dwiven nuts by the horse-whinny version of Bugs Bunny in “Elmer’s Candid Camera” (1940). Bob McKimson gets the sole animation credit but Ken Harris, Bobe Cannon and Phil Monroe, I suspect, animated on this cartoon as well. Is that Harris doing Elmer in the net?



Highlights, modelling, gags that you tire of before they finish unfolding. Yes, it’s an early Chuck Jones cartoon. Fortunately, this Bugs was jettisoned by the studio after Tex Avery figured out the character and Jones went on to make outstanding, memorable cartoons with the new weisenheimer version.

She Lives Just Down the Road Apiece Yonder

Little Rural Riding Hood (Colleen Collins) directs us with her toe to her Grandma’s house. The camera pans along Johnny Johnsen’s background. Here’s the drawing. Click to enlarge.



Daws Butler and Pinto Colvig lend voices in an all-star cast in Red’s farewell performance.