Sunday, 25 December 2016

Christmas With Jack Benny, 1927

What was Jack Benny doing for Christmas 89 years ago? Hanging out with Fanny Brice. And an almost empty theatre.

Yes, the show must go on. And on it went on December 25, 1927 at the New Orpheum Palace theatre in Chicago. Benny was the emcee and Brice was the headliner.

Judging by Variety, Billboard and the Vaudeville News, Jack was reworking his career a bit. He had been emceeing vaudeville shows of six acts. Billboard wasn’t all that impressed, though audiences loved him in Chicago; at the start of August 1927 he was held over for a fourth week as the m.c. But he realised he needed to freshen his act. Benny hooked up with The New Yorkers’ Band, 13 members from the defunct Frank Fay nightclub. He waved a baton and conducted them in a comic musical routine. He played the violin. Tenor John Griffin sang two numbers. There was a girl dancer (unidentified). Benny and his group hit up the independent theatres in New York, showing off the act to major circuit bookers. One of the houses was the Fox Savoy on December 5th.

It worked. Jack got a good review in Billboard and, more importantly, signed an 18-week contract with the Orpheum circuit to do his own act and act as m.c. on the bill. He played a week in Denver before returning to Chicago on Christmas Day.

After a week, Brice moved on but Jack was held over to host a new bill which included Olsen and Johnson, Lee Morse and Charlie Ruggles’ company doing a playlet. Billboard went into a detailed description of the second week’s show but this post is only interested in his Christmas stage appearance. The Chicago Tribune ran ads for the show, but didn’t review it. Variety gave its opinion in its December 28th edition but didn’t say an awful lot.
After a month or two of much heralding, of circus proportions at times, Fanny Brice is finally at the Palace. For a while it seemed her picture in the lobby was just a tribute. Now Fanny is here, so probably next week her photo will be ducked. But they should keep it in the lobby and paste reprints all over the house, for Fanny is one of the few genuine names left to the Palace and vaudeville, and one of the few whose "Comings" are worth bragging about.
Even with a small house Sunday matinee there is little need to question her drawing ability, even at the not too attractive Palace. The Sunday mat had legit abili for a change, Xmas. As to Fanny, her regular act seems to be stopping shows.
Comedy predominated, Jack Benny serving as m. c. Also reminiscent of the past, with standards bobbing up often.
A standard opened, in Raflin's monkeys, entertaining novelty.
Marie Vero, "schoolgirl soprano," a fair outlet for ego, regarded and billed as vaude's personal "find," but the show returned to stability shortly after with Arthur and Morton Havel. They are returned to the Palace within a few months, but seem as capable in this stop-over as in the former. Nice act.
Clifford and Marion whammed and grabbed a couple of extra bows when the girl walked out straight and in decolette. Clifford seemed to be laboring under handicap of a cold.
Miss Brice held the fin and closed the first part, Toney and Norman, of the old school, opening the second. The second mixed cross-fire turn of the bill, but of different routine. The older Jim gets, the better, etc., and the younger Ann gets, the cuter.
Benny found a spot for himself at this point and gagged for a hit, though he hit likewise throughout the show. Florence O'Denishawn and Snow and Columbus danced the closer. A sightly, clever flash, this, and would be at more advantage if spotted earlier in any other show.
Both Benny and Brice, as you likely know, ended up on radio when vaudeville died. Marie Vero appeared every so often on the air as well. She moved to San Francisco and I can find her name up until 1937 when she vanishes. Vero appeared in a Vitaphone Varieties short for Warner Bros. in 1929.

Oh, and here’s a bit of trivia. The band appearing at the Palace the week before Jack arrived was led by Don Bester, who later did the Benny radio show.

Radio stations don’t shut down on Christmas Day, and some are still staffed by people who give up their family time to entertain or inform their audiences. It was no different in the Golden Age, especially on networks where live performances were mandated. Jack Benny worked a couple of Christmas Days on the air, in 1938 and 1949. You can hear the shows below. Notice the difference in Eddie Anderson’s voice in the two broadcasts. He’s got more of an Amos ‘n’ Andy sound in the earlier one. Barbara Whitney in the 1938 show is played by Barbara Jo Allen, who later went on to radio and short film fame as Vera Vague. In the 1949 programme, you’ll hear the Bennys’ daughter Joan selling cookies, as well as Bea Benaderet.


December 25, 1938




December 25, 1949

Saturday, 24 December 2016

Hugh Harman's Peace on Earth

Snow covers the remains of the devastation of war in the opening pan shots of Hugh Harman’s Peace On Earth, released at Christmas time 1939.

The first two frame grabs show a bombed-out church. The next frames are a right pan, with items in the foreground on overlays to add depth. Toward the end of the pan, we see houses that have been made out of soldiers’ helmets.



Harman and his writer aren’t very subtle. A boys choir sings “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” over and over, but remove practically all the lyrics except the lines about “peace on Earth” (“Silent Night” gets its lyrics butchered as well). And Mel Blanc’s grandpa squirrel keeps croaking “Peace on Earth” over and over and over so that you want to gag him after awhile. Regardless, Harman was proud of this cartoon. The artwork and effects are top-notch.

Daily Variety followed the film from its start through to its Oscar nomination (Disney won for The Ugly Duckling; I can only imagine Harman’s reaction). Here are the clippings:

April 19, 1939
Metro plans to give classical music heavy play next season in animated cartoons. ‘The Blue Danube’ has been selected by Producers Hugh Harman and Rudolf Ising as first to reach cameras. Jack Cosgriff and Charles McGirl have completed script to fit Strauss waltz. Harman and Ising also plan production of pro-Americanism, anti-war cartoon under title ‘Peace On Earth.’ Insects will be used as characters to unfold story of how human race was wiped out through international conflict.

October 25, 1939
Eddie Ward scoring 'Bad Little Angel' at Metro, in addition to writing background music for two cartoons, 'The Bear Family' and 'Peace on Earth.'

December 1, 1939
Metro's Hugh Harman has turned out a telling preachment against war in 'Peace On Earth,' one-reel animated cartoon done in Technicolor, and intended for Christmas release. It was given preview last night at Fox-Wilshire.
Done in fable mood, briefie has venerable squirrel paying Xmas eve visit to his two grandchildren, whose question, 'What is a man?' he answers by relating the story of man's own extermination of mankind through war. Deftly handled background music, including vocal chorus, runs through his narration, which is given ironic emphasis by newest European conflict.
Battle scenes are done with drawings, with tag disclosing all animaldom peacefully intermingling as a result of lesson they have gleaned from humans who once inhabited earth.
Harman has highlighted his tints, bringing out hues in unusual sharpness. Opening scene showing snow falling on animal village is exceptional from standpoint of capturing varying hues.

December 6, 1939
Success of Metro's Hugh Harman one-reeler, 'Peace on Earth,' has studio pushing forward other serious subjects for treatment via animated cartoon route. Next to be put in work by Harman will be an Easter subject based on story of the Nativity. Jeanne Fuller suggested story idea. [Fuller married Harman in 1941]

December 12, 1939
Metro is submitting its one-reel technicolor cartoon preachment against war, 'Peace on Earth,' to the Nobel Prize Committee of the Academy of Sciences at Stockholm as entry for award for international peace promotion.

January 10, 1940 (New York Herald Tribune)
Consuls of warring European nations are invited to attend a film showing of the animated cartoon “Peace on Earth,” tomorrow night at 8:15 p.m. by Professor Frederic M. Thrasher, of the New York University School of Education, at the auditorium, 41 West Fourth Street. Produced by the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the film depicts the fallacies of war. It will be shown before Professor Thrasher’s class on the motion picture. The consuls will be invited to comment on propaganda in the films.

January 27, 1940
Cartoons entered for Sunday night showing follow ‘Goofy and Wilber,’ ‘The Beach Picnic,’ ‘The Ugly Duckling,’ ‘The Practical Pig,’ ‘The Pointer,’ all from Walt Disney; ‘Old Glory’ and ‘Detouring America,’ Warners; ‘Peace On Earth’ and ‘The Little Goldfish,’ Metro; ‘Scrambled Eggs,’ ‘A-Hunting We Will Go,’ ‘The Sleeping Princess,’ Universal; ‘Peaceful Neighbors,’ Mintz; ‘The Orphan Duck,’ 20th-Fox; ‘Fresh Vegetable Mystery,’ Paramount.


The Motion Picture Herald offered these reviews from small-town theatres:
● Here is a swell cartoon that should be held off in booking until Christmas week of 1940. It is excellent for the proper time of the year. Save it. Running time, nine minutes. — A. J. Inks, Crystal Theatre, Ligonier, Ind. Small town patronage.

● This one is everything the critics have said. A swell cartoon that you can be proud to show and one you can brag about. — Fred Brown, Plymouth Theatre, Plymouth, Wis. General patronage.

● Fair cartoon in color which lacked comedy. Running time, seven minutes. — E. M. Freiburger, Paramount Theatre, Dewey, Okla. Small town patronage.

● There is no doubt about it. Here is the best cartoon of the year. Don't wait for next Christmas; play it now. The war angle is more dominant than the Christmas angle. Of course, this isn't funny so make your other shorts humorous. Unusually appreciative applause followed this. Running time, nine minutes. — W. Varick Nevins, III, Alfred Co-Op Theatre, Alfred, N. Y. Small college town and rural patronage.

● Above all others get this color cartoon. One grand cartoon. Will help in a big way to round out any program. Running time, nine minutes. — C. W. Hawk, Ada Theatre, Ada, Ohio. Small college town patronage.

● A grand short that everyone should play at this time. — C. L. Niles, Niles Theatre, Anamosa, Iowa. General patronage.

● Was especially liked. Running time, nine minutes. — Warren D. Smith, Lee Roy Theatre, Wallace, Neb. General patronage.

● Excellent.— L. A. Irwin, Palace Theatre, Penacook, N. H. General patronage.

● Very beautifully colored cartoon.— Gladys E. McArdle, Owl Theatre, Lebanon, Kansas. Small town patronage.

● Played this in October [1940]. Very appropriate subject in the Fall of the year. After last Xmas very poor. Running time, eight minutes. — A. L. Dove, Bengough Theatre, Bengough, Saskatchewan, Canada. Rural and small town patronage.
There was trade talk by MGM about re-issuing the cartoon every December. We suspect Pearl Harbor got in the way of that idea.

What did cartoon studio boss Fred Quimby think of Peace on Earth? Showmen’s Trade Review of December 9, 1939 reported:
Commenting on MGM's departure from the usual in screen cartoons with the production of a semi-dramatic subject for the Christmas season, Fred Quimby, head of the company's short subject distribution said that conditions this year suggested the idea of breaking precedent in connection with a seasonal cartoon subject.
Following a screening of the film for the trade press in New York, Quimby said: "We decided on something different and perhaps a little daring this year, because we felt that, with conditions as they are, this Christmas was the logical time to offer in place of the usual light and frothy cartoon a subject dramatically, yet at times whimsically, imparting the full significance of 'Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men'." The cartoon, "Peace On Earth" is reviewed in this issue.
We also know what Quimby thought of Hugh Harman and Rudy Ising. Not an awful lot. He told Hedda Hopper in her column of August 4, 1940 that the name their of producing partnership, Harman-Ising, was misleading. Growled Fred C.: “They could never work together and both of them are so high in the clouds they haven’t any idea of what money means.”

Is it any wonder Quimby was ready to be enticed by Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera into allowing them to direct cartoons. Both could stick to a budget and garner Oscar nominations. And about 15 years later, they came up with a cartoon that opened with a pan over a snow-covered bombed-out church, with a choir singing mangled lyrics to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” It was called Good Will To Men. Fred Quimby’s name was on it. Hugh Harman’s wasn’t. He deserved better. At least we’re remembering him today.

Friday, 23 December 2016

Tom and Jerry's Night Before Christmas

In 1936, Jack Zander, Bill Littlejohn and Joe Barbera were working for New York’s not-very-respected Van Beuren cartoon studio. A few years later, there were at the top-of-the-line MGM studio, turning out first-rate animation that could hold its own with anyone.

The Night Before Christmas (1941) is a real charming cartoon, with beautiful settings, well-executed special effects and loads of expression in Tom and Jerry. Van Beuren only made cartoons like this in their dreams.

After a pan over a lovely room filled with a fireplace, bookshelves, a Christmas tree and presents (some of which are in silhouette on an overlay), we come to rest at a mouse hole. Narrator Frank Graham quietly purrs the opening lines of the famous poem and when he reaches “Not even a mouse,” Jerry pokes his head out of the hole, then smells some cheese.

The mouse has easily-recognised emotions in this scene. He won’t fall for the cheese trap laid out for him, then spots something delightful off screen. I don’t think I need to say much more. The pictures can tell the story.



Barbera’s well-constructed story comes back to the mouse trap at the end. It turns out to be a Christmas music box. Tom really did leave the cheese as a present.

Zander was the animator of this scene and (along with his assistant and in-betweeners) did a fantastic job in various scenes throughout the cartoon. Littlejohn, George Gordon, Cecil Surry and Irv Spence contributed some great animation, too. Unfortunately, I don’t know who painted the backgrounds in this cartoon. It may have been Bob Gentle, but Barbera and Bill Hanna had other background artists in their unit as well.

Variety reported the cartoon opened at Grauman’s Chinese and Loew’s State on December 11, 1941. Juxtapose the peaceful message of this cartoon with the bombing of Pearl Harbor only days earlier.

My thanks to Keith Scott, the ne plus ultra of voice experts, for identifying Frank Graham.

Thursday, 22 December 2016

Broken Toys

Nothing says ‘30s cartoons like celebrity caricatures. And the holiday season wasn’t spared them either.

A few are supporting players in Broken Toys, a 1935 Disney cartoon about dolls and other kids playthings tossed in a dump. They vow to repair themselves and march to a new home in an orphanage in time for Christmas. And if the pathos hasn’t got you tearing up yet, listen to this—the climax comes in one those desperate races against time to restore the “sight” of a little girl doll through a delicate operation.

The result? It’s Disney. What do you think happened?

Ah, but it isn’t all melodrama and wet hankies. We get comic relief in the form of, yes, those winsome celebrities who found their way, in all kinds of forms, into cartoons throughout the ‘30s.



Ned Sparks in a box.



Oh, dear! It’s Zasu Pitts.



Aunt Jemima is slapping her nether region. Besides having her own pancake mix and syrup, at the time this cartoon was made the character “starred” in a show on NBC Red, singing away on Wednesday nights from 10 to 10:30 p.m. for General Foods and Log Cabin Products.



W.C. Fields and Stepin Fetchit. The calico elephant is a bit player.

You can learn more about the cartoon from Devon Baxter’s post on Jerry Beck’s Cartoon Research site.

Wednesday, 21 December 2016

Two Stories of Christmas From Hollywood

What does Christmas mean in Hollywood? Probably the same as anywhere else; it means different things to different people.

Associated Press reporter Bob Thomas covered the TV and movie scene in the city for decades. We’ve found a couple of seasonal columns of his that we’ll share.

The first is from December 23, 1964. It’s how Dick Van Dyke and his family marked the holiday, both religiously and secularly. As Mr. Van Dyke turned 91 a little over a week ago, it’s maybe fitting we spotlight him here.
Star Believes in the Spirit of Christmas
By BOB THOMAS

AP Movie-Television Writer
HOLLYWOOD (AP) – Everyone talks about having an old-fashioned Christmas, but few ever do anything about it. Exception: the Dick Van Dyke family.
For a guy who is as hep as any star in show business, Dick is a remarkably old-fashioned fellow. He believes in morality in movies, loyalty and the spirit of Christmas.
“I think the wrong emphasis has been placed on Christmas,” he said. “Now there is entirely too much obligatory giving. Christmas should be a time of giving to your family and close friends—the people you love. Instead, you're compelled to give to your customers, your boss, your employees, etc.
“I'm sure the average business man hates to see Christmas come around.”
The Van Dyke Christmas starts with picking out a tree. That's an all-family affair.
“Everybody goes along to the lot to make the choice, including the maid.” Dick said. “We look at every tree until we find the one that suits everyone. Then we bring it home and everyone has a job to do in the decoration.
“The big kids (Chris, 14; Barry, 13) handle the breakable ornaments, the younger ones (Stacy, 10; Carrie, 3) take care of the less fragile things. We've built up quite a collection of ornaments they have made; I mean like clay balls with glitter. We save them all.
“Me, I take care of stringing the lights and hanging the angel on the top of the tree, which is usually a 12-footer.” The Van Dykes attend the early Christmas Eve service at their church, the Brentwood Presbyterian. When they come home, Dick reads the St Luke version of Jesus’ birth from the big family Bible. The children hang up their stockings, and Dick and wife Margie exchange their gifts to each other. Christmas morning is for the kids.
“We've got it fixed now so they will wait until 7 a.m.,” Dick remarked. "Everyone has to line up to enter the room at the same time. Each child goes to the place where he or she has been stacking his presents in the room. Then they start opening. All I have to do is keep separating the wrapping paper.”
Friends drop in during the day, and the family sits down to a dinner in the afternoon. "We have a big ham, rather than turkey, which we have at Thanksgiving," said Dick. "Nobody's hungry,anyway. There's too much excitement for everyone.”
Let’s turn back the clock exactly four years from the previous post and look at Hollywood itself. We get the feeling this particular column is autobiographical, with Thomas himself searching for evidence of the “true” meaning of Christmas.
Visitors In Hollywood Look For Celebration
By BOB THOMAS

AP Movie-TV Writer
HOLLYWOOD (AP) – ‘Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and all through the town the visitor could find no indication of what the celebration was about.
He walked along the marble-fronted buildings of Beverly Hills, their windows ablaze with sable and silver. The street lamps of Wilshire Boulevard were brightly lighted with pictures of choristers, reindeer and a fat man in a chimney. Judging from these, the season might mark some pagan fete.
TV cowboys just off the range were filling their sports cars with gifts. The choice was vast. At Uncle Bernie’s Toy Menagerie, parents could buy their kiddies a six-foot stuffed dinosaur for $350 or some singing toy birds for $400, including cage.
At the Gourmet, late shoppers could pick up fresh Iranian caviar at $45 the pound or a methuselah (208 oz.) of French champagne for $75. Or, for those with jaded tastes, there were baby bees, chocolate covered ants, buffalo meat, quail eggs, rattlesnake (diamond back, of course), alligator soup, fried grasshoppers, whale meat.
The victor wandered into the drug store at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. It was also equipped for the outpouring of dollars. Five hundred of them could buy a man's hair brush—satinwood, wild boar bristle—$450 a solid gold compact.
“We don't sell many compacts because they're too heavy,” explained a salesgirl. “But we do sell some of the brushes: they’re a nice gift for the man who has everything.”
The visitor journeyed eastward, stopping at a wayside inn on the Sunset Strip. There he found celebrators but no hint of what they celebrated. Some gained cheer with a wassail called the Santa baby cocktail — cranberry juice and vodka.
Onward to Hollywood Boulevard he went, then to be greeted by endless repetition overhead of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer wreathed in gold tinsel. The visitor contemplated what Dancer, Prancer and the other black-nosed veterans would say about this reindeer-come-lately.
The visitor failed in his quest until he left the brilliant lights behind and started over the Cahuenga Pass. High on a hill above the pilgrimage theater he discovered a white neon cross that gave him a hint of what the celebration was for.

Tuesday, 20 December 2016

Scrappy Meets Santa

The Charlie Mintz studio goes for sentiment in the fantasy cartoon Holiday Land, released at Christmas time in 1934. It’s a nice little cartoon where little boy Scrappy dreams that Father Time appears and, like a miniature Monty Hall, leads him to various curtains behind which are a special prize—an enactment of one of the annual holidays.

Calendar pages are ripped onto the floor. Father Time jumps through one and blares his trumpet to page Santa Claus, Easter rabbits, Hallowe’en witches and so on. Santa jumps through his calendar date and joins the parade. There’s a throwaway bit where a rubber ball from Santa’s bag accidentally falls out of the bag and bounces around, squashing and stretching. It’s not necessary animation but Sid Marcus and Art Davis were trying for Disney charm here.



Santa lifts up Father Time’s robe to reveal a little cherub band playing the American patriotic marching song, The Girl I Left Behind Me. Santa weaves over and back as he walks in a bit of thoughtful cycle animation. A toy in his bag stretches its head up and down in another cycle. All that movement is elaborate for a Columbia cartoon of the period.



And what would a post about a Scrappy cartoon be without Scrappy? (This for you, Harry).



The cartoon features two-tone Technicolor, cel overlays and special songs. The Mintz staff put a good deal of effort into this one and it was nominated for an Oscar.

Monday, 19 December 2016

Take That, Blabbermouse

The endlessly-talking Little Blabbermouse finally shuts up at the end of the Warner Bros. cartoon Shop, Look and Listen (1940). But assistance is needed from a robot that ties up the annoying rodent in a package.



This is a spot gag cartoon but what’s different about it is writer Dave Monahan has avoided the usual off-screen narrator style to have an on-screen mouse (Bill Thompson in his W.C. Fields voice, according to expert Keith Scott) weave things together in a travelogue-style patter. Monahan’s gags are obvious and corny. The best part of the cartoon is when it ends.

Sunday, 18 December 2016

Benny on Benny

Benny Rubin was a star, so big a thoroughbred race horse was named for him. But unlike his friend Jack Benny, he didn’t remain one when vaudeville died. Rubin went into movies and had his own series of shorts. He hosted an amateur variety show for Feen-a-mint on WOR in the mid-‘30s. But for whatever reason, he didn’t maintain his huge success from vaudeville. He was soon reduced to bit parts in films and continued to be handed roles on the radio, and then television, by his old friend, Jack Benny.

Jack managed to carry on with his regular show until he finally ran into an unbeatable obstacle: CBS programming boss Jim Aubrey. Jack thought he should have the time slot and lead-in shows that he wanted. Aubrey decided he was running the network, and a bunch of rich stars weren’t going to put together his prime-time schedule to suit themselves. So when Jack howled in public after Petticoat Junction was made his lead-in for the 1963-64 season, Aubrey told him to like it or lump it. Jack saw the writing on the wall and signed a deal with NBC for the following season. He lasted one more year, though there were occasional specials up until his death in 1974.

Rubin was there when Jack’s final regular season TV show was recorded. It aired April 16, 1965. TV Guide asked Rubin to reflect on Benny’s career, and his thoughts were published in its week of August 28th issue. Reader Rick Greene sent a scan of it to pass along to you. Some of these stories you may have heard before. I have not been able to find where Benny Rubin and Ben K. Benny were on the same bill, but the change in name to Jack Benny happened during an Orpheum stop in Chicago in September 1920, according to contemporary issues of Variety.

A SENTIMENTAL FAREWELL
The weekly ‘Jack Benny Show’ has ended, but the memories linger on.
By Benny Rubin

I had just finished doing The Jack Benny Show, and there was a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball. Not that I’m an especially sentimental man---after all, I’ve done I’d guess 500 shows with Jack—but this was different. This was the last show, the end of an era, the climax of 33 incredible years on top of the radio and television heap. When this one was locked up, there would be no more regularly scheduled weekly Jack Benny show. For me this was like saying the sun would not rise tomorrow.
As I looked around the huge Universal City soundstage, I wondered what Don Wilson, the Smothers Brothers (who were guests that week), director Norman Abbott, producer Irving Fein and some of the others were thinking. Every one of the 50-odd members of the cast and crew knew it was Jack’s swan song as a regular performer. Yet, like a pitcher working on a no-hitter, no one mentioned it.
When it was time to go home, there was a sudden stillness. I sensed that if anyone made a sad speech, I couldn’t stand it. So I ran backstage, where the makeup man was waiting to remove the beard I was using to play the Viennese psychiatrist. My only thought was to get out the door as far as I could without running into anyone, especially Jack.
Naturally I ran into him. Only then did I notice waiters wheeling in a long table loaded with goodies. A voice said, “Aren’t you going to stay for my party, Bee-yammy?”—that’s what he’s called me for 45 years.
Now I’m known as a guy you can just say hello to and he’ll tell you 10 jokes. I can talk more in 10 minutes than Milton Berle can in an hour. But not then. Instead I was thinking, Jack, what are you going to celebrate? That you got yourself into a bind with Jim Aubrey [the now-departed head of CBS Television] over a time slot, that when you had the temerity to switch networks your old bosses clobbered you by flooding the market with your reruns, that because of this, audiences are to be deprived of one of our great talents?
I thought it but I didn’t say it. I turned and faced him. We didn’t speak for a few seconds. Finally, he said softly, with a smile on that pixy kisser of his, “Some party.” I squeezed his arm and ran out of there.
I got in my car ad put the key in the ignition. It was then that the memories came flooding over me. They took me back 45 years to Keith’s Theater in Syracuse [N.Y.], where there was a young guy—he was then 27—named Ben K. Benny on the bill. That’s when we first met. He was a stand-up single with a fiddle under his arm and a bow dangling from his fingers. I was a fast-talking, loud kind of comedian, and I just couldn’t believe that soft, slow delivery. He’d come out and say to the orchestra leader: “How’s the show up till now?” The leader would say “Fine,” and he would say, “Well, I’ll put a stop to that” Then he’d go on with his jokes, waving the fiddle.
The night he became Jack
I was there the night the wire came from Pat Casey, head of the Vaudeville Managers’ Protective Association, telling him he couldn’t use the Ben Benny tag because it sounded too much like Ben Bernie, the orchestra leader. Benny was beside himself. In those days sailors called everybody “Jack.” A couple of them breezed into the restaurant where we were sitting. “Hey, Jack!” one of them said. “Didn’t I catch your act at the Great Lakes Naval Training Station?” That’s how he got to be “Jack” Benny.
The next time I saw him was in 1923 in Kansas City. He’d given up carrying the fiddle, borrowing one from the pit man for the finish of his act. Instead he had a straw hat under his arm and a cigar dangling from one hand—that was because he had got so use to the fiddle and bow, he had to have something. Later, he gave up the cigar and hat. That’s how the famous Benny folded arms originated; he had to have something to do with his hands.
We became great friends although exact opposites. I loved the horses. He didn’t. I loved the girls. He didn’t. I used bad language. He didn’t. After Jack played the Orpheum in 1927, he signed to do a movie. I happened to be at MGM, too. We had adjacent dressing rooms, and a sign stretched across the both of them. JACK-BENNY RUBIN, it said.
In was involved in the first—and last—of just about everything he did. In Chicago in 1931 he was in Earl Carroll’s “Vanities” and I was in “Girl Crazy.” One day he came to me and said, “They want me to go with this radio thing and I’m scared.”
Actually, what the station wanted was a one-shot, 15 minutes. Jack figured he could come up with 10 minutes of solid minutes of material. He planned to fill in with a song by Harry Stockwell (Dean’s dad), who was appearing with Jack in the “Vanities.” On the night of the broadcast there was a blinding snowstorm. Jack was eight minutes into the routine and no Stockwell. He was frantic. At the break I whispered to him to tell the listeners he would now do an imitation of Benny Rubin. He did and I stepped out and told the biggest joke I knew. Stockwell never did show up.
It filled the 15 minutes OK but it drew fire from the Chicago critics. “Jack Benny was very good until he tried that terrible imitation of Benny Rubin,” Hazel Flynn wrote. “Then he was awful.” Jack hated the whole experience and swore never to go on radio again.
That was pretty funny because the following year Ed Sullivan, the New York Daily News columnist, began his first radio show, “Broadway’s Greatest Thrills,” and conned everybody he could into going on for him. All our gang went, Burns and Allen, Block and Sully, Blossom [Seeley] and Benny Fields, Jack and Flo Haley—and Jack. Benny was soon signed for a radio show. He worked with a band and a stooge, Sid Silvers, then noted as the stooge in the box for Phil Baker. He had been on about two weeks when he made a horrifying discovery: In radio—unlike vaudeville—you run out of material. He came to me in a dither. We took some of my dialect jokes, switched them to English, and found we had enough for about two weeks. Jack was saved only by the arrival backstage one day of one Harry Conn selling jokes at $10 a shot three for $25. Jack bought 50 of them.
As it turned out, however, Conn jokes worked best with a girl. So suddenly Silvers was out and Jack’s wife, then known by her real name, Sadye Marks, was in. And that’s how Mary Livingstone was born.
Oh, I loved the guy. So did Conn—in his own way. It was Conn who sold Jack on the idea that you just couldn’t tell jokes. You had to have a “situation”; that is, the audience knows that you are stingy or vain, and you bounce the humor off that. In short, the first situation comedy. Conn wrote the first stingy jokes and thereby rocketed Jack to the top along with Fire Chief Ed Wynn, Jack (Baron Munchausen) Pearl, Eddie Cantor, Rudy Vallee and Major Bowes. In the end, though, Conn outsmarted himself. He began figuring that the $1500 a week he was getting wasn’t enough. He told Jack, “Without me you are nothing. I want half.” Jack held a council of war at the Lombardy Hotel in New York. There was Don Wilson, a sponsor’s representative named Stauffer, an agency man named Harrington, Jack and myself. We each took a batch of scripts from aspiring writers and in the end we chose two young guys, Ed Beloin and Bill Morrow, later to become top men in their new field of comedy writing.
Conn? He became a performer, lasted a short time and ended up as a doorman in a theater. When things got really tough it was Jack (and he’d kill me if he knew I was writing this) who contributed to his support.
Generous with laughs
Not very many people really know Jack. Maybe I don’t even know him. But I do know this. He is the only truly generous comedian I have ever known. I mean with laughs. I remember once we were three and a half minutes over on a show. Jack, who is his own best editor, said, “Take this out, take that out.” “But, Jack,” complained the director. “That’s seven minutes!”
“OK, so give the extra three minutes to Benny Rubin. He kills ‘em with that German doctor routine.”
I know his bad points, too. Jack is sensitive; he can’t stand criticism. It bugs him—except from his writers. He is disappointed if they don’t criticize him. He has a terrible temper, particularly where incompetence is concerned. His worse vice is preoccupation; he can know you a hundred years and walk right by without noticing you. And yet there is a great kindness. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’d seen an actor goof up lines, and Jack had turned to the audience and inquired, “Wouldn’t you think after all these years I’d know what I’m doing?”
A tough man to say professional good-bys to. Really tough. But somehow of other, that night in the studio parking lot, I managed to get the car started and drive to my tiny house on a crowded street in West Hollywood. I was sleepless a long time.

Saturday, 17 December 2016

Grinching About the Grinch

On Christmas Eve 1965, Hedda Hopper announced in her column that How the Grinch Stole Christmas would come to television in an animated half-hour after Chuck Jones and MGM cartoon head Les Goldman talked Ted Geisel into allowing it to happen.

50 years ago tomorrow, it did.

Actually, news of the Grinch special first appeared in Variety on December 23, 1965. It was buried in a story on the MGM cartoon studio that focused, instead, on a planned feature film called The Phantom Tollbooth. Whatever your thoughts about the latter, Grinch turned out to be superior in every way to the dry Tollbooth. And it certainly fared better than Goldle Lox And The Three Yahns, one of two animated TV pilots that MGM shot. It never sold; neither did the other one about an anti-Superman character.

Like all TV specials that air annually, Grinch has graduated from a neat little animated tale to a staple of pop culture. We all know the Grinch song. The word “Grinch” has become part of the language. And it’ll remain that way so long as the cartoon can continue to turn a profit on TV; ironic, considering the altruistic message of Dr. Seuss’ story (incidentally, a Grinch LP was released simultaneously with the special).

Grinch marked the ascendancy of Chuck Jones in the realm of publicity, thanks due to winning the Oscar for The Dot and the Line. Interviews when the cartoon was being made have an air of “Oh, that guy!” when you read his name. The Grinch solidified his reputation and led to a vice-presidency at ABC, his own production company, and eventually, an elder statesmanship in the world of animation (as cynical as this sounds, the fact he lived to a ripe old age helped).

So, let’s go back 50 years and read one of the many advance stories in the press, along with a bunch of reviews. The story below was syndicated by the TV Key service of King Features.
Dr. Seuss' Grinch In Christmas Treat
By CHARLES WITBECK

Special Press Writer
Hollywood—The Grinch, a red-eyed, green-faced man who hates Christmas is the Dr. Seuss villain in a CBS color cartoon special, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas," pre-empting Lassie, Sunday night, Dec. 18 on CBS.
It's possible the old sour puss with his too-small heart will charm the adult viewers with his disgust over the noise and the commercial aspects of the holiday. The Grinch story is the first by the world's largest selling author of children books, Ted Geisel, pen name Dr. Seuss, to appear on television, and it will be followed by others if Grinch and his faithful dog, Max, don't foul up the grand opening.
Mr. Geisel doesn't expect this to happen, because he's been working hand-in-hand on the show with old friend and director Chuck Jones, the cartoon man who walked off with his third Oscar last spring for the short, "The Dot and the Line," so if viewers claim any distortions from the book they can blame the author. "The book has so many characters in the illustrations they could cause a problem in animation," admitted director Jones, while author Geisel looked on, "but I don't think we cut one scene."
• • •
EXCEPT for patches of red in the book illustrations, the Grinch story was devoid of color, so Jones and Geisel put heads together and came up with a red-eyed, green complexioned Christmas hater, and immediately thought of Boris Karloff, as the man most likely to sound like the old grump who lives atop Mount Crumpit, just north of Whoville, as he schemes to keep the holiday from coming to all the Whos in the village below.
The 79-year-old Karloff agreed to the part without hesitation. He knew he had a perfect Grinch voice.
The animated cartoon show celebrates the return after a long absence of author Geisel to the film world and story boards. Before slipping off to La Jolla, Cal., to concentrate on Suess books, Geisel thought up Gerald McBoing-Boing and had a hand in the early Ford animated commercials.
"I learned the film short and documentary business under Frank Capra (famed movie director of the '30s)," said the author. "And I met Chuck here during World War 2 when we were stationed at the Hal Roach Studios making Army SNAFU films. Chuck is a fine fellow; he's the only person I know who lets me write lyrics."
• • •
PROUD LYRIC writer Geisel has three songs on the special, all filled with typical Seuss sounding words. One effort compares to the chorus of "Adeste Fideles," and the author doubts if the kids will notice the difference between it and his lyrical foolishness. He expects grownups to nod and say, "I remember that song." The big number, the showstopper, is "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch," and Geisel, who writes to please himself, grinned with appreciation, listening to a recording of the score.
The character of Grinch came easily to the writer some years ago, as he was grumbling about Christmas and its commercial oversell.
"Every grownup hates Christmas from that aspect," said the author, so he sat down and wrote a little story, getting the grumps out of his system. Of course, Dr. Seuss doesn't fight a great tradition, and his holiday story has a happy ending.
Geisel left Hollywood for the quiet, conservative beach town of La Jolla 15 years ago with the intention of writing and fishing, and he says he still lacks the time to fish. Presently, Ted serves on the town council, arguing about the proper placing of high-rise buildings, and he has gone into the publishing business as well.
Geisel hasn't written a book in a year, but assures his public there is no cause for alarm; Seuss hasn't run dry, he's merely been engrossed in other projects like the Christmas special.
The Grinch special has become a Christmas TV tradition, and rightly so, just like A Charlie Brown Christmas. And like the Peanuts special, the Grinch debut wasn’t without its critics. Hal Humphrey of the Los Angeles Times, who had written a favourable advance story on the cartoon, complete with quotes from Chuck Jones, had this to say the day after watching the special:
‘Grinch’ Disappointing Christmas Special
As unfashionable as it is to be an old grouch so close to Christmas, I’ll have to risk it and say that the Dr. Seuss debut on CBS-TV Sunday night with his cartoon story of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” was a disappointment. It is my opinion that the book was better than this expensive half-hour color TV adaptation proved to be. Perhaps I was expecting too much, knowing that 10 months of labor and $315,000 went into it. Mr. Grinch made a poor heavy despite Boris Karloff’s wonderfully narrated warning, “You’re a vile one, Mr. Grinch, you’ve got termites in your smile.” He seemed more diabolical to me in the Dr. Seuss book. The animation, under the supervision of Chuck Jones and Ted Geisel (Dr. Seuss) was well done, as were the Albert Hague special music and Geisel’s lyrics. But put all together, the result was much too mild, and I suspect the usually action-hungry small viewers may have shared my feeling.
Newsday wasn’t impressed, either. Poor Eugene Poddany’s arrangements came in for specific criticism.
‘Grinch’ Fails To Steal Hearts
By Barbara Delatiner

That Dr. Seuss is a hero to parents of young children is a fact of early academic life. His humor and sophisticated touches makes reading and rereading the same books almost a treat, not the usual treatment. That he is a hero to kids, too, can’t be disputed either. His brand of silliness is just silly enough to tickle the most undeveloped funny bones.
With such a formidable legion of fans, CBS took its chances last night attempting to transfer one of Dr. Seuss’ contemporary classics, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” to the small screen. That the half-hour special even approached success is a tribute primarily to the skills of the animators. The cartoon recreation of Dr. Seuss’ zany world inhabited by preposterous creatures was accomplished with imaginative zeal. Everybody looked and moved like all good Seussians should. Unfortunately, the text about a modern Scrooge bent on destroying the holiday spirit in Whosville was more elusive. Though adapted by Dr. Seuss—Ted Geisel in mufti—and intoned by Boris Karloff with the proper amount of menacing whimsy, the gentle attack on the commercialization of Christmas failed to come off. Maybe it’s the personal touch that maes these fables so charming. Second half, they aren’t half as funny. Then, maybe the brassy songs, one replete with a few words not normally in kiddy vocabularies, dimmed enjoyment. Perhaps the embellishments needed to expand the short book into 30 minutes of TV time killed what had been originally a fragile thing. Whatever the cause, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” was a disappointment to adults and children alike. If, as reported, more of Dr. Seuss will become fodder for the tube, let’s hope future forays will retain the delicate air.
And from Jack Gould, the man who called The Flintstones “an inked disaster,” came this opinion in the New York Times:
The old meanie Grinch and his attempt to steal Christmas from the gentle folk of Who-ville were translated to the television screen last night in an animated film supervised by Dr. Theodore Seuss Geisel, far better-known as Dr. Seuss.
The thought behind “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” is so enduring and so badly needs constant saying that is seems Scrooge-like even to hint at the slightest reservation. Particularly for television, a reminder that Christmas is something of the heart and not of the general store is to be treasured under almost any conditions.
Last night on the Columbia Broadcasting System, viewers saw how Dr. Seuss and Chuck Jones, the animator, elected to show how the Grinch was sublimely thwarted in his larceny on Christmas Eve; his dark preditations had no effect on the seasonal songs of Who-ville the next morning, and the Grinch himself was to succumb to the pleasures of giving rather than taking. The half-hour film was offered early in the evening as a service to youngsters.
It just may be that the Grinch is a creation that should be left undisturbed on the printed page, where the graceful simplicity of the language of Dr. Seuss weaves its own wonder and where the reader’s imagination can make its own contribution. At all events, this literal representation of the Grinch in animated form fell a trifle short of expectation. In the preoccupation with the hurried narration, the spell was not quite there, perhaps because there was inadequate time to savor the delights of Who-ville as counterpoint to the grumpiness of the Grinch.
The animation by Mr. Jones was very good and Boris Karloff was both the voice of the Grinch and the narrator. One irony in the presentation was not to be overlooked. The testimony that Christmas is an occasion when mundane concerns really are secondary to the joys of the spirit was not exactly reinforced by the many commercials on behalf of all-service banks.
Not all the critics were negative. Clay Gowran of the Chicago Tribune wrote: “The cartooning, as might be expected with Jones at the helm, was excellent, a lively merger of Walt Disney and Rube Goldberg. Color quality was superb. And old meany Karloff was just right as the off-camera voice for the tale about mean old Grinch, who first hated and then learned to love Yuletime.”
Roy Shields of the Toronto Star chirped: “‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ made a perfect cartoon special last night. It was so faithful to the artistry of Dr. Seuss that even the colors were his kind of colors.” Variety called it “a literate half-hour” adding “Animation excellently captured the spirit or [sic] Seuss’ fictional characters and had enough farcical sight gags so the kiddies geared to standard cartoon fare wouldn’t feel left out.” And Cynthia Lowry of the Associated Press opened her column with “With delicate animation of the characters and a chilling narration by Boris Karloff, ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas’ lost nothing and even gained something in its transition from the printed page to the television screen.”

50 years of TV airings have shown which of the critics was correct.