You Know, There's a Bird in There

The cat has swallowed the canary in Counterfeit Cat. Spike the dog figures it out.



The cat manages to distract Spike with a bone throughout the cartoon. Tex Avery (and gagmen Rich Hogan and Jack Cosgriff) come up with a plot surprise near the end of the cartoon as Spike turns traitor, but he and the cat get theirs in the end.

Mike Lah, Grant Simmons and Walt Clinton are the animators in this 1949 cartoon, though I still think it should be called “Counterfeit Dog” because the cat is pretending to be a dog.

Tralfaz Sunday Theatre—March of Time Forum Edition

A jug-eared man steps to the microphone at the “end” of a radio soap opera and yelps “Time Marches On.”

The visage was likely familiar to some viewers watching this on camera, and the voice to many, many more. It’s Westbrook Van Voorhis, narrator of The March of Time, the famous short film series that dramatized events in the news.

One episode released to theatres in 1947 involved Van Voorhis’ own profession—radio. “Radio Broadcasting Today” was an 18½ minute short that examined criticism of the industry that people today say was in its “Golden Age.” At the time, some carped at the banality of soap operas and quiz/audience participation shows, and bristled about sponsorship/ad agency interference to the point of ridiculousness.

The film has some neat little bits for old radio fans. There’s a recreation of part of a Fred Allen show (for some reason, I think I’ve seen this in an NBC promotional film) and a look at a sound effects man revealing how Fibber McGee’s closet unloaded itself. There’s a silent snippet of Jack Benny and Rochester in someone’s office. Radio critic John Crosby reads what sounds like one of his columns from 1947 but I have not been able to find it.

As for made-up parts, there’s a supposed dialogue involving two radio writers, a disc jockey pushing a silly-named product, an idiotic woman on a quiz show, a trio of women crooning about a product to a sponsor, and an imaginary soap opera at the end.

Oh, one other thing. The March of Time’s music was composed by Jack Shaindlin, who bundled his cues into a production library. Shaindlin’s Langlois Filmusic was used in industrial films as well as the first cartoons made by the Hanna-Barbera studio in the late ‘50s. When this short gets to the part before the soap opera spoof (“Don’t talk to me about love, you . . . VAMPIRE!”), a cue with a trombone is heard. “I know that music!” I said when I first watched this short. It was in a number of Quick Draw McGraw cartoons, and at least two with Augie Doggie.



One of the stars of the short, critic Crosby, wrote about the content in his column of October 3, 1947. He reveals the audience participation show was real (it was broadcast from the WOR studios). Then he critiques the show itself in his column of October 17th.

Radio in Review
“Is Everybody Listening?”
By JOHN CROSBY
Having participated rather innocently in the "March of Time" film about radio called "Is Everybody Listening," it's somewhat embarrassing to comment on it. I'll try to be as Olympian as possible. Historically speaking—and that's as Olympian as anything ever gets around here—the "March of Time" documentary on radio is the continuation of a polemic directed against radio since early 1946 by press, pulpit, literature (“The Hucksters", "Aurora Dawn", "The Big Noise"), the movies ("The Hucksters" again), educational and civic groups and ordinary listeners.
Again speaking historically, it's interesting to note the film was among the mildest of all the polemics. It at least attempted to present both the good and the bad in radio and the major portion of the film was devoted to pure journalism, explaining rather than railing against radio. In the light of these facts, it's odd the film should have stirred up quite a rumpus in the Industry. As the picture was being made, the National Broadcasting Company got into a bit of a panic and issued a directive (or perhaps it was just a memorandum), warning its troops not to co-operate. "Why," said NBC in effect, "should we assist in an effort to beat our brains out?" The memorandum (or directive) came too late. By that time most of NBC's prize comedians had posed for their pictures.
Now that the film is open for inspection (it hasn't reached my home town of Oconomowoc, Wis., yet so I assume it’s still doing the rounds), it’s hard to see what the fuss is about. Much of the film is factual rather than editorial. It points out that comedians are the most popular entertainers on the air, that Hooper is high priest of the industry (though his findings are sometimes questioned), that radio has been guilty of lapses of taste, and that radio has done horrible things with its give-away shows and its soap operas but also has contributed much to the nation's culture and education with its symphonies and documentaries and news programs. Few of these points are open to argument.

The picture, it must be admitted, had one glaring weakness which was immediately seized upon by everyone in the industry. The portrayal of a sponsor who was more interested in his singing commercial than in the program he sponsored was so badly overdone it lacked any semblance of reality. On the other hand, the portrayal of a giveaway show which sounded like an even more badly done lampoon was a filming of an actual program (Tiny Ruffner and his "Better Half"). In radio, it's hard to tell where reality stops and lampoon begins and "March of Time," I think, may be pardoned for not detecting this hairline distinction.
The portrayal of large advertisers as a combination of tyrant and idiot has gone too far, I confess, but radio is occasionally as guilty as anyone else in this matter. The other night on "Curtain Time" (that's one of your shows, N.B.C.), a young slip of a girl tackled an old ogre of an advertiser and within a matter of minutes had him cooing like a dove. This was accomplished by tying a grey sock filled with goose grease around his neck to cure a sore throat. In gratitude for this messy remedy, which I’m sure is not endorsed by the American Medical Association, he increased his account by another ten million or so. N.B.C., in this case, was guilty not only of overstatement but also of biting the hand that feeds it.
The current national magazines are running a rather alarming ad which will bring the singing commercial into the homes of the 14 people in the United States who don't own a radio. The ad consists entirely of a sheet of music entitled "Serenade to the Man Who Drives a Car." Music by Stephen Foster," it says on the heading. "Lyrics by Commercial Solvents.”
With those last four words the industrial age reaches its apex. Lyrics—not by Gershwin, not by Hammerstein, not by Berlin—by Commercial Solvents, mind you, The corporate age now has become a fitting successor to the Renaissance when Pope and de Medici alike were not only patrons but practitioners of the arts. It won’t be long, I feel, before industry will be able to dispense with the services of Stephen Foster and the rest of that tatterdemalion crew. "Music by Proctor," "Lyrics by Gamble." That's the next step.
The review of the "Hit Parade" will be turned over to Dun and Bradstreet. "Radio in Review" feels incapable of passing judgment on anything as large and impressive as, say, General Motors.

Radio in Review
The Better Half
By JOHN CROSBY
"The Better Half" (Mutual 9:30 p.m. E.S.T. Saturdays) has one curious distinction: it was selected for immortality in the "March Of Time" film short on radio as one of the horrible examples of contemporary broadcasting. All things considered, it was an excellent choice. As a matter of fact, I suggest they bury this part of the film in the Time Capsule in Flushing as a sort of permanent record of at least one phase of our life and times. The program contains most of the ingredients of all the audience participation shows—quizzes, wild practical jokes, gags, and, of course, uproarious laughter. No record of our time would be complete without something of this kind.
"The Better Half is a sort of quiz contest between husbands and wives in which the loser is forced to pay a penalty. At least I think that's the idea. There is such bedlam on the show it's hard to tell what is going on. In the "March of Time," the losing husband was placed in a box with holes in it. Every time he stuck his neck out, his wife beat him over the ears with what I gathered was an upholstered stick of some kind. A great many other punishments are inflicted on the program, all of them showing a certain weird and horrible ingenuity. The other day a husband was blindfolded and then asked to kiss a pretty girl who turned out to be his wife. A dirty trick.
Tiny Ruffner, the master of ceremonies, keeps the uproar moving briskly with a certain rough humor, most of it on the topic of matrimony. "How long," he will ask, "have you two been living as cheaply as one?"
"Twenty-one years."
"It's ridiculous, isn't it? I mean trying to live as cheaply as one."

Mr. Ruffner, a man of infinite joviality, usually refers to the wife as "the old ball and chain," asks rather intimate questions about the couple's home life and laughs uproariously at the answers which consist largely of those deprecatory cliches which married couples learn early in married life. Since Ruffner must have heard them all several dozen times, the laughter is a triumph of sheer will power.
As a quiz master, Mr. Ruffner is almost too kind-hearted; wherever possible he arranges that all the contestants win. The band for example, played "Sunrise Serenade" and a bewildered wife who was supposed to guess the title, suggested "Swanee."
"That's close," said Mr. Ruffner, on what grounds I wouldn't know. "What rises in the morning?"
"Sun In The Morning," said the lady wildly.
He gave her a dollar anyway.
The punishment—the husband beaten over the head, the man kissing his own wife—is, of course, the nub of the show. It appears to satisfy the audience, but it doesn't satisfy me. What, I ask myself, are the consequences of these marital jousts after the show? What exactly does a husband who has been lammed over the head with a stick do to his wife when he gets her home? Get a stout board from the woodshed and retaliate, do you suppose?
What thoughts pass through the mind of a woman on the way home in the cab as she coldly gazes on the husband who had agreed blindfolded to kiss some pretty lass? Even though they dealt him the wrong queen at the last moment, his moral guilt is established; the suspicions which lie so close to the surface of every wifely mind could easily bubble to the top to poison a relationship which is at best delicate.
On second thought, in place of burying a motion picture of the show, they had better bury the whole show.

Sorry, No Seder

A number of tales have grown up around Jack Benny—in some cases, repeated by Benny himself—which simply are not true. One is that his first radio appearance was with Ed Sullivan in 1932.

Wrong. That wasn’t even his first network appearance. But Jack and Ed were long-time pals and evidently it led to Benny being hired to star on his own show a few months later (and bandleader George Olson told a different story about that). Arguably, it was his first significant radio broadcast.

Then there’s the story that Jack met Mary Livingstone (née Sadye Marks) at a Passover seder in Vancouver in 1922 at the invitation of one of the Marx Brothers, who were on the Orpheum bill with him.

Wrong. It never happened.

At no time did Benny and the Marx Brothers work in Vancouver in 1922. It’s true they were on a bill together in Vancouver, and it was during the time Mary was a girl. But it was not during Passover. It is quite possible Zeppo took Benny to the Marks’ home for a party while they were in town; there’s no reason to disbelieve it. The story circulated for a number of years but the “seder” part seems to have been pasted on at a late date. In fact, Jack claimed it in his autobiography (contained within the book authored by his daughter, Joan).

First off, the year was 1920 and Jack was still being billed as Ben K. Benny. Their run at the Orpheum began Monday, March 8th. But Passover that year began Friday evening, April 2nd. It could be Jack attended a seder on that evening, but it would not have been in Vancouver. He and the Marxes were on stage in San Francisco that week.

His 1920 appearance in Vancouver featured seven acts of vaudeville along with “the usual Canadian and British pictures and an orchestral offering by the Orpheum musical organization under the leadership of William Pilling.” Here is the Daily Province’s review and an ad:

One of the season’s most entertaining bills of vaudeville opened yesterday at the Orpheum Theatre when the talented Marx Brothers and assisting company furnished the headline attraction. Their act is called “’N Everything” and it contains a little of almost everything including some fine singing, dancing, piano and harp paying while Julius Marx kept the audience in the best of humor with his clever quips. The act is clever and well staged and dressed and the fun is dispensed with a generous hand.
One of the most original acts seen here for some time is that presented by Charles O’Donnell and Ethel Blair in “The Piano Tuner.” Charles is a gymnast and his stunts while they are screamingly funny are also extremely clever. Another unique act is that of the Alexander Girls, three very talented juveniles who dance and sing well. A feature of their act was the lavish yet tasteful gowns they wore though their act does not by any means depend for its success on the clothes. The “few minutes with Ben K. Benny” were all too short. He plays the violin well and is a still better comedian. His comedy is new and never forced and the big applause he received was merited.
“A racy conversation” brings again to Vancouver Basil Lynn and Howland. Lynn first came here as the English Johnny in “The Bride Shop,” and Vancouver has a very real regard for his line of comedy. Most stage Johnnies who come this way per the vaudeville route are merely straight fools with little to commend them. No so Mr. Lynn. His work is to the life and beneath it runs a fine vein of clever humor. His partner is the possessor of a fine voice. Dan Mahoney and George Auburn supplement some unusually clever club throwing with a rippling line of comedy and their act made a distinct hit. Lucas and Inez close with an exceptionally clever trapeze performance. The lady has been kindly death with by nature and to her gymnastic work she adds a beauty of form and face which makes it most attractive. The performance closes with the usual pictorial features. There are no disappointments on this week’s bill.

Jack’s return appearance in Vancouver was three years later. He was overshadowed by Harry Houdini, who got some publicity for the opening on Wednesday, February 28, 1923 by climbing the Vancouver Sun newspaper building at 125 West Pender (across from what later became known as the Sun Tower). However, we shall stick with the Province for the review the following day:

With the great Houdini as the headliner, this week’s bill at the Orpheum Theatre is undoubtedly one of the best of the season. From first to last there is not a dull moment. It is a diversified bill embracing good dancing, singing, comedy, acrobatics and mystery and the opening house last night was not slow in showing its appreciation.
Interest centred around Houdini and his clever wizardry. After showing how he had successfully worked himself loose from a frame to which he had been securely fastened by a committee of Chinese on the other side of the Pacific. Houdini is shown in a thrilling airplane race and collision.
Inviting a committee from the audience on the stage, Houdini then performs his spectacular Chinese water torture cell trick (his own invention), in which he escapes from a small water-filled enclosure while suspended head downward with his feet securely fastened in stocks. He also does the famous Indian needle trick in which he is supposed to swallow four papers of needles, about three yards of silk thread which ultimately is drawn from his mouth with the needles nearly threaded.
W.L. Gibson and Miss Regina Connelli offer another one-act playlet of Will M. Hough’s, entitled “One Night in Spring.” It is not of the ordinary run of dialogue and is full of laughs.
Jack Benny is back again with his violin, and for twelve minutes he holds the attention of the crowd with a lot of original patter in which he is ably abetted by a fine voice and an engaging natural smile. He was given a big hand. Frances Kennedy, “The Merriest Comedienne,” also single-handed has little trouble in getting her act across, her pleasing personality being presented with plenty of snap and finish. The novelty of the turn was the appearance of the second bass, a man of unusually small stature for the heavy end.
Ruth Harvard-Wynfred and Bruce are a smooth working trio of flying trapeze artists, the male member providing a real thriller at the close. Brava, Michielna and Trujillo earned applause in a fine Spanish dancing revue. The orchestra played another excellent programme which with the Aesop’s Fables and Pathe News pictures round out one of the best bills of the season.

Jack still wasn’t headlining at his next stop in Vancouver starting Thursday, January 14, 1926. But he was appearing on the same bill as a crow. The Sun reported the next day:

Dance and song planetary influences ruled at the Orpheum Thursday night, melody and syncopation, costume and scenic effects, songs and jests swinging into the ken of the audience to the accompaniment of incessant applause.
Rushing from change to change with unbelievable speed, Doc Baker, versatile and a personality that appeals from the start, offers a “Protean Revue” in which his expert masculine dancers and the promised “host of girls” cause the audience to regret when the colorful act is finished. The genial “Doc” is better than ever. Jack Benny carried the art of single-handed entertainment far beyond the majority of artists, even including in that statement the other outstanding stars of theatrical life. He has the audience from the start. The Templeton boys, with Adelaide Benton and Charles Embler, presenting music, songs and dances, are finished and polished players, putting over a big act that is almost a revue in itself, while Harrison and Dakin, with Benny Oakland, capture affections and memories in “The Three of Us,” mirthful and delightful, a charming piece of work.
Stanley & Birnes are the Broadway bright lights of dance and humor, original and rousing, and Martinet and his famous crow do indeed form a rare and unusual pair of birds, feathered and human.
Altogether it’s a powerful bill, right up to the best vaudeville standard.

By 1928, the new Orpheum theatre had opened and Jack made a final Vancouver date there. Things were different now. Instead of acts coming on one after another, everything was tied together by an emcee. And that was Jack. You’ll note a familiar name on the bill as well. We wonder if Jack said “Play, Don,” back then like he did on radio. “Sunshine Charlie” was the brother of Farina in the Our Gang series. The run started Monday, February 13, 1928 and the Sun praised it the next day.

There is a “critic’s show” at the New Orpheum theatre this week—a show that will please those who are hard to please, those who require something better than the average to arouse their enthusiasm.
Several acts are uniquely excellent. Beverly Bayne stars in a clever playlet which is exquisitely acted. Miss Bayne is supported by Robert Toms and Leo Chalzell. The playlet is clever and amusing.
Don Bestor and his Victor recording orchestra are good from the first note. Bestor is a real leader and he has the quality band that he deserves. Their beautiful precision, delightful musical color texture, perfect control, would delight any audience. Frankie Klassen entertains by dancing to the music.
“Sunshine Sammy,” noted colored boy star of the “Our Gang” moving picture comedies, and his brother Charlie, present an entertaining comedy dancing act. These two boys are getting two [sic] big for kid pictures, but they are coming along fine as stage dancers and entertainers.
Cardini is a magician of wide attainments. He does tricks with cards, billiard balls and other articles which leave nothing to be desired. Cardini is about as finished a trickster as one could hope to see.
Jack Benny acted as master of ceremonies, and also put on a funny act of his own.
The Tom Davies Trio have a thrilling motorcycle racing exhibition on a saucer track.
The feature photoplay, “Dress Parade,” with William Boyd and Billie Dove, proved enjoyable.

The next time Jack Benny appeared in Vancouver was on March 1, 1930. But not live. He was on the screen at the Capitol Theatre in Chasing Rainbows. About a month before that on February 5th, he promoted the movie on the weekly “Movie Club” show that aired for an hour on CBS on Wednesday nights. It’s a broadcast Jack and Ed Sullivan would have you believe never happened.

Incidentally, Jack and Canadian partner Lyman Wood played the Orpheum (as “Benny and Woods”) starting the week of January 29, 1917. The Sun crowed: “Benny and Woods gave ten minutes of syncopation, but they could have stayed for half an hour and the audience would have relished it more, for during their ten short minutes on the stage they made a real hit.”

The “new” Orpheum in Vancouver still stands, thanks in good measure to Benny who performed a concert there eight months before his death to raise money for its restoration.

Ub Moves Along

It was 1936. Ub Iwerks was in trouble.

Iwerks’ Animated Pictures Corporation in the Rees Building at 9713 Santa Monica Blvd. had one cartoon series in production, his ComiColor shorts that Pat Powers’ Celebrity Pictures in New York was releasing on a states’ rights basis. And there were no plans to stop.

In fact, there was talk of expansion. Film Daily reported on February 26, 1936

In addition to a fourth series of ComiColor Cartoons already planned for 1936-37, P. A. Powers will expand the activities of his Celebrity Pictures by producing a new cartoon series based on the Gene Byrnes newspaper strip, "Reg'lar Fellers", under a deal made by Charles Giegerich of Celebrity. Both series will be produced under the directorial supervision of Ub Iwerks.

And on April 28th:

Under present plans Celebrity proposes to produce a series of six "Reg'lar Fellers" cartoons in addition to a fourth ComiColor series, but it has not yet been decided whether "Reg'lar Fellers" will be in black and white or in color. The ComiColors will continue to be processed in Cinecolor.
The last ComiColor cartoon on the current schedule of Celebrity Productions is now in work, with completion expected far in advance of original listing.

But Powers wanted more control. This story appeared on May 18th:

The P. A. Powers ComiColor Cartoons and the new series of "Reg'lar Fellers" cartoons for 1936-37 may be made in New York instead of Los Angeles, according to new production plans being considered by Celebrity Productions. Harry A. Post, vice-president of Celebrity, is en route to the coast to confer with Cartoonist Ub Iwerks on the practicability of moving the entire animating plant to New York or the advisability of separating production, with the new "Reg'lar Fellers" series to be made in New York while the ComiColors would continue to be produced at the Beverly Hills studio.

It would be easy to speculate that Iwerks refused any changes and Powers pulled the financial rug from under him in response. But we do know that the ComiColor series ended and Animated Pictures Corporation closed its doors. (Composer Carl Stalling told author Mike Barrier he was only out of work for a few weeks before he went to Warner Bros. on the recommendation of Bugs Hardaway).

As for “Reg’lar Fellers,” one cartoon was made and released as a ComiColor short. It was titled Happy Days. Some extra expense was involved as child actors were hired for the parts.

I don’t know who was employed at the studio at the time, other than Stalling and animator Irv Spence, but here are some frames from the climax scene where Pinhead wrestles a big fish that he has caught, or caught him. The animation is very good; I especially like the multiples and expressions, though this public domain DVD makes them hard to see. The director made an odd choice to leave the foreground action in place while suddenly changing the background to include another boy.



Happy Days was released September 30, 1936. And that was it. Kind of.

Iwerks found himself in the subcontracting business. Charles Mintz hired him to help fill the Columbia release schedule, so Animated Pictures reopened and made Skeleton Frolics, which was released January 29, 1937. How long Iwerks had the contract is unclear, but the trade papers reported he directed these cartoons for Mintz (I’ve included several listed in Leonard Maltin’s Of Mice and Magic):

Merry Mannequins, released March 19, 1937
The Foxy Pup, May 21, 1937
Spring Festival, August 6, 1937
The Horse on the Merry-Go-Round, February 18, 1938
Snowtime, April 14, 1938
The Frog Pond, August 12, 1938
Midnight Frolics, 24, 1938
The Gorilla Hunt, 24, 1939
Nell’s Yells, June 30, 1939
Crop Chasers, September 22, 1939
Blackboard Revue, March 15, 1940
The Egg Hunt, May 31, 1940
Ye Olde Swap Shoppe, June 28, 1940
Wise Owl, December 6, 1940

One wonders how he and Mintz got along, for it was Mintz who went behind Walt Disney’s and Iwerks’ back to hire virtually the rest of their staff and take over the Oswald release for Universal from them.

Ub also had a deal with Leon Schlesinger which saw him supervise Porky and Gabby, released May 15, 1937 and Porky’s Super Service, July 3, 1937.

The book “The Hand Behind the Mouse” says Ub was running behind on the Porky cartoons, so he up and quit in mid-May 1937. Bob Clampett took over as director the next day, walking right in to Iwerks’ studio, sitting at Iwerks’ desk, and using Iwerks’ animators (the operation was moved back to the main lot about a month later). Later in 1937, another angel came forward to set him up in a business. Motion Picture Daily reported at the end of the year:

Hollywood, Dec. 13. — Backed by British capital represented by Lawson Haris and having release contracts in Great Britain already signed with the newly formed British Independent Exhibitors' Ass'n, Cartoon Films, Ltd., a new corporate setup for Ub Iwerks, this week started production of 24 color cartoons depicting Lawson Wood's famous Collier's Magazine cover ape, "Gran'pop."
The Beverly Hills studios of the company increased its capacity and is using RCA sound. Haris is president.
"Gran'pop's Busy Day" will be the title of the first picture.

Evidently the cartoons took some time to complete. A year later, Film Daily of December 19, 1938 reported three of the cartoons had been made. They were apparently the only ones that were finished. The Hollywood Reporter of the same day blurbed:

Earl W. Hammons [sic] has closed a five year contract with David Biederman for a series of animated color cartoons to bear the Educational trademark and be distributed through Grand National. Funny Ole Monkey and His Chimp Nephews will be starred in the Biederman Productions, to be directed by U.B. Iwerks, and produced under contract with Animated Cartoons, Inc., Beverly Hills. Eight cartoons will be released the first year, with 12 to be made each season thereafter.

The following day, the paper added:

Animated Cartoons, Inc., will start on its first subject for Grand National release immediately on signing for a color process, several of which are now being considered. Shorts will be under the direction of Paul Fennell. The company will make 12 one-reel shorts for five years.

Fennell later took over managing the company, which also made animated commercials.

(A side note: Billboard of January 25, 1939 noted “Jacques Press signed to compose and score [t]he music for a series by Animated Cartoons, Inc.”).

“The Hand Behind the Mouse” says the Gran’ Pop characters were different than anything else Iwerks had worked with and were difficult to animate. As for his work for Columbia, Iwerks simply got tired of animation and wanted to move on. He accepted a paltry $75 a week from Ben Sharpsteen and rejoined the Disney Studios on September 9, 1940.

Ub went on to invent new developments for film, was handed Oscars, and historians started examining Pat Powers’ belief in 1930 that Iwerks was the true brains behind Walt Disney’s success. That’s not altogether correct, but Iwerks is now recognised for being more than someone who was a top artist in the late 1920s.

Buzz Buzzard Take

Buzz Buzzard is apparently talking to us but all we hear is unintelligible noises that don’t match the mouth movements at the start of Wet Blanket Policy (1948). I can only guess this was done so we can hear the lyrics to the “Woody Woodpecker Song,” added to the soundtrack at the last minute according to the internet.



The scene is animated by an uncredited Pat Matthews. He hears a sucker coming. Here are some frames from the take.



Walter Lantz’s cartoons were being released by United Artists at this time and until the money dried up, they never looked better. Disney’s Ken O’Brien is credited as an animator on this short, along with veteran Les Kline. The great Fred Moore, Ed Love and La Verne Harding (as well as Matthews) were also providing top animation for the studio. And Lantz had the great fortune to hire Lionel Stander, who gave lots of villainous expression to Buzz Buzzard’s voice. Within a year, the money ran out and the studio shut down, with most of the talent scattering away for good before it re-opened.

Today's Forecast: Funny

California’s weather became a tired subject for radio comedy writers in the ‘40s. And in cartoons, too.

In Half-Pint Pygmy, George is reading the paper while Junior is playing jacks. Junior leans in to read the headline.



The paper jokes about the frequent rain in California, which Californians (and radio comedy writers) of the day denied.

George’s attention is caught by the pygmy and the dollars to be made from his capture. Here are some of George’s expressions.



In this 1948 cartoon, Tex Avery borrows an idea from Porky in Wackyland (1937), with the hero going to Africa to capture something for a huge reward. (His version of Wackyland showed up The Cat That Hated People, also 1948).

Louie Schmitt, Walt Clinton, Grant Simmons and Bill Shull (all ex-Disney) are the animators. Pat McGeehan is George. I don’t know who’s playing Junior.

Laugh-In No. 100

Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In was running out of steam by the start of the 1971-72 season. The show had taken some old vaudeville jokes, married them to nudges about the current counter-cultural (the satire wasn’t very biting), tossed in some catchphrases, and edited them all together at a quick pace. But that was in 1968. Since then, there had been changes in the cast, and a growing animosity between the stars in the title, the executive producer and the head producer.

A “100th show” seemed to be a good way to hearken back to when the show was beating Lucy in the Monday night ratings and getting a pile of publicity.

The first story comes from the King Features Syndicate, October 28, 1971; the second from the Los Angeles Times News Service, November 1st.

Laugh-In Has True Grit and John Wayne
By CHARLES WITBECK
HOLLYWOOD (KFS) —Taking a tip from Ralph Edwards, who lives off reunions, Rowan & Martin's "Laugh-In" celebrates its 100th comedy hour Monday by bringing back the show's first guest, John Wayne; Tiny Tim, a first-season headliner, and graduates Judy Carne, Henry Gibson, Jo Anne Worley, Arte Johnson and Teresa Graves. Goldie Hawn is among the missing, as the old-timers hobnob with the current crop.
In planning the reunion hour, Dan Rowan and Dick Martin considered giving the kids a day off to make room for the alumni, but producer Paul Keyes felt it was better to intermingle. The idea of an anniversary show compiled of highlights from the past was also rejected as something to be saved for future use. "We're not ready for that," explains Dick Martin, a man who saves show tapes and occasionally reruns one for reference. "The show has changed, but we’re not aware of it. Our first special looks slow now in comparison. Things we didn't like—the outdoor stuff, for example, didn't work."
The idea of Dick Martin filing show tapes amuses because his style is from the old saloon act which never had anything down on paper. Discarding jokes in the early stages, Rowan & Martin mined the free association field, and their bumbling detective act, or the drunk bit which began as a parody on Laurence Olivier and changed to Richard Burton, varied from night to night as straight man Rowan would lead off and watch Dick Martin's mind wander. The technique worked in clubs, at benefits and on television, though no one believed the act wasn't carefully set line by line. As long as straight man Rowan had an ending or something else to move on to, he didn't worry. Guest spots on television did present a problem because of the time limits, so the two had to plan more while still allowing leeway for ad-libs.
"Remember the Ed Sullivan Show in Berlin," said Dan to Dick recently, recalling one of his panic moments on the air. "Ed had asked us to build an act around Gina Lollobrigida, and when we arrived after flying tourist, there was a note under our door saying Gina had cancelled. We're left with zilch. The next morning, I was searching for something to use when Dick here says brightly, 'Let's go look at Berlin.' Well, Dick buys German binoculars — he has to have them — and we spent the day as tourists while I worry. That night Dick borrowed a couple of cameras from a guy in Louis Armstrong's band, and he walked out with the binoculars, the cameras, and an awful hand-painted tie, smiling like an idiot. I take a deep breath and say, 'Here we are in Berlin'. . . We winged it all and were a smash."
This doesn't quite happen on the stars "Laugh-In" spots, which total around 300 now. Every week, Dick and Dan huddle with writers working out ideas, but they insist on keeping it loose and free. Last fall, the two let the writers do it all for a while, then resumed control when the softness became apparent. "Producer Paul Keyes loves to watch us work," adds Dan, "but he doesn't realize you can't plan it. Writing out line by line ruins it."
"I like to wander," says Dick with that silly smile, "but we cut it short on the show. We have to." Asked if the art of wandering, or ad-libbing, or free association can be taught, Rowan said no, but felt one could lay down some guidelines.
"You watch Arte Johnson or Larry Hovis get into a character and lock themselves in. Jonathan Winters is great at it, and Buddy Hackett has total free association. He can take off and go for hours. It's a question of belief."
"Comedy actors are good at it," adds Martin, "but not comedians who are trained on jokes."
The sight of John Wayne working from nine in the morning to eleven at night for scale, mixing it up with the "Laugh-In" alumni and the current undergraduates, makes the old saloon boys like kings of the mountain on show number 100.
"This business narrows down to one thing — clout," says Dan Rowan. "And clout means having the power to do what you want. Dean Martin and Greg Garrison gave us that clout by allowing us to do their summer series, and after that, the networks let us do our thing. After 17 years on the road, we knew what we wanted, but before that I don't really think we were ready. Our timing was also right, and now I think it's time for something else in television."

Return of Keys, Spurs Laugh-In
By CECIL SMITH
HOLLYWOOD—I dropped by a taping of “Laugh-In” last week. They were doing their Christmas show and were in a quandary.
Dan Rowan had put them there with the question: “What four people have been on every one of the first 100 shows?” Including, of course, the recent 100th anniversary show.
Dick Martin, playing Spiro T. Cratchett, tried to answer: “Well, Dan and I have been on them all. And Ruth Buzzi. And. And, and, and . . .”
He cleared his throat. “If it wasn’t,” he roared, "for the ranting of the radical rabble and,” eyeing me, “the perversions of the prevaricating press, I might remember.”
“I don’t know how you remembered that line,” said Dan.
“All I know is it wasn’t me, said Carroll O’Connor. He was playing Ebenezer Milhous Nixon to Martin’s Cratchett. “This is my first show.”
Paul Keys followed his pre-Castro cigar in. He explained the White House had called. On another show, this might be an event; on “Laugh-In,” it’s routine, such is the closeness of the association between the President and his one-time aide and permanent court jester Keys.
O’Connor put on his Archie Bunker voice and said: “I hope Mr. Nixon won’t be upset by this fun were having with him because I wouldn’t want no trouble wid the President!”
Paul shrugged. “He thinks it’s funny.” He thought about it. “I hope he’s right.”
Ruth Buzzi wandered in. She wore an orange bathrobe with a blue felt hat squashed over her ears. She was eating French-cut green beans out of a Jolly Green Giant can. She knew the answer.
“Gary Owens!” she cried, triumphantly. “He’s out back with his can of beans!” She whispered to me: “After another 100 shows, we get plates.”
Ruth did her Gladys to Arte Johnson’s Tyrone on the anniversary show. Judy Carne was drenched with water again; JoAnne Worley’s bugle laugh was heard; Henry Gibson recited a poem. Teresa Graves made it, but not Goldie Hawn; she declined. Even the first guest star was back: Tiny Tim. And one of the first “cameo” stars: John Wayne.
“The Duke,” said Keys, “called us and asked why the hell he wasn't invited to be on the show. He really broke the dam for us. After the Duke, everybody wanted to do it.
“I'll never forget the Duke's first appearance. Henry Gibson had done one of his flower poems called ‘Jackass.’ Then the Duke came on tarrying a flower, like Henry, and said ‘The Sky by John Wayne. The sky is blue, the grass is green, get off your butt and be a marine!’”
Any guests they’ve never been able to get?
“Liz and Dick,” said Dan, “but I think if they’d been here, they would have done the show. Cary Grant we never got.”
He and Keys did an historic exchange with Grant which went: “Do you know Laugh-In?” “Yes.” “Do you watch it?” “Yes.” “Do you like it?” “Yes.” “Will you do it?” “No.”
“Laugh-In” led the pack in the ratings race through its first three years, but dropped sharply last season. This fall, the ratings have been better, which Rowan and Martin credit to the return of Keys.
Paul, formerly head writer, left the show, not without bitterness, to produce specials, notably the John Wayne epic “Sing Out, Sweet Land.” He has plans for another special with the Duke, one to be filmed across the nation.
The return of Keys was a major part of the highly publicized dissension between “Laugh-In’s” stars and executive producer George Schlatter. Dick Martin says it is not only Paul’s skill at jokes that makes him valuable but his exuberance which infects the whole company—“the show is fun to do again, a million laughs.”
He was by now in cutaway and striped pants doing a bit with Ann Elder as his bride and Dan as a priest. Said Dan softly; “Before we start the ceremony, would you like to zip your fly?”
Martin began to laugh. He couldn’t stop. Every time they tried to tape the scene, he broke out laughing. Director Mark Warren came down from the booth to say the bit set a new “Laugh-In” record, 17 takes to get a 30-second scene.
Well, at least Dick proved his point.

Laugh-In carried on for one more season. George Schlatter tried reviving it but it failed. Bits of the original are on video sites for anyone that wonders what the fuss was about. It was a fun show, but time marches on.

Widdy Widdy Widdy Widdy Da Wah

I have no idea what the title of this post means. They’re lyrics in Willie Whopper’s Robin Hood, Jr., made by Ub Iwerks and released in 1934.

Willie/Robin shoots an arrow at a target on a tree. Bull’s eye! And like those strength test things at the circus, the cylinder shoots up the wire and rings the bell. The tree grows a face. A bird in a house attached to the tree hands the tree a cigar, who gives it to Robin.



Grim Natwick is the credited animator, and is responsible for the Betty Boopish girl character.