Duck! Rabbit! Duck! Elk! Fiddler Crab!

“Shoot me again! I enjoy it. I love the smell of burnt feathers. And gunpowder. And cordite. I’m an elk! Shoot me! Go, it’s elk season. I’m a fiddler crab. Why don’t you shoot me? It’s fiddler crab season.” Mike Maltese’s famous lines from Duck! Rabbit! Duck! (1953). Here are some of the poses.



Ken Harris, Abe Levitow, Ben Washam, Lloyd Vaughan and Dick Thompson get the animation credits.

From Broadway to Underdog

Here’s some Broadway trivia:

When Hans Conried left the cast of “Can-Can” in 1954, he was replaced by George S. Irving. Conried didn’t set foot on the Great White Way again for 20 years. When he returned, he was hired as a replacement to play Madame Lucy in the musical “Irene.” Whom did he replace? George S. Irving.

Irving (who was plain old “George Irving” until 1947 when Equity forced him to change his billing) had an impressive string of Broadway appearances, but is probably best known to you and me as being part of a good little voice cast employed by Total TeleVision Productions. Irving is the one who reminded us of the evil things that Simon Bar Sinister did to Sweet Polly Purebread on the last episode of Underdog. Irving’s narrator voice was pretty recognisable and you could hear him on commercial voiceovers that came out of New York, though he insisted that wasn’t his forte.

Perhaps his most unusual role was as that most unusual president, Richard Nixon. Irving played him on stage while I-Am-Not-a-Crook was still in his first term in the White House. Harvey Pack’s TV Key column wrote about it on May 18, 1972.

A TV Commercial Face as Mr. President
NEW YORK— When George S. Irving, familiarly seen in TV commercials, was growing up in Springfield, Mass., he never thought he might end up President of the United States, but at least for the present that seemingly impossible idea has been realized— thanks to Gore Vidal's entertaining yet frequently heavy-handed Broadway satire, "An Evening with Richard Nixon And..."
Even if the play folds, tomorrow, Irving has enjoyed his brief tenure as Chief Executive of Broadway, and during a recent luncheon at Sardi's I heard him greeted by at least a half a dozen people as "Mr. President," and then watched him respond by clasping his hands over his head in the manner of the man who is more concerned about the possibility of closing in November than Saturday night.

Irving does not look exactly like Nixon. He has the same general facial structure and — aided by a wig and a Nixon nose, which the show's make-up man (who has made up the President for TV) bakes in an oven by the dozen — he does an amazing job on stage.
A working actor and member of the regular company of David Frost's syndicated revue show, George once did a portion of the famed "Checkers" speech in a sketch, the producers of the Vidal play saw it and he was invited to audition. A McGovern Democrat, Mr. Irving does, not make his characterization of the President into a caricature. "Remember the words we use are his own, and, if I overplayed the part, I would shift the emphasis from the dialogue and hurt the play," said Irving.
The play has enjoyed a mixed reaction. Even at this writing nobody knows whether it will be running next week. It suffers primarily from its biased point of view which is so obvious it infuriates people who are pro-Nixon; anti-Nixon liberals react as liberals invariably do by siding with the underdog — in this case President Nixon. In addition, Mr. Vidal has directed his barbs at such American heroes as Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy and Washington which, combined with his treatment of Mr. Nixon, reminds me of the line Mort Sahl always used at the end of his act: "Are there any groups or individuals I have not picked on tonight?"
But no matter what fate may be in store for Mr. Vidal's political diatribe it has been a triumph for George S. Irving. George and his wife, Maria Karnilova, who won a Tony for her performance as Tevya's wife in "Fiddler on the Roof," have succeeded in raising a family in New York while working in the theater without ever moving to Hollywood or doing a daytime drama on TV.
George has been in scores of Broadway productions but never really enjoyed the recognition he has won for his impersonation of President Nixon. "Now that I've played a lead... a title role, in fact... I guess I've proven something," Irving said.
As a working actor George is in no position to enjoy the thrill of playing a lead. He was on his way to an audition for a Broadway play scheduled for the fall and he still makes his daily rounds for commercials.
"I've lived off commercials for years," he said. “They paid for our summer house upstate as well as for some peace of mind. Oddly enough I've never had any luck with voice-overs. I have the kind of face the sponsor wants to see on camera. I suppose you could call it the average man look,” and, at the thought of President Nixon as Mr. Average Man being very employable for TV commercials, we both laughed.

Irving won a Tony for a role which wasn’t his to begin with, as Best Supporting Actor opposite Debbie Reynolds in “Irene.” Let’s see what “Midnight Earl” had to say about it. This column appeared in newspapers around March 17, 1973.

Irving won't be stereotyped
By EARL WILSON
"They're not going to typecast me," strong-jawed George Irving said the other night in Sardi's looking across the dining room at Debbie Reynolds and her chorus-girl daughter Carrie. "In 'Irene,' I'm an effeminate courtier named 'Madame Lucy' and not many months ago I was President Nixon in Gore Vidal's show and also on a David Frost Special.
"Besides that," I pointed out, "you're all over TV doing commercials."
Irving sipped some applejack and gingerale and permitted some kidding about the commercials. He pretended not to remember the name of one cigar, but he remembered asking the president at a tobacco firm, "Do you smoke these?" and the prez shook his head no. "I have a roomful of Havanas," the prez declared. He also has a soap commercial and, laughingly he said, "That stuff'll kill you...take the hide right off of you."
The portrayal of President Nixon was fresh in his memory about three months ago when he was in Boston in a show called "Comedy" which folded. He was out of work. He had delighted everybody with a "Nixon inaugural address" for Frost.
The President had been dividing his time between the Washington White House, the San Clemente White House, the Camp David While House and the Key Biscayne White House, and "now I'd like to announce the opening of a swell new White House at Disneyland where you can eat all you want for $3.95," the President said (in the sketch).
"The next four years I will continue to do battle against the three isms that threaten us—communism, fascism and journalism," he also had the President say (courtesy of writers Tony Geiss and Gary Belkin).

That was over, too. Agent Milton Goldman urged him to rush back to N.Y. to see Sir John Gielgud, director of Debbie's new show "Irene" which was in much trouble. Billy DeWolfe decided he didn't want to continue playing Madame Lucy, a New York courtier who never made good till he went to Paris and began calling himself "Lucy."
"It's an extravagant, elegant character with little zany gestures. I took the part and when Gower Champion came in as director, he made it a little nuttier," Irving said.
The result is one of the funniest characters in years, especially when Irving (who has sung with the New York City Opera), flounces around with "Madame Lucy and the Debutantes" singing "They Go Wild, Simply Wild Over Me."
Madame Lucy, in fact, sings all over the place and gets into a delicate situation with Patsy Kelly, the Irish mother of 9th Avenue Irene, which isn't fair to discuss further until you've seen the show. George E. Irving isn't his real name and I don't know what it is. He's from Springfield Mass., has been married 25 years to beautiful actress Maria Karnilova, has two grown children and is Russian-Jewish. He's a New York actor who's never gone to Hollywood and has made it acting and not going to side jobs.
The jokes fly. In one scene he teaches the girls to model. "At the least sign of impertinence knuckles will be rapped," he announces. And hits the desk, rapping hell out of his own knuckles. "That was my thimble finger," he shrieks.

Saturday morning cartoons didn’t get much respect until the people who watched them grew up and then wrote about them. You won’t find newspaper stories in the 1960s where Irving comments about his earnest narration in Underdog, or a decade later when his voice appeared every Christmas as the Heat Miser in the TV feature The Year Without a Santa Claus. But you can read about the producers of Underdog in Mark Arnold’s book, and of the many stop-motion and animated works of the Rankin/Bass people who brought you the Heat Miser in Rick Goldschmidt’s book.

Nearby Mount Crumpit

Before we leave Christmas behind, let us take a look at the snowy Mt. Crumpit from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Layouts are by Oscar Dufau and Don Morgan, and the backgrounds were painted by Phil De Guard, Bob Inman and Hal Ashmead.



Designer Maurice Noble, I suspect, is responsible for the mood colour change in that last frame, as the personality of the Grinch has turned bright and sunny. Colour-for-mood is employed elsewhere in the cartoon.

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

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.

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.