Please visit my friend and colleague Frank Young’s new blog devoted to the cartoons Tex Avery directed at Schlesinger’s. As proven repeatedly on his soon-to-be retired John Stanley blog, Frank is an excellent critic and analyst of the popular arts. He’ll be going through the Avery WB shorts in order of release and already has a microscopic examination of Gold Diggers of ’49, a cartoon that, by his own admission, isn’t very good in spite of its historical significance.
I agree with Frank that the Avery Schlesinger shorts were the most important in pulling the animated cartoon short out of its acquiescence to Disney in the 1930s. They may falter stacked against his filmography at MGM, but that’s only natural since Avery was developing his style and skill during his Schlesinger tenure.
I’ve had absolutely engaging conversations with artists whose work I’d quite like to forget. Then there are those whose work I’ve always admired (and always will) whom I wish I never had a dialogue with at all. The cartoonist and animator Milton Knight fits neither category. I always learn a great deal from my chats with him and from looking at his art – and furthermore, I always enjoy it.
Knight is the last of the rare, nearly extinct of breed of New York cartoonists, a heritage that includes Otto Messmer, Jim Tyer, and Ralph Bakshi. A magnificent sense of chaos underlies the work of the best New York talent, and it’s scared off a large percentage of animation historians and students who prefer and champion the cushier (and often fake) Hollywood cartoon. That raw energy comes not from personal eccentricities but a rare gift that enables an artist to exploit the harsh environment he lives and works in and channel that energy in his art in spades. Rarely did the New York guys get the chances they deserved. Messmer toiled away brilliantly in repellent conditions and even today has his contributions marginalized by supporters of his convicted rapist boss [Pat Sullivan]. Tyer was despised on principle by the west coast (specifically Disney’s) and often worked on directionless product beneath his skill to support his family. And Bakshi, well…
Knight is an avid student of the medium’s history and in the elite class that knows more about New Yawk studios and personnel than anyone else, so much so that he can tell who drew/animated what in just about any Terrytoon. He uses his skill and knowledge to take the best aspects of that frenetic, neglected class of the cartooning world and gels it into his own personal visual feast for the eyes in his new digital comic Hugo: “The Lady in Question!” The story turns what might have been a token Fleischer experience into a truly twisted yarn. The staging is busy but never cluttered, and the inking is phenomenal. (The material gets raw, though in this day and age, in which the filthiest pornography is easier to get than taking out the trash, it’s nothing you’ve never seen before.)
It’s first-rate cartooning that I heartily recommend, and available at the low price of five bucks. You can order it directly from Milton at his website.
As Bob Clampett’s reign at Warner Brothers Cartoons was coming to an end in the first half of 1945, a very talented young man was brought in to do voices. As his autobiography says, he took a bus to Hollywood, went straight to a talent agency, and was promptly hired by Warners. This man was Stanley Freberg, the first in a wave of upstarts who would begin proving that just because Mel Blanc had been the only distinctive voice actor in Hollywood for years didn’t mean he’d always remain so.
The Warner directors were taken by the 18 year-old Stan Freberg’s versatility and quickly began regularly casting him. He recorded his first voice for Bob Clampett for the ill-fated For He is a Jolly Good Fala, a cartoon that was immediately aborted after President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s death on April 12, 1945. It was replaced in the studio pipeline by Bacall to Arms.
The scrapping of the cartoon did not hinder Freberg’s productivity. Even before FDR’s demise, Clampett had cast him for one of the titular Goofy Gophers (one of the director’s last projects for the studio). Chuck Jones had also used him for Bertie in Roughly Squeaking and he voiced Grover Groundhog in One Meat Brawl for Bob McKimson.
Well before all of this, Clampett had been planning to leave Leon Schlesinger’s studio. He was negotiating a possible supervisory position in the Screen Gems cartoon department in early 1944, but that deal fell through. The following year, after Schlesinger sold his studio to Warners, Ray Katz and Henry Binder, Clampett’s friends and Schlesinger’s old partners, became the new (and final) Screen Gems producers. Clampett was able to secure a job as a creative supervisor and story head. Which was all to the good. Clampett was working without a contract his final month at Warners (meaning he could leave when he wanted, or be let go when Ed Selzer, Schlesinger’s successor, wanted).
Clampett never directed at Screen Gems, where he might have made an actual difference. He only wrote his own stories and gave his input to others. He was also responsible for getting Stan Freberg over to do voices at the studio (as well as Dave Barry). Freberg is heard in numerous Screen Gems cartoons of the period, such as Boston Beanie and Wacky Quacky – both trainwrecks that bely any description beyond “a schizoid’s point of view.”
Freberg also did an uncanny impersonation of Peter Lorre for the 1947 Color Rhapsody, Cockatoos for Two, which Clampett wrote and was directed by Bob Wickersham. Amazingly, this was not the first time Freberg did the Lorre voice for a cartoon with Clampett’s involvement.
The first time was for the timeless Daffy Duck classic, Birth of a Notion, a cartoon that was originated by Clampett and Warren Foster and ultimately directed by Bob McKimson. Clampett’s departure was certainly abrupt, as the April 28, 1945 recording sessions for both Birth of a Notion and Bacall to Arms indicate (Davis was announced as Clampett’s successor May 7th). Three cartoons he started had to be largely finished by Davis (Bacall and The Goofy Gophers) and McKimson (Notion).
I can’t help but wonder if Cockatoos for Two was Clampett’s way of pining over losing Birth of a Notion, not just because of the Lorre caricatures, but because the Columbia cartoon features a homing pigeon (voiced by storyman Cal Howard) that acts like Daffy Duck. It’s not as though we viewers were deprived of anything. Notion as directed by McKimson is surely one of the heights of 1940s animated cartooning.
You will note that Freberg is directed very differently in these two cartoons. In the Warner cartoon, Freberg is doing a more subdued, menacing Lorre, as seen and heard in a film like Mad Love (in which Lorre does play a mad doctor). In the Columbia cartoon, Freberg is directed far ‘cartoonier,’ akin to Lorre’s much less serious roles in films like Arsenic and Old Lace.
A comparison of the two cartoons also reveals how studio dynamics can affect talent. There’s no sense of any missed chances in the Warner cartoon, even though it was taken over by a radically different filmmaker. While he routinely did amazing things before, the most Clampett can do in the Screen Gems system is wander aimlessly, hoping one one of his ideas will hit the bullseye rather than misfire. (And even then, the best thing in the cartoon, “I must have a new taste sensation!”, is only so because of Freberg’s delivery.) Screen Gems turned what could have been a laugh-riot at Warners into something mildly amusing and creepy.
Oh, and I should take note, this particular transfer is incredibly rare, as no complete set of elements on the cartoon exist in the Columbia Pictures vaults. I discovered, and transferred, an original 35mm nitrate IB Technicolor print of Cockatoos for Twolast year and shared images. Sadly, the opening credits and last few seconds of this print were clipped, so I’ve used footage from a B/W 16mm print. Still, it’s amazing it was in the shape it was, given it had been sitting around for 65 years. I now present that reconstruction here for the world, for free.
Thanks to Keith Scott and Mike Barrier, both of whom provided research material for this piece. Steve Stanchfield, Collin Kellogg, Jerry Beck, and Fredrik Sandstrom helped make the film reconstruction a reality.
Given everything that’s been going on with my own book (now available on Kindle!), it’s been hard to keep up on all the other great books that have come out, so I didn’t get around to this until now.
I have to make a confession upfront: I never liked superhero comics, and I still really don’t. Some might say that I developed my aversion to them because my father was (and still is) a devoted fan, but my attraction to guys like Carl Barks, John Stanley, Walt Kelly, and Sheldon Mayer just seemed a far more natural fit for my budding tastes, and they still do. In the last few years, though, I’ve relented, and now have utmost appreciation for the works of Jack Kirby and Jack Cole in particular. Truth be told, the ratio of gold to crap in funnybooks is about the same as superheroes (though on very different scales).
Having said that, Sean Howe’s book absolutely wowed me, and given the subject is largely about books I have zero interest in, that’s saying something. It’s the story of a company that took itself way too seriously, whose stories and characters became so convoluted and involved that the only way to save themselves was to make their universe even further convoluted. The backstabbing of its most important creators perfectly illustrates the grim fact that anyone in any business is expendable. The reasons for why Marvel, who have just as captivating a cast of characters as DC, couldn’t get any feature films off the ground until fairly recently are rife in typical Hollywood drama (is there any other kind?). The tale of the development of Stan Lee, from an eager kid whose dialogue was always sort of lackluster but was likable and talented enough to the resigned corporate mascot of today, is more engrossing than any other account I’ve read on the subject.
The biggest flaw is that the other creators (save Stan Lee) get far too little attention at the expense of the suits and editors. The most colorful pages are those discussing Jack Kirby’s work and his personal struggles with the company. Fewer people in American pop culture are as compelling figures as Kirby, and while going on too many tangents about him might prove detrimental to the general history of Marvel, there was still no other artist the company was as indebted to as Kirby. Glimmers of eccentric egomaniacs (Frank Miller, Todd McFarlane) are also extremely entertaining, and I would have preferred more coverage of them than the constant refrains of the internal struggles at the top of the company.
Anyone with even a passing interest in the entertainment world should pick up this highly charged tome of the ‘little company that could’ turned corporate behemoth. Dare I say it, it’s more engaging than any comic.
Comic and animation artist Bob Camp’s 1983 two-page spread of the Marvel Bullpen.
I’ve had absolutely engaging conversations with artists whose work I’d quite like to forget. Then there are those whose work I’ve always admired (and always will) whom I wish I never had a dialogue with at all. The cartoonist and animator Milton Knight fits neither category. I always learn a great deal from my chats with him and from looking at his art – and furthermore, I always enjoy it.
The scrapping of the cartoon did not hinder Freberg’s productivity. Even before FDR’s demise, Clampett had cast him for one of the titular Goofy Gophers (one of the director’s last projects for the studio). Chuck Jones had also used him for Bertie in Roughly Squeaking and he voiced Grover Groundhog in One Meat Brawl for Bob McKimson.
Clampett never directed at Screen Gems, where he might have made an actual difference. He only wrote his own stories and gave his input to others. He was also responsible for getting Stan Freberg over to do voices at the studio (as well as Dave Barry). Freberg is heard in numerous Screen Gems cartoons of the period, such as Boston Beanie and Wacky Quacky – both trainwrecks that bely any description beyond “a schizoid’s point of view.”
You will note that Freberg is directed very differently in these two cartoons. In the Warner cartoon, Freberg is doing a more subdued, menacing Lorre, as seen and heard in a film like Mad Love (in which Lorre does play a mad doctor). In the Columbia cartoon, Freberg is directed far ‘cartoonier,’ akin to Lorre’s much less serious roles in films like Arsenic and Old Lace.
Given everything that’s been going on with my own book (now available on Kindle!), it’s been hard to keep up on all the other great books that have come out, so I didn’t get around to this until now.
