Benny and the Brits

If you wanted to get an old-timer in show business to light up, all you had to do was say the word “vaudeville.” All of them seem to have been nostalgic for it, despite the endless travel, low pay and unresponsive audiences that they endured. Maybe because it was a simpler time, one without an entourage who used them for a livelihood or the daily disruptions in life that fame brings. Maybe it was being part of a supportive group (of outcasts, in some cases) all trying to make it big. Fred Allen wrote a whole book about his struggles in vaudeville (the delightful Much Ado About Me), but left you with the impression he’d go back to it in a second. And Jack Benny loved it, too, despite the fact he struggled along with everyone else at one point. Unlike Allen, Jack didn’t just recall it. He tried to live it one last time. Again and again.

World War Two took Jack Benny around the world but post-war, his destination of choice was London. The New York Times wrote on July 21, 1948:

British theatre critics were almost as enthusiastic today as the fans of Jack Benny who filled the Palladium last night to welcome him in person. The audience obviously knew every aspect of the comedian’s material by heart and revelled in its translation from air to stage by Phil Harris, Mary Livingstone and Marilyn Maxwell.

About the same show, a headline in the Boston Globe read: “Jack Benny Given 10-Minute Ovation by London Audience.” Is it any wonder he went back? In June, 1950, Benny, Harris, Rochester and a cast of 40 took their tour to London, where he gave a command performance for the royal family. In 1957, he performed with the London Symphony and appeared on the BBC. Two years later, London was among the overseas destinations where Jack had filmed part of his TV show. In 1961, he gave a command performance for the Queen Mother—as Gracie Allen, with George Burns. Four years later, he was before the Queen himself. And as himself.

Here’s a United Press column from 1948 where Jack talks about England—and vaudeville.

Jack Benny Finds Londoners Are Going Big For Vaudeville
By VIRGINIA MacPHERSON
HOLLYWOOD, Oct. 1.—(UP)—Jack Benny came up today with the answer to the old wheeze: “Whatever happened to vaudeville?" It went to England, he says, where they think the “two-a-day” is a bit of all right.
“They’ve got everything over there,” he says. “Jugglers, trained seals, even old gals who sing squeaky songs and double on a fiddle.”
Also Hollywood’s best movie stars.
The dyed-in-the wool greasepaint hams who started in vaudeville and never got it out of their systems are trekking to London at the drop of a contract.
They get out there on the stage and whoop it up till the customers can’t sit still any longer. They don’t even mind following those seals.
That includes Benny, Hollywood’s frustrated fiddler, who started as a doorman in Waukegan, Ill., and talked his way up from there, was one of the first on the boat.
“Everybody’s been over there,” Benny said. “Danny Kaye, Carmen Miranda, Dinah Shore, Betty Hutton . . . everybody. They broke all records and they ate it up.”
The Londoners will hawk everything but ration points to see a Hollywood star in the flesh. But that does not mean they let their own performers play to empty seats.
“It’s part of the British tradition,” Benny explained. “Once an entertainer hits the top, he stays there—just because the English do not like to change things.”
“There could be the worst paper shortage in history and they would still have that big, floppy paper money. Same way with their vaudeville stars. An old guy may have to hobble out on a cane, but they’re loyal to him. Once a headliner always a headliner with the British.
And you can forget all you ever heard about the English sense of humor being slow, Benny added.
“They’re great. Got every joke I told,” he said. “And I use some pretty sophisticated stuff on the stage. They didn’t wait till the next morning to hawhaw, either.
Made him feel kind of lonesome for the old days, it did.
He said wistfully:
“There’s nothing like vaudeville. Too bad it’s so far away.”

Tat

The Depression wouldn’t seem like a good time to open a cartoon studio, unless you had a tie-in with one of the major studios so your shorts could be block-booked with features. But several independents gave it a go anyway—with predictable results. They went nowhere.



We documented a bit of information about Mayfair Productions, which was all set to make “Skippy” cartoons for United Artists before a halt was put to the idea after a pilot cartoon was made. At least it had a deal with a bigger studio. That’s more than Tat’s Tales Productions could post.

Here we have the Film Daily Yearbook for 1937. A couple of studios are a mystery here but we’re focusing on Tat’s. Who’s Tat and what are his tales? I cobbled together a bit of information only to discover someone else had asked himself the same question and had decided to research for himself.

Daniel Francis Tattenham was born in Galveston, Texas on April 8, 1896 to Daniel F. and Dorothy (Meyer) Tattenham. By 1905, newspaper reports show the family was in San Francisco where his father was a deputy sheriff and active for many years in the Barber’s Union. He was working at the Chicago Tribune in 1919 because the paper ran a classified ad in June for an experienced air brush and layout man, with Tat as the contact. In 1928, he copyrighted something to do with colour motion pictures and submitted three reels to the U.S. Copyright Office. The following year, he had a private disc cut at Brunswick records for reasons unknown. He also belonged to the Photographers Union (through the January 1932 issue of International Photographer, the Chicago local bluntly announced he was no longer a member).

But then he ended up working for Walt Disney. The Dispatch-Democrat of Ukiah, California, dated July 17, 1931, has a note about Tat’s wife:

It will interest friends here who knew her as Dora Hoxie to learn that her husband is head cartoonist for “Mickey Mouse,” and that the Tattenhams have recently transferred their home from Chicago to Los Angeles in order to be nearer the studios for convenience in producing the famous talkies which are favorites with children of all ages.

“Head cartoonist” would seem to be a stretch.

But then Tat decided to strike out on his own. He apparently had his own studio by 1934 because Frank Tashlin’s biography written by Roger Garcia (1994) states that Tashlin worked there then. The book says, and refers to animation historian Mike Barrier:

The studio supposedly made a couple of fairy-tale cartoons but closed when they could not be sold. Apparently these films no longer exist. [Barrier has an undated group photo of the company's staff - including, in addition to Tashlin, Isadore Ellis, who in the mid-1940s would serve as an animator with Tashlin's unit at Warner Bros.]

The book calls Tat as “an advertising executive from San Francisco.” The studio is listed in the City Directory for 1936 and in the Film Daily directories for 1936 and 1937. But it seems probable the listings were already outdated. The studio was at 5515 Melrose Avenue. In the early ‘20s, it was the home of Rothacker-Allen, a film lab company. But on December 7, 1935 it formally became the new home of NBC in Hollywood, with an inaugural broadcast that date. Broadcasting magazine mentions nothing about Tat’s studio in its article on the grand opening published December 15th and considering the extensive renovations and space required by the network, it’s inconceivable the studio was still there at the time or had been for months. The Los Angeles Times reported on July 3rd that construction of the new NBC studios had begun the day before. It called the address the “site formerly occupied by Consolidated Film Industries,” and stated the building had “idle since the fire of 1929,” making no mention of Tat or a cartoon company (the fire on October 24, 1929, incidentally, killed one person and injured six. Insurance claims were not settled until 1935).

Census records in 1940 show Tat living in Oakland and running his own printing and advertising business, but his draft card signed in 1942 gives a Los Angeles address and shows him working for a company that made advertising signs. Tat died in Placerville, California on September 7, 1966.

Alas, our trail runs cold. There appears to be little concrete information about his colour photography discovery, his hiring by Walt Disney, his studio or his Tales. It would seem his career in animation was brief. Daniel Tattenham would appear to be just another footnote in the story of the Golden Age of Theatrical Cartoons.

Not Just Spooks

Recognise this silent film star?



A little over 20 years later, he’d be on TV, bald (what hair he had was grey) and interacting with a cartoon woodpecker. Yes, it’s Walter Lantz. And in the 1920s, to show you what’s old is new again, he was interacting with cartoon characters in silent film shorts for the Bray studio. He and Gerry Geronimi (later of Disney) came up with the Dinky Doodle series, where Dinky and his dog (and other drawn characters) would appear in Walter’s real life world.

The shot above is from “Just Spooks” (1925). I digress for a moment to mention an attempt is being made to preserve this old cartoon. Check HERE.

The old-fashioned combined animation/live action in this short is still effective and it’s pretty funny in spots. The story starts out with the premise that Walter is painting a picture of a meadow. Except he’s not. He has no paint on his brush and there’s no canvas in the frame he’s supposedly painting on. Dinky, his dog and a cow watch. The cow’s great. Its head and body stretch. Its tail stretches to gives a thumbs up.



It mimicks Lantz’s expressions.



Lantz shakes his first at the animal. It responds with horns that form fists.



It gives Lantz the bird.



And it licks the eyes off its head. The eyes roll stretch, then roll back up the enlongated tongue onto the head.



It editorialises about Lantz.



And it gallops off into the distance (one drawing is out of sequence).



The cartoon is supposed to be “just spooks,” but we get a cow for the first couple of minutes and then a mosquito before the ghosts show up.

The series lasted a couple of years. You can read about it on Tom Stathes’ site. Lantz was soon off to Hollywood and, eventually, gained a studio but lost his hair. What would the cow think about that?

Wartime Bull

“The Chow Hound” (1944) is an unusual Snafu cartoon because Snafu isn’t punished or learns from a mistake. In fact, no one does (unless any beef cattle saw the cartoon and learned they shouldn’t go to the slaughterhouse). Nonetheless, it provided a message for the audience of soldiers watching it in World War Two—don’t pig out because rations are valuable (and to people in the mess tent to not over-serve soldiers).

According to the Snafu DVD release, this short was directed by Frank Tashlin and, for him, it’s pretty tame. No outrageous camera angles or cinematic effects that one comes to expect from him (the reason is explained in the comments). There’s terrific animation of a struggling camel (played by Mel Blanc) in one scene. And there are some attractive drawings at the start where a steer gets a look at a cow and falls in love. Here are five consecutive drawings on twos.



Yeah, the take last only two frames. It’s followed with kind of a throbbing-eye effect, where the eyes bulge and unbulge for two frames apiece. You can imagine what Tex Avery or Bob Clampett would do with the same scene.

There’s a cut to what the steer was looking at. The cow coquettishly blinks. A very nice drawing.



You’ll notice the cow has an udder. I understand udders were banned from theatrical cartoons by the Hays office which, of course, had no jurisdiction over military cartoons.

I couldn’t tell you who animated on this but someone in the comment section can. Frank Graham provides the voice of the bull narrator.

Radio’s Battle of the Books

Is there much doubt that Mark Goodson and Bill Todman were the class act of the game show business?

They were the producers whose panellists on television wore evening clothes, who made sure someone with charm and grace (Kitty Carlisle, Arlene Francis, Joan Alexander) regularly filled one of seats every week (conversely, Hal Block was let go from “What’s My Line” because he was deemed too boorish). And they began in the radio business when game shows were taking a beating for being loud and shallow. In fact, one of the shows they produced was Louis G. Cowan’s “Stop the Music” which is credited with lighting a fuse of anger that got give-away shows banned by the FCC in 1949 (something immediately challenged in court by Radio Features, Inc., known more for churning out soap operas). It’s no wonder they decided to put a high-class sheen on their TV shows, especially at night.

So in light of the outrage over the loud, low-brow giveways, it’s perhaps not surprising that Goodson and Todman came up with something other than filthy lucre as the prize for one of its radio shows. Books. Syndicated New York Herald-Tribune columnist John Crosby aimed his cynical eye at that one in print. This appeared in newspapers on December 21, 1948.

Radio Risks Disaster in Book Gifts
By JOHN CROSBY
NEW YORK, Dec. 22—The introduction of $1000 worth of books as part of the $27,000 prize for “Hit the Jackpot” is possibly the most significant development in recent give-away history, easily surpassing the gift of Adolph Menjou to a Mrs. Claire Stark on the “Whiz Quiz” program.
Menjou, as a matter of fact, was only loaned to Mrs. Stark for the evening; she had to return him the same night in good condition. The books, on the other hand, are a permanent gift and could easily be a prelude to disaster for the giveaways or even for radio. The supposition that give-away contestants can read is perhaps unwarranted, but they can learn, can't they?
The printed page is a competitive medium, and, while it has been consistently losing ground to the blandishments of radio, it still seems to be a risky proposition to expose a radio listener to $1000 worth of books, the sheer bulk of which is sufficient to keep him entertained for a couple of years without any assistance from the radio.
INTENDED TO ADD TONE
The idea of giving away books was that of Bill Todman and Mark Goodson, producers of “Hit the Jackpot.” Todman in particular has become increasingly sensitive to the charge flung by irresponsible columns, this one included, that give-aways — he doesn’t like that word either— are a form of lunacy for which give-away producers will be held accountable on the day of judgment, The addition of books to the grand prize is intended to add tone to the give-away industry, putting if in the same class as the Rockefeller Foundation. I expect the press releases will be designating Todman and Goodson as philanthropists as soon as the CBS publicity staff learns how to spell it.
A thousand bucks worth of books is a lot of books, 331 by my count. Rinehart and Co. were needled into donating the books, which was no easy job. It took virtually the publisher’s entire active list to make up $1000 worth, and consequently there will be some strange and highly specialized titles in the lucky winner’s library.
Along with “The Lost Weekend” and “Short Novels of the Masters,” the winner will find 10 manuals on applied electricity (“Industrial Electric Heating,” “Primary Storage Batteries”). His mental health will be almost too adequately cared for (“Mental Defect,” “The Substance of Mental Health” and “Psychiatry for the Curious”). His sexual knowledge will be suitably enlarged (“Sex in Our Changing World”). And his nerves will be soothed by "Calm Your Nerves.”
MIND IMPROVERS
If the winner really wants to buckle down and improve his mind, he’ll find “Einstein’s Theory of Relativity,” “The Citizen and the Law,” and the entire “Rivers of America” series (37 volumes). There are also about 25 pounds of mysteries.
Oh, yes. “The Hucksters” is on the list too, a case of radio biting the hand that feeds it. But the two volumes I consider most appropriate to a give-away award winner are “Living Abundantly” and “Living Prayerfully.”
While making this genuflection to culture, Messrs. Todman and Goodson are by no means depending on it entirely, since a grand prize composed only of books would attract about as many customers as a concert in Cleveland. Along with the books go a new De Soto, a plot of land near Palm Beach, a two-bedroom house ready for construction, and a lot of other things more familiar and infinitely more precious to give-away winners.
Incidentally, the hook gift idea has spread to another CBS show—“Winner Take All” which is offering about 100 books also from the Rinehart stable. If strong steps aren’t taken soon, this reading will take root in the homes of the multitude, and, once rooted, will be as difficult to get rid of as the give-aways are.

“What’s My Line?” “I’ve Got a Secret.” “To Tell the Truth.” “The Match Game.” “Password.” “The Price is Right.” “Family Feud.” Huge television hits, all. Other producers could only envy a string of hits like that. When it comes to game show success, you might say Goodson and Todman (get ready to groan) wrote the book on it.

A Colour Goes to War

I suspect the bulk of the readers of this blog weren’t alive during World War Two, and therefore have to learn cultural references to the war in old cartoons just like I did: by being told. Here’s one at the beginning of “The Screwy Truant,” a Tex Avery cartoon released at the start of 1945.

It opens with Disney-style little animals—skunks, rabbits and squirrels—heading to school, with Scott Bradley’s light arrangement of “The Alphabet Song” in the background. You’ll notice an outhouse gag in Johnny Johnsen’s backdrop.



The idea of a little red schoolhouse belongs in the distant past so the blue colour of the school may not stand out as unusual. For the people of 1945 that noticed, the scene fades into an explanation.



And there’s our war-time reference. It’s a parody on the slogan “Lucky Strike Green Has Gone to War.” The slogan was already obsolete by the time the cartoon was released but was, no doubt, still remembered as part of recent pop culture.

In fact, Billboard magazine, in its issue of February 23, 1943, headlined the climax of the controversy over the phrase with “The Best Quiz of All Moves Over to Heinz, Whose Green Pickles Have Gone to War.”

Here’s what happened. The American Tobacco Company sponsored the erudite question-and-answer show Information Please. A sponsor controlled just about everything about a programme it bankrolled and American Tobacco foisted two slogans on Information Please and its other sponsored shows. The first one was heard on ads for the first time in November 1942. It was “Lucky Strike green has gone to war.” The second one was “The best tunes of all go to Carnegie Hall.” Information Please producer Dan Golenpaul was like many listeners—he hated them. And he did something no one else ever dare tried with a sponsor. Billboard of February 6, 1943 reported:

Dan Golenpaul, originator and producer of Information Please, was in and out of court, and on his first try last week obtained a “show cause” order from Supreme Court Justice Walter a few hours before the program went on the air last Friday, announced Milton Cross and Basil Ruysdale being served with summonses. Golenpaul tried to prevent Luckys from using the slogan “The best tunes of all go to Carnegie Hall,” to plug the sponsor’s new All-Time Hit Parade, The line was employed 10 times in the half-hour quiz. Trouble started a few weeks ago when Golenpaul objected to “Lucky Strike Green Has Gone to War” announcements. He lost his injunction plea Thursday before Justice Bernard Shientag, who said he could not agree with the plaintiff that the “best tunes” plug was “low, vulgar and offensive.” However, the judge opined that its use might be irritating to listeners, but on the basis of law had to dismiss the complaint. Reaction would be against the sponsor, Judge Schientag held, a tip-off that similar slogans will not be employed in radio. It was observed in last Friday’s Info that Clifton Fadiman, interrogator-moderator-cueman, did not cotton to “best tunes,” but the average listener probably didn’t detect the held [?] in his voice, as Fadiman is usually sharp anyway.

By then, Golenpaul had lined up a new sponsor, H.J. Heinz Company, the pickle and ketchup maker. But American Tobacco may not have been too worried about the fuss. It claimed in a 1954 book plugging the company’s 50th anniversary that sales of Luckies rose 38% in six weeks after the slogan was first heard.

And what’s the deal with the green? Billboard, on November 28, 1942, reported Lucky Strike switched to a white package “because of the impossibility of importing from the Phillipines the chrome” needed to make the green colour. What? Does that even make sense? It doesn’t and didn’t then. David Sloan of the National Association of Printing Ink Makers told Advertising Age magazine at the time: “There always has been, and there still is, enough of the green in the bins of printing ink manufacturers, and enough raw material to manufacture it, to supply the deep green formerly used on the Lucky Strike package.” That’s because it was all a ruse. The head of American Tobacco, who loved overly-repetitive slogans on his radio ads, wanted to change the package, The war was a convenient excuse to do it and look patriotic at the same time. If you want to read more, do what I couldn’t do when I first watched war reference-laden cartoons in the 1960s—look it up on the internet. Here’s a good site.

Who said cartoons weren’t educational?

Popeye's Blacksmith Blur

There’s a great fast-forward effect in the Popeye “Shoein’ Hosses” (1934) and it’s built right into the background drawing.

The scene quickly pans from Popeye at Olive’s blacksmith’s shop to Bluto in a bar. To make the pan seem faster, part of the background drawing is blurred. Here’s a reconstruction.



There are some other cool backgrounds right at the start of the cartoon. A huge tree is leaning against Olive’s shop like it’s human and a fire hydrant has a horse’s head. Then when Popeye comes along, there’s depth in the scene with mailboxes and twisted lamps in the foreground, a stone fence behind Popeye and houses, hills, etc. in the background. They’re panned at different speeds to give the illusion of three dimensions.

William Costello is still Popeye and William Pennell sings a cute opening song (used as an underscore in parts of the short) about the lamentable demise of the blacksmith’s trade. No doubt horse-drawn wagons were an increasingly rare sight on New York City streets in 1934. If I had to guess, I’d say the song’s a Sammy Timberg original, but I’d love to find out for sure.

The background department at Fleischer’s was under the direction of Erich Frederich Theodore Schenk, born in Germany about 1901. He moved with the studio to Florida and stayed when it packed up and went back to New York. He died in the Miami area in 1955. He illustrated at least one children’s book with Virgil Wylie and also had a patent for colour photography.