Harry-Go-Round

When I wrote of a Fleischer-themed restaurant with a giant Betty Boop on its sign, some accused me of making it all up. Actually, I was completely accurate, just off by 69 years and 3,000 miles.

When I was in Union Square here in SF this evening, I discovered that a restaurant called Betty Boop’s Diner is set to open shortly. (It looks like it might be part of a chain, but if there are other locations, it’s news to me; it is, however, a stone’s throw from a place called Blondie’s Pizza.)

I shall eat there as soon as possible–and report back here.

In 1930, the aging Winsor McCay did a Lucky Strikes ad (which I just found in an issue of the old, original Life magazine). The gist: Up until then, there’d been an ancient and irriational prejudice against cigarettes, which Lucky had just eradicated forever by removing harmful irritants. (Thank goodness!)

Winsor’s cartoon makes no direct reference to smokes–there’s a complex metaphor going on, with the mighty fist of American intelligence smashing a miser’s fear of banks and making possible a large, well-guarded financial institution. Apparently, the ancient prejudice against cigarettes was as out of date as the ancient prejudice against banks. Or something like that.

(You’ll notice, however, that Winsor didn’t let Nemo and Gertie smoke.)

Here’s the ad, and a sideways version of the McCay drawing so you can see all the detail:

How about some 1930s book art featuring cartoon characters other than Oswald the Lucky Rabbit? I recently picked up a copy of The Princess Elizabeth Gift Book, a 1935 tie-in with the Princess Elizabeth of York Hospital for Children. What it is, essentially, is an anthology of children’s stories, many of them by well-known authors and others featuring popular comics and cartoon characters of the day, such as Rupert Bear, Teddy Tail, Pip, Squeak and Wilfred, and…Mickey Mouse and friends.

It’s the product of an interesting moment in time when Princess Elizabeth of York was a young celebrity but it didn’t yet occur to anyone she’d become Queen of England someday; when Rudyard Kipling and J.M. Barrie were still alive and writing and thefore able to contribute to a book that also included work from a studio which would bastardize their stories years later; and when the British had adopted Mickey Mouse as one of their own.

The start and end of the book have color spreads of the Disney gang attending a “party” in celebration of the hospital that are two of the nicest pieces of illustration of them I’ve ever seen. (David Gerstein, if you’re reading this, are these by Wilfred Haughton?) Here they are:

Scary anti-semitic site (stored in Google cache) approvingly explains how loss of bunny to that shylock Charlie Mintz turned Walt into a Jew hater who inserted slurs into his cartoons from them on…

Stop the presses! All these stories saying that the Walt Disney Company is reacquiring Oswald the Rabbit are mistaken. Walt didn’t have a thing to do with Oswald’s rise to fame in the first place–he was at Universal from the get-go. I know it’s true…I read it in a Big Little Book.

Here’s another Oswald Big Little Book–a 1934 one which I’ve owned for awhile but am only now examining carefully. That 1937 Oswald BLB claims that it’s by Walt Lantz; in 1934, however, Walt wasn’t worth mentioning anywhere in the book, which heavily associates Universal tycoon Carl Laemmle with the character. (Interesting evidence of the evolution of Walter Lantz as a Walt Disney-like marketable celebrity, or at least a would-be one.)

Oswald the Lucky Rabbit tells the story of Oswald’s rise to fame. He begins in New York in abject poverty; seeking fame, he drives–with an acquaintance named Daring Dan–to California, where he’s discovered by Carl Laemmle himself. (In this universe, Walt Disney, Charles Mintz, and Walter Lantz don’t even seem to exist.)

Oswald becomes a star; along the way, there’s a lot of violence, a cameo by Paul Whiteman (returning the favor Oswald did by appearing in King of Jazz), some bondage and bestiality, and among the worst art I’ve ever seen of a semi-major comics character. Note the close-up below in which the artist has forgotten to give Oswald a nose.

The whole thing reads and looks as if it were put together by a demented fifth-grade student. (And it leaves you newly appreciative of the quality control imposed by Disney on side projects in the 1930s–Floyd Gottfredson this guy is not.)

I spent much of yesterday at WonderCon, the San Francisco comics event which has become sort of a junior-sized San Diego Comics Con. While there, I picked up a cheap copy of Oswald Rabbit Plays G Man, a 1937 Big Little Book. (It’s missing its first 17 pages, but hey, it’s only going to increase in value–it’s a Disney collectible now.)

The book is illustrated with stills from Lantz cartoons–and I was startled to discover that a large chunk of them feature…Woody Woodpecker.

Well, a character named Woody Woodpecker, at least–this Woody doesn’t look much like the one in 1940’s Knock Knock, and he’s a heavy–he spends much of the book’s narrative terrifying Oswald and bullying a community of insects led by a fairy queen. (Oswald, meanwhile, spends very little time playing G Man: The author of the book had to string together the plotlines of multiple cartoons into something approximating a storyline.)

David Gerstein has identified these scenes as probably originating in the 1936 Oswald cartoon Night Life of the Bugs. Has anyone seen this? Is the character called Woody in the short itself? Should we revise history and come to the conclusion that Woody Woodpecker didn’t first show up in Knock Knock, or is this just an entirely different woodpecker who happens to be named Woody? Let the debate begin…

C’mon in at 6pm PT to discuss the Disney-Oswald reunification–or anything else that’s on your mind…

They meet! They fight! Cartoon by Art Binninger–thanks, Art!

I’m not sure if this is one of the greatest days in the history of the Disney studio, but it surely rates as…well, one of the most delightful. If you didn’t grin from ear to ear when you heard the news, you’re not really an animation fan. (This was a moment that wanted to be shared–I got three instant e-mails from friends about it before I was able to read the news on the Web…compared to zero e-mails about the Pixar buyout.)

In his short tenure as CEO, Bob Iger has made John Lasseter the creative head of all of Disney animation and righted the wrong that Charlie Mintz wrought almost eighty years ago; so far, the guy is 2-0 when it comes to amazing, historic moves involving Disney animation’s past, present, and future. I’m not sure what he can possibly do now to top himself.

(Well, actually, I do know: He can preside over a studio that makes a bunch of inventive, entertaining animated films. And I’m feeling hopeful that he will.)

A few pressing questions:

How did this come about? Who wanted Oswald? How did Al Michaels get involved? Has anyone at Disney been stewing for decades over this? Who do you talk to at Universal when you want to get a character back that Universal has probably forgotten it owns?

Did Disney ever try to get Oswald back before? Did the idea ever cross Walt’s mind? Did he grit his teeth whenever he saw Walt Lantz, or just not care? More recently, did Michael Eisner even know who Ozzie was?

Now that Oswald is home, what will Disney do with him? Simply continue to sell merchandise in Japan? Release DVDs? Make new films? Add a character to Disneyland? In short, is there a rational business strategy behind this wonderfully quixotic move?

Will Oswald meet Mickey? Wouldn’t that be historic?

What happens to all the Universal Oswald films? Can Disney distribute them? Can Universal? Will Disney hide the fact that Oswald became a bland white bunny and a third-tier comio-book character?

Who owns Floyd and Lloyd, Oswald’s sons? Are they now orphaned? Will Disney need to trade two more sportcasters to NBC to get them?

Will this set off an array of character-trading in Hollywood? Disney isn’t doing much with Ludwig Von Drake–maybe Cartoon Network would like to have him?

Or, better yet, a revival of interest in vintage characters in general? Maybe this will be the kick in the pants that Sony needed to give Scrappy the respect he’s due. We can only hope…

One of the last remaining significant figures of the golden age of American animation is gone–Myron Waldman has left us, at the age of 97. Mike Dobbs has the news and a good career overview, covering everything from Waldman’s Fleischer work–he started at the studio 76 years ago–to Eve, his pioneering graphic novel.

I met Waldman only briefly, at a Museum of the Moving Image event in Queens about a decade ago. I’m glad I had the chance. And now I’m glad I didn’t berate him for creating Pudgy.

So who’s left from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s? Joe Barbera and Ollie Johnston…Stan Freberg, Arnold Stang, and June Foray…Bill Melendez and Bill Justice come to mind. Who am I forgetting?