The Password is... Recompense

The response to my previous well-researched post was rather weak. Therefore, I'm immersing my readership into a Rip Taylor video as punishment. Think of it as TV waterboarding for your crimes.

Walt's Unwashed Glitterati

This is the first in a series of articles in tribute to the unsung ensemble players featured in celebrated animated cartoons. These lesser-known background characters or "extras" were vastly talented at their craft but have fallen by the wayside in terms of the historical recognition that they deserve.

_______________________

While Disney Studio cartoons never packed the biggest comedic punch when compared to competing studios, I nevertheless appreciate the general look of their vintage, so-called "rubber hose-era", stuff. The first example would be the captain in Steamboat Willie -- a part played with gusto by a hulking tobacco-chewing cat identified only as "Pete" by historians who write about such things.


I cannot say this with authority but I think Pete may have evolved into the notorious "Peg-Leg Pete". This was again another criminally underrated character who never saw his full potential realized. Mr. "Leg" was from Russian extraction and had studied acting with Konstantin Stanislavski before coming to Hollywood in the 20s.


Lastly, "Horace Horsecollar" and "Clarabelle Cow" were recurring bit-players in Disney cartoons during the 30's. Their unbridled antics as a pair of mixed-breed lovers was truly an astounding libertine statement for its time.

All these characters later suffered the usual spiral into debauchery and alcoholism --but you knew that already. Clarabelle Cow was ambassador to Ghana until replaced by Shirley Temple Black under Nixon.

Shopkeeper Leaves, They Come Alive

Here's a couple of images taken from the antique doll store in Pasadena. These figures were particularly disturbing but Bloggy-Blog's raison d etre, as always, is to deliver such goods.

A Cog in the Celebrity Underwear Machine

I've culled together a reel of recent animations from work for your passive amusement. Each was made within the usual 2-3 hr. turnaround timeframe. I had to see them collectively myself just so it could sink in that I do this for a living.

Push THIS to see.

(not for the squeamish -you've been warned!)

Mr. Peanut is Chloroforming Me

They say that the first step on the path to recovery from addiction is admitting your disease.

Folks, I cannot stop eating Planters Dry Roasted Peanuts. [Disclosure: Planters does not pay me to say this.] I bought a jar just the other day with its promise of escape from the stresses and cares of the workaday world -- its vampiric and dapper mascot tap-dancing seductively on the label. I knew I'd lose the battle of wills to a cartoon, as I am wont to do.

Mister Mother Superior:
he called himself "Mr. Peanut" but I only knew him as
" Fred Astair Reaper of my Intestinal lining"

Another allure of addiction entails sensory rituals: twisting the lid and the tactile pleasure of the vacuum seal being released; the aroma; the ecstacy! The threshold is down and now sweet plunder is mine! And so I dive in, spending countless hours tilting back the jar and dumping its flavorful contents down my gullet, like a hyper-fattened Foie Gras duck.

The toll on my health is devastating. I cannot move, save for one finger on the keypad. [Again, neither Planters or its subsidiaries subsidize or endorse this blog.]

amour betrayer

Presidential Moments in a Depressive Coma

I woke up today and across the room sat Richard Nixon staring at me across the dusty hues of dawn. His countenance shone like lightening as he spoke unto me, "do not fear for I bring you wisdom and sound direction in this confused time". As my teeth chattered a frantic S.O.S. signal, I dragged a plush powder blue blanket over my head, "I cannot come out, for you are Richard Nixon and because of this I not only have fear but also trembling and a challenged bladder".

Unmoved, Nixon sounded a command that rolled like thunder, "You will march to the fridge and prepare for me a bologna sandwich as an offering. It will be 20 by 22 cubits with a dollop of cheese whiz and shall be cut diagonally. If you do not cut it diagonally, a rain of locusts will beat upon your car and mar the finish.


"Right!"

And so I prepared the sandwich, hoping to placate the moody apparition from Yorba Linda before things got ugly. However, when I returned, he was gone. On the chair where he once sat was a pile of peanut shells and a note that read: "You are loved".

Soul Brother

I like this photo of Noam Chomsky working behind the scenes on Davey and Goliath. Actually, it's not Mr. Chomsky. It's really this cat named Peter Kleinow who just up and died. I admttedly didn't know anything about Kleinow or his career until reading his recent obit on Cartoonbrew. I realize now that he was a pretty happenin' dude --for me, the complete artist.

When your legacy mixes playing guitar with The Flying Burrito Brothers AND writing the *Gumby theme song AND working with Art Clokey AND animating the Pilsbury Doughboy, that's a distinguished career one can be proud of.


*thanks to Charlie Hancock for this fine version made lightning-quick in the wee-early 80s.

Behind the Behind

Many thousands of requests pour in every day asking me about the working guts behind creating graphics for television. To answer, I've prepared the following flow-cart to guide you through this wondrous creative process. All you have to do is believe in the magic!

By the cold light of an infomercial

Sorry, I really have nothing to talk about. This is the year of positivity and I'm drawing blank.

Perhaps if someone asked me a really messy personal question, we could get the ball rolling. I could give advice. I know many of you are experiencing a life crisis and could benefit from my wisdom.

Ready, go.