I've typed up the program notes for this series if anyone is interested. These notes are credited as written by "Mike Schlesinger, with big-time help from Jerry Beck, Rob Word and Lisa Davidson, as well as _Of_Mice_and_Magic_ by Leonard Maltin." Hopefully no one will sue me over posting these.
(Note: Many cartoons had their main titles and credits replaced by cheap reissue title cards; this is all that exists on some prints.)
1. THE RESTLESS SAX (Manny Gould & Ben Harrison, 12/1/31). They called him Krazy Kat, but he bore almost no relationship to George Herriman's famed comic strip character. Like most cartoon stars of the era, he was simply Mickey Mouse redrawn as a different animal. Still, the first star to come out of Charles Mintz' new studio (prior to that, Mintz was best known for stealing Oswald the Rabbit and most of Walt Disney's staff right out from under him) was quite engaging, seldom moreso than in his zippy entry (animated by Harry Love) in which he orders a saxophone by mail and drives everyone wiggy with his wretched vamping. The Fleischer influence is obvious in the dominant use of "moving holds" (things bouncing up and down in place) and the vaguely sinister--and often anthropomorphic--backgrounds; Joe DeNat's sprightly music also contributes to the fun.
2. SCRAPPY'S PARTY (Dick Huemer, 2/13/33). Mintz' other star was Scrappy, a rambunctious little boy with an even younger brother, Oopy, created by writer Huemer and animators Sid Marcus and Art Davis. This is one of countless caricature cartoons that were staples of the Hollywood animation factories, but this one has a key difference: the famous party guests aren't just the usual movie stars, but celebs from all walks of life (and countries), including a rather decrepit-looking John D. Rockefeller! No real plot to speak of, just a parade of caricatures; see how well you do at identifying some of the more obscure ones.
3. SWING, MONKEY, SWING (Ben Harrison, 9/10/37). The influence of Disney's _Silly Symphonys_--plotless cartoons emphasizing music and dance--on every other studio lasted well into the '40s. This one's a high point of the genre; on a tropical island, assorted simians (some of them vague caricatures of familiar Black performers, but not as blatantly so as in Harman & Ising's "Frog" epics) have themselves a whale of a jam session. The Basin Street Boys and Lois Hodnett provide most of the hot jazz vocals.
4. MERRY MANNEQUINS (Ub Iwerks, 3/19/37). After the legendary Iwerks (who stuck with Disney after the Mintz fiasco and animated _Steamboat_Willie_ virtually single-handedly) saw his own shop fold up in 1934, he freelanced for several other studios before ultimately returning to Walt, including a brief consignment for Mintz (no hard feelings here, I guess). This may be the only studio cartoon where the action is secondary: it's just a bunch of department store mannequins dancing the night away--to the unforgettable "Getting Chummy With a Dummy Like You"--but what will knock your eyes out are the unbelievably detailed and colorful Art Deco backgrounds, a visual feast unsurpassed even in this CGI-obsessed era.
5. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES (Frank Tashlin, 12/5/41). Tashlin's arrival at the studio shook things up immediately, and suddenly the cartoons were brighter, livelier and funnier. This initial venture launched what would become the studio's star characters of the '40s: the prissy, put-upon Fox and the brazen, Brooklynese Crow (both voiced by Frank Graham). Here, Tashlin updates Aesop's fable into a non-stop barrage of clever gags (including a very shrewd instruction manual) and snappy dialogue. Chuck Jones has acknowledged the series as the principal inspiration for the Road Runner cartoons; one viewing of this easily confirms that.
6. SONG OF VICTORY (Bob Wickersham, 9/4/42). Propaganda cartoons were de rigueur during the war years, and many had truly dark undercurrents. Made during the transition between the Tashlin and Dic Fleischer regimes (they're respectively credited as supervisor and producer), this moody Leo Salkin-scripted saga presents a vulture, gorilla and hyena as caricatures of Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo. They storm in and take over an idyllic forest, until their mistreatment of the animals--especially a poor chipmunk--finally ignites a revolt. (The scene of the woodland creatures lining up to hand over their food presages the similar sequence in _A_Bug's_Life_!) Since V-E and V-J Days were still three years off, this was more wish fulfillment than prophecy, but it works brilliantly as both.
7. SADIE HAWKINS DAY (Bob Wickersham, 5/4/44). One of the most fascinating series attempted by any studio was this whole-hearted endeavor to transfer Al Capp's hugely popular _L'il_Abner_ comic strip to the big screen. Despite amazing fidelity to both the strip and its characters, it never caught on and only five were made. This uproarious chapter, scripted by Al Geiss, explains the origins of the mythical girl-chases-boy race and sets everyone a-goin', with Abner (who has surprisingly little to do) being greatly aided by Mammy to avoid the clutches of Daisy Mae...although in a post-Pamela Anderson era, one might ask, WHY??? (P.S.: Listen closely--Lonesome Polecat speaks with the voice of The Crow!)
8. SILENT TWEETMENT (Bob Wickersham, 9/19/46). The last real bid to create a new star resulted in Flippy, a canary somewhat less cloying than Tweety--for one thing, he doesn't speak--though in fact he actually predates Mr. Pie's teaming with Sylvester. Alas, he too only lasted five films, but the results were uniformly winning, as in this off-beat episode, in which his twittering drives Flop The Cat right up the wall. The feline finally gets him to stop--and then learns that a non-singing bird is an unhappy bird (which could mean "Get rid of the cat!") and thus tries every means possible to get him chirping again. The versatile Frank Graham voices Flop.
9. LOCO LOBO (Howard Swift, 1/9/47). The studio's final unsuccessful regime was topped by Warners refugees Henry Binder and Ray Katz, who brought with them no less than Bob Clampett and this film's writer, Cal Howard, among others. However, the former only produced, never directing--which might have made a difference. Still, there's no denying Clampett's hand in this rapid-fire farce in which a rabbit allows himself to be chased all over the desert by a lunkheaded wolf. Once again, we have an impact on Jones' Road Runner cartoons (namely the Southwest backgrounds), but the bunny himself is very clearly a knock-off of Tex Avery's much beloved Screwy Squirrel.
10. GERALD McBOINGBOING (Robert Cannon, 1/25/51). After finally throwing in the towel, Columbia contracted with Stephen Bosustow's independent United Productions of America for its cartoons, and this celebrated fable--the first bearing a Columbia logo to win an Academy Award--put them on the map and spun off several sequels and a TV series. Adapted from a Dr. Seuss story by Bill Scott and Phil Eastman, elegantly designed by Bill Hurtz (in the patented UPA "simplistic" style), and narrated by Marvin Miller (_The_Millionaire_'s Michael Anthony), it tells the humble story of a small boy who can't speak--only sounds issue from his mouth--and his subsequent rise to fame as a one-man sound effects department on radio.
11. THE UNICORN IN THE GARDEN (Bill Hurtz, 9/24/53). James Thurber's droll tale of a henpecked husband and his doubting shrew of a wife probably couldn't have been filmed anywhere but at UPA. Hurtz consciously strove to imitate Thurber's drawing style by assigning it to "the poorest draftsmen in the place, to get that nice lumpy look." Bosustow hated it, though, and refused to submit it for Oscar consideration (it did get a BAFTA nomination, however), yet it remains one of the most memorable--and adult--cartoons in the UPA library. Avery vet John Brown and Colleen Collins provide the voices.
12. THE TELL-TALE HEART (Ted Parmalee, 12/17/53). Another UPA landmark--and one of the eeriest cartoons ever made--this stylish adaptation of the Poe masterwork uses startling Escher-esque design (by Paul Julian), deliberately limited animation (by legendary Art Babbit), and the distinctive purr of James Mason to create a uniquely chilling achievement. An unmistakable influence on the famed Zagreb animators, it probably gave more than one '50s child a few nightmares--and still could today. Nominated for an Oscar, but it lost to Disney's _Toot,_Whistle,_Plunk_and_Boom_ (which gave nobody nightmares).
13. FUDDY DUDDY BUDDY (John Hubley, 10/18/51). UPA's most enduring star was the creation of Millard Kaufman (who went on to write scripts for such grim features as _Bad_Day_at_Black_Rock_ and _Raintree_Country_), modeling the near-sighted Quincy Magoo after his grumpy uncle--and nephew Waldo after himself--in 1949's _Ragtime_Bear_. Hilariously voiced by an often ad-libbing Jim Backus, Magoo blithely sailed through Republic serial-style perils with barely a second glance (if one were possible). In this first-class early entry, he's vacationing at the Outstretched Palms Hotel and thinks he's got his chum Bottomley up for a spot of tennis...except it's really a perplexed but game walrus. Cleverly written by Scott and Eastman (including a rare moment of introspection when Magoo actually realizes his mistake) and animated by Rudy Larriva and Babbitt.