Читать книгу A History of Television in 100 Programmes - Steve Berry, Phil Norman - Страница 9

AMERICAN CARTOONS DOMINATED FORTIES cinema. The heart-on-sleeve perfectionism of Disney and the demolition ballets of Warner Brothers were known, loved and merchandised throughout the world. But when television began to look like a viable proposition, the animation giants kept their distance: too small the screen, too monochrome, and most important, too cheap the going rate. It might be good for the odd commercial or as a place to dump black-and-white shorts even the dankest fleapit would no longer touch, but cartoons made especially for TV? The idea might have seemed a joke to the main animation studios, but there was a gap in the media market waiting to be filled. This one snugly accommodated an adventurous animal.

Crusader Rabbit and his faithful sidekick Ragland T ‘Rags’ Tiger were a pairing in the short-smart/big-dumb cartoon tradition that had its origins in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Their creator was Alex Anderson, nephew of the self-styled Woolworth of cinema animation, Paul Terry. Anderson reduced his uncle’s cheap and cheerful formula even further, basing his methods on a sequence in Disney’s behind-the-scenes cartoon feature The Reluctant Dragon which showed an embryonic cartoon in animated storyboard form – simple cuts from one still drawing to the next, smartly timed to the soundtrack. Anderson took the idea and applied it to a finished series.21

Together with old friend Jay Ward handling production duties, Anderson formed Television Arts Productions. Equipped with an army surplus Kodak film camera and several veteran draughtsmen, TAP began production, leaving no corner uncut. Single poses lasted on screen for anything from one to fifteen seconds, and loops of motion were reused with shameless regularity. Verbal gags did most of the work, but mouth movements were minimal – in the pilot, a fast-talking radio announcer blatantly hides his behind a sheet of paper.

The pilot impressed NBC enough to commission a series, at $2,500 per episode – in the labour-intensive animation world, about as cheap as you could get. Crusader Rabbit rode out, sponsored by that great friend of early TV innovation, Carnation Evaporated Milk, at 6 p.m. on 1 August 1950. The show aired every weekday for the best part of a year, pitting the tenacious pair against adversaries Dudley Nightshade, Whetstone Whiplash and Achilles the Heel.

As production stepped up, Ward’s talent came to the fore. While Anderson supervised the visuals, Ward took charge of the dialogue recording sessions, coaching the voice talent and editing to keep things as snappy and fast-moving as possible. This was a practical necessity – with budgets this tight, editing in sound only made economic sense – but it gave a quickfire ebullience to the otherwise static show, emphasising verbal gags in a way which would shape Ward’s later output and TV animation in general.

It also instigated a less happy animation tradition. Jerry Fairbanks, Television Arts’ commercial partner in the Crusader Rabbit venture, turned out not to be as financially secure as he claimed. An uneasy NBC sequestered all 195 Crusader Rabbit cartoons as collateral.22 Ward and Anderson found themselves without a franchise, their stake in the original and rights to the characters having been legally spirited away. This sort of custody battle, with the creators forever on the losing side, would become a feature of TV cartooning, where the bottom line drags heavily. Crusader Rabbit would eventually be reborn, via other hands, in 1957.

Ward started afresh, in tandem with cartoon veteran Bill Scott, to create a plethora of wisecracking properties that took Crusader Rabbit’s chattering statue model and upped the wit, tempo and volume. This began with a blockbuster that aped its progenitor’s character template – The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle. Meanwhile William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, ex-MGM animators who brought Tom and Jerry to life and were briefly engaged by Ward for a legally embargoed Crusader Rabbit revival, borrowed the limited animation style for their own work. The Ruff and Reddy Show, in which a smart little cat and a big stupid dog engaged in pose-to-pose capers, was followed by Huckleberry Hound, Yogi Bear and flatly coloured, ever-blinking cartoon versions of sitcoms like The Honeymooners (The Flintstones) and Bilko (Top Cat). Even Uncle Paul Terry was lured to the small screen for, among others, Deputy Dawg. Vast empires of severely restricted motion conquered television with phenomenal speed – sideways on, with feet reduced to a circular blur, passing the same three items of street furniture every five seconds.