Dr. Toon: It Could Have Been

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The fedora-sporting crimefighter, easily as iconic as Batman or Superman, never truly received his animated due. [1]

Every endeavor throughout history is, in hindsight, fraught with contingencies. All we have in reality is how Event A, the actual occurrence happened, and the consequences of that fact. Historians enjoy making educated guesses as to how the world may have changed if only Event X had happened, or if Event Y had not happened. Often, conjectures about how events may have turned out differently center on missed opportunities; the same is as true for the history of animation as it is for the history of civilization.

In this month’s column, I would like to play historian rather than fan, cultural analyst, or psychologist and offer some permutations of animation history as it could have happened. I should say at this point that these are not things I think should have happened; like historians who have never seen combat or ruled a nation, I have never produced a cartoon or run an animation studio. This is merely a thesis for the entertainment of those who love to play “What If?”

Case Number One: What if “Dick Tracy” had been seriously adapted for animation?
This might have been a significant event in terms of animation and popular culture. Dick (originally “Plainclothes”) Tracy made his newspaper debut on Oct. 4, 1931, during the heyday of bootlegging, G-Men and legendary criminal overlords. Created by Chester Gould (1900-1985), Tracy survived countless perilous adventures and rose to national fame. Dick Tracy and its large cast of friends, foes, and family captivated fans for decades while garnering many new ones along the way. The property prospered in the form of books, novels, comicbooks, Saturday morning serials and radio shows. As recently as 1990, Dick Tracy found life as a feature film (although little justice was done to the venerable detective). Yet, the fedora-sporting crime fighter, easily as iconic as Batman or Superman, never truly received his animated due.

An animated series did air in 1961 courtesy of the UPA studio, 30 years after Dick Tracy’s first appearance. One hundred and thirty of these short, desultory cartoons appeared on television and were mostly notable for Dick Tracy’s absence. The detective only appeared in opening sequences where he assigned cases to a stable of clownish deputies. Several of these were so racially stereotypical that the cartoons would not be suitable in today’s politically correct climate.

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In the Goodman alternate universe, Paramount becomes Famous Studios and adapts Dick Tracy instead of Little Lulu. [2]

In 1971, Dick Tracy returned briefly to animation on Archie’s TV Funnies. Filmation did a better job with the property, but time limitations kept Dick Tracy from its full promise. Gould became disillusioned with the UPA series and later wished that the series had mirrored the style of the actual comic strip. Well, Chester, what if it had?

Imagine a scenario that begins in 1942, shortly after Paramount Pictures ousts Max and Dave Fleischer and renames their operation “Famous Studios.” Paramount expects success, and in the Fleischers’ absence, examined what had worked before. It is determined that two of Fleischer’s biggest successes were adaptations from the comic print medium: Popeye and Superman. Instead of going with Little Lulu (as the Paramount brass did in 1943) they instead opt for Dick Tracy. With most of the Fleischer’s marvelous artists still on hand, Paramount puts up a lavish amount of money, as it did to fund the Superman cartoons. Famous Studios’ Dick Tracy displays the dark, urban feel that so many Fleischer cartoons were notable for, and realistic rotoscoped action complements outstanding special effects.

Famous does for the detective what Warner Bros. did for Batman in the 1990s. Dick Tracy draws rave reviews, great box-office play and becomes an animated classic. Gould is thrilled. Even years later, animated detective/mystery shows become a staple of Saturday mornings, eclipsing superheroes. Decades later, animation aficionados are viewing enthralling episodes on DVD and enjoying the artisanship that the Famous team was certainly still capable of producing.

It could have been.

Case Number Two: What if Bob Clampett had lived just six more years?
History tells us that Bob Clampett [3] died in May of 1984 at the age of 70. At the time, Clampett was on a promotional tour for the video release of his renowned Beany and Cecil [4] series. Although Clampett achieved everlasting fame for his frenetic, stellar career, one wonders what might have happened if he had lived a mere six years more. After all, this is the typical lifespan for American males. The six years would not only fulfill a statistical average, in Clampett’s case it would have brought his date of death to 1990 — the year that American animation made a major comeback in popular culture. What might it have been like if Clampett were a part of it all?

After the successful promotional tour for the Beany and Cecil videos, Clampett enjoys a revival, boosted by the sales of his popular cartoons on VHS. The numbers did not escape the notice of RCA-Columbia pictures, which produced the videos along with Clampett. After some negotiations, Columbia and Clampett seal a deal for one of Clampett’s ardent ambitions… the release of a Beany and Cecil theatrical feature. The movie, released in 1986, is a critical success, and plans develop for a new television series. Among the crew hired for the series — a young, rebellious artist named who had been corresponding with Clampett for several years. Kricfalusi nearly accepted a job working with Ralph Bakshi on a Mighty Mouse revival but could not resist the lure of working with his longtime idol.

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Perhaps Clampett hires young artist John Kricfalusi to work on Beany and Cecil and he creates two minor characters who become cult favorites — Ren and Stimpy. Courtesy of Spumco (left) and © Spike TV. [5]

Beany and Cecil: The New Adventures airs on ABC in late 1987 in a primetime slot rather than having a typical turn on Saturday mornings. The generous budget allows Clampett’s wild sense of story and ability to stretch the boundaries of animation. Kricfalusi’s brings an outrageous sense of sexy, violent comedy tempered by his mentor’s experience. The two men forge a highly synergistic relationship.

Beany and Cecil becomes an outrageous series that blends Clampett’s numerous, quirky characters and warp-speed direction with Kricfalusi’s postmodern narratives and retro styling. Clampett and John K. are under few censorship restrictions due to their evening slot, and the pair has a field day. One controversial episode in which a maturing Beany learns the facts of life creates a major stir, and the flap leads to greater ratings and recognition among the viewing public.

Clampett, at age 73, is enjoying the greatest popularity of his career. Robert Zemeckis and Steven Spielberg, two of his lifelong fans, ask Clampett to serve as an advisor on their latest film project, a live-action/animated movie called, Who Framed Roger Rabbit [4]. Clampett joins the crew as the film is well into production, and provides valuable advice about handling some of the vintage cartoon characters who appear in the movie. It is one of Clampett’s most enjoyable experiences. Kricfalusi is doing much of the work on Beany and Cecil while Clampett is involved with Roger Rabbit, and the money pours in from licensing and merchandising.

Late in the third season of Beany and Cecil, Kricfalusi introduces two new characters to the show, a psychotic Chihuahua and a dimwitted cat respectively named Ren and Stimpy. The animals were actually minor characters in a series that John K. hoped to eventually develop on his own, and he pressed them into service when a script had to be developed on a tight deadline. The pair became cult favorites among viewers. They were the major highlights that final year; ABC decides not to buy a fourth season due to low ratings even though the show is a critical success.

After the third season concludes, Clampett finally considers retirement. The men part on warm terms. Kricfalusi is allowed to buy the rights to Ren and Stimpy at a token cost and prepares to pitch a series to a young cable network called Nickelodeon.

Shortly after Clampett’s retirement on May 2, 1990, a gala celebration attended by hundreds of animation’s stars and many fans, Kricfalusi sells The Ren & Stimpy Show to Nickelodeon. Clampett receives a package from John Kricfalusi; it is the pilot film for his cable TV series, a short called Big House Blues. Kricfalusi does not know it, but his film is the last one that Clampett will ever see. Clampett passes away on May 4, 1990. He will live on through his works and his protégé.

It could have been.

Case Number Three: What if Walt Disney had never lost Oswald the Rabbit?
The genesis of Mickey Mouse is well known to most animation fans. In February of 1928, Walt Disney approached his distributor, Charles Mintz, who was in turn a middleman for Carl Laemmle’s Universal Pictures Studio. Disney’s Oswald the Rabbit series was a hit, and Disney thought that it was time for Mintz to pony up more money for better production values. Unknown to Disney, Mintz and Universal were conspiring to wrest control of Disney’s studio away from Walt. After secretly signing up most of Walt’s staff, Mintz offered Disney less money to make his Oswald cartoons. The alternative to going bust — give control of the studio to Universal, which owned the rights to Oswald under the terms of Disney’s contract. Rather than cavil to Mintz, Disney gave up Oswald and his animators to Universal, who assigned Oswald to Walter Lantz. A year later, Laemmle shafted Mintz by setting up his own cartoon studio. On the long train trip back to California from New York, Disney created his initial conception of Mickey Mouse.

Imagine a scenario in which Laemmle decided to eliminate his middleman much earlier in the picture. The ruthless and crafty head of Universal decides to share his cartoon profits with no one and gives Mintz and his brother-in-law George Winkler the boot early into the conspiracy against Disney, preferring a cheaper solution. Laemmle not only gives Disney more than the $2,500 per Oswald cartoon he was requesting, A delighted Walt signs a new contract with Universal and sets to work on the next year of Oswald cartoons.

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Two fans, Robert Zemeckis and Steven Spielberg, ask Clampett to serve as an advisor on Who Framed Roger Rabbit and the money pours in from licensing and merchandising. © Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc. All rights reserved. [6]

Warner Bros. triumphant premiere of the first sound picture, The Jazz Singer, excites Disney’s imagination. He informs Laemmle that he could, if given the chance, make the first synchronized talking cartoon short. Laemmle gives permission to proceed, and Disney, Iwerks, and Wilfred Jackson create Steamboat Willie in 1928. In this engaging cartoon, Oswald rescues his sweetheart Winnie Rabbit from the clutches of lusty steamboat captain Peg Leg Pete.

Universal planned to make a picture starring bandleader Paul Whiteman called, The King of Jazz. While the film was in production Whiteman agreed to provide a score for Walt’s cartoon. Playing over much of the action was a composition the bandleader later called “Happy Feet,” but the musical highlight was a concert played using barnyard animals as instruments. This lively sequence was synchronized to Whiteman’s arrangement of “The Birth of the Blues.” Walt had balked at using jazz, but Laemmle overruled him.

Steamboat Willie is a major hit, and Disney is asked to expand his capacities. Universal puts Technicolor at Walt’s disposal. The Universal cartoon studio undergoes a modest expansion, and one new animator, Norm Ferguson, contributes Oswald’s dog Pluto to the cartoon cast. Iwerks comes up with an amusing character named Tony Frog. Regulars Clarabelle Cow and Horace Horsecollar join Oswald as well. Times are good and so is the money, but Disney finds he is chafing under Laemmle’s control.

Although the two have had a good relationship, a breach occurs in 1935 when Walt Disney petitions Universal for the funds to make a feature-length animated film. Laemmle was turning his attention to big-budget musicals after his success with horror films and preferred to play it safe with his cartoon department. Laemmle’s mind was on his extravagantly expensive musical project Show Boat. He did not believe, in any case, that an 80-minute cartoon would sustain an audience’s interest.

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In a fantasy world, Walt Disney and Ub Iwerks (left picture) give Carl Laemmle and Universal Studios a big hit with Steamboat Willie (right) in which Oswald the Rabbit is introduced. © Disney Enterprises Inc. [7]

Both Show Boat and Laemmle’s other major project, Magnificent Obsession, nearly sink Universal. Laemmle finds himself replaced by the more budget-conscious Robert H. Cochrane, who drastically cuts back the animation department. Disney takes the opportunity to sever ties with Universal and set himself up as an independent. Oswald, Pluto, Tony the Frog (who is now named “Flip”) and several other characters are lost, but, in 1937, Disney, Iwerks and Fred Moore — another key animator who followed Disney from Universal — create a saucy little mouse as part of a repertoire of new characters. Although the Disney characters are well received by the public, the mouse (named Mickey by Walt’s wife Lillian), develops into a superstar. Disney’s fortunes are made and animation’s greatest studio is launched.

It could have been… something like that.

This closes our little game of “What If?” in which some events are changed. Other things that were meant to be still come to be, albeit through a circuitous path. Still, I wonder… What if Jay Ward had lived to become a head writer on The Simpsons…?