josh pincus is crying

Remember Saturday afternoon kiddie matinees at the movies? Thank K. Gordon Murray.

Murray, an entrepreneur as early as his teen years, set up a makeshift bingo game in one of his funeral director father’s cemetery tents. He took his game on the road with a carnival, eventually becoming the traveling show’s manager. In the late 1930s, Murray was using his circus connections to aid a casting director in hiring little people to act as Munchkins in the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz. Shortly afterward, Murray and his wife settled in Hollywood, where famed director Cecil B. DeMille hired him to help promote his circus epic, The Greatest Show on Earth.

The Murrays moved to Miami, where they launched K. Gordon Murray Productions. Murray imported low-budget Spanish-language Mexican-produced films, re-dubbed them and distributed them to theaters throughout the United States. They were to be shown, according to an agreement, exclusively on Saturday afternoons for a limited engagement. The films were unusually-interpreted live-action versions of traditional fairy tales. They were poorly acted with even poorer production. But, since the target audiences were children gorged on popcorn, candy and soda, the quality of the film was not a priority. Entertainment value was most important. And, to kids, these films were entertaining. Murray added some of his own scenes and characters, specifically, Stinky the Skunk and Ferocious Wolf. Murray had local costume shops create Stinky the Skunk outfits for appearances at theaters. He presented over 60 films in almost fifteen years, single-handedly creating the “Weekend Kiddie Matinee”. Films like Little Red Riding Hood and The Monsters and Puss ‘n Boots played regularly. His most popular film, the holiday head-scratcher Santa Claus, was the only film, besides Disney’s Snow White, to be released profitably in theaters every few years for three decades.

Murray expanded his film endeavors to include horror and adult exploitation films, still keeping the same formula of importing and dubbing foreign productions.

In the late 1970s, Murray ran into trouble with the Internal Revenue Service. which seized his library of films and took them out of circulation. In 1979, as Murray was preparing his case against the IRS, he suffered a fatal heart attack at age 57.

This week’s Monday Artday challenge word is “train”.

I have been riding the train to work for almost three years. It is a pleasure to let someone else take the responsibility of being in charge of my morning and evening commute. I don’t worry about traffic or weather or other drivers. I also get to see a multitude of “interesting” people everyday. It’s sort of pre-work entertainment. My son rides the train regularly, too, and we often trade stories.

Recently, the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority (SEPTA) implemented a “QuietRide Car” on rush hour trains, taking a cue from the larger Amtrak trains. Signs were posted at all train stations and on all trains and frequent announcements were made alerting riders about the QuietRide Car policy. And the policy was very clear. The first car on each peak-hour train is the designated as the QuietRide Car. Cellphones were not to be used. Earphones must be used on music devices and the volume must be set low enough so it cannot be heard by other passengers. Conversations between passengers must be kept short and at a whisper. If you do not wish to follow these rules, you should choose another car for your commute.

Unless you are that guy  and the rules don’t apply to you.

Just after the QuietRide Cars were put into effect, my son related an incident on a recent train ride. He likes to listen to his iPod on the train, sometimes at high volumes that can be heard by other passengers. This particular day, he boarded the train and accidentally took a seat on the QuietRide Car. He unhappily, but obediently, lowered the volume on his iPod. Seated behind him was that guy — an older woman in mismatched winter accessories. From his detailed description, I knew her from mornings at our local train station. Despite signs posted and regular announcements informing riders of the rules of the QuietRide Car, she prohibitively dialed and prohibitively screamed into her prohibited cellphone: “I’m on the Quiet Car! THE QUIET CAR! Yeah, so I can’t talk! What? NO, THE QUIET CAR! I’m not allowed to talk or use my phone! So, I gotta hang up ’cause I can’t talk! I SAID I CAN’T TALK! I’M ON THE TRAIN IN THE QUIET CAR, SO I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TALK!!!!”

My son said this went on until the train arrived at his stop.

Barbara La Marr had a whirlwind, but brief, career. She began performing at an early age. She married at seventeen, the first of her five marriages. She became a screenwriter and then an actress appearing in over thirty films in six years. Barbara was given the nickname “The Most Beautiful Girl In The World”. She appeared on Broadway and filmed several dance short subjects with partners as diverse as Rudolph Valentino and Clifton Webb.

As her film career flourished in the early 1920s, she embraced the wild Hollywood lifestyle, boasting that she slept no more than two hours a night. She also developed an addiction to heroin. Barbara died of tuberculosis in 1926 at the age of 29.

In the 1930s, studio head Louis B. Mayer renamed up-and-coming actress Hedwig Kiesler “Hedy Lamarr” in honor of Barbara, one of his favorite actresses.

This week’s Illustration Friday challenge is “adrift”.

Calvin was adrift for days before he realized he was in a giant pot of soup.

The current Monday Artday challenge is “candy”.

I was always told not to take candy from strangers. But, for Christ’s sake, he’s got Charleston Chew and you just don’t see them around much.

Gail Russell got an “introducing” credit in the 1944 supernatural thriller “The Uninvited” with Ray Milland, although she had made two earlier films. “The Univited”, one of the first Hollywood movies to present a ghost story in a serious manner (as opposed to comedies), made Gail an overnight star. She starred in a host of films opposite some of Hollywood’s biggest stars like Alan Ladd and John Wayne. Gail was rumored to be carrying on a secret affair with Wayne that allegedly led to his divorce. Wayne maintained that his relationship with Gail was nothing more than platonic.

Gail suffered from terrible stage fright and began drinking on the set of “The Univited”  to ease her nerves before appearing in front of the camera. As her career progressed, so did her alcohol consumption. She married actor Guy Madison, but that union ended in divorce due to her alcoholism. She was unable to get acting roles for five years, until her friend John Wayne cast her in the western “Seven Men from Now” with Randolph Scott in 1956.

In 1955, Gail left the scene of the crime after rear-ending another vehicle while intoxicated. In 1957, while driving under the influence of alcohol, Gail drove her convertible into the front of Jan’s Coffee Shop on Beverly Boulevard in Hollywood. When her hearing was scheduled, she failed to appear. Officers were sent to her home and found her drunk and unconscious. The hearing was held in the hospital where she was bedridden with severe effects from alcoholism. She joined Alcoholics Anonymous but it did no good.

In August 1961, she was found dead in her Brentwood, California apartment, a victim of liver damage and malnutrition. She was 35.

Elvia Allman had a long and productive career and, most likely, you never heard of her.

Elvia made her debut on Bob Hope’s radio show in the late 1930s, portraying the man-crazy character Cobina, a parody of Cobina Wright, a society debutante of the time. Wright sued over the portrayal. The case was settled out of court and she was awarded a reoccuring role on Hope’s show. Also on radio, Elvia was featured as Tootsie Sagwell, Gracie Allen’s best friend on The Burns and Allen Show and as Cora Dithers, the domineering wife of Dagwood Bumstead’s boss on the Blondie program.

Elvia voiced “Miss Cud”, the cow teacher in the 1935 Warner Brothers cartoon “I Haven’t Got A Hat” , featuring one of the earliest appearances of Technicolor at Warners, due to Walt Disney’s exclusive contact with the process. “I Haven’t Got A Hat” was also the debut of lovable stutterer Porky Pig. This performance obviously led to Elvia providing the voice for Disney’s Clarabelle Cow in 28 cartoons. Elvia soon lent her voice to the titular character in 1937’s Tex Avery animated short “Little Red Walking Hood”, in which she did a very convincing Katherine Hepburn imitation.

Elvia made her feature film debut in an uncredited role in Road to Singapore, the first of seven “road pictures” starring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. She had unbilled guest apperances in multiple situation comedies like I Married Joan, December Bride, Love That Bob, and The Abbott and Costello Show, throughout the 1950s. Her most famous guest role was that of Lucy and Ethel’s stern assembly line supervisor at the candy factory, uttering the line “Speed it up a little”, on a classic episode of I Love Lucy.

In the 1960s, Elvia’s career was at a record pace with 14 appearances as busybody Selma Plout on Petticoat Junction and 13 appeareances as Elverna Bradshaw, essentially the same character, on The Beverly Hillbillies. These were just some of her 58 roles in various sitcoms, like The Munsters, Bewitched, The Addams Family and Hazel. She also had uncredited roles in two feature films, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and The Nutty Professor.

The 1970s saw Elvia’s career slow down considerably, with a stint as Oscar mother in one episode of The Odd Couple. Her roles revived briefly in the 80s with two guest shots on Murder She Wrote. In 1990, her career came full circle when she was asked to voice Clarabelle Cow in Disney’s animated take on The Prince and The Pauper. Clarabelle had not made a cartoon appearance in over 50 years.

Elvia died from pneumonia in 1992 at the age of 87, leaving behind a 55-year career of which to be proud.

Earlier this week, I was alerted to a contest at the website Ain’t It Cool News, from my friend steeveedee. The contest is to promote the upcoming release of “The Wolfman”, a remake of the classic Universal horror movie starring Lon Chaney Jr.  The challenge is to submit an illustration of  The Wolfman in any form or situation. Interestingly, steeveedee knew where to turn, as I have done illustrations featuring variations on the Wolfman in the past. (They can be seen HERE and HERE and HERE, although THIS ONE is a stretch and probably doesn’t count.)

I decided to do a new illustration just for the occasion. Usually, when I start a new drawing, I gather reference photos to help with poses or with capturing the likeness of a famous person. This time, since I have seen the original film so many times (and it is my favorite of the Universal movie monsters), I did this portrait from memory. I will submit it today.

This week Illustration Friday challenge word is “muddy”.

Twenty-eight and a half inches of snow fell on Philadelphia today and it got me thinking about warmer times.

On the first Saturday of June 2008, my family and I attended The Appel Farm Arts and Music Festival, an annual outdoor all-day concert. This particular show was the twentieth anniversary of the event and included such diverse performers as nerd rockers They Might Be Giants, crossover folkie Suzanne Vega, singer-songwriter Marc Cohn, 80s retro-rockers Smithereens (see my post about Smithereens frontman Pat DiNizio elsewhere on this blog) and several other lesser-known performers.

We drove a little over an hour to Elmer, a sleepy South Jersey town with a population of just over 1300. Elmer is the home of Appel Farm, a facility that, in addition to the presenting the annual Arts and Music Festival, operates a day camp for 9 to 17 year-olds. On the day of the festival, the camp amenities were closed and off-limits to the concert-going faithful. This presented a potential problem because on this particular day, the temperature at the concert grounds was in excess of 100 degrees with 100 percent humidity. At 9 AM as we passed through the entrance gates, each of us laden with bottled water and other supplies, we were already perspiring like decathlon runners. We were greeted by a crystal-blue in-ground swimming pool surrounded by a fifteen foot high chain-link fence and a huge fluorescent yellow sign printed with a single word —”CLOSED” — in large angry capital black letters. We joined the crowd of attendees trudging off to secure a cool spot on the grassy audience area. As the masses plodded along the macadam walkway, heads turned and longingly eyed the forbidden pool.

We dropped our gear on the hot grass, unfurled our blanket and, each of us grabbing a bottled of water, readied ourselves for a full day of musical entertainment. The grounds boasted two stages, each nestled in a protective cover of trees and separated by a large flat field whose perimeter was lined with local artisans displaying their wares. Off to one side of the field were several food vendors offering selections of veggie-based hippie food along with the standard over-priced hot dogs and burgers.

The scheduled performers alternated from one stage to the other. If one wished to see all of the performances, a trek across the vendors’ field was required. As the day progressed, the temperature rose like the visible steam coming off the grass. It was hot, hotter than anyone could remember. People were dumping their water bottles over their our heads. Some clever patrons came with spray bottles filled with water and kept them stowed in their coolers along with their drinks and snacks. Everyone was visibly uncomfortable and many were obviously sizing up a plan to get to that pool.

 Around four o’clock, my wife, my son and I were walking back to our plot at the big stage after an energetic performance from They Might Be Giants. As we crossed the field, we spotted a crowd gathered just to the right of the fenced-in pool. As is the policy at most public swimming pools, a shower is required before entering. Appel Farm’s was no different. A large, industrial-looking pipe rose six feet out of a small concrete block embedded in the grass. The pipe was topped with a curved showerhead and long chain for activation. This set-up was outside of the confining fence and was discovered by several of the concert-going youth. The shower was situated on a sloped area that I suppose assisted in drainage. In a scene reminiscent of Woodstock, the children were soaking themselves under the shower and them sliding in the muddy runoff that was now flooding the slope of grass. The more the shower ran, the muddier the grass became. The muddier the grass became, the more kids joined in. They rushed from all directions, stripping down to shorts (some to underwear) and diving head first into the murky turf and dousing the crowd with big sloppy spatters. Some rolled around in the sodden but cooling grass. Others dropped handfuls of drippy ooze on their heads and bodies. The whole scene brought to mind a primitive tribal ritual. We were mesmerized, though not enough to join in. We hurried off the catch Marc Cohn’s set, the final act of the day. Marc, we agreed, would have to be phenomenal in order to top the performance we just witnessed.

There is a website based in the United Kingdom called Little White Lies. They are running a contest in conjunction with the release of a movie called “Kick-Ass” that is being released later this year. The contest is very simple. They’re asking to take any film and re-imagine it in the form of a comic, within a designated six-frame panel.

Here’s my second entry. It’s my version of  “The Exorcist” —