Image by Michael Paulus
 
Although today we tend think of Betty Boop as little more than a trademark seen on various consumer items, or in advertisements, at one time, Betty Boop, a creation of Fleischer Studios (who also came up with Popeye the Sailor) was looked upon similarly to the way we regard The Simpsons or South Park today, animations where much of the humor is aimed primarily at the adult viewer.

First of all, unlike Daisy Duck or Minnie Mouse, Betty was drawn with cleavage and frilly panties. And she was a human girl, not a duck or mouse girl. Modeled on the archetypal 20s jazz flapper, singer Helen Kane and the “It Girl” of the silent movie-era, Clara Bow, Betty Boop’s sex appeal was seen as somewhat upfront for a cartoon character. She was also seen, in the course of her adventures in certain less than savory situations, squalorous nightclubs and against run-down backdrops.

Barely disguised sexual innuendo is plentiful in Betty Boop cartoons and even images of gambling, drug paraphernalia and alcohol abuse are seen in one particular vivid nightmare sequence. One cartoon showed Betty and Koko the Clown getting high on Nitrous Oxide. Eventually the gas escapes outside and even the mailboxes have a giggle fit. In two others, she is topless. By 1934, Betty’s bohemian antics were toned down to appease the National Legion of Decency and the Production Code.
 

 
Some of the best-remembered Betty Boop cartoons are the ones featuring jazz legends like Louis Armstrong and Cab Calloway. In 1932’s (I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead) You Rascal You, Armstrong appears in some of the earliest footage ever seen of the great musician as a menacing, disembodied floating head, chasing Betty, Bimbo and Koko the Clown through the jungle, and performing with his orchestra. (“The High Society Rag” is also performed).
 

 
Cab Calloway was featured in several Betty Boop cartoons such as the classic Minnie the Moocher, where he sings as a walrus surrounded by ghosts to a runaway Betty. In 1933’s Snow White, Calloway, in the guise of Koko the Clown, moonwalks and sings St. James Infirmary Blues. Koko’s dance moves came from rotoscoped footage of Calloway (Max Fleisher, in fact, invented the Rotoscoping technique). In The Old Man Of the Mountain, Calloway performs three numbers.
 

While dead bug puppets may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think of the pioneers of animation, Ladislas Starevich produced some of the most surreal and groundbreaking images in early film. Born in Moscow to Polish parents, Starevich started making documentaries when he was appointed Director of the Museum of Natural History in Lithuania.

His fifth film was supposed to be the combat of stag beetles, but the nocturnal insects kept shutting down when the lights went on. His solution, inspired by the work of Émile Cohl, “Father of the Animated Cartoon,” was to simply stage a mock battle with beetle corpses instead. After that, he developed theatrical narratives and story arcs for his “actors,” creating the unnerving, dreamy film you can watch below.

Although creepy bug theater will always be my favorite in his oeuvre, Starevich went on the make amazing live action films, and some other beauties with more traditional puppets. It ain’t Disney, but the dark humor and jarring storytelling is so innovative, especially when you consider that he did it with nothing but dead bugs, miniatures, some wire, and what must have been infinite patience.
 

  

 
Redditor jamieleto posted a fun series of classic Disney cartoons where a technique called rotoscoping was used (before computers, natch).

If you’re unfamiliar with rotoscoping, here’s some background information on the subject via Wikipedia:

Rotoscoping is an animation technique in which animators trace over footage, frame by frame, for use in live-action and animated films.[1][2] Originally, recorded live-action film images were projected onto a frosted glass panel and re-drawn by an animator. This projection equipment is called a rotoscope, although this device was eventually replaced by computers.

In the visual effects industry, the term rotoscoping refers to the technique of manually creating a matte for an element on a live-action plate so it may be composited over another background.

Probably the most famous example of rotoscoping was A-ha’s 1985 music video for “Take on Me.”

Update: There’s some debate as to whether or not the rotoscoping technique was used for these cartoons or if they were just reference shots for the animators.

 

 
More after the jump…
 

 
The eleventh incarnation of Hanna-Barbera’s Scooby-Doo cartoon was called Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated! which ran on the Cartoon Network from 2010 until earlier this month.

According to Wikipedia, Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated! was ‘dark,’ paying homage to the likes of A Nightmare on Elm Street, the Saw franchise, David Lynch’s Twin Peaks, and the eldritch horror of H.P. Lovecraft.

In particular, in the second season, the central story arc of the show evolves to heavily feature the use of Babylonian mythology, exploring the Anunnaki, the Babylonian and modern pseudo-scientific concepts of Nibiru, and the writings of Zecharia Sitchin.

Fun fact: Actor Michael J. Anderson (little dancing man) lent his voice for these Scooby-licious episodes.

Below, Scooy-Doo and friends get all Peaked-out:

 
Previously on Dangerous Minds:
‘Twin Peaks’ Cherry Pie recipe
 
Via The World’s Best Ever

 
Japan’s Oorutaichi (aka Taichi Moriguchi) calls his music “imaginary electronic folklore.” His loopy loops and break beats come from whimsical and off-kilter inspirations. He often sings and chants in a made-up language.

In “Hamihadarigeri” he dices and slices a left-field choice, indeed, “Symphonique #1 (Portrait of a Monarch)” a piece by the legendary blind musician Louis Hardin, AKA Moondog, The Viking of 6th Avenue. It’s amazing and the animated video absolutely lives up to the music. What an audio-visual knockout.

One YouTube commenter, “originalpaulisdead” wrote:

“this video deserves to be played continuously on a hundred foot screen in times square.”

I agree!
 

 
Thank you Taylor Jessen!

 
Depressing to read this? Yes, but it was 1938 so what do you expect?

The good news is Disney hired a woman by the name of Retta Scott in 1942 who worked as one of the animators on Bambi. You go, Retta!
 

June 7, 1938

Miss Mary V. Ford
Searcy,
Arkansas

Dear Miss Ford,

Your letter of recent date has been received in the Inking and Painting Department for reply.

Women do not do any of the creative work in connection with preparing the cartoons for the screen, as that work is performed entirely by young men. For this reason girls are not considered for the training school.

The only work open to women consists of tracing the characters on clear celluloid sheets with Indian ink and filling in the tracings on the reverse side with paint according to directions.

In order to apply for a position as “Inker” or “Painter” it is necessary that one appear at the Studio, bringing samples of pen and ink and water color work. It would not be advisable to come to Hollywood with the above specifically in view, as there are really very few openings in comparison with the number of girls who apply.

Yours very truly,

WALT DISNEY PRODUCTIONS, LTD

By:

(Signed)

Via Retronaut

 
This piece, “The Sex Life of Robots” was one of the few segments that I didn’t personally—control freak that I am—produce in the Disinformation TV series, it was produced and shot by Doug Stone and edited by Nimrod Erez. As you’ll see, it arrived a little polished gem and was one of my favorite things in the entire series.

The character you’re going to meet here, animator Mike Sullivan will be a familiar face to a certain percentage of DM readers for his roles in both Robert Downey Sr.‘s Greasers Palace (he played Lamy “Homo” Greaser) and the low-budget early 80s slasher flick Madman. Mike was also a special effects technician on one of the Star Trek films, worked in the art department of early SNL and did many of the “Foto Funnies” strips found in the National Lampoon magazine during its heyday.

Today Sullivan runs his Cloud Studios from a dusty loft on 26th Street and 6th Ave in NYC, near the site of the weekly 6th Ave Flea Market, which he scours for Barbie and GI Joe dolls to modify and put through perverse paces for his perpetual work-in-progress magnum opus, “The Sex Life of Robots.”

Mike’s work has been covered in several publications and exhibited in museums. You can visit his website where a few of his beautiful one-of-a-kind robot porno stars are for sale.

NSFW or apparently Virgin Air: A few months back this segment was featured on the in-flight Boing Boing channel and there were some complaints. I was pleased to see that the show was still a lil’ controversial after more than a decade.
 

 
J. G. Ballard once said, if by some terrible calamity all art from the 20th century was destroyed except for the work of one artist, then it would be possible to recreate all of the century’s greatest artistic developments if that artist was Eduardo Paolozzi.

Deliberate hyperbole, but there is an essence of truth here, as Paolozzi produced such an incredible range and diversity of art that it has been difficult for critics and art historians to classify him. He began as a Surrealist, before becoming the first Pop Artist—a decade before Warhol put paint on canvas. He then moved on to print-making, design, sculpture and public art to international success.

Born in Edinburgh, to an Italian family in 1924, Paolozzi spent much of his childhood at his parent’s ice cream parlor, where he was surrounded by the packaging, wrapping and cigarette cards that later inspired his Pop Art. This early idyll of childhood was abruptly ended when Italy declared war on Britain in 1940. Paolozzi awoke one morning to find himself, along with his father and uncles, incarcerated, in the city’s Saughton Prison, as undesirables, or enemies of the state. Paolozzi was held for 3 months, but his father and uncles were deported to Canada on the ship HMS Arandora Star, which was torpedoed by a U-boat off the north-west coast of Ireland. The vessel sank with the loss of 630 lives.

Considered psychologically unsuitable for the army, the teenage Paolozzi studied at the Edinburgh School of Art, in 1943, before finishing at the Slade School in London, which he found disappointingly conservative in its approach to art.

After the war, Paolozzi moved briefly to Paris where he visited some of the century’s greatest artists, then resident in the city—Giacometti, Braque, Arp, Brâncuşi, and Léger. In his youthful boldness, Eduardo had telephoned each of these artists after discovering their numbers in the telephone directory. He was greeted as an equal, he later claimed, most probably because the war had just ended. The experience taught Paolozzi much, and emboldened his ideas. On his return to London, Paolozzi presented a slide show of adverts and packaging, which was the very first Pop Art.

Paolozzi developed his distinctive collages and multiple images of Marilyn Monroe long before Warhol and even Richard Hamilton, the artist with whom he showed at the now legendary This Is Tomorrow exhibition, at the Whitechapel Gallery in 1956.

Paolozzi eventually tired of his association with Pop Art, as it limited his incredibly diverse artistic vision. The same year as This Is Tomorrow, he played a deaf mute, with fellow artist Michael Andrews, in the first major Free Cinema movie Together by Lorenza Mazzetti.

By the late 1950s, he had moved on to industrial print-making,  before producing an incredibly awe-inspiring range of designs for buildings, sculptures and public art—from his mosaic for Tottenham Court Road tube station to the cover of Paul McCartney’s Red Rose Speedway, through to such epic sculptures Newton, outside of the British Library, Vulcan, Edinburgh, and Head of Invention, Design Museum, London.

In 1984, Paolozzi conceived and produced a brief strange and surreal animation 1984: Music for Modern Americans, which was animated and directed by Emma Calder, Susan Young and Isabelle Perrichon, and based photocopies of Paolozzi’s original drawings.
 

 
No, this wasn’t Black Sabbath’s attempt to make their own Yellow Submarine, this is actually just a (pretty darned brilliant) parody from the short-lived Comedy Central series, TV Funhouse.

The band goes on vacation in Hawaii to unwind after a tour. Ozzy, naturally, is portrayed as a befuddled idiot, Bill’s drunk as hell and Geezer and Tony are stuck-up, disapproving snobs. Produced by Robert Smiegel, animated by John Schnall and written by Metalocalypse co-creator Tommy Blacha.

Some drug-damaged YouTube commenters—and no doubt Ozzy himself—seem to think they remember this from the 1970s!!!
 

 
A condensed, cartoon version of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, as imagined by Guinea Pig Theater.

Many people view this play as one in which nothing whatsoever happens. Clearly, if you’re [sic] hold this view, you have missed the existential boat that Samuel Beckett so poignantly explores in this modern classic. Since guinea pigs excel at waiting, among other things, who better to bring this masterpiece to life than Guinea Pig Theater!

Sit back, enjoy a carrot, and experience Waiting For Godot as you never have before.

Hardly as Beckett intended, when the play was first performed sixty-years ago at the Théâtre de Babylone, Paris, January 4th, 1953, but still fun.