Mike
No, more of a biography of a deflated ego blowout getting in touch with its inner tube. Listening to the soundtrack now.... Frank Sinatra: "It Was a Very Goodyear."
Frank
Ouch.
Mike
Well, you pumped me.
Frank
The movie sounds good but I'm looking forward to the sequel, "Son of Rubber" starring Fred MacMurray Jr.
Sounds like a retread.
I went looking for footage from the film and found the non-vehicular trailer.
To my surprise, "Rubber" could be special. It certainly rides to the top on the hydraulic lift of my must-see list!
I've been rewatching a lot of the timeless Laurel and Hardy comedies. My favorite of the team's features may very well be "Block-Heads" (1938), although "Sons of the Desert" (1933) and "Way Out West" (1937) are strong contenders.
Looking through some of Stanley and Oliver's movie posters, I was dumbstruck to find this "Block-Heads" image with the headline, "90 Minutes of Happiness and Hi-Jinks."
We all know motion picture advertising is steeped in hyperbole, of course, but the official running time of this film is only 57 minutes, less than two-thirds of the published promise!
And, by all industry definitions I've ever encountered, that is three minutes short of the minimum recognized length to term a production as a feature. So, two big lies right there.
I could easily argue the project has more happiness and hi-jinks than most 90-minute alleged comedies, but the stated truth in advertising is grossly dishonest. Thanks, block-heads!
It is a bit surprising that I didn't become a smoker. When I was a kid, cigarette ads on television were as commonplace as westerns. I was maybe 10 around the time this commercial for Winston appeared. I shied away from tobacco, although "The Flintstones" was captivating and influential to me.
I never ate a brontosaurus burger either.
I did take a forceful shower under an elephant's trunk. I found the tepid nasal fluids cleansing to be lacking. Subsequently, I was forced to hire and bring in a hedgehog to sneeze on me.
Fifty years ago this morning, I opened my eyes to a great new old world -- a place called Bedrock. The previous evening, "The Flintstones" debuted on prime time network television and I was there.
The strange, comical, prehistoric universe of Fred and Wilma and Dino Flintstone, plus their nifty neighbors, Barney and Betty Rubble, was too delicious for this 8-year-old Neanderthal to resist. My friends, too. "The Flintstones" became the first communal obsession of our youth, followed, three months later, by Walt Disney's "One Hundred and One Dalmatians" and, three years down the path, Beatlemania.
What had been intended as TV's first animated sitcom for adults — note the product placement for Winston cigarettes — was hijacked by children. We loved the show and were soon teaching ourselves to doodle the characters' pictures during school. I can draw Fred at the click of a pen or the hammer of a chisel.
It wasn't long before producers Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera revamped the concept to pander to kids with the introduction of tot Pebbles (followed quickly by Bamm-Bamm). Great move, boys. The moment that happened — February 2, 10,000 B.C. (We were on tape delay) — the show was altered and ruined forever.
The TV rule of "adding brats to beloved formats doesn't work" was proven once again, or so I told "Lucy" loser Little Ricky.
The chums and I were out of there, moving on to something else, maybe Arithmetic, but probably "The Jetsons."
My first-run "Flintstones" experience was entirely in black-and-white, which was the broadcast norm in 1960. On this page, I've featured the original opening sequence from seasons one and two of the series, plus the end credits for Winston. My memory is the cigarette company was an alternating sponsor, so not prominent each week; therefore, here's a somewhat reworked *generic* closing taken from the color elements.
I prefer the early "Flintstones" title sequences. I owned the vinyl record of the superior, jazzy theme, "Rise and Shine," and played the tune incessantly in my bedroom. There were additional musical selections, including the toe-tapping "Split Level Cave."
But, after 48 years of repetitive TV exposure, the updated "Meet the Flintstones" title footage is better known. I like it well enough. With its drive-in theatre imagery, how could I not?
The closing with the children and Barney and Betty can be seen in this foreign adaptation, although the music track is different than in the U.S. version:
Writing about Jerry Lewis' "The Bellboy" ("The Sell, Boy," and "The Swell 'Boy'"), I was reminded of the other box office monster and shiny new classic film of the summer of 1960, Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho." Both projects were the centerpieces of nervous Paramount Pictures' schedule, released back-to-back during June and July.
In the preceding months, studio executives had refused to become financially involved in either "quickie" movie. The star-producer-directors were forced to arrange funding elsewhere. Paramount believed Jerry was helming an ill-conceived silent comedy and Hitch's venture was too taboo to risk investment. The failure to support these filmmakers led to decisions the company should regret to this day. Both "Psycho" and "The Bellboy" were mammoth hits and cash cows for their investors, primarily Mr. Hitchcock and Mr. Lewis.
Another odd coincidence between these shows can be seen in their unusual coming attractions trailers. Historically, the overwhelming majority of theatre-screened advertisements have been comprised exclusively of actual footage selected from the features, although not so with "Psycho" or "The Bellboy." The two men shot and appeared in special entertainment material relying heavily on their personalities, including spoof elements and strolls around the productions.
I've shared "the fabulous" Alfred's six-minute movie sets tour previously, but here it is again, alongside Jerry's sound stage introductions to his fellow creative conspirators. It's a trailer reel you may have seen in the dark, a half century ago.
One more thing. What if Jerry Lewis had been the bellboy at the Bates Motel?
While I envision a deliciously surreal film with him in the role of Norman, I guess that would not have been possible due to the violence necessary for the character.
However, Jerry could certainly go to work at the motel, schlepping around into various misadventures. It might have been another weird, comic reimagining of terror icons on the model of "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein."
"Ohh, Missus Bay-ates! Time to change your shee-eats!"
I am fascinated by movie advertising in all of its forms, especially coming attractions trailers, print campaigns, and posters.
As early as age 8, I spent more than an hour some days analyzing the movie ads in the local newspaper.
Indeed. I remember the first of those extended sessions like it was July, although it was the July in 1960. I thumbed through "The Atlanta Constitution," spreading the entertainment section and myself across our living room floor. From the prime vantage point of elbows on the carpet and palms under my chin, my eyes landed and focused extensively on "The Bellboy."
My memory is the above advertisement was the opening "Now Showing" placement for the first-run engagement at the Fox Theatre. "The Bellboy" filled a quarter page of newsprint, a large amount of display space in the era. I was captivated by Jerry Lewis' image, of course, plus the comic illustrations and font styles, all of which made a big impression on me.
I checked the papers each subsequent day, watching the art change through various designs from the Paramount Pictures marketing department. I had to wait six weeks, perhaps, for "The Bellboy" to brighten the screen at my local theatre. These publicity diversions kept me energized during the interim.
I saw the motion picture in three different theatrical situations during the decade and have watched it umpteen times on television. I remain very fond of the film, these advertisements, and the full-color poster originals in my collection.
Before writing this piece, I had not planned to view the movie, but I found myself slipping the DVD into the machine. I settled back on the couch. The brisk 71 minutes flew by, as did the previous 50 years of fun.
"The Bellboy" has never let me down and, so, I tipped the guy.
During "Toy Story 3" at the Fox, I found myself caught up in the sentimentality and nostalgia of the film for the playthings of our youth. It got me reminiscing about my favorite childhood toys. I can name the triumvirate, which provided hours upon hours of fun. I've written of Kenner's Give-A-Show Projector, so that leaves Pepsi and pickles.
One of my earliest idols was none other than classic American commercial icon Speedy Alka-Seltzer. At age 3 or 4, spotting this animated lad on the television of the 1950s was truly magical.
Now, in a surprising find via BookSteve's Library, Master Alka-Seltzer is seen teamed with one of grown-up me's favorites, silent movie god Buster Keaton.
Enjoy these nostalgic ads, then go stuff yourself silly, because you'll know what to do. Right, Speedy?
Here's a vintage TV commercial, originating in the mid-1960s. We can bank on that date because of the wardrobe styles and the 16mm film is in color. Such technology would have been a superfluous expense in the earlier black-and-white era.
Plaza Drugs is an Atlanta landmark, primarily due to this ad which ran every night, apparently, for at least 15-20 years. I remember it following "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson" when I was in early high school. WSB-TV, Channel 2, sandwiched the spot between the end of every Carson program and the station's "National Anthem" sign-off at 1 a.m. The piece would show on other stations in the market, usually during the wee hours or occupying time slots when the rates were minimal.
I recall three versions of the advertisement, this one being the final. All used the identical footage and essentially the same narration. The soundtrack was rerecorded with changing musical accompaniments and voiced by different announcers. For a dozen years or so, the pharmacists in the white coats could be heard saying, "Check," as they marked off items on the impressive Plaza Pharmacy note paper.
One particularly somber violin melody was a background theme, haunting and annoying me throughout high school, college, and life. I would stumble out of my chair or bed to turn the volume down on the television whenever I anticipated the Plaza Drugs commercial to be shown.
The hokey presentation was and remains a stock joke for thousands, perhaps millions, of long-time residents of the area, many of whom would not have been caught dead or alive in the store's tumultuous neighborhood of decades ago. Who would risk everything and white dainty gloves to purchase seemingly old-fashioned cosmetics and Hallmark cards at 4 o'clock in the morning, while derelicts lurked and urinated near the front door?
The operation's key selling point was the promise, "Plaza Pharmacy is never closed. Open day and night, including all holidays."
Those words are ingrained and trusted as gospel. The liars have been closed since 1997, according to a source.
Today, "the complete meals and fountain delights" are an apparel business.
We found ourselves held captive inside the Plaza Theatre, Atlanta, during the Silver Scream Spookshow. Oh, sure, we could have walked out any of the convenient exit doors, but at the peril of ridicule and scorn from the other attendees?
I don't think so.
Plus, it was kinda chilly.
Donna and I were already on treacherous ice with the audience. We realized we were the only people in the building without tattoos. It's not that I have anything against tats. My body is a temple for beet juice stains. I need blank skin for my copious collection of beet juice stains, attractive, gnarly.
Hey, spillage lovers, I'm expanding, adding weight to increase my surface area to beet the demand!
Coming soon. Check your local listings and more beets, please.
I produced a Sharpie and scribbled "WICKED" on my wife's forehead. The quick thinking and faux 'ttoo reduced our chances of being kidnapped, roughed up, and/or hooted, while remaining highly fashionable among this crowd, many of them eight.
And it would, maybe, generate some product placement money for our coffers, I informed our coughers, seated next to me, handing them plenty of liquids.
Then, I drew a griffin and a bloody scythe on Donna's lovely cheek. That's what I told her anyway. I was mostly doodling spirals, making certain the pen wasn't dry of ink.
During the live portion of the festivities, a number of scares were inflicted upon the gathered patrons, chiefly by the miraculous birth of the tiny The Glob, evolved from a sneeze. Before our eyes, The Glob grew out of a puddle of Plaza phlegm into a vast orb of The Glob goo, which advanced over the head of each of us petrified viewers dotting the darkened auditorium.
The Glob was last seen slurping along Ponce de Leon Ave. in pursuit of a decongestant and a tissue.
After dabbing Donna with my clean, gentlemanly hanky, I finger-flicked several gelatinous The Glob residues onto some kid in the fourth row, as the feature film attraction hit the screen.
"It Conquered the World" (1956) is an exceptionally tense motion picture that I do believe to be a suppressed documentary of major import, instructing us of a deadly menace come to Earth to annihilate the fabulous babes of the 1950s, all prim and proper and prepared to face their dooms -- "Just a second, Itsy!" -- with perfect coiffures and cosmetic diligence. The Venusian monster surely appreciated the array of fine sassy party dresses and tight sweaters. Welcome to our planet and to our women.
I took the entire outrage in stride, resisting handsomely the dangers of fainting from fright.
Nevertheless, I was comforted by the presence of the registered nurses on duty.
I became aware of Saran Wrap about the time George Jetson was munching the pie in this commercial, meaning when the ad first aired on television, as Mr. Jetson still resides in the distant future and has not eaten the pie I saw him eat, yet.
Anyway, my mother refused to buy Saran Wrap when I was a child. She said it cost too much money and, perhaps, it did in the early '60s when she was packing lunches for four growing boys. We managed through many a brown bag feast with trusty prehistoric wax paper sealing our savory, slimy slabs o' Spam sammiches.
No wonder I am screwed up.
The world changed in the summer of 1969. Hippies frolicked and Mom went wild. She purchased her first box -- and maybe her last box -- of Saran Wrap.
To this day, I can hear her in the kitchen, moaning out of frustration. She was hopeless with gadgets. In her mind, Saran Wrap's clingy, tightening qualities might as well have been an intricate system of clock gears or movable pulleys. She could not master the physical mysteries of the thin plastic, only to have every bit of the confounded material stick and tangle unto itself, far beyond any hope of salvage -- or shrinkage.
No wonder I Ziplock.
I remember the huge wad of wild Saran Wrap, the size of a stalk of dewy bananas or Mothra's cocoon.
The mass enveloped Mom's wrist, elbow, and hand (in that order).
The yards of misguided wonderfulness at both ends of the roll fluttered in the dawn cool, stretching to her right open-toed pump, while the opposite flap continued along with a feminine swoop to an eyelash.
Mother's thumb remained miraculously fresh until my high school's shop class cut her out.
"That's a wrap," I said. "Mom, how about a shrink?"
She gave me The Slow Burn Gaze of Death™ and folded into her car and drove away.
Those kids, though, they were great. They bought me lunch.
I made a conscious decision during high school to avoid becoming an old fogey as I advanced through life. I didn't and don't want to be one of those boring coots who drool, whine, and brag, "When I was your age," etc.
Attitudinally, I've repelled the geezer machine, but society does prove me wrong, surprisingly, making me yearn for the actual crappy pop culture of my youth over the present extreme loss of innocence and civility. What's the matter with kids today?
Growing up, the Plaza Theatre in Atlanta was the third closest movie house to my house, although, at a vast geographical distance of two miles yonder, my mother would seldom drive me over there to the other side of the globe.
Sunday, my wife and I motored more than 160 miles to attend the 70th anniversary celebration at the Plaza.
Take that, Mom!
The theatre opened for business on Dec. 15, 1939. To mark the seven intervening decades of flicks, a few classics from Hollywood's golden year are being unspooled. You may have heard of several of them. How do you say "The Wizard of Oz" and "Gone With the Wind"?
We watched "Gulliver's Travels," the second full-length animated feature film ever released, following "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs." Brothers Max and Dave Fleischer, the able competitors of Walt Disney, crafted this musical comedy while producing their clever Popeye the Sailor cartoons for Paramount.
"Gulliver's," of course, is the tale of a "giant" held prisoner and walked over by tiny Lilliputians.
I know the feeling. Darn cats.
"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" (1939) Trailer via YouTube
We also saw Frank Capra's inspirational "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" with the remarkable James Stewart as an idealistic young patriot thrust into the United States Senate and a dire battle against political corruption.
This superlative picture is as timely (sadly) and powerful today as it was multiple generations ago.
Now, in a surprising find via 
