Yellow Submarine is back.

Yellow Fever

Two animators train their wild brains on the ‘Yellow Submarine’

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This is not a film review; rather, it’s a freewheeling discussion of life and popular culture.

THOUGH IT’S SURELY not mentioned in either fellow’s résumé, it must be noted that Phil Robinson–vice president and co-founder of San Francisco’s Wild Brain animation studio–can pull off an uncannily accurate impression of ex-Beatle Ringo Starr, while his associate George Evelyn–one of Wild Brain’s insanely prolific animation directors–can do a mean Blue Meanie.

“Glove, nice glove,” Evelyn purrs, squeezing his upper-range baritone into an eerie, skyrocketing falsetto, then suddenly shrieks, “Destroy them! Destro-o-o-o-o-y-y-y the-e-e-e-m-m-m!”

Robinson–who was about to say something–instead erupts into a warm lava-flow of appreciative laughter. “Good Meanie,” he remarks.

Robinson, a self-described “hard-bitten animation director,” and Evelyn–who have been enjoying a good time as Wild Brain Inc. steams through its fifth straight year of growth–have just been to see a rare big-screen exhibition of Peter Max’s 1968 film Yellow Submarine.

The legendary animated phantasmagoria–a bizarre, nearly plotless trip beneath the waves to the “unearthly paradise” of Pepperland, recently invaded by music-hating Blue Meanies–has just been released in video for the first time in over a decade and a half, and a handful of theaters and film festivals across the county (including the upcoming Mill Valley Film Festival) are celebrating with theatrical showings of the one-of-a-kind film.

Robinson and Evelyn caught a screening in San Francisco, not far from the ever-expanding Wild Brain studios where the two seasoned animators–along with co-founders Jeff Fino and John Hays–have made a name for themselves as one of the most energetic and versatile animation houses in the world. They’ve quickly become the premier independent animation studio in the United States, making cutting-edge commercials while building a massive client list that includes Microsoft, Disney, Nike, and Levi Strauss.

At the same time, Wild Brain is providing high-profile services to the major movie studios, having recently produced the feature-length film Ferngully 2: The Magical Rescue (Robinson was the director), several episodes of HBO’s Spawn series, and the computer-animated characters for the upcoming The Adventures of Rock and Bullwinkle. Wild Brain is also preparing to launch an animated TV series called Poochini’s Yard.

At the moment though, Robinson and Evelyn are taking a break to discuss their somewhat disparate views of Yellow Submarine.

Evelyn–he’s the director of MTV’s infamous cartoon short Doktor Zum and the Forbidden Mysteries of the Unknown and the Forbidden–first saw the psychedelic Beatles film while a freshman in college and hasn’t seen it since. Until now.

“I loved it all over again,” he says. “The main thing I liked was that weird ’60s, hippy, Peter Max kind of whatever. It was so totally different from any animated film I’d seen previously. I liked the idea of using animation in a totally fantastic way. Yellow Submarine is so totally off the scale. I mean, where the hell is Pepperland? That appealed to me, and still appeals to me–using animation to the Max.” So to speak.

Robinson, on the other hand, had just seen the film for his first time–strange, but true–and he found it far less delightful than his associate did.

“I certainly recognize all of the groundbreaking aspects of what Yellow Submarine did when it first arrived,” he says. “But it still falls flat for me. The facial details of the characters were so stylized that it made it very difficult for the animators to show a range of emotions. They felt very much like paper cutouts.”

“I found the physical flatness of the characters to be quite appealing,” counters Evelyn. “To me, that was quite a Beat-alic thing. They were never the world’s most active personalities. They were always a pretty deadpan quartet.

“So that flatness worked for me.”

ROBINSON has another point to make. “A few years after Yellow Submarine–which probably did feel pretty revolutionary at the time–we suddenly saw the release of Fritz the Cat,” he points out, refering to Ralph Bakshi’s infamous X-rated feature film. “To me, that was far more of an underground, groundbreaking film.”

“Yeah, in terms of its gritty reality and its R. Crumb-ness, Fritz the Cat was pretty daring,” Evelyn agrees.

“What’s interesting to me,” he continues, “for all this talk of Yellow Submarine’s revolutionary standing, it’s really still a one-of-a kind thing. The animation industry is still locked into the semi-realistic, Disney model of animation.

“As far as films go that are designed to be pure fantasy, pure imagination, pure color and design and graphics–there’s only movie, and that’s Yellow Submarine.”

Talking to this pair of innovative animation pioneers, one can’t help but wonder if the re-release of Yellow Submarine will have any inspirational effect on the films of tomorrow or the artists of today?

“I hope it does,” Evelyn says. “If Yellow Submarine kicks ass in video and makes a lot of money, then there might be some kind of fantastic Yellow Submarine clone or even a Yellow Submarine 2 or something like that.

“Actually,” he says with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t mind taking on that project myself.”

At any rate, there’s one area in which Yellow Submarine is almost sure to make a conspicuous impact.

Says Robinson, “There are definitely going to be a lot of Blue Meanies on the streets this Halloween.”

Yellow Submarine screens Oct. 18-21 during the Mill Valley Film Festival at 6:45 and 8:45 p.m. at the Sequoia Theatre, 25 Throckmorton Ave., Mill Valley. $7.50. 415/380-0888.

From the September 30-October 6, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Weird Science

Are Dr. Frank Baxter and those wacky Bell Science films ready for a comeback?

By David Templeton

IT WAS NEARLY 18 years ago–late January of 1982–that a soft-spoken, bespectacled bald man named Dr. Frank C. Baxter suffered a fatal heart attack in San Marino, Calif. For so doing, the 85-year-old retired English professor was quickly rewarded with a 50-word obituary in Time magazine. He’d taught literature at the University of Southern California, the brief notice informed the world, and throughout the 1950s he’d been the host of a popular television show, a series of “lively lectures on the Bard,” called Shakespeare on TV.

He won several awards for that show, including seven Emmys.

And then he died.

To those who remember Dr. Frank Baxter, the Time obituary makes one thing perfectly clear: the writer of the piece had no idea who Frank Baxter was.

On paper, the Emmy awards for the long-forgotten Shakespeare show must have seemed the most significant thing about the newly deceased, decidedly obscure gentleman. So Time ended up giving Dr. Baxter his final honor without offering a single word of reference to his most significant accomplishment, the one phenomenal achievement that has propelled the good doctor into the pop cultural subconscious of an entire generation of baby boomers while making him a childhood hero to an army of now middle-aged, publicly educated science nerds.

If the Time writer had only known–and had the editors felt Dr. Baxter deserving of more than 50 words–the obituary might have read: “Dr. Frank Baxter, 85, beloved star of the strange, unintentionally campy Bell Laboratory Science Series, eight perversely earnest educational films–including Our Mr. Sun, Hemo the Magnificent, and The Alphabet Conspiracy–that have been the source of unexpected entertainment in classrooms for over 30 eye-opening years.

“He was best known for wearing glasses and having no hair.”

Says Geoff Alexander, a San Jose-based film collector and exhibitor, “Whenever I get into a discussion of educational films, somebody always asks, ‘Hey, does anyone remember that funny bald guy, with the glasses, who used to do those weird science films?’ I’m usually the only one who can say, ‘You know, he’d probably rather be known as Dr. Frank Baxter.’ ”

Alexander, the founder of Cine16, a long-running, weekly exhibition of old 16mm films, speaks eagerly of Dr. Baxter’s place in the annals of educational film.

“He’s the guy!” Alexander exclaims. “He’s an icon. Anyone who went to school had to sit through at least one of those movies. People might not remember Dr. Frank Baxter’s name, but they remember him.”

Jok Church, creator of the “Ask Beakman & Jax” comic strip and the Beakman’s World television show, goes even further.

“Frank Baxter is responsible for the image our culture has of scientists,” says Church. “You say ‘scientist’ in this culture and that’s where we go, he’s what we think of.”

What’s funny about that is that Dr. Baxter–a professor of literature–was never a real scientist. He just played one on TV. Funny, too, that an icon like Baxter could exert so much influence and yet remain so completely anonymous.

“The influence of the Bell Science films is almost a subliminal one,” says Wallace Stevens. A former purchasing agent for various Southern California school districts, Stevens recalls buying the Bell Science films, a quirky mix of animation and live action, for many of the schools he represented. But after all these years, even he was hard-pressed to recall the name of the series, or of Frank Baxter. Yet he still carries unshakable images from the films themselves, mainly the exposed hearts of animals and the booming voice of the animated Mr. Sun.

“It’s almost like they’ve been absorbed into our subconscious mind while bypassing our memory,” he says.

The films are seldom used in schools today, mainly because of their old-fashioned (and undeniably hilarious, in an ironic way) combination of science, pro-capitalist propaganda, and blatant religious moralizing. Several even begin with a recitation of Scripture.

But there are still a handful of educators who occasionally pull the films from the mothballs, aware that the films do one thing very well: they make science understandable.

“Kids love them,” says Dale Ahern, a fifth-grade teacher at Valley Vista Elementary School in Petaluma.

Every now and then, Ahern will pull Our Mr. Sun from the archives of the Sonoma County Office of Education.

“It’s a wonderful science film in the way it breaks down all the facts in a way that kids will actually listen to,” he says. “They tune into the details, so afterwards, when we talk about the movie, the students remember things. They actually tell me that the sun is 93 million miles from the earth.”

Alexander wholeheartedly agrees.

“These films have been unjustly ignored,” he insists, though he also admits with a chuckle, “Some of them contain some of the most blatant pro-religious propaganda this side of Gene Scott.”

“That stuff goes right over the kids’ heads, though. They don’t even notice it,” argues Mike Pesutich, a sixth-grade teacher at Valley Vista who occasionally shows parts of Hemo the Magnificent for its illustrations of the human circulatory system. “It’s a great science film. It really hits the mark. The kids pay attention–and they especially like to see the bit with all the exposed beating hearts of all those birds and animals. It’s just gross enough for modern kids.”

It may be no surprise that, here at the end of the millennium, when the debate between science and religion seems to be heating up again (think of all the recent brouhaha about the Kansas Board of Education’s decision to remove evolution from the mandatory curriculum), Dr. Frank Baxter is making a quiet comeback.

According to Rhino Home video–which released the eight films on video four years ago–the series is selling slowly but steadily, mainly on Amazon.com and other Internet retail sites. Alexander, who has already exhibited one of the films at his Cine16 showcase, is planning a Bell Science retrospective. Several fans have already hosted their own Bell science film festival in living rooms and workplace cafeterias.

THE FILMS were made over a 10-year period, beginning with Our Mr. Sun in 1955. Produced for television by Bell Telephone Laboratories, they were one series out of many that were sponsored by a major corporation. In the early days of television, such corporate sponsorships of programming was a common occurrence, resulting in such prime-time delights as G.E. Theater, Campbell Playhouse, and The Ford Star Review.

The Bell Science series was envisioned as a groundbreaking, state-of-the-art introduction of scientific ideas to the popular culture. The project was offered to film director Frank Capra (It’s a Wonderful Life), who hoped to use the films to restart his career after a post-McCarthy backlash he incurred for his defense of the infamous anti-communist witch-hunts.

Capra ended up writing and directing the first three–Our Mr. Sun (about solar energy), Hemo the Magnificent (all about blood), and The Strange Case of the Cosmic Rays (on the very trendy subject of radiation)–and producing a fourth, Meteora: The Unchained Goddess (about weather), directed by horror movie star Richard Carlson.

Mr. Sun debuted on CBS in 1956 at 10 p.m., making it clear that Bell Labs was not aiming at an audience of children, but at adults. The others came along, one per year, until Capra left the project. After a hiatus of three years, five more Bell Lab films were aired: Gateways to the Mind (about the five senses), The Alphabet Conspiracy (about the history of language), Thread of Life (about DNA), About Time (self-explanatory), and a Disney-produced final entry, The Restless Sea.

Except for the last one, all of the Bell Science films starred Dr. Frank Baxter, who was introduced each time out as Dr. Research–and displayed a great knack for explaining complicated things in simple language. Perhaps a bit too simple. Critics at first applauded Capra’s creative use of animation and humor, but many soon tired of the films, complaining that they oversimplified science.

Tellingly–from a historical viewpoint–there was, at that time, no mention at all of the series’ religious content, most overt in the Capra-made films. When the animated Hemo launches into a self-promoting tirade, he proclaims, “I am the song of the lark, the blush of the cheek, the spring of the lamb; I am the price men have paid for their freedom, I am the wine in the sacred chalice,” and during those final two remarks, Capra shows a panorama of a U.S. military graveyard, and a quick shot of Jesus passing the cup at the Last Supper.

BY THE TIME Capra had left and the Bell Science series continued with Owen Crump’s The Alphabet Conspiracy–a similarly quirky phantasmagoria in which the ever-patient Dr. Baxter dissuades the Mad Hatter and the March Hare from setting off a bomb under the English language–the experts had taken command. Not a Scripture was uttered in any of the final films.

By that time–the last Bell Science program aired in 1964–the films had already begun their new career as a classroom staple in schools throughout the country.

It is precisely because of the aforementioned anachronistic eye-openers that the films are so much fun today, if viewed with a sense of humor. Dr. Baxter’s prediction of an all-solar America by the year 2000 is enough to make an environmentalist weep, and modern American girls are sure to snicker when shown an animated pre-feminist housewife and told, “This lady’s parasol has one and one half horsepower of sunshine continually poured on it, enough to power her washing machine, her sewing machine, her refrigerator, and her vacuum cleaner.”

And the sequence in which Hemo displays the beating hearts of various animals, concluding with a perspiring, palpitating human heart, is gross enough to appeal to any modern preteen mind.

“THE HUMAN heart-t-t-t is divided-d-d-d into four-r-r-r chambers-s-s-s, two atria and two ventricles-s-s-s,” intones Bill Cheswick, giving a dead-on impersonation of Dr. Baxter, complete with the underwater warble of old audiovisual systems.

“I was a big fan of Frank Baxter,” says Cheswick, who now works for Bell Labs in New Jersey overseeing the Labs’ Lucent mapping project. His Web page lists Dr. Baxter as his childhood hero.

“When I was in school, I drank up and swallowed everything Dr. Baxter said,” Cheswick recalls. “The movies were so cool. I remember seeing Hemo the Magnificent and running home to brag to my parents that I’d seen an open-heart operation.”

When Cheswick first arrived at Bell Labs, he discovered the old films in the company’s archives and began hosting lunchtime film festivals. Aside from the camp value of these screenings, he was surprised at how well the science held up. “I was impressed by how many times I sat there thinking, ‘Oh, yeah. I knew that. I guess I must have learned it from this movie–and remembered it for 30 years. That’s pretty cool.”

To Denise Cushing, a Marin County office manager, the appeal of the films was the line-drawing cartoon characters that helped Dr. Baxter bring the scientific principles to life.

“Mr. Sun is my favorite,” she says with a grin. “A very warm childhood memory. I was one of those twisted children who grew up watching Warner Bros. cartoons, so any cartoon would get my interest. The Bell Science films had such a sense of quiet innocence and wonder that it stuck with me my entire life. My own sense of wonder about the world may have started right there.”

It’s that sense of wonder about the future–and especially the future of America–that some claim was not as benign as it seemed.

Jok Church–whose high-energy Beakman TV series is as indicative of its own time period as the Bell films are of theirs–talks of being “spoon fed” on the Bell films and other 1950s corporate-sponsored technology films.

“I grew up with an image of the future that was largely created by the automobile companies,” he says. “My favorite was 1999, by the Filco Ford company. It was a day in the life of this futuristic family, with a hover car, a closet that dry-cleaned their clothes, and nuclear-powered weather beams that could simultaneously make snow for Billy and sunshine for Betty. That shit was all sold to us as reality. We believed that was our future.

“So when everybody in the 1960s found out that a lot of their life was bullshit, and that things weren’t working out so well, what we were reacting to, in great part, was that entire myth that was embodied in those films,” Church says.

Not that he thinks the films had no merit, or that they should remain in obscurity. In fact, he says he’s happy to hear they’ve been released on video for a new audience.

“I don’t think we should put anything on the trash heap of history,” Church says. “You only know where you are by knowing where you’ve been. These films were a big part of our path as baby boomers, informing what we believeÑand in many instances what we’ve rejectedÑand the fact that they were such a big part of our lives is significant in and of itself.”

Geoff Alexander agrees, and he’s glad that the films are beginning to receive attention again.

“I think we’re going into a new era, in terms of cinema,” he says. “I predict that people will start paying more and more attention to these films, as history, as cinema. Then we will realize that these movies were not only a reflection of their time and cultureÑthey helped shape it.”

As Denise Cushing succinctly concludes, “It’s just too bad that Dr. Frank isn’t here to see that he’s made it to video!”

That’s true. He might even be able to explain how to set a VCR.

From the September 23-29, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Photograph by Michael Amsler

Bucking Authority

Comedian Tom Smothers on censorship and the squandering of free speech

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This column is not a review; rather, it’s a freewheeling, tangential discussion of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

TOM SMOTHERS is annoyed. And he appears to be enjoying it. We’ve just seen an afternoon matinee of Outside Providence, a charming, funny little coming-of-age story in which the teenage protagonists swear like angry sailors and smoke more pot than a whole convention of California asthma sufferers. Set in the early ’70s, Outside–written by Peter and Bobby Farrelly (of There’s Something about Mary fame)–is a profanity-fueled homage to recreational authority bashing; it’s The Catcher in the Rye for stoners.

“It’s basically one pot-smoking scene after another,” pronounces an elegantly goateed Smothers, eager to offer his energetic critique. “And I’m not square on that subject, but it got to be so redundant.”

As we amble from the theater and set our trajectory toward the nearest cup of coffee, Smothers–the 62-year-old, yo-yo-twirling, elder half of the infamous Smothers Brothers comedy duo–concedes that he is not the film’s target audience.

“I was never a stoner in high school–so I can’t identify with all that pubescent drug stuff,” he says. “I didn’t get high until I was 21.”

That would have been around 1958, just before Tom and his comic bass-playing brother, Dick Smothers, hit it big with a string of irreverent comedy albums. Their success as recording stars eventually led to television. After a goofy 1965 sitcom–with Tom playing an inept guardian angel–the brothers hit their stride in 1967 with The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. An immediate, top-rated, prime-time sensation on CBS, the variety show quickly became a major censorship battleground, as the Smothers’ increasingly progressive political views–they were outspoken opponents of the Vietnam War, for one thing–threw the network’s censors into overtime.

THE BROTHERS RESISTED all attempts at censorship, balking loudly when CBS pulled co-star Pat Paulsen’s mock presidential campaign speeches–“If nominated, I will not run. If elected, I will not serve”–and when the censor clipped the remarks of singer Joan Baez. (While she was dedicating a song to her then-husband and convicted draft resister David Harris–she straightforwardly explained that he was about to serve a two-year prison term for resisting the Vietnam draft. CBS cut Baez’s speech right after the word prison, denying the public her explanation of why her husband was jail-bound.)

The controversial show finally was canceled, still performing in the Top 10, during the summer of 1969. Other TV shows soon followed (on other networks) for the Smothers, and the duo has enjoyed a tremendously fruitful touring career. Tom, also a successful Sonoma winemaker, can frequently be seen on Bill Maher’s late-night Politically Incorrect program–but history will best remember the Smothers Brothers as those brilliant TV troublemakers from the ’60s.

WE HAVE OUR COFFEE. Squeezed into the corner of a quiet local cafe–Smothers lives on a vine-covered mountain in nearby Kneed–the comic is still grousing playfully at the sheer number of “objectionable phrases” that were crammed into Outside Providence, the tale of a blue-collar kid (Shawn Hates) with a redneck dad (Alec Baldwin) who always calls him Dildo. After being transferred to a highbrow “prep school,” the kid locks horns with the school’s sociopathic administration.

He does this mainly by lighting up joints and swearing a lot.

“It was a nice little movie, but man, every other word was ‘fuck,'” Smothers marvels. ” ‘Fuck’ this, and ‘fuck’ that. It’s the Farrelly brothers,” he surmises, targeting the film’s writers, a very different pair of envelope-pushing siblings. “That kind of language is indulgent and unnecessary.”

Wait. Is this Tom Smothers–the former free-speech poster boy–talking? “Let me tell you something,” he laughs. “There’s a great illusion that we now have more freedom merely because people say ‘fuck’ more often. So here we are, the language in movies and on TV has gotten raunchier, the subject matter has gotten sexier and more explicit–but there’s no content to it.

“People come up to me and say, ‘Man, don’t you wish you were on TV today? Look what people get away with saying?’ And I answer, ‘Really? What are they saying?’ It’s all jack-off jokes and narcissistic reference to bodily functions. There’s practically no real political satire or social commentary. And as we get further along with these media conglomerations owned by major corporations, you won’t see a single word of political satire on prime-time TV.

“But, wow, we’ve got ‘freedom of speech,’ so we’ll still have Hill Street Blues, with its dirty words and naked behinds,” Smothers adds evenly, managing to reveal his obvious passion while remaining entirely calm.

“When we were censored,” he continues, “it wasn’t four-letter words we were fighting for. It was ideas. We were censored for talking about the war, about voter registration, about Martin Luther King. If we were on the air right now we’d be talking about how our government is up for sale to the highest bidder. We’d tell how all these politicians, busy playing the money game, have turned America into the most corrupt country on the planet. We’d talk about how American arrogance has damaged country after country, all around the world.

Shaking his head, he adds, “We sure wouldn’t waste what ‘freedom of speech’ we have, trying to pass off a few four-letter words.”

WHICH BRINGS US BACK to the movie. “I was thinking,” Smothers says, “The kid in the movie handles every confrontation by telling the authority figures to just shut up. It gets him in more trouble.

“He reminded me of me,” he says with a smile. “I got into so many screaming matches with network presidents. ‘How can you tell me to calm down when people are dying in Vietnam!’ But I know now that I handled it all wrong. I was ‘bucking authority.’ I was behaving inappropriately. I know that, and I know I’d do it differently now.

“But,” he adds, grinning widely, “It doesn’t mean I wasn’t right.”

Tom Smothers will perform yo-yo tricks at a kids’ variety show that also features BMX riders, teen mariachi sensation Mayra Carol, mimes, hog callers, and lots more. Wednesday, Oct. 6, at 6:30 p.m. Luther Burbank Center, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. Tickets are $7-$10. 546-3600.

From the September 23-29, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.