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Once upon a time—way back in the 1930s—Columbia Pictures and United Artists released Walt Disney's Mickey Mouse cartoons to theatres. But Columbia and United Artists had nothing to do with the cartoons' non-theatrical distribution. So a few years later, when Disney prepared reissue versions for home and TV use, the original Columbia and United Artists main and end title sequences were replaced.
This led to the birth of the "burlap titles" shown here: so-called due to their cloth-like background texture. The burlap titles were printed on safety film stock and spliced into Disney's nitrate negatives. While appealing, they did have a certain
sameness. All used the same logotype for Mickey's name, the same font for each cartoon's episode title, and the same musical notes tossing and turning behind.
The more unique original title sequences seemed to have vanished for parts unknown. Only occasional early release prints were known to preserve them; and in the 1990s, when the vintage Mickey cartoons were restored for laser, VHS, and DVD, only a few such early prints could be found at Disney.
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Animation fans know what happened next. In an effort to return to the original style for home video, "faux" original titles were created to replace their burlap precursors. But while the results were a beautiful improvement, they couldn't quell my curiosity. As a contributing scholar when they were created, I still wanted to see the real originals.
Over the eight (in some cases, nineteen) years since the faux titles' creation, I've searched through private collections and film dealers' backstock in an effort to locate as many originals as I could. I even
bought a few, despite my not usually collecting sound films. Over time, I've come across roughly two dozen title sequences, several of which I've shared here in the past. I've saved most, though, for this post: where, looking at them in sequence, we can gain a better understanding of how the title designs evolved.
We may even get a few surprises!
The Cactus Kid (1930) shows us how we'll look at most of these titles: with the
originals on the
left, and the
recreations on the
right—
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The first Columbia main title design featured thick white lettering on a dark gray background. Whereas earlier and later Mickey opening titles concluded with most of the card fading out, so only the episode title was seen (as in the recreation)—on the first Columbia shorts, the whole card faded out as one unit, title and all.
The first Columbia end title design cloned the 1928-29 Celebrity Pictures look, with goggle-eyed proto-Mickey and Minnie. Only the text under the figures has changed to indicate Columbia.
The recreated titles for
Cactus Kid used later Columbia title cards as design templates. At the time, researchers (myself included) didn't know that the earlier Columbia cards looked any different; thus the understandable discrepancy.
A later Mickey headshot was also added to the start of the recreated Columbia titles; originally, the Columbia Mickey shorts had no headshot.
By the time of
The Shindig (1930) things began to change. The better-known Columbia end title was now used, though I don't yet know whether
The Shindig was the first cartoon to use it:
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Pioneer Days (1930) is the earliest title where Disney itself has publicly released a newly-located original element. It didn't make the
American DVD release in 2003, but for the disc's
later issue in Europe, it was swapped in.
You'll notice that this time the episode title remains on-screen when most of the title card fades out. I don't know if
Pioneer Days was the first Columbia Mickey to use this technique, but it's the earliest example I've thus far seen:
The Castaway (1931) was shown with original titles on the Disney Channel in the 1980s, but cropped tight so the Columbia references weren't visible. Here is the whole image (and its 1990s recreation, very close this time):
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Unlike many of the elements I've accessed and studied, the original
Delivery Boy (1931) was able to be viewed. Here are its main titles courtesy of my friend and colleague
Tom Stathes (compare with the very close recreated version
here):
Well into 1932, Columbia's Mickey title cards were still using primitive 1930 Mickey and Minnie character models. Interesting how they hadn't been supplanted with streamlined designs. Maybe a little
too interesting... for gosh sakes, what's
this?![]()
In spring 1932, when United Artists was preparing to replace Columbia as Mickey distributor, this promo image appeared in a Kay Kamen trade catalog. Drawn unmistakably by Floyd Gottfredson's comics team, it appears to be an intended update of the Columbia title card design.
Nevertheless, I have seen no film elements that include it—Columbia or otherwise. Columbia kept their 1930 design to the bitter end, and then the first United Artists titles looked like this:
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The recreated version this time comes from among the first recreations done. At that time, it was evidently preferred not to mention United Artists, thus the omission of their name.
The recreated title sequences for this and other United Artists cartoons tend to feature the episode title zooming toward us as the rest of the card fades away. Original United Artists Mickeys were famous for this technique—but as I've only recently learned, they didn't introduce it until 1933.
Mickey's Nightmare (1932) was the first Mickey cartoon to open with a Mickey headshot on its initial release. The subsequent
Trader Mickey (1932) had it too:
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The recreated versions here are based on 1974 reissue titles for seven United Artists-era black and white shorts (not including
Trader Mickey). The 1974 end title matches the 1974 main title for design and character poses. Both are staged from further away than the original 1932 image—so that 1970s theatres could crop them on the top and bottom for widescreen.
The opening headshot stayed as-is. At this point, we see that it isn't meant to be Mickey's "real" head—but rather a kind of sparkler toy. The beams of light whirl around it wildly and seem to come from within, as well as from behind. And
then Mickey's face... well... er, see for yourself!
Somewhere, "Exploding Mickey" sits on a therapist's couch alongside the
Lumber-Jack Rabbit Warner Bros shield, asking their mutual shrink how they can apologize to the many kids they've scared.
The
recreated titles for
Whoopee Party use the original title lettering, though inserted in the new template for understandable reasons.
The Wayward Canary (1932) tries out an odd, wider-than-usual font in the original title box. Maybe the 1932 letterer had heard a few noisy birds too many—and was sad, glad, or a little mad. (I was a little mad, myself: no end title on the only original element I could find.)
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By the time of
Mickey's Pal Pluto (1933), "Exploding Mickey" was replaced with one of Mickey's most famous headshots, at first seen in the proportionally small size depicted below.
Pal Pluto is also the earliest short I know (though not necessarily the first) to have originally featured the episode title zooming toward us as the rest of the card fades away. This time the "zoom" is hand-drawn, with the text actually animated as it moves.
The headshot in the recreated version here, with its more contrast-y sunbeam background, also comes from the 1974 reissues.
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Mickey's Mellerdrammer (1933) boasts a title sequence that epitomizes the "classic" look. It opens with a small-size Mickey headshot; its episode title trucks mechanically toward the camera as the rest of the title card fades away. In essence, this is how we remember all the United Artists Mickeys looking (compare with recreated version
here):
But the Disney studio never rested on its laurels. Having reached this "classic" look, the Mickey title sequences kept right on evolving.
With
Ye Olden Days (1933), Disney toyed with making the opening Mickey headshot significantly bigger than before. Its thick lines look a bit awkward at the larger size:
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Perhaps an entirely new headshot was called for. The earlier "Exploding Mickey" was reinked and repainted without the dynamite action (or third-degree burns). The result was a stunning title card variant that has not been seen by scholars for nearly eighty years.
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With this bright new face came other alterations. Instead of zooming toward the viewer, the episode title now fades up to a larger size. The end card boasts a new blurb about the films' recording system.
Puppy Love (1933) was not the first film to effect these changes, but it is the earliest one where I can show you footage in action, here from a silent print in my personal collection. (
Update 9/16/13: Soundtrack comes from
Mickey Mouse in Black and White DVD [2001], where the opening and ending music cues are not original, but I can't help that—
yet!)
Yet the changes to the Mickey titles were still not over. The end of 1933 brought a much more radical transformation in which
all of the title cards were completely redesigned!
This new look would persist through the final black and white shorts in 1935. Here we see
Giantland (1933), the earliest cartoon I know to have reflected the overhaul:
It is "new news" to me and other scholars that the black and white shorts received this final title card revision. Thus, past recreated titles have carried on using the 1932 design, for understandable reasons. Here is a comparison of the original
Two-Gun Mickey (1934; sorry, end card missing) with its recreated equivalent...
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And finally
Mickey's Service Station (1935). Who woulda thunk? Not me... just a few short years ago. It just proves that there's no limit to these discoveries.
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It turns out that the final Mickey black and white opening title was pressed into service one more time later in the 1930s. Several years before the burlap titles, at least some of the early Mickeys got an earlier reissue for which this card became the generic opener. (If you're a film collector and remember these Mickey and Minnie figures, now we know where they started out.)
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Speaking of
Two-Gun Mickey, our favorite rodent's Wild West prowess is also visible this week in
Mickey Mouse: High Noon at Inferno Gulch, the latest volume of Fantagraphics Books' Floyd Gottfredson Library. Locating rare film materials is fun and fascinating—but there is no dearer project to my heart than the Gottfredson Library (Facebook page
here), a series I co-edit and that I've waited my whole life to enjoy.
A "true" blogpost on the Gottfredson Library, and on the fellow writers and scholars who have helped make it possible, will hopefully land on Ramapith in the not-too-distant future. For now, allow me to say that if you like the research that appears on this blog, you'll find a mess of it in
High Noon at Inferno Gulch. Rare spin-offs; unproduced cartoon relics; ancient foreign comic book covers; and with them, 200+ pages of Floyd Gottfredson's Mickey at his two-fisted, personality-plus comics best.
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That's the spirit.
