In true reefer-smoking, laudanum-quaffing Paramount pre-code glory, everything in the 1933 Betty Boop short SNOW WHITE is alive and wriggling and--best of all--swathed in the groovy music of Cab Calloway and his Orchestra. If you've ever wanted to see Cab peel of his skin and dance around like a ghost, scatting and hi-de-hoing into all sorts of pretzel medallion shapes (as above), this is it.
Betty was always great to "come down to" after a night on the town. Utterly alien and bizarre yet warmly comforting -- all the trappings of a Saturday morning cartoon childhood were there (as Tiny Dr. Tim would say "in real black and white -- I despise electric pink.") So then, why was everything so "adult"? So pre-code. Even the old Boop tapes we could find skipped the wilder stuff like this. We were without internet then, so had to figure it out all for ourselves. Now we know, and now we don't even have to go rummaging at the back of old video rental places to find them. The Boops are on youtube! That's so sick! Tiny Dr. Tim would go for it, and probably did.
Regular musical guests in the land of Betty, Cab Calloway and his orchestra were perfect foils to the squiggly shapes and (literally and figuratively) loopy adventures of the saucily under-garbed Betty, her dog/pimp Bimbo and the frighteningly balloon-like Koko the clown. All of them run rampant through what's considered to be the best and most surreal of all Max Fleischers's pre-code Boops, SNOW WHITE, wherein Cab sings "Saint James Infirmary," with plenty of that dynamite "Hi de Ho", his lanky white tuxedo-ed frame rotoscoped into the figure of a twirling dancing ghost with improbably long legs, accompanied by swirling phantasm chorus in the hell/underground/uptown jazz joint, the Mystery Cave.
As anyone who ever took an African American culture course knows, Harlem in the 1930s was a very cool and artistically happening place, and the hipsters in the white downtown spots all knew it, and made the pilgrimage regularly: intellectuals, long-hairs, bohemians, musicologists, anyone with a pulse. Harlem was a sacredly profane initiation rite to these white cats, akin to mystery initiation rituals of ancient Greece, usually undertaken late at night after downtown joints closed and the courage was up--for here art and life was far more vivid, with a mix of frenzy and precision that eluded white culture (hence the constant co-opting). Orson Welles did his Voodoo Macbeth and the Cotton Club music was so hot it made the rest of the city's orchestras seems to be in slurry comas.. This awe comes through SNOW WHITE at the Mystery Cave, where life and death mix together in a ghoulish romp, with Boop encased in ice as a temple sacrifice. It all fits beautifully together to make SNOW WHITE one far-out pinnacle in pre-code cartoon surrealism.
|say boy, hand me up another shot of that boooo-ooooze|
Seen today, it behooves one to keep these details in mind, which adds to the cartoon's mythic and historical resonance. However, none of that is ultimately needed to dig it. All you need bring with you is the realization that Miss B's magical universe is the perfect code cover for transgressions made under the ruling elite's very noses. Kids could watch it and just dig the slapstick, squares might just think it a lot of imaginative kiddie nonsense, but the "awake" hep cats up on 110th Street or down in the Village could dig how far gone the Fleischers were, doing their thing and capturing like few others the way death's presence represented memento mori (to contrast frenzied life with), frozen beauties (all the better to contrast cozy warmth with), dancing ghosts (to contrast frozen living squares with), and it all affirmed life beyond the sickly sentiment of 'sweet' music played in midtown or under Disney's west coast cutesy pie critters.
Working all day with pen and ink / to win you with a wink / aint she cute / boop boop be doop / then trucking up to the Cotton Club to scope out new bands for the cartoon soundtracks, not lilly-white crooners (though sometimes there were those too) but the real jumpin' jive swing of Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong... that's kind of what it's all about, isn't it? Wake up, sleepy cats its four o-clock in the morning and your pupils are still big as Cab's ghost mouth in full "Ooooooo"! Just check the mirror and see, but then find this shizz and all is going to be all nice. Forever (Find it on youtube here)