The animation quality of the 1940s Superman animated serials has never been equaled since. The art design was a deco vision whose colors were vivacious, subtly layered, and vibrant. The character movement was analog realistic. There was nothing it didn’t get right. And no one has come close to recreating its level of artwork in a superhero cartoon since.
Superman became an unmatched national phenomenon in the two years between the publication of Action Comics #1 and 1940. His comics sold in the millions (seriously, they did). He had his own radio show. A giant balloon Superman floated over the Macy’s parade in New York. And movie studios decided it was time to get into the cartoon superhero business.
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Republic Studios got ahold of the rights at first, but negotiations with National Comics (soon to be renamed DC Comics) broke down. It was Paramount’s turn after that, and they had the advantage of owning a controlling interest in the number two animation studio in the business right behind Disney. Fleischer Studios. And Fleischer Studios came with Max Fleischer himself.
By 1940 Max Fleischer was at something of a crossroads in life.
At the age of three, he immigrated from Poland to the USA. His family lived in one of the Jewish “ghettos” of Brooklyn. He did the usual budding artist thing of sketching constantly. His brother David joined him in this. He wanted to make a living as an artist, but his family insisted that he learn a trade. While the immigrant Fleischer family was willing to pay for high school (not free in those days), he had to attend the Mechanics and Tradesman’s School in mid-town Manhatten. He was however allowed to continue his art training at the Art Students League of New York.
It turned out that combining these two educations served Max Fleischer surprisingly well.
He got a job as a sketch artist for Popular Science and began to explore his budding interest in photography. He also began work at the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. He worked his way up to doing his first comic strip; Little Algie.
Max’s interest in mechanics, art, and photography were all combined when he invented and patented the roto-scope. The principle was simple enough: you used it to make a sketch of an actor that had been filmed in live-action, and after you had the movement down you filled in the artwork and color.
The nickelodeons weren’t that picky about content yet so he was able to sell his experiments with the rotoscope as the Out of Inkwell series.
The Fleischer Brothers’ first really big success was with their wholly-owned Betty Boop.
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No, I don’t get the attraction either, but she was a superstar in her day. For some reason, this 1920s flapper spoke to 1930s America. Their other big success was in licensing Popeye. Things were going pretty well for them, but trouble awaited. Another pair of brothers from the Midwest and their talking mouse cartoons were starting to nip at the heels of Fleischer Studios. Although it was Max Fleischer, not Walt Disney that first combined sound with animation.
In 1934 Max Fleischer began trying to sell an odd little passion project to (his senior partner) Paramount Pictures, Gulliver’s Travels. It was to be a feature-length cartoon, and it earned him a hasty “no thanks.” Even after he tried reworking it as a Popeye movie, the answer remained an emphatic NO.
But then Disney’s massive success with Snow White instantly changed the studio’s mind. Gulliver was released eighteen months after Snow White, and I’m afraid it shows. It wasn’t terrible. It just wasn’t as good as Walt Disney’s film. It could be considered a classic, and I was surprised to find out that Paramount had let it slip into the public domain. But the film was rushed, and it showed.
Max and Dave Fleischer were in their mid-fifties by 1940. Considering the average life expectancy was 63 then, they had to feel there was much less road in front of them than behind them. Disney Studios were leaving them behind, and Termite Terrace was nipping at their heels. This kind of thing tends to make old men more cautious. There is a lot less time to make up for big mistakes late in the game. They were trying not to slip into third place and had more interest in hanging on to what they had than in regaining past glory.
So, when Paramount came to them with the chance to be “the very first studio to produce a superhero cartoon,” they were cold to the idea. They went from cold to completely uninterested when they found out that Paramount’s deal left them with no merchandising residuals, and National Comics had the right of veto on everything.
The brothers’ view was, well, we don’t want to do this thing, but we can’t turn down Paramount cold. They are our senior partners. But what we can do is highball the hell out of them and let them walk away from the deal. We’re in the clear that way.
Fleischer Studios returned to the table with “$100,000 per episode. Take it or leave it.” That was about 1,800,000 dollars in 1940, which was completely nuts.
To Max’s shock, Paramount countered, “How about $50,000?” Which was still an absurdly high amount. Sure, it was stupid money, but Max discovered he had a price after all, and that was it. Superman, the cartoon serial, was happening.
At that point, he had to start looking over the problems involved with the production. The biggest was rotoscoping Superman with the technology available. The animated movement was smooth, but the edges tended to be rough. You were tracing, after all. It was easy to clean up if you put your characters in bulky medieval costumes, but so far as the animation was concerned, his skintight outfit made Superman a heroic nude.
Another issue was Superman’s “leaping tall buildings in a single bound.” The Last Son of Krypton was still operating off of his original rules. He could jump twenty-five miles, and it took an artillery shell to pierce his skin. But Kryptonite and the rest were a ways off yet. The problem for Fleischer was he couldn’t make the jumps look good. He finally asked National Comics, “Look, can I just make him fly?” National Comics agreed.
These issues were challenging but not insurmountable, and Max began to feel the kind of engagement with a project that he hadn’t for years.
In addition, Superman appealed to Max Fleischer’s love of science fiction and mechanics. These cartoons always showcased these elements.
No denying it was a major success for Paramount and Fleischer Studios. People were coming to the theaters just to watch the Superman serials and that was not what they were supposed to do. The serials were just filler before the feature, not the feature itself.
These shorts got the Fleischers their first Oscar nomination.
Superman also gave Max Fleischer a more mature subject matter that he hadn’t been allowed to explore up to that time. It’s a little hard to believe on an emotional level, but there was a time when the Man of Tomorrow was a brand-new character. Max Fleisher added quite a lot to the tropes that we associate with Superman. Max was one of this character’s most important influences because he was the first man to make Superman alive. These cartoons made supple this character’s limbs, breathed life into his lungs, and gave him free movement before people’s eyes. It made him real and also his world. It did so in a way that no comic book could match. A lot of what we think of when we think of Superman began at Fleischer Studios.
The animation is still arresting eighty years later. This world is a 1930 high-tech, art deco dream with machinery, aircraft, and weapons that leaped off the cover of Astounding Tales. The rotoscope animation was as smooth as 1940 could make it, and the color palette was complex and gorgeous. These shorts deserve the praise they are still getting after all these decades.
It was a major late-in-life win for Max Fleischer.
Sadly, Superman’s success led to his downfall.
Max Fleischer’s next project was Mister Bug Goes to Town. It was technically superior to Gulliver’s Travels, but it was drastically more expensive, with a budget of $1 million. It would be the last animated feature that Paramount would release until Charlotte’s Web (1973). There was a reason for that.
Part of the expense was a breakdown in the relationship of the Fleischer brothers. The failure of Gulliver’s Travels had led to a major falling out. They couldn’t speak to each other by 1941, and managing a studio by means of terse and abusive notes flying back and forth was as much comedy as a tragedy.
However, Mister Bug’s biggest problem was its December 5th, 1941 release date. After Pearl Harbor, none of the theaters were willing to touch an absurd, feel-good movie. NONE.
Max Fleischer was called to New York, and his resignation was demanded.
Fleischer Studios became Famous Studios, Superman’s budget was slashed to the bone, and the blue-clad Kryptonian spent the remainder of his contract punching Nazis.
Superman wouldn’t be animated again until Filmation started the Adventures of the Superman in the mid-sixties. The quality was on par with Scooby Doo’s.
When Max Fleischer’s son, Richard, was directing 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, the father visited the son for lunch. Richard invited his boss, Walt Disney, to join them. The lunch was quite cordial, with Max stating he was happy to make education cartoons at this late time of his life.
After lunch had broken up, Walt remarked to Richard that his father was quite a genial and affable gentleman.
Richard Fleisher replied that his father couldn’t say the name Disney without adding, “That son of a bitch.”
By the way, there is good news for fans of this serial. Warner Brothers Discovery just did a full 4K remaster from the original prints. Check it out.
I love Fleisher Studios cartoons. Also, pre- code Betty Boop is much better than what was produced after the Hayes code was in place.