This series of four Tex Avery directed cartoons were made in the early 1950s for MGM. They comprise a uniquely visionary take on cars, TV, homes and farms of the future. Avery’s non-stop invention is on display throughout as are the laughs. In glorious Technicolor.
Tex Avery’s Tomorrow Cartoons
May 9th, 2009The Future is Now
May 8th, 2009
Given the popularity of the recently released Star Trek film and how it’s given a new lease of life to Gene Roddenberry’s franchise, it may signal a revival of optimistic visions of the future is finally upon us. It’s about time.
Roddenberry’s egalitarian utopia was set in the 22nd century but its aspirations were firmly rooted in the issues of its time. Every week, the protagonists altruistically battled the forces of militarism, sexism, racism and every other “ism” network executives would allow at the time.
The series debuted in 1966, an auspicious year for another “ism”: optimism. Popular culture scaled increasingly-bold peaks that year. The Scott Paper company began selling disposable paper dresses for a dollar. The Beatles’ psychedelic “Tomorrow Never Knows” introduced new sounds.Masters and Johnson released “Human Sexual Response,” shattering sexual myths of the past.
The race to the Moon was accelerating in 1966. Feats in space fed a public anxious for change and hungry for fantasy. The sensory overload of the newly-emerging Information Age created a syndrome that Alvin Toffler later dubbed “Future Shock.”
Stanley Kubrick was filming of 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1966. The movie anticipated the discovery of extra-terrestrial life and artificial intelligence. It could happen by 2001…why not?
Art was imitating life in the future. For the first time, photographs were sent back to Earth from the lunar surface by both the Russian and American space programs. The latter’s Surveyor 1, launched on May 30, 1966, employed a TV camera that scanned the surface and transmitted the images of the lunar surface back to Earth.
The panoramas created by the combined images created fascinating fractal collages that were truly otherworldly.
Forty years later the shock and awe of 1966 might seem quaint. That’s the way it ought to be. If we’re going to progress beyond the drawing board of those creaky space age dreams (as depicted so amusingly on the cover of this week’s New Yorker) it will take more successful re-imaginings of the future along the lines of Star Trek.
May they live long and prosper.
Living Underwater
March 18th, 2009First published back in 1999. We’re happy to report Jules’ Undersea Lodge (pictured below) is still in operation.
Whatever happened to Homo Aquaticus—the new breed of “humanfish” that were willing to surgically alter their bodies with artificial gills to allow them to breathe under water?
Famed undersea explorer Jacques-Yves Cousteau was convinced that Homo Aquaticus was next step in human evolution. “We are now moving toward an alteration of human anatomy,” Cousteau told the World Congress on Underwater Activities in 1962, “to give man almost unlimited freedom underwater.”
Throughout his life, the famed French explorer searched for new methods that would allow humans to stay underwater for as long as possible. He co-invented the Aqua-lung in the 1940s and remained a pioneer in scuba gear until his death in 1997.
“The conscious evolution of Home Aquaticus,” explained Cousteau to the World Congress, came out of a need “to place swimmers underwater for very long periods to really learn about the sea.”
Cousteau was determined to prove humans could live and work underwater. In the early 1960s, he began a series of projects called Conshelf (or Continental Shelf Station). The submerged living quarters allowed aquanauts to stay undersea for up to a month.
But creating an acceptable habitat was no easy task. Poor visibility, limited air supply, and the danger of decompression were among the obstacles Cousteau and his staff faced.
Participants in Conshelf complained about loss of appetite, taste and smell, the murky light, and lack of privacy living in such close quarters. Another annoyance was their chirpy helium- inflected voices (for future expeditions, Costeau suggested creating “underwater Esperanto” with the “e” sound eliminated). Despite the trying set of circumstances, Cousteau saw Conshelf as a success and later took home an Academy 
Award for World Without Sun, the documentary that looked at the undersea experiment.
Thanks to Cousteau’s efforts, underwater exploration began to generate the kind of enthusiasm normally associated with the exploration of space.
One of the star attractions of the 1964/65 World’s Fair in New York was a General Motors exhibit (left) which depicted citizens living underwater, drilling for gas, farming the sea, and vacationing at the Hotel Atlantis.
Was it possible that underwater exploits could match the feats taking place in space? The clearest link between the two endeavors was astronaut/aquanaut Scott Carpenter, who had explored both frontiers.
In 1962, Carpenter (right) orbited Earth three times as part of the Mercury Aurora 7 mission. Less than three years later, he was leading two Navy teams to the ocean floor to conduct experiments in underwater living aboard Sealab II.
While he was underwater in Sealab, Carpenter spoke to NASA colleagues C. Gordon Cooper and Charles Conrad, Jr. orbiting Earth in outer space aboard Gemini 5.
But the public’s interest in colonizing “inner space” proved short lived. Compared to the fascination of watching an astronaut stand on the moon, the idea of “humanfish” seemed whimsical at best. Deep sea exploration, however, continued to grow and today opportunities to scuba dive are perhaps more plentiful than ever.
Divers looking for overnight accommodations can stay at Jules’ Undersea Lodge in Key Largo, Florida. Guests dive five fathoms below the surface of a lagoon and stay in the comfort of “the world’s first and only underwater hotel.”
If you like the idea of staying in a place where you can “dive, dine, and dream at five fathoms” it will run you around $300.00 a night. Don’t forget to pack the Dramamine.
More expansive plans to develop underwater hotels have recently been introduced. The architecture firm Wimberly, Allison, Tong & Goo is looking to develop an 80-room sub-surface hotel (pictured below) in the Pacific Ocean.
And a few stalwarts continue to believe that living underwater is the only sane solution to solving the problem of overpopulation, But most, like Cousteau, are simply attracted to the mysteries of the deep.
The Cousteau Society carries on the work of Jacques-Yves Cousteau who died in 1997. Their mission is “to safeguard the Water Planet” and provide insight on environmental issues.
“Man has only to sink beneath the surface and he is free,” Costeau once explained about the allure of sea. “Buoyed by water, he can fly.”
Dude, Where’s My Jetpack?
March 10th, 2009
The jetpack reached pop icon status when a tuxedo-clad James Bond, played by Sean Connery, strapped one on in in 1962′s Thunderball. Bond zips over a series of tall buildings and lands conveniently next to his Aston Martin.
The public ate it up. This was the future they had been waiting for. Ever since Daedalus made those wax-and-feather wings we’ve been dreaming of something that would allow us to soar like birds.
The age old dream seemed one step closer to reality when Wendell Moore of Bell Aerosystems introduced a twin-jet hydrogen peroxide propulsion system mounted to a backpacks in the 1950s.
The Small Rocket Lift Device was a nifty piece of engineering. The U.S. Army showed interest in developing jetpacks (also known as rocket belts) to move infantry over difficult obstacles like mines and fly assault troops from ship to shore in amphibious operations.
It was all very Retrofuture.
That is until the Army soon discovered rocket belts were difficult to maneuver, ear-splittingly loud, and had a maximum of thirty seconds in flight. Funding dried up.
To this day, a number of jetpack enthusiasts are still working out the kinks. Here’s a good article on recent efforts that appeared in the Wall Street Journal. They point out, somewhat surprisingly, that less people have flown in untethered jetpacks than have walked on the Moon. A neat bit of trivia.
Also, check out this excellent YouTube video, ripped from the History Channel, with a thumbnail history of jetpacks.
The Beagle Has Landed: Charles Schulz and NASA
March 1st, 2009The world of cartooning briefly intersected with space program. This article was originally published January 3, 2000, a month before Schulz’s death. If you happen to be in Santa Rosa, CA before July 20th check out The Charles M. Schulz Museum which is hosting an exhibit called “To The Moon: Snoopy Soars with NASA.”
Snoopy fans take note: the celebrated flying ace isn’t going to retire his aviator’s wings when Charles Schulz ends the daily Peanuts comic strip this week. The unofficial mascot of NASA for over three decades will continue his association.
The beloved beagle first won fame battling the Red Baron aboard the Sopwith Camel. In 1968, he began his historic collaboration with the space program to promote safety awareness.
At the time, NASA had 200,000 workers engaged in the Apollo moon landings. The space agency realized it needed a respected and universally loved symbol to keep spirits high. Schulz, a space buff, was happy to help out. It wasn’t long before Snoopy’s engaging smile was appearing on stickers and posters encouraging workers to “Keep Apollo the Symbol of Excellence.”
NASA’s gambit was a hit with workers. “Snoopy Given Credit for Apollo Success” read a headline the Oklahoma City Times in 1969.
Inspired by the goodwill that Snoopy’s role engendered, NASA’s top brass decided to pay tribute to the affable pooch and his owner Charlie Brown during the Apollo 10 mission in May 1969.
Utilizing the code names “Charlie Brown” for the Command Capsule and “Snoopy” for the Lunar Module, Apollo 10 was an elaborate full dress rehearsal for the historic lunar landing of Apollo 11 two months later, executing all the maneuvers of that mission except the moon landing itself.
Commander of the mission Thomas P. Stafford, explained why Snoopy was being honored. “We’re going to the moon to find out all these facts and kind of snoop around,” Stafford jested, “(That’s why) the lunar module’s going to be called Snoopy.”
The crew of the mission—Stafford (seen holding Snoopy, right) John W. Young, and Eugene A. Cernan—were happy to embrace their cartoon counterparts. “We are just like everyone anyone else,” Cernan told a reporter. “We are human beings and we like (Snoopy), too.”
As might be expected, the code names provided some moments of levity during the mission. One slightly surreal exchange went as follows
CAPCOM: “Snoopy-Charlie—this is Houston. Good readback, Snoopy, over.”
SNOOPY: “Houston, this is Snoopy. Charlie Brown’s trying to call you.”
Several months after Apollo 10, when Neil Armstrong took his first steps on the moon, Snoopy appeared in Schulz’s daily Peanut strip declaring “I did it! I’m the first beagle on the moon!”
The fruitful association between Schulz and the space agency continued after Apollo. When a stuffed Snoopy found its way on shuttle flight in 1990, mission commander Dan C. Brandenstein simply explained: “We had trained with Snoopy so it made sense to take him with us.”
Despite the retirement of the daily Peanuts comic strip, the intrepid beagle’s winning attitude remains a symbol of excellence at NASA.
Officials at the space agency maintain there is no plan to discontinue “The Silver Snoopy”—presented to employees who have made extraordinary contributions to space travel.
The highly coveted pin, bearing the likeness of the heroic beagle, will remain a lasting tribute to Snoopy’s legacy in space.
