But sometimes, more is more, as Walt Disney found out after he created Mickey Mouse  in the late 1920s and had trouble finding a home for Mickey’s first two cartoons (“Plane Crazy” and “The Gallopin’ Gaucho”), which were silent, before scoring a solid hit with the musical talkie “Steamboat Willie.” 

“You can run any of these pictures and they’d be dragging and boring, but the minute you put music behind then, they have life and vitality they don’t get in any other way,” Disney once said.

The Library of Congress today opens “Molto Animato!” an exhibition celebrating the winning combo of animation and music, in its Music Division Performing Arts Reading Room in the James Madison Building (101 Independence Ave., S.E., Room LM113, Washington, D.C.) The exhibition will be on view through next March 28 and will be open from 8:30 a.m. – 5 p.m. Monday through Friday.

Featured items include a pen-and-ink brush drawing of conductor Leopold Stokowski by caricaturist Miguel Covarrubias; the score from “Bambi,” with music by Frank Churchill and Edward Plumb and lyrics by Larry Morey; John Alden Carpenter’s manuscript piano score for “Krazy Kat: A Jazz Pantomime”; and the movie poster for “Walt Disney Pictures Presents Aladdin.”

Also on view will be items from the Library’s Art Wood Collection of Cartoon and Caricature, the David Raksin Collection of film scores (You can view excerpts, including the cartoons, from his scores for “Giddyap” and “The Unicorn in the Garden”) and the Howard Ashman Collection, including the draft script of Disney’s animated film “The Little Mermaid” and audio of Howard Ashman singing Disney movie songs of his own composing.

Let’s face it: sometimes silence is golden, but “Fantasia” wouldn’t have been nearly as fantastic without the power of music.  Here’s Mickey, in “Fantasia,” dressed to enact “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” a symphonic poem by composer Paul Dukas.

They sang along with Mitch.

Between 1961 and 1965, many Americans young and old learned the tunes and lyrics to a raft of “standards” watching a black-and-white NBC-TV show featuring a guy named Mitch Miller. The goateed Miller (off-camera, a high-profile record producer) would choral-direct “The Gang,” tidy rows of men wearing tidy shirts, sweaters and slacks. In a baritone barrage, they’d lay down a melody, breaking into simple-but-tasteful harmony on the choruses. These were songs every American was presumed to just know, but for those who didn’t, the words were flashed at the bottom of the TV screen. And if you were a kid and didn’t know the songs yet, after learning them from Mitch and The Gang you could enjoy your newfound knowledge of the tunes when Mad Magazine recycled them into satirical songs with ridiculous new lyrics.

The Library of Congress recently acquired more than 300 reels of 16-millimeter kinescopes of “Sing Along With Mitch,” to be housed in the Library’s Motion Picture, Broadcasting and Recorded Sound Division. After cataloging, a process expected to take several months, the collection will be available to researchers via the Performing Arts Reading Room on Capitol Hill. These kinescopes no doubt include this favorite, sung to a tune from John Philip Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever”:

Be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck may be somebody’s mother;

Be kind to your friends in the swamp, where the weather is very very dawmp.

Now you may think that this is the end …

Well, it is!

You nation’s Library has millions of stories to tell, so we’re trying to tell them as many places and to as many people as possible–whether on our own website or elsewhere.  And now you can add another biggie to the list: iTunes U.

For those who don’t know, iTunes U is an area of the iTunes Store offering free education audio and video content from many of the world’s top universities and other institutions. (The iTunes application is needed to access iTunes U, and is a free download from www.apple.com/itunes.)

The Library’s iTunes U page launched today with a great deal of content, with much more to come.  (Link here, opens in iTunes.)  A nice bonus, for those in the know, is that the content is downloadable and even includes materials such as PDFs.

As always, it’s also available in the Library’s own corner of the web.

So as long as people keep finding new ways to get information, we’re going to keep finding ways to get it to you!

Details about the National Recording Registry can be found here

We have temporarily put that video on the front page of our relatively new YouTube channel.

We are starting with more than 70 videos, arranged in the following playlists: 2008 National Book Festival author presentations, the Books and Beyond author series, Journeys and Crossings (a series of curator discussions), “Westinghouse” industrial films from 1904 (I defy you to watch some of them without thinking of the Carl Stalling song “Powerhouse”), scholar discussions from the John W. Kluge Center, and the earliest movies made by Thomas Edison, including the first moving image ever made (curiously enough, a sneeze by a man named Fred Ott).

But this is just the beginning. We have made a conscious decision that we’re not just going to upload a bunch of videos and then walk away. As with our popular Flickr pilot project, we intend to keep uploading additional content. We’re modifying some of our work-flows in modest ways to make our content more useful and delivered across platforms with built-in audiences of millions.

Not so incidentally, all of the videos we post on YouTube will also be available at LOC.gov (and many, many more, of course) on American Memory, many of which are newly digitized in much higher resolution by the fine Motion Picture, Broadcast and Recorded Sound conservators in Culpeper, Va.

And now for something completely different: boxing cats!

Wonder and a 21-piece orchestral ensemble performed the world premiere of a piece commissioned by the Library called “Sketches of a Life,” a nine-movement reflection on his lifelong musical and personal influences. The unique piece, a big departure from the Stevie Wonder most of us know and love, has been drawing rave reviews. SEE THE WEBCAST!

The composition, bookended by a pair of standing ovations, was followed by an encore of two more-familiar Stevie Wonder hits. First, he played a goosebump-inducing version of “Overjoyed.” (At least it gave me goosebumps.) Then he led the 450-person audience in a rollicking sing-along of “My Cherie Amour.”

Wonder joins a long list of distinguished composers who have written commissions for the Library, including Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Samuel Barber, Bela Bartók, Paquito D’Rivera and Cecil Taylor. You can learn more about the Library’s vast performing-arts holdings here.

Even if you couldn’t be there in person, I hope the webcast gives you a sense of the excitement in the air for that historic moment. And I hope our servers can handle the traffic that this webcast might (and should) get!

You can also watch a pre-concert news conference in its entirety here.

UPDATE: My apologies, but I had thought the version of the concert we uploaded was much closer to the complete show.  There are a couple of tangles we’re still working through.  The entire show, or the vast bulk of it, should be online soon.

Even communications directors find themselves caught up in miscommunication now and again.

But can anything truly top the experience of watching a film in the most “retro” of ways — in a theater, on the big screen, with great projection, sound and the communal setting of other film buffs surrounding you?

The Library of Congress’s Packard Campus for Audio-Visual Conservation in Culpeper, Va., will be recreating the movie magic of days gone by in its gorgeous, state-of-the-art, Art Deco-style theater. The new theater next week kicks off its free film series with selections from the National Film Registry.

The theater (not to mention the conservation center itself) is chock-full of wonderful things, such as the ability to screen just about any movie format imaginable — including nitrate stock, making the theater one of only a handful of such facilities in the nation. As you can see from the photo, an organ can rise from a pit to accompany silent films, just as it was done at the dawn of Hollywood.

Even if you don’t live in or especially near Culpeper, the experience might be worth the trip!

A little more depth and background from the Culpeper Star Exponent can be found here.

UPDATE: The theater now has its own page on LOC.gov, here.

The full line-up, and what to know if you’d like to partake, follow the jump …

September

Sept. 4 — 7:30 p.m., The Maltese Falcon (Warner Bros, 1941)
Sept. 5 — 7:30 p.m., The Maltese Falcon (Warner Bros, 1941)
Sept. 6 — 2:00 p.m., The Wizard of Oz (MGM, 1939)
Sept. 9 — 7:00 p.m., Shane (Paramount, 1953)
Sept. 12 — 7:30 p.m., Singin’ in the Rain (MGM, 1952)
Sept. 13 — 2:00 p.m., King Kong (RKO, 1933)
Sept. 16 — 7:00 p.m., Morocco (Paramount, 1930)
Sept. 19 — 7:30 p.m., The Night of the Hunter (United Artists, 1955)
Sept. 20 — 2:00 p.m., Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (Walt Disney, 1937)
Sept. 23 — 7:00 p.m., Bringing Up Baby (RKO, 1938)
Sept. 26 — 7:30 p.m., Trouble in Paradise (Paramount, 1932)
Sept. 27 — 2:00 p.m., Gunga Din (RKO, 1939)
Sept. 30 — 7:00 p.m., Ninotchka (MGM, 1939)

October

Oct. 3 — 7:30 p.m., Shadow of a Doubt (Universal 1943)
Oct. 4 — 2:00 p.m., Duck Soup (Paramount, 1933)
Oct. 7 — 7:00 p.m., Out of the Past (RKO, 1947)
Oct. 10 — 7:30 p.m., Casablanca (Warner Bros, 1943)
Oct. 11 — 2:00 p.m., 42nd Street (Warner Bros, 1933)
Oct. 14 — 7:00 p.m., Adam’s Rib (MGM, 1949)
Oct. 17 — 7:30 p.m., All About Eve (20th Century-Fox, 1950)
Oct. 18 — 2:00 p.m., Lassie Comes Home (MGM, 1943)
Oct. 21 — 7:00 p.m., High Noon (United Artists, 1952)
Oct. 24 — 7:30 p.m., The Bank Dick (Universal, 1940)
Oct. 25 — 2:00 p.m., Gone With the Wind (MGM, 1939)
Oct. 28 — 7:00 p.m., The Grapes of Wrath (20th Century-Fox, 1939)
Oct. 31 — 7:30 p.m., The Bride of Frankenstein (Universal, 1935)

November

Nov. 1 — 2:00 p.m., The Day the Earth Stood Still (20th Century-Fox, 1951)
Nov. 4 — 7:00 p.m., Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (Columbia, 1939)
Nov. 7 — 7:30 p.m., Love Me Tonight (Paramount, 1932)
Nov. 8 — 2:00 p.m., Pinocchio (Walt Disney – RKO, 1940)
Nov. 11 — 7:00 p.m., All Quiet on the Western Front (Universal, 1930)
Nov. 14 — 7:30 p.m., Letter From An Unknown Woman (Universal, 1948)
Nov. 15 — 2:00 p.m., His Girl Friday (Columbia, 1939)
Nov. 18 — 7:00 p.m., City Lights (United Artists, 1931)
Nov. 21 — 7:30 p.m., Top Hat (RKO, 1935)
Nov. 22 — 2:00 p.m., Yankee Doodle Dandy (Warners Bros, 1943)

From the release:

“Tickets for the film series are not required, but reservations may be made by calling (540) 827-1079, extension 79994, during business hours beginning one week before any given screening. Reserved seats must be claimed at least 10 minutes before show time, after which standbys will be admitted.”

This past Tuesday’s showing of “Endless Summer” was a full house, and next week’s showing of “Pacific Vibrations” is already “sold out”–although as I mentioned, tickets for Pickford screenings are free. The link in the previous paragraph tells you how to get seats for future showings and provides a link to the full theater schedule.

Jennifer Harbster, a Library of Congress staffer who volunteers as a programmer for the Pickford Film Series, recently interviewed John Severson — founder of “Surfer Magazine” and director of “Pacific Vibrations” — for his thoughts on the surf film genre and his own films:

I read that you were a high school art instructor, but were you also a surfer? What was the inspiration for your surf films?

I was a high school art instructor at Laguna Beach, California. Drafted into the Army in ‘56 and ultimately sent to Hawaii. I was a surfer from the late ’40s, and photography was a hobby. I had a 16mm camera that I used mainly for surf. In Hawaii I was exposed to bigger and better surf, and shot when I could afford a roll. I surfed big waves, and was on the US Army Surf Team. There were a couple of guys showing films at the times, but they had little sense of drama or production. I ushered at the San Clemente Theater for several years, and was a film nut. I learned a lot about filmmaking by watching.

Eventually I had enough film to show, and mixed with art and an interesting music track–plus live narration–I was in business. I revolutionized the surf movie film circuit with “Surf Safari” in 1960.

Were you ever approached by Hollywood to make surfing films? Or was your aim to make “pure” surfing films for the surfing public?

I was approached by Hollywood in ‘61 and spent several years with an MGM group trying to put together a surf film for general release. The main partners were Chuck Walters, Joe Pasternak, and John Darrow (an agent).

They liked what I had, but had to make “improvements,” which coming from a non-surfing point of view were disastrous. The film died in the vault, stinking of Hollywoodism. I went back to pure surf films. Three or four years later, Bruce Brown stuck to his guns and released his “Endless Summer,” which was a success.

When I was planning to exit Surfer in the late ’60s, I decided to make an environmental surf film celebrating the beauty of the ocean and our relationship, and at the same time, making the viewer aware that we needed to take care of this resource. “Pacific Vibrations” was never meant for Hollywood, other than perhaps art houses.

Its first incarnation was without narration or speaking parts by anyone. It floated from scene to scene with music as the vehicle to transport you. It worked well, and someone at Warner Brothers heard about it and asked for a viewing. They were coming off their Woodstock success. I was looking for a distributor. They loved it. “Just what we’re looking for … but … could you make a few changes here and there, and make some characters more important, and, and …” They set me up in an spacious editing room with help and encouragement and praise, and after changing the film as they suggested, they didn’t like it. A new production head from New York hated surfing. It wasn’t long before I was out the door.

I regrouped and opened the film in Santa Monica, Huntington Beach and San Diego. It showed for months to full houses and continued in Huntington for a year or so. American International Pictures became interested and signed a deal just as I was leaving the magazine for Maui. They did a typical Hollywood treatment by showing it in various theaters around the country without any advertising build-up to see if it would take off. If it did, they would put advertising money in. It didn’t.

This was followed by some 16mm distribution, piracy in Australia, and occasional shows of faded footage or poor quality video copies.

Are you still making films? Do you have any aspirations to make another film?

I make iMovies with my daughters and granddaughters, mainly arty family productions–teaching the little ones cutting, timing, music and sound, and the fun of it. I dropped out of filmmaking in the early ’70s because film was so expensive. You couldn’t play and experiment. By the time video came in, I was back into my painting career and loving the one-to-one relationship; not interested in all the “middle men” of filmmaking.

With the advent of video cameras, etc., are pure surfing films a lost art?

They seem to be evolving into wall-to-wall surfing with rap tracks. Some would say these are finally “pure” surf films. But evolving is the key word here. Look for change.

Do you have an opinion of any current “pure surf” films like “Riding Giants”?

I thought “Riding Giants” was very well done. My only disappointment was that they didn’t tap into all the footage that was available (including mine), and used a lot of soft footage, and missed some of the great moments. But you wouldn’t miss it unless you were there.

What do you think is the impact of your surf films?

My early films made a huge impact on surfers, if nothing more than a few hours of being stoked out of their minds. Some remembered them for years, and still remind me of this or that show. The fact that they were live, with taped music, and prints that were run until they couldn’t be repaired again, made them like ripples in a pond–slowly disappearing. Too hard to reconstruct, or not financially feasible, they’ll eventually disappear. Pacific Vibrations has a chance of hanging around, and I hope to reconstruct it, with some minor editing, leaving at least a copy for the future.

The Library will be showing the Warner Brothers film “Big Wednesday” that stars Gary Busey and Jan-Michael Vincent. You also had a film called “Big Wednesday.” Do you have any connection to the Warner Brothers film?

My fourth surf film was “Big Wednesday” (1961). South Bay gremmie John Milius was taken by the film and when he grew up and made his surf film, he bought the title from me. The name was daring at the time–without relevance to surf–but worked well, and my film was a success. I’m constantly surprised by (mainly ESPN) with the Big Mondays, Tuesdays, etc.

Was there a script or story board for “Pacific Vibrations,” or was it just a “fluid” shoot-at-the-moment type of film?

Cinema verité mixed with art and theater.

What type of equipment were you using with the filming of “Pacific Vibrations”?

I had just started shooting with a French Beaulieu, which lasted about as long as the film. My tripod was a Pro Jr with a Miller fluid head. I had lenses up to 650mm, and state-of-the-art water housings. For the interviews and sound pieces, we rented cameras and sound equipment.

Did you make any other type of films?

No other films, although I always thought I was heading toward art films, and was in particular inspired by the short Canadian art films and the Eames films. Also, Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympic film was influential, as well as a raft of old silent comedies.

You might not immediately know the name, but many Americans — especially those who participate in or follow political campaigns — are undoubtedly aware of at least one piece of his work.

Schwartz was the creator of a famous and controversial 1964 TV ad for Lyndon Johnson, which showed a girl picking petals from a daisy and then a giant nuclear mushroom cloud.  While the ad did not mention the Republican nominee, Barry Goldwater, by name, the narrator said that “the stakes (were) too high” to stay home on election day.  Regardless, the implication was clear.

The ad itself and the techniques used still reverberate in American politics to this day.

But Schwartz’s legacy will prove to be much greater than a single ad.  For more than five decades, he was an avid collector of audiovisual material, including a vast collection of urban folklore and soundscapes from New York City, which found a permanent home last year in the Library of Congress.

As Librarian of Congress James H. Billington said at the time:

The collection is a treasure trove of unpublished audio-visual material to be explored and discovered by researchers, scholars and patrons. By acquiring and preserving this collection for the American people, the Library of Congress will serve generations of historians, archivists, documentary producers and the general public seeking to experience the voices, sounds and images of post-war America.

My condolences to Schwartz’s family and loved ones.  I hope at least there is solace in this important and permanent legacy that is now available to everyone.

(By the way, my apologies on the lengthy blogging absence.)