Regular readers of this column know how much I love The Honeymooners, and of course an essential element of that sitcom's timeless appeal is Ed Norton, arguably the best second banana in television history. Jackie Gleason, who was immodest enough to dub himself 'The Great One,' nevertheless always gave credit to co-star Art Carney for creating such an unforgettable character.

When you've seen The Honeymooners as many times as I have, and in so many of its different formats, it's easy to look for traces of Edward Lillywhite Norton in Carney's other roles. However, there is much more to this great performer than his most famous character. This month I want to spotlight some DVD appearances that demonstrate the actor's versatility. Anyone who knows Art Carney only as the dopey 'subterranean sanitation engineer' sewer worker from Bensonhurst will find pleasant surprises by digging deeper into his career.

Born November 4, 1918, in New York, Carney was prominent on radio before the television era. (I recommend The Magnificent Montague, on which he had a hilarious recurring role as Monty Woolley's father.) He had a steady gig playing a nightclub emcee (later becoming a waiter) on The Morey Amsterdam Show and stayed with the comedy/variety program when it transitioned to television, first on CBS and then on the DuMont Network.

It was at DuMont where he started appearing on Gleason's first regular variety program, Cavalcade of Stars, playing many characters in various sketches, including of course The Honeymooners. It's fun watching Carney play off Gleason in different settings. While Ed Norton was often the scene stealer, many times Carney was more of a straight man on Cavalcade and the later incarnations of The Jackie Gleason Show, such as when his timid Clem Finch is getting smacked on the back by loudmouth Charlie Bratton. Unfortunately, precious little of this material is available on video, but you can get a taste of it on Jackie Gleason -- Genius at Work, a teaser compilation of Gleason's material.

Art made numerous guest appearances on anthology and variety shows while appearing on Gleason's programs. One of the most prominent is Confession of a Nervous Man, a 1953 installment of Studio One. This fascinating hour is a revealing example of early live television, as well as a sharp commentary on the entertainment industry. The Seven Year Itch playwright George Axelrod introduces a humorous look at becoming an overnight sensation. Carney, billed as 'The Author,' is the titular Nervous Man sitting in a bar waiting for the newspaper reviews of his follow-up to Itch. Back then, this story asserts, a handful of New York critics would make or break the success of any Broadway debut.

This is an ambitious Studio One effort, with flashbacks within flashbacks, fantasy sequences, and cool little dissolves and wipes. The Author imagines the most prominent critics gleefully savaging his play as flames crackle behind them. He envisions little vignettes of people in places like London and Paris acting out their own variations of the seven-year itch and making the play an international sensation. Confessions is an exciting reminder of how, even in the 1950s, live television drama needn't be static or stage-bound.

The whole thing, fantasy sequences and all, is anchored by Carney's brilliant performance. Notwithstanding the outlandish aspects of Ed Norton, the actor was equally adept at playing everyman types. He didn't always recite his lines perfectly on The Honeymooners -- not that anyone could fault the occasional stumble given his often absurd point of view and Gleason's notorious distaste for rehearsal -- but in Nervous Man he delivers flawless monologues, many times speaking alone to the camera. He gives the humble, reserved performance the role calls for and lets the showbiz satire around him speak for itself. See, for example, the restraint in his interactions with David Sheiner, who has fun playing perhaps the least credible 'hillbilly comic' ever, the star of the TV series The Author writes for and wishes to escape (For extra credit, seek out Studio One's 'The Laugh Maker,' which pairs Carney and Gleason in a memorable, unflattering portrait of a comedian who bears a strong resemblance to The Great One himself).

More of Carney's subtler character work is evident in Safety for the Witness, a 1958 episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. As 'Custom Gunsmith' Cyril Jones, Carney sports eyeglasses and a mustache to portray a man who witnesses gangsters murdering another witness in 'A Big City' in 1927. The episode's premise is that the police are totally incapable of protecting its citizens, and the whole scenario is played for laughs. Much of the humor comes from Carney's interactions with chagrined law enforcement officials. When a lieutenant prompts him for info on the shooting and tries to assure Jones of his safety, Cyril says, 'Some of my best friends...HAVE been witnesses,' eyes widening as he looks away from the cop. Carney's expression is priceless, and the refined accent he uses for his gentlemanly character enhances the delivery.

Cyril himself was shot in the incident, and even the hospital staff considers him a goner. As he checks out, a woman remarks, 'I bet you 8 to 5 he doesn't live till Tuesday.' Jones sees only one course of action, and when he takes it and tries to involve the police, they refuse to take him seriously. Carney's ability to take on a quieter, more unassuming persona is crucial to what unfolds.

Unlike many episodes of the series, there is no shocking twist, but what you do get is a fairly audacious portrait of the American metropolitan police force as incompetent buffoons. Placing the story in an indeterminate setting 30 years in the past, plus giving Hitchcock a lame, tacked-on contradictory outro was surely someone's idea of making the concept more palatable to the powers that be, but it's cheeky if not revolutionary. It may not be one of the series' sharpest episodes, but it's a must see for any Carney fan.

The Twilight Zone is another of the most loved anthology shows of the classic television era, and it's no surprise that Carney, like so many other icons of the medium, made an appearance. Night of the Meek is an atypical Zone in several ways. For one thing, it's a Christmas episode that concentrates more on creating holiday cheer than providing any kind of stunning moments; for another, it's one of the second season's handful of videotaped episodes. The show cut costs by going to tape for parts of season two, and these episodes stand out in stark contrast to the filmed ones.

A little fake snow and ringing sleigh bells establish the setting as we see Henry Corwin, a drunken department store Santa Claus, struggle to do his job without falling over. He's distressed, not jolly, and soon the sight of children eager for some of Santa's magic reduces him to tears.


Rod Serling's teleplay could have made for a maudlin episode; as if the melancholy Santa weren't enough, one little girl begs Santa for a job for her father. Corwin's crying almost veers into the comic blubbering Ed Norton launched when yelled at by Ralph Kramden, but Carney the performer stays on the right side of the line. Somehow the episode works well enough, with Corwin receiving a magic bag enabling him to fulfill his wish to be the biggest gift giver of all time. The key to Meek's credibility is Carney's ability to play drunk but not over-the-top (the actor himself overcame alcoholism years later) while delivering Serling's dialogue.

He impresses in one particular speech explaining his angst to his boss (John Fiedler): 'I'm an aging, purposeless relic of another time, and I live in a dirty rooming house filled with hungry kids and shabby people, where the only thing that comes down on the chimney on Christmas Eve is more poverty.' Whew! Carney gets the pathos out of those lines without making them sound overwritten. Equally important, his likeability wins us over even though we recoil at seeing a Santa stagger and collapse in front of impressionable youngsters.

One of my favorite lesser known Carney appearances is on one of my favorite lesser known DVD releases: Film Chest's 50's TV Classics. On a 1956 episode of the Dinah Shore Chevy Show, Carney plays...himself! It's a typical example of the self-referential variety hour the medium did so well in those days. Dinah needs someone to host while she's on vacation, so naturally her pal Art recommends Boris Karloff. Well, why not?

Several entertaining segments play up Karloff's sinister reputation. When he offers Carney some tea, they do a funny series of switcheroos on the cups. It's s riot when the paranoid Carney uses broad hand gestures while trying to puzzle through which cup contains the 'poisoned' tea. You may find yourself wishing there were more of these kinds of scenes, depending on your tolerance for Betty Hutton (she's typically brassy in her many musical numbers), but there is a great extended sequence depicting Karloff's imaginary 'Shivrolet' program. All three guest stars join Dinah in a cheesy celebration of singing, dancing, and horror puns. Art Carney connoisseurs haven't lived until they've seen him wearing fake teeth and pounding a skull for percussion while singing Little Darlin'!

One of this fall's most anticipated home video releases is Batman, and fans have been waiting for years to get their hands on the show on DVD or Blu-Ray. Of course the main reason for the excitement is their fervent desire to finally own the two episodes featuring Art Carney as The Archer!

OK, maybe not. But Batman wasn't just about Julie Newmar's Catwoman and Burgess Meredith's Penguin; it was also about the original villains who just make you scratch your head. The Archer may not be the most formidable Bat-foe, but he makes for a fun two-parter. Carney is not as spry as he used to be, but he looks happy donning Robin Hood garb and speaking faux Olde English peppered with words like 'whilst.' Even the graphics during the fight scenes get into the act: Zap-eth! Wham-eth!

The Archer, or the 'rapacious rapscallion,' as Commissioner Gordon calls him, steals and gives to the poor of Gotham, and he doesn't seem intent on doing any serious harm. Though a fine marksman, he's not an expert swordsman and is no match for Batman and Robin in hand-to-hand combat. In terms of purely getting under your skin, this cartoonish villain is upstaged by the supercilious Allan A. Dale (Robert Cornthwaite).

Nevertheless, I'm here to defend The Archer. He is always committed to his act, has a bunch of cool gadgets like a flash arrow and the Viewmaster-ish mask he wears to protect himself when he fires it, and best of all, he makes a lackey tote a laugh track machine to play canned applause when he makes an entrance! Throw in the fact that he challenges the Caped Crusader to a duel by slapping him in the face with a glove, and in my book you get one of the show's best rogues. I will admit, though, that having grown up on The Honeymooners from an early age, catching this in reruns as a boy threw me. It's one of Carney's most bizarre but most underrated television appearances.

In the 1970s, Carney transitioned into feature films, winning an Academy Award for Best Actor for Harry and Tonto. He was aging visibly in The Color Honeymooners of the 1960s -- those old skinny jokes about Norton didn't really work anymore -- but he goes older in his guest shot on The Men from Shiloh's 'With Love, Bullets and Valentines.'

As Skeet, conniving owner of a broken-down riverboat, Carney has the glasses and the facial hair of an older man, and perhaps most significantly, he plays a grandfather. He's only 52 at the time, but he plays older, albeit an ornery kind of older, with gusto. Skeet is a rascal, but one with a good heart, and it's entertaining to see him team up with Doug McClure's Trampas to confront a gang of past-their-prime outlaws (played by some notable character actors) who embroil them in a big heist. In retrospect, seeing Carney called 'Grandpa' here, even though it's a broad comedy part, seems like a kind of precursor to the more subtle work that earned him an Oscar as retired septuagenarian Harry just 4 years later.

Ed Norton will always be one of my favorite classic characters, but I continue to seek out Art Carney's other television work. I'd love to see an enterprising company put out more from The Jackie Gleason Show or, even rarer, the Art Carney Specials that ran on NBC from 1959 to 1961. Meanwhile, though, a rich array of this TV icon's performances awaits discovery or rediscovery on DVD.

Rick Brooks is the proprietor of Cultureshark, a blog in which he uses an often irreverent approach to express his reverence for the classics and the un-classics.