William Hanna and Joseph Barbera were basically broke and desperate when they sat in a cramped room at MGM’s animation unit in 1939. They needed a hit. The studio’s previous efforts had been, frankly, pretty forgettable. Most people don't realize that the Tom and Jerry background isn't just about a cat and a mouse hitting each other with frying pans; it was a last-ditch effort to save a dying department. They debuted a short called Puss Gets the Boot in 1940. Funny thing is, the cat wasn't even named Tom yet—he was "Jasper." And the mouse? He was nameless in the script, though pre-production notes sometimes referred to him as Jinx.
It worked. People loved it. But the path from that first black-and-white sketch to the global icon we know today was anything but smooth.
The MGM Golden Era and the Secret Sauce of Violence
The real magic of the original Tom and Jerry background lies in the period between 1940 and 1958. This was the "Hanna-Barbera" era. During these eighteen years, the duo produced 114 shorts. They won seven Academy Awards. Think about that for a second. Seven Oscars for a cartoon about a cat trying to eat a mouse. Pixar would be jealous of that hit rate.
Why did it work? It wasn’t just the slapstick. It was the timing. Hanna and Barbera pioneered something called "smear animation," where characters would stretch and blur to convey extreme speed. If you pause an old episode at the right moment, Tom looks like a terrifying noodle. It’s glorious.
The music was the other half of the soul. Scott Bradley, the composer, treated these seven-minute shorts like high-level orchestral suites. He didn't just write "cartoon music." He integrated jazz, classical, and avant-garde atonality. If Tom got hit with a piano, Bradley made sure the score reflected the literal notes of a crashing grand piano. There was no dialogue, so the music had to do the heavy lifting of telling us exactly how much that anvil hurt.
Honestly, the violence was revolutionary. Before this, animation was often soft or moralistic. Tom and Jerry leaned into the chaos. They used the "squash and stretch" principle of animation to turn physical pain into a visual gag that felt impactful but never truly permanent. It's the ultimate reset button. Tom gets sliced into pieces like a loaf of bread, and three seconds later, he's fine. We find it funny because we know the stakes are zero, yet the creativity of the "kill" is infinite.
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When the Art Went Weird: Gene Deitch and the Prague Years
Eventually, MGM got cheap. They closed the original cartoon studio in 1957 because they thought re-releasing old shorts would make more money than making new ones. They were wrong. After a few years, they realized they needed new content, but they didn't want to pay Hollywood prices.
Enter Gene Deitch.
The Tom and Jerry background takes a very bizarre turn here. In 1961 and 1962, the production was moved to Rembrandt Films in Prague, Czechoslovakia. This was behind the Iron Curtain during the Cold War. The animators there had barely seen the original cartoons. They had to recreate the characters based on a few sample reels and very little budget.
If you've ever watched an episode that felt "off"—maybe the sound effects were echoey, the movements were jerky, and Tom’s owner was a terrifying, shouting man—you were watching a Deitch episode. These 13 shorts are polarizing. Some fans find them creepy. Others appreciate the surreal, almost psychedelic art style. Deitch didn't have the luxury of a full orchestra; he used weird electronic bleeps and bizarre foley. It felt like a fever dream. It’s a fascinating footnote because it shows how much the "vibe" of a series depends on the cultural context of its creators.
Chuck Jones and the Sophisticated Cat
After the Prague experiment, MGM brought in Chuck Jones. Yeah, the Bugs Bunny guy. From 1963 to 1967, the Tom and Jerry background shifted again.
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Jones gave Tom a makeover. He gave him thicker eyebrows, larger ears, and a more "wily" expression reminiscent of Wile E. Coyote. Jerry got larger eyes and ears, making him look more like a "cute" protagonist. The humor shifted from raw slapstick to more situational, psychological comedy. It was sleek. It was mid-century modern. But for many purists, it lost that raw, gritty energy that Hanna and Barbera perfected.
A Quick Look at the Eras
- 1940–1958: The OG Hanna-Barbera run. Peak animation quality.
- 1961–1962: The Gene Deitch "Prague" era. Surreal, low budget, very weird.
- 1963–1967: The Chuck Jones era. Stylish, Coyote-esque, polished.
- 1975–Present: Various TV revivals, including the "Friends" era where they didn't fight (which most fans hated).
The Controversy We Can't Ignore
We have to talk about Mammy Two Shoes.
The historical Tom and Jerry background includes some deeply problematic racial stereotypes, specifically in the portrayal of the "Mammy" character. In the 1940s and 50s, this was a common, albeit offensive, trope in American media. For decades, television networks dealt with this by either editing the scenes out, redubbing the voices, or, in some cases, digitally replacing the character with a white woman.
Today, most official releases (like those on Max or Blu-ray) include a disclaimer. They acknowledge that these depictions were wrong then and are wrong now, but they choose to show them in their original form to reflect the history of the time rather than pretending they never existed. It’s a messy part of the legacy, but ignoring it does a disservice to the actual history of animation.
Why They Still Matter in 2026
You’d think a cat and mouse created before the invention of the microwave would be irrelevant by now. But the Tom and Jerry background is actually the foundation for almost all modern physical comedy.
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Think about The Simpsons. Itchy and Scratchy is a direct, hyper-violent parody of Tom and Jerry. Think about the John Wick movies. The "Gun-Fu" choreography often relies on the same rhythm and "setup-payoff" structure found in a 1945 Tom and Jerry short.
The genius of the concept is its simplicity. There is no language barrier. You can show a Tom and Jerry cartoon to a kid in Tokyo, a teenager in Berlin, and a grandfather in New York, and they will all laugh at the exact same moment. It is the universal language of failure. We all feel like Tom sometimes—trying our hardest, following the "rules" of being a predator, only to have a tiny mouse and a series of household objects conspire against us.
The Evolution of the "Background" Art
One thing people often overlook is the actual literal backgrounds. In the early days, the layouts were lush, painted with watercolors and oils to look like a high-end suburban home. These backgrounds established a sense of "normalcy" that made the ensuing destruction even funnier. If the house looks expensive, it’s more satisfying when the china cabinet explodes.
As the decades went on, the backgrounds simplified. The 1970s versions had flat, boring colors. The 2021 live-action/CGI hybrid movie tried to bring back that sense of scale, but many felt it lacked the "weight" of the hand-drawn era. There is something about the way a hand-painted wooden floor looks under a cel-animated cat that just feels "right."
Practical Takeaways for Fans and Collectors
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of Tom and Jerry, don't just watch whatever is on YouTube. Most of those clips are sped up to avoid copyright strikes or have the colors washed out.
- Seek out the "Spotlight Collection" or "Golden Collection" on physical media. These contain the uncut, remastered versions of the 1940s shorts. The difference in frame rate and color depth is staggering.
- Watch for the "Director" credit. If you want the classic experience, look for Hanna and Barbera. If you want a trip, look for Gene Deitch.
- Pay attention to the "silent" storytelling. Try watching an episode on mute. You’ll realize that the character's eyes do 90% of the acting. It’s a masterclass in non-verbal communication.
The Tom and Jerry background isn't just a nostalgic memory. It’s a technical achievement in art and physics. It survived the death of the studio system, the transition to television, the move to digital animation, and even a weird period where they were best friends. They are the ultimate survivors of Hollywood history.
To truly appreciate the series, start by watching The Cat Concerto (1947). It is arguably the perfect seven minutes of animation ever produced. Watch how the timing of the piano keys aligns perfectly with the action. It’s not just a cartoon; it’s a high-wire act of technical precision that hasn't really been topped in nearly eighty years. Find the original Technicolor prints if you can; the vibrant reds and deep blues of the 1940s palettes are something modern digital filters just can't quite replicate.