Ace Drummond (1936, 13
episodes)
An
attempt to build an international airport and bring air traffic
through Inner Mongolia is
thwarted by the machinations of a criminal known as “The
Dragon”. The point of contention is a mountain of jade
discovered nearby by archaeologist Dr Trainor (C. Montague
Shaw); wanting this treasure for himself, The Dragon sets about
destroying all incoming flights via a device that causes planes
to explode when the radio is used. Ace Drummond (John “Dusty”
King) – “the singing G-Man of the air” – arrives from Washington to investigate, and to expose the
mysterious criminal.... Based upon the comic strip by WWI ace
Eddie Rickenbacker, Ace
Drummond is another wonderful slice of serial absurdity,
with California scrubland standing in for “Inner Mongolia”, poor
Jean Rogers wearing the same gleaming white outfit and high
heels throughout all 13 episodes, a secret passage that they
will not block up,
despite the fact that someone is attacked or kidnapped through
it in every other episode, and Our Hero walking away unharmed
from no less than three
plane crashes. Nor does it help that the only character with any
brains is the eleven year old son of the airline chief, or that
the “Singing G-Man Of The Air” has a repertoire of precisely one
– count ’em, one –
song. Noah Beery Jr plays Ace’s slow-witted, quick-fisted
offsider, Lon Chaney Jr is wasted in another pointless henchman
role, and Jackie Morrow gets props as the surprisingly
un-annoying Billy Meredith. There’s a certain amount of casual
racism here, but it’s certainly less offensive than
The New Adventures Of
Tarzan; its Asian characters are as likely to be good guys
as villains....although don’t hold your breath while looking for
any actual Asians amongst the residents of “Inner Mongolia”.
Which reminds me:
Things I
Learned From Watching This SerialTM: being
brought up amongst Asians will turn you Asian.
(NB: if you haven’t seen
this, avoid its IMDb entry at all cost:
it
tells you who The Dragon is!!)
Air Hawks (1935)
Barry Eldon (Ralph
Bellamy), pilot and designer, is the head of a small aviation
company that is offering the big boys some serious competition.
Facing the threat of a lucrative mail run contract being won by
Eldon and his people, and with his own airline’s future hanging
by a thread, Martin Drewen (Robert Middlemass) allows his silent
partner, Victor Arnold (Douglas Dumbrille), to pursuade him into
a deadly response: to hire disgraced scientist Professor
Schulter (Edward Van Sloan) and his “death ray”, a device
capable of destroying a plane’s engine in mid-flight..... This
almost-science-fiction film is an odd little offering indeed,
highlighted by a dash of mad science, and a large serving of a
most peculiar movie morality. We know, for instance, that one of
Barry Eldon’s pilots is dead meat from the moment we meet his
loving wife and his adorable little daughter; it hardly needs
the topper of the pilot buying “a dolly” for his kid. (And yes,
of
course we get a
post-crash shot of the doll lying by the wreckage). Conversely,
another of the pilots has the sense to take out a life insurance
policy: he takes his dog up with him, subsequently becoming the
only person to survive a brush with the death ray; and while he
himself is badly injured in the crash, the film takes pains to
reassure us that the dog
wasn’t hurt. Speaking of morality, what are we to make of the
head of an airline whose response, when offered a death ray with
which to take out his competition, is not “I’m not a murderer!”
but “I build planes, I don’t blow them up!” Mind you, when Barry
Eldon finally figures out what’s going on and tracks Schulter
and Arnold to their secret
bunker, well, it’s mortars away and no questions asked. For a
short little B-film, Air
Hawks has one heck of a body count. Ralph Bellamy must have
enjoyed this, a rare heroic role, where he gets to fly and fight
and romance in nightclubs; but it is an unnerving Edward Van
Sloan who steals the show as Schulter who, despite his
lament/boast that he has “the governments of three countries”
spying on him, never gives the impression that he has any
political axe to grind: he just really, really,
really wants to try
out his death ray....
At Sword’s Point (1952)
In 1648,
the evil Duc de Lavalle (Robert Douglas) uses his private army
to become de facto
ruler of France, planning
to consolidate his position by marrying the Princess Henriette
(Nancy Gates) and then murdering her brother, the young King
Louis XIV (Peter Miles). An ill and aged Queen Anne (Gladys
Cooper) sends a desperate secret message to the men who were
once her Musketeers, their organisation having been disbanded by
the Duc. The message reaches not the original Musketeers, but
their sons: D’Artagnan (Cornel Wilde), Aramis (Dan O’Herlihy)
and Porthos (Alan Hale Jr). The three meet at an inn, their
fathers’ old haunt, where they are joined by someone claiming to
be the son of Athos – but whose violent objection to the cosy
sleeping arrangements soon reveals her secret....
At Sword’s Point is
tremendous fun, a throwback to the swashbucklers of the 1930s,
with sword-fights, kidnappings, chases, impersonations and
hairsbreadth escapes as far as the eye can see. The real
surprise here is the way the film handles “Claire, the daughter
of Athos”, as she laboriously calls herself, who most
unexpectedly is allowed to be just as good a swordsperson
as her three comrades, and to stand up where women in films are
generally “supposed” to display their femininity by caving in. (Lavalle
tortures D’Artagnan in front of Claire to make her reveal the
whereabouts of the king; although in love with him, she doggedly
stays silent.) The notion that anyone, ever, even for a second,
could mistake Maureen O’Hara for a boy is absurd, of course, but
that’s just part of the joke. The action is non-stop, the bad
guys eminently hissable, the costumes gorgeous and the
Technicolor spectacular. Recommended.
The
Barbarian (1933)
Sometimes a film comes out of nowhere and
just....blindsides
you. Ramon Novarro stars as Jamil, “the best dragoman in
Cairo”, who in fact earns his living playing gigolo
to footloose female tourists, and whose sights become set upon
Diana Standing (Myrna Loy), who has come to Egypt to marry
Gerald Hume (Reginald Denny), an Englishman in charge of a local
engineering project. The
Barbarian starts out looking like a typical pre-Code effort,
with Jamil courting Diana right under her stuffy fiancé’s nose;
and while it’s not particularly funny, it’s certainly risqué
enough to hold the attention (we see most of Myrna’s left breast
while Diana is dressing, and there’s an amazingly explicit
bathing scene). Then, about halfway through, we take an abrupt
turn into a replay of
The Sheik, only without the Valentino-coloured glasses.
Jamil is revealed to be the prince of the local Bedouin tribe,
whose sons are sent to the city as a rite of passage to earn a
living in trade – except that Jamil chose to be a prostitute
instead (okay, he doesn’t use that word). We have already heard
a great deal from Jamil about “Occidental women” and their
“preferences” (for the record, they are “incapable of admitting
their feelings” and therefore like to be “compelled”), and he
acts on his beliefs when Diana allows him to kiss her and then
strikes him out of disgust with herself. His first act is to
deliver Diana into the hands of Achmed Pasha (Edward Arnold!!),
who also desires her; but then he decides he’s going to punish
her himself. In short order, Diana is kidnapped, force-marched
across the desert, taught the local pecking order (“First the
horse drinks, then
the man, then the
woman!”), and finally raped. Jamil follows this up with a
proposal of marriage, which Diana accepts in order to humiliate
him by walking out in the middle of the ceremony. Jamil responds
by taking a bull-whip to her. If you’ve guessed that all this
ends in passionate love and marriage, give yourself a gold star.
This film is amazing. Every time you think it can’t possibly get
any more offensive, it finds a way – like the “concern” shown by
Gerald’s mother over what public charge is to be brought against
Jamil when the police catch up with him: she relaxes once she’s
told “piracy”. I’m inclined to think, however, that the real
rock bottom is hit with the care taken to let us know that
Diana’s mother was Egyptian, the inference apparently being that
all this is really okay: she isn’t
one of us, she’s
one of them. I’ll say
this for The Barbarian,
though: it keeps it up right to the very last exchange of
dialogue. (She: “Did you know that my mother was Egyptian?” He:
“I wouldn’t care if she was
Chinese!”)
Unbelievable.
The Battle Of Britain (1969)
“If we lose now,”
comments Hermann Goering as the cream of the Luftwaffe flies
overhead, “we deserve
to have our arses kicked out.” This big-budget reproduction of
the critical air battles of 1940 that helped turn the tide of
WWII was not a success at the time of its release, but it is
consistently interesting, and was certainly influential,
beginning the trend of more factual, documentary-style war
films. The film follows the conflicts of the British and German
air forces from the devastating German bombing of British
airfields through to the crucial overreach, the bombing of London, which allowed the RAF to regain the
strategic advantage. In respect of tone, this is a
very English movie:
sarcasm and cynicism abound, personal tragedy is met with
stoicism, flag-waving is kept to a minimum – Sir Winston’s
indelible words, and the British Ambassador’s dismissal of his
German counterpart, aside – and it certainly isn’t afraid to be
critical. It highlights, for instance, the stubborn bigotry that
delayed the RAF’s deployment of the Polish and Czechoslovakian
pilots at their disposal, despite the desperate need: a point
underscored in the scene where the English squadron leader
snottily reproves his new recruits for their “Polish chatter”,
without bothering to look over his shoulder and see what they’re
chattering about.
(Although, in this regard, the film doesn’t really go far
enough: the Italian squadron that also played an
important part in events is never mentioned, nor is the
roll-call of nationalities at the end complete.) On the other
hand, there are certainly some major missteps here, notably the
amount of screentime given to the marital woes of Colin
(Christopher Plummer) and Maggie Harvey (Susannah York). The
intention is pure, as it sets up a subplot about the
difficulties of both servicemen and civilians in the early days
of reconstructive surgery, but we don’t like either Harvey enough to care as we should what happens
to them. (Colin, in particular, seems to regard the war as
something arranged purely to inconvenience
him.)
In the final wash, however,
The Battle Of Britain
achieves what it set out to do, which is to emphasise the
inequity of the two forces at the outset (the British were
outnumbered four-to-one), to pay tribute to the courage and
sacrifice of those involved, and to leave us shaking our heads
in mystification as to how the hell the Brits ever got out of
that one. As for the
cast, well, it would probably be simpler, and quicker, to
provide a list of who
isn’t in this film: there’s hardly a prominent British (or
at least, colonial)
actor of the time who doesn’t put in an appearance. Let’s see:
Laurence Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Trevor Howard, Michael
Redgrave, Michael Caine, Robert Shaw, Christopher Plummer,
Edward Fox, Kenneth More, Patrick Wymark, Robert Flemyng, Barry
Foster, Nigel Patrick, Ian McShane, Susannah York--- Shall I go
on? Fortunately, this star-heaviness is not nearly as
distracting as it could have been, due to that mysterious
ability of British actors to disappear into their roles.
(Compare this with, say,
The Longest Day, where you never for a moment forget you’re
looking at John Wayne and Robert Mitchum. [Speaking of
The Longest Day, the
only two obvious omissions from the cast of
The Battle Of Britain,
Richard Burton and Sean Connery, were both in
that.])
Best Of The Badmen (1951)
Yet another take on America’s most notorious outlaws. In
the aftermath of the Civil War, Union officer Jeff Clanton
(Robert Ryan) and his men corner the remnants of Quantrill’s
Raiders, a gang that includes both Frank (Tom Tyler) and Jesse
James (Lawrence Tierney), and the three Younger brothers (Bruce
Cabot, Robert J. Wilke, Jack Buetel). Clanton offers the outlaws
immunity in exchange for an Oath of Allegiance. Left with little
option, they agree, over the violent objections of Culry Ringo
(John Archer), who despises Clanton as a “traitorous”
Missourian. Matthew Fowler (Robert Preston), the head of a
“detective agency” that has strongarmed its way into
de facto government of
the region, plans to turn the outlaws in for the reward – and
the notoriety – but Clanton defies him, administering the Oath
and releasing the former outlaws. Clanton then learns that his
discharge was granted some time back – and that the Oath he
administered was therefore invalid, and his shooting of one of
Fowler’s deputies in the violent struggle, murder. Rapidly tried
and convicted, Clanton is helped to escape from jail by a
mysterious woman who turns out to be Fowler’s estranged wife,
Lily (Claire Trevor). Now a wanted outlaw himself, Clanton joins
up with the men he released, and soon a new “Quantrill’s
Raiders” is waging war on Matthew Fowler and his
organisation.... Best Of The Badmen is only fair as a western, but its certainly
worth watching for its remarkable cast: besides those already
mentioned, it also stars Walter Brennan and Barton MacLane. The
film suffers, unusually, from a bit too much going on, and it
loses focus over the course of its story. Robert Preston makes a
thoroughly hateful villain, though – even if they do chicken out
and pull that thing where he is accidentally killed by one of
his own men during the climactic fight with Jeff Clanton. Jack
Buetel shows that despite the evidence of
The Outlaw, he
can act; while Walter
Brennan steals the show – surprise! – as a “collector of
bridles”....which sometimes just happen to have horses attached.
Poor Claire Trevor takes an awful beating, as usual, although
the script does grant her a happy ending. Of a sort. And only if
you have more faith in the justice system of the time than this
film gives us any reason to.
Blondie Of The Follies (1932)
Marion Davies is
“Blondie”, a rather unlikely innocent abroad; silent star Billie
Dove is Lottie Callahan,
aka “Lurline Cavanaugh”, who goes on the stage and ends up
being kept by the wealthy and aristocratic Larry Belmont (Robert
Belmont), who she loves, although he is only amusing himself
with her. Circumstances force Blondie to throw in with Lottie,
who invites her to move into her apartment and gets her a part
in the Follies. All goes well until Blondie and Larry fall in
love, prompting Lottie to confess the truth about her situation
to the hither-to oblivious Blondie. Shocked but sympathetic,
Blondie breaks with Larry, swearing to Lottie that she will
never take him away from her, and going so far as to put herself
under another man’s protection. But Larry will not give up on
Blondie, while Lottie’s jealousy and unhappiness blinds her to
her best friend’s sincerity.... This pre-Code vehicle for Marion
Davies is, ultimately, a rather peculiar meditation upon the ups
and downs of female friendship. The good news is that, unlike a
great many films,
Blondie Of The Follies sees such friendship as fundamental
and enduring; the bad news is, it chooses to illustrate its
precepts by focussing on a friendship between two young women
that begins with a full-on cat-fight on the stairs of their
mutual tenement, and ends with one nearly crippling the other in
a fit of jealous rage. In between we get some heavy doses of the
usual eyebrow-raising double-standardism – the film condemns the
two girls for their behaviour, but is entirely uncritical of
Larry Belmont either for his keeping of Lottie or his
cold-blooded dismissal of her – and one glorious comic sequence
as Marion Davies and Jimmy Durante do a dead-on take-off of
Greta Garbo and John Barrymore in
Grand Hotel. (Given
that Grand Hotel was
released only ten weeks
before Blondie Of The
Follies, this parody is an accurate measure of the enormity
of that film’s success.) James Gleason, Zasu Pitts, Sidney Toler
and Douglass Dumbrille appear in supporting roles.
Bloodline
(1979)
Adapted
from the Sidney Sheldon novel. Millionaire businessman Sam Roffe
falls to his death in the Alps,
and his pharmaceutical empire is inherited by his estranged
daughter, Elizabeth (Audrey Hepburn). The board of directors –
known collectively as “the cousins”, family by birth and
marriage – does its best to pressure the inexperienced Elizabeth into making the company public, but
with the support of her father’s former right-hand man, Rhys
Williams (Ben Gazzara), she decides to try and run things
herself. Before long, however, “accidents” begin to occur, while
the Swiss police discover that Sam Roffe’s death was murder....
A bad adaptation of a bad novel (the film was cut significantly,
and with no particular judgement, prior to its release, meaning
that the endless flashback recounting Sam Roffe’s origins
stayed, but the nasty serial killer – and snuff film? – subplot
was pruned into incomprehensibility),
Bloodline is chiefly
interesting for the unjustly out of work actors it managed to
rope into its supporting roles – and for the way it asks us to
believe that Audrey Hepburn, James Mason, Irene Pappas, Omar
Sharif and Romy Schneider are related to each other! Audrey
Hepburn is too old for the role she’s playing, but that’s not as
important as her evident discomfort with her character as this
tasteless story meanders along. Dramatically, the problem here
is that there’s no real mystery about the story’s mystery. Let
me put it this way: Elizabeth’s new husband is behaving oh-so
secretively, and all but one of the “cousins” is openly hostile
towards her, while one of them is sweet as pie – who do
you think the killer
is? It also doesn’t help that Elizabeth, in imminent
danger of her life and with the whole world to choose from,
keeps going back to the same old places, so that the killer will
always know just where to find her – although credit where it’s
due, I did like her deliberately wrecking her room as (she
thinks) the killer approaches: “Try making it look like an
accident now!”
The only bright spot in this mess is the performance of Gert
Fröbe as Inspector Hornung, while the single real point of
interest is the Interpol computer,
circa 1979, which
takes up an entire floor of the building....and
talks. And nothing in
this entire film, I may say, intrigued me so much as our very
first glimpse of Elizabeth, busy cleaning dinosaur bones at the
New York Museum of Natural History; a – career? hobby? – never
referenced again.
Bulldog Drummond Comes Back (1937)
Bulldog
Drummond (John Howard) finds his past coming back to haunt him
when his fiancée, Phyllis Clavering (Louise Campbell), is
abducted by Irena Soldanis (Helen Freeman), the widow of a man
who was arrested by Drummond and later executed. With Phyllis as
bait, Drummond must follow clue after clue in a sick game of
treasure hunt, never certain if he will find his fiancée alive
at the next rendezvous point. Although Drummond has made it
clear in no uncertain terms that the police must not get
involved, his superior, Colonel Nielsen (John Barrymore), who is
in pursuit of Mme Soldarnis and her brother and confederate,
Mikhail Valdin (J. Carroll Naish), for another crime, has
decided that he must take a hand, and calls on the talents of a
subordinate who is skilled in the arts of make-up and
disguise.... Much ado
about nothing might serve as a subtitle for this second 1937
instalment in the
Bulldog Drummond series, which sees Drummond running
literally in circles for much of its just-over-an-hour length.
Even less than the previous entry is the plot important,
however. This entry has Ray Milland and Heather Angel replaced
by John Howard and Louise Campbell – they gave up trying to keep
Hugh and Phyllis “British” pretty early on, didn’t they? – and
(without being rude) more importantly, our previous Colonel
Nielsen, Guy Standing, replaced by John Barrymore, who gets
billing over Howard and steals the show by moving from disguise
to disguise, and accent to accent. Even so, Tenny – E.E. Clive
still, thankfully – turns out to be the real hero. Generous of
him, really, considering that the film opens with him in gloomy
anticipation of the marriage of Hugh and Phyllis, happily
engaged throughout this one. Meanwhile, poor Algy dashes from
place to place in growing certainty that he is going to miss his
new baby’s christening....
Bulldog Drummond Escapes (1937)
Speeding
through the foggy night, Captain Hugh C. “Bulldog” Drummond (Ray
Milland) almost runs down a young woman, who throws herself to
the ground and feigns unconsciousness as he pulls up to check on
her. Drummond is placing the woman in his car when he hears a
shot from the nearby marshland. He goes to investigate, and
finds a dead body.... Drummond tracks the girl, Phyllis
Clavering (Heather Angel), to Graystone Manor, where he meets a
man called Merridew (Porter Hall). He also sees a subdued
Phyllis, who seems dashed when he returns the purse she left in
his car, but who contrives, after leaving the room, to tuck a
note into Drummond’s hat. Merridew explains to the puzzled
Drummond that Phyllis has been suffering a persecution complex
since the death of her brother, and is under the care of a
psychiatrist, Professor Stanton (Walter Kingsford). However,
when Drummond has gone, Merridew questions Phyllis angrily and,
when she refuses to answer, her “psychiatrist” begins viciously
twisting her arm.... There were four Bulldog Drummond films made
in 1937, which featured three different Drummonds.
Bulldog Drummond Escapes
famously stars Ray Milland in the title role, with Heather Angel
as an enjoyably feisty Phyllis, who has a real talent for
bonking people on the head. (In fact, this is a problem:
this Phyllis is smart
and feisty enough that you can’t imagine her getting into, or
being kept in, the situation she’s in when she and Drummond
meet.) For the rest, the screenplay hardly holds together –
something about a counterfeiter’s ring and a stolen
inheritance....I think.
Best not to worry about the plot too much, and instead just
enjoy the cast. Hughs and Phyllises may have come and gone over
the years – and even months – but the real anchors of the series
remained reassuringly constant, in the forms of Reginald Denny
as Algy, Drummond’s long-suffering, thick-headed pal, and E.E.
Clive as Tenny, his imperturbable manservant. One of the other
pleasant aspects of the series was, in spite of the movements in
the casting, the film-to-film continuity. Thus,
Bulldog Drummond Escapes
has Hugh and Phyllis meeting, falling in love, and at the last
getting engaged; while its running joke is poor Algy’s
unavailing attempt to get in touch with the hospital where his
wife is giving birth. (Modern viewers are unlikely to sympathise
with Drummond’s cavalier attitude towards Algy and Gwen’s
situation.) The next film in the series,
Bulldog Drummond Comes
Back, gives us....well, we’ll see that in a minute....
Bulldog
Drummond In Africa (1938)
As the
wedding of Hugh Drummond and Phyllis Clavering draws near
again, this time in
England (?), their plans are disrupted by the kidnapping of
Colonel Nielson (H.B. Warner) by
Richard Lane
(J. Carroll Naish), a decorated WWI hero turned traitor and spy.
Lane’s objective is a “radio wave disintegrator”, a device
intended to prevent the interception of signals by the enemy.
Phyllis arrives at Graystone Manor just in time to see Nielson
being hustled away by two men. She alerts Drummond and Tenny
(E.E. Clive), and soon the two men –
and Algy (Reginal
Denny), who showed up at the critical moment,
and Phyllis, who
stowed away – are on their way to Morocco in pursuit. Meanwhile,
Nielson is being subjected to a novel form of torture in an
effort to get him to talk: being tied to a tree with a savage
lion chained up nearby, its claws falling only inches short and
its tether starting to give.... One of the shorter entries in
the series, and substantially padded even to get that far,
Bulldog Drummond In
Africa is nevertheless boosted by its cast. Some changes
have been rung here. John Barrymore missed this one, being
replaced by H.B. Warner, which actually works well: Warner is
more convincing as the stiff upper lipped old buffer type ready
to die gruesomely for his country. J. Carroll Naish is another
returning villain (he was Mikhail Valdin in
Bulldog Drummond Comes
Back), while Anthony Quinn has a good early role as a
British official who’s actually working for Lane. Importantly,
though oddly, Heather Angel is back as Phyllis. I don’t know
whether it’s the actress herself, or whether the writers picked
up their game when she was around, but Angel makes a much better
Phyllis than Louise Campbell, less whiny and better able to take
care of herself. The plot is more than a little ridiculous, but
the sequence with the lions is effective, as is a nasty bit of
business about a bomb and a timer attached to the underside of
Our Heroes’ plane. Conversely, the comedy relief is pretty
appalling (I’ll spare you a word-picture of Drummond and Tenny
doing a kilt dance), and there are also some odd continuity
errors: wasn’t Graystone Manor
Phyllis’s house? And
no, Hugh and Phyllis still aren’t married by the end of this
one. We – like Phyllis – keep hoping.
Bulldog Drummond’s
Peril (1938)
Let’s
see, where were we? Well, Hugh Drummond and Phyllis Clavering
are trying to get married –
again. This time
they’ve made it all the way to Switzerland, where Phyllis’s Aunt
Blanche (Elizabeth Patterson) is hosting the wedding at her
villa. The wedding gifts pour in, including that of Algy (Reginal
Denny) and Gwen Longworth (Nydia Westman), an artificial diamond
of remarkable size and, even more remarkably, indistinguishable
from the real thing. This stone is the work of Professor Goodman
(Halliwell Hobbes), Gwen’s scientist-father. Present when the
gift is received is Sir Raymond Blantyree (Matthew Boulton), the
head of a major international diamond syndicate. Blantyree
hurriedly summons his secretary, Roberts (Austin Fairman),
warning him of the “diamond’s” existence and insisting that they
must examine it – “At all cost!” The result is a missing
diamond, a dead body, and Phyllis left at the altar
yet again....
Although the Hugh/Phyllis set-up is getting tiresome,
Bulldog Drummond’s Peril
redeems itself somewhat with a bizarre plunge into the world of
science fiction, and with a couple of movie scientists to make
your hair stand on end, Professor Goodman and his professional
rival, Dr Botulian. As the movies so often insist, “scientists”
here are just private citizens who work out of their home
laboratories, with no employment or affiliations to be seen.
(Kind of makes you wonder where that “professorship” came from,
doesn’t it? Out of a cereal box?) Professor Goodman has turned
to making artificial diamonds for no reason the film ever
bothers to confide to us – except that he wants to show off by
presenting his work to “the Royal Society” – and does so using
“scientific equipment” that would make Kenneth Strickfaden weep
with envy. “I could probably make these diamonds for a shilling
each,” he confides to the appalled Sir Raymond, adding
cheerfully that, “In a few weeks, my process will be free to
everyone!” Not surprisingly, the Professor’s life is soon in
danger. Someone dies
– but who it is and how it was done was something that requires
some considerable paying of attention.... John Howard, Louise
Campbell, John Barrymore, Reginald Denny and E.E. Clive are all
back on board for this next entry in the series, which also sees
Porter Hall (the baddie from
Bulldog Drummond Escapes)
return as the evil Dr Botulian. Also starring a dubbed penguin
in a top hat.
Quote:
“You mean to say you
value your name on a scientific paper more than half a million
pounds in cash!?”
Bulldog Drummond’s Revenge (1937)
Colonel Nielsen (John Barrymore) learns
that an attempt will be made to kidnap Sir John Huxton (Matthew
Boulton), who has invented a new explosive of devastating power.
Nielsen goes to Huxton and tries to warn him of the danger, but
Huxton insists upon not only going to Paris with his explosive
as planned, but flying his own plane with only his secretary,
Draven Nogais (Frank Puglia), along, arguing that the explosive
is dangerously unpredictable, and that no-one else should be
exposed to the danger. Nielsen reluctantly acquiesces and the
plane takes off.... As Bulldog Drummond (John Howard), Algy
Longworth (Reginald Denny) and Tenny (E.E. Clive) drive through
the night, they see a curious sight: a suitcase descending from
a small plane via parachute. As the three go to retrieve it,
they are almost run down by a passing car. The next moment, at
some distance, the plane crashes. Hurrying to investigate,
Drummond discovers a severed arm which, curiously, is
cold.... The ring,
the licence, and Bulldog Drummond (John Howard) and his fiancée,
Phyllis Clavering (Louise Campbell), are set to depart for their Switzerland wedding. But of course,
it’s not that easy.
There’s actually no reason given why the wedding should be in Switzerland,
except to get Hugh and Phyllis – and poor Algy, accidentally –
aboard the train and boat that are also carrying Draven Nogais
and his confederate, Hardcastle (Robert Gleckler). As drama,
Bulldog Drummond’s
Revenge isn’t too bad, but unfortunately, far too much of
its “humour” consists of Phyllis and Gwen Longworth (Nydia
Westman) screaming and fainting, which is both irritating as
hell, and completely out of character for the brave and
level-headed Phyllis we’ve seen up to this point in the series.
In compensation, though, we do get to see Draven Nogais evading
his pursuers by “disguising” himself as a woman....and Frank
Puglia in drag is a sight that has to be seen to be disbelieved.
There is also an intriguing subplot involving Miki Morita as,
clearly, a Japanese spy in Britain. “You know who and what I
am?” he asks. “Of course,” responds Nielsen coolly. Equally
worried about Huxton’s explosive, the
two men enter into an
alliance of convenience, which leads to some
very interesting
speeches – this is 1937, remember – about “your country” and “my
country” and “friendly nations” and “the wrong hands”....
Bunco Squad (1950)
After the third suicide
in three months of someone swindled out of their savings,
detectives Steve Johnson (Robert Sterling) and Mack McManus
(Douglas Fowley) of the
Los Angeles “Bunco Squad” set out to put
the wind up many of the local con-artists, certain that behind
some of them is a major operator. They’re right: Anthony Wells
(Ricardo Cortez), an expert in making a profit while letting
others take the fall for him, now has his sights set on rich
widow Jessica Royce, exploiting her grief over the death of her
son via a professional medium, “Princess Liane of the Rama
Society” (Bernadene Hayes), who claims to be in contact with
him. Alerted to the situation by Mrs Royce’s worried secretary,
Barbara Madison (Marguerite Churchill), Johnson and McManus
retaliate with a phoney medium of their own: Steve’s girlfriend,
Grace Bradshaw (Joan Dixon), an aspiring actress, whose life is
placed in danger when the desperate Wells, seeing Mrs Royce’s
fortune slipping away from him, discovers the imposture....
After so many cop shows and films depicting policemen as
disgruntled failures if they are anything less than homicide
detectives, this odd little crime drama benefits from the
undisguised enthusiasm of its cops for their work, rooting out
swindlers and con-artists of all kinds, in particular phoney
fortune-tellers. Steve Johnson proves rather more likeable as a
cop than as a boyfriend, though: his way of trying to convince
his girlfriend to quit her job and marry him is to tell her
repeatedly what a lousy actress she is! – and
then he’s got the
nerve to recruit her to pose as a medium for him, despite the
danger of the situation! If the story of
Bunco Squad is never
entirely plausible, it is unusual enough, and brisk enough, to
hold the interest. It may also leave you paranoid over the
condition of your car: it features no less than
three fatal
brake-line severings in the space of sixty-four minutes!
Caught (1949)
Max Ophüls’ ode to the horrors of wish fulfilment might as well
have been called Be
Careful What You Pray For. Working girl Leonora Eames
(Barbara Bel Geddes) marries multi-millionaire Smith Ohlrig
(Robert Ryan) after a whirlwind courtship, not knowing that the
dangerously unstable Ohlrig proposed merely as a way of lashing
out at his psychiatrist (Art Smith), who unwisely begged him to
leave the girl alone. The newspapers proclaim Leonora’s
“Cinderella romance”, but a year later the girl is a
near-prisoner in Ohlrig’s cavernous mansion, her life totally
controlled by her erratic husband’s whims. After a final violent
argument, Leonora walks out, finding a tiny apartment and a job
as receptionist to two doctors. Dr Larry Quinada (James Mason)
finds Leonora’s inexperience and disorganisation aggravating
but, as a paediatrician, appreciates her way with children.
Leonora’s new life is disrupted when Ohlrig reappears, promising
reformation and begging her to return to him. She does – only to
have it made bitterly clear that nothing whatsoever has changed.
Returning to her working life, Leonora begins to take pleasure
in her job, making herself as useful as possible to both
doctors. Dr Quinada begins to take a romantic interest in her,
while Leonora herself finds herself bitterly torn when she
realises that she is carrying her husband’s child....
Caught is never quite
the film it should have been; it never seems quite to make up
its mind how far we should blame Leonora for her situation; but
it certainly doesn’t consider her faultless, going so far as to
have Larry Quinada, the film’s voice of reason, call her bluff.
“No, you didn’t,” he retorts when she insists she loved her
husband. “You thought it was wrong to marry for money, therefore
you told yourself you loved him.” Melodramatic this might be –
and quite straight-faced about it, as Ophüls usually was – but
its portrait of domestic misery is deeply unsettling, as
Leonora’s dreams of “marrying well” shrivel into an airlocked
existence as the mink-draped puppet of her control-freak
husband. As Smith Ohlrig, Robert Ryan again proves himself one
of filmdom’s most terrifying – because most believable –
psychopaths, giving us a man destructive by instinct; a man both
neurotically acquisitive and neurotically insecure; a man who
suffers a psychosomatically-induced heart attack any time he
doesn’t get his own way. Ohlrig has no hesitation in using
Leonora’s pregnancy as a weapon. On the contrary, he revels in
it, offering her a divorce in exchange for custody of the child.
“I can’t do that,” moans Leonora. “I
know you can’t,” grins
her husband. (The character of Ohlrig was, evidently, intended
as Max Ophüls’ revenge upon Howard Hughes, in whose employ he
spent a miserable period upon first reaching
Hollywood.) The third point of the uneasy
triangle gave James Mason his first American role, and he
fleshes out what could have been a typical movie cardboard
cut-out hero role into something rougher and more interesting.
Quinada is a man of wealthy background devoting himself to poor
patients, but refreshingly, he’s certainly no saint: at one
point he becomes so annoyed by a mother’s hypochondria-by-proxy,
he almost overlooks her daughter’s serious illness; while when
his partner, Dr Hoffman (Frank Ferguson, in a lovely supporting
performance), diagnoses Leonora’s pregnancy, he immediately
assumes that Quinada is the father. It is the emotional
complexity of Caught
that separates it from its lesser brethren. Indeed,
extraordinarily for its era, it manages to create a situation
where a woman divorcing one man and marrying another while
carrying the first man’s child is the
morally correct thing to
do. Alas, the film loses its nerve before the end – or
perhaps the studio interfered. In either case, the
actual ending of the
film is thoroughly disturbing – a piece of absolutely
cold-blooded practicality, the likes of which we rarely
see....and that’s probably a good thing.
Code Two (1953)
Three young men, Russ
Hartley (Robert Horton), Harry Whenlon (Jeff Richards) and Chuck
O’Flair (Ralph Meeker), attend the
Police
Academy in Los Angeles. After their
graduation, each of the three, for reasons of his own – the pay,
his personal history, a desire for excitement – elects to join
the motorcycle squad.
Code Two is a film of two halves, the first a look at the
operation of the police academy in the early 1950s, the second
devoted to the tracking down of a group of cattle thieves (no,
really), who also become cop killers. Although this is a neat
little B-film, these days it is certainly the first part of the
film that is the most interesting. Here, as in other
semi-documentary MGM productions of the same era, such as
Kid Glove Killer and
Mystery Street, we are given
a realistic look at the functioning of the police force, in this
case at how young policemen are actually trained. We follow the
usual disparate trio of friends – family man Hartley,
family-of-cops product Whenlon, and cocky blowhard O’Flair – and
their relationship with the experienced cop, Sergeant Culdane
(Keenan Wynn) – “Jumbo” to his friends – who takes them under
his wing. Most of the focus is upon O’Flair, in whom Culdane
takes a special interest on the traditional grounds that “he
reminds me of me” (in which case, Keenan, you used to be a real
jerk). Ralph Meeker’s Chuck O’Flair is a throwback to the kind
of obnoxious characters so often played by James Cagney in the
1930s, who think they know it all and never learn anything until
tragedy strikes....and of course, it always strikes someone
else. Unlike those
earlier films, however – and most refreshingly – O’Flair’s
antics do him no good at all in the romance department: when he
turns his Neanderthal charms upon Jane Anderson (Elaine
Stewart), Russ Hartley’s sister-in-law, she is quite repulsed,
and takes up instead with the shy, good-natured Harry Whenlon. (O’Flair
has more luck “charming” women who are trying to dodge traffic
tickets.) Of course, in time O’Flair does prove himself, and
even grows up in the process – a bit, anyway. This interesting
slice of history was directed by Fred McLeod Wilcox, three years
before Forbidden Planet.
Commandos Strike At Dawn (1942)
For what was certainly intended as a
morale-boosting piece of propaganda, this is an incredibly
downbeat film. A peaceful Norwegian village suffers through the
German occupation, and its inhabitants must decide when and how
to make their stand. As you’d expect, there’s a fair amount of
heavy-handed speech-making here, but it’s balanced by the film’s
refusal to treat war as something that does, or should, come
easily to people, and by its unflinching look at the terrible
personal toll suffered by those who decide to take up arms: a
young bride sees her husband executed for possession of a radio;
a woman harbouring the killer of the German commander learns
that her own grandson is one of those condemned to be shot in
retaliation – and says nothing; a wife discovers that her
husband is a collaborator, and hands him over to the men he was
planning to betray.... Where this film works best, however, is
in its examination of the
process of occupation, with initial uncertain compliance
turning into fearful obedience, and the question of when
resistance becomes not merely an option, but a necessity.
Commandos Strike At Dawn
is refreshingly free of big-name stars, instead employing a
quality ensemble cast headed by Paul Muni as the introverted
intellectual turned resistance fighter. (Unusual is the film’s
contention that Erik is the most effective fighter
because he’s a
thinker; the village’s more obvious men
of action fall foul of the Nazis fairly quickly.) Anna Lee,
Cedric Hardwicke, Alexander Knox, Lillian Gish, Ray Collins,
Robert Coote and George Macready also appear.
The Company She Keeps (1951)
Convicted forger and thief Mildred Lynch (Jane Greer) is paroled
and sent to start a new life in Los Angeles under the care of her parole
officer, Joan Wilburn (Lizabeth Scott). Changing her name to
“Diane Stuart”, Mildred is given a job and a small apartment,
but chafes against the numerous restrictions of her life, while
remaining hostile and suspicious of Joan and her efforts to
help. The patient Joan persists, regretfully declining a
proposal of marriage from businessman Larry Collins (Dennis
O’Keefe) in order to fulfil her professional obligations.
Mildred and Larry later encounter one another and go out
together; but what begins as act of calculation on both their
parts becomes something else as they begin to develop feelings
for one another. Mildred continues to struggle with her
readjustment to society, beset on all sides by opportunities to
lapse back into a life of crime, all the while living in fear
that Larry will discover the truth about her.... After the
success of Caged the
year before, which revealed to shocked eyes the truth about
female convicts and their brutalisation by the prison system –
albeit in a way that looks hilariously polite these days –
director John Cromwell took his concerns a step further with
this drama about the difficulties and temptations of parolees.
Like its predecessor, The
Company She Keeps is rather too neat and clean to be
convincing, but it isn’t without interest. Where it scores
points is in not making Mildred some kind of injured innocent.
Yes, she’s had a lousy life, which has left her unable to trust
anyone; but she’s also weak, incapable of taking responsibility
for her actions, and both a little lazy and a little greedy: her
crimes are those of someone unwilling to wait and work for what
she wants. Her growing love for Larry Collins is probably the
first sincere emotion of her life, and the one thing capable of
really reforming her – but can she keep out of trouble in the
meantime? In one beautifully staged scene, Mildred, sick of the
cheap clothes that are all she can afford, is very nearly
tempted into shoplifting herself a new outfit (not least because
of her realisation of how damn easy it would be), but ultimately
wins the battle against herself. Mildred may not always be
likeable, but she is
always understandable....even in the rotten way she treats Joan.
This film provides an interestingly different role for one of
the era’s best bad girls, Lizabeth Scott (when I first read its
synopsis, I assumed that
she was the convict), as the too-good-to-be true Joan.
Well....perhaps I should try to be a little less cynical here,
and say that Joan is the parole officer that everyone would love
to have. Typically of when this film was made, though, Joan’s
dedication and professionalism do her no good at all. The
ultimate message here is that any woman who hesitates for so
much as a fraction of a second to accept a proposal of marriage
can expect to have her man off chasing another woman before the
word “no” is well out of her mouth....and
she will be the one who’s in the wrong.
The Company She Keeps holds an extra point of interest these days
thanks to a sequence towards the end set at Union Station, where
Mildred and Larry are seated next to a harassed woman with two
children, a young boy and a baby. These three are played,
respectively, by Dorothy Dean Bridges, Beau Bridges and Jeff
Bridges – the latter making his film debut at the ripe old age
of nine months! Director John Cromwell also appears, uncredited,
as a police officer.
Dangerous Corner (1934)
The publishing firm of
Chatfield-Whitehouse is rocked to its foundation when the
disappearance of a valuable bond from a safe is followed by the
suicide of junior partner Martin Chatfield (Ian Keith). A year
later, Robert (Conrad Nagel) and Freda Chatfield (Erin
O’Brien-Moore), Gordon (Henry Wadsworth) and Betty Whitehouse
(Betty Furness), Ann Beale (Virginia Bruce) and Charles Stanton
(Melvyn Douglas) gather to farewell author Maude Mockridge
(Doris Lloyd), who is returning to England. The conversation turns to
Maude’s latest book, “The Sleeping Dog”, and the implications of
its title. Robert declares a belief in the need for absolute
truth; Ann demurs, saying that absolute truth is impossible, and
that half-truths are more dangerous than lies. Strangely
compelled, those gathered begin to dissect the circumstances of
Martin’s death and the apparent theft that preceded it; and over
the course of the night, the formerly tightly-knit circle of
family and friends is devastated by revelations of unhappy
marriage, unrequited love, infidelity, gambling debts, robbery –
and a suicide that wasn’t.... Based upon a play by J.B.
Priestly, this film takes the position that honesty isn’t always
the best policy. How viewers react to the film overall will
certainly be determined by their response to---well, it isn’t
fair to call it a twist ending, or even a cheat ending; the film
tells us at the outset what its game is; it’s just likely that
by the time the critical moment arrives, we’ve forgotten all
about that opening title card. A bigger problem is that, despite
shocking revelation piled upon shocking revelation, the
screenplay makes no effort to disguise its stage origin, serving
up an awful lot of talk and very little action. The moral
dilemmas are intriguing, though; and it is very probable that
you will come away sympathising with the sinners, and wanting to
slap the sanctimonious. The best part of the film comes after
the twist, when we are confronted again by characters we
thought we knew....
Death On The Diamond (1934)
“Pop” Clark (David
Landau), manager of the St Louis Cardinals, puts himself into
debt to sign cocky young pitcher Larry Kelly (Robert Young), all
too well aware that if his team does not win the pennant, he
will be forced to sell the franchise to bitter rival Henry
Ainley (John Hyams). Kelly’s arrival does indeed turn the team’s
fortunes around, something that sits well with neither Ainley
nor professional gambler Joseph Karnes (C. Henry Gordon), both
of whom face substantial losses if the Cardinals win. As the
season draws to a close with the Cardinals moving ever closer to
the pennant, a series of accidents begins to plague the team –
“accidents” that ultimately prove fatal....
Death On The Diamond
is both a satisfactory mystery story – although the explanation
is a little, you should pardon the expression, out of left field
– and an amazing time-capsule, a snapshot of the entirely
different world that was professional baseball in the early
thirties. (From the point of historical interest, this would
make a fascinating double-bill with
Angels In The Outfield.)
In a sense this film is greater than the sum of its parts,
featuring a remarkable number of soon-to-be familiar faces at
the outset of their careers: not just Robert Young, but Mickey
Rooney, Walter Brennan, Ward Bond and Bruce Bennett, all in
look-fast roles, as well as bits from long-haul character actors
like Dennis O’Keefe, James Ellison and Fred Graham (who actually
got his start as a ball player). The relationship that develops
between Kelly and Frances Clark (Madge Evans), Pop’s daughter
and the club’s secretary, is credible (Kelly: “Am I in the right
place?” Frances: “I’ll
tell you at the end of the season.”), while the running-joke
scrapping between Nat Pendleton as slugger “Truck” Hogan and Ted
Healy as umpire “Crawfish” O’Toole has an unexpectedly emotional
pay-off.
Dick Tracy (1937, 15 episodes)
A syndicate led by The
Spider – also known as “The Lame One” because of his clubfoot –
unleashes a crime wave. Federal Agent Dick Tracy (Ralph Byrd)
leads the investigation, all the while suffering due to the
mysterious disappearance of his younger brother, Gordon (Richard
Beach, Carleton Young). Unbeknownst to Dick, Gordon has been
captured by The Spider, who has his assistant, Moloch (John
Picorri), perform brain surgery upon him, in order to remove his
sense of right and wrong. The surgery leaves Gordon so
disfigured, his brother is later unable to recognise him. The
Spider and his gang, Gordon included, continue their reign of
terror, only to be thwarted at every turn by Tracy and his
assistants.... Dick Tracy
is probably one of the most famous of all serials, but
truthfully, it isn’t very good. Part of the problem – and this
is something that, I am learning, afflicts a great many serials
– is that it cannot live up to its absolutely frenetic opening
episode, which features a car crash, a kidnapping, two murders,
some brain surgery, an adoption, a puppet-show, the revelation
of “The Wing”, a flying machine capable of reaching the
stratosphere, and an attempt to destroy the San
Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, which was completed the year
before this was made. After this, the serial settles down into a
pattern of one attempted heist, one thwarting per episode.
(Although we never do find out what, if anything, all this is
supposed to achieve.) Weaknesses and annoyances abound. The good
guys discover three of the bad guys’ hang-outs during the early
episodes – an abandoned power station, a waterfront dive and a
particular dock – but not only do they never raid or guard them,
they are astonished when they discover during the later episodes
that they’re still hanging out there! In addition, this serial
inflicts upon us one of the most odious of all Odious Comic
Reliefs, in the shape of federal agent [*cough*]
Mike McGurk (Smiley Burnette), who is moronic and unfunny to a
squirm-with-embarrassment degree. (Oh – and don’t even ask who
“Oscar and Elmer” are. Trust me, you don’t want to know.)
Fortunately, Tracy
does get some help from “Junior” (Lee Van Atta), the orphan he
picks up rather casually in the first episode – adoption was
apparently a lot simpler back then – and from Gwen Andrews (Kay
Hughes), who is Tracy’s lab assistant, secretary, telephonist
and all-purpose girl Friday, as circumstances demand. In fact,
Gwen gets the serial’s most exquisite moment when, upon one of
the bad guys leaving an incriminating footprint behind, she
whips a test tube out of her pocket, performs “a test” and
announces, “It’s sesame oil!” There are some other enjoyable
things here, like the enemy agent who chooses to travel
inconspicuously – by dirigible – and The Wing, which is simply
fabulous. But the best part of
Dick Tracy is
undoubtedly Moloch, who in a piece of efficiency rarely
witnessed, is both the mad doctor
and the hunchbacked
assistant! John Picorri, with his perpetual grinning and
tittering and hand-rubbing and eye-rolling, and with a black cat
clutched in his arms all the while he isn’t operating – or
rubbing his hands – is just marvellous in the role. It is his
operation – “a simple altering of the glands” – that makes the
newly amoral Gordon Tracy his brother’s implacable enemy;
although we never do find out why a brain operation should leave
you with a scar on your cheek and a skunk stripe in your hair.
On the side of light, Ralph Byrd’s performance as Dick Tracy is
perhaps best described as
enthusiastic. He runs, he jumps, he dodges, he leaps, he
waves his arms around – whether it is called for or not. Indeed,
at times he begins to channel John Cleese. Unfortunately – and
now, halfway through the same year’s
SOS Coast Guard, I can state this with some authority – Ralph Byrd
is one of the worst
fake fighters ever, simply flailing his arms about and never
bothering to close his fists. After the first one hundred and
sixty two fist fights, it
does get a bit ridiculous....
Quote:
“Sometimes I’m tempted to
try another experiment: transplanting the brain of a cat into a
human. It would be even more interesting than the operation I
performed on Gordon Tracy!”
Dick Tracy (1945)
Although it apparently had Chester Gould’s
approval, I can’t say that I ever “got” the casting of Morgan
Conway as Dick Tracy; nor do the films that star him have much
resemblance to their comic strip model, being instead
essentially indistinguishable from any of their low-budget crime
movie brethren. A series of vicious murders has the police force
baffled, since the victims are both men and women, rich and
poor, with no apparent connection. Moreover, each of the victims
was also the target of an extortion bid prior to their deaths.
The perpetrator is (although invented for this movie) a typical
Tracy villain, “Splitface”....or
is it? It takes Tracy, of course, to realise that there
is a connection
between the victims, and that the police are investigating not
one crime spree, but two.
Dick Tracy is a
serviceable enough little thriller bolstered by a solid mystery
story and a couple of memorable supporting performances. On the
debit side, Anne Jeffreys’ Tess Trueheart is even more
unnecessary than usual as the “good girl”, and Tracy’s adopted son
“Junior” is along to make us flinch with annoyance. (Although to
give the devil his due, the kid does play an important part in
the story’s climax.) On the plus, this film has some nice, noir-ish
touches – the killings are uncommonly brutal – Jane Greer shows
up in a supporting role, and Mike Mazurki gets a lot more
screentime than usual as Splitface. The show is thoroughly
stolen, however, by Milton Parsons as the world’s creepiest
mortician – and yes, I know that’s a big statement; I stand by
it – and by Trevor Bardette as Professor Linwood J. Starling,
star-gazer, crystal-reader, hypnotist, philosopher,
jailbird....and genuine
psychic, if only he realised it in time....
|
Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome (1947)
Criminal “Gruesome” (Boris
Karloff) is no sooner out of jail – for “good behaviour”, heh,
heh, heh – than he has his pal “Melody” Fiske (Tony Barrett) cut
him in on a big deal. The following day, making a phone-call
while at the bank, Tess Trueheart (Anne Gwynne) witnesses an
astonishing thing: the bank fills with gas from a small bomb,
and everyone there becomes completely immobilised. While they
are so, Tess, protected by her sealed phone-booth, watches in
disbelief as two men – who have not bothered to disguise
themselves – rob the bank. Tess manages to call Dick Tracy
(Ralph Byrd), but the robbers get away, with Melody killing a
guard outside in the process. A police chemist analyses the
remains of the bomb and declares its content to be an unknown
substance. Tracy suggests taking it to
Dr A. Tomic (Milton Parsons), a university physicist who earlier
contacted the police seeking protection after what he believed
to be two attempts on his life. However, when Tracy reaches the university, he learns that Dr
Tomic has disappeared.... Now, this is more like it! Poor Morgan
Conway: public opinion was allowed to have its way in 1947, and Conway was replaced as Dick Tracy by Ralph
Byrd, who had played him in half a dozen hugely successful
serials during the 1930s. Byrd made two Tracy films during the year. The second of
them, Dick Tracy Meets
Gruesome, features Boris Karloff as the titular criminal,
and his mere presence lifts this modest little film to a whole
different level of fun; there is something quite irresistible
about listening to Boris – in
that voice – spit
dialogue that sounds like it was written for Bogart about ten
years earlier. Ralph Byrd was physically a much better choice
for the role of Dick Tracy, and the script makes more of an
effort to conjure up the Gould universe....although this time
the inevitable downtown dive isn’t “The Dripping Dagger”, it’s
“The Hangmans Knot”. (You can tell it’s owned by criminals:
no apostrophe!!)
There is less comedy than usual, too, and less side-kickery;
Tess is useful as the witness, then isn’t seen much more. The
fate of several of the characters, and the near fate of Tracy, is also, well, pretty gruesome. But of
course, what endears this film to me is the SCIENCE!! Four
scientists amongst the major characters – one of them, played by
Skelton Knaggs (!!), is “a disgraced doctor of science”, no less
– mysterious experimental gases, physicists doing chemistry,
guinea-pigs in cages
everywhere....oh, be still, my heart! (Actually, I don’t
want to say too much about this aspect of the film because,
frankly, there is enough wacky science here, and enough wacky
scientists, possibly
to warrant a full-length review at a later date.) And as usual,
the devil is in the details; that is, in the supporting cast.
Milton Parsons – yay! – is back again as Dr Tomic. Skelton
Knaggs gets promoted into one of his most substantial roles, and
actually manages to steal a scene or two from Boris. Those with
sharp eyes will also spot Jason Robards Sr as a bank official,
future Tarzan Lex Barker as an ambulance driver, and future
Hideous Sun Demon
Robert Clarke as the police chemist.
Quote:
“If I didn’t know better,
I’d swear we were doing business with Boris Karloff.”
Dick Tracy Vs Cueball (1946)
Gem
courier Lester Abbott (Trevor Bardette) is confronted in his
liner stateroom by
Harry
Lake,
aka “Cueball” (Dick
Wessel), who demands the diamonds Abbott is carrying – and
strangles him when he fights back.... Dick Tracy (Morgan Conway)
finds on the body a card that leads him to a local jeweller’s
business, where he meets proprietor Jules Sparkle (Harry Chesire)
and becomes suspicious of Sparkle’s cutter, Simon Little (Byron
Foulger), and his secretary, Mona Clyde (Rita Corday). These two
are in fact part of a conspiracy with antique dealer Percival
Priceless (Douglas Walton). The three are using Cueball to get
the diamonds, imagining they can buy him off cheaply. However,
Cueball has come to suspect that his collaborators are trying to
double-cross him; and when he gets double-crossed, he gets mad;
and when he gets mad, well.... This second entry in the Dick
Tracy series, which was directed by Gordon Douglas, is not as
good a film as Dick
Tracy, but it is a better representation of the bizarre
Chester Gould universe, with characters like –
groan – “Jules
Sparkle”, and much of the action taking place at the
delightfully named “Dripping Dagger”, a dive owned by one
“Filthy Flora” (Esther Howard). Cueball himself is about as
sharp as the anatomical feature he’s named for – his idea of a
cunning disguise is to put on a hat – but his penchant for
solving every difficulty by whipping the leather band off that
hat at least ensures that there’s plenty of action. Viewers
should be warned, though, that this time around Tracy has no
less than four
sidekicks: Pat Patton, who gets knocked unconscious about eight
times (it isn’t nearly enough); Tess Trueheart, who after
spending the entire previous film trying to get Tracy to dinner,
spends all of this one trying to get him to attend his own
birthday party, ha-ha;
Junior, here chiefly so that his buddy from next door can
provide Tracy with a vital clue (and
what a clue!); and
Vitamin Flintheart, who actually does something useful in
between popping vitamin pills. (Actually, I was confused by this
characterisation. I’m certainly no expert on the Dick Tracy
strip, but wasn’t Flintheart a Villain? Or at least, someone of
Dubious Character?) To be fair, Tess is a bit less useless here,
offering herself as bait for the jewel thieves when
Tracy needs “a society dame” and is unable to find a
policewoman without a Brooklyn accent. As usual, most of the fun comes via the
supporting cast. Someone must have agreed with me about the
contributions of Milton Parsons and Trevor Bardette being a
highlight of Dick Tracy,
because they are both back in action here – however briefly that
may be true in the case of the latter. The astonishing Skelton
Knaggs is also featured. Finally, those of you for whom the
highlight of Plan 9 From
Outer Space is the declaration, “Inspector Clay’s dead –
murdered – and someone’s
responsible!” will probably get a kick out of Tracy’s
brilliant detective work upon examining the first corpse: “Well,
it’s quite obviously death by strangulation.”
Dick Tracy Vs Cueball
was included in the Medveds’ “50 Worst Movies Of All Time”,
which is patently absurd.
Fantaghirò (1991)
Made in
two parts for Italian TV and directed by Lamberto Bava,
Fantaghirò is the
story of the unwanted third daughter – or should that be third
unwanted daughter? – of the ruler of a country (Mario Adorf)
that has been at war with its neighbouring realm so long, no-one
can remember what the bloody conflict was about in the first
place. Growing into womanhood in her father’s stronghold,
Fantaghirò lives in a state of constant rebellion against the
restrictions imposed upon her sex, and finally runs away to the
woods, where she meets a mysterious, shape-shifting being
(Angela Molina, in various guises), learns to talk to the
animals and trees, and becomes an adept at sword-fighting.
Meanwhile, the old king of the neighbouring country dies, and
the new King Romualdo (Kim Rossi Stuart) decides to put an end
to the war by issuing a challenge to a one-on-one duel, the
victor’s country to be declared winner of the war. On his way to
the next kingdom, Romualdo catches a fleeting glimpse of
Fantaghirò and is instantly smitten, but is convinced by the
White Witch (Molina again) that what he has seen is a
wood-spirit, not a human girl. Receiving Romualdo’s challenge
but lacking a son, the old king finally allows himself to be
persuaded to send Fantaghirò to meet it. She, disguised as a
knight, rides enthusiastically into battle against Romualdo,
who, to his consternation, finds the eyes that have been
haunting his dreams in, apparently, the face of a
boy....
This
Italian fairy-tale is both charming and audacious in its gender
games. Poor Romualdo ends up with a serious Victor/Victoria
thing going on, as he is unable to determine to his own
satisfaction whether the person he is falling in love with is a
boy or a girl. (In lieu of spying on Fantaghirò in the bath,
Romualdo challenges her to a swimming-match, and there is an
extended tease sequence as Fantaghirò must come up with reason
after reason not to
remove that last layer of clothing....) The lovely Alessandra
Martines is a delight as Fantaghirò, who, refreshingly, is
rewarded and not punished for her refusal to “behave like a
woman”; and who, even when she is at length revealed to be both
a girl and in love, is neither tamed nor (you should pardon the
expression) emasculated. As Romualdo, Kim Rossi Stuart is
perhaps a little too modern-day-pretty-boy, but his character is
hearteningly progressive: he is determined to bring the war to
an end, even at the cost of his own life; he genuinely doesn’t
mind that the girl of his dreams can – and
does – kick his ass;
and when confronted by the possibility that he might be in love
with another man, something he makes no attempt to conceal from
his two close friends, his predominant emotion is simple
bewilderment. There are plenty of enjoyable special effects on
display here, and while none of them are particularly
convincing, neither are they meant to be: there’s a deliberate
pantomime feel to the whole enterprise. Its war kept as a
distant backdrop, the story of
Fantaghirò plays out
in a never-never land of spirits and monsters and talking
animals – most of them created by Sergio Stivaletti, never
further from his bloody handiwork for the likes of Dario Argento
and Michele Soavi; or, for that matter, from his other efforts
for Lamberto Bava (Demoni
and Demoni 2).
By
the way: if you’ve ever wondered what the Italian for “uvula”
is, here’s your chance to find out.
Fighting Father Dunne (1948)
In turn
of the twentieth century
St Louis, Father Peter Dunne (Pat
O’Brien) devotes himself to rescuing the city’s homeless boys,
many of whom eke out a living selling newspapers. Before he
knows where he is, Father Dunne has more than twenty boys on his
hands, and must exercise all of his ingenuity to house and feed
them. Meanwhile, the newspapers continue their exploitation of
their young employees as a brutal circulation war escalates;
while some boys simply won’t
be helped.... RKO
does Boys Town, only with Pat O’Brien instead of
Spencer Tracy, and Darryl Hickman instead of Mickey Rooney. This
was also based on a true story, so you are more or less obliged
to rein in the cynicism reflex – and perhaps also to quell your
knee-jerk reaction to some of the good Father’s more dubious
money-raising tactics. (Did you know, for instance, that it is
standard Catholic Church practice to run up huge bills you have
no way of paying, and then, when the merchants ask for their
money, to lay a guilt trip on them?) There is some historical
interest here, in the strong-arm methods employed by the
newspaper owners of the time, while the story’s denouement is,
unexpectedly, a real downer. I have no idea whether the subplot
concerning the fate of Matt Davis (Hickman) is true or not,
but boy, oh, boy! The ultimate moral of these films seems to be,
if a Catholic priest tries to help you, you’d damn well better
let him.
Firewalker (1986)
A Chuck Norris comedy!? Gedouddahere! No,
I mean it – GEDOUDDAHERE!! Chuck trying to emote is one thing;
Chuck trying to be funny is an exercise in pain to be undertaken
only by the most hardened bad film watcher. Another of the
endless stream of
Raiders Of The Lost Ark rip-offs,
Firewalker stars
Chuck as Max Donigan, a professional adventurer whose skill and
intelligence are only matched by his sense of humour – and his
sense of direction. His long-suffering partner is Leo Porter
(Louis Gossett Jr), a former teacher who allows himself (for no
reason that the film ever deigns to provide) to be dragged
repeatedly into Max’s hair-brained treasure-seeking schemes.
Their latest whacky adventure kicks off when they are hired by
Patricia Goodwin (Melody Anderson) to find a hidden cache of
gold that might be Aztec or Mayan or Apache or, hell, Martian,
the screenplay isn’t telling. Along the way, Will Sampson, John
Rhys Davies and Sonny Landham compete for the title of “Most
Embarrassingly Clichéd Supporting Character” – Landham wins
purely on the strength of his Amazing Teleporting Eye-Patch –
while the script serves up so many cringe-inducing moments, it’s
hard to single one out as the worst....although I’m tempted to
nominate the pig-Latin last rites. (Don’t ask.) No mere summary
could do justice to this film....so instead of trying, I’ll send
you where it gets the treatment it so richly deserves:
Firewalker
at
Jabootu’s Bad Movie Dimension.
Flight From Glory (1937)
In South America, an aviation
crew consisting of disgraced pilots in sub-standard planes fly
dangerous missions over the mountains, delivering supplies to a
mining-camp. The man in charge, Ellis (Onslow Stevens), keeps a
scrapbook of aviation mishaps and disasters, and from it
recruits new employees who cannot get work anywhere else
whenever an accident occurs to one of his existing crew....which
is often. This tactic brings to the team a young American flyer,
George Wilson (Van Heflin), who had his licence to fly revoked
after crashing his plane while drunk and killing a bystander. To
the horror of the veterans of the flying team,
Wilson brings
with him his new wife, Lee (Whitney Bourne). Soon taking the
measure of his new surroundings,
Wilson
tries to send his wife away, only to find that Ellis’s
manoeuvring means that he has
arrived in debt, and
must work that off before he can afford Lee’s ticket home. As
Lee bravely makes the best of things, she becomes the object of
romantic interest of two other pilots, Smith (Chester Morris)
and Hilton (Douglas Walton), while George Wilson’s drinking
spirals out of control. Meanwhile,
the question of which man flies which plane becomes a deadly
game of Russian roulette.... This obvious fore-runner to
Only Angels Have Wings
is a gritty and quite suspenseful little drama, presenting the
aviation camp is a kind of purgatory, with each man suffering
from and being punished for his various weaknesses and guilts.
Lee Wilson is the only true innocent here, and the film treats
her as gently as it can under the circumstances. (This film is a
lot kinder to its female lead than
Only Angels Have Wings.)
Onslow Stevens is unnervingly convincing as the cold-blooded
Ellis – that scrapbook of disaster is a chilling touch – while
Chester Morris is good as Smith, the least guilty – or rather,
the most clear-sighted – of the pilots, whose bitter cynicism
begins to conflict with his feelings for Lee. There is also a
nice supporting performance from Douglas Walton – Percy Shelley
in Bride Of Frankenstein
– as the doomed romantic, Hilton; you get the feeling that
had the budget been higher, it would have been Leslie Howard in
this role. |