|
Third Finger, Left Hand (1940)
Magazine editor Margot Sherwood Merrick (Myrna Loy) invents a
husband in order to hold onto her job, a position that she knows
her lecherous publisher’s jealous wife would never allow her to
occupy if Margot weren’t a married woman. A chance encounter
with artist Jeff Thompson (Mervyn Douglas) leads to romance, but
the straight-laced Thompson walks out in disgust when he
discovers that Margot is married. Hurt but unable to forget,
Thompson begins to investigate the mysteriously absent
“Merrick”, and upon proving to his own satisfaction that there
is no such person, he punishes Margot for her deception by
publicly announcing himself to
be
Merrick. As circumstances grow increasingly
complicated, Margot tries to rid herself of her “husband”, only
to realise that she cannot do it without a divorce – and that
the only way she can divorce him is to marry him in the first
place.... Third Finger,
Left Hand is a let-down. After starting out looking like a
seriously-intentioned albeit comedic examination of the
difficulties of career women during the forties, it ends up in
blithe agreement with the male philosophy that Margot denounces
so scornfully at the outset, that “single woman have no reason
to be in the workplace, except as a way of attracting men”:
after putting herself through hoops in order to hold onto her
career, Margot ends up tossing it all away and pursuing Thompson
literally across the country, apparently forgetting that she has
a career at all. Moreover, the puritanical and smugly superior
Thompson is, frankly, rather unlikeable; as so often in these
kind of movies, the second male lead – Lee Bowman as company
lawyer Phillip Booth – seems a much more attractive prospect,
yet is dismissed without a second thought. Still, the film very
nearly redeems itself with two late sequences. The first is
when, after a Niagara Falls wedding, Margot and Jeff encounter friends
from his home town of Wapakoneta, Ohio – and Margot exacts full revenge on her
“husband” by posing as a slang-slinging, gum-snapping
Brooklynite. (One does wonder where the refined and aristocratic
Margot learnt such language.) The second comes when Margot and
Jeff are on their way to Reno, Phillip along to negotiate the
settlement (and to marry Margot, so he hopes). Desperate to
stall, Jeff inquires of Sam (Ernest Whitman), the conductor, if
there might by another lawyer on board, only to learn that Sam
himself is studying law by correspondence – and that, on the
basis of his time-consuming obfusculation of Phillip, he has the
makings of a very excellent lawyer, too. The funny and
uncondescending use of a black character in such a role in a
film of this vintage (and from this studio) is unexpected and
refreshing.
The
Three Musketeers (1933, 12 episodes)
In the desert of Algiers, a troop of soldiers is under
attack by the forces of a mysterious individual known as "El
Shaitan", who is leading an Arab revolt against the Foreign
Legion. The lives of the last three men, Clancy (Jack Mulhall),
Renard (Raymond Hatton) and Schmidt (Francis X. Bushman Jr), are
saved when Lt Tom Wayne (John Wayne), from the American embassy
in Paris,
fires upon the attacking Arabs from his plane. Clancy explains
that they were trying to stop a caravan that was running guns.
The three grateful soldiers laugh that they are “the Three
Musketeers” and Tom their D’Artagnon; the four swear eternal
friendship. Tom then travels on to visit his sweetheart, Elaine
Corday (Ruth Hall), and her brother, Armand (Creighton Chaney).
Armand, however, has a deadly secret: he has been blackmailed
into helping El Shaitan, and was with the caravan. El Shaitan
declares Tom an enemy, and orders Armand to use him and his
embassy connections to bring another shipment of arms into the
country. Armand does so, but the ruse is discovered; and Tom, in Paris, finds himself accused as a gun-runner.
Escaping back to North Africa,
Tom gets the truth out of Armand, who is then killed by El
Shaitan. Tom is found standing over the body, and is soon wanted
for both gun-running and
murder.... The opening credits of this serial insist that it is
“a modern version of the famous story”, but any resemblance
between this serial and M. Dumas’ novel is, as they say,
entirely coincidental. You can also forget anything you ever
heard about the iron discipline of the Foreign Legion: when they
aren’t either breaking into their CO’s office, or breaking their
pal Tom out of military prison,
these Three
Musketeers spend most of their time in town, eating and drinking
and – [*shudder*] –
singing in taverns,
and brawling in the street; they get positively indignant when
asked to perform any actual, you know,
duties. The main
problem with
The Three Musketeers
is that is never lives up to its exciting and quite complex
first episode, but devolves into repetitive scenes of riding
back and forth across the desert, and white people sneaking
around dressed up as “Arabs”. Actually, this latter aspect is
one of this serial’s more pleasing absurdities, particularly
when Tom Wayne, a foot taller than anyone else, and with his
military boots and his
tie showing, is supposed to be impenetrably disguised, to
the point where he can infiltrate the band of Arab rebels
without being detected. (Of course, it helps that, although they
know Tom is onto them, the rebels never change their password!)
At this point in his career, John Wayne is still incredibly
awkward, far more at home in his action scenes than in those
with dialogue. Ruth Hall is an adequate heroine, mercifully the
dashing-across-the-desert kind, rather than the
stand-around-screaming kind. (She attempts a French accent for
about five minutes during the first episode, then forgets about
it.) Lon Chaney Jr, still billed as “Creighton”, gives one of
his best early performances as the tormented Armand. Noah Beery
Jr also shows up for just long enough to get shot in the back;
while that’s legendary stuntman Yakima Canutt under the mask as
“El Shaitan” (although it isn’t his voice).
Things I
Learned From Watching This SerialTM:
every single Arab in the world is called El
Something-or-other.
Underwater Warrior (1958)
This docu-drama is based upon the experiences of Commander
Francis D. Fane, who played a major part in the evolution of the US
navy’s Underwater Demolition Team between the end of WWII and
the Korean War. The film follows its Francis Fane stand-in,
David Forest (Dan Dailey), through the UDT’s gruelling
recruitment program, his almost-involvement in an invasion of
Japan – when word comes that the war is over, Forest and his men
are, for a moment,
disappointed – his active role in campaigning for his
sometimes-scorned branch of the service, and his courage in
testing out new equipment and strategies. The film is
necessarily episodic, and different sections may appeal to
different viewers. I’m sure no-one out there will be surprised
to hear that I found most interesting that part of the story
dealing with Forest’s attempts to boost enlistment in his
beloved underwater unit, during which he recognises that the
main barrier to recruitment isn’t fear of the enemy, but
fear of sharks, and
embarks on a project to determine just how much of what man
“knows” about sharks is accurate. (While I appreciate
Fane/Forest’s debunking of a lot of shark mythology, I could
have done without his testing the toughness of shark-skin first
by firing spear-guns at them, then by grabbing a small shark by
the tail and poking it repeatedly with a knife!) The story
climaxes with the crashing of an experimental military plane
just chock-full of top secret new technology, and the aging
Forest’s perilous attempt to find and destroy the
plane before it can fall into the wrong hands. The role of David
Forest is an interesting change of pace for song and dance man
Dan Dailey, and he is well-supported by James Gregory as the
medical officer who works with him, Claire Kelly as his wife,
and Ross Martin as his inevitable Noo York-spawned best friend.
The
Vintage (1957)
Two Italian brothers,
Giancarlo (Mel Ferrer) and Ernesto Barandero (John Kerr), are on
the run: Ernesto is wanted for murder after killing a man who
was beating a woman; Giancarlo contrived his escape. Their
wanderings lead them to a French vineyard on the verge of the
harvest, where the owner, Louis Morel (Leif Erickson), thinks of
nothing but the possibility that his grapes will be ruined by a
threatened hailstorm. The brothers are taken on as pickers. As
they join in the work and the play of the other workmen, both
Giancarlo and Ernesto end up emotionally entangled. Ernesto
becomes infatuated with Léone (Michèle Morgan), Louis Morel’s
wife, while Giancarlo attracts Léone’s young sister, Lucienne
(Pier Angeli), angering Etienne Morel (Jack Mullaney), Louis’s
cousin and agent, who wishes to marry her. All the while, the
law is closing in.... This is a fair drama hurt by its
inappropriate casting, with Americans playing Italians, Italians
playing Frenchmen and Frenchmen playing Spaniards; only Michèle
Morgan is well-cast, both in character and nationality, as the
loving but neglected wife who is stirred to new life by the
admiration of a young man. Most existing prints are
pan-and-scan, which also does the film great harm: the location
shooting, meant to bolster the passions-amongst-nature feel,
loses a great deal of its impact this way.
The Working Man (1933)
Shoe magnate John Reeves
(George Arliss) loses interest in his successful company when he
learns that his long-time business rival – and one-time romantic
rival – Tom Hartland has died. Handing over the running of his
company to his capable but officious nephew, Benjamin Burnett (Hardie
Albright), Reeves takes a fishing holiday, during which he
accidentally encounters the children of his old rival, Tommy
(Theodore Newton) and Jennie Hartland (Bette Davis). Reeves is
disgusted to find them spoiled and empty-headed, and oblivious
to the fact that the manager of their father’s business, Fred
Pettison (Gordon Westcott), is deliberately running the company
down in order to profit by its sale. Keeping his true identity
concealed, Reeves gets himself appointed the Hartlands’ trustee,
determined to pull them into line and to save their father’s
business – and if that means threatening the success of his
own business, well,
so be it.... After starting out looking like a fairly serious
examination of a lonely man who has devoted his life to
business, The Working
Man grows increasingly funny as its plotline becomes more
and more convoluted. The film centres, of course, on yet another
wonderful character performance from George Arliss, in one of
the “mistaken identity” roles at which he excelled; but for mine
its real triumph is the shift in sympathy that it wins for
Benjamin Burnett, who at the outset is as obnoxious as he is
efficient, convinced equally of his own infallibility and that
his uncle is simply “past it”. (He starts referring to himself
as “the Napoleon of shoes”....and can’t understand why his uncle
starts signing his
letters “Wellington”. [The
accidental joke here is that the following year, George Arliss
would star in The Iron
Duke.]) But Benjamin is due for a fall, and is finally brought to his knees
by his growing affection for his astonishingly inept new
secretary – who just happens to be Jennie Hartland, incognito.
“You have robbed me of my efficiency!” he finally tells her
tragically – which in the context of this film is perhaps the
greatest declaration of love a girl ever received. As Jennie, a
radiant young Bette Davis gives a very nicely judged
performance, vacillating convincingly between selfish brat and
sweet girl. This was the second time the young actress was cast
opposite George Arliss – the first was the previous year’s
The Man Who Played God,
later re-made as
Sincerely
Yours – and in later years Davis always spoke
affectionately and gratefully of the veteran actor, and the
guidance that he gave her during this critical period in her
career. As Pettison, Gordon Westcott makes a very convincing
rat. Conversely, J. Farrell MacDonald is likeable as Reeves’ old
fishing buddy, the one person in on the secret of his identity.
Edward Van Sloan appears in a disappointingly brief supporting
role.
Yesterday’s Target (1996)
Three amnesiacs find themselves targeted by two different covert
organisations. The Company, led by Miles Holden (Malcolm
McDowell), uses the psychic Winstrom (LeVar Burton) to locate
and track the three, while the president of The Foundation,
Aaron Winfield (Richard Herd), is similarly guided by a young
near-mute telepath called Roland (David Netter). While working
at his cleaning job, Paul Harper (Daniel Baldwin) is approached
by Winfield, who tries to warn him that he is in danger. Harper
brushes this aside, but soon after is attacked by Holden’s
goons, and while defending himself discovers that he is
possessed of tremendous telekinetic abilities. Harper’s injuries
land him in the hospital, where an x-ray reveals that he has a
strange metal object embedded in his leg. Meeting up with
Winfield, Harper learns to his disbelief that he is a
time-traveller, sent back from 2025 on a vital mission; a
mission left undone due to the amnesia brought on by the time
transfer. As he struggles with this knowledge, Harper’s memory
begins to return in flashes as he recalls a future of violence
and persecution, but also the woman who for three years he had
forgotten: his wife, Jessica (Stacey Haiduk). Harper discovers
that the travellers’ mission was two-fold: to prevent the
formation of The Company, but also to remove Aaron Whitfield
from the leadership of The Foundation – even if they have to
kill him to do it. The issuer of these orders? Aaron
Whitfield.... Yesterday’s
Target is a fair little science fiction offering whose
ambitions are bigger than its budget – and also of the abilities
of those trying to realise them. Original it is not; it pinches
ideas from all manner of sources; but at least it tries to do
something interesting with its pilfering. It is revealed that
the three time-travellers, each of whom possesses
some extraordinary mental power, are part of a group of people
who represent the next stage in human evolution, and who have
just begun to be born at the time of the story’s main setting
after their mothers undergo eleven month pregnancies. (Like
Larry Cohen’s It’s Alive
movies, Yesterday’s
Target suggests that
Homo sapiens won’t exactly be thrilled to meet his
successor.) The old time-travel paradox chestnut is always
welcome, and they play their cards well enough here to hold the
interest, even though the punchline to this plot thread is the
revelation of a blood relationship between two of the characters
that should, truthfully, have had
both of them shrieking
in horrified denial. The other thing that holds the viewer’s
attention, although not in a
good way, is star
Daniel Baldwin, whose resemblance to the latter-day Steven
Seagal is quite terrifying: the baggy clothing unsuccessfully
concealing a weight gain, the little piggy eyes, the bandanna,
the carefully staged action scenes....it’s
all here!
(Unsurprisingly, the sex scene, when it happens, is shot in
tasteful silhouette; and hilariously, when Paul and Jessica are
woken in the middle of the night in response to an emergency,
they both emerge from their bedroom fully dressed!) Trevor
Goddard has a small supporting role in this as one of Holden’s
goons, and once again the poor SOB is stuck doing an accent;
this time he seems – when he remembers – to be trying to sound
English. The ending of Yesterday’s Target is oddly indeterminate, in a way that suggests
this was shot as the pilot episode to a series – although it’s
hard to know where the story could have gone from here.
Zorro’s Fighting Legion (1939, 12 episodes)
This serial opens with a
little history – kind of – with Benito Juarez leading Mexico to
independence and becoming President about thirty years before he
actually did. Never mind. They get the next bit right, with Juarez’s followers stabbing him in the back as soon as he
turns it. Juarez wants to fund
his Republic with gold from the rich San Mendolito mines, but
some of the members of the San Mendolito Council have other
ideas. The loyal Don Francisco (Guy D’Ennery) warns Juarez that
the local Indian population is being stirred to revolt by “Don
Del Oro”, the personification of a Yacqui god, but adds that he
has gathered “a troop of patriots” to guard the gold shipments.
The other council members, meanwhile, secretly toast their plan
– and Don Del Oro.... Before long, Don Francisco is
tricked into a duel and mortally wounded. His ward, Ramon
(William Corson), fights back, but is struck down from behind.
Before he can be killed, a masked figure dressed in black
intervenes.... The dying Francisco tells Ramon that the masked
man, known as Zorro, is actually his nephew, Diego Vega (Reed
Hadley). Telling Diego to take his place on the council,
Francisco warns him that there are traitors there, but dies
before he can reveal the true identity of Don Del Oro. Later
that day, Francisco’s sister, Donã Maria (Helen Mitchel), and
her ward, Volita (Sheila Darcy), are appalled, and the members
of the council pleased, when Ramon
introduces the foppish and blasé Don Diego, who grumbles about
everything from the fatigue of his journey to having to join the
council. That night, however, Zorro gathers Don Francisco’s
troop, pledging to fight the traitors and prevent the Yacquis
from revolting. The men cheer him, declaring themselves to be
“Zorro’s Fighting Legion”.... Whew! And that’s not even the end
of the first episode! Most of the serials I’ve been watching up
to this point were produced by Nat Levine’s threadbare Mascot
Pictures, but Zorro’s
Fighting Legion was made by Republic, and has actual – gasp!
– production values.
(That Republic looks classy by comparison should tell you all
about Mascot.) It’s actually a pretty good adaptation of the
Zorro story, and Reed Hadley has a blast in his dual role. His
Zorro makes an amusingly flawed hero, though, forever tripping
over or falling into traps, while his method for summoning his
“legion” has to be seen to be believed: in an episode called
“The Flaming Z” – no, honestly! – he lights a gigantic ‘Z’ on a
hillside, which, apart from nearly burning down the whole area,
is seen and simply copied
by the bad guys! Other off-beat touches include the accurate
adoption of single shot pistols, meaning that most fights
consist of one missed shot and then swords drawn, while
second-billed Sheila Darcy is only in three episodes as the
“heroine”, Volita (whose exclamations of “Saints protect us!”
suggest that the writers were confusing their Catholics).
Perhaps the greatest mystery here is where Zorro hides his
gleaming white horse between adventures: you’d think
someone would notice
it. The best part of this serial is the cliffhangers: there’s a
distinctly different ending to each episode, and most of the
“outs” are pleasingly non-cheaty. The weakest part is the secret
identity of Don Del Oro: we know it’s one of the councillors,
but since they’re pretty much interchangeable, what does it
matter? The Halloween costume meant to represent Don Del Oro is
a hoot, though. Truthfully, at the beginning of this I was
rather on “Don Del Oro’s” side, as he made speeches about the
dispossession and exploitation of the Yacquis....only then he
started in with that whole “I shall be Emperor of all Mexico! Mwoo-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
stuff. Oh, well....
Read the Stomp Tokyo
review of Zorro’s
Fighting Legion
here.
|
