Comedian Frank Fay holds a special place in the history of
show business mirth as one of the first “master of ceremonies,” or
“emcees.” As such, he could also be
considered the first stand-up comedian, as posited by Kliph Nesteroff, author
of The Comedians: Drunks, Thieves,
Scoundrels, and the History of American Comedy:
For several years vaudeville used
only painted signs with the name of each act to announce who was coming to the
stage. Fay changed this common practice,
becoming one of the first people to actually emcee a show. His role as an introducer and extroducer was
another revolutionary shift in stand-up.
He wasn’t just introducing, but entertaining as he did so. If the previous act bombed, he warmed the
crowd back up, and if the momentum was good, he just kept the show going.
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| Barbara Stanwyck & Frank Fay |
Fay enjoyed his greatest success in vaudeville and on stage,
and while his performances were well received by audiences, offstage he was
despised by his contemporaries. (In his
book on The Jack Benny Show, Milt Josefsberg related
that Frank Fay was one of the few people his boss didn’t like…and Jack was on
good terms with pretty much everybody.)
Much of this had to do with the man’s colossal conceit; I used a Fred
Allen quote as the header for this post, but my comedy idol also had occasion
to crack: “The last time I saw Frank Fay he was walking down Lover’s Lane
holding his own hand.” Benny wasn’t a fan because he detested Fay’s
refusal to update much of his material (he bristled at Frank’s attitude of “You
people are lucky enough to see the great Frank Fay no matter what I do”) and
because of the inexcusable physical abuse he administered to his one-time wife
Barbara Stanwyck (Jack and Babs were great pals). (The old joke went: “Who is the actor with
the biggest prick in Hollywood?”
“Barbara Stanwyck.”)
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| Milton Berle |
Fay was also an unrepentant anti-Semite, whose longtime feud
with Milton Berle even got physical, with Uncle Miltie introducing Frank’s face to
the business end of a stage brace (ripping his nose apart) one night during a
performance after Fay commanded the stagehands: “Get that little Jew bastard
out of the wings!” The irony of this is
that both Fay and Berle’s comedic styles were quite similar, that of the cocky,
self-assured smartass (Fay also influenced such comedians as Bob Hope, Jack Paar...and surprisingly enough, Jack Benny)
…and though comics were inclined to side with Berle because of Fay’s noxious racism,
“[i]n actual fact Fay was much better than Berle,” comedian Will Jordan
recalled. “When they went onstage Frank
Fay would just cut him to pieces.”
(Milton once challenged his rival to “a battle of wits,” prompting Frank
to retort: “I never attack an unarmed man.”)
Knowing what I know about Frank Fay—and I apologize for the
negativity in the beginning of this review, but there’s no getting around the
fact that Frank was a first-class wanker—I was pleasantly surprised by Spotlight Scandals (1943), a B-musical
comedy from Poverty Row king Monogram that’s been made available
on DVD from Alpha Video Classics (many thanks to Brian Krey for providing
the screener). Fay plays himself (that
is, his character is named “Frank Fay” …though the movie is not meant to be
autobiographical), a vaudeville headliner stranded in a small Midwestern town
who resorts to conning barber Billy Gilbert (as “Billy Gilbert”) out of a
sawbuck to keep body and soul together.
He’s later invited to Gilbert’s home for a free feed and an impromptu
concert by his host, who harbors an ambition to be an entertainer. Hearing that Billy has socked away a great
deal of money to achieve his dreams, Frank easily persuades him that New York
is the place to be.
As Billy performs for agent John Blondell (James Hope),
Frank punctuates Gilbert’s song with witticisms…which impresses Blondell to the
point where he tells the two men he can get them work as a double act (at $300
a week). They succeed admirably in
vaudeville (considering vaudeville was on life support at the time), and
eventually land a Broadway show entitled Spotlight
Revue, financed by the eccentric Oscar Martin (Harry Langdon). The team of Fay and Gilbert are the toast of
the town, and one night their show finds vocalist Bonnie Baker (also playing a
character named after herself) in attendance—Bonnie is a nightclub performer,
but she’s also the star of a radio program sponsored by the bubble gum company
run by her mother (Betty Blythe). Bonnie
wants Frank to join her radio show…but only Frank—Billy need not apply. (I found this interesting in that both Baker
and Fay had previously worked in the aural medium—Bonnie with Your Hit Parade, and Frank headlining a
NBC show for Tums in the 1941-42 season.) Not wanting to deprive his partner of
a wonderful opportunity (despite their success, Fay spends money like the
government and is always broke), Gilbert tells Frank after their show closes
that he wants to leave the act.
Spotlight Scandals
amused me from the opening credits, since despite Frank Fay’s show business
standing it’s Billy Gilbert who
receives top billing. Billy is a real
favorite here at Rancho Yesteryear, a remarkable talent who worked as second
banana alongside many of the great comedians: Laurel & Hardy (The Music Box), Charlie Chaplin (The Great Dictator), Buster Keaton (on
live TV), W.C. Fields (Million Dollar
Legs), The Marx Brothers (A Night at
the Opera), Charley Chase, Thelma Todd & ZaSu Pitts (Asleep in the Feet), Our Gang, Olsen
& Johnson (Crazy House) and many
more. (I sat down the other night with
my favorite Wheeler & Woolsey film, Cockeyed
Cavaliers…and Billy’s in that one, too.)
Gilbert also stole the show in features like Destry Rides Again (1939) and His
Girl Friday (1940—a riot as “Joe Pettibone”) and his patented comic sneezing
routine was borrowed to voice “Sneezy” in the Walt Disney feature Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). As
a Gilbert devotee, I don’t mind telling you he’s the reason why I was so eager
to sit down with Spotlight.
BILLY: Say…are you Frank Fay the
stage actor?
FRANK: Yeah!
BILLY: What do you make off
like?
FRANK: What do I make off like…?
BILLY: Yeah…what do you do on
the stage?
FRANK: What does Frank Fay do on the stage?
BILLY: Oh, I’m sorry…I never…uh…
FRANK (disgusted) Fantastic…
BILLY: Oh…like Sally Rand!
FRANK: Sally Rand?
BILLY: Yeah…she does a
fantastic, too…
Fay then explains to Gilbert that he is not like Sally Rand since
he dances without the fans—Billy:
“Well…you’re liable to get arrested…” Because Spotlight
takes a surprising melodramatic turn towards its conclusion (I'll keep mum about
the details), Billy is required to shift gears and place an emphasis on
dramatic acting…and to be honest, he’s a bit better at making the switch than
his partner.
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| Bonnie Baker with Orrin Tucker |
What I found so funny about Fay’s performance in Spotlight Scandals is that Frank seems
to have come to terms with his reputation for being a conceited jerk and
decides to roll with it, fully embracing his inner ham while making a concerted
effort to show some decency in his tight friendship with Billy. I kind of wish that screenwriters Beryl Sachs
and William X. Crowley (a pseudonym for B-movie god William Beaudine, who
directed the film) had continued to concentrate on the Billy-Frank partnership
because once the focus swings toward the romance between Fay and Bonnie Baker
the film loses a bit of its momentum.
Baker was often billed as “Wee” Bonnie Baker (mostly due to her 4’11”
height, but also because of her little girl voice) and as the vocalist with
Orrin Tucker’s musical aggregation had chart hits like Stop! It’s Wonderful and Billy. (Her biggest hit, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh! reached the #2 position on Billboard’s
charts in 1939—Baker performs a few bars of this in the film.) Bonnie gets the lion’s share of the musical
numbers in Spotlight (Goodnight, Now, The Lilac Tree) but I’ll come clean and admit I’m not a fan (her
“little girl” novelty warbling gets old very quickly, and the rivalry she has
with Iris Adrian over “Faysie” is most unconvincing).
Jimmy Hollywood, Eddie Bartell, and Sydney Chatton were
collectively known as The Radio Rogues and the trio plied their talent for
mimicry in movies like Hollywood Hotel (1937) and Reveille with Beverly (1943). They imitate luminaries like Peter Lorre, Red
Skelton, and Jimmy Durante as one of the highlights of Spotlight—they’re Baker’s supporting act in a nightclub
sequence. Harry Langdon is good as
always (if underused), and I always enjoy having character great Iris Adrian
around…even if I couldn’t quite figure out why she’d ever entertain thoughts of
throwing Harry over for Frank Fay. You
might also recognize the kids portraying Gilbert’s young sons (though they’ve
sprouted up like weeds) as Billy “Butch” Lenhart and Kenneth “Buddy” Brown—the
two moppets who make an enemy of The Great Man himself in Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (1941). Spotlight
was co-produced by none other than “Jungle” Sam Katzman—who demonstrates how to
promote Monogram’s product by having director Beaudine insert a quick shot of a
poster for Bowery at Midnight
(1942—starring Bela Lugosi), a Katzman release, in one scene.
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| The print isn't exactly pristine...but that gentleman on the right is 'Snub' Pollard, who goes uncredited at the (always reliable) IMDb. (The actor at the mike is James Bush, who plays Baker's colorless boyfriend in the film.) |
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| Fay in Harvey |
At the time of the film’s release, Daily Variety announced that Spotlight
was the “first of the Billy Gilbert-Frank Fay series of co-starring
comedy-dramas” …but I guess someone forgot to tell Frank this. The entertainer opted out of any future romps
with Billy Gilbert, prompting Monogram to embark on a short series of comedies
that paired Billy with Shemp Howard and ‘Slapsie’ Maxie Rosenblum (Three of a Kind, Crazy Nights, Trouble Chasers). Frank appeared in only one more motion
picture after Spotlight, 1951’s Love Nest (I wonder if Fay’s ego took
on that of Jack Paar’s in a steel-cage death match?); his movie resume was kind
of spotty (God’s Gift to Women, Nothing Sacred, They Knew What They Wanted) but it mattered little—his real
strength was performing on stage. A year
after the release of Spotlight he’d
appear in his true triumph with the hit comedy Harvey (Frank was the original
Elwood P. Dowd).
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| Bing Crosby in Blue of the Night |
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