Ode to the little brown Chic Sale out back

'Chic' Sale...and 'Chic' Sale

You never really get a handle on how gosh-darned huge the Internets are until you use The Google to research the career of Charles Partlow ‘Chic” Sale (1885-1936), a vaudevillian who began his film career in the silent era…and might be recognizable to fans of The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ for appearances in such features as Stranger in Town (1931), Men of America (1932), and Treasure Island (1934).  Sale frequently performed in old-age makeup that gave the illusion he was a grizzled old codger (I’m quite fond of his performance in 1931’s The Star Witness, in which he plays a cantankerous Civil War veteran who comes to the aid of his family when they’re threatened by mobsters) when he was really only in his mid-forties; Chic died far too young at the age of 51 from pneumonia, his last movie appearance being a small role in one of my favorite films directed by Fritz Lang, You Only Live Once (1937).

But back to that “how vast is the World Wide Web?” thing.  There is a website devoted to Chic: chicsale.net.  There you can buy a copy of his main claim to fame: a 1929 publication entitled The Specialist.  You see, Chic created a fictional character in “Lem Putt”—based on a man he knew in his former stomping grounds of Urbana, Illinois—whose occupation was the construction of privies (outhouses).  It began as a monologue that Chic would perform at Rotary gatherings, and when the material became well-received by audiences Sale decided to incorporate it into his stage act.  Because vaudeville was notorious for having comics “liberate” material from their fellow funsters (*cough* Milton Berle *cough*), Charles Sale decided to publish the material in book form in 1929 so it would be protected by copyright.  The book became a best seller, and a follow-up that Sale penned, I’ll Tell You Why, was also warmly received by the book-buying public.  You can purchase both books at the site, by the way; according to the site The Specialist is “now in its 26th printing, it has sold over 2,600,000 copies worldwide.  It has been translated into 9 languages and published in 12 countries.”

Sale in A Slip at the Switch

The Specialist inspired Lem Putt, the Specialist (1930)—one of six two-reel comedies available on the latest release by Alpha Video of their Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies series (Volume 3).  You could say, in a small way, that Chic Sale is the star of this collection because another one of his two-reelers, A Slip at the Switch (1932), is also in this collection.  (For reasons that have me bamfoozled, neither of these shorts are listed in Sale’s filmography at the [always reliable] IMDb.)  Switch is a diverting little romp that casts Sale (his character is named “Lem”—but I don’t know if his outhouse salesman got a promotion or not) as a station agent who tangles with a pair of tramps (Bud Jamison, Charlie Hall) who have robbed him.  Monte Collins is also in this one (as a telegraph operator), which helps a lot; the entire concoction was directed by Mark Sandrich, who would later go on to helm many of the Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers musicals: Top Hat (1935), Follow the Fleet (1936), etc.  (Sandrich also held the reins on two of the best Wheeler & Woolsey films, Hips, Hips, Hooray! [1934] and Cockeyed Cavaliers [1934], not to mention one of my favorite Jack Benny vehicles, Buck Benny Rides Again [1940].)  Sandrich also died young, succumbing to a heart attack at the age of 43 in 1945.

Switch is a lot more entertaining than Specialist, to be brutally honest.  Having someone talk about the fine art of building privies isn’t truly all that funny to me, and it’s a static presentation to begin with—it might have helped if they had done Sale’s “talk” as a one-reeler…but believe you me, he’s no Robert Benchley.  While The Specialist proved to be a positive boon to the comedian’s career, Chic wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the fact that his name—“Chic Sale”—was often used as shorthand for “outhouse.”  (That should explain the joke in this header, a reference to my fellow Appalachian highlander Billy Edd Wheeler song smash which hit #3 on the country music charts in 1964.)

Harry Sweet & Monte Collins (in tub) in Just a Pain in the Parlor

The funniest short on Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies, Volume 3 is Just a Pain in the Parlor (1932), a very sprightly two-reeler starring Harry Sweet.  Who is Harry Sweet and what does he do when he’s not tending bar, I hear you ask.  Sweet was a writer-director-performer—whose career also got started in the silent era—who played a large role in the establishment of RKO’s shorts department.  He instigated the Edgar Kennedy “Mr. Average Man” series, and supervised comedies starring Clark & McCullough…but at the risk of starting a noticeable pattern in this post, Harry is another name on the “much too soon” list, perishing in a plane crash in 1933 at the age of 31.  Parlor is a delight, as Sweet plays an Olympic athlete who’s “adopted” by a man named Smith (James Donlan), fearful that Mrs. Smith (Cecil Cunningham) is going to strenuously object.  Told by one of his fellow athletes that being invited to Casa del Smith is a ruse to get him to break training, Harry puts up quite a fuss when the Smith’s butler, Collins (Monte again!), tries to prepare him for presentation before Mrs. Smith and her party guests.  Monte gets an assist helping Sweet into the bathtub from no less than four sub-butlers (including Charlie Hall and Irving Bacon)—a hilarious scene—while violinist Billy Gilbert attempts to keep his cool during his recital.  Having Vernon Dent make an appearance as the speaker who urges the adoption of the athletes is the cherry on top of the sundae; the whole concoction was directed by George Marshall.

Benny Rubin

Benny Rubin, who was present and accounted for the previous Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies release (Volume 2), also makes an appearance in Julius Sizzer (1931)—a gangster parody that lets Rubin tackle two roles, brothers Julius and Liddle Sizzer.  (That’s the caliber of the material, friends and neighbors—and what’s more, both brothers converse in heavy Yiddish accents.)  Someone at the (always reliable) IMDb wasn’t too fond of this one, but even though I thought The Messenger Boy (1931, from Volume 2) funnier I’d be lying if I didn’t snicker once or twice during Sizzer (I have a fascination with dialect humor).  I have a handicap in that I give Benny more leeway because I always enjoyed him on The Jack Benny Program (one of his great bits was playing the “Information” clerk who’d always answer Jack’s questions with “I dunno!”).  In fact, I watched The Shaggy D.A. (1976) the other night (it was on BYU-TV, of all places) and giggled when I saw Rubin as a waiter who gets plastered with cherry pies.  (Go on.  Shame me.  I deserve it.)

If not for the presence of Lem Putt, the Specialist, Fifty Miles from Broadway (1929) might give it some competition in the “worst short in this collection” department; it’s an early talkie that looks as if someone pointed a camera at a dinner theatre production, with the impending marriage of a boy and girl threatened by their fathers’ ongoing feud.  The remaining short on this set is A Night in a Dormitory (1930—spoiler warning: it’s mostly set in a nightclub), which boasts one of Ginger Rogers’ earliest movie appearances as she sings Why Can’t You Love That Way? and I Love a Man in Uniform in Helen Kane-fashion, and features Si Wills (billed as Morgan Morly) and Eddie Elkins doing jokes in a routine that might have made Abbott & Costello wonder out loud: “I don’t know about these jokes, fellas…”  (Wills would later marry and write material for his more famous wife, Joan Davis.)  Dormitory is worth the watch to see the young Ginger, and overall the material on Ultra-Rare Pre-Code Comedies, Volume 3 is a must-own for those folks (like me) who have a thing for offbeat two-reelers.

“If Frank Fay were acid, he would have consumed himself.” – Fred Allen

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.

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.”)

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.

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.

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.)

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).

Bing Crosby in Blue of the Night

An apocryphal story relates that Frank Fay had once been called to testify as a witness in a court case and when he was asked what his occupation was he replied: “The world’s greatest comedian.”  Later, he was asked why he would risk antagonizing a jury with this lack of modesty and Fay retorted “I had to.  I was under oath.”  Spotlight Scandals is a hidden jewel of a programmer, a very entertaining quickie featuring a team that could have worked well together in future ventures had one of the members not suffered from tremendous “self-confidence.”  As a bonus, the Spotlight Scandals DVD also features an abbreviated version of the two-reel comedy Blue of the Night (1933), considered by many to be Bing Crosby’s best of the eight shorts he made for comedy king Mack Sennett.  It’s a slight but fun story, with Der Bingle stealing Marjorie “Babe” Kane away from fiancé Franklin Pangborn and appearances from Bud Jamison, Mary Treen, and Toby Wing.

B-Western Wednesdays: Heart of the Rio Grande (1942)

You might recall my mentioning earlier that Rancho Yesteryear was the beneficiary of a Starz/Encore/Movieplex “freeview” over the Thanksgiving holidays, and this allowed me to grab some goodies from both their respective On Demand outlets (for the record, I adore how Movieplex allows their movies to play all the way through—just like those on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™’s On Demand—because I’m kind of anal when it comes to closing credits) and the channels themselves.  I tried my darndest to grab The Lone Star Trail (1943) from Encore Westerns On Demand, but it vanished before my suckass Windstream connection could download it.  (Bill Crider got to see it, and mentioned in a recent comment that he may get around to reviewing it one of these days; I suggest we start picketing his blog immediately until he acquiesces to our demands…though I cannot stress enough the importance of staying on the sidewalk because he has a thing about people in his yard.)

While I was denied a dandy Johnny Mack Brown-Tex Ritter oater, I did grab a couple of Buster Crabbe-Fuzzy St. John PRC B’s and a slew of Republic-Columbia programmers starring “America’s favorite singing cowboy,” Gene Autry hizzownself.  (Including 1940’s Melody Ranch, which was reviewed back on the blog in 2011.)  So, don’t be surprised to see a few of Gene’s moon pitchers turn up in this Wednesday space in the future—including today’s entry, Heart of the Rio Grande (1942).

You’ll find when you watch enough B-Westerns that there’s usually a wealthy bidnessman character out to screw over the townsfolk until the hero steps in to put a smackdown on those shenanigans.  Heart has such a rich character, but he’s surprisingly benign when it comes to making life miserable for the disadvantaged; in this movie, Randolph Lane’s (Pierre Watkin—billed as “Pierre Watkins”) only vice is that he’s been a little delinquent in the parenting department—which is why his daughter Connie (Edith Fellows) is spoiled rotten.  The students at the private school Connie attends will be spending two months at the Smoke River Dude Ranch—accompanied by chaperone Alice Bennett (Fay McKenzie)—and Connie would rather make other plans.  Father Randolph exercises his parental veto and Connie is soon on a train heading West.

The Smoke River Dude Ranch is technically a horse ranch—but mismanagement from ex-foreman Hap Callahan (William Haade) has necessitated that owner “Skipper” Forbes (Sarah Padden) open the place up to tourists to pay the bills.  Hap never stops pissing and moaning about this…though it probably has more to do with the fact that Skipper has hired a new foreman in Gene Autry.  Gene and loyal sidekick “Frog” Millhouse (Smiley Burnette) meet Ms. Bennett and her charges at the depot (Frog immediately falls—literally—for Alice), just in time to see Connie continue on to San Francisco.  Autry and his horse Champion catch up to the Frisco Express, and he pulls her off the train because…damn it, she’s there to have fun.

Connie behaves…how should I put this?  Well, I’ll spell it out in case there are any kids in the room: she’s a proper P-I-L-L.  She steals a truck from the ranch to make another desperate bid for freedom but the vehicle has no brakes, and she ends up crashing it in a ditch.  (She insists on walking all the way back to Smoke River even though Gene offers her the use of Champion.)  Later, she marks up her back with lipstick to look as though she’s being whipped during her stay (she sends the photos to her father, and believe me, they will come back to bite her in the derriere).  When Gene gives Connie a lecture on doing things for others without expecting anything in return, the girl gets the bright idea to tamper with the cinch on Hap’s saddle so he’ll lose a riding contest with Autry.  (Connie apologizes when Hap is seriously hurt, and when Hap draws a gun on Gene during an exchange of fisticuffs, Autry tells him to hit the road.)

Eventually, Connie begins to understand that being a rich bitch will not win friends and influence people (well…maybe not in good ways), and she starts to enjoy herself at Smoke River.  Then her old man turns up, wanting to know why his daughter is being abused (those damn pictures!) …and Gene finds himself having to teach Papa Lane a lesson as well.

If you’ve expressed concern that all these teachable moments Gene must impart adversely affects his duties at the ranch…allow me to assuage your fears.  Gene likes nothing more than being a scold; there’s even a scene where he speechifies to some of the ranch hands (played by the Jimmy Wakely Trio, including Wakely and Johnny “Ten Little Bottles” Bond) that they should be spending their hard-working wages on war bonds instead of liquor and card games…because damn it, there’s a war on.  Gene’s tendency to be a bit bossy is one of the reasons why I prefer Roy Rogers’ movie western output—I’m not saying Roy wasn’t guilty of a little preaching now and then, but he seemed to conceal it better.

That having been said, I got a kick out of Heart of the Rio Grande.  I know, I’m on the record as affirming that my preference for Autry movies are the more adult ones he made at Columbia (with serials veteran John English directing), but Heart is a great little oater, and I think it’s due to the fact that the character played by Edith Fellows (whom you may remember from those Five Little Peppers movies) is more than just a one-dimensional brat.  Fellows really makes Connie unlikable in the early frames of the movie…and yet when she realizes what an unpleasant person she’s been, her conversion to regular gal is quite realistic.  (She and Gene become great pals—he even teaches her some roping tricks!)

I know you’re going to wonder if I’ve developed a fever—but the other kiddie thesp in Heart, Joe Strauch, Jr., also didn’t cause me to retch violently like I usually do (see She Who Shall Not Be Named).  Strauch has some amusing moments as Frog Millhouse’s younger brother Tadpole (that’s a joke, son!—he’s even decked out in the same “Frog” clothing, just a Mini-Me version)—a role he initiated in the Autry oater Under Fiesta Stars (1941) and continued in three additional Autry vehicles after that (Strauch also appeared in Beneath Western Skies [1944] with Smiley and Bob Livingston).  Strauch’s main movie fame was as George “Spanky” McFarland’s double in the Our Gang comedies—he even appears onscreen (as “Tubby”) in the Our Gang short Fightin’ Fools (1941).  When I was watching Heart of the Rio Grande, I heard what I thought was one of the female students refer to Frog as Tadpole’s father and had to run it back to make sure I hadn’t heard incorrectly.  (As it turns out, I did.  Frog is a bachelor, so that family arrangement would have been very interesting.)

Heart of the Rio Grande gets a few extra points for integrating the musical numbers much better than your usual Gene Autry outing; Gene performs Deep in the Heart of Texas (the movie’s original title was to have been Heart of Texas) and one of my favorites, I’ll Wait for You, while the Wakely Trio tackle a Johnny Bond composition in Cimarron.  Even Fellows is allowed a number (I’ve previously joked that she was Columbia’s answer to Deanna Durbin…though this is a Republic release) in Rainbow in the Night.  Directed by longtime film editor William Morgan (who helmed quite a few of Gene’s Republics, including Home in Wyomin’ that same year) and scripted by Lillie Hayward & Winston Miller (from Newlin B. Wildes’ story “Sure, Money Folks, But—“), Heart of the Rio Grande is a lovely little B-oater.  It’s available for purchase (I love how Gene’s westerns have been painstakingly restored) or for rent at your friendly neighborhood ClassicFlix.

B-Western Wednesdays: Treachery Rides the Range (1936)

For Native Americans, the buffalo was of vital importance in the Old West.  It was a source of food, clothing, shelter, and weapons—and the relentless hunting of that wild range bovid by the white man put it perilously close to extinction.  In an effort to foment peace, the U.S. government signs a treaty with the Comanche to make it illegal for buffalo hunters to shoot the beasts on Indian lands.  Negotiating the peace is U.S. Cavalry Captain Red Colton (Dick Foran), who shares a kinship with the tribe (he’s an honorary “blood brother”) presided over by Chief Red Smoke (Jim Thorpe…All-American).  Red Smoke agrees to meet with Colonel Drummond (Monte Blue), Colton’s superior, by “the next moon,” and promises to bring both of his sons—Little Big Wolf (Carlyle Moore, Jr.) and Little Big Fox (Frank Bruno)—along for the powwow.

Back at the fort, Drummond and Colton get a visit from buffalo hunter Wade Carter (Craig Reynolds), who requests permission to hunt buffalo on Comanche lands to meet the demand for buffalo meat and pelts.  Drummond says “No dice, Chicago”; he’s determined to make sure the treaty is enforced—which doesn’t set at all well with Wade.  (When Colton tells him the last of the buffalo are on Native American land—and once the buffalo are gone, so goes the tribe—Carter whips out the familiar western film excuse that “the only good Indian is a dead Indian.”  He seems nice.)  So Carter, in tandem with bidness partner Burley Barton (Henry Otho), orders his henchmen—headed up by Monte Montague as “Nebraska Bill”—to disguise themselves as Cavalry soldiers and pay Chief Red Smoke a friendly visit.  They convince the Chief that Drummond wants a chinwag earlier than scheduled, and so the Chief’s sons journey back with the “soldiers” where they are killed along the trail.  Well, one of them is—Little Big Wolf, though wounded, manages to make his way back to the tribe and report the treachery riding the range.

Dick Foran’s (billed as “The Singing Cowboy”) third Warner Brothers western is short and sweet (it calls it a wrap after 56 minutes), and therefore it’s painless to take…but although it’s a fast-paced oater this doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good one.  (I was kind of critical of Trailin’ West [1936] when I covered that movie earlier on the blog—Treachery Rides the Range [1936] makes West look like Citizen Kane.)  Paula Stone, who also played the love interest in West, doesn’t get a lot to do in this one other than damsel-in-distress (her character of Ruth Drummond is on her way to the fort when the Indians start putting on the war paint…and though Colton is able to stop her stagecoach from getting her to the fort, she winds up in the clutches of Carter and Barton).  Foran’s musical numbers—Ridin’ Home and Leather and Steel—are also pretty uninspiring…though director Frank McDonald does attempt to make Leather interesting by having the star perform as he rides with his fellow Cavalry soldiers.  (I kept hearing Stout Hearted Men in my head the entire time.)

One bright moment in Treachery—and I realize this will only amuse those of us who are fans of the Hal Roach comedies…so I’m guessing everyone, right?—is seeing Don “Thank you gigantically!” Barclay as one of Foran’s men, Corporal Bunce.  Colton and Bunce have to rescue Ruth Drummond from the Comanche…because Chief Red Smoke has decreed that Ruth must die to avenge the death of Little Big Wolf.  Colton gets an idea: he’ll leave Ruth and Bunce with Red Smoke while he and several members of the tribe ride off in search of the Colonel so everything can be ironed out.  Bunce reluctantly agrees to this, but tells his superior officer to be careful in that trademark fruity manner of his: “I have no desire to be parboiled by these Indians...”  (It is indeed a shame that no one thought to bring Barclay back for additional Foran oaters—though the two did work on 1937’s Black Legion.)

With a story and screenplay by future producer William Jacobs (he would also script the first and second entries in the Foran Western series, Moonlight on the Prairie [1935] and Song of the Saddle [1936]), Treachery Rides the Range is pleasant enough but doesn’t really have the “oomph” needed to be a first-rate programmer (even the villains in this one are ho-hum).  It’s available on the Warner Archive MOD DVD set Dick Foran Western Collection (though I DVR’d this one from The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™).

The Laurel & Hardy Blogathon: Way Out West (1937)

The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to The Laurel & Hardy Blogathon, hosted today by MovieMovieBlogBlog in honor of the annual Oliver Hardy Festival held in Harlem, GA on the first weekend in October (this year it falls on October 4, hence the scheduling of the ‘thon).  It must be stressed that this blogathon is not related to nor endorsed by the Festival (I would, however, urge all L&H fans to make a pilgrimage to the Harlem museum at least one time in your life), and for a full list of participants and topics discussed click here.

The time period is the Gay Nineties, and in the small Western town of Brushwood Gulch, the locus of entertainment can be found in a saloon run by Mickey Finn (James Finlayson), whose wife Lola Marcel (Sharon Lynne) is the resident chanteuse.  Finn and Lola are guardians to Mary Roberts (Rosina Lawrence), whose father left her in their care when she was quite young.  Mary and her caretakers are not aware of this…but their lives are about to change with the arrival of two “desert rats” in town.

A screen capture of what I believe to be the reason why I return to Way Out West over and over again...there was never a more beloved team in all of cinema.

Stan (Laurel) and Oliver (Hardy) touch down in Brushwood Gulch (after an awkward encounter with the wife [Vivien Oakland] of the town’s sheriff [Stanley Fields]) to present Mary with a deed to a gold mine left to her by her deceased father.  Since neither Stan nor Ollie have ever met Mary, the greedy Finn concocts a scheme with Lola whereupon she will pretend to be the heir, and our heroes unwittingly hand over the title of the mine to her.  When they finally realize their mistake, the duo valiantly attempt to retrieve the deed but are unsuccessful.  Furthermore, they’re forced to high-tail it out of town when the grudge-holding sheriff arrives on the scene.

Undaunted, Stan and Ollie make a second effort to right the wrong by breaking into the saloon that night; despite the team’s noisy efforts, Finn and his wife are slow to realize that they’re being visited by home invaders.  It’s at that time that our heroes also encounter Mary, and an explanation of what’s transpired is passed along to her.  Laurel & Hardy finally manage to retrieve the gold mine deed, and the two of them (joined by Mary) make plans to head south as the film concludes.

Every feature film featuring the greatest movie comedy team of all time is revered by L&H fans…though there is often spirited discussion as to which movie is their best.  A consensus has gathered around their 1933 outing Sons of the Desert (the title of which inspired the team’s fan club), which film historian William K. Everson once described as “subtler if not funnier.”  But Everson was also quick to remind folks that Way Out West (1937) “must rank as the best of all the Laurel & Hardy features.  Not only is it pure, unadulterated Laurel & Hardy, with no time wasted on subsidiary plotting or romantic or musical ‘relief,’ but it is also a first-rate satire of the western genre…”  Way Out West is, hands down, my favorite Laurel & Hardy film.

It’s essentially a B-picture (though because it was released by MGM, it’s technically an A-minus picture) that pokes fun at B-pictures—in this case, the popular movie genre of the Western; the movie takes the hoariest of Western clichés—the gold mine falling into the hands of the villains—and simply goes to town with it.  Glenn Mitchell once observed: “…Way Out West differs from most comic westerns by actually parodying a genre rather than merely using a western setting.  Mel Brooks' more recent Blazing Saddles attempts the same but is over reliant on self-conscious dialogue references and suffers from a tendency to stray from the target.  The success of Way Out West may owe something to Stan Laurel's early experience in parody; similarly Oliver Hardy's earlier work in silent westerns would have contributed.”

The person responsible for conceiving what became Way Out West?  Well, that’s open to discussion.  Producer Hal Roach had planned a vehicle for his female comedy team of Patsy Kelly and Lyda Roberti entitled Girls Go West in March of 1936, but it never came to fruition (I would have paid to see that, to be honest).  Virginia Ruth Rogers, the second wife of Stan Laurel, also laid claim to initiating the project by insisting her husband and his partner tackle a “horse opera.”  None of this really matters in the long run: filming on Way Out West got underway on May 4, 1936 after writer Felix Adler turned in a script he prepared with star Stan Laurel…with veteran gag writers Charley Rogers, Arthur Vernon Jones and Jack Jevne making additional contributions as well.  James W. Horne, who had previously guided The Boys in the features Bonnie Scotland (1935) and The Bohemian Girl (1936), was all set to direct.

Way Out West was originally titled You’d Be Surprised—but that name had to be discarded because a 1926 Raymond Griffith comedy had already laid claim to it.  Then it became Tonight’s the Night, but 20th Century-Fox informed the Roach Studio “not so fast, podnuh.”  The name In the Money also had to be vetoed, because a small studio called Chesterfield had used it in 1933.  It was James Parrott, a former director at the studio whose problems with substance abuse found him toiling as a gag writer who came up with Way Out West—though Parrott (the brother of Roach star Charley Chase) apparently forgot that WOW was also the title of a comedy he himself had appeared in at the studio in 1920.  (In addition, it was used for a William Haines MGM feature in 1930…and a 1935 Educational two-reeler with The Cabin Kids.)  One title considered for the film that was discarded for unclear reasons was They Done It Wrong, a reference to Mae West’s 1933 comedy She Done Him Wrong—I kind of wish they had gone with that one.  But Way Out West is also a jokey title—originally inspired by the D.W. Griffith-directed Way Down East.

Way Out West may spotlight “pure, unadulterated Laurel & Hardy”…but it’s interesting to note that a full reel of the movie goes by before we’re introduced to The Boys; we then find them making their way to Brushwood Gulch by mule (the mule is Dinah, with whom they also worked in The Music Box; Dinah also plays “Algebra” in the classic Our Gang short Honkey Donkey), and the luckless Ollie finds the only sinkhole for miles as the two ford a steam (a wonderful gag that is repeated twice more in the film).  The duo is able to stop a stagecoach headed for their destination (Stan gets the stage to come to a screeching halt by “showing a little leg” in a sly It Happened One Night reference)…and once they arrive in town, they set about their Good Samaritan work by attempting to inform Mary Roberts of her inheritance.

Stan and Ollie’s arrival is supplemented by one of many reasons why I love Way Out West so dearly.  The Boys do a soft-shoe shuffle to the strains of At the Ball, That’s All performed by The Avalon Boys (an aggregation comprised of future Oscar nominee Chill Wills, Art Green, Walter Trask and Don Brookins).  The film’s original script makes no mention of the routine (the Avalon Boys were simply supposed to do their stuff), and it’s believed the dance was probably improvised between takes and then filmed for cinematic immortality.  The sequence is unquestionably one of Laurel & Hardy’s best-known (you can throw a piano at an Internet .gif of the dance and hit it) and the great thing about it is that its charm lies in how it looks so spontaneous and unrehearsed…yet you know both men worked so hard to perfect its utter unpretentious joy.  Movie musical fans are welcome to their elaborate MGM routines—I’ll take Stan and Ollie’s sublime hoofing any day of the week.

In attempting to make small talk with their fellow stagecoach passenger (Vivien Oakland), Hardy blurts out: "A lot of weather we've been having lately!"  (Yes, I use that all the time in real-life conversation.)

The Boys worked a second memorable musical number into the proceedings in a later sequence when Ollie joins in with Avalon Boys member Walter Trask (both L&H historians Dick Bann and Randy Skretvedt believe it’s Trask) on a rendition of The Trail of the Lonesome Pine, which then leads to glorious harmony with his friend Mr. Laurel.  In 1975, the soundtrack of this transcendent duet was released as a single that went all the way to #2 on the U.K. pop charts.  (“Duet” is technically not the right word here—it’s more like a quintet; in addition to Trask, Laurel and Hardy, Chill Wills can be heard [as Stan’s bass voice] as well as Rosina Lawrence [providing Stan’s soprano].)  Way Out West is quite a tuneful little picture, with additional musical numbers like Will You Be My Lovey-Dovey? (performed by Lynne in a Mae West-inspired saloon sequence) and the impossible-to-get-out-of-your-head I Want to Be in Dixie (“D-I-X…I know how to spell it!”).  Way Out West may have been a lowly B-picture, but its music (courtesy of longtime Roach Studios composer Marvin Hatley) scored an Academy Award nomination for Best Score—a rather prestigious accomplishment.  (“It certainly is!”)

But here’s the true test of Way Out West’s status as a classic comedy: it’s just so doggone funny.  So many unforgettable sequences: Lynne trapping Stan in her “boudoir” and trying to wrest the deed away from him (in a hilarious role reversal, Stan has put the valuable paper in his shirt and Lynne aggressively “molests” him to retrieve it, prompting the comedian’s infectious laughter as he’s tickled); Stan demonstrating to Ollie how he’s able to create a flame (like a cigarette lighter) by flicking his thumb (Oliver is both amazed and frightened when he’s able to duplicate this feat); Oliver forcing Stan to “eat his hat.”  The dialogue is also hilarious: my favorite is when Stan unthinkingly reveals to Finn the reason why they need to see Mary and Oliver indignantly responds as he gives his partner a shove: “Now that he's taken you into our confidence…”

I also get delighted during the sequence when Stan and Ollie are trying to break into the saloon and Stan gets the (not-at-all) bright idea to hoist Ollie up to the second floor roof with a rope.  Dangling in mid-air, Ollie watches helplessly as Stan innocently lets go (“Wait until I spit on me hands…”) and in crashing to Earth, his considerable girth makes an impression in the ground.  Stan attempts to tidy up his partner by brushing him off and at one point steps into the rut Ollie’s created to do so.  That sort of subtlety from Laurel & Hardy just cements my affection for the duo.

“The charm of that hilarious, marvelous film is simply unending,” wrote L&H biographer John McCabe.  I think McCabe hits upon the reason why so many fans revere Way Out West—the key word here is “charm.”  To be honest, that also sums up the universal appeal of the duo; you can make strong cases for any number of The Great Movie Comedians as to why their work may be superior to that of their peers, but the beauty of Laurel & Hardy is that they were unquestionably the most beloved comedy team in the history of cinema.  They radiated a timelessly charismatic appeal, and I’d be hard-pressed to think of anyone who’s been able to do that since.  Sure, they squabbled and fought like children—punching and hitting and calling of names—but there was never any doubt that these two men were the best of friends, holding on to one another as they faced what life was determined to dish out.  I also can’t imagine a scenario where I would be limited to just one L&H movie for the rest of my life…but if such a tragedy were to occur, Way Out West would win in a walk.

Blogathon fever—catch it!

Over at the Radio Spirits blog this morning, I revisit a movie that I first discussed here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear back in 2010—Radio City Revels (1938), a musical comedy with a gallery of stars including Bob “The Arkansas Traveler” Burns, Jack Oakie, Milton Berle and Ann Miller.  Revels is going to make the rounds on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ on May 21 (8:30am), so I thought a write-up about the film and its various OTR connections was in order.  (I was kind of cool to it the first time I saw it—it actually improved with a second viewing.)  I’ve also got a new essay up at ClassicFlix on the delightful Bea Lillie comedy Exit Smiling (1926)—it’s a crime that Lillie didn’t pursue further silent film forays.

TVShowsOnDVD.com has a big announcement that Shout! Factory is going to bring all four seasons of WKRP in Cincinnati to DVD…no release date has been announced yet, and the TSOD info is iffy on whether the sticky music clearances wicket will be addressed by the Factory.  It’s my nature to be skeptical, so my attitude on this is wait-and-see…if they don’t screw this up, I will definitely be interested in a purchase.  (I have already alerted noted WKRP scholar and mayonnaise enthusiast Stacia Kissick-Jones of this news.)  Another TV-on-DVD item on my wishlist is this Amazon.co.uk announcement of all four seasons of The Phil Silvers Show being released to Region 2 DVD in September, because the individuals who could make a Region 1 release come to pass have no clue as to the greatness of this classic sitcom.

Ruth at Silver Screenings has announced a blogathon in tandem with The Rosebud Cinema that will get underway June 20-22: it’s the 1967 in Film ‘thon, and because you people do so well on the standardized tests you’ve already guessed that the essays contributed by participating bloggers will deal with movies released in that magical year.  TDOY has RSVP’d—I’ll chat up Stanley Donen’s cult comedy Bedazzled, which stars the incomparable team of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore.  (“Julie Andrews!”)

And over at Krell Laboratories (Science!), the renowned Dr. Vulnavia Morbius (she’s not a mad scientist, honest—I think she’s a pediatrician) will be sponsoring (with Anna at Bemused and Nonplussed) The John Ford Blogathon from July 7-13.  Dr. Morbius contacted me via the Twitter Machine to ask if I would be interested—would I be interested!—in throwing in, and my response was an enthusiastic “(Expletive deleted) yeah!”  I had so many choices to go with—The Grapes of Wrath and Doctor Bull were at the top of the list—but I finally settled on a lesser-known yet still first-rate Ford feature, The Prisoner of Shark Island (1936).  Plenty of movies and slots available on this (and for the 1967 in Film blogathon as well) so I urge you to sashay on over and sign up if you’re interested.

Chapter 3 of Gubmint Agents vs. Phantom Legion tomorrow…and I hope to have a brand-new Doris Day(s) up for Monday (the blogathons got in the way last week).