Dynamic Duos in Classic Film Blogathon – Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis: Together Both

The following is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to the Dynamic Duos in Classic Film Blogathon, hosted by Once upon a Screen and the Classic Movie Hub July 13-14.  For a complete list of the blogs participating and the personalities covered, click here.

In 1976, viewers who tuned into the annual MDA Labor Day Telethon got an unexpected surprise: twenty years after their acrimonious split, host Jerry Lewis was reunited with his former partner, actor-singer Dean Martin, when Martin’s fellow Rat Packer Francis Albert Sinatra brought him onto the show.  It was a big deal for fans of the duo, and it was a big deal for a thirteen-year-old kid who had become a belated fan by watching their classic movies in just about any venue that offered them (mostly TV at that time).

There are a good number of people who revere Jerry Lewis.  They are James Neibaur and the entire nation of France.  The rest find it difficult to tolerate the man’s excesses, though I have always been on record as saying that I don’t mind some of Lewis’ solo vehicles.  I gravitate mostly to the ones directed by Frank Tashlin—like Rock-a-Bye Baby (1958) and my personal favorite, It’$ Only Money (1962)—but I certainly wouldn’t object to an official DVD release of an underrated comedy, Don’t Give Up the Ship (1959).  My greatest love for Jerry Lewis was when for a decade—1946 through 1956—he partnered with Dean Martin and made some very funny movie comedies…not to mention some hilarious TV programs and occasionally a rib-tickling radio broadcast or two.

The duo who would eventually rocket to movie stardom in 1950—replacing Bud Abbott & Lou Costello as Hollywood’s top box-office comedy team—had their first encounter in 1945 at a club called The Glass Hat, where Dean sang and Jerry was emcee. They crossed paths again a year later (July 25, 1946), officially teaming up at Atlantic City’s 500 Club when Lewis suggested to the owner that he allow Martin to perform in place of the scheduled singer (who was unable to go on).  The two men had put together an act that went over like an epidemic of smallpox…and club owner Skinny D’Amato put the team on notice that if things didn’t improve by the second show they’d be looking elsewhere for work.

Dean and Jerry decided to “go for broke.”  While Dean was performing, Jerry came out dressed as a busboy and wreaked havoc during Martin’s performance—dropping an entire tray of dishes during one of his numbers.  They dug old vaudeville jokes out of their memory, performed slapstick and engaged in a spirited exchange of insults.  The audience ate it up.  Martin and Lewis became an “overnight success,” and took their new act from club to club until it was estimated they were pulling down close to $15,000 weekly in 1948 alone.

Though Martin & Lewis had a good deal of name recognition in the industry, they were still an unknown quantity to the general public—this would soon change. They were among the featured performers of Ed Sullivan’s premiere Toast of the Town telecast in 1948, and they made a well-received radio appearance on an October 26, 1948 Bob Hope Show that prompted NBC to offer them a contract. An audition recorded was produced on December 21, 1948, and that program (with guest Lucille Ball), edited to a half-hour, became the April 3, 1949 premiere broadcast of The Martin & Lewis Show.

Dean and Jerry’s zany antics didn’t translate to radio too well.  The network was spending $10,000 a week and luring big-name guest stars—John Garfield, Henry Fonda, Burt Lancaster, Jane Russell—but audiences were lukewarm to the show, and it soon came to a close on January 30, 1950.  The future fan base of Martin and Lewis would become more acquainted with the team from movies and television—the duo were frequent hosts of NBC-TV’s The Colgate Comedy Hour, said by many to be the only medium that was really able to come close to capturing the spontaneity of their nightclub act (and surviving kinescopes demonstrate that Dean and Jer really had a ball on live TV).  When the team’s movies made them big box-office attractions, NBC had another go at a radio program with them beginning on October 5, 1951 for a two-year run.  Curiously, NBC chose to play up Martin’s role more than that of his partner's, renaming the series The Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis Show and introducing the crooner as the “master of ceremonies.”  Jerry would then make his “late” appearance shortly after Dean’s opening number. This version, still packed with top guest stars, ultimately folded its tent July 14, 1953.

While the duo were working on the first incarnation of their radio show, Paramount signed them to be the “comedy relief” in a picture based on a radio sitcom—My Friend Irma.  The 1949 film, which both men plugged on their radio broadcast, featured Marie Wilson as the titular pal from the radio hit that had been running on CBS since 1947.  The studio recast the role of Irma’s best bud Jane Stacy (played by Cathy Lewis on radio) with contractee Diana Lynn, and the part of Irma’s ne’er-do-well boyfriend Al (so memorably essayed over the ether by the great John Brown) went to another studio player, John Lund.  In fact, the only two performers who—along with Wilson—transitioned to the film version were Gloria Gordon (seen briefly as landlady Mrs. O’Reilly) and Hans Conried as Professor Kropotkin, the girls’ upstairs neighbor.  (Conried only got to play the part after the originally-cast Felix Bressart died during production.)  The film also featured Don DeFore (as the show’s Richard Rhinelander III), Kathryn Givney and Percy Helton (as Irma’s employer, Mr. Clyde—played by Alan Reed on the radio show but to be honest, I like Helton in the part).

My Friend Irma’s plot—concocted by the show’s creator, Cy Howard, and its chief scribe, Parke Levy—finds Jane angling to become the new secretary to Mr. Rhinelander because the gal’s got matrimony with a wealthy man on her mind.  (I’ve always believed that Paramount cast Lynn in this part to make the character seem a little less like a gold-digger.)  But Ms. Stacy falls for Steve Laird (Dean), an aspiring crooner (whom Al agrees to manage) but for now a drone at an orange juice stand along with his sidekick Seymour (Jerry).   Various misunderstandings and complications arise—instigated by Irma, the original “dumb blonde”—before Jane realizes that she needs to marry for love and not loot.  (Even then, the film’s closing gag keeps the two of them from tying the knot and living happily ever after.)

Not many people outside of old-time radio buffs remember My Friend Irma, so if it weren’t for the presence of Martin and Lewis it’s a sure bet the movie would be forgotten today.  There’s no denying that the duo are the major drawing card, though their hi-jinks are forced to take a back seat to the Irma-Jane action (only emerging when they recreate some of their nightclub act by performing Just for Fun).  Interestingly, the studio had originally wanted Jerry to play boyfriend Al, but they changed their minds and created the Seymour character to match his familiar persona.  (As much as I dislike Lund as Al—and I do, unquestionably—having Lewis play the part would be the textbook definition of bizarre.)  The success of the film led to a follow-up (the only sequel the team ever made), My Friend Irma Goes West (1950). 

West pretty much picks up where the first film left off, with Martin’s Laird still trying to succeed in show business and having little luck.  An appearance on a TV program (where Steve, Seymour and Al are paid off in spaghetti) attracts the attention of movie producer C.Y. Sanford (Charles Evans), who signs Steve to a movie contract…prompting the cast to go west, young man, go west by train.  Unfortunately, Mr. Sanford is a little funny in the head (he’s an escaped mental patient) and the journey to Hollywood is going to wind up in eventual heartbreak.  There are a few subplots, including a French starlet (played by French starlet Corinne Calvet) who’s got it bad for Steve—much to Jane’s annoyance—and a gang of racketeers (led by Lloyd Corrigan) who wind up taking Irma hostage towards the end of the movie…and soon learn why she’s been a source of aggravation to both her roommate and boyfriend all these years.

With the Irma movies under its belt, Hollywood was ready for the first starring feature for Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.  It would come in the form of At War with the Army (1950), which was actually filmed before West but not released until December of that year (West was released in May).  The movie was made by independent producer Fred Finklehoffe and released by Paramount; Martin and Lewis had obtained in their Paramount contract an option to make one film a year outside the studio under the banner of their company, York Productions.  Not long after the release of the movie, the team found themselves embroiled in a messy legal battle (involving their salary payoff with the film) that ended only when they relinquished all financial interest in Army…and in exchange, they didn’t have to make any more “outside” pictures.  At War with the Army slipped into the public domain back in the 1970s, and for that reason it’s probably more accessible (on home video) than Dean and Jer’s other films.

Their first service comedy finds them at odds with one another: they’re childhood pals but Dean’s Vic Puccinella now outranks Alvin Korwin (Jerry)—Vic’s a sergeant, Alvin a lowly private.  The film was adapted from a stage play by James Allardice, and never moves beyond its theatrical origins; there’s not a lot of real “plot,” mostly a series of vignettes.   The movie’s credits include an “introduction” to Polly Bergen (who would later appear with the team in That’s My Boy and The Stooge) though she had made appearances (as a vocalist) in a couple of earlier vehicles—but it is the first film for Danny Dayton (as the supply sergeant) and Mike Kellin (as Sergeant McVey, Jerry’s nemesis), who reprised his stage role along with Kenneth Forbes.

Army and a 1951 Paramount release, That’s My Boy, essentially established Dean and Jerry as the number one movie comedy team in the nation.  Watching That’s My Boy today…it’s a little hard to figure out why this was the case.  Cy Howard, the man behind My Friend Irma, scripted the movie—which casts Jerry as the milquetoast son of a college football legend (Eddie Mayehoff, in the first of three movies he would make with Dean and Jer) who attends his pa’s alma mater and is unable to follow in his dad’s footsteps.  Mayehoff is paying Dean’s way through school (Dean is a hot football prospect, destined to become All-American) and all Eddie wants in return is for Dean to help son Jerry make something of himself on the gridiron.  It probably played funny with audiences back in in the time of its original release…but it hasn’t aged well—it’s more maudlin than tee-hee.

The team’s following feature more than made up for the excesses of That’s My Boy: Sailor Beware (1952), their second service comedy, has always been one of my favorites (and in fact, depending on what day of the week you ask, I’ll probably name it as my all-time fave).  This time Dean and Jerry cut loose in the Navy (in fact, the working title was At Sea with the Navy), with Jerry the luckless boob whose romantical prospects with a frosty cabaret singer (Corinne Calvet) are the focus of a king-sized bet in his platoon (Jerry must receive a kiss from Corinne, who has a reputation of spurning all sailors), instituted by bullying sergeant Robert Strauss.

Sailor Beware was based on a 1933 play written by Kenyon Nicholson (and Charles Robinson) that had been previously filmed as The Fleet’s In (1942)—the film that provided Betty Hutton with one of her breakthrough roles…so it’s kind of Kismet that she has a cameo in Sailor (as “Hetty Button”).  But Martin and Lewis really made the remake their own, including such classic routines as the Army induction scenes (Jerry, who’s already donated at a blood bank, stymies the medicos when they attempt to take a blood sample and get nothing but water) and a riotously funny boxing sequence that’s similar to the one in Abbott & Costello’s Buck Privates (1941).  (You might recognize James Dean as one of the hangers-on in the locker room.)

I have a soft spot for Sailor Beware because it was the film that introduced me to the reality that all those old movies I had been watching on TV actually had a first life in theaters; I learned this when I saw Beware on ABC’s Monday Night Movie and was flummoxed at how my father, who was watching it with me, was able to predict what would happen next.  (He came clean and told me he saw the film when he was in the service.)  Beware was directed by Hal Walker, who had also directed At War with the Army, and was co-scripted by Army’s original playwright, James Allardice.

The team’s final service comedy, Jumping Jacks, was also released in 1952—Jerry’s the former stage partner of Dean, who’s enlisted in the Army in hopes of joining the paratroopers, and in helping out his bud with an Army show finds himself dragooned into masquerading as a private (Richard Erdman) when the production is enthusiastically thumbed-up by general Ray Teal.  Not quite as good as Sailor Beware (but better than At War with the Army), Jacks is a moderately amusing comedy that brings back Robert Strauss as Dean and Jer’s commanding officer (interestingly, he likes Jerry despite the fact Jer’s a screw-up) and Don DeFore as one of Dean’s fellow soldiers.  The movie was originally scripted by Robert Lees and Fred Rinaldo back in the 1940s (it was offered to Bob Hope and Danny Kaye; both turned it down) which explains why it feels more like an Abbott & Costello knock-off (particularly the last part of the movie, where the war games sequence is very much like the one in Buck Privates).

Martin and Lewis decided to break the formulaic pattern of their films in 1953 with The Stooge.  In this comedy-drama, crooner Dean severs ties with his vaudeville partner (Richard Erdman) to try going it alone as a solo act…but soon finds he’s as welcome as a proctology exam as far as audiences are concerned.  His agent, played by Eddie Mayehoff, suggests he find a “stooge” for his act—a guy who’ll be on the receiving end of his comic abuse, and that of course will be Master Jerome Lewis.  Lewis makes the act a hit, though Martin seems unable to admit this (refusing to give his partner credit)…even causing friction between his beloved, played by Polly Bergen.  The Stooge was named as Lewis’ favorite among the vehicles he made with his partner…though personally I’m not a huge fan of the film; it was actually filmed in 1951 but withheld by Paramount for two years because of their concern at Dean’s character being an unlikable jerk.

That same year saw the release of The Caddy, another oddball comedy-drama with Jerry as the titular club carrier; he has an aptitude for the game but also has a phobia about playing in front of crowds so he teaches the game to Dean…who becomes a champion but also un dickhead formidable, treating Jerry like a commoner among his new high society friends (including would-be girlfriend Donna Reed).  In the course of the film, Dean and Jerry’s characters find they’re more suited as nightclub performers than duffers—the odd denouement of this one finds them coming face to face with the real Martin and Lewis!

Leonard Maltin rated The Caddy in his Classic Movie Guide one-and-a-half stars; I don’t think it’s as terrible as all that (though the X-rated audio outtakes of the trailer they made to promote the film are funnier) but it does seem as though Paramount cobbled this together just so they could include golf legends Ben Hogan, Sam Snead, Byron Nelson, and Julius Boros.   The Caddy is probably remembered best as the film in which Dean sings That’s Amore—which became one of the crooner’s signature tunes and also an Academy Award nominee for Best Original Song (it lost to Secret Love from Calamity Jane).

A Martin and Lewis film released that same year (a New Year’s Eve premiere; the film went into general release in February of 1954) that doesn’t hold up as well as it once did is Money from Home—the team’s first Technicolor film (though not their first color film appearance—that was a cameo in the Bing Crosby-Bob Hope romp Road to Rio) and only movie released in 3-D.  Dean and Jer do Damon Runyon in a tale that finds the two of them involved with gangsters and the sport of kings…with Jerry masquerading as a jockey (played by an inebriated Richard Haydn) and Dean romancing a horse owner in Marjie Miller.  I revisited this one earlier this week in preparation for the blogathon and while it was a favorite as a youngster, I kept having trouble buying Gerald Mohr as a jockey (let alone Lewis) though the always-welcome Sheldon Leonard is great as the film’s heavy, gangster “Jumbo” Schneider.

Also released in 1953 was Scared Stiff, a remake of Bob Hope’s classic 1940 comedy The Ghost Breakers, which I discussed at length in a blog post here so I’ll skip over the analysis.  Since I also didn’t get an opportunity to revisit 3 Ring Circus (1954)—the only M&L comedy not available on DVD for unspecified reasons—I’ll pass that one by, too; I saw it many years ago but I don’t want to rely on an imperfect memory (for what it’s worth, I don’t remember it being very good).

In his book Movie Comedy Teams, Leonard Maltin named Living It Up (1954) as his choice for the best of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis’ sixteen films together.  I have to admit that Len is right on this one; it’s a gem of a comedy based on the source material for Nothing Sacred (1937) (Living is more an adaption of the 1953 musical, Hazel Flagg)—and I know I get into trouble when I say this, but Living It Up is also a rare example of a movie outshining its original (I’m anticipating a threatening telegram from Carole & Co. any minute now).  Jerry plays the Carole Lombard role in a wacky tale of his and Dean’s (Martin plays his physician) attempts to take advantage of a New York newspaper’s offer to show Jerry the town when they mistakenly think he’s dying of radiation poisoning.

Janet Leigh plays the reporter that Fredric March essayed in Sacred, and Fred Clark is at his apoplectic best as the editor (Walter Connolly in Sacred) who gleefully exploits Jerry’s malady for circulation sake.  The comedy sequences in this film rank as some of the team’s best (the Yankee Stadium bit is a classic) and the ending of the film is much stronger (and more cynical) than the original.  (Though I will admit it falters momentarily when Lewis impersonates an Asian doctor, doing his “Big-Teeth” shtick.)  Living It Up also features my favorite song (from the Hazel Flagg musical) from any Martin & Lewis film (as a kid, my interest would drift during the musical numbers…and in some of their films things have not changed), Every Street’s a Boulevard in Old New York.

The team continued reworking old classics with 1955’s You’re Never Too Young—a remake of The Major and the Minor (1942), though the screenplay by future potboiler novelist/I Dream of Jeannie creator Sidney Sheldon doesn’t mention Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett—only the author of the original play, Edward Childs Carpenter.  Again, I will flirt with heresy and admit that I prefer Young to Minor (the Ginger Rogers-Ray Milland film has always come across a little creepy to me—and I say this as someone who worships Wilder); Jerry continues his gender-switching by taking on the Rogers part as the adult who poses as a child in order to get a cheaper rate on train fare; he gets mixed up with a gangster (Raymond Burr) who’s just murdered a jeweler and made off with a honkin’ big diamond…so Jerry hides out at a girls’ school where Dean is an instructor (and where he suspects there’s more to Jer than meets the eye).  Actress Diana Lynn, who appeared in the first two Martin & Lewis films, also stars in Young…and she also appeared in Minor when it was released in 1942.  (Synchronicity!) 

I must come clean and admit that I’m not as enamored of Pardners (1956) as I once was—possibly due to my re-watching it for the blogathon.  It’s the duo’s last trip to Remake City (it’s loosely based on 1936’s Rhythm on the Range) with Dean and Jer playing dual characters in this western comedy; Wade Kingsley (Lewis) and Slim Mosely (Martin) are in a skirmish with the villainous Dan Hollis (John Baragrey), who’s attempting to take over Wade’s ranch.  The two men head out the door for a final showdown…but Wade first has to kiss his infant son goodbye, since wife Mathilda (Agnes Moorehead) is headed back East, tired of the dangers living out West.  Gunned down by Hollis, Wade and Slim hope to be avenged by their sons.

With the passage of several years, Wade, Jr. is the pampered son of the wealthy Mathilda (now a captain of industry), who begs Slim, Jr. to take him out West when Slim and Wade’s cousin Carol (Lori Nelson) come to New York to ask Mathilda about buying a prized bull for their ranch.  Wade buys “Cuddles,” and Slim agrees to become his “partner”—they head back to the woolly West and things get a bit hairy when Sam Hollis (son of Dan) continues in his father’s business by trying to take the ranch so he can sell the land to the government.  With the luck that only befalls Jerry Lewis and fools, Wade and Slim end up rounding up the bad guys…and the film ends on a bizarre note with the two men breaking the fourth wall and thanking the audience for coming to see their picture.   In revisiting this movie, I found the plot wafer thin but there are some truly funny sequences in this one—the highlight being Jerry’s humiliation of henchman Jeff Morrow in a saloon (which sort of forecasts his later Nutty Professor character, Buddy Love).

By the time this film went into production, rumors were rampant that the team was headed for splitsville; Martin had started to chafe at his straight man role, unhappy with playing colorless romantic leads…and Lewis didn’t help matters any with his insistence on concentrating on pathos as if he were a second Chaplin and focusing much of the comedy on himself.  Martin fulfilled the rest of his Paramount contract but told his partner that he was “nothing to me but a fucking dollar sign.”  On the day that Pardners was released (July 25, 1956), Martin and Lewis performed for the last time at New York's Copacabana.

Pardners would not be the last M&L film to be released, however—Hollywood or Bust reached theaters in December of 1956, though its production was rather troubled in that during filming, Dean and Jerry refused to speak to each other anytime the two of them were off the set.  (Lewis says this is the only M&L film he’s never watched.)  It’s essentially Dean and Jerry “on the road”—Dean’s a sharpie whose plans to collect on a free car given away at a movie “bank night” are stymied when Jerry turns out to have the legitimate winning ticket.  The two of them head cross country to Hollywood (Jerry has dreams of meeting actress Anita Ekberg) with Jerry’s gi-normous Great Dane, picking up lovely Patricia Crowley along the way.

Hollywood was directed by Frank Tashlin—who would later go on to direct Lewis in a number of solo vehicles including The Geisha Boy (1958) and The Disorderly Orderly (1964).  Tashlin was also at the helm of what may very well be my personal pick of the Martin-Lewis vehicles, Artists and Models (1955).  Dean’s a struggling artist who can’t hold onto a steady job thanks to sidekick Jerry—whose steady diet of reading comic books is responsible for their losing jobs, plus he keeps Dean up at night with his nightmares.  The nightmares also affect a pair of tenants that live in the team’s apartment building: Dorothy Malone, the woman who draws the character in the comic books giving Jerry nocturnal fits, and her roommate Shirley MacLaine, the secretary at the comic book company (who also poses as the character in Malone’s comic creation).

At the same time Malone is trying to distance herself from the comic book business, Dean is hired by her boss (a hilarious performance from M&L regular Eddie Mayehoff) as an artist…and he decides to use Jerry’s comic book fantasies as fodder for his creations.  Jerry’s “Vincent the Vulture” apparently has a secret rocket formula (X34 minus 5R1 plus 6-X36) that’s similar to the one being actively sought by not only U.S. agents but foreign ones as well.  Eva Gabor is a Hungarian spy who attempts to pry the secret loose from Jerry, but everything comes out in the wash at the end.  I remember seeing Artists and Models on the CBS Late Movie as a kid and doing a Tex Avery reaction at both the skimpy outfits worn by the females (a Tashlin trademark, as you know) and much of the innuendo—it’s definitely the most “adult” of the Dean and Jerry films.  But it’s also a wonderful satire of 1950s pop culture: you’ve got Cold War politics, the space race and the “Seduction of the Innocent” concerns that comic books were warping the minds of impressionable youth.

There are a lot of in-jokes in this comedy as well: references to The Honeymooners and Rear Window, and a funny throwaway when Malone and MacLaine acknowledge that Martin’s character sings “a lot like that guy who had the hit with That’s Amore.”  (A song from this film, Inamorata, would also be a big pop smash for Martin as well.)  But I think what amuses me most about Artists is that despite Dean’s attitude that he was going to walk through this stuff until his contract was done, there are a number of times in the film (and in some of the later vehicles as well) where his nonchalance steals the show from his partner.  (The classic comedy sequence in Artists, where Jerry runs up and down several flights of stairs relaying messages to roommate Dean, is supposed to be Lewis’ show but Martin walks off with it in an instant with an exasperated “What did he say?!!”)

The relationship between the duo in Artists and Models remains for me the reason why I’d much rather sit down and watch Sailor Beware or Jumping Jacks than some of Lewis’ critically-praised solo vehicles like The Bellboy (1960) and The Ladies Man (1961).  There was a never-again-duplicated dynamic between Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis that made their partnership magic (if only for a decade): Dean the older brother and authority figure, Jerry the younger bro and mischievous kid.  Losing Martin made Lewis’ solo work a little lopsided—and though Jerry tried to compensate (Darren McGavin played what was reportedly going to be Dean’s role in the first solo Lewis vehicle, The Delicate Delinquent) with great supporting players like Del Moore and Kathleen Freeman, he just wasn’t able to capture lightning in a bottle a second time.  After their reunion at the MDA Telethon in 1976, Lewis says he spoke with his former partner at least once a day after that; he attended Dean’s son’s funeral (Dean Paul Martin was killed in a plane crash) in 1987 (though he retreated to the background because he knew the paparazzi would make it a Martin-Lewis reunion) and in 1989, came on stage in Las Vegas with a birthday cake to celebrate Dino’s 72nd birthday.  “Why we broke up, I'll never know,” Jerry said after thanking his friend for all the joy he brought into the world.  It would be their last public appearance together before Martin’s death in 1995.

I’ll never know why they broke up, either.  But we have their movies, and that is the greatest gift of all.

Classic TV Variety Show Blogathon: The Jerry Lewis Show

The following is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to the Classic TV Variety Show Blogathon, which is being hosted from February 3-5 by the Classic TV Blog Association.  For a full list of participants and the shows covered, click here.

Though the title of Martin Scorsese’s 1983 serio-comedy The King of Comedy can be open to two interpretations—either the character by Robert De Niro (aspiring standup comic Rupert Pupkin) or Jerry Lewis (as talk show host Jerry Langford)—in the 1960s, it definitely applied to the latter of these two performers.  Naysayers were certain that Lewis would not be able to continue his accomplishments in show bidness after his acrimonious split with longtime crooner-straight man Dean Martin in 1957, but the comic became even more successful (as did Dean, after bouncing back from the travesty known as Ten Thousand Bedrooms [1957]) with a string of popular box office vehicles that culminated with the film Lewis devotees consider his masterpiece, The Nutty Professor (1963).  Before Professor, Paramount inked the comedian to a fourteen picture deal in 1958 that netted him $10 million, possibly making him the highest-paid movie actor in the industry at that time.  The lucrative take for his stage appearances also added to his coffers, and in late 1962 Jerry signed on the dotted line for an ambitious ninety-minute live variety-talk show that would premiere in the fall of 1963 on ABC-TV.  Eight million dollars for forty shows—nice work if you could get it at the time.

When Jerry was still with Dean, the comedy duo wowed the nation with their frequent appearances on TV’s The Colgate Comedy Hour in the 1950s; many of the team’s fans believe that those showcases came closest to duplicating the zany wildness that was their nightclub act.  So Lewis was anxious to succeed as a solo performer in TV…but alas, it wasn’t in the cards.  The comedian, famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) for maintaining strict control over his films and other performance outlets (Jerry was “King of All Media” years before Howard Stern swiped that title), also held a tight rein on a show that ended up—in the politest phrasing possible—a complete and total clusterfudge.  The associate producer of that series must have been named Murphy’s Law, because on the technical side, anything that could did go wrong on opening night…and subsequent installments could do little to save the sinking ship.

Jerry Lewis was also experiencing problems at the box office as well.  Much as the 1950s films of Bud Abbott & Lou Costello had gradually started targeting kid audiences, so did Jer’s feature output in the mid 60s—Lewis tried to jumpstart the interest of adult fans with more mature movies (Boeing Boeing, Three on a Couch, Way…Way Out), but to no avail.  What’s more, the competitive Lewis had to be rankled by the fact that his onetime partner was conquering primetime TV with the mega-successful The Dean Martin Show…so in the fall of 1967, to television sets that were not only featuring Martin but the variety shows of Ed Sullivan, the Smothers Brothers, Jackie Gleason, Lawrence Welk and Red Skelton—as well as Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, The Kraft Music Hall and The Hollywood Palace—Jerry Lewis made his move.  (The fall of 1967 would also see Danny Thomas strike out with a variety hour, but usher in the success of Carol Burnett’s program that would run on small screens for over a decade.)

In an interview at the Archive of American Television, director-producer Bob Finkel takes credit for coming up with the idea that ultimately became the second primetime Jerry Lewis Show.  Finkel’s account seems plausible—he mentions having worked with Martin & Lewis during their Colgate Comedy Hour days—but it starts to go off the rails with an anecdote in which he reveals that Jerry relinquished creative control of the show to him.  (Another interview with costume designer Ret Turner disputes the “control,” saying Lewis was hands-on at all times and in every aspect of the show…which knowing what I know about the comedian is far more believable.)  Regardless of whose story you swallow, The Jerry Lewis Show premiered on September 12, 1967 in a Tuesday time slot at 8pm EST.  Though the program had a tough row to hoe in that most of its audience deserted it at the half-hour mark to watch the seventh-ranked show in the Nielsens, CBS’ The Red Skelton Hour, NBC brought it back for a second season the following year, moving it up a half-hour to 7:30.  But Lewis’ show lost its I Dream of Jeannie lead-in with that move, and found its butt kicked by the ABC series that put ten pounds of hip in a five pound bag, The Mod Squad.  Even plugs by Lewis’ old compadre Dean Martin (whose own variety hour was snuggled in the Top Ten) couldn’t save it (though in all fairness, Dino’s “Be sure to watch The Jerry Lewis Show this week…’cause I know I will!” might not have been totally sincere), and The Jerry Lewis Show vanished from the schedule.

Because it had been mostly unseen by the general public since its sayonara at the end of the 1968-69 season, Lewis fans and other curiosity seekers were excited at the news that Infinity Entertainment had plans to release a collection of thirteen programs from the show in December of 2009.  The warning signs should have been apparent: the release date for the set was pushed up a few times, and after seeing what the company did with such shows as The Real McCoys and Route 66 it shouldn’t have bode at all well…so when consumers got their hands on the set when it hit the streets they got the bad news—the shows in the collection were edited (and badly at that) twenty-three and a half minute versions of the original hour telecasts (well, including commercials) much in the truncated way that The Carol Burnett Show (as Carol Burnett and Friends) and The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson (Carson’s Comedy Classics) were cut to ribbons for syndication.  The shows open with bad graphics, bad synthesizer music…and that grating laugh of Jerry’s that makes you wonder why they would ever have to resort to torture—listening to that on a loop for an hour or so would break anyone’s free will.

Let me give you an example of the night-and-day difference between what’s on The Jerry Lewis Show: Collection and what you might find, say, on the Internets.  The December 5, 1967 telecast is available for viewing on YouTube, a show originally guest-starring Frank Gorshin and the McGuire Sisters.  The McGuire stuff is fairly forgettable, but Gorshin does do some hilarious impressions of celebrities like Marlon Brando, Anthony Quinn, Burt Lancaster, etc.  There’s also a comedy sketch in which Jerry—in his “Sidney Portnoy” persona, a character he played often on the show—arrives as a spooky old castle as a delivery boy for a fried chicken fast-food joint and runs into both a mad scientist (Gorshin doing Karloff) and a vampire (Gorshin doing Lugosi).  It’s as lame as it sounds, but anytime you have Gorshin doing two of my favorite film personalities it can’t be all that bad.

Now, this show is included on the DVD set…but contains mostly the Lewis-Gorshin skit, which also contains some horrendous edits.  There have been multiple theories as to why these shows have not been presented in their original format.  The most plausible is that the show was cut up for a possible syndicated series, given the cheesy opening and godawful graphics.  There’s also credible speculation that the shows may not survive in their complete hour-long form; a photo gallery included with the set has two pictures with Jerry and Jack Webb…who, along with Harry Morgan, was guest star on a program that apparently no longer exists (and the caption underneath the photo says they will have to cobble together the program from existing foreign kinescopes).  A third theory posits that the ever sticky wicket of copyrights might have reared its ugly head and prevented musical numbers (including many with Jerry singing—though one could argue this is not necessarily a terrible result) from being included.  If you purchased a copy of this 2-disc set, you have my sympathy at feeling like you were rooked (my copy was a Christmas present, so there was no personal financial rooking on my part); if you look at the listing on Amazon the collection is still listed at 640 minutes, which is a complete crock.

So apparently the only way to experience what was once The Jerry Lewis Show is either through this collection or random YouTube sharings (Kliph Nesteroff at Classic Television Showbiz has a second season show up here, February 5, 1969, that features John Byner and the Osmond Brothers as guests; Byner and Jerry do a funny "Governor of California" sketch and John does his Ed Sullivan impression)—and it’s apparent that the DVD release doesn’t really give you the full sense of the show.  Much of your enjoyment of The Jerry Lewis Show will depend on your personal opinion of Lewis himself; it’s my personal belief that Lewis wasn’t quite the same after the breakup with Dean Martin but I have had several people tell me I’m insane.  The only real flaw in Lewis’ variety program is that it was so very ordinary considering the person in charge—the best way to describe it is it’s like watching one of the comedian’s MDA telethons only it’s over and done with in fifty minutes.  (Again…to many this will be a blessing and not a curse.)

Lewis put together a veteran staff of writers to pen mediocre sketches for his series—two of the more interesting names on his staff were Bill Richmond, a longtime Lewis crony who co-wrote, among other Lewis movie classics, The Nutty Professor (he also turns up in some of the sketches) from time to time, and Ed Simmons, who wrote for Martin & Lewis’ radio show back in the 1950s…with then-partner Norman Lear.   (Simmons later went to work for Carol Burnett, winning a few Emmys in the process.)  The second season saw the addition of scribes like Honeymooners veteran Syd Zelinka and the team of Gerald Gardner & Dee Caruso…and though it might be because I’m biased (Gardner & Caruso wrote many scripts for The Monkees and Get Smart) I think the writing improved a little in the second season.  (Then again, Gardner & Caruso wrote the screenplay for Jerry’s Which Way to the Front? so it could be those mushrooms kicking in.)

Whatever one’s personal opinion of the program—you can’t deny that it wasn’t big-time variety at its most prevalent.  The surviving sketches on the DVD range from abominable to amusing—some of the people Jerry worked with, particularly Nanette Fabray, seemed to be enjoying themselves (Nanette appears in sketches from two separate shows—one in which she’s a policewoman who has to deal with her kleptomaniac husband, the other in which she’s a newlywed who discovers her presumed-dead husband is anything but; both feature Lewis in his “Professor Julius Kelp” character…renamed “Professor Frobischer” for the TV version); others are trapped in sketches so bad the only real laughs come from Jerry’s ad-libs.  (Audrey Meadows appears with Jerry in a Bonnie and Clyde spoof that is so unfunny Jerry remarks “Terrible!” at one point.)  The highlights in the collection are a sequence with character great Mike Mazurki as a bone-crunching lumberjack who’s being given his marching orders by marshmallow Jerry, and a sketch in which Jerry reworks the hilarious boxing sequences from Sailor Beware, assisted by Harold J. Stone (his nemesis in The Big Mouth) and Del Moore (The Nutty Professor).

You’ll also get the opportunity to see Jerry and Don Rickles square off in a sketch (which also features Dorothy Provine) in which Rickles can’t stop his perspiration (his reaction of his attempts to make out with Dorothy—“The cobra strikes!”—is a real gut-buster, too) and both he and Lewis can’t stop the ad-libs.  Shirley Jones guests in one edited show as the wife of Oriental detective Sam Leechee (played by Lewis in his not-at-all-hilarious buck teeth) which will make you wince at the insensitivity prevalent on TV at the time.  Other guests include Lynn Redgrave (who, in light of her famous feud with Lewis during the stage production of Broadway flop Hellzapoppin’, is most interesting), Janet Leigh, Barbara Feldon, Laurence Harvey and Joey Heatherton.  (It even sounds like the lineup for a Lewis telethon.)

With the cancellation of The Jerry Lewis Show in 1969, the comedian abandoned any future attempts to become a weekly variety fixture in TV families’ homes, preferring to do a season’s worth of television with his yearly MDA telethon that began in 1966 and ended in 2010 (the show didn’t end, just his participation because they ran him off).  (Though you could make a strong argument that the telethon wasn’t quite the same when they started pre-recording parts of it; some years Jerry really went on hilarious rant rampages in the last hour due to sleep deprivation.)  Die-hard Jerry Lewis fans will love The Jerry Lewis Show (and if you’re interested in a copy of the DVD, I’ll sell you mine—I even have the collectors’ cards to go with it); others will use it as just another reason to hate the French.

The Green Hornet – Chapter 6: Highways of Peril

OUR STORY SO FAR:  Britt Reid (Gordon Jones) trails the theft of his own car to the Meadows Garage.  Axford (Wade Boteler) follows one of Meadows’ mechanics to a junkyard, where he and Reid narrowly escape death when the racketeers discover who they are.  Meadows (Clyde Dilson), realizing Reid is hot on the trail of his stolen car, orders it destroyed with a time bomb.  Before the bomb explodes, The Green Hornet confronts Meadows and terrifies him into a confession.  The racketeers discover and attack the Hornet.  Kato (Keye Luke) helps The Hornet knock out Meadows and overcome the racketeers, but…

…also helps his boss put the unconscious body of Meadows into the same vehicle that contains the time bomb.  While we certainly don’t need to listen to a physics lecture as to what results when you stash someone in a car rigged to explode…

…I’d like to know how an explosion like that yields no other collateral damage than sending Reid and henchman Pete (John Kelly) to the floor on their respective fannies.  Okay, it does render Kato slightly unconscious…but someone in the bad guys’ organization needs to start ordering a better make of time bomb.

The explosion attracts the attention of a pair of uniformed cops in the vicinity, so they go racing to the garage to investigate…just about the time The Hornet has gotten to his feet to see if Kato is all right.  The cops have the siren going full blast, but the funny thing is G.H. doesn’t react to the siren until about 10-12 seconds after it starts blaring.  (Maybe he still had that ringing in his ears.)  He places the still-unconscious Kato in the trunk of the one car left standing and then ducks out of sight when the cops arrive.

FIRST COP: This is the place, all right…

SECOND COP: Look!  There was someone in this car…

FIRST COP (after looking around a bit, he finds a license plate on the ground): Say!  This is Britt Reid’s car…that was reported stolen!

SECOND COP: That’s right…a stolen car and a homicide…say, we’ve stumbled onto something big!

Bright boy.  Very bright boy.

SECOND COP: I wonder if there’s a phone in this place…there must be one in that office over there… (First Cop runs toward the office) You call headquarters!

“If the phone on the desk doesn’t work, try the one hidden behind the calendar on that wall over there.”  Well, while the constabulary is figuring out how to handle this “something big,” henchman Pete once again practices those patented self-preservation skills that have allowed him to stick around for six chapters by…yes, you guessed it—running like a freaking rabbit.  Unfortunately, the car’s he’s stolen is the one with Kato in the trunk, so after the cops fire a few rounds at the fleeing vehicle the Hornet rushes out to where the Black Beauty is parked and starts to pursue Pete with that annoying bee buzzing noise coming from his motor.  (I’m surprised he can operate the thing, given that Kato usually does the driving.)  First Cop tells his partner: “Get after that car!  I’ll take care of things around here!”

The Hornet finally catches up to Pete and cuts his vehicle off from going any further down-the-street maneuvering, so Pete abandons the car and runs like panty hose, hoping G.H. won’t catch up to him.  No, the Hornet has other things on his mind: he opens the trunk of the car to collect Kato, and then as the sirens continue in the distance, he puts his valet in the Black Beauty and escapes from the police in the nick of time.  “He’s gone,” one cop observes, “like a spook.  I never seen a car move so fast!”

Here’s how fast that car can move: there’s a shot of it traveling down another street, and then before a dissolve to a scene of Reid administering to Kato, we see it again—almost like an “echo” effect.

KATO (coming to): You all right, Mr. Britt?

REID (smiling): Fit as a fiddle, Kato…how about you?

KATO: I do not think I’m going to join my ancestors just yet, Mr. Britt…

REID: Oh, you’ll be all right…

Yeah…walk it off, ya crybaby.  The next morning, several members of Rackets R Us have gathered together in the office of Curtis Monroe (Cy Kendall), the nominal head of the crime syndicate that plagues this fair city…though even he has to answer to a mysterious boss known only as…The Chief.

MONROE: You’ve been called here to receive a message of special importance from The Chief himself… (Switching on the intercom) We’re ready to hear you, sir…

CHIEF: As a result of The Green Hornet’s operations, our stolen car organization is smashed…fortunately for us, Meadows won’t ever talk…

Not unless somebody breaks out the Ouija board.

CHIEF: …the toll taken by The Green Hornet is mounting…his interference in our affairs has cost us hundreds of thousands…he must be removed without delay…as an incentive toward this end, I’ve authorized Monroe to pay one hundred thousand dollars to the man who puts an end to The Green Hornet’s career…

Switching off the intercom, Monroe dismisses the attendees with a curt “That’s all, gentlemen…”  As the men start to leave, the weaselly thug (Arthur Loft) known as Joe Ogden addresses Monroe:

OGDEN: Why wasn’t Rockford at this meeting?

Please note I have resisted the temptation to make a James Garner joke here.

MONROE: He was busy moving the headquarters of the Blue Streak Bus Lines out to the old Mortinson place…

OGDEN: Oh, I see—getting ready to give the Whippet Line buses the works, huh?

MONROE: That’s the reason he moved out there…it’s near their repair garage…

“The Mortinson place” was introduced in Chapter 1 of this serial as the stately home of crooked Martin Mortinson (Douglas Evans), one of the first members of the syndicate to be rounded up by His Hornetness.  One might posit that it would be a bad idea to relocate a criminal enterprise in the former location of another criminal enterprise…but when one is dealing with the shoestring budget of a cliffhanger serial, these concerns quickly dissipate like dandelions in a stiff wind.  At the new home of the Blue Streak Bus Line, owner Rocky Rockford (must…not…make…Rockford Files…joke) is giving instructions to the All-American hoodlum duo of Dean (Walter McGrail) and Corey (Gene Rizzi).  Rocky is not played by Noah Beery, Jr. in this serial, but by veteran character thesp George Lloyd, who was in tons of B-pics and westerns…but occasionally got work in “A” films like A Slight Case of Murder and City for Conquest (he was also billed as “George H. Lloyd”):

ROCKFORD: …now the Whippet Bus Lines franchise is up for renewal at the end of the month…

DEAN: And if it shouldn’t be renewed?

ROCKFORD: The Blue Streak Bus Lines would have no competition, Dean…

DEAN: I get ya, Rocky…

ROCKFORD: Now…if you two could get jobs as mechanics in the Whippet garage…

COREY: It’s in the bag, boss…

“I’m sleeping with someone in H.R.”

COREY: Something tells me from now on the Whippet service is going to be terrible…

DEAN: Mm-hmm…so long!

ROCKFORD: See ya later!

We are then whisked to the offices of The Daily Sentinel, where publisher Britt Reid has just arrived to do his nine-to-five.  He’s stopped from entering his office by his loyal secretary, Lenore “Casey” Case (Anne Nagel), who informs him that editor Gunnigan (Joe Whitehead) wants to see him, and that’s he’s bringing a guest—the president of the Whippet Bus Lines company, Mr. West.  “Send him right up,” Reid tells Casey.

If you think this “West” guy looks like a banker out in Beverly Hills…you are correct, good people.  It’s Raymond “Milton Drysdale” Bailey in a small role with a large concern about the future of his company.

WEST: After twelve years, the Whippet Bus Lines has maintained an enviable record of service and safety…

REID: Well, perhaps your employees are coasting along on that record, Mr. West…just getting careless…

“Or perhaps you need a new ad campaign.  My suggestion for a slogan: Whippet Good…”

WEST: That’s not it…I believe the Blue Streak Bus Lines want us to lose our franchise so they won’t have any competition…

REID: Surely you can’t blame them for accidents to your lines…the Blue Streak company is an old established firm, too…

WEST: Now it may only be a coincidence…but the fact remains, our trouble dates from the time the Blue Streak company changed managements six months ago…

“You’re right…it probably is a coincidence.  Good day, Mr. West.”

REID: What do you want me to do?

WEST: I’d like to see The Sentinel do something about the matter…

REID: Sorry, Mr. West…The Sentinel has never interfered with squabbles between competitors…

WEST (getting up from his chair): I’m sorry you feel that way about it, Mr. Reid…

As West as exiting Reid’s office, he runs into the lovably comic Irish sidekick of the serial, Michael Axford, who does an amusing stagger as he tries to avoid colliding with the departing (and angry) West.

AXFORD: Reid…I’ve just made an important discovery…

REID: Don’t tell me you’ve solved perpetual motion!

AXFORD: Yes, sir!  And I… (Collecting his thoughts) No…no…it’s about the old Mortinson place out on the Westwood Pike…

REID: Is it haunted?

AXFORD: It’s open again…and it’s bein’ used as headquarters by the Blue Streak Bus Lines…

REID: Well…so what?

AXFORD: Well…now…it was used by crooks once…maybe another set of crooks is usin’ it again!

This is kind of what I said several paragraphs ago.  Reid tells Axford he has a terrific imagination, though one wishes the writers had equally as terrific.  “Don’t it look suspicious to you, sir?” asks Michael of his boss.

REID: No, it does not…

GUNNIGAN: Britt…West suspects the Blue Streak company of sabotage…I think it would be a pretty good idea to have Lowery go down and check up on the situation…

REID: All right, all right…put Lowery on the story…and if it’ll make you any happier, I’ll take some bus rides myself…

Two curious things about Gunnigan’s suggestion.  One, he failed to mention that there might be a circulation boost resulting from the story, as his usual wont.  Two, he mentions a reporter named “Lowery,” who is no doubt Ed Lowery, another crack reporter at the paper.  When I first started watching The Green Hornet, I thought the character of “Jasper Jenks” (played by Philip Trent) was someone they made up for the serial but after doing a little research I learned that the character was featured back in the early days of the radio program…and since I don’t think I’ve heard too many of the early broadcasts (pre-1939) I’m more familiar with Lowery…who becomes the paper’s ace muckraker (played by Eddie Acuff) in the second Hornet serial, The Green Hornet Strikes Again!

At the Whippet Bus Lines repair garage, Dean and Corey are hard at work throwing monkey wrenches into the bus service’s operations…but curiously, Corey is concerned about the possibility that some people could get hurt, which is a touching sentiment considering he’s a greasy two-bit hood.

DEAN (sliding out from under a bus): There…that ought to fix it…she gets rolling down a grade…

COREY (putting the tools away and getting to his feet): Hey…you sure this bus is going to the terminal empty…the boss said there was to be no accidents to people…

DEAN: Don’t worry, it’ll be empty…I checked with the dispatcher…

Dean and Corey then walk over to the front of the bus, where a bored driver named Bud (Charles Sherlock) has apparently been seated the entire time, window down…and yet he did not hear any of the “mechanics” conversation.

DEAN: Okay…sixteen’s ready to roll…

COREY: Where are you going?

BUD: Suburban terminal…empty…

(Bud signs off on some paperwork handed to him by Dean, and just as he’s getting ready to pull out a dispatcher walks up to the bus)

DISPATCHER: New orders, Bud…

BUD: More trouble?

DISPATCHER: Fifty-seven’s broke down, near Cloverhill grade…you’ll have to pick up his load…

BUD: Right!

Cue the sad trombone!  Dean and Corey exchange “Eh…whaddya gonna do?” looks with one another, and as Bus #16 pulls out of the garage the scene shifts to the unfortunate passengers biding their time in and outside of the bus while the driver (Jack Donovan) looks under the hood.  One of the passengers just happens to be our hero.

REID: Have you discovered what’s wrong?

DRIVER: Yeah…there’s a couple of bearings shot…

REID: What’s the matter?  Whippet Lines operating buses with old motors?

DRIVER: No!  This is a brand-new job, but it’s the third breakdown I’ve had with it…

REID: Strange…

DRIVER: Strange?  Say…you know, this oil feels like it’s got emery dust in it… (He hands a portion to Reid, who feels for himself)

The conversation between Reid and the driver is interrupted by the arrival of Bud and Bus #16, and the waiting passengers are soon hustled onto the new bus, getting apologies for the delay in the bargain.  As the trip continues, Reid notices that the driver is taking some of the mountain roads a little too sharp:

REID: You’re going pretty fast down the grade…

BUD: Don’t tell the passengers, Mr. Reid…but my brakes are gone!

“I probably shouldn’t have drunk all that cough medicine before getting behind the wheel either…”

REID: What can you do?

BUD: I can handle the grade but I’m worried about the bridge at the bottom…

REID: The one that’s being repaired?

BUD: Yeah…there’s a bad dip in the detour…and at this speed, we’re liable to tip over…

Speaking of Speed—why don’t you just jump the bridge like they did in that movie?  Look, Bud’s a decent enough guy but if it weren’t for the fact that Britt Reid is on that bus, there’d be a headline in tomorrow’s Sentinel screaming “Multiple Fatalities in Fiery Bus Crash!”  The bus crashes through a barrier (after a construction guy futilely tries to wave the out-of-control vehicle off) and by grabbing the wheel, Reid steers the bus right into a storage depot, where the stacked sacks of powdered cement bring the bus to a halt.

I like how the first two people get off the bus as if there’s nothing at all unusual about slamming into in a shed.  (“It is dashed inconvenient, but we did reach our destination on time.”)  I’d like to think most of those people on the bus wouldn’t ever take that kind of transportation again unless guns were held to their heads.

REID (getting off the bus): When did you first feel your brakes start to go?

BUD: Well, they started to slow down on the downgrade…

REID: How long has it been since they’ve been inspected?

BUD: This bus just came out of the shop less than an hour ago…

REID: Well, let’s take a look at the brake rods…

Examining the brake rods, Reid sees clearly that they were nearly sliced in two by a hacksaw…it was no accident.  Then Bud spots another bus in the distance, loading up his ill-fated passengers:

BUD: How do you like that?

REID: I don’t get it…

BUD: Every time a Whippet Bus breaks down there’s always a Blue Streak on the job to take over our passengers…

Back at Reid’s office, Mr. Drys…er, West is seated in a chair when Casey comes in…

CASEY: Mr. Reid just came in, Mr. West…I’m sorry you had to wait…

WEST: That’s quite all right, Miss Case…

CASEY: I guess he was delayed getting into town…

“…on your Bus of Death.”  After hanging up his hat and seating himself at his desk, Britt Reid is convinced there may be something to West’s story.

REID: The last time we talked, you hinted the Blue Streak people were trying to cripple Whippet Lines…

WEST: I’m convinced of it…

REID: Have you any proof?

WEST: No…I haven’t…all I know is our buses have experienced a large number of breakdowns lately which look like sabotage…

REID: But you have no tangible evidence!

WEST: That’s what worries me…this is a case even the police can’t touch…

This sounds like a job for…you-know-who.

REID: What do you figure these breakdowns have cost you?

WEST: I can’t estimate what it’s cost our reputation…but I should say our repairs have run about $12,000 over normal…

Thanking West for his help, Reid assures him that The Sentinel is “going to look into the bus transportation business thoroughly.”  (Translation: there’s a certain noisy automobile that will be out for a prowl later on this evening.)  Casey then comes into Reid’s office.

REID: Will you tell Axford I’m ready to go home?

CASEY: He went out just about the time you came in…

REID: Where did he go?

CASEY: I don’t know…he just said he had a hunch and he was going to follow it…

REID: Well…two to one it’ll lead him into trouble…

Wait for it…

ROCKFORD: What goes on?

PETE: This bird was trying to get into the window downstairs, Rocky…

ROCKFORD: Burglar, hah?

ANDY: Nah…he’s Mike Axford, a reporter for The Sentinel…

ROCKFORD: Oh…a reporter, huh?  Well, in that case…take off his gag, boys… (Pete removes the gag from Axford’s mouth) You didn’t have to break in here, Mr. Axford—we’re always willing to talk to the press…what was it you wanted to find out?

AXFORD: I wanted to see with me own eyes what kind of deviltry was bein’ cooked up in this crooked house!

ROCKFORD: Deviltry?  Why, I don’t know what you mean?!!

AXFORD: Oh, yes you do…me and The Sentinel’s got enough on you to send you to the pen for life!

ROCKFORD: Oh, you have?  That’s different… (To Andy and Pete, as he throws them some rope) Here…tie ‘em up…

“Heh…well, you’re bein’ a bit hasty, me boyo…our case is so thin a smart defense attorney would have no trouble at all gettin’ you off…heh heh…”  Pete and Andy the Thug (Ralph Dunn) start trussing Axford up like a prized steer.

ROCKFORD: Is anybody else with him?

AXFORD: Wouldn’t you like to know!

ROCKFORD: Yes, I would…and I’m going to find out!  Let’s go downstairs and take a look around…

Even though Andrew T. Thug has securely fastened Michael to a chair (with Rockford muttering “We’ll take care of this snooper later”), it’s important that the three of them conduct a downstairs check because what happens next surely belongs on a list of “Great Movie Coincidences.”  Back at his apartment, Britt Reid is wringing his hands because while he knows the Blue Streak matter is “definitely a case for the Hornet,” he doesn’t know where to begin with collecting evidence.

“Why not call the offices of the Blue Streak Line, Mr. Britt,” suggests Kato helpfully.  “If no one is there, you might pay them a visit…”

Solid advice, you inscrutable houseboy.  Picking up the phone (and apparently not having to look up the bus company’s number), Reid dials the Blue Streak business as the scene shifts to the sympathetic idiot Axford, struggling to get free.  When the phone starts ringing, a look of relief comes across his face as he tries to work his chair over to the phone…

…and as you can see in these screen caps, Boteler’s stunt man ends up falling on the ground for him.  (Too obvious.)  But the real Axford grabs the phone cord with his teeth and pulls it off the desk, where it lands beside him with the receiver off the hook:

AXFORD (into the receiver): Hello…who is it?

REID (on the other end): This is Britt Reid of The Sentinel…

AXFORD: Glory be!  This is Michael Axford…

REID: Who?

Wonderful laugh-out-loud moment.  I was picturing Reid on the other end, saying to himself: “Jeebus, that idiot has got himself into trouble again…I’ll use the old ‘bad connection’ bit on him…”

AXFORD: Michael Axford!  I’m at the Mortinson place!  They’ve got me tied up!  A prisoner!  I… (He looks around and notices that Rockford, Andy and Pete have returned) Hello?  Hello?

ROCKFORD (rushing over to him) Stop that!  (Picking up the phone) Who’s calling?

REID: Uh…is this Westlake 4915?

ROCKFORD: Nah, this is Westwood 4915…

REID: I’m sorry…I guess I’ve got the wrong number… (He hangs up the phone, and addresses Kato) They’re holding Axford at the old Mortinson place!

KATO: That is not good…but it gives the Hornet an objective…

REID: Get my mask and gun…we’ve got to move fast!

I’ll say he does.

ROCKFORD: So you thought you’d pull a fast one…what was you sayin’ on that phone?

AXFORD: Nothin’ but ‘hello’…you heard me!

Cut to brief insert of the Black Beauty racing through the canyon.

ROCKFORD: I don’t know whether that was a phony call or not…we’d better not take any chances…better get rid of this mug…

Pete tells “Rocky” that he and Andy will go down to the garage and make the arrangements while Rockford continues to try and sweat information out of Axford.  When you’re driving a bodacious automobile that can go 200 mph, however, it’s only going to be seconds before your arrival…and the Hornet arrives just in time, since Rockford was working over Axford good.

ROCKFORD: For the last time—are you gonna tell me what Reid sent you up here to find out?

AXFORD: I’m tellin’ you nothin’, Rockford…

HORNET: Get away from that man!  I said get away from him!

ROCKFORD: You…you’re the Green Hornet!

The Hornet must have run out of those business cards he used in the earlier chapters…or maybe they haven’t come back from the printers yet.

HORNET: Exactly!  Why have you got this man tied up?

AXFORD: Why…uh…who, me?

HORNET: Never mind…I’ll release you, and you beat it!

The Hornet reaches over to untie Michael…who repays G.H.’s act of charity by kicking him in the abdomen with both feet, sending him to the floor.  As a sprightly Flight of the Bumblebee kicks up on the soundtrack, Rockford and the Hornet’s stuntman engage in a lively donnybrook that includes a Republic Studios-inspired balsa wood chair thrown at one point.  While this rages on, Axford struggles to loosen his bonds.  When he manages to wriggle free, he races over to a desk and grabs the Hornet’s gas gun, drawing on both him and Rockford.

AXFORD: All right…stop your fightin’, you two, and get up from there…’tis a happy day this night is…

But how can it be both day and night?  Well, maybe I should just let him enjoy his moment.

AXFORD: I’ve got you…and at last I’ve got the Green Hornet where I want him!

HORNET (moving toward him): Give me that gun, you idiot…

AXFORD: Aye…don’t hold your breath on it until I give it to ya…or maybe it would be just as well if you did!

ROCKFORD: Shall I tie him up?

AXFORD: No…get over there, you two, where I can watch ya…I’ll have no connivin’ between you…c’mon, move!

HORNET: I suppose you’re going to call the police…

AXFORD: That’s just what I’m going to do!

Axford starts to yell “Hello?” into the receiver, and getting no response, puts down the gas gun to dial the number direct.  I will not describe for you how easily the Hornet picks up the gun, except only to say that if Axford were my bodyguard, I’d start sleeping with one eye open at all times.

HORNET: Drop that receiver!  Now get out of here!

AXFORD (puzzled): Yes, sir… (He slinks out of the room)

HORNET (turning to Rockford): Now I’ll deal with you and your racketeering bus line…

ROCKFORD: I run a legitimate business!  You’re the one that’s a racketeer!

HORNET: I know all about the sabotage you had done on the Whippet buses…

ROCKFORD: You’re crazy!  The Blue Streak is an old established company!

HORNET: Don’t lie to me!  I know your men cut the brake rods on a Whippet bus today and nearly cost the lives of half-a-dozen people!

ROCKFORD: That was an empty bus that… (He stops, realizing his screw-up)

Schmuck.

HORNET: Rockford, your methods are old-fashioned…I’ll show you a much better way to really put a bus line out of business!

ROCKFORD (pulling a cigar from his pocket): I get it…you want to cut in with us…

HORNET: What do you think?

ROCKFORD: All right—what’s your price?

HORNET: $12,000 on the line and a signed agreement for 25% of your take…

ROCKFORD: Okay—it’s a deal…I’ll write you out a check while you draw up the agreement…

The Hornet then whips out his driver’s license to check to see if he was born yesterday, and because he wasn’t he tells Rockford he wants cash.  Rockford pleads that he doesn’t have that much scratch on hand, but the Hornet finally gets him to admit that there’s plenty of dough in the safe, and so he goes to collect it.  Meanwhile, Axford has found his way to a pay phone (no idea how that idiot managed to get past Andy and Pete, by the way) and is telling the cops that the “Har-nut” is at the old Mortinson place, and that they’d better bring “three squads” to capture him.  Back in Rockford’s office:

ROCKFORD (handing him a piece of paper): There’s your agreement, Hornet…now let’s have a few of your ideas…

HORNET: Thanks, Rockford—that’s just the evidence I needed to smash your racket!  Now I’m turning you over to the police!

ROCKFORD: Why, you crook!  You said you was going to show me how to put a bus line out of business!

HORNET: I am…and it’s your bus line!  This $12,000 will just pay the repair bills on the Whippet buses!

Irony can be pretty ironic sometimes, Rocky.  Of course, the chapter is nearly at an end so the Hornet asks the mook the $64 question: “Who’s the head of all your rackets?”  Before Rockford can spill the beans, Pete and Andy have arrived on the scene.

HORNET: Don’t use those guns!  You’ll hit Rockford!  And I’ll get you both before you can fire again!

ROCKFORD (pleading): No…no…don’t shoot…

PETE: The Chief’s orders are to get the Hornet regardless…too bad, Rocky…

ROCKFORD: Wait!  Wait!  Circle around—he can’t cover all three of us!

The Hornet signals Kato with his trademark whistle, and the lights go out in the house.  Pete yells at Rockford to get down on the floor just before Andy and he open fire, and as the Hornet makes his way to an open window to escape it appears that he’s been hit…