Adventures in Blu-ray: Abbott & Costello Rarities

Thunderbean Animation has firmly established itself in the Blu-ray/DVD field as the go-to label for classic cartoon releases, ranging from the oeuvre of Willie Whopper and Cubby Bear to their current project of restoring all 27 shorts from the Van Beuren Studio’s Rainbow Parade series (1934-35).  It’s a labor of love for Thunderbean CEO Steve Stanchfield, a cartoon historian and film preservationist dedicated to hunting up the best existing 16mm/35mm materials for these outstanding sets.  In May, Thunderbean’s long-anticipated Abbott & Costello Rarities—an outstanding collection of odds and ends spotlighting the great comedy duo—finally hit the streets, and if you’re as big a fan of Bud and Lou as your humble narrator, you need to track this down with all deliberate speed.

Lou, Bud, and Kate

I’ve had to cut back on the significant amount of DVD-age purchased for the dusty Thrilling Days of Yesteryear archives of late, so I was most fortunate to score a free copy of the Rarities Blu-ray/DVD combo from a longstanding member of the TDOY faithful (he asked me to keep his identity secret so as not to interfere with his sideline of bringing maniacal supervillains to justice).  There’s something for everyone in this collection…but I’ll come clean and admit that my favorite features were those of the audio variety.  Rarities includes a March 10, 1938 excerpt from The Kate Smith Hour (the boys do a variation of the “betting parlor” routine that was later recycled in 1943’s It Ain’t Hay) and the July 3 premiere broadcast of their 1940 summer stint as replacements for Fred Allen’s show (I was only aware of one other It’s Time to Smile program in collector’s hands).  Another uncirculated broadcast is from November 4, 1943—the night that Lou returned to radio after he recovered from rheumatic fever…and the same night he learned of the drowning death of his infant son “Butch” earlier that day; Lana Turner is the guest, and Bud informs the audience of Lou’s tragedy at the end of the broadcast.  A rare recording of their Saturday morning series (The Abbott & Costello Children’s Show from June 20, 1948) is also included among the audio gems (audience warm-ups, actualities, etc.).

Bud and Jerry Lewis

The Rarities collection includes trailers from some of Bud and Lou’s classic film comedies (Buck Privates, In the Navy, etc.) and “blowups” (bloopers) from others like Pardon My Sarong and Little Giant (I really got a kick out of seeing the outtakes from Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein, my favorite A&C vehicle).  There are newsreel clips, excerpts from Lou’s home movies, and an amazing collection of footage (Kodachrome) from the team’s 1943 war bond tour (where they sold nearly $85 million worth of bonds).  A favorite highlight of mine is an unearthed November 1, 1953 telecast of The Colgate Comedy Hour, in which Bud must work solo in Lou’s absence (Costello is ill) with an assist from Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis.  The program includes clips from previous Colgate shows featuring Lou—one their famous “Rubdown” sketch (with stooges Sid Fields and Bobby Barber) and another hilarious skit where the duo goes to great lengths to get rid of a stolen necklace (the two men have difficulty keeping it together before the finish).  In addition to Dino’s singing (both solo and comedy songs accompanied by Jer’s clowning with Al Goodman’s orchestra), Peggy Lee does a few numbers (including the Halo shampoo jingle) and Gene Nelson dances (I kind of fast-forwarded through this).

Another favorite from this set: Lou, Bud, and Charles Laughton (as Bud's chauffeur!) make a plea for Christmas Seals.

Chris Costello, whose outstanding biography of her father (Lou’s on First) was written up for the blog in October of last year, provided much of the material for this release…and I’ll admit, the content more than surpassed my expectations (I was expecting a lot of the public domain A&C filler that’s been previously released).  At the risk of sounding like a parrot…this is a collection that Abbott & Costello fans will want for their bookshelf—a more-than-justified reward for those who have waited patiently all these years to see it come to fruition.

“The law is a hard taskmaster…”

Peter Falk as Columbo

Actor Peter Falk played his signature role of Lt. Columbo in the 1968 TV-movie Prescription Murder—and a follow up telefilm, Ransom for a Dead Man (1971)—before settling in as the rumpled, raincoated detective as one of the rotating “wheel segments” of The NBC Mystery Movie from 1971 to 1978.  Columbo became such a small screen favorite and so firmly ingrained in pop culture that over a decade later, Falk reprised the part in a brand-new series (The ABC Saturday Mystery) and multiple movie “specials” telecast until 2003.  The character would ultimately be responsible for four of Falk’s five Emmy Awards (he was nominated for Columbo ten times); his other trophy was for his performance in “The Price of Tomatoes,” which aired on The Dick Powell Theatre in 1962.

The Wikipedia entry on Columbo reads: “According to TV Guide, the original plan was that a new Columbo episode would air every week, but as a motion picture star, Peter Falk refused to commit to such an arduous schedule, which would have meant shooting an episode every five days.  The network arranged for the Columbo segments to air once a month on Wednesday nights.  The high quality of Columbo, McMillan & Wife, and McCloud was due in large part to the extra time spent on each episode.”  There was a time, however, when the actor did commit to a weekly series—a short-lived show that in many ways gave future Columbo fans a glimpse of the things to come: The Trials of O’Brien.

Falk as Daniel J. O'Brien

Created by Gene Wang, Trials cast Falk as Daniel “Danny” J. O’Brien—a hardworking NYC defense attorney renowned for his flamboyant courtroom style.  O’Brien was dedicated to his profession for various reasons…but chiefly among them was the inconvenient truth that despite his formidable legal acumen, his personal life was a mess.  He was in arrears where his landlord was concerned, incapable of staying up-to-date with the rent on his penthouse apartment.  His ex-wife Katie (Joanna Barnes) continually hounded him for unpaid alimony, and his loyal secretary Miss G (Broadway legend Elaine Stritch) was also owed a great deal in the back wages department.  Danny was a helluva attorney, and his services did not come cheap…but this mattered little in the grand scheme of things because the money went out faster than it came in.  You see, Daniel J. O’Brien also had a bit of a gambling problem (shooting craps, playing the ponies, etc.).

The women in O'Brien's life: Joanna Barnes (L) and Elaine Stritch (R).

Again, if Wikipedia is to be believed—and since there’s a “citation needed” after this statement on the Trials page, take it cumo graino salto—“Falk often said that he actually liked this financially unsuccessful series much better than his later smash-hit Columbo.”  It’s a series that I’ve been curious to see for many years; my earliest association with The Trials of O’Brien was its memorable catchy theme, which was a track on an LP I once bought at a library sale.  (The Sid Ramin-composed tune—which sounds like that of The Odd Couple’s—was recorded and released as a single by Al Caiola and His Orchestra, who had previously hit the Top 40 of the pop charts with the themes from The Magnificent Seven [#35] and Bonanza [#19].)  A recent discount coupon sent to me by Martin Grams of Finders Keepers prompted me to purchase a DVD with two episodes from the series, including the premiere installment, “Over Defence is Out” (09/18/65).

All that needs to be said about Danny O’Brien can be discerned by the close-up of the back seat of his car after the opening titles—piled high with bric-a-brac, legal papers/folders, and assorted crap.  But just as the disheveled Lt. Columbo fooled so many suspects, O’Brien equally possesses a razor-sharp mind (and in his favor, he’s a much better dresser).  We see him work his courtroom magic as he nimbly helps a female client beat a murder rap…and once back at the office, he is inundated by both a visit from his ex-wife (he owes nine months’ alimony) and a phone call from the landlord, demanding the rent.  Fortunately for O’Brien, salvation has arrived in the form of a client—or rather, a former client.  An ex-con named Eddie Hanover (Murray Hamilton) socked away $120,000 before doing his boardin’ with the warden (O’Brien handled his defense) and now he’s going to collect what he believes to be his due.  O’Brien wants nothing to do with this, but Hanover, arguing that Danny is technically still his lawyer, hands him an envelope with the name of the only other individual who knows where the loot is hid—a man named Paul Benedict (Bill Lazarus).  (No, Jeffersons fans—not the actor who played neighbor Bentley.)

Ned Glass...though at first glance I could have sworn it was Sid James.

Eddie has left something else with his attorney—his young daughter Dinah (a pre-Dark Shadows Kathleen Cody) for safekeeping.  O’Brien only learns of this as he’s putting on his hat and coat to head out for the track.  “Hey, you like the horses?” he asks the little girl.

“You wouldn’t dare…” admonishes his secretary.  “You’re fired,” he snaps back at her.

The receipt for the missing money (Hanover stashed it in a storage shed) is not in the hotel room wall where Eddie left it; soon, O’Brien winds up having to defend Hanover from a murder rap when Benedict is croaked and Eddie is discovered hovering over his body with the murder weapon.  Add a shady insurance investigator (Ned Glass) and Hanover’s former cellmate (Vincent Gardenia) to the mix and you have a splendid introduction to what would appear to be a most entertaining series.  Danny O’Brien is Columbo with a law degree, in the second episode on this DVD he’s even shown in the courtroom complimenting on how splendid the prosecution’s witness’ testimony went.  “You know—I just don’t have any questions…oh…except one…”

The future's so bright, Vincent Gardenia has to wear shades.

Falk and Dolph Sweet

Also featured in “Over Defence is Out” is Ilka Chase, who plays Falk’s mother-in-law…and she seems to have quite the affection for her ex-son-in-law despite her daughter's divorce.  “Now, Margaret, get a grip on yourself and act like a mother-in-law,” O’Brien tells her at one point, “because if we all pull together we can make this divorce work!”  (I like how Katie and Danny also remain on good terms—though with the alimony he owes her, it’s probably in her best interest—and chuckled because she rarely refers to him by his first name.)  Chase would appear in a semi-regular capacity, as would character veteran Dolph Sweet (Gimme a Break!) as Sergeant Garrison, O’Brien’s contact on the force.

The two episodes on the Finders Keepers O'Brien DVD feature original commercials...including Mickey Freeman (Private Zimmerman on The Phil Silvers Show) lighting up a Roi-Tan Falcon...

...and Hal "The Great Gildersleeve" Peary (minus his moustache!) in a Gleem ad as father to Ken "Pugsley" Weatherwax.  (The kid is named "Chester," and though Peary gives it the old college try "Chessssster!" doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way "Leeeeeroy!" did.)

The other regular on Trials of O’Brien was David Burns as “The Great” McGonigle—who functioned in the same capacity as Paul Drake on Perry Mason, except he was a little on the seedier side.  “With your reputation, I’m in trouble if I’m seen on the elevator with ya,” O’Brien scolds his legman in the pilot.  Burns would receive an Emmy nomination as Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Drama for his amusing portrayal, and the series would also win a Writers Guild of America trophy for writer David Ellis and the episode “No Justice for the Judge” (with Burgess Meredith and Barnard Hughes).

Tammy Grimes, Reni Santoni

The second episode on this DVD is an October 30, 1965 outing entitled “A Gaggle of Girls” (written by Roger J. Crean and directed by Stuart Rosenberg, who also helmed “Over Defence”).  It’s a worthwhile watch—even though it’s not quite as good as the opener (and there are a few bad spots on the recording)—as our hero is pressed upon by both Katie and Miss G to take up the cause of a Sister Superior (Tammy Grimes) who’s trying to convince the owner (David Doyle) of a skeevy nightclub next door to donate both his building and garden to the church so that the nuns can expand their youth center.  One of those youths, played by a young Reni Santoni, will need O’Brien’s services before the hour is out when he’s suspected of murdering Doyle.  While the plot on this episode is paper-thin, it’s buoyed by a great performance by Grimes and an amusing presentation that the women in O’Brien’s life are just as endearingly eccentric as he is.  (Stritch threatens to report her boss to the “secretaries’ union” about her back wages if he refuses to help Sister Tammy, and when O’Brien reminds her there is no such animal she responds, “I’ll form one.”)

The episodes end with "scenes from next week."  I'm not so disappointed at missing out on "Dead End on Flugel Street" (with Milton Berle, Rita Moreno, Danny Dayton, Hal March, Conrad Bain, and Ann Corio) as I am the Columbo-Baretta meeting of "Bargain Day on the Street of Regret" with Robert Blake.  ("Bargain" also features Herschel Bernardi, Albert Dekker, Tony Musante, Philip Bruns, and Edgar Stehli.)

Slotted on CBS Saturday nights at 8:30pm when it premiered in the fall of 1965, The Trials of O’Brien faced stiff competition from both Lawrence Welk (ABC) and Get Smart (NBC), and a move to Friday nights at 10 in December didn’t do the show any favors either (that was where NBC’s popular The Man from U.N.C.L.E. held court, with ABC offering up Jimmy Dean and Rowlf the Dog).  Despite favorable critical buzz, the series was cancelled after 22 episodes, and while I’m always hesitant to offer up an opinion based on such a small sample…it’s a program I wouldn’t mind watching more of.  I don’t know if it ever became part of the Trio Network’s Brilliant But Cancelled lineup (it’s mentioned in the Brilliant But Cancelled documentary that aired in 2002) but I’d be willing to gamble that a DVD release would prove popular based on all the Columbo fans out there.  (With the number of classic television applicants for DVD-dom getting smaller and smaller with each passing year, maybe this will soon become a reality.)  I won't beat around the bush: as a lifelong Peter Falk fan, I enjoyed the hell out of this one.  If you’re interested in a purchase of what’s been discussed in this post, you’ll find it here.

“I wanna tell ya—I’m thrilled to be here!”

One night in 1973, legendary comedian Bob Hope sneaked into the NBC studios to attend a taping of The Dean Martin Show, where fellow mirthmaker Don Rickles (who we sadly said good bye to this month) was appearing.  The studio audience applauded wildly upon spotting Hope, and when the applause had died down Rickles cracked: “Well, the war must be over.”  Despite a lengthy show business career that encompassed stage, screen, radio and TV, the jokester born Leslie Townes Hope in 1903 established a legacy “performing United Service Organizations (USO) shows to entertain active duty American military personnel (he made 57 tours for the USO between 1941 and 1991),” as referenced at Wikipedia.  I don’t have the quote handy (nor can I give proper attribution, sad to report) but the old joke went something like “It’s not officially a war until Bob Hope shows up.”

Bob Hope’s dedication to “entertaining the troops” had its origins in radio, when on his May 6, 1941 broadcast he performed at March Field, California.  Hope never wavered from his earnest belief that “GIs are the greatest audiences in the world,” and I take him at his word that he was sincerely enthusiastic about the goodwill that resulted from his many trips overseas.  But a comedian also thrives on being loved and adored, and a complicated man like Bob (once described by his one-time manager Elliott Kozak as “the most self-centered man” he’d ever known) no doubt fed on the approval from what he admittedly referred to as “captive audiences.”  (My comedy idol Fred Allen once joked that his rival “reeked of” self-confidence.)

Santa, Linda Bennett, Dick Albers, Ann-Margret, Bob Hope

Hope’s television specials performing on USO shows at Christmas time were always tops in the ratings, and this May 2, Time Life is releasing a three-disc DVD set, Bob Hope Salutes the Troops.  My pal Michael Krause at Foundry Communications was generous enough to send me a screener, which features six telecasts that originally aired between 1963 and 1991.  I should be honest: I had reservations about watching these shows—not due to any political differences (though I can state with confidence that Bob and I have differing views with regards to Vietnam), but because I remember watching the entertainer’s small screen specials in the past and wondering why the man whose movies I adored as a kid (and still do) no longer seemed all that funny.  As author Kliph Nesteroff posits in The Comedians: Drunks, Thieves, Scoundrels, and the History of American Comedy:

By the mid-1960s Hope was one of the wealthiest men in America and one of the largest private landowners in California.  Radio star, television star, movie star—he’d achieved every possible show business goal.  There was nothing left.  And without ambition driving him, the quality of his comedy plummeted.  He was still doing up to six television specials each year, but he was phoning it in.

Dolores Hope (in green) welcomes her husband's troupe home in 1969; Hope's philandering was legendary in the business, and some say he went overseas in the first place so he could fool around out of sight of Mrs. Hope.  (Incidentally, you might recognize that couple to Dolores' right.)

Bob channels Maynard G. Krebs.

Despite the questionable quality of his TV work (his dependence on cue cards, uninspired writing, etc.) I found a few nuggets among the dross.  The earliest special on this set is from January 16, 1963, as Bob and his troupe entertain audiences at nearly a dozen military bases in the Pacific.  Lana Turner is the big draw here, dancing the Bossa Nova and trading quips with Hope in a sketch that casts her as a captive in the clutches of an Asian warlord (Bob), but Janis Page is also in Bob’s entourage (she plays a counterculture chick in a WTF sketch with Bob as a bass-playing beatnik), as are singer/future orange juice pitchwoman Anita Bryant and Amedee Chabot—Miss USA at the time.  (Hope’s tendency to feature plenty of females in his shows was later satirized in the “Playboy bunnies” sequence in 1979’s Apocalypse Now.)  Hope’s radio sidekick, “Professor” Jerry Colonna, and Stan Freberg regular Peter Leeds handle much of the comedy along with Bob, with music by Les Brown and His Band of Renown. 

Lana Turner, Les Brown, Bob

I have always admired Les—not just because he began with Hope in his radio days (Les also brought along his band’s female vocalist, Doris Day), but because he was seemingly able to play Thanks for the Memory over and over and over again all those years without getting sick of it.  He figures in a funny exchange with Bob and Lana:

BOB: Les, have you been making overtures to Miss Turner?

LES: Bob…I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my career…

BOB: You wouldn’t, eh…well, have you been making goo-goo eyes at Miss Turner?

LES: Bob, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my career…

BOB: Was that you in the hall in the hotel last night singing Fly Me to the Moon through her keyhole?

LES: Bob, I told you—I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my career…

LANA: Les…honey, why don’t you meet me after the show and we’ll have a nice, long talk…?

Brown glances at Bob…then glances at Lana…then breaks his baton in two, hands it to Bob, and walks off the stage arm-in-arm with Lana.  Doris Day credits Bob Hope with teaching her everything she knows about comedy, and it’s nice to see Les stuck around for a few classes, too.

Show business nepotism: a young soldier asks Bob if he can take a photo of one of the girls for the camp newspaper.  (That solider is Tony Hope, Bob's son.)

Peter Leeds then informs Bob there is no camp newspaper.  ("It's too piercing, Bob...too piercing.")

A January 15, 1965 telecast is next in the lineup—with Paige, Bryant, Colonna, Leeds and Brown all returning.  (Bryant attempts to seduce a pair of MP’s with You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You, which made me chortle considering her later morality crusade.)  Jill St. John, Hope’s co-star in 1967’s Eight on the Lam, leads off the eye candy in this one; there’s even an amusing exchange (and a prescient one) in which Jill answers Bob’s query as to how an intelligent girl like her (she had an I.Q. of 162) could play so many daffy redheads in the movies.  “Isn’t it ridiculous?” Bob asks her.

Something new has been added in the form of TDOY fave Jerry Colonna.

“Well, you’re still playing romantic leads—aren’t you?” St. John shoots back, echoing a concern many critics noticed at the time.  (St. John returns to make a guest appearance in a January 17, 1972 special; she’s fresh off the set of Diamonds are Forever, the 1971 James Bond film in which she played “Tiffany Case.”)  To me, the star of Hope’s 1965 Christmas special is the madcap Colonna; there are three routines featuring him and Bob in this telecast, all resonant of the splendid work they did during Hope’s radio years.  Bob, doing a monologue, notices that Jerry is reclining on a coach in the audience:

BOB: Pardon me, sir, but—who are you?

JERRY: I’m the base psychiatrist…

(Wild applause from crowd)

BOB: Well, you don’t look like a psychiatrist to me—I have a hunch you’re a fraud!

JERRY: That’s me—Sigmund Fraud!

BOB (to the audience): I think he shrank his own head… (To Colonna) What are you doing on a couch in my audience?

JERRY: Can you think of a better place to sleep?

A nice moment: Bob gets a hug from his son Kelly, who's stationed at a nearby base.  (Bob: "He's in civvies...I hope he's not AWOL...")

Ann-Margret

The Bob Hope Christmas Special: Around the World with the USO (01/16/69) is a great little special, and its appeal can be summed up in two words: Ann-Margret.  (Or is that one word?)  My Dad, not a Hope fan by any measure of the yardstick, has had a thing for Ann for many, many years (he often jokes that they “went to different schools together”) and Ann is entertainment with a capital “E” performing Dancing in the Streets.  My favorite part of this telecast, however, is Bob and The Golddiggers’ rendition of Perfect Gentleman—the show-stopping musical number performed by Jason Robards and Norman Wisdom in one of my favorite movie comedies, The Night They Raided Minsky’s.  Also appearing in this one are Linda Bennett (a one-time child actress who worked with Bob in The Seven Little Foys), ex-football-player-turned- warbler Rosey Grier, Penny Plummer (Miss World), and Honey, Ltd…as well as ol’ reliable Les and his Band.

I wasn't able to get a better screen grab of this...but that old fossil is four-star admiral John Sidney "Jack" McCain, Jr.  His son is John III, currently the senior U.S. Senator from Arizona...and also an old fossil.

Les, Bob (not less Bob)

Despite the approval of Bob’s “Christmas with the Troops” specials with TV audiences, the entertainer eventually found that the unpopularity of the Vietnam War discouraged a lot of entertainers from taking him up on an offer to hit the USO circuit—not to mention his own views on both the controversial conflict and the rise of the counterculture back home.  (Some of the bases began to reject the idea of the comedian performing there, and a 1969 appearance in Long Binh found the crowd of soldiers flipping the cameras the bird and giving power salutes.  None of this was shown on American TV, of course.)  But the celebrity wattage had dimmed a bit by the time The Bob Hope Christmas Special: Around the Globe with the U.S.O. aired on January 17, 1972.  This is the show that Jill St. John makes a guest appearance on, but the lineup includes luminaries such as Don Ho (three guesses as to what he performs—the first two don’t count), baseball’s Vida Blue, and former astronaut Alan Shepard.

They pre-empted The NBC Wednesday Night Mystery Movie for this?  Snoop Sisters fans revolt!

Redd Foxx, Bob

It’s fitting that Bob closes his time in Vietnam with a January 17, 1973 telecast that comes to a wow finish with a duet of Cabaret with Lola Falana and a nice retrospective of all the celebs who appeared with Hope on his past USO Christmas specials.  (It’s not all peaches and cream—the comedian is still doing stale jokes with people like football’s Roman Gabriel.)  But there is an amusing sketch with guest Redd Foxx (I’ll bet NBC put a gun to his head) that’s worth the price of admission:

BOB: Come on—crank it up and let’s get started here, huh?

REDD: Okay…if you want to work a man who’s old and…sick…and tired…

BOB: If you’re sick, how did you get in the Navy?

REDD: Instead of a physical, they gave me an autopsy…

BOB: Hey—can you imagine giving a man with my I.Q. a job like this?

REDD: Well, what’s your I.Q.?

BOB: Twenty-three…

REDD: Twenty-three?  I didn’t know you were a college man…

I realize I'm the only one who's going to find this amusing...but this lookalike duo from Louisville, KY are Cyb and Tricia Barnstable.  The twin sisters were later regulars (as The Bettys) on the short-lived sci-fi sitcom Quark.

Khrystyne Haje, Bob

Included on Bob Hope Salutes the Troops is a January 12, 1991 special, Bob Hope's Christmas Cheer in Saudi Arabia.  With a war everybody liked (well…almost everybody), Hope was able to persuade some big names to appear in this one: The Pointer Sisters (they sing I’m So Excited), Marie Osmond (Crazy), Ann Jillian, and Khrystyne Haje (Head of the Class), who does an amusing routine with Hope (I noticed that Bob, now in his late eighties, has cut back considerably on the leering with regards to his female guests) in which he mentions her environmental activism and in particular, her commitment to the California redwoods.  “You planted them…the least the rest of us could do is try and preserve them,” she cracks, producing a king-sized titter from your humble narrator.  Country singer Aaron Tippin is mentioned in the opening credits of this one though he’s nowhere to be found in the special…which is a shame, since they could have snipped a rather unfunny exchange between Bob and Johnny Bench and let Aaron do a tune or two.  Mrs. Hope, Dolores Reade, is also on hand; she was Bob’s only “Christmas cheer” in Saudi Arabia because the government wouldn’t let the other women in the country (they performed on U.S. naval vessels along the coast).

Ann and Bob duet on The Two of Us in the 1969 special...

...and Bob and Ann Jillian reprise the tune in 1991.

Barney Dean (behind Bob), Jerry, Tony Romano (behind Frances Langford), Patty Thomas

A bonus feature, Bob Hope: Memories of WWII, is also included on the Salutes the Troops collection; first airing in 1995, the Hopes reminisce about Bob’s early years “doing his bit” for WW2 and his first USO tour.  Frances Langford and Patty Thomas are also on hand…though curiously, they’re never shown in the same shot as Bob and Dolores despite it being edited as if they’re all having a conversation.  (For a real reunion between Bob, Frances, Patty, and guitarist Tony Romano check out the DVD Entertaining the Troops, which I reviewed here at the Radio Spirits blog.)

If you’re a fan of classic television, Bob Hope Salutes the Troops is a disc you’re going to want in your collection; it’s the kind of variety special that they literally don’t make any more, though my strong advice would be to watch these telecasts sparingly as Bob likes to recycle jokes from time to time.  Considered by many to be the greatest entertainer of the 20th century, the comedian demonstrates that through his tireless efforts overseas for many so far from home “there was no one like Hope for the holidays.”

“Good night…and may God bless…”

"A mime whose greatest success was on the radio.  A folk humorist in the years when American entertainment was becoming urban.  A vulgar knockabout at a time when American comedy was becoming sophisticated and verbal.  A naïve ne'er-do-well in the age of the self-conscious schlemiel.  Red Skelton's career is a study in how to miss every trend that comes down the pike."  This assessment of the legendary comedic clown by writer Ross Wetzsteon is excerpted by Leonard Maltin in his chapter on Red from his indispensable reference The Great Movie Comedians, and it’s one that’s stayed with me for many years—particularly the first sentence.

See, I am a huge fan of Red Skelton’s work…but I sincerely believe his shtick—what I have referred to many times in the past as his “Gallery of Grotesques”—worked better in an aural medium despite Skelton’s undeniable talent for pantomime and physical comedy.  I’ve had the marvelous pleasure to have worked on any number of collections of his radio broadcasts during my tenure at Radio Spirits—many of these shows have been previously uncirculated among old-time radio hobbyists, and have recently resurfaced with the stamp of approval from the Skelton estate.

That estate has not neglected the comedian’s television legacy, either.  You’ll find a myriad of DVD collections available from Skelton’s twenty-year boob tube reign as “the clown master,” and in casual conversations with those who share my obsession with nostalgia, I gleaned an impression that Red’s TV work is what they remember best.  (I don’t think my parents ever watched his show, so that’s why most of my memories are from radio.)  Time-Life added a magnificent set to the mix on January 3 of this year with The Red Skelton Hour in Color, a 3-DVD set featuring twelve episodes from Skelton’s mega-successful variety hour that convulsed audiences over CBS-TV on Tuesday nights from 1962 to 1970.  (Skelton made the leap into TV in 1951, but his weekly show was a half-hour for the first 11 years he was on the small screen.)

Many of the telecasts showcased on The Red Skelton Hour in Color haven’t been seen by audiences in over fifty years.  They are an incredible wallow in nostalgia; a time when the variety show format, practiced by TV legends like Jackie Gleason, Dean Martin, the Smothers Brothers, etc., amused millions of viewers who wanted little more from that appliance in their living room than an hour of non-think entertainment.  The Red Skelton Hour naturally attracted big-name celebrities as guest stars; you’ll be delighted at seeing the likes of John Wayne, Phyllis Diller, and Mickey Rooney cavort with Skelton, who, it would appear, started the long TV variety hour tradition of not taking the proceedings too seriously…breaking up his guests with wild ad-libs and unrehearsed asides at every opportunity.

My favorite show on the collection is a September 24, 1968 outing featuring Thrilling Days of Yesteryear idols Vincent Price and Boris Karloff as a pair of mad scientists who are convinced that Skelton’s Clem Kadiddlehopper is their robot creation come to life.  (Price, Karloff, and Skelton also do a hilarious musical number in the same telecast.)  Clem is also the focus of a September 20, 1966 telecast with guest stars Rooney (who does a first-rate job alongside Skelton…and I say this as an individual who accepts all things Mick with the enthusiasm of a proctology exam) and Simon & Garfunkel, and a Diller outing from January 23, 1968 that also features Lou Rawls (performing “On a Clear Day You Can See Forever”).  Skelton does “Deadeye” in two telecasts on the Color set: a December 13, 1966 episode featuring Robert Goulet and a hilarious show from October 15, 1968 with “The Big Mouth” herself, Martha Raye.

Merv Griffin guest stars in a March 18, 1969 show that’s sort of unusual in that Red does one of his radio characters that didn’t receive the prominence that favorites like Clem and Deadeye would later achieve on TV: obnoxious Brooklynite Bolivar Shagnasty (“T’ink nothin’ of it!”).  The Griffin telecast also lets Skelton do my two favorites in his repertoire: Cauliflower McPugg and Willie Lump-Lump (“You don’t look right, boy…you just don’t look right!”)  Some of Red’s radio creations never really made a smooth transition to the small screen; the comedian did “Junior, the Mean Widdle Kid” on many occasions but the visual medium spoiled the effect—he looked like an adult with a severe case of arrested development.  To offset this, Skelton introduced new characters like Freddie the Freeloader, who’s the focus of an October 31, 1967 show that features not only Tim Conway but Jackie Coogan and Nancy “That Was the Week That Was” Ames.  (“There’s nothing like a well-rehearsed show,” Skelton ad-libs to Conway when a comedy prop doesn’t work as planned.  “And this is nothing like a well-rehearsed show.”)

With a January 14, 1969 telecast guest starring Audrey Meadows, Red frolics as another of his boob tube creations, George Appleby (he has a funny ad-lib for one of Audrey’s zingers: “No wonder Ralph Kramden divorced you!”).  (This show also features one of Red’s most beloved routines: his interpretation of The Pledge of Allegiance.)  Two of the telecasts on this collection casts Skelton as Forsooth Fromkiss, a simpleton who’s apprentice to the scion (played by Milton Berle) of a torture device salesman in a January 4, 1966 outing, and sidekick to Christopher Columbus (guest star “Lonesome” George Gobel) from February 14, 1967.  The Berle and Gobel shows are a lot of fun to watch, because Skelton seems to have a great deal of fun matching wits with his fellow comics.

The Duke himself, John Wayne, appears on the remaining shows on The Red Skelton Hour in Color.  The earliest telecast is dated March 1, 1966, and allows Red to reprise many of the routines requested by TV viewers (including his legendary “donut dunking” routine, which cemented his fame in vaudeville).  (This type of telecast was apparently a Red Skelton Hour tradition, known as “The Skelton Scrapbook”—a kind of callback to his radio days, when many of the broadcasts were identified as “The Skelton Scrapbook of Satire.”)  An October 28, 1969 show pays tribute to Wayne’s forty years in the movies, and features a hilarious routine where Red plays a variety of autograph hounds encountering The Duke on the street.  In the set-up to the bit, Red suggests that Wayne “pretend you’re a movie star—you’ve been doing that for years, see…”

This produces a hearty guffaw from The Duke, prompting Skelton to observe: “That’s what I like—a guy who can laugh at himself!”  “You’ve been doing that for years!” Wayne retorts, to loud audience laughter and applause.  Another great thing about the Skelton Hour shows is seeing familiar character faces; I spotted Henry Corden in two programs, not to mention Peggy Rea, Elaine Joyce (in a see-through dress that you have to see to believe), Grady Sutton, David Sharpe (Grady and Dave are Boy Friends alumni!), Bern Hoffman, Stanley Adams, and Robert “I was kicked in the haid by a mule” Easton.

I’m not going to lie to you.  A lot of the material on these telecasts (Skelton’s writing staff during the 1960s included hard-working scribes like Charlie Isaacs, Fred S. Fox & Seaman Jacobs, Bobs Weiskopf & Schiller, and Dave O’Brien—the guy from the MGM Pete Smith shorts) are crammed with wheezy jokes that even Abbott & Costello might have considered abandoning.  But there’s an unbeatable sense of free-wheeling mirth (even Red refers to his hour as “a hokey old show”) that’s positively infectious, and at the risk of resorting to a hoary cliché—they truly don’t make them like this anymore.  The 3-DVD set of The Red Skelton Hour in Color (Skelton was the first CBS star to tape his programs in color) is great entertainment for the SRP of $29.95 (and for those of you watching your pennies, a single disc with four shows is available for $12.95), and it’s wonderful having the work of a tried-and-true comedic icon available for a new generation of fans.  (Gracious thanks to my pal Michael Krause at Foundry Communications for providing the blog with the screener.)

Book Review: The Hollywood Book of Death

I’d be willing to wager that somewhere in the movie library of every classic film fan there’s a book authored by James Robert Parish.  The odds are in my favor: Parish is the author and/or co-author of over one hundred books on show business and entertainment—ranging from film reference books to Hollywood biographies.  In addition, he serves as a consultant for scads of TV documentaries and biographical programs.  (His publication output, you could joke, makes him “the Martin Grams, Jr. of movie books.”)

I once purchased a copy of JRP’s The Tough Guys from a used bookstore; it’s a collection of biographies on the celebrated careers of James Cagney, Kirk Douglas, Burt Lancaster, Robert Mitchum, Paul Muni, Edward G. Robinson, Robert Ryan, and Franklin Pangborn.  (Okay, I made that last one up.  Just wanted to see if you were still paying attention.)  I strongly suspect that I’ve either sold it by now or that it’s being detained in my father’s personal Guantanamo Bay (a.k.a. his storage shed).  The encouraging thing about many of Parish’s previously published books is that the formerly out-of-print ones (like Tough Guys) have resurfaced on something called Encore Film Book Classics, so titles like The RKO Gals and The Great Cop Pictures are available for Amazon Kindle.  (So maybe I’ll repurchase Tough Guys one of these days.)

I picked up one of Parish’s non-Encore books, The Hollywood Book of Death: The Bizarre, Often Sordid, Passings of More than 125 American Movie and TV Idols, as a BookBub deal not too long ago (it’s available at Amazon for $13.99—I grabbed it for $1.99).   Had I paid the full tariff for the book, I might have walked away from the reading experience a little ticked off.  JRP’s books have a tendency to separate folks into two camps: those who are full of effusive praise (film critic Rex Reed gushes over The MGM Stock Company as “sort of a Bible around here”) and those who are significantly underwhelmed.  One person remarked in a comment at Amazon: “To add my own known inaccuracy in the Valentino chapter June Mathis is mentioned as dying in a fire.  WHERE the author got this I have no clue...she may not be heavily remembered but every and any simple source out there on here says she died of a heart attack while watching a Broadway play.  Did he just start making stuff up instead of [G]oogling?” 

Herein lies the problem.  In a biography of Jeff Chandler, Parish writes that Chandler “spent the next two years on radio in shows like Mr. Dana; Michael Shayne, Detective; and as Eve Arden’s love interest in Our Miss Brooks.”  The “Dana” show is actually titled The Private Practice of Dr. Dana, while Jeff’s “Michael Shayne” gig was The New Adventures of Michael Shayne.  In a section on Jim Backus, “He first portrayed the nearsighted, raspy-voiced Magoo in the animated TV special Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (1962).”  Backus voiced Magoo as far back as the first Magoo cartoon, Ragtime Bear (1949).  (And I’m not sure I’d describe his voice as “raspy,” but that’s a matter of opinion.)  I know this all sounds a little nitpicky, but here’s the problem: if I notice these mistakes (simply due to my familiarity with both actors from an OTR standpoint) how many more boo-boos are in this book that I don’t know about?  Nothing disappoints me more that finding a glaring inaccuracy in a reference book…because this is the sort thing that winds up getting repeated as gospel, and then future authors have to go out of their way to correct the record.  (I’m certainly not immune to passing along bad information, which is why I’m always grateful to folks who point out my slip-ups in the comment section.)

The passings of celebrity notables are split into individual chapters in The Hollywood Book of Death.  There’s “Accidental Deaths” (Laird Cregar, James Dean); “Alcohol and Drugs” (John Gilbert, John Barrymore, John Belushi); “Murders” (Sal Mineo, Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer); and one that nearly had me falling out of my chair with laughter— “Natural Causes.”  I imagine that would apply to a large percentage of famous people who leave this world for a better one, wouldn’t it?  You’ll find out just how large that percentage is with an appendix entitled “Necrology of Notable Hollywood Actors and Directors.”  An additional appendix, “Where Notable Hollywood Actors and Directors are Buried in the United States,” has received some Amazon criticism for its inaccuracies as well.  (The cumo graino salto factor in this book rears its ugly head when you look at the Bibliography and see Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon listed among the sources.  Oof.)

Let me blunt.  If you pay what I did for this book, you’ll probably be satisfied with the read though it might not be a bad idea to have a second or third source handy just to verify the information.  Parish is a good writer, no question; it’s just that he’s a bit sloppy where accuracy is concerned.  I enjoyed reading Book of Death because there are celebrities in this book whose demises I did not have any sort of familiarity with…and there are some celebs I hadn’t even heard of.  David Strickland?  The name rang a faint bell, but it wasn’t until I came to the part where he had a regular role on Brooke Shields’ Suddenly Susan that I remembered who he was and that I had read of his suicide in 1999.  (I have never watched Suddenly Susan; the concepts of combining “Brooke Shields” and “sitcom” make almost as much sense as combining “peanut butter” and “raw onion.”)

Film critic Charles Champlin wrote in 1978: “So far as I can tell, the most prolific producer of compiled movie nostalgia is a New York lawyer named James Robert Parish.”  But prolific and accurate are two different things; my interest in an earlier JRP book (co-authored with William T. Leonard) entitled The Funsters waned after reading reviews that the content was both imprecise and a little on the negative side despite some rare photographs.  In the case of The Hollywood Book of Death, caveat emptor.