The Black Widow (1947) – Chapter 11: Death Dials a Number

Serial Saturdays returns this week with an installment from The Black Widow whose title sounds like it was cribbed from an old-time radio drama (“Today’s thrilling Shadow adventure: ‘Death Dials a Number’!”).  We know, of course, that despite our fervent hopes and dreams, bossy author-amateur criminologist Steven Colt and his automobile were not sucked into the raging torrent stock footage that concluded the last episode (seriously—that water moves like there’s been recent flooding), but instead our hero leaps out of the car at the last minute in true Hal Duncan style (“Hanh?!!”).

Chapter 11 finds Steve conversing with Professor Henry Weston (Sam Flint), who’s been stashed away in an undisclosed location to keep him out of the evil clutches of Sombra, the Black Widow (Carol Forman), and her confederates in crime.  Weston reads aloud from the latest edition of The Daily Clarion—the newspaper, in the interest of full disclosure, that hired Colt to work the Widow case in the first place.

WESTON (reading): “Another strange chapter was written into the Black Widow mystery early yesterday afternoon…the woman, held by the police as The Black Widow, collapsed in her cell and was pronounced dead…” (Putting down the paper) That’s quite a yarn…what do you think of it?

“Sounds like the lamest of serial plots to me.”

STEVE: It’s hard to say…but I’m not convinced The Black Widow is dead…

WESTON: What do you mean?

STEVE: Is it possible for a person to take a drug that would make him appear dead for any length of time?  You know—no pulse or heart action?

WESTON: Yes…there are a few rare cataleptic drugs that would do that…

“Oh…and Flintstones Chewables.”  Weston wants to know why, and that’s when Steve produces the pieces of paper he found in the coffee cup that was on the floor of Sombra’s cell.

WESTON (having a whiff): Strange odor…that could contain a drug!

STEVE: Exactly…if we could analyze that paper, we might confirm my suspicions…

WESTON: What are we waiting for?

“After all—I am the science-making guy!”  After a dissolve, Weston is seen peering into a microscope, then flipping through a book as Steve looks on, contributing nothing.  The professor deduces that the paper has been coated with a made-up drug called “carbobenetrol.”

WESTON: …a rare drug…used in experimental medicine to induce a cataleptic state…developed by Dr. Z.V. Jaffa in 1942…

Ho ho!  The very same Jaffa (I. Stanford Jolley) working for Her Maliciousness!  To Colt, this cinches it—The Black Widow is back in business, baby, and in the ensuing conversation with Weston we learn a little about the Doc’s heinous background:

WESTON: …he was a brilliant organic chemist…during the war, he was convicted of illegal sale of hypnotic drug…while awaiting an appeal…in the federal jail…he died suddenly of a heart attack…

Coincidence?  Not on your test tube, my boy!  “It’s just a hunch,” muses Colt, “but I’m going to check with the authorities on this Jaffa character…”

Weston wishes him good luck, and with another dissolve we’re riding along in the new Coltmobile with Steve and the bane of his existence (and the woman he’ll probably marry), irritating gal reporter Joyce Winters (Virginia Lindley).

JOYCE: All right, Sherlock…so you’ve got a lead to someone who might know about a…Doctor Joshua that Weston told you about…

STEVE: The name is Jaffa…

JOYCE: That’s what I said…

Normally I find Joyce about as funny as painful rectal itch—but there’s just something about the way Lindley delivered that line that made me laugh out loud.

STEVE: Well, anyway…he was a cellmate of a man named Fillmore Hagain…who now owns The Classic Book Shop…

The (always reliable) IMDb spells Fillmore’s last name as “Hagen”…but since serials historian Hans J. Wollstein spells it “Hagain” in his Black Widow chapter recap at allmovie.com, I’m going to assume he’s got access to material I do not and so I’ll follow his lead.  Steve and Joyce greet Hagain at his shop, and the bookstore owner is played by character veteran Stanley Price—yet another one of the many familiar faces you’ll come across in chapter plays and B-Westerns.  In fact, Price played Robert “Doc” Benson in G-Men Never Forget (1948), one of our previous Serial Saturdays presentations—but his main claim to cliffhanger fame was playing “The Phantom Ruler” in the 1950 cult serial The Invisible Menace (1950).  (I keep hearing rumblings in the home video world that Olive Films may release this one to DVD/Blu-ray soon—if this happens, I might have to snag a copy for future Saturdays consideration.  I do know that Price has a part in what will be the next chapter play to be tackled at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, Zorro’s Black Whip (1944)—provided my Hamilton Book order gets here in time).

STEVE: I’m Steven Colt…

HAGAIN: The writer?

STEVE: That’s right…

HAGAIN: Oh, I’ve read many of your books, Mr. Colt…

“That’s not writing, that’s typing!”

HAGAIN: Were you looking for something special?

STEVE: Yes, some confidential information…I’m doing some investigating on a Doctor Jaffa…he was your…roommate for a while…

You can’t say our boy isn’t tactful about Hagain’s prison record.  Hagain himself delicately references it when he follows up with “But there isn’t much I can tell you…you see, I never saw him before or after my…uh…detention.”

STEVE: Well, it’s my belief that Dr. Jaffa is still alive…and I think I can prove it with your help…

HAGAIN: My help?

STEVE: It’s very simple—all you have to do is put an ad in the personals column…

“Wanted: nubile young teen with milkmaid costume.  Must also provide own cow.”  With Joyce as stenographer, Steve dictates: “To Z.V.J.: Amazing prison disclosure…secret of living death manuscript for sale…write Hagain, Classic Book Shop…”

HAGAIN (after being handed the paper): But I don’t understand…

STEVE: Merely a device that may smoke out Dr. Jaffa…

HAGAIN: Oh, I see…

STEVE: Put it in all the local papers and call me if an answer comes through…

You do like to order people around, don’t you, son?  Steve and Joyce say their goodbyes, and the fact that the camera chooses to linger on Hagain after our heroic couple has exited the shop is a tip-off to the audience that the bookseller is up to no good.  Hagain walks over to a bookshelf, and pulls down a false book façade to reveal a radio transmitter (I thought this was kinda nifty)…which he uses to contact his old cellmate Jaffa.

HAGAIN: Steve Colt was just here…

JAFFA: Colt?  What did he want?

HAGAIN: He suspects you’re alive…he wants me to put an ad in the papers to see whether you’ll bite…

SOMBRA (entering the room and standing over Jaffa): Hagain…I want you to come over here…at once…

HAGAIN: Okay…

By the way—I don’t know why Sombra is always lounging around her hideout clad only in a bathrobe but I imagine if your job involves little more than ordering subordinates around you can enjoy that luxury.  Speaking of which, let’s hear from her pet thug Nick Ward (Anthony Warde):

WARD: Sombra—that mug Colt has got to be rubbed out…

SOMBRA: You put it so crudely…

“Well, then—how about this…please permit me the pleasure of removing him from this realm and sending him straight to H-E-double hockey sticks.”

JAFFA: But quite clearly…it’s our lives or his…Steve Colt is the one person standing in the way of our getting the atomic rocket…

WARD: And like you said—without it, Hitomu can’t work out his plans to become Number One Man of the World!

SOMBRA: An astute observation, Ward…but before we can take action, everything must first be arranged with Hagain…

We fade out, and then back in again as Steve and Joyce return to the Classic Book Shop.

STEVE: Pretty quick answer!

HAGAIN: Yes—I have it here in my desk… (He walks over to the desk and pulls out a piece of paper) And only two days after I placed the ad!

STEVE (reading): “Understand your offer and will be pleased to talk business with you…34 Chestnut Lane today at three…Z.V.J….that’s Jaffa, all right!

DORIS: Oh, it worked!

Steve shakes congratulatory hands with Hagain as he and Joyce scatter, with Joyce picking up a book as they depart (“Hey…you gonna pay for that?”).  The reason for her petty larceny becomes clear in a few: Hagain contacts Jaffa again by bookshelf transmitter to let him know Colt has taken the bait, and when he retires to his desk for a little light reading he gets a return visit from Steve…who informs him that Joyce took the wrong book by mistake, and the reason why:

The old concealed-tape-recorder-in-the-book-trick…and you fell for it!  Which signals that it’s time for the contractual Republic Fist Fight™, made more amusing this time by the fact that the stuntman doing the work of Hagain is clearly noticeable (he has the wrong hair color, for one thing).

Also: the stuntman has lost his permanent wave.

A representative of the constabulary has arrived just as Steve has completed administering Hagain’s beatdown, and like the officious little prick we know and love commands John Law to “take him down to headquarters.”  Outside the book shop, Joyce wants to know why Steve suspected Hagain wasn’t on the up-and-up:

STEVE: You remember the first time I talked to him he said he never saw Jaffa before or after he got out of jail?

JOYCE: So?

STEVE: How could he see him after he got out if he supposedly died in jail?

JOYCE: Now why didn’t I think of that?

“Because you’re a girl, that’s why.”  No, I’m going to have to go with Joycie on this one—there’s nothing dishonest about saying you never saw somebody after they died if they died (and Hagain knew of Jaffa’s heart attack, because Colt as much told him).  The screenwriters kind of fell down here; it would have made more sense if Steve had said “Well, when I didn’t see his personals ad in The Clarion I suspected something was up.”  Or to shorthand it: “The guy was a convicted felon, so I profiled him.  Deal with it.”

This matters precious little in the long run, because a stock shot of the residence at 34 Chestnut Lane…

…reveals a house used in many a Republic serial, and you can bet the ranch, your car and the money you squirreled away for the kids’ further education that this sumbitch is going to be blown to smithereernies before this chapter is finis.  Let’s set the stage for this dwelling to be blowed up real good—we find Ward packing the joint with several boxes clearly marked “explosives,” then he telephones Sombra to dial him back at his number…

…which sets off a spark in the wires, and that presumably will activate said explosives once Ward hooks it up.  He informs Sombra that he’ll contact her when Colt gets there, and with a dissolve and a short scene of an approaching car, Steve and Joyce arrive at their destination.

STEVE: I’ll case the house first…you keep your bright eyes open back here…if it looks like there might be trouble, just blow the horn…

JOYCE: All right, but…I don’t like it…

“Now…which one is the horn again?”  Steve approaches the house, and he’s being watched by Ward from a glen a bit further away.  When Nick closes his car door after entering the vehicle to contact Sombra, there’s a glint reflected off the sun that attracts Joyce’s attention…and so she decides to mosey over and investigate:

Yes, some idiot gave Joyce a gun.  What could possibly go wrong in this scenario?  As it turns out, plenty—while she gets the drop on Nick, eventually he overpowers her as he’s getting out of the car.  Nick informs Sombra by radio that Colt is in the house, and he snarls to Joyce:  “You got here just in time to see your boyfriend blown all over the countryside!”

The Pre-Code Blogathon: The Sin of Nora Moran (1933)

The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to The Pre-Code Blogathon, currently underway from March 31 to April 4 and sponsored by Danny at PreCode.com and Karen at shadowsandsatin.  For a complete list of participants and the films/topics discussion, click here.

Nora Moran (Zita Johann) is a dead woman walking.  I wouldn’t blame you if you got angry at me for not giving you a spoiler warning, but the truth of the matter is: young Nora has been sentenced to die in the electric chair for the murder of her former boss, a brutish circus owner named Paulino (John Miljan).  Adopted by an elderly couple (Otis Harlan, Aggie Herring) as a young girl, Nora pursued a career in dance after the Morans were killed in a tragic automobile accident.  Upon graduating from the academy, Nora was long on determination but short on experience…so she wound up taking a job with Paulino’s circus when she was just about out of money.  The circus gig went swell for a while, until the ruthless Paulino forced his amorous intentions on her one night.  With money gifted to her from one of the other performers, Nora makes her way to the big city and into a nightclub job.

It is there Nora meets an ambitious politician in Dick Crawford (Paul Cavanagh)—though it would be more accurate to say that Dick’s ambition is more in the hands of his brother-in-law, District Attorney John Grant (Alan Dinehart).  Grant and his sister Edith (Claire du Brey) want to see her husband take the oath of office as the state’s governor…and that’s going to be difficult when Nora is seeing the would-be guv on the side.  D.A. Grant confronts the couple one night with their extracurricular romantical activity…and Nora, not wanting to scotch Dick’s political career, pretends that Dick is just one of many in a long line of suitors.  Dick bolts from their domicile, followed by John—yet when John returns, he learns from Nora that the circus is in town…and that’s Paulino lying dead on the floor.  To protect Dick’s reputation, Nora and John concoct a scheme to dispose of the deceased Paulino…but it doesn’t quite work out the way they planned, which takes us back to Paragraph One.

Based on the short story/stage play “Burnt Offering” by Willis Maxwell Goodhue (who co-wrote the screenplay with Francis Hyland), The Sin of Nora Moran (1933) was described by the late, great John Cocchi in his invaluable reference book on B-movies (Second Feature) as “a completely bizarre, fascinating, stream-of-consciousness presentation, the best independent feature of the Thirties.”  It’s why “the great reveal” that I described in the previous paragraphs really won’t take away any of your enjoyment in watching this offbeat picture.  Just when you think you know what’s coming…there’s still a surprise or two up its celluloid sleeve.

Nora Moran was produced at Majestic Pictures, a Poverty Row independent that had a reputation for making better-than-average programmers; one of Majestic’s fondly remembered pictures, The Vampire Bat (1933), was filmed on Universal Studio sets and spotlighted an impressive cast that included Lionel Atwill, Fay Wray and Melvyn Douglas.  Majestic’s modus operandi: cast a few up-and-coming actors along with some past-their-prime veterans and take advantage of location space whenever possible.  (A large portion of Nora Moran was purportedly filmed at the Mack Sennett Studios at Silver Lake in Los Angeles.)

In the director’s chair on The Sin of Nora Moran was Phil Goldstone (the producer of the aforementioned Vampire Bat).  He had a fairly prolific career as a director in the days of silent cinema, but by the time the talkies came roaring in, Goldstone had settled into the role of producer, and even played a part in forming the Independent Motion Pictures Producers Association (IMPPA) in 1932.  MGM hired him to do some production work in the mid-1930s, so he called it quits with his directorial career following the anti-syphilis tract Damaged Goods (1937).  It is a pity that Goldstone abandoned motion picture directing because Nora Moran is proof that the man certainly possessed a style that transcended most independent quickies of that era, in that many are often turgid and dull.  Goldstone, to steal a famous observation that John Landis once made about the legendary Edgar G. Ulmer, “made chicken salad out of chicken shit.”

The strength of Nora Moran lies in its narrative technique: we learn the tragic story of our heroine through flashbacks, told in three separate points-of-view by Nora, Grant (who narrates the bulk of the picture) and Dick (in a letter that Grant reads to Edith).  It’s Nora’s reminiscence of the events that proves most interesting; after being given a sedative hours before she is to be executed (the preparations for which are outlined in a series of fast camera shots focusing on the prison employees who do the grunt work), her life story is replayed in a dreamlike fashion.  But when she thinks back to that time when her circus pal Sadie floated her a C-note so that Nora could escape her situation with Paulino, Sadie is reluctant to give her the money.  After all, if Sadie holds out on the hundred bucks, the wheels set in motion for Nora’s relocation to the big city will come to a screeching halt.

Sadly, Nora is unable to change her destiny with Sadie’s money any more than she is able to stave off the inevitable evening she’s spending with Dick.  Circus music outside reminds her of the tragic events to come, and she pleads with Dick to leave.  Then the doorbell rings, and knowing that it’s Grant at the door, Nora decides not to open it.  Alas and alack, she’s unable to change her destiny.  Dick experiences a similar situation when it’s his turn to recollect what happened to Nora: he has a vision where he and Grant are standing over Nora’s corpse as Father Ryan (Henry B. Walthall) says a prayer.  His attempt to stop Nora’s execution finds him distracted by her disembodied head visiting him in his office, assuring him that everything will be all right.

This innovative flashback technique with multiple narrators was reworked in Citizen Kane (1941), and while it’s been suggested that borrowing it for Kane might have originated with the fact that actress Johann was married to John Houseman at the time Nora Moran was in production, more than a few critics noticed that it was similar to that in The Power and the Glory (1933), a Fox release that came out at about the same time.  The montage work on Nora Moran is also quite impressive, even if they did go a bit heavy on the stock footage from time to time.

While I certainly wouldn’t want to discourage anyone from checking out The Sin of Nora Moran, the film does admittedly have a few weaknesses.  Because of its brief running time (I clocked it at 64 minutes), a lot of the character development had to either be rushed or discarded and I’m convinced that had there been a little more care put into fleshing them out we would have been left with a truly remarkable film.  The acting is sufficient, but save for Zita (best remembered for her leading lady role in 1932’s The Mummy) in her penultimate 1930s turn (she made only one additional movie before going back to the stage) most of the supporting players don’t really stand out all that much.  If anything, the one reason why Nora Moran remains memorable for classic film buffs is this iconic poster (illustrated by Alberto Vargas):

Leonard Maltin notes in his Classic Movie Guide that Nora Moran is “more notable for its ambitions than its achievements,” and I think that’s a pretty fair assessment; it’s a pleasant little jewel that gets an A for effort and a C- for execution.  There are public domain copies of the film floating hither and thither (and it’s also on YouTube) but if you get an opportunity to track down the 2001 Image Entertainment DVD you’ll not only be rewarded with a striking print (it’s the UCLA Film and Television restoration) but it’s paired with another first-rate little B in Prison Train (1938).  (Prison Train stars Linda Winters, who changed her name three years later to Dorothy Comingore and appeared in that Citizen Kane picture I mentioned earlier.  According to Train writer/co-director Shepard Traube, Orson Welles screened the picture prior to casting Kane.)

“It may be true that no one ever set out to make a bad movie,” observes Cocchi in Second Feature, “but quite a few turned out that way.”  That’s the wonderful thing about checking out the fascinating realm of B-programmers: every now and then you’ll find a picture that makes you sit up and take notice, and The Sin of Nora Moran is without a doubt Exhibit A on that score.

Doris Day(s) #35: “Doris the Model” (11/17/69, prod. no #0415)

So here’s the short version of today’s installment of Doris Day(s): in wacky circumstances that could only have originated on a lame sitcom, The Widder Martin is dragooned into modeling clothes in a fashion show when the models originally scheduled for the event quit for reasons that will be explained in a moment.  It’s pretty much an excuse to allow Dodo to strut around in sartorial finery, which really doesn’t make a lot of sense in the long run because—and I say this as a person whose fashion sense could barely be covered in a pamphlet—girlfriend always did have an exceptionally tuned sense of style despite the fact that she lived on a farm and probably earned peanuts in that dead-end job of hers. 

This is one of the reasons why I never took to That Girl, to be honest: I refused to believe that Ann Marie (Marlo Thomas) was able to afford such a fabulous apartment and exquisite clothes toiling as a struggling actress.  (Plus, you will never convince me that ol’ A.M. wasn’t turning tricks on the side.)  Of course, Doris wouldn’t get the opportunity to practice the world’s oldest profession until she shook loose her father (Denver Pyle) and kids (Philip Brown, Tod Starke) in later seasons, so it’s possible she benefited from Buck’s cultivation of some other kind of cash crop on that ranch of his…if you know what I mean, and I’m sure you do.  (Incidentally, Buck and the kids are absent in this episode—an indication of events to come.)

Anyway, as the curtain rises on Act One we see Doris showing off her “new hair” to her pal and fellow office drone Myrna Gibbons (Rose Marie); we got a preview of Dor’s coif in the Yuletide episode “A Two-Family Christmas,” which I covered out of sequence in December of 2014.  Myrna loves Doris’ “weave” (as does Dodo’s boss), and I call it that because Doris has a line of dialogue in which she asks Myrn “Why don’t you get one?”  (To be honest, I would have laughed harder if the exchange went like this: “Nice wig, Doris—what’s it made of?” “Your mom’s chest hair!”)

DORIS: Men love long hair!

MYRNA: Yeah…look, here’s the guest list…

DORIS: Myrn—did you hear what I said?  Men…love…long…hair…

MYRNA: It won’t help…

The “guest list” to which Myrna is referring is one pertaining to a fashion show that’s being sponsored by Today’s World (the NOW magazine), and Doris is tres impressed by the fact that “every fashion editor on the West Coast has accepted.”

MYRNA: Naturally—who wouldn’t want to see a Montagne collection?  Gee, I wish I was invited…

DORIS: Yeah…so do I…

But you aren’t, girls—because your wicked stepmother has decreed that you stay behind and…er…do some filing or whatever the hell tasks you perform at that magazine.  Since this episode would be fairly dull without some conflict, Doris’ boss Michael “Nick” Nicholson (McLean Stevenson) enters the office to provide some.

NICK: Doris, I’m going to have to send you on an errand…

DORIS: Yes, sir…

NICK: Montagne and his models are arriving on the 11:00 plane from Paris…I was going to meet them myself but I’ve got too many details to take care of…so I’m going to have to ask you to do it…

You may have surmised from Doris’ expression of unbridled glee that she’s looking forward to this little assignment because she’ll get to meet “Monsieur Montagne” personally.  There’s just one catch.

DORIS: Oh, Mr. Nicholson—by the way…do they speak English?

NICK: Well, I don’t know…

DORIS: Oh…if they don’t, I’m in big trouble…I don’t speak French!

NICK: Oh, boy…

MYRNA: Um…I speak it perfectly…

NICK: You do?

MYRNA: Like a native…

I don’t want to say anything before all the facts are in…but the look on Myrna’s face suggests that she’s lying her ass off.  But if we’ve learned anything about Nick since the second season began, he’s a pretty gullible sod, and so he allows Myrna to tag along as interpreter.

DORIS: Hey, I didn’t know you speak French!

MYRNA: I…I don’t…

DORIS: What?  You just told…

MYRNA: I want a chance to meet Mr. Montagne, too!

Myrna…why you’re not running that damn magazine by now is a mystery for the ages.  “Oh, great,” whines Doris.  “So if they can’t speak English how will we talk to them?”

“We’ll use subtitles,” explains Myrna.  (Yes, I did laugh out loud at this.)

The scene shifts to San Francisco International, where a man wearing a poncy scarf and a jacket draped over his shoulders enters the terminal accompanied by two attractive women.  Before we begin with the meat of this week’s plot, let’s get acquainted with the guest star.

Montagne is played by character great Johnny Haymer, who by this point in his career had built up a rather impressive sitcom resume by appearing on such favorites as The Dick Van Dyke Show, He & She, Get Smart and My Three Sons.  You might remember him from a memorable bit in Annie Hall (1977) as a comic soliciting material from Alvy Singer (Woody Allen), and his movie resume also includes the likes of American Hot Wax (1978) and Real Life (1979).  It’s interesting that Haymer appears in this episode of Doris’ show with McLean Stevenson because a good many people probably recognize Johnny as Sgt. Zelmo Zale, a semi-regular on TV’s M*A*S*H; I originally thought that Haymer joined the cast of that sitcom after Stevenson’s departure but it turns out John’s first M*A*S*H appearance was in the 1973-74 season (in the classic “For Want of a Boot”), and he was in three additional episodes the following season.

Oddly enough, the show for which I remember Haymer best—and it’s not his voice work on such cartoon series as Scooby and Scrappy-Doo or Alvin and the Chipmunks—was a terrible sitcom entitled Madame’s Place, on which he played ex-boxer/butler Walter “Pinky” Pinkerton.  Place was a first-run syndicated series that featured ventriloquist Wayland Flowers and his puppet “Madame,” always entertaining in brief venues like Hollywood Squares but a tad tiresome in a half-hour sitcom.  The only explanation I can offer as to why my friends and I watched this show—it was during my ivy-covered college days at Marshall University—was that we were waiting for Gunsmoke, which was on afterward.  The premise wasn’t necessarily horrible—it featured Madame as a faded film star in the Norma Desmond mold and was filled with more the recommended daily allowance of gay subtext—and the cast was okay (Susan Tolsky from Here Come the Brides was on it, as was Judy Landers—we used to yell out “Stacks!” whenever she came on, in reference to her B.J. and the Bear character) but because the damn thing was on five-days-a-week the seams in the writing eventually began to show.  (Madame’s Place showcased the occasionally offbeat guest star, like Dr. Joyce Brothers and William Shatner, and many Groundlings alumni also turned up: Edie McClurg, Paul Reubens, John Paragon, etc.)

Back to the action: Doris greets Montagne with a predictable amount of pidgin French, and while she doesn’t resort to the time-honored tactic of yelling loudly in an effort to be understood she does engage in a bit of pantomime (she asks him if he had a nice flight by miming a bird flapping its wings).  Fortunately, Monsieur Montagne spares her any further embarrassment by revealing that he does speak a bit of the language (un per, as the French say)…but is a bit red-faced when he tries to introduce Dor and Myrna to his female companions and…sacre bleu!  They have skedaddled!

MONTAGNE: Oh, those girls…the minute my back is turned, they disappear…

DORIS: Where could they be?

MONTAGNE (sniffing): I smell food…

“And appalling food at that.”  Doris helpfully volunteers that there is a refreshment stand nearby, and that’s where we find Simone Giroux (Arlyn Genson) and Yvette Bouchard (Gail Stevens), orgasmically chowing down on hot dogs.  Montagne chides the two women in French, and though my high school French is tres rusty, I interpreted what he said as “Imbeciles!  Don’t you know you pay three times as much for the food in an airport?!!”

DORIS: Oh, Monsieur—is something wrong?

MONTAGNE: Oh…I have to watch them every minute…they are crazy about your American food…delicatessen, hamburger, hot dog, corned beef, pastrami…if I let them, they become too fat for my clothes…

MYRNA: Yeah…I know the problem…

So this part of the plot is kind of cute and amusing (well, apart from the fat-shaming), particularly due to the established belief that supermodels subsist solely on water and watercress to maintain their wafer-thin figures.  Montagne explains to his new American friends that Simone and Yvette “eat and eat and eat until they cannot move”—though he kinda sorta makes that sound like it’s a bad thing.  Be that as it may, he’s got to keep that decadent American cuisine away from them.  Doris feels sorry for the two women, but then she has to pull Myrna away from the lunch counter in the midst of Myrn’s ordering a hot dog.

Back at the NOW magazine, Nick is in the middle of a conference with several other white guys bragging about the upcoming fashion show, and he turns things over to assistant editor Ron Harvey (Paul Smith), who’s also boastful that the preparations have been put together “with the precision of a moon shot,” for those of you who can’t get enough of topical NASA humor.  Ron fumbles through his manila folder and his pockets for the show’s schedule—which he seems to have misplaced with the precision of clueless assistant editors—but fortunately Myrna enters and comes to his rescue with the necessary paper…which Ron carelessly left on his desk.  (“Your timing is perfect, Myrna.”)

DORIS: Did you get to him in time?

MYRNA: Yeah…he was going from embarrassed red to panic purple…

The phone rings, and it’s Montagne on the other end.  He desperately needs to speak to Nick, and when Doris informs Montagne that Nick is in conference Montagne drops the bombshell that Simone and Yvette—zut alors!—have flown their hotel coop.  He suspects the girls have hied themselves to a delicatessen, and that they must be located before they “blow up with food.”  (Blowed up real good, I’d say.)  Doris will have to break the news to Nick, and she enters his office while Ron continues to drone on with the details of the fashion exhibition.

RON (as Doris whispers in Nick’s ear): Well, as you can see—every contingency has been taken care of…I mean, every detail planned…absolutely nothing could go wrong!

NICK: Except our models have just disappeared…

RON: Except our models have just disappeared…whaaaa?

The scene shifts to a delicatessen, where kindly deli owner Hal (played by Paul Marin) sets down a generous helping of potato salad in front of hungry Simone and Yvette.  “My brother Nat remembered you like it with a lot of mayonnaise,” he beams as the models squeal in epicurean delight.  Brother Nat is played by a familiar TV face, making his second of three appearances on The Doris Day Show…

…yes, it’s character fave Larry Gelman—a.k.a. The Odd Couple’s Vinnie Barella, The Bob Newhart Show’s Dr. Bernie Tupperman and Maude’s Hubie Binder…to name a few of the many.  (We last spotted Gelman chasing Doris around a desk in the season opener, “Doris Gets a Job.”) “You know,” Hal continues, “Nat and I never thought we’d see you in San Francisco again—it’s such a pleasure to serve you ladies.”

Doris and Nick observe the models feasting outside Hal and Nat’s store window.  They run in and drag the women out (the models blow kisses to the deli brothers, which made me chuckle) and lay down the line: ixnay on the oodfay.  “After the show you eat all you want,” explains Doris.  “Le hot dogs…le corned beef…le chopped liver…le kosher pickles…le everything!”  But here’s the dilemma: how will Today’s World deal with two ladies who apparently have tapeworms?

In Montagne’s hotel suite, the designer explains that while Simone and Yvette have promised that they will not succumb to the munchies “unfortunately, when it comes to delicatessen—their word of honor is worthless.”  Clearly, someone will have to police la models…but Montagne cannot do this, as he is busy.  As Nick discusses the situation with Montagne, Doris tries to get her boss’ attention by volunteering to play Food Cop.  “Doris, I think your new hair has gone to your head,” he cracks, a line that just struck me funny for some odd reason.

NICK: You will have to be up twenty-four straight hours…

DORIS: I don’t mind!  I’ll get Myrna…she’d love to!  I can handle it…

MONTAGNE: I think she can do it…

NICK: You think you can do it?

DORIS: I know I can do it… (Saluting) Policewoman Doris Martin, at your service, sir…

MONTAGNE (after a pause, to Nick): You think she can do it?

Of course she can do it!  This is Doris Freaking Martin we’re talking about, Frenchie!  There’s a scene shift to the outside of the hotel at night, with a light on in one of the rooms.  We hear a buzzer, and Doris opens the door to allow a waiter (Sam Javis) in, wheeling a food cart.  Doris lifts up the various covered plates to make sure everything is kosher (well, I couldn’t resist) but she does find one plate with several pads of butter.

Then, using her powerful sense of smell, she detects the distinctive odor of something that is kosher.  Looking under the cart she finds…

J’accuse!  Contraband with a pickle on the side!  “I don’t believe it!” Doris exclaims in her best Victor Meldrew manner.

DORIS: Look at this!  Where did you get this?

WAITER: Well, I don’t know…

MYRNA: Talk!

DORIS: Where did you get them?!!

The waiter comes clean.  “Two guys gave me the sandwiches and handed me a buck to stick them under the cart,” he confesses…and his description of the felons being short, chubby and delicatessen owners means only one thing—Hal and Nat!  Doris waves the waiter in with the other items while she and Myrna consume the contraband in the form of delicious pastrami sandwiches.  “I’m glad they didn’t order bologna,” Myrna puts in.  “I don’t like bologna.”

Doris confesses that bologna gives her gas, which prompts Myrna to reply “Everything gives you gas.”  Sorry, Myrna my pet—I refuse to acknowledge the existence of a flatulent Doris Day.

Yvette and Simone may have just gotten off the plane…but they’ve learned a trick or two.  First, they try to smuggle in illegal salami in the form of dry cleaning…

Next, a delivery from the roof.  “It’s not too bad an assortment though, I’ll tell you that,” editorializes Myrna.

Finally, with Doris and Myrna conked out, Yvette and Simone sneak out of their hotel room and off to a night of brisket and cream soda as the curtain falls on Act One.

Doris the Model—Part the Second.  Doris, knowing full well she will be in deep merde with her boss when he learns that the two fashion models beat a hasty retreat while she and Myrna were supposed to be supervising them, waits with her pal outside Hal and Nat’s.  Doris is certain they’ll return to their favorite hangout.

MYRNA: Yeah, but it’s such a long shot—they could be stuffing their faces with somebody else’s corned beef…

DORIS: Well, we can’t go chasing them all over town!  We’ve got to play this hunch and hope…

And when a taxicab pulls up outside the deli, the reason why Doris is known as “Texas Hold ‘Em” Martin is revealed—Hal and Nat and Simone and Yvette and Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice emerge from the vehicle.

DORIS: Okay, girls…you’ve had your fling and you’ve eaten to your heart’s content…now you come back with us…

HAL: I’m afraid they’re not going with you…

DORIS: They have to go!  The show is about to…

NAT (interrupting) Sorry…we don’t believe in our wives working…

Mon dieu!  How’s that for a plot twist?  Hal and Nat inform Doris and Myrna that they’ve made the models Mrs. Hal and Mrs. Nat in Reno.  “We’ve been in love with them ever since the first time they walked in and ordered our chopped chicken liver,” explains Nat.

“Now we’re going to feed them until death do us part,” responds Hal dreamily.  “Come on, girls—before the rush hour starts.”  See, I would watch a sitcom with this premise: two schlubby deli owners marry a couple of ooh-la-la French models, and the wacky complications that ensue.  Unfortunately, this is the last we’ll see of this quartet—it’s back to the lame sitcom we’re stuck with now.

Since my interest in what happens next in this episode has taken a severe nose dive, I’m going to summon up what happens next as quickly as I can.  Nick and Montagne are frantic back at the auditorium, where the fashion show is about to commence.

MONTAGNE (in his pronounced French accent): Imbecile!  Idiot!

NICK: What does that mean in English?

MONTAGNE: The same thing—imbecile…idiot…

Doris and Myrna arrive with the bad news.  Montagne, devastated to hear that not only have his employees married into delicatessen royalty but have retired from the modeling business, struts and frets and lets loose with a flume of French profanity.  “You know—I got a feeling he’s not too thrilled about the news,” Myrna cracks.

What to do, what to do.  Ron Harvey arrives backstage and, of course, he’s completely useless—even though he thumbs through his little black book for some of the models he’s dated in the past.  No—they can’t possible get there on such short notice…so it’s Myrna to the rescue!

MYRNA: Mr. Nicholson—you don’t have to look for any other models…you got the perfect one right here!

NICK: Oh, come on, Myrn—you wouldn’t fit into those clothes in a million years!

Haha, because Myrna is too dumpy.  She doesn’t mean herself, you wanker—she means Doris!  Doris can wear the clothes and save the day…and she does!

Work it, girl!

If you thought Doris on the catwalk was lame, you will be right at home with the coda of this little opus.  Myrna enters Doris’ office with a devastating outfit, and brand new wiglet hair!  “Hey, groovy!” squeals Dodo in approval.  (Far out!)

MYRNA: I figured if those skinny models can wear this kind of stuff why shouldn’t a real woman try it, huh?

DORIS: It’s really groovy…

MYRNA: Yeah, huh…oh, I tell ya—from now on, men just aren’t going to pass me by as if I didn’t exist…from now on, they’re gonna notice me…

DORIS: You better believe it!

Ron Harvey enters the office…and he is speechless.  He is captivated by Myrna’s new look.  Words fail him, and he struggles to describe his feelings at that moment in time.

RON: Well, well, well—this is quite a surprise!  A very pleasant surprise!

MYRNA: Oh…is it?

RON: Yes!  It’s the first time in months you’ve been to work on time!

Ya burnt, Myrna!  “He’s a man,” consoles Doris.  “What does he know about clothes?”  What indeed.  Fans of TDOY’s dearly departed Mayberry Mondays—and I hate to admit this, but I find myself missing R.F.D. more and more with each Doris episode I tuck under my belt—might be interested to know that this turkey was directed by Hal Cooper, who helmed thirty-eight of the misadventures that took place in that sleepy little North Carolina town.  (Cooper would direct one more Doris episode, “The Gas Station”—which features the return of the Day show’s resident faux Goober, Leroy B. Semple Simpson [James Hampton].)

In the third season of The Doris Day Show, Monsieur Montagne (and Johnny Haymer) returns for the episode “The Fashion Show,” where once again Doris proves she’s too sexy for her shirt.  Fortunately, that agony is still a ways off—but we’ll still have to endure more pain next time with “Doris Strikes Out,” which does have one bright spot: it features a beloved actor best known for his starring role on WKRP in Cincinnati.  Join me next time, won’t you?