Book Review: 11 Pre-Code Hollywood Movie Histories

I have heard your pleas, members of the TDOY faithful.  You have been clamoring for more reviews of books dealing with pre-Code motion pictures, and I am here to acquiesce to your demands.  The spotlight in the TDOY Book Club (motto: Oprah who?) today will be on Cliff Aliperti’s 11 Pre-Code Hollywood Movie Histories: Early Depression-Era Melodramas, Adaptations, and Headline Stories.

What’s that?  You say you made no such request?  Well…this is awkward.  Also a case of “tough toenails,” because I took time to read this Kindle selection, dadgummit, and…I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it.

My fellow Classic Movie Blog Association compadre Cliff Aliperti is a Lawn Guyland-based writer who trims the hedges at Immortal Ephemera, celebrating the best in 1930s cinema since 2002 (in addition to offering up nifty vintage memorabilia and collectibles).  The Immortal Ephemera brand is emblazoned on two e-books—Classic Movies Monthly #1 and #2 (a Halloween special!)—and his other published works include Helen Twelvetrees: Perfect Ingenue and Freddie Bartholomew: An Informal Biography.  However, a spending spree at the Kindle Store brought me into contact with 11 Pre-Code Hollywood Movie Histories, which I purchased at the same time as a previous tome spotlighted in this space, Sin and Vice in Black & White.

Mind you, I’m a little uncomfortable comparing both books…but I will say this: both of them would make splendid additions to your movie book library, for the simple reason that there’s no duplication in the content.  I don’t know if this was by design (“Rupe?  Cliff Aliperti here…you aren’t writing an essay on Only Yesterday, are you…?”) or just plain happenstance, but I think it’s dan-dan-dandy that it turned out that way.  Aliperti reviews a number of titles that tend to limbo underneath the pre-Code radar, notably For the Defense (1930) and Washington Merry-Go-Round (1932); on the whole, Cliff’s selections bypass better-known feature films from that era and concentrate on vehicles that are most worthy of rediscovery.

What surprised me most about 11 Pre-Code Hollywood Movie Histories is that Cliff included only one selection from his favorite performer (and beloved pre-Code cad), Warren William.  Aliperti started the first Warren William fan site in 2007, and I’m not going to lie to you—I gambled that Histories would be a little top-heavy with the Warren.  But there’s only one W.W. vehicle reviewed in the book, and it is a goody—1933’s Employees’ Entrance.  It’s an excellent essay—it might be my favorite of all the entries in the book—and despite my disagreement with Cliff’s analysis of William’s character (he sees Warren’s ruthless department store manager as a hero; my lifelong skepticism of capitalism/corporations just won’t let me embrace this) it will persuade you to see the movie in a new and challenging light.

Cliff also has novel takes on a number of movies that have been discussed here at TDOY, including Call Her Savage (1932), City Streets (1931), and The Sin of Nora Moran (1933).  He supplements the essays with colorful background material to put the films in their proper historical context, while offering up tidbits on the film’s stars and other people behind-the-scenes.  Good reviewers tantalize you into wanting to seek out those films you haven’t crossed off your “Must See Movies” list, and Aliperti’s entries on Merry-Go-Round and Only Yesterday (1933—I’ve read the book that inspired this one, but haven’t seen the silver screen version) succeed admirably in that mission.

I’m probably a bigger fan of Hell’s Highway (1932) than Cliff (though I do like how he contrasts it and the better-known I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang [1932]), mostly because I’m fascinated by the small oeuvre of Rowland Brown, who directed my favorite of all the pre-Codes, Blood Money (1933).  11 Pre-Code Hollywood Histories rounds out with essays on Show Girl in Hollywood (1930—which aired on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ recently), Gentleman’s Fate (1931—I’ll have to see this one the next time it makes the rounds), and Jimmy the Gent (1934—this one I did see…meh).  Cliff is also generous enough to inform the reader as to the availability of the movies on home video (the e-book was published in 2014, so there have been a few new developments on that score: City Streets is coming to MOD the first of November, which means I’ll have to retire my old Vintage Film Buff copy).

“My name is Cliff Aliperti and I write about old movies when I’m not watching them,” the author declares in a passage at the end of 11 Pre-Code Hollywood Movie Histories; an all-too-familiar mission statement of those of us who blog about classic films because it keeps us out of strip clubs.  (Okay…maybe not all of us.)  “I grew up in a house where black and white movies were every bit as good as color.”  While I wasn’t as fortunate to be raised in similar circumstances (though I don’t have time to get into that right now), it won’t escape your notice that Cliff clearly loves the movies he writes about, and his background in historical research helps immeasurably in making Movie Histories a sensational read and worthy purchase.

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Tough Assignment (1949)

The honeymoon of L.A. newspaper reporter Dan Reilly (Don “Red” Barry) and his wife Margie (Marjorie Steele) is apparently in full sway…because Marg is stoked about preparing their first home-cooked meal in their new home.  She needs to get a few things at Schultz’s (Leander De Cordova) butcher shop, and she insists that Dan snap a photo of her outside the entrance for one reason or another.  As Dan trips the shutter, three men walk out of the jernt…and are notably perturbed that they had to smile for the camera.  The Reillys soon learn the reason why—old man Schultz was beaten up by the three goons, much to the dismay of Mrs. Schultz (Edit Angold).

Later, at Casa del Reilly, two of the thugs (Marc Lawrence, Ben Welden) rudely interrupt the couple’s domestic bliss by administering a pummeling to Dan and snatching the undeveloped film from Margie.  What gives?  Well, Dan does a little investigative reporting (I know, it was like this movie from another era or something) and learns from Patterson (Stanley Andrews) at the Bureau of Livestock Investigation that there’s a “bootleg beef” racket in full force—unsavory criminals are selling meat without state or federal inspection (this is why it’s good to have regulations, kids).  Reilly decides—with the approval of his editor Hutch (Michael Whalen)—that this would provide the grist for a good story, and it soon makes front page headlines.

The “boss” of the racket, Morgan (Steve Brodie), is not particularly jazzed about the publicity—so Vince (Lawrence) and Sniffy (Welden) are instructed to collect Reporter Dan and bring him in for a chinwag about dropping the story.  The tenacious Reilly isn’t so easily scared off, and after he and Margie conduct surveillance on a delivery truck outside of Schultz’s they soon find themselves on a ranch that’s the center of operations for the bootleggers…so they pose as a impoverished couple (they go by “Jim and Amy Hill”) in need of work in order to blow the racket wide open.  (That’s reporter talk.)

With an uncredited turn as a student in a Cecil B. DeMille oddity entitled This Day and Age (1933), Donald Barry officially launched his movie career.  Barry appeared in small roles and bits in films like Dead End (1937), The Last Gangster (1937), and Young Dr. Kildare (1938) before going to work for Republic Pictures and receiving featured parts in films like Wyoming Outlaw (1939—with John Wayne and the Three Mesquiteers) and Days of Jesse James (1939—with Roy Rogers).  It was at Republic that Barry would get the film role that made him a household name (and inspired him to add to his own); he starred in that studio’s 1940 serial, The Adventures of Red Ryder, and soon started being billed as Don “Red” Barry.

Barry is often described as “the poor man’s James Cagney,” and his onscreen persona resembled Jimmy’s in that he may have been short in stature but his cockiness/pugnaciousness more than made up for it.  Barry’s B-Westerns at Republic were very popular with theatergoers, with titles like Ghost Valley Raiders (1940), Wyoming Wildcat (1941), Two-Gun Sheriff (1941), Death Valley Outlaws (1941), and Outlaws of Pine Ridge (1942).  Unfortunately for “Red,” he took himself a little too seriously as a Cagney wannabe and alienated a lot of the directors with whom he worked at the studio.  (Red Ryder co-director William Witney derisively called him “the midget” and the other director on that serial, John English, vowed never to work with the star again after 1943’s Black Hills Express.)

Barry’s career was dealt an ace of spades as the 1940s came to a close, since B-Westerns were slowly dying off (they would be resurrected on the small screen soon after…since television could make them even cheaper).  Determined not to go gently into that good night, Don signed a contract with Lippert Pictures, and made some fairly decent oaters like Red Desert (1949) and Border Rangers (1950).  At Lippert, Barry also got the opportunity to don a producer’s hat—one of those pictures was today’s “Forgotten Noir,” Tough Assignment (1949).

Tough Assignment really isn’t much of a noir to me…but I did like the modern-day Western aspect of the picture, which takes hold about twenty-three minutes into the film. (It’s not a great movie, but it kept me entertained for its sixty-four-minute running time.)  The supporting cast in this one is Assignment’s most valuable asset, with noir icons like Steve Brodie and Marc Lawrence present…and as always, Lippert’s “good luck charm” Sid Melton is on hand for comic relief.  (Suffice it to say, I am somewhat more tolerant of Mr. Melton’s shtick than my good friend Scott C. at World O’Crap.)  Lawrence and Melton have an amusing scene where Sid finds out that Marc has been making time with Sid’s girlfriend (played by TDOY fave Iris Adrian in an all-too-brief appearance), and Sid’s response to Marjorie Steele’s news that she’s going to cook a meal “just like Mother made” is a riot: “Nuh-uh…that’s why I left home in the first place!”

Sadly, Lawrence doesn’t really come off as too menacing in Tough Assignment—which might be because he’s paired off with Ben Welden (who was the go-to guy for comic gangsters).  There are also contributions from familiar faces like Stanley “The Old Ranger” Andrews, Stanley Price, Fred Kohler, Jr., and Frank Richards—with Dewey Robinson providing Assignment with an amusing closing bit.  The film was directed by the indefatigable William Beaudine, and at the American Film Noir website there’s a section on “Bad Film Noirs” where the authors comment: “Beaudine, one of the most prolific directors in Hollywood history, was known for delivering cheap films with a fast shooting pace.  He certainly didn’t disappoint us with this effort.”  (Ouch!)

I didn’t think Tough Assignment was too terrible (the site also lists Fingerprints Don’t Lie [1951] …which definitely is) but discriminating viewers may not take to it…which is kind of a sad commentary on my existence if you think about it.  I chuckled at the cover of VCI’s Forgotten Noir Vol. 5 because Assignment receives the appellation “Co-Hit” alongside what appears to be the DVD’s “main” feature, FBI Girl (1951).  As for Don “Red” Barry, he became one of the busiest actors on the small screen (he had a regular role as “Lt. Snedigar” on TV’s Surfside 6) yet continued to experience difficulty with his personal life and he committed suicide in 1980.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Review: Lou’s on First

It was my very good Facebook friend (and fellow Jaw-jan) Shiksa Ravelli (whom I affectionately call ‘SKR”) that alerted me to a price decrease in the Kindle edition of Lou’s on First, a biography on the comedic great Lou Costello written by his youngest daughter Christine (Chris) and Raymond Strait.  (Grabbed it for $3.99—there you go, can’t be bad.)  Released three years after the publication of Bob Thomas’ Bud and Lou in 1978 (which became a justly derided TV-movie starring Harvey Korman and Buddy Hackett), Chris wanted to set the record straight with regards to her famous pop…because Thomas got most of the first-hand information in his tome from Eddie Sherman, Abbott & Costello’s longtime business manager.  (This probably won’t come as much of a surprise—but Sherman had an axe to grind on the subject of Lou.  Chris is fairly even-handed when it comes to talking about Eddie…but you kind of get the idea they weren’t swapping Christmas cards after her father’s passing.)

Most of the books that I have read on the famous comedy team are those dealing with their movies; I’d highly recommend Bob Furmanek and Ron Palumbo’s Abbott & Costello in Hollywood as the best, and I dimly remember Stephen Cox & John Lofflin’s The Abbott & Costello Story: Sixty Years of “Who’s on First?” being a good read as well.  (If you’re limited to one purchase, however, go with the Furmanek/Palumbo book.)  Chris’ book, however, offers a much more personal look at her father’s career: a multi-talented funnyman whose life wasn’t always filled with the laughter that he received from grateful audiences.

Paterson, NJ said “hidy” to one of its favorite native sons on March 6, 1906 when Louis Francis Cristillo made his debut in this world.  A gifted high school athlete, Lou at first considered a career in the sweet science, boxing as “Lou King”…but he really harbored a desire to try his luck in Hollywood and the motion picture business.  He worked as a laborer, extra. and stuntman (he did stunt work in 1928’s The Trail of ’98, and can be spotted ringside in the Laurel & Hardy comedy The Battle of the Century [1927]—yet when it became clear that the movies weren’t exactly clamoring for his services, he decided to head for home.  Costello got sidetracked in St. Joseph’s, MO when he landed a job as a “Dutch comic” in a burlesque show.

His success in burlesque led him to New York, where he continued to perform in both burlesque and vaudeville…and eventually made the acquaintance of Bud Abbott, another veteran performer.  Abbott had established himself as one of burlesque’s premier straight men, and teaming up with Lou in 1936 would produce comedy gold—notably in their timeless baseball comedy routine, “Who’s on First?”  The duo would eventually conquer Broadway (in Streets of Paris in 1938), radio (they became regulars on The Kate Smith Hour at the same time), and movies—Universal hired them to be the comic relief in 1940’s One Night in the Tropics…which led to their first starring feature film, Buck Privates, in 1941.  It’s no exaggeration to say that their comedies—cheaply filmed yet highly profitable—kept Universal out of the red in the 1940s (though the same thing has also been said about everyone under contract at the studio from Deanna Durbin to Francis the Talking Mule).

Most of the information on Costello’s (and Abbott’s) career I had read from other sources…so I was pleasantly surprised by revelations that I did not know.  A team that created the miracle of laughter when in front of audiences, both Bud and Lou were cordial to one another off-stage—but not what you would call close buddies.  (In their early days, Bud got 60% of the take due to his straight man status…but once they were America’s #1 movie comedy team, Lou renegotiated their contract to get the bigger split.)  The duo made money and spent it like no tomorrow, which later led to much scrutiny from the IRS…and sadly, their breakup in 1957.  (I wrote liner notes for a Radio Spirits Abbott & Costello collection one time, and was advised to ix-nay on the IRS-way to avoid any trouble with the estate.)

The devastating section of Lou’s On First arrives on that fateful November 4, 1943 date when Lou’s son Lou, Jr. (affectionately known as “Butch”) managed to work his way out of the crib he was in and fell into the family’s swimming pool, drowning as a result.  (Butch was two days’ shy of his first birthday.)  Lou had looked forward to doing his and Bud’s popular radio program that evening because his son was going to get his opportunity to listen to his famous pop clown in the team’s weekly half-hour.  In the tradition of “the show must go on,” Lou fought back tears and wisecracked with his partner that night; it wasn’t until the program’s close that Bud Abbott informed the studio audience of the devastating tragedy that had happened to his better half.

The death of Lou Costello, Jr. haunts the rest of Lou’s On First (I knew it was coming, and even after reading about it I felt like I swallowed a sno-cone): many of Costello’s colleagues have observed that the funnyman was never the same after the incident, and Chris Costello bravely relates that the tragic death of her brother took an immeasurable toll on the family—particularly her mother Anne, who blamed herself till the end of her days in 1959 (she passed away about nine months after her husband).  (The reader will learn that Lou’s family blamed her as well, and it was this family ugliness that led to her mother’s alcoholism.)

It is not an easy subject to talk about, and yet Chris is able to regale the reader with anecdotes of happier occasions with the Family Costello; her description of how her father loved (I mean loved) Christmas and her dirt-dishing on sisters Patricia (“Paddy”) and Carole''s tumultuous lives will give you a delightful idea of how despite the setbacks, the Costello clan met adversity at every turn and gave it a proper ass-whooping when needed.

My mother’s stepmother (my step-gran) couldn’t stand Abbott & Costello.  She asked me one time when I was watching one of their movies at her house: “How can you watch that nonsense?”  (I seem to recall stronger language used, but I’ll refrain from it.)  The truth is—I enjoyed the heck out of the team’s antics growing up (The Abbott & Costello Show ran like tap water when I was a kid, and when the once-proud AMC showed their movies I made it a point to never miss any of them).  I’m the proud owner of all of their films in the dusty Thrilling Days of Yesteryear archives, and every year it’s a Halloween tradition to run my favorite in their oeuvre, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (a movie even my mother will watch—and she hates the team almost as much as did my step-gran).  I’ve stated here and elsewhere that despite whether you love them or hate them (and there are a lot of people who feel the latter) they’re an important part of comedy history because their movies and TV shows are a virtual encyclopedia of American burlesque.

If there’s a downside to the Kindle edition of Lou’s On First it’s that it doesn’t contain the photos from the print edition (I knew this going in, of course, but it still would have been nice) and apart from a pin prick of a nitpick (Chris says Bud and Lou’s radio program started in the fall of 1941…but it was actually a year later; the duo were appearing on The Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy Show in 1941) it’s a wonderful book about a man who never really received his due as one of the true comedy greats.  Grab yourself a copy.

“Winning isn’t everything, but it beats anything that comes in second.” – Paul “Bear” Bryant

I just wanna tell ya (in my best Bob Hope impression) the number of entries for Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s “Inner Sanctum/Lights Out” giveaway was pretty darn impressive.  Again, nothing on a Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar scale (here’s where I plug Radio Spirits’ upcoming Dollar compendium—Medium Rare Matters—the liner notes were not written by your humble narrator, but rather the indefatigable Liz McLeod) but very encouraging all the same.  (Pimping these contests on Facebook certainly doesn’t hurt, either.)

I wish I had sets to give away to everyone who did enter…but that would cut into RS’ bottom line, I imagine.  So it’s my great pleasure to announce that the winner is member of the TDOY faithful Britt Reid, the proprietor of the great nostalgia blog Secret Sanctum of Captain Video.  (He not only has a “secret sanctum”…now he has an “inner sanctum.”  Seriously—check out his blog when you get a chance.)  The editor of The Daily Sentinel will be sending me his snail-mail address soon (I’m told the paper is no longer accepting packages…for obvious reasons), and I will mail his prize posthaste.

Keep an eye on this space—because in two weeks, I’ll have another bodacious swag giveaway scheduled (and this prize will also be a “bundle”—very, very cool!).  Remember: Thrilling Days of Yesteryear is the phrase that pays!

“It…is…later…than…you…think…”

And believe me, cartooners—I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie.  (Thanks to loyal member of the TDOY faithful C.N. for inspiring the blog post title, by the way.)  The deadline for Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s latest old-time radio giveaway—a chance to win copies of the Radio Spirits releases Lights Out: Later Than You Think and Inner Sanctum: Shadows of Death—ends tomorrow evening (Saturday, October 15) at 11:59pm EDT.  I have to tell you: the response to the contest has been most encouraging, but I don’t think I would sleep soundly at night if I thought anyone out there in YesteryearLand was going to miss out on a chance to enter and win.  (Then again…it may be listening to the shows on these collections.)  Just shoot me an e-mail with “Inner Sanctum/Lights Out” in the subject header to igsjrotr(at)gmail(dot)com by the deadline—offer good for U.S. residents/addresses only—and Sunday morning I shall summon forth a name with a sacrifice to the Random.org gods.  (Just trying to keep things in the Halloween spirit, I guess.)  Good luck to everyone who entered!

Forgotten Noir Fridays: FBI Girl (1951)

Owen Grisby (Raymond Greenleaf) is the governor of an unidentified state (he operates out of a burg known as “Capitol City”)—and he’s being groomed to run for a Senate seat from the same fictitious locale.  Grisby, however, has a teensy problem: many, many years ago—before he got into an honest racket like politics, he wrote jokingly—he committed a murder as “John Williams” (no, not the British actor who used to hawk 120 Music Masterpieces in the TV ads) and his fingerprints are on file with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  Should a Senate crime committee find something hinky in Grisby’s background, he’ll naturally be arrested and his true identity revealed.  Grisby’s henchman Blake (Raymond Burr) has an idea: he’ll arrange for the Guv’s fingerprints to be “liberated” from the FBI files…and no one will ever know Williams existed.

Blake leans on a lower-level stooge named Paul Craig (Don Garner), who in turn begs his sister Pamela (Margia Dean) to remove Mr. Williams from the Feds’ database.  Pamela is eager to help out her brother…but she gets cold feet at the last minute.  Sadly, the two men assigned to make sure Pamela doesn’t share Blake’s scheme with the authorities do not realize this; they run her car off the road, and she dies as a result of the accident.  Because Pam was an FBI employee, Agents Glen Stedman (Cesar Romero) and Jeff Donley (George Brent) are brought in to investigate along with the usual gendarmic representatives.  Their dogged pursuit of the evidence (along with a helpful FBI employee who remembers seeing Pamela poring through fingerprint files the day she was murdered) points to one of Blake’s goons—a charmer nicknamed “Georgia” (Alexander Pope) …who commits two more murders (brother Paul is one of the victims) before plunging to his death from a hospital ledge.  Continually stymied in their attempts to unravel the identity of “John Williams,” Stedman and Donley will eventually have to turn to one of Pamela’s roommates—another Bureau employee, Shirley Wayne (Audrey Totter)—to assist them on the case.

I’ve noticed two irrefutable facts about these VCI “Forgotten Noir” films.  One, they don’t really fit my definition of “noir” (it bears repeating—sometimes a black-and-white crime film…is just a black-and-white crime film).  Two, they’re either deliriously entertaining…or they really, really suck.  Fortunately, FBI Girl (1951) is deliriously entertaining…thanks to a splendid cast, more action than is the norm for a Lippert production, and direction by an accomplished B-picture director, William A. Berke (the auteur behind another VCI “Forgotten Noir,” Shoot to Kill [1947]).  The screenplay by Dwight V. Babcock (whose screenplays include the Inner Sanctum films Dead Man’s Eyes and Pillow of Death) and Richard H. Landau (Back to Bataan, The Secret of the Whistler) is very solid, and the author of Girl’s story is Rupert Hughes—uncle of Howard Hughes.  (Rupe even gets a “name-above-the-title” credit!)

FBI Girl kicks off with some giggly narration courtesy of star Romero, who gives us the skinny on this nation’s Department of Justice and Federal Bureau of Investigation (“a symbol of international strength and hope,” it says here)—the highlight is when he describes the employees of the fingerprints department as “nice, normal boys and girls.”  (They don’t drink.  They don’t smoke.  They don’t…period!)  Cesar, whom we learned in Shadow Man (1953) had started freelancing once his contract expired at 20th Century-Fox, appeared in quite a few Lippert productions since he was still a “name” in the industry despite not being affiliated with a studio.  Romero is always dependable (Shadow Man was an awful film though the actor himself was not), but had I been the casting director on Girl I would have suggested he switch parts with co-star George Brent.

You know my position on Brent—a.k.a. “Bette Davis’ doormat”—here at TDOY.  So this will come as a bit of surprise to you—he’s actually damn good in FBI Girl.  He’s so convincing as a Jack Webb-like, stick-up-his-keister Fed that the moment in the film when he starts to express regret about putting Audrey’s character in danger he has trouble selling it; Romero, on the other hand, is the hardcase telling George to pull up his big boy pants and stop whining.  (I think it would have worked better the other way around.)

As for Audrey…well, FBI Girl is not her finest hour.  She’s not terrible (she could never be!) but she’s really been saddled with a thankless part…and it doesn’t help matters that her love interest is played by the staggeringly uninspiring Tom Drake.  (That having been said, I love the fact that Drake’s lobbyist character is a bad guy—because I believe in my heart of hearts that lobbyists are evil.)  Despite so many memorable performances (Lady in the Lake, The Set-Up) Totter’s career in movies and TV gave way to roles not worthy of her talents (you check out any episode of Cimarron City and you’ll know what I mean).

Just as Loan Shark (1952) benefited from first-rate scoundrels in Paul Stewart and John Hoyt, FBI Girl avails itself of the villainy of Raymond Burr, a.k.a. The Man Who Would Be Mason.  Burr has a delightful showcase as political fixer Blake…whose interest in furthering Grisby’s career isn’t altruistic—he’s got a lot invested in the Guv hizzownself, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let this puling old wanker scotch his ambitions.  (I suppose you could make a case—if you disagree with my assertion that Girl isn’t noir—that the presence of Burr and Totter does give the picture some Dark City bona fides.)  Other character greats on hand include Byron Foulger, O.Z. Whitehead, Marie Blake, George Eldredge, and Joi Lansing—and a future game show host and his comedic partner in Peter Marshall and Tommy Noonan.

Yes, a title card for FBI Girl reads “Introducing Tommy Noonan and Peter Marshall”—which is a little bit of a misnomer, since the comedy duo had already appeared in the Lippert pictures The Return of Jesse James (1950) and Holiday Rhythm (1950).  Tom and Pete (shout-out to a West Virginia boy!) do a routine on a TV set that Romero is forced to watch with Totter’s other two roomies; I guess Sid Melton was busy elsewhere on the lot.  Noonan didn’t do badly for himself in later years—he’s remembered for appearances in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) and A Star is Born (1954)—and of course, Marshall was the longtime host of TV’s Hollywood Squares…but as a comedy team they were strictly from hunger (they made two more pictures, The Rookie [1959] and Swingin’ Along [1961]) and thankfully disbanded as a grateful nation wept tears of joy.

I wish I had the opportunity to listen to the audio commentary for FBI Girl from Facebook compadre/noir expert Alan K. Rode…but I was little pressed for time this week, and so I’ll have to save that dessert for a more convenient time.  This volume of Forgotten Film Noir (a double feature of Girl and 1949’s Tough Assignment, which is on tap for next week) also features trailers for Girl as well as Bad Blonde (1953), Deadly Game (1954), and Man Bait (1952), and bios on the film’s stars plus a photo gallery.  You can rent this at your friendly neighborhood ClassicFlix—I highly recommend this one.

B-Western Wednesdays: Stagecoach Kid (1949)

Wealthy railroad magnate Peter Arnold is headed west by stagecoach to Arizona, where he owns a sizable cattle ranch…and he’s in the company of his daughter Jessie (Jeff Donnell), who would rather have purchased a ticket to anywhere but here.  Jessie has a beau in Frisco, and she wants nothing more than to journey to the land of cable cars and Rice-a-Roni to canoodle with him…but Papa Peter does not approve of the young man, so that’s that.  Arnold’s ranch is being looked after by a nasty no-good named Thatcher (Joe Sawyer)—who’s not only been smoking Arnold’s cigars and drinking up his good liquor but selling off Arnold’s herd and pocketing the proceeds.  This kind of chicanery will not look good on his prospects for continued employment at Rancho Arnold…so Thatch directs his henchmen, Clint (Robert Bray) and Parnell (Robert Williams), to attack the stage and dispose of Mr. A.

The attack on the stagecoach is thwarted by Dave Collins (Tim Holt) and Chito Rafferty (Richard Martin), the two individuals who own the stage line (and like The Lone Ranger and Tonto, just happen to be in the vicinity when all this goes down); Dave and Chito chase those rough boys away before they can commit mayhem, and guide the Arnolds to nearby Casco City.  Once in Casco, Jessie steals away from the old man—and gets a Lucy Ricardo-like idea to don male garb so she can continue on to Prescott, grab a freight to Frisco, and be with the man she loves.  As the stage departs Casco—with “Jesse” and Birdie (Carol Hughes), a lady friend of Chito’s, on board—Clint and Parnell have another go at getting rid of Father Arnold…only to discover he’s not on the stage (he’s back in Casco, looking for his “daughter”).  Thatcher’s goons decide to take a strongbox filled with $20,000 to make up for their oopsie…but in their getaway, Jessie gets a look at Parnell under his kerchief.  The hunt is now on to round up the bandits—and to protect the only witness.

Boyd Magers at Western Clippings gives Stagecoach Kid (1949) a laudatory four-star rating…and despite my stated dislike for Richard Martin as Tim Holt’s sidekick Chito, I am in agreement that Kid is one of the best entries in the R-K-O Holt series.  It’s well-written (story and screenplay by Norman Houston) and well-directed (the indefatigable programmer-meister Lew Landers), with a superb supporting cast that includes Joe Sawyer (who worked in various “mug” roles at Warner’s over the years), future Lassie ranger Robert Bray, Thurston Hall, Carol Hughes, and Kenneth MacDonald—again surprising me by playing a man on the right side of the law (he’s the sheriff of Casco).

It’s Jeff Donnell’s performance as Jessie/Jesse that makes Stagecoach Kid a favorite here at Rancho Yesteryear; I’m a big fan of the actress and her appearances in such classics as The Power of the Whistler (1945), The Phantom Thief (1946), In a Lonely Place (1950), and The Blue Gardenia (1953).  (Director Landers worked with Donnell in the 1942 Boris Karloff-Peter Lorre oddity The Boogie Man Will Get You.)  Jeff later played George Gobel’s wife Alice on his comedy-variety series in the 1950s, and recurring roles on both Dr. Kildare and Julia.

Donnell’s male masquerade requires a huge suspension of disbelief; at one point in Kid, Holt’s character admits that he knew she was a female all along…but I didn’t buy it, and I don’t think anyone else watching this oater will either (my guess is that “Dave Collins” grew up in a monastery).  Jeff has a difficult task in Kid; the character she portrays is a spoiled, selfish woman…and yet the actress makes her quite likable with her insouciant approach to the role.  When she’s first introduced to Martin’s character—he announces he’s “Chito Jose Gonzales Bustamente Rafferty” with his usual flourish—her response is a thing of beauty: “Who cares?”

Many fans of Holt’s westerns have pointed out that the star displays a bit of a romantic side in Stagecoach Kid; there’s even a suggestion that he and Jessie will hook up at the final fadeout (both of them go in for a kiss).  But there’s something mighty distasteful about this romance: if we accept Dave’s assertion of “Yeah, I knew you were a girl the whole time”—then why does he resort to caveman tactics like giving her a swift kick in the ass and, later, turning her across his knee for a spanking?  I could comprehend this behavior if he were disciplining an unruly kid (I don’t endorse it, mind you—but I understand) but if Dave hasn’t been fooled by “Jesse” he kind of comes across as a macho dink.  That part of the picture left a bad taste in my mouth (it’s been suggested by a few that Kid is a western remake of It Happened One Night), and the implication that the two will happy-ever-after once the theatre lights go up doesn’t ring true.

The romance in these films is usually best to the libidinous Chito, the character of Birdie provides an amusing wrap-up to Stagecoach Kid when she turns up in full bridal regalia…prompting Chito to say hello Mexico and adios baby to you.  Carol Hughes, who does fine work as Birdie, was originally going to play Donnell’s part but settled for a supporting role due to a scheduling conflict.  My copy of Kid was obtained, of course, from The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™…but if you’re TCM-deprived (something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, by the way), it’s available on the Warner Archive MOD collection Tim Holt Western Classics: Volume 2.

o protect the only witness.

gets a look at Parnell under his kerchief.  The hunt is now on to round up the bandits--and the man

Book Review: 101 Horror Movies/101 Sci-Fi Movies You Must See Before You Die

Because life can often be as serendipitous as the movies, the news that two books edited by film critic-scholar Steven Jay Schneider—101 Horror Movies You Must See Before You Die and 101 Sci-Fi Movies You Must See Before You Die—have been re-released this October after languishing in publishing limbo for the past seven years seems like an incredible coinky-dink.  I’m sure it isn’t, of course, but nevertheless this is fantastic news for those of you who have been searching high and low for the perfect gift for that special someone this Halloween.  (Hey…I’m sure there are folks out there who exchange Halloween gifts.  Stop looking me like I’m crazy.  Well, more than you usually do, at any rate.)

The name “Steven Jay Schneider” may be familiar to many of you movie mavens out there: he’s the general editor of 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die—a hefty reference tome that has influenced a good many movie websites and blogs out there in NetLand, to be sure.  Schneider has since turned to movie producing (he produced the latest Blair Witch reboot, among many films), but maintains an affection for horror movies; his previous books include Horror Film and Psychoanalysis: Freud's Worst Nightmares and Fear Without Frontiers: Horror Cinema Across the Globe.  Publicity material for 101 Horror/101 Sci-Fi states that S.J.’s three favorite horror movies are The Haunting (the 1963 version), Rosemary’s Baby, and The Shining.  (Well…two out of three ain’t bad, I suppose.)

As someone who unabashedly prefers older movies, 101 Horror Movies features essays on many Thrilling Days of Yesteryear favorites—ranging from silent cinema (The Golem, Nosferatu) to the Universal classics (Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolf Man) to cult essentials (The Masque of the Red Death, The Devil Rides Out).  I was particularly impressed with how the book approaches cinema horror from a wider standpoint than just American movies; you’ll find a lot of entries like Ringu, The Devil’s Backbone, and Onibaba (this will make the rounds on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ in December) …as well as foreign classics like Eyes Without a Face, Black Sunday, and Viy.

Of course, the handicap with these kinds of books is that they encourage folks (let’s use me as an example) to invariably ask “But what about…?”  You won’t find The Mummy (the 1932 Karloff version) in this book, nor Son of Frankenstein (if you include the first two, why not the third?).  Night of the Demon is glaringly absent, and I’m puzzled by the inclusion of entries like M and Diabolique—while suspenseful, I don’t think I would classify them as horror movies.  And at the risk of having to fight off everyone in the comments section, I’m still bewildered by the popularity of The Shining, one of the most critically-overrated films in the history of cinema.  (Do what damage you must; I only ask that you refrain from insinuating my parents aren’t married.)

Here’s the explanation why owning both books are essential: 101 Sci-Fi Movies lists movies that could be considered horror, but were probably placed in this volume because of their emphasis on science.  (Science!)  Movies like Them! and Invasion of the Body Snatchers are horror movies to me, though I should stress it’s always troubling to try and box in a movie to just one category.  Just as with 101 Horror Movies, Sci-Fi features silent movie entries (A Trip to the Moon, Metropolis) and some vintage classics like The Invisible Man (the 1933 version) and Things to Come.  (There’s a fifteen-year gap between Things and The Thing from Another World, suggesting that there was a dry spell when it came to science-fiction on the silver screen.)  101 Sci-Fi makes room for some of my genuine favorites: Seconds, Quatermass and the Pit, and Sleeper (it’s in there, honest to my grandma!).

Both 101 Horror and 101 Sci-Fi are larded with rich illustrations, and the essays themselves in both books are clear and concise.  Unfortunately, these entries are not immune from the occasional error; my favorite is this one from Dracula: “Tod Browning made a series of psychologically twisted, cult-like films with Lon Chaney (the actor originally cast as Dracula).  Chaney played a “disturbed” corner of a little love triangle—he was a horribly deformed suitor in Browning’s 1932 Freaks.”  Considering Lon died in 1930 and Freaks came out in 1932…that is quite a feat.  Here’s the thing: Freaks is listed as one of the 101 Horror Movies, and a glance at the cast list reveals no mention of The Man of a Thousand Faces.  (You’d think Schneider would have caught this…maybe he was distracted by being called to the set.)

So here’s the $64 question: are the 101 films in both the Horror and Sci-Fi book releases really movies you must see before departing to that Great Multiplex in the Sky?  Yes.  Yes, they are.  (I’ll be around to check on your progress in about another hour.)  Okay, I’m just being a little facetious; these books should be accepted solely as a guideline for recommendations in case you’re presented with the ultimate movie-watching dilemma: “What haven’t I seen already?”  (Since I was able to check off most of the older movies, I should really seek out more recent titles as The Descent, Let the Right One In, and It Follows.)  I enjoyed poring through both of these books; the only Steven Jay Schneider publication with which I had a previous passing familiarity was 101 Cult Movies You Must See Before You Die (I picked this one up for change at Hamilton Books), and while it was a breezy read it can’t hold a candle to the Danny Peary trilogy (Cult Movies, Cult Movies 2, Cult Movies 3).  I’d highly recommend a purchase of 101 Horror Movies You Must See Before You Die and 101 Sci-Fi Movies You Must See Before You Die; they’re digest-sized, and would fit snugly in that significant other’s Halloween stocking or Trick-or-Treat bag.  Many thanks to Steve Roth at Quatro Publishing for providing TDOY with review copies.