“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.

“Good evening…friends of the Inner Sanctum…”

The month of October for my mother is akin to how a child acts at Christmas.  Mom loves horror movies, with a particular jones for the Universal horror films…and anything with a vampire in it, really.  Because operating the DVD/Blu-ray player that’s hooked up to our living room TV is a bit beyond her pay grade, she often asks me to put a movie in for her every evening.  I use “ask” in the loosest interpretation of the word, of course.  It’s more like whining.  (“Pleeeeeeeeeaaase…”)

I don’t mind, of course, because I have developed this habit of eating regularly…and Mom is a first-rate cook.  Since I have seen the requested movies on many occasions, however, I tend to just slip the disc into the player and work on the tablet while she enjoys a good old-fashioned thrill and chill.  We lucked out this past Sunday night (October 2) because The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ ran the first three entries in the Frankenstein trilogy—Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939)—so I was thinking that would save a little wear-and-tear on the player.  Ha!  Mom called an audible after the first movie was over, saying she wasn’t up for Bride.  (And people laugh at me when I suggest I was re-dopted.  We watched the last of the Universal Sherlock Holmes features, Dressed to Kill [1946], instead.)  But she did not get away with dissing Bride—since it’s available on TCM on Demand, I downloaded it and we watched it Thursday night.  (“Smoke!  Friend!”)

October—and really, fall in general—has always meant old-time radio to me.  I can’t explain exactly why this is the case, but I suspect it has something to do with a vivid memory from 1984, when a Savannah station (WWSA, now right-wing talk radio WKTS) broadcast some OTR horror programs on Halloween Eve…and you couldn’t have stopped me from getting to a radio fast enough.  I recall WWSA ran a couple episodes of Inner Sanctum Mystery, though the only title that really sticks out in my mind is “A Corpse for Halloween” (10/31/49).  Two years earlier, I just happened to be listening to NPR one Sunday afternoon (I was attending Marshall University at the time) and heard an interview with the legendary Arch Oboler…which was my introduction to his excursion in radio horror, Lights Out.

So because I’m wallowing in nostalgia at the moment (I know…you’re completely gobsmacked by this revelation), I came up with an incredible promotional giveaway to celebrate October and all things Halloween.  I wrote liner notes for two Radio Spirits releases: Lights Out: Later Than You Think (released in October of last year and valued at a SRP of $39.98) and Inner Sanctum: Shadows of Death (released this past March—SRP: $31.95).  I have a single copy of each collection to give away, but I thought to myself—why not “bundle” these collections?  (Ah, this DISH terminology just clings to me—does it not?)

So bundle them I have.  Here’s what you need to do to enter for a chance to win.

1) Send me an e-mail with “Inner Sanctum/Lights Out” in the subject header to igsjrotr(at)gmail(dot)com.  You have until 11:59pm EDT on October 15, 2016 to enter, which should be plenty of time to imagine yourselves winning this prize (Thrilling Days of Yesteryear will not be responsible for any goosebumps).

2) Make sure you are a U.S. resident or have a U.S. mailing address.  (I left this information out of the last TDOY giveaway…and if there had been a winner outside of the continental U.S. I would have been obligated to send them their swag.  Suffice it to say, I dodged a bullet.)  Believe me, I would jump at the chance to be able to open these contests to my Canadian cousins and beyond…but despite what you may have heard, I am not a wealthy man.  (I also have little patience for USPS bureaucracy, as a certain smock-wearing postal employee in Savannah will readily attest.)

3) Also, too: if you’ve won one of the blog’s contests in the past thirty days, it’s just good manners to sit this one out to allow other members of the TDOY faithful a chance to get some fantabulous swag.  (We’re on the honor system here—even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.)

4) I will choose one winner—sorry I don’t have enough sets for two this time—the next morning and inform the lucky person of their tremendous good fortune.  Keep in mind that when entering, you don’t have to provide a snail-mail address…but I will need it should your name be called.

5) There is no number five.

I am jazzed beyond description to be able to offer this promotion, and I hope there are enough Inner Sanctum and Lights Out fans out there to justify a good response (the Escape contest got a very healthy reception…though I'll admit I kind of “goosed” it with a few Facebook mentions).  Remember: you can’t win if you don’t enter—Thrilling Days of Yesteryear is the phrase that pays!

Oh…one more thing.  Turner Classic Movies will run the next three vehicles in Universal’s Frankenstein franchise tomorrow night (Sunday, October 9) beginning at 8pm EDT; The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942), Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943), and House of Frankenstein (1944).  In anticipation of this event, Mom has duct-taped the remote to her hand so as to keep it out of the clutches of my father.  (Okay, not really—but she did suggest it.)  Until the next time we get together on the blog…pleasant dreams...hmmmm?

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Mask of the Dragon (1951)

Finishing up a tour of duty in Korea, Lt. Dan Oliver (Richard Emory) pays a visit to the humble curio shop of Chen Koo (Eddie Lee), where he’s asked to take a jade dragon back with him to the States and deliver it to antiques collector Professor Kim Ho (Jack Reitzen).  (Asked why he just doesn’t mail the darn thing, Chen Koo gripes that the mail service is unreliable, what with a “police action” going on and all.)  Oliver reasons he could always use a little extra chicken feed in his pocket, and so he agrees to the deal—making certain that the package containing the artifact is sent in care of Ginny O’Donnell (Sheila Ryan) in L.A.

Back in the U.S.A., Dan calls Ginny’s boyfriend—Phil Ramsey (Richard Travis), who also happens to be Oliver’s partner in a detective agency (as well as an old war buddy).  (If that isn’t enough, Ginny coincidentally works as a lab technician for the L.A. police force, because movies are magic, ma chere.)  While on the phone with Philsie, Dan gets a knife in the back from a pair of hoods (Karl “Killer” Davis, Sid Melton) most anxious to acquire the precious dragon of jade.  Since Dan has been murdered—and someone’s responsible!—Phil takes it upon himself to solve the killing, because “When a man's partner is killed he's supposed to do something about it.  It doesn't make any difference what you thought of him.  He was your partner and you’re supposed to do something about it.”  (I learned that from Dashiell Hammett.)

The Newfield/Neufeld brothers, the masterminds behind Fingerprints Don’t Lie (1951), reunite a few members from the cast of that stellar film (it says here) in Mask of the Dragon (1951), a “Spartan Production” from the independent B-picture studio of Robert L. Lippert.  (As my ClassicFlix colleague and proprietor of In the Balcony Cliff Weimer remarks: “Probably filmed in the same afternoon.”)  Richard Travis, Sheila Ryan, Sid Melton, Lyle Talbot, Richard Emory, Dee Tatum, Margia Dean—the whole Hee Haw gang is here, though playing completely different characters, of course.  Friend Cliff’s assessment is that Dragon is the better film “because it’s so silly.”  It certainly is silly, but that does not make it better.  (Its running time is shorter, if that helps any.)

You’ll speculate that both were shot at the same time because the same “police laboratory” set is used for both films and Dragon also avails itself of the Mighty Wurlitzer stylings of Bert Shefter (on loan from Mutual Radio).  But actor Travis gives it away when he tells Tatum in one scene: “Fingerprints don’t lie…”  What’s amazing to me about this movie is that even though it runs just 53 minutes (it’s very short) they still had to pad it; there are a couple of musical numbers (western standards Red River Valley and Cindy) performed by Curt Barrett and the Trailsmen.  I was all prepared to make a snarky joke about how this western music group remained justifiably obscure but a glance at the (always reliable) IMDb reveals that they appeared in a trio of Johnny Mack Brown Monogram oaters between 1946 and 1947 (Drifting Along, The Gentleman from Texas, and Raiders of the South).  I can state without hesitation that Dragon was their cinematic swan song…though we may be hearing from them again on B-Western Wednesdays.  They’re introduced, by the way, by legendary emcee and announcer Johnny Grant, the unofficial “Mayor of Hollywood,” and until his death in 2008 the man who officiated the ceremonies on The Hollywood Walk of Fame.  (Grant does a commercial in Dragon for Chanticleer Alarm Clocks: “It crows on you.”)

There’s a lot of comic relief in Mask of the Dragon, which admittedly makes it a little less painful to watch than Fingerprints (did I mention it’s also shorter?).  We have Brother Sid Melton, Lippert’s resident “good luck charm,” to thank for this; Sid really lets loose with some funny ad-libs, most of which are delivered in “yellow face” as the barker outside The Jade Lotus, the antique shop run by master villain Kim Ho.  “Come see Chiang Kai-shek and his brother, Cancelled Shek!” Melton beckons.  (I also like the joke about “Mah Jongg and Pa Jongg and all the little Jonggs.”)  Dragon also features an actor—well, professional wrestler is more accurate—who goes by “Mr. Moto.”  (I swear I am not making this up.)  If you’re not a particularly discerning movie viewer, you might enjoy Dragon—though I will warn you up front (although you’ve probably caught on by now) there’s nothing “noir” about it in the slightest.

From the moment Oliver sashayed into Chen Koo’s establishment, I thought: “He’s going to haul something back to the U.S., and it’s going to contain a buttload of narcotics.”  Well, it turns out I was wrong—a newspaper headline just before Mask of the Dragon calls it a day gives authorities a back-pat for breaking up a ring smuggling contraband uranium.  But I was wrong only in the sense that this is how the Breen Office insisted the picture to end; originally both the dragon and the eight “Immortals” figurines contained opium…naturally, they feared that sort of plot development would warp impressionable young minds.  (You could argue that only a warped mind would see where that was headed in the first place…and I wouldn’t put up much of a defense.)

"Confucius say 'No refunds, suckers!'"

As the fifty-three minutes that was Mask of the Dragon thankfully comes to a close, Travis’ character breaks “the fourth wall” and says to the audience: “Confucius say: when hero catch crook...time for picture to end.”  Ivan say: “Bad movie like dead fish—cannot stand the test of time.”  (Okay, I’m paraphrasing Charlie Chan here…but I think it’s appropriate.)

B-Western Wednesdays: In Old Santa Fe (1934)

Two cowpokes, Kentucky (Ken Maynard) and Cactus (George “Gabby” Hayes), are en route to a dude ranch when they encounter a fetching young woman in Lila Miller (Evalyn Knapp), to whom they offer a helping hand when her car runs off the road.  As movies would have it, Lila is the daughter of the man who owns the ranch, Charlie Miller (H.B. Warner)—but dude ranching isn’t the only thing on Miller’s plate; he’s amassed a goodly amount of wealth from a lucrative gold mine.

Lila accepts a lift to the ranch from a passing stagecoach, on which ride passengers Chandler (Kenneth Thompson) and Tracy (Wheeler Oakman).  These two city slickers are planning much mayhem; Chandler knows that Miller has a shady past (Charlie’s a wanted man for violating his parole) and not only does he want to get his greasy mitts on the Miller gold he’s taken a shine to the sweet and demure Lila as well.  But he’s got a rival in Ken, and Chandler not only arranges for our hero to lose a horse race at the ranch (he also talks Cactus into betting Ken’s trusty steed, Tarzan, on the outcome) but frames him for robbery and murder!  Will Ken triumph in the end?  (I’d bet the ranch on it!)

At one time in Hollywood, Ken Maynard was one of the motion picture industry’s highest-paid B-picture cowboy stars.  The handsome matinee idol practically began his career in silent Westerns as an extra and stuntman (an exception was the D.W. Griffith-directed Janice Meredith in 1924); he then graduated to starring roles in a number of popular oaters for Warner Brothers, and then smoothly transitioned to sound with stints at Universal, Tiffany, and Sono Art-World Wide Pictures.  The reason why Maynard made the rounds at so many movie factories is because the sagebrush actor had acquired a reputation completely at odds with his squeaky-clean image onscreen: he drank, swore, womanized…and in general, was an obnoxious, egomaniacal prima donna who generated unbridled hostility from everyone who either worked or had dealings with him.  (Even his horse Tarzan gave him justifiable side-eye.)

Nat Levine, a film producer who founded the independent Mascot Pictures studio in 1927, hired Maynard for what was going to be a series of Westerns…but Ken wouldn’t straighten out his act so he got the old heave-ho after making a serial, Mystery Mountain (1934), and today’s B-oater—In Old Santa Fe (1934).  In retrospect, it’s a shame Maynard was such a dingus because while Santa Fe isn’t the greatest of sagebrush programmers, it’s a very entertaining saga that features one of Ken’s best performances.  (Maynard, to put it simply, was a bit limited in the thespic department.)  Santa Fe also boasts a pretty good supporting cast: Evalyn Knapp is much more animated than the usual Western leading lady; Kenneth Thompson is so oily he probably leaves a residue after finishing in the bathtub; and Wheeler Oakman is also at his villainous best (in true Oakman fashion, he plans to double-cross Thompson…and fails miserably in the process).

In Old Santa Fe also features an early turn from George Hayes (honest, that’s how he’s billed, dadgummit) in his cantankerous sidekick persona, which would put him in very good stead working alongside later B-western heroes like William “Hopalong Cassidy” Boyd and Roy Rogers.  (Gabby tells Oakman at one point in the movie the reason he’s called “Cactus” is because he’s “prickly.”)  Hayes would also work with a cowboy star that made his motion picture debut in Santa Fe—none other than The Singing Cowboy hisself, Gene Autry.

Gene and his longtime sidekick Lester Alvin “Smiley” Burnette (also making his movie debut) appear in a brief sequence making music at a hoedown being held at the Miller ranch; Gene performs the title tune and Wyoming Waltz while Smiley warbles Mama Don’t Like Music Played in Here (a song co-written by he and Gene…though I always thought the title was Mama Don’t ‘Low).  (Not to be outdone, star Maynard belts out That’s What I Like About My Dog and Because You Didn’t Get a Girl—though the credit for Ken’s vocals goes to Bob Nolan of The Sons of the Pioneers.)  Despite his limitations as both a singer and actor (even Autry acknowledged this), Levine saw much potential in “America’s Favorite Cowboy,” and cast him in the studio’s 1935 serial, The Phantom Empire (a role that was originally slated for Ken Maynard, until he spoiled a good time for everyone else).  You pretty much know the rest of the story: Autry became a huge movie star (Levine’s Mascot studio was one of several that was folded into Herbert J. Yates’ Republic the following year, where Gene would work until 1947), not to mention a major recording artist with successful ventures into radio (Gene Autry’s Melody Ranch) and TV (The Gene Autry Show).  To demonstrate that Gene was gooder and kinder and decenter than the star of In Old Santa Fe, he arranged for financial assistance on Maynard’s behalf when Ken eventually hit the skids.

The print of In Old Santa Fe that I DVR’d off The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ gives Gene Autry top billing (“Nat Levine presents Gene Autry”) even though Mr. A’s participation is pretty minimal; I suspect this was a re-issue print, and that Nat decided to tamper with the original credits in an effort to cash in on Gene’s popularity.  Santa Fe’s passed into the public domain, so finding a copy won’t be too much of a trial; the TCM print runs 62 minutes, which is a couple of minutes shorter than the running time listed in Leonard Maltin’s Classic Movie Guide.  Len also gives the flick three stars—which I think is a bit on the generous side, though it is quite enjoyable.  (Anybody who rides a horse called “Tarzan”—that’s just incredibly cool.)

Book Review: Sin and Vice in Black & White

Two weeks ago in this space, I ate up a little Internets bandwidth telling you about my fellow Classic Movie Blog Association compadre John Greco’s e-book Film Noir at Twenty Four Frames Per Second.  I mentioned that John was prolific when it came to e-book publishing…and while I don’t wish to trivialize his notable efforts, John’s kind of a piker when it comes to the output of another CMBA member-in-good-standing—Rupert Alistair.

Rupe is the proprietor of Classic Movies Digest, a fine weblog about one of my favorite subjects (natch)…yet I think the wonderful thing about Rupert’s blog is that his posts are laced with passion for the cinematic subjects he writes about.  Alistair is the kind of writer who is just going to bust unless he can pass along his excitement about a favorite movie to the person perusing the essay.  This, as you may have already suspected, is a very good thing.

It’s Rupert’s prolificacy in the e-book arena that really sets him apart from his fellow movie mavens: as of this writing, he’s e-published five issues of essays in the Classic Movies Digest series; three editions of The Name Below the Title (an emphasis on those great character thesps that we worship here at TDOY); Hollywood and the Home Front: 25 Fabulous Films from the Forties; The Search for Scarlett O’Hara: Gone with the Wind and Hollywood’s Most Famous Casting Call; and three “why-haven’t-you-watched-this-already” books that are available separately or in a single Kindle bundle: Classic Movies, Classic Movie Gems, and Hidden Hollywood Gold.  I think it’s a safe bet that by the time I’ve finished a bowl of Cheerios tomorrow morning Rupe will have added at least three more e-books to that list.

I kid.  I kid because I love.  You know what else I love?  Pre-Code movies.  Which is why I took several trash bags filled with pop cans (a souvenir of my former sugary soda-drinking ways) down to the recycle center, raising enough scratch to purchase a Kindle copy of Sin and Vice in Black & White: 15 Classic Pre-Code Movies.  (Okay, I’m just joking about the soda cans.  It hasn’t come to that…yet.)

After a brief chapter (“What Are Pre-Code Movies?”) that educates the classic movie novice on what constitutes a Pre-Code film, Rupert describes vehicles featuring Joan Crawford (Paid, Dancing Lady), Jean Harlow (Red-Headed Woman, Red Dust), and his personal favorite, Barbara Stanwyck (Ladies of Leisure, Shopworn).  Alistair covers some very familiar titles (I’m No Angel, Footlight Parade) and some that are a bit lesser-known (Girls About Town, Mandalay) …and also some personal favorites here at TDOY (Safe in Hell, Blonde Venus).  If I were Rupe’s editor, I might have suggested maybe adding another Warren William title (his essay on 1933’s The Mind Reader is exceptionally good)—but that’s just a pin prick of a nitpick.

I’ve said this often on the ol’ blog…but to me, the mark of a good movie critic is making the reader unfamiliar with the film discussed say to him/herself: “Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle—I have got to slip this in my ClassicFlix queue!”  (Okay, so I did a little pimping there for my bosses.  This is assuming it’s on DVD, of course.  If not, your friendly neighborhood bootlegger will no doubt be getting an e-mail.)  A good reviewer can also persuade that reader who has seen the film that they need to put the ClassicFlix-bootlegger wheels in motion in order to experience it a second—or third, or however many occasions it’s been watched—time.  Rupert has an edge over a lot of his fellow classic movie scribes in that there’s no question he loves the movies he writes about, and is able to vividly express that adoration on each e-book page.  (It’s so awkward not being able to write “printed page.”)

“The films discussed here are by no means the only ones worth their salt as movie offerings during the period,” Alistair notes in his “What Are Pre-Code Movies?” prologue, “nor are they necessarily the best or the worst.”  But I feel Rupert’s batting average in Sin and Vice in Black & White is pretty solid, and not only would I not hesitate recommending it to classic movies fans, I’d emphasize the fact that the price of the Kindle book ($2.99) is sweeter than high fructose corn syrup.  (Which reminds me…I have some soda cans to crush in order to fundraise buying more of Rupe’s books.)