Forgotten Noir Fridays: Scotland Yard Inspector (1952)

Danny McMara is the victim of an automobile accident—he was struck by a car and killed in a London fog as thick as sea poop.  His sister Heather (Bernadette O’Farrell), who hasn’t seen Danny Boy in several months, was supposed to meet him in a pub…but upon receiving word of Danny’s death, gets a little sympathetic assist from magazine reporter Philip O’Dell (Cesar Romero), who’s also in that pub when Heather gets the bad news.  You see, Heather suspects that Danny was murdered and O’Dell—an American who spent time during the war in Old Blighty—convinces her to take her concerns to Scotland Yard, bragging that his pal Inspector McLendon will investigate the matter.

Arriving at the Yard, O’Dell is surprised to learn that McLendon has retired (he must not have been much of a friend if he didn’t keep in touch) and Inspector Rigby (Campbell Singer) is now in charge.  Rigby isn’t too enthused at the prospect of Phil playing amateur detective, but that’s just what O’Dell sets out to do…and his investigation uncovers a blackmail scheme involving both a movie producer (Geoffrey Keen) and the proprietress of a nightclub (Lois Maxwell).

Our old friend Sam Newfield has returned once again to Forgotten Noir Fridays—this time to direct a Hammer Films production (brother Siggy is nowhere in sight) released on the other side of the pond as Lady in the Fog (1952).  This title makes a lot more sense than Scotland Yard Inspector—the name assigned to the movie when it played for U.S. audiences—because the titular law enforcement official is a minor character in this vehicle.  You get the impression that star Cesar Romero is the inspector, and he’s not—he’s just a simple journalist.  This recalls the previously discussed Shadow Man [1953], the clunky U.S. title of the more aptly British-named Street of Shadows.)

Romero and director Newfield

Cesar Romero is a very likable actor, so even when he’s been saddled with a movie that’s a bit beneath his thespic talents you don’t really mind too much; Scotland Yard Inspector isn’t a terrible film, but it’s a terribly contrived one.  The plot of Inspector has more holes than the Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail.  For starters, O’Dell and Heather journey to the nightclub for a lead on Danny’s former whereabouts, and in a conversation with a waiter (Jacques Cey) it’s revealed that the nightspot only caters to “members” or someone who’s “been signed in by a member.”  All well and good…but just how did O’Dell and Heather get into the place?   It would appear to be after hours—the joint is pretty much deserted save for a chorus line doing their routine—so I guess you could surmise they’re not choosy about whether you’ve presented a membership card the door…but O’Dell and Heather make subsequent trips to the joint when it appears pretty packed.  (The expressions on the faces of the chorus girls are good for a laugh—they reminded me of the “Eh…it’s a living” attitude of the animal appliances on The Flintstones.)

Later in Inspector, Romero’s muckraker pays a visit to a sanitarium to track down a guy (Lloyd Lamble) involved in the blackmail scheme…and this place has the laxest security I’ve ever witnessed; there aren’t even any bars on the windows, which is how O’Dell can get inside (after being told the person he wants to have a chinwag with is dead) and find the man he’s looking for.  I guess that sanitarium works on the honor system.  What’s more, the director of the sanitarium (Betty Cooper) gets a phone call from the movie producer that O’Dell is on his way there—you’d think she would have alerted the rest of the staff…or better still, informed the guy at the gate not to let anyone in until they’ve gotten the seal of approval.

Fans of the James Bond franchise might be amused at the participation of Lois Maxwell in this movie; the Canadian-born actress appeared in a few U.S. films (The Dark Past, The Crime Doctor’s Diary) before relocating to Italy to try her luck in the flickers there.  Maxwell is best remembered as “Miss Moneypenny” in fourteen films in the 007 series…and since she wisely chose to play that secretarial role instead of Sylvia Trench, Bond’s girlfriend, they should have renamed her character “Miss Smartmoneypenny” (they dumped the Trench character after the second film, From Russia With Love).  Lois plays a gal who’s b-b-b-b-b-b-bad to the bone in Scotland Yard Inspector, and she shares opening credits billing with Romero.

Scotland Yard Inspector features a lot of light comedy relief—I’m surprised Sid Melton didn’t turn up in this, he must not have gotten his messages from his service—including an amusing running gag involving an airline clerk (Frank Birch) driven to distraction by O’Dell’s repeated changing of his plans.  I smiled when I spotted Katie Johnson—the indestructible old dame from The Ladykillers—in a nice turn as a dotty sanitarium patient (she identifies herself as “Mary Stuart”), and Bill Fraser—“Snudge” of the classic Britcoms The Army Game and Bootsie and Snudge—plays a sales manager.

Scotland Yard Inspector’s claim to being a noir seems to subsist on the presence of fog (the B-picture director’s best friend), a femme fatale (Maxwell), and Romero’s sartorial choice of a trench coat (well, he also gets sapped by an assailant at one point).  It’s worth checking out if you’ve seen everything else, but personally I’d rather sit through a good noir again.

The British Empire in Film Blogathon: Carry On… Up the Khyber (1968)

The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to The British Empire in Film Blogathon, currently underway from November 14-17 and hosted by Clayton at Phantom Empires and Jeff at The Stalking Moon.  For a complete list of participants and the films/topics discussed, click here, here, here and here.

India: 1895.  The Northwest Frontier Province of Kalabar is governed by Her Majesty’s representative, Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond (Sidney James).  Ruff-Diamond and his wife, Lady Joan (Joan Sims), live a life of luxury and ease matched only by the true rulers of that country—in this case, Randy Lal, The Khasi of Kalabar (Kenneth Williams).  Relations between the two men are cordial, but there is an undeniable element of hostility between them—to make matters worse, Lady Joan has taken a fancy to the Khasi because her husband is a little inattentive in the marital responsibilities department…if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

The British governance of Kalabar is threatened, however, when Burpa warlord Bungdit Din (Bernard Bresslaw) discovers a horrible secret as he is attacking the famed Khyber Pass.  The sentry on duty, PFC Jimmy Widdle (Charles Hawtrey) of the 3rd Foot and Mouth Regiment, is found to be wearing underwear underneath his kilt.  The Indian tribes believe that the Regiment, to whom they refer as “The Devils in Skirts,” are invincible in battle because they choose to go commando—so if the news were to get out, anti-British rebellion is almost certain to foment.  Lady Joan doesn’t help the situation any when she snaps a photograph of the Regiment on parade, revealing that all of them wear undergarments underneath.

So Widdle, Captain Keene (Roy Castle) and Sergeant Major MacNutt (Terry Scott)—with the reluctant help of missionary Brother Belcher (Peter Buttersworth)—make an attempt to infiltrate the Khasi’s palace and retrieve that photo before the sun sets on the British Empire.  In the meantime, Sir Sidney—clearly devastated that his wife is in the clutches of the Khasi—is comforted by the ruler’s many wives (fifty-one in all)…who must “right the wrong” that has been done to him.  (It’s nice work if you can get it, mate.)

I’m sure after reading the above description—or even glancing at the cast members—that you’ve surmised Carry On… Up the Khyber (1968) is a comedic farce that sends up life in the British Raj.  The “Carry On” films were a popular British franchise that saw a total of 31 feature films produced between 1958 (Carry On Sergeant) and 1992 (Carry On Columbus), and are second only to the James Bond movie series as the second longest continual film franchise from our cousins across the pond (though the Carry On series was fallow between 1978 and 1992).  Lambasted by critics, the films were revered by moviegoers who made them certifiable box office successes.

I’ve discussed the Carry On movies previously on the blog (with an entry on 1967’s Follow That Camel); they were low-budget films produced in the English music hall tradition, with their content consisting of bawdy, double entendre humor (often at the expense of ladies with bodacious ta-ta’s) and unapologetic slapstick that makes you giggle when it’s clever and wince when it’s not (and yet you can’t help but marvel at the utter shamelessness of it all).  The “gang” featured in the movies rotated from film to film but the usual suspects included Sidney James, Charles Hawtrey, Joan Sims, Kenneth Connor, Peter Butterworth, Hattie Jacques, Terry Scott, Bernard Bresslaw, Barbara Windsor, Jack Douglas and Jim Dale.  Comedian Kenneth Williams was the undisputed “Carry On” champ, appearing in twenty-six of the features as well as hosting a compilation release entitled That’s Carry On! (1978). Williams enjoyed making the movies (though he was critical of some of the entries), yet often complained about the pittance (£5,000 per movie) he was paid for appearing in them (and when you consider how much money they made, he had a reason to bitch).  But some sources report that when the producers offered to increase his salary (realizing how important Williams was to their success) Kenneth refused, stating he would feel guilty about being so well-paid “for such rubbish.”

Kenneth Williams is the primary reason why I love the Carry On movies so much.  I first became a fan of the nostril-flaring comic through his appearances on such radio classics as Hancock’s Half-Hour and Round the Horne; to me, he’s the English equivalent of a Franklin Pangborn, and makes the weakest material funny simply with his arch, campy delivery.  But I also enjoy watching Sid James (also a Hancock veteran) and Joan Sims work together, their marvelous chemistry making mincemeat out of the wheezy old gags.  Up the Khyber was the only Carry On film to feature Roy Castle, who plays the part that would normally be taken by Jim Dale; Castle’s Captain Keene falls for the daughter of the Khasi, Princess Jehli (“an appropriate name for one set in so perfect a mould”), who’s played by Angela Douglas in her fourth and final Carry On outing.

To give you an example of what represents typical Carry On humor, here’s an exchange in which Sir Ruff-Diamond meets with the Khasi in an attempt to ward off a ticklish situation involving the discovery of the 3rd Foot and Mouth Regiment’s undergarments secret:

KHASI: Your Excellency…your presence enriches my humble home…may the benevolence of the god Shivu bring blessings on your house…

RUFF-DIAMOND: And on yours…

KHASI: …and may his wisdom bring success in all your undertakings…

RUFF-DIAMOND: And in yours…

KHASI: …and may his radiance light up your life…

RUFF-DIAMOND: And up yours…

If you’re thinking it all sounds like an episode of Are You Being Served?—that’s probably the best way to describe it (except most of the movies run an hour-and-a-half).  I will admit, however, that I laughed the loudest at the remark made by Williams’ Khasi when a subordinate bangs a gong as James’ Ruff-Diamond arrives in the palace: “I do wish you wouldn’t keep doing that—rank stupidity!” (At the time, the Carry On films were being distributed by The Rank Organisation after their former association with Anglo-Amalgamated was severed in 1966.)

Admittedly, I’ve seen only a handful of the films in the franchise but of the ones I have watched I can’t deny Up the Khyber is one of the best.  The funniest portion of the movie to me occurs in the final two reels of the movie, when the “stiff upper lip” of the Brits is satirized (Keene: “Things look rather bad, sir—what are we going to do?”  Ruff-Diamond: “Do, Captain?  We’re British—we won’t do anything!”).  As the Ruff-Diamonds entertain several dinner guests in their residence, the battle raging outside resembles a sequel to Zulu Dawn.  The final gag of the film features a waving of the Union Jack, with “I’m Backing Britain” emblazed on it—a reference to a 1968 campaign designed to boost the economic morale of the country.  (I laughed at this, too—only because I recognized it from the opening scene in the premiere episode of Dad’s Army, which takes place in the present day before flashing back to the time period when the Home Guard was founded.)

“Of course, they’re all raving mad, you know,” are the final words uttered in Carry On… Up the Khyber (the observation is made by Peter Butterworth’s Brother Belcher)—and to me, that sums up the spirit of the film franchise and why I get a kick out of watching them (of course, the same rationale can be applied to why I enjoy the British sense of humor in general).  Up the Khyber is available on DVD (paired with 1967’s Carry On Doctor, which features comedy legend Frankie Howerd) from VCI Entertainment…but you can also grab the majority of the series’ Rank films in two volumes as well.  The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ has also tentatively scheduled a few of the series entries in January, to be shown on Saturdays at 10:30am: Carry On Constable (1961) kicks things off on the third of the month, followed by Carry On Regardless (1963; January 10), Carry On Cruising (1962; January 17), Carry On Cabby (1963; January 24) and Carry On Jack (1964; January 31).

The British Invaders Blogathon: Went the Day Well? (1942)

This essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to The British Invaders Blogathon, currently underway from August 1-3 at A Shroud of Thoughts and spotlighting the best in classic films that originated on the other side of the pond.  For a list of participating blogs and the movies/topics discussed, click here.

There’s very little doubt as to the outcome of the events in Went the Day Well? (1942)—Charlie Sims (Mervyn Johns), the verger at the local church, explains in the first three minutes of the movie that the famed “Battle of Bramley End” came out all right in the wash.  We then flashback to a Whitsun weekend in the sleepy little English hamlet—Whitsun being the English designation for Pentecost—where there wasn’t much going on save for a platoon of British soldiers who have arrived in Bramley under the supervision of Major Hammond (Basil Sydney).  Hammond makes arrangements to billet his men, with the inhabitants most welcoming of their temporary guests.

Still...there’s something a bit unsettling about the presence of Hammond and his men.  Nora Ashton (Valerie Taylor), the vicar’s daughter, finds it curious that when the back of a telegram was used to mark down scores in a card game that took place among several soldiers—the figures were jotted down in the “Continental” manner, with elongated fives and strokes through the sevens.  Nora’s suspicions are further aroused when young George Truscott (Harry Fowler) finds a chocolate bar among Hammond’s personal effects.  An Austrian chocolate bar.

Nora takes her concerns to the village squire, Oliver Wilsford (Leslie Banks)…but today is just not her lucky day.  Wilsford is a fifth columnist, working with Hammond—whose real identity is Kommandant Orlter, and who’s on hand as the leader of a vanguard of an invasion of Britain.  Oriter and his men quickly establish their authority in the blink of an eye (by killing the Reverend Ashton, Nora’s father, when he attempts to signal outside help by ringing the church bell) and inform the stunned populace that no one is leaving Bramley…and any attempts to contact anyone outside the village will be dealt with most severely.  (Nazis.  I hate these guys.)

Went the Day Well? is a mixture of WW2 propaganda, comic nightmare and subversive surrealism that was produced at the renowned Ealing Studios, a name we usually associate with such classic comedies like Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949) and The Lavender Hill Mob (1951).   The source for the script (written by John Dighton, Angus MacPhail and Diana Morgan) was a short story written by Graham (The Third Man) Greene; in “The Lieutenant Died Last,” published in the U.S. in 1940, a poacher single-handedly stymies a Nazi attempt to invade a rural English village.  Dighton, MacPhail and Morgan considerably expanded the scope of Graham’s tale, though they did feature the poacher (played by Edward Rigby) as a minor character.

Despite the spoiler warning at the beginning of the movie, Went the Day Well? is a model of cinematic suspense; sure, we know the villagers eventually get the word out concerning their plight, but director Alberto Cavalcanti makes us squirm in true Hitchcockian fashion.  (Cavalcanti would later go on to helm the most famous segment of the 1945 British horror anthology Dead of Night—the one with Sir Michael Redgrave and that freaking ventriloquist dummy—and the underrated 1947 noir They Made Me a Fugitive.)  Two Land Army girls, Peggy Fry (Elizabeth Allan) and Ivy Dawking (Thora Hird), manage to scrawl a message of help onto an egg that is placed in a box with other hen fruit and handed off to a boy delivering newspapers by bicycle.  The paperboy is sideswiped by a car on its way to Bramley, and the eggs wind up smashed.  This sets up the next attempt: the driver of the car is a woman named Maud Chapman (Hilda Bayley), who’s there to pay her dowager cousin Mrs. Fraser (Marie Lohr) a visit.  Fraser manages to smuggle a note to her cuz in the pocket of her jacket, but Maud uses the paper to steady a rattling window on the passenger side of her automobile.  (The paper later becomes dislodged and is devoured in the backseat by Maud’s dog.)

The film often juxtaposes moments of black comedy and jarring, disturbing violence—the most memorable sequence involves the town’s postmistress (Muriel George), who also moonlights as Bramley’s phone operator.  Held hostage in her home by one of the German soldiers, she springs into action by throwing pepper into the Nazi’s eyes and dispatches him to the Great Beyond with the help of an axe.  She then tries to ring for help but her call is ignored by a gossipy phone operator from a neighboring town…and by the time chatty Gertrude returns to the desperate woman she’s met the business end of a German bayonet.

Released in December of 1942, Went the Day Well? premiered a few months after the similar The Next of Kin (also produced by Ealing, and featuring Well? players Johns, Sydney, Hird and Johnnie Scofield)—both movies were made not necessarily to scare the British public, but to highlight the possible dangers of a Nazi invasion.  Most scholars are in agreement that by the time of the movie’s release, that scenario was highly unlikely.  Still, the movie continues to exert its influence; the 1971 feature film version of the hit Britcom Dad’s Army (as well as a couple of episodes of the series) covers similar ground as well as the 1972 novel The Eagle Has Landed, which was brought to the big screen in 1977.  The mention of “the Home Guard” in the film kind of made me smile because I couldn’t help but think of what Dad’s Army fans call “The Magnificent Seven”…though I would be remiss in pointing out that what happens to the Guard in Went the Day Well? is far more savage than any of the shenanigans that befell Captain Mainwaring and Company.

Went the Day Well? eventually reached U.S. shores in June of 1944, retitled 48 Hours…because most American audiences were not familiar with the famous quotation by John Maxwell Edmonds that was borrowed for the title of the movie.  (“Went the day well?/We died and never knew/But, well or ill/Freedom, we died for you”)  It’s been off the radar screens of most classic film buffs—but according to TCM oracle Robert Osborne, it was one of the surprise hits of the TCM Film Festival in 2011…and recently premiered on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ in April of this year.  Bobby Osbo and guest programmer Glenn Taranto noted that with the exception of Leslie Banks (subversively cast as the treacherous Wilsford in light of his heroics in 1935’s Sanders of the River) and Mervyn Johns (Glynis’ pop; he’s also in Dead of Night) most of the British thesps will be unfamiliar to us Yanks; but I recognized Dame Thora, or course, as well as Patricia Hayes (as the postmistress’ assistant) and David Farrar (Black Narcissus).  (James Donald and Dad’s Army’s Private Godfrey, Arnold Ridley, also appear in bit parts.)

No, I first became acquainted with Went the Day Well? when I read about it as one of the entries in Halliwell’s Hundred; released to Region 2 DVD in November of 2006, I procured myself a copy (though the movie was re-released in 2011 to take advantage of its 2010 restoration—this is the version Tee Cee Em showed in April) and have been a champion of the movie ever since.  It’s unquestionably one of the finest war films I’ve ever watched, a masterful blend of comedy and suspense…and the next time it makes the rounds again on Turner Classic Movies, I suggest you make an appointment to see it.

1967 in Film Blogathon: Bedazzled

The following essay is Thrilling Days of Yesteryear’s contribution to the 1967 in Film Blogathon, currently underway from June 20-22 and sponsored by The Rosebud Cinema and Silver Screenings. For a full list of participants and the topics covered/films discussed, click here.  (Note: I give away the ending to the movie in this review…but if you’re familiar with the original source material this shouldn’t be too much of a surprise.)

Short-order cook Stanley Moon (Dudley Moore) longs for the loving touch of fellow employee Margaret Spencer (Eleanor Bron)—but he’s so lacking in self-confidence that he can’t even muster up the intestinal fortitude to simply talk to her.  The hapless Stanley, having returned to his humble flat, decides to end his miserable existence by hanging himself…and he can’t even manage that correctly.  Perhaps it’s just as well: as his suicide attempt goes south, he receives a visit from a tall, glasses-wearing individual (Peter Cook) who answers to “George Spiggot.”

“Spiggot” is just one of the stranger’s many aliases: he also answers to “Satan,” “Beelzebub,” “The Horned One,” “Lucifer,” “The Devil” and “Mephistopheles,” if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.  After proving to Moon that he is who he says he is, Spiggot has a proposition for Stanley: he’ll grant him seven wishes—any of which he can use to win Margaret’s affections—and all it will cost him is his immortal soul.  “You see, a soul's rather like your appendix: totally expendable,” George explains.  The deal is completed at The Rendezvous Club, a cabaret owned by George and staffed by The Seven Deadly Sins: Anger (Robert Russell), Sloth (Howard Goorney), etc.

Stanley soon learns to his dismay that each wish he asks to be granted is doomed to failure because George is just too clever for him; in one request, he’s a multi-millionaire who’s able to give “very physical” wife Margaret anything her heart desires…the problem is, the “very physical” Margaret wants anybody (including George) but Stanley.  Another request finds Stanley and Margaret madly in love with each other…but Margaret is wracked with guilt because she’s married to a model husband (also George) and she refuses to continue the affair.

Convinced that he’s concocted a foolproof wish, Stanley asks George to make him and Margaret in love with each other, living a pious life of peace and quiet in total isolation.  BAM!  Stanley has been transformed into a novice nun (the silly duffer forgot to specify what gender) with The Leaping Nuns of the Order of St. Beryl; what’s worse, he mistakenly believes that he still has one other wish (he’s been able to terminate previous wishes by blowing a raspberry) but George has charged him as Wish Number Seven a pre-damnation offer request for an ice cream.  To his credit, George has a change of heart where Stanley is concerned, and decides to let him off the hook by giving him back the contract for his soul.

You see, George doesn’t need Stanley’s damnation; he’s collected the magic number of one hundred billion souls, and will use that as his ticket back to Heaven.  But after a chat with the Almighty, George learns that God has no intention of reinstating him as his Number Two, preferring to keep him around as Mankind’s “necessary evil”…particularly since George returned Stanley’s soul for selfish reasons.  George returns to Earth to try and talk Stanley into letting him have his soul back so he can be more altruistic about its return…but Stanley has become a considerably wiser man since his encounter with The Prince of Darkness.

When we think of the term “The British Invasion,” musical influences (The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, etc.) mostly come to mind—but our friends on the other side of the pond also brought us innovations in film and comedy…and film comedy.  Peter Cook and Dudley Moore were comedians best known as one-half (the other two being Alan Bennett and Jonathan Miller) of Beyond the Fringe, a highly successful stage revue that enjoyed healthy runs both in London (West End) and New York (Broadway).  Fringe ushered in a new era of satirical comedy, and paved the way for such entertainment milestones as That Was the Week That Was and Monty Python’s Flying Circus.

As a comedy duo, Cook and Moore enjoyed success both in TV (their series Not Only…But Also was a certified smash…though much of it is now missing due to the BBC’s asinine “wiping” policy) and movies (they play scheming brothers in the 1966 cult classic The Wrong Box); Bedazzled is a vehicle written especially for their talents (Pete and Dud wrote the story; Cook the screenplay) and allows them the freedom to perform in satirical sketches (presented in the form of Stanley’s “wishes”) while still maintaining a fairly coherent plot.  It’s the legend of Faust, essentially, updated for the Swinging Sixties…though the outcome for its protagonist (Stanley) is a bit rosier compared to what happens to Dr. F in the original material.

Bedazzled is a bit dated, sure, but what has made the movie a cult favorite all these years is its irreverent treatment of the taboo subject of religion.  There’s “Sympathy for the Devil” in this film; God comes off as sort of the villain of the piece, an omnipresent being who apparently can’t be bothered with the mortals he took the time to create, which is why The Devil (George) seemingly has free reign among individuals on Earth.  George is a prankster and has sort of a warped sense of humor—but you sort of have to expect that…he is the devil, after all.  (Stanley: “He's not so bad once you get to know his problems.”)  One of the scenes that still makes you both laugh and think is a sequence where George explains to Stanley how he was ousted from Heaven; he demonstrates by sitting on top of a postal box pretending to be the Almighty while Stanley (as The Devil) tap dances around him, continually singing his praises.  “Here—I’m getting a bit bored with this,” remarks Stanley after a few minutes of flattering “God.”  “Can’t we change places?”

“That’s exactly how I felt,” George returns as he hops off his “throne.”  Later he explains: “I only wanted to be like him and have a few angels adoring me…he didn’t see it like that.”  In his must-read essay on Bedazzled in Cult Movies 2, film historian Danny Peary marvels at how the film’s material escaped the notice of the pitchforks-and-torches crowd: “Considering that Bedazzled came out not long after John Lennon was forced to publicly retract his 'The Beatles are more popular than Jesus' remark in order to stop a boycott of Beatles records on many U.S. radio stations, as well as organized Nazi-like burnings of Beatles records and magazines, it's amazing Moore and Cook attempted and got away with using material I'm sure many people considered blasphemous.”

There’s an oft-told anecdote regarding the reaction of director Frank Capra after seeing filmed footage of comedian Harry Langdon’s stage act: “Only God could help that twerp.”  The veracity of this has rightly come under scrutiny, but I think the reverse could be said of Bedazzled protagonist Stanley Moon—only Satan could help that twerp.  A nebbish with a dead-end job, no money, no prospects and no luck with the ladies, Stanley nevertheless finds a friend in The Devil, even though Old Nick tricks him at every turn and delights in such childish shenanigans as ripping pages out of Agatha Christie novels and ruining record albums.  His encounter with Old Scratch ends up being a positive one; at the end of the movie he timidly approaches Margaret with the offer of taking her out to dinner—Margaret replies that she’s busy that evening, but perhaps they could make it another time.  (Hey…it’s a start.)

I’ve not made any secret of my fondness for actress Eleanor Bron; she worked with Peter Cook on a number of projects (in fact, Cook’s last feature film also featured Eleanor, 1994’s Black Beauty) and not only is she a treat for the eyes she’s every bit the equal of the starring duo when it comes to the comedy (the first wish, in which Stanley wants to be an “intellectual,” is immeasurably helped by her funny performance).  Peter was also very good friends with actor-performer Barry Humphries (best remembered as Dame Edna Everage), who has some wonderful scenes in the movie as Envy.  There are additionally fine contributions from a number of British veterans including Michael Trubshawe, Evelyn Moore, Charles Lloyd Pack (the father of the late Roger Lloyd “Trigger” Pack and granddad of Emily Lloyd) and Michael Bates—a familiar Britcom face from Last of the Summer Wine and It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum.

Bedazzled also showcases Raquel Welch—as Lillian Lust, “the babe with the bust”—in a small role that, understandably, was considerably played up in the advertisements and trailer for the film.  Before Bedazzled had an actual title, Peter Cook had suggested that the film actually be called Raquel Welch…with the knowledge that theater marquees would advertise the production as “Peter Cook and Dudley Moore in Raquel Welch.”  Instead, Bedazzled originates from the dirge-like musical number sung by George in one of Stanley’s wishes; Stanley has requested to become a pop music star to win Margaret’s love but he’s outshone by George’s Dremble Wedge—who was New Wave before it was fashionable to be so (“I don’t care/I don’t want you/I don’t love you/Leave me alone”).  (The pop music parody is one of the movie’s many highlights in my opinion, particularly Cook’s declaration “You fill me with inertia.”)

Bedazzled was an unusual directorial choice for Stanley Donen, but he proved up to the challenge—though you could also argue Stanley watched too many Richard Lester films before tackling the film.  (The movie features innovative and first-rate cinematography by Austin Dempster.)  I’m still quite a fan of the film; I admire its satiric brilliance (its daringly biting pokes at religion, plus much of the dialogue is hysterical—“You realize that suicide's a criminal offense…in less enlightened times they'd have hung you for it”) and marvel at the talents of Pete and Dud, here at the peak of their powers.  I will warn you—it’s not for everyone’s tastes, but if you have a sense of the warped I think you’ll enjoy it.  And don’t forget the magic words—“Julie Andrews!”

Coming soon to a DVD player near you

Over at the Radio Spirits blog this morning, my bosses have passed the hat for funds to get cake and ice cream for today’s birthday celebrant—radio actress Georgia Ellis, who celebrates what would have been her ninety-sixth birthday today.  Georgia only made a handful of movie and TV appearances, but her radio work was phenomenal—and of course, every OTR fan worth his or her salt knows that she was the original Miss Kitty on the audio version of the classic western Gunsmoke.

Also celebrating OTR birthdays today are Fibber McGee & Molly-Suspense announcer Harlow “Waxy” Wilcox (born on this date in 1900) and the last of the Johnny Dollars, Mandel Kramer (b. 1916).  If I can find a way to slip them in, I always like to give OTR favorites a shout-out when I’m posting birthday tributes on Facebook/Twitter for the other paying gig, ClassicFlix…but the movie and TV appearances of these three were so scanty they just didn’t make the cut.  (For those who did, follow @ClassicFlix on that there Twitter machine and you’ll find out.)

It’s been a while since we made some classic TV-on-DVD announcements on the blog, so I figured I’d take a quick time out from my duties to run through a few numbers.  Back in July 2012, TVShowsOnDVD.com got a heads-up from an eagle-eyed follower that Shout! Factory was planning on releasing a DVD collection entitled The Jack Benny Program: The Lost Episodes—I even made a big to-do about it here at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.  Then the word came down that the listing for this set was a bit premature and that it was still undergoing work at the Factory (don’t think I can’t hear you groaning out there).  Well, good news came in my e-mailbox the other day (seriously—the subject header was “Could you use some good news?”) from Laura Leff, president of the International Jack Benny Fan Club…who says the collection is a go, and will be released on July 23rd.  From Laura’s e-mail:

I can assure you with complete confidence that it will be an absolute MUST HAVE for every single member of the IJBFC, and almost certainly has at least one episode that inspired you to think, “Wow, I wish I could see THAT show!”

Laura also confers that if this set sells well, future collections will follow—and I don’t have to tell the TDOY faithful how the DVD bidness works…money talks and you know the rest.  They will definitely be selling a copy of the collection to the occupants here at Rancho Yesteryear, and if you’re an OTR fan or just a devotee of one of the funniest men to ever walk the planet you’ll start throwing your spare change into the glass receptacle of your choice and save up.  (And check the IJBFC site for updates and stuff.)

Shout! Factory’s subsidiary, Timeless Media Group, is announcing that the eighth and final season of the classic TV oater Wagon Train will be pulling out from St. Joseph, MO on June 11th in an eight-disc collector’s tin (SRP $59.97) containing the final twenty-six episodes of the series.  One of these days when I’m betrothed to Dora Standpipe (how I love her…father’s money) I’ll start picking up these Wagon Train sets—I do have the seventh season (the color one) and I’ve recorded a lot of the shows from Encore Westerns but I wouldn’t object to spending the extra scratch for good copies of the program.

Also in the hopper from Timeless Factory Video is a stand-alone second season release of Peter Gunn—which will be made available on June 25 in a 4-DVD collection (SRP $29.93).  This confirms my hypothesis (science!) that a stand-alone third season set will not be far behind, which is the only season I have left to collect…owing to my purchase of the first two seasons in their Region 2 incarnation.  (Of course, if Shout!/Timeless decides to pull the rug out from under me, it will be Katy Bar the Door.)

TSOD has the press release up for the March 12 release of the second season of The Life and Times of Wyatt Earp, which will be released by Inception Media in a 5-disc set containing all 39 episodes from the show’s sophomore season.  I had originally planned to let this one go for a bit but I got a great deal on the collection over at ImportCDs.com…so into the shopping cart it went.

In other TV western news, CBS DVD-Paramount has announced the upcoming release of the sixth season of Rawhide—two split-season sets (priced at $42.99 each SRP) that will be released on the same date, June 4.  The Rawhide sets also had to be put into limbo (I’m up to the third season) like the Perry Mason collections because…well, I promised myself I wouldn’t rant about this.  But I didn’t promise that I would avoid the topic in this brief dramatic skit:

FIRST EXEC: Whaddya readin’?

SECOND EXEC: The Thrilling Days of Yesteryear blog…Shreve’s on a tear about our split-season sets again…

FIRST EXEC: I don’t even know why you read that junk…he’s always pissing and moaning…it’s not our fault that we’re a rapacious pack of jackals who’d sell our mothers for change…

SECOND EXEC: I don’t either…though I do get a kick out of the R.F.D. write-ups…

From here on out—it’s all about the Warner Archive, baby.  Though I do have a small bone to pick with the Archive in that they conveniently decided to celebrate their 4th anniversary (this all ties into the birthday theme) by having a 4-for-$44 sale…and the next thing I knew I had copies of Three Strangers (1946), The Breaking Point (1950), Stars in My Crown (1950) and The Underworld Story (1950) in my cart.  (They were aided and abetted by ninja blogger Brandie of True Classics fame, who mentioned the sale as I was walking into the Twitter Saloon last Friday night.  Coincidence?  And do Brandie and Laura receive commissions on these sales?  Ultimately you must decide.)

Anyway, the great news is that WA is rolling out Daktari: The Complete Second Season on March 19th—a collection of twenty-nine episodes from the 1966-69 family adventure series that I was very fond of as a kidlet.  There isn’t any information on how many discs are in this MOD set at the Warner site (only that you can pre-order it for $49.95)—and there’s no photo of the collection at the listing either (the picture on your left came from a pre-order lookup) but it looks as if they’re just charging the one price for a set that comes in two volumes (like they did with the recent fourth season release of The F.B.I.).  (Not that it matters in the long run—I’ll have to get it another time when Mrs. Hemoglobin accepts my proposal of marriage.)

The Archive also released the fifth season of classic TV oater Cheyenne to MOD last Tuesday (March 5), a series that I’ve only purchased the first season so far (Season 1 wasn’t a MOD release and I found it on sale somewhere) because I managed to grab every episode (save one, “A Man Called Regan”—which was shown at the end of Cheyenne’s sixth season as a pilot for The Dakotas; I guess it’s not in the Cheyenne syndication package) from Encore Westerns.  But the set does contain “Duel at Judas Basin” (01/30/61), the classic episode in which all three stars from Cheyenne, Sugarfoot (Will Hutchins) and Bronco (Ty Hardin) appear in the same outing.  (Sugarfoot and Bronco rotated with Cheyenne for a time back in those days.)

Warner Archive has also announced that it will finally bring the TV version of Dr. Kildare (with Richard Chamberlain and Lew Ayres) to DVD sometime this year (the details haven’t been finalized yet)—also in two volumes for one price (with the first 33 episodes from Season 1).  And for shows that are a bit out of TDOY’s bailiwick—but I thought I’d toss them in anyway—the third season of hardy sitcom perennial Alice is headed for MOD DVD on March 19th in a 3-DVD set (SRP $29.95) containing all twenty-four episodes.  (TSOD also has a blurb that the third season of Falcon Crest is going to be made available on MOD soon but the details are still being hammered out at this time.)

The Warner Archive has got it going on all over the cold-cereal-and-footy-pajamas front.  Plans for Help! It’s the Hair Bear Bunch and The Roman Holidays have been announced at TSOD—if I had a bit more disposable income I’d invest in the Hair Bear Bunch because it had such a kickin’ theme song and vocal contributions from Daws Butler, Paul Winchell, John Stephenson and Joe E. “Ooh! Ooh!” Ross.  I have only a vague memory of Roman Holidays (all I really remember is that Butler played a lion named Brutus who said “Chuckle…chuckle” a lot) but the talent on that show was nothing to sneeze at—OTR veterans Dave “Tugwell” Willock and Shirley Mitchell, and familiar TV faces Stanley “Chip” Livingston, Pamelyn Ferdin, Hal “Otis” Smith and Judy Strangis.  There are also plans in the pipeline for the Archive to release some of the made-for-TV Popeye cartoons cranked out from 1960-63 as part of 1960s Classics: Volume 1.  (I’ll stick to my black-and-white Popeye cartoon sets, thank ye kindly.)

This week’s prize for “I-can’t-believe-this-is-coming-to-DVD” goes to a release that I actually got wind of not at TSOD but in an e-mail from DeepDiscount.com: Candid Camera: Lost Archives of Candid Camera.  The listing at DD touts that this DVD contains 15 shows from Camera’s first season—which is a little misleading, since Candid Camera actually premiered on TV in 1948 (it was originally a radio program entitled Candid Microphone) and the odds that those fifteen shows were saved on kinescope seem mighty remote to me.  No, if you read on they mention guest performers like Garry Moore, Marion Lorne and Carol Burnett (along with Kurwood Derby—er, Durwood Kirby) and my guess is that these segments were culled from when Camera was a segment of Moore’s variety series in 1959 and 1960 (the fact that it’s a Legendary Entertainment release, which brought some Garry Moore Show material to DVD back in January, only confirms my suspicions).  Be that as it may, it sounds like an interesting 2-disc set to grab hold of if you’re a fan of Allen Funt’s classic series.

Finally, I’ve been a little light with the Britcom-on-DVD announcements of late (most of the time TSOD announces a new Last of the Summer Wine disc and that’s it) so I was intrigued to see that the site has two upcoming Acorn DVD releases for a pair of shows.  First, Simon Callow (of Four Weddings and a Funeral fame) and Brenda Blethyn (Secrets & Lies) headline Chance in a Million: The Complete Collection, all eighteen episodes of the 1984-86 comedy series about a luckless shmoe (Callow) and his girlfriend (Blethyn).  The blurb at TSOD says this one was shown on public television—though how it managed to penetrate the Are You Being Served? blockade goes unanswered.

The other Acorn Britcom release is No Job For a Lady: The Complete Series, all eighteen episodes of the 1990-92 outing starring Penelope Keith as a newly-elected Labour MP constantly at odds with her chauvinistic male peers.  This one was also on public television—I saw one or two episodes during my years in exile in Morgantown, WV—but I never really cottoned to the show: it wasn’t anywhere as good as Yes, Minister (which starred Keith’s former Good Life hub, Paul Eddington)…and I really haven’t enjoyed Keith in anything after Good Life (well, Next of Kin had its moments).  Both of these shows were originally released in Region 2 sets by Network, and will be released in 3-disc sets on March 19th (SRP of $59.99 each).

Where there’s a Will, there’s a Hay

Last Tuesday here on the blog, I offered up a review of a brand new VCI Entertainment DVD release of British film comedian Norman Wisdom’s first two starring feature films for the Rank Organization.  Released in tandem with the Wisdom movies was another disc containing two features that star one the UK’s best-loved cinematic mirthmakers, who galvanized audiences from 1934 to 1943 with a string of popular vehicles that usually (but not always) featured him as a scowling schoolteacher, futilely trying to keep his young charges in line.  The character of headmaster was quite familiar to William “Will” Thompson Hay, who had played the charade as an established music hall performer, a profession he embraced at the age of 21 (he had originally planned a career in engineering) after watching W.C. Fields juggle in a performance at a London theater.

The influence of Fields is particularly appropriate in the case of Will Hay, because while it’s not always entirely fair to compare one comedian to another, Hay’s cinematic persona closely resembles The Great Man—a misanthrope who’d just as soon be left alone to pursue his vices of strong drink and a good smoke.  Hay, however, possessed a tad more warmth than the Fields character, but shared the same characteristic of masquerading a thin veneer of respectability (in playing authority figures) to cover up an obvious incompetence.  Hay, who received a writers’ credit on several of his films in the same manner as Fields (though Fields had a bit more imagination on his signatures, using pseudonyms like “Mahatma Kane Jeeves” and “Otis Criblecoblis”), was really the “auteur” of his many movies, having finely honed his character all those years on stage.  Interestingly, the infamous William “One-Shot” Beaudine directed (if you can call it that) both men—Fields in The Old Fashioned Way (1934) and Hay in four films, including the two that I’ll talk about in this post.

I had sort of an unusual introduction to Will Hay.  I read about the man in a book by film critic Leslie Halliwell called Halliwell’s Hundred, a list of movies that Halliwell considered among his favorites.  One of the entries in the book is on Hay’s cinematic swan song, My Learned Friend (1943)—a movie that I have wanted to see for many years but have still not had the pleasure.  The one Hay film that I have seen, Oh, Mr. Porter! (1937), is considered by a great many of Will’s fans to be his best (and even Hay counted it among his favorites).  I saw it several years ago after reading that the characters played by Hay and his co-stars Graham Moffat and Moore Marriott (“The next train’s gone!”) were Jimmy Perry’s inspiration for Captain Mainwaring (Arthur Lowe), Private Pike (Ian Lavender) and Lance Corporal Jones (Clive Dunn) on Dad’s Army, my favorite Britcom of all time.  (There’s an additional connection to Army in that the screenplay for Porter was loosely based on the British stage chestnut The Ghost Train—written by Arnold Ridley, who played Army’s incontinent Private Godfrey.)

VCI’s Will Hay Double Feature Volume 1 spotlights the first two films the comedian made for Gainsborough Pictures—though he had previously appeared in three features for Elstree/British International, Those Were the Days and Radio Parade of 1935 in 1934, and Dandy Dick the following year.  In Boys Will Be Boys (1935), Hay portrays Dr. Alec Smart—a professor who applies for the position of headmaster at a school called Narkover.  Narkover is not without its unsavory reputation; many consider it a breeding ground for career criminals…and in fact, when Hay’s Smart asks the governor (Percy Marsh) of a prison at which he teaches part-time for a recommendation the official muses that since one of their newest “guests” is the former headmaster of Narkover it would be only fitting to send them Smart as “one goes in, one goes out” gesture.  However, the governor is convinced that Alec would indeed be a poor candidate for the position…but with the help of ex-convict Faker Brown (Gordon Harker), who substitutes a forged recommendation letter from the gov, Smart is soon chosen to head up Narkover.

Upon arriving at his new post, Smart is soon blackmailed by Faker into hiring him to work at Narkover…because Faker has his eye on some valuable jewelry that’s the property of Lady Dorking (Norma Varden), one of Narkover’s major donors and the Margaret Dumont of the film.  Alec also has his hands full with the rowdy contingent of students at Narkover, who are egged on by the academy’s “head boy” Cyril Brown (Jimmy Hanley)—and while it would usually be customary to stress there’s no relation to Faker, in this case that would not be accurate: Faker and Cyril are pere et fils.  Smart has also managed to get on the bad side of cantankerous Colonel Crableigh (Davy Burnaby), who had hopes of promoting his dense nephew Theo P. Finch (Claude Dampier) to Alec’s job.

As predicted, Lady Dorking’s jewels are eventually stolen and are passed around among several of the film’s characters before finding their way into a rugby ball that’s used in a game between the current students and Narkover grads.  A wild and wooly melee during the match occurs as the scrambled to recover the gems ensues, but Smart manages to foil the crooks by kicking the ball towards several policeman and ensuring the rounding up of the usual suspects.

Boys Will Be Boys was Will Hay’s breakthrough film and the first to feature his bumbling schoolmaster characterization—which he would repeat in subsequent movies like Good Morning, Boys (1937) and Convict 99 (1938).  It’s a very entertaining film and a grand introduction to the comedian, with a rib-tickling screenplay courtesy of Hay and Robert Edmunds…loosely based on the Narkover stories by Beachcomber (the pen name of writer J.B. Norton, who is also credited with contributing special material to the film).  The Narkover school in the film is kind of a lampoon of the rigid British school system (with its students possessing skills that will ensure they “never steal anything small”) and putting Hay’s character in charge as headmaster provides some priceless comedic moments—my favorite is Smart’s first day on the job, where his young charges slowly ease him into a card game.

Dad’s Army’s Clive Dunn has a tiny part in this film (as does Carry On alumnus Charles Hawtrey) but to be honest I couldn’t locate him on a first viewing; the only individual outside of Hay with whose work I was familiar was character thesp Norma Varden (as Lady Dorking), whom you’ll recognize from Casablanca (1942) and Strangers on a Train (1951—as the dame Robert Walker’s Bruno tries to strangle at the party) as well as helpless wealthy neighbor Harriet Johnson on TV’s Hazel.  Varden is also on hand in the second Hay feature, Where There’s a Will (1936)—this one features the comedian as incompetent solicitor Benjamin Stubbins.

Stubbins’ law practice is on the brink of collapse but despite his financial woes he still manages to put on the best possible face for his daughter Barbara (Peggy Simpson), who is in the care of Stubbins’ in-laws Lady Margaret (Varden) and Sir Roger Wimpleton (H.F. Maltby).  A fellow boarder (Hal Waters) at Stubbins’ rooming house helps him out of a predicament with his landlady (Sybil Brooke), so to return the favor he agrees to help out a friend of the boarder’s named Duke Wilson (Hartley Power).

The American Wilson wants Stubbins to research the family background of his moll Goldie (Gina Malo), claiming she comes from an old Scottish family…but despite the pretense Duke puts on that he’s a respectable businessman, he’s really a two-bit hood looking to rob a bank with his henchman Slug (Eddie Houghton) and Stubbins’ friend, who answers to “Nick.”  Duke wants to use Stubbins’ office as a point of entry (it’s right above the bank he plans to rob) to get into the bank, and though Benjamin is briefly distracted by entertaining Lady Margaret and Barbara in Wilson’s apartment (which he’s passing off as his own) he soon stumbles in on his new friends in mid-rob.  Stubbins’ fingerprints end up on the bank safe (he didn’t take the precautions his comrades did and wear gloves) and he fears being eventually picked up by the law.

But the film winds up with a merry Christmas costume party (add this to another list of holiday-themed films, by the way) in the House of Wimpleton that Duke and Goldie have crashed (with Nick and Slug masquerading as the help); Stubbins shows up as well, and with the help of the family butler (Gibb McLaughlin) manages to round up the thieves and deposit them in the hands of the constabulary.  (Stubbins’ plan involves donning the guise of “Father Christmas” and taking a tumble down the chimney in true Santa fashion.)

Both Boys and Will are entertaining comedies—to be honest, I prefer the tone of Hay’s pricklier, slightly abrasive vehicles to that of Norman Wisdom’s cheerier flicks even though I enjoy watching both—but I’d probably give a slight edge to Where There’s a Will only because it seems to contain funnier set pieces.  One of the highlights is a billiards game between Hay’s Stubbins and the family retainer, Martin—who has been a teetotaler all his life but is taught that a little hair of the dog is good for a toothache…and soon gets roaring drunk with Stubbins during their play.  I also love the earlier scenes between Stubbins and his insolent office boy, played by Graham Moffat—who returned with Hay in the comedian’s next picture, Windbag the Sailor (1936).  Hay and Moffat were joined in Sailor by elderly character thesp Moore Marriott and in many of Will’s vehicles — including Old Bones of the River (1938), Ask a Policeman (1939) and Where’s That Fire? (1940)—the trio created sidesplitting comedy.  (Will broke up the partnership with his 1941 vehicle The Ghost of St. Michael’s…Hay wanted to go in a different direction, but there are more than a few fans that believe his movies just weren’t the same afterward.)

Despite his familiar film persona as an incompetent surrounded by forces threatening to overwhelm him, Will Hay was a very “learned friend” in real-life: he was a polyglot (fluent in several languages, including French, German and Italian), and also dabbled as an amateur astronomer as well as piloting aircraft.  His films aren’t quite as well-known on this side of the pond (my Facebook mate Matthew Coniam says that Hay’s 1938 film Hey! Hey! USA, which teams him with the great Edgar Kennedy, was an attempt to introduce Hay to American audiences though it never quite panned out) but they should be—and VCI is doing what they can to rectify this mistake.  The company has already announced three more double features (one of them a triple feature) of Will’s work—and when Volume 2 (containing Windbag and Good Morning) gets released on February 5th, you can be sure that it will find its way to the DVD player here at Rancho Yesteryear.