Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Due to circumstances beyond our control…


…the blog is going to go dark for the rest of the week.  (Much apologies go out to the Forgotten Noir Fridays fans among the Thrilling Days of Yesteryear faithful.)  I’m racing a deadline for a dan-dan-dandy Radio Spirits project (here’s a hint: the comedian is renowned for his violin playing), so that’s going to keep me occupied for the duration…but TDOY will return next week, so leave a light in the window for me, okay?

Monday, March 6, 2017

Taking a little Flack

In June of last year, Curt Ladnier—a member-in-good-standing of the Thrilling Days of Yesteryear faithful—needed a few episodes of TV’s The Thin Man for his collection and proposed a swap: the first five installments of the Peter Lawford-Phyllis Kirk boob tube version for some rare episodes of The Lone Wolf, a syndicated 1954-55 TV series based on the literary sleuth created by Louis Joseph Vance.  (The character appeared in a slew of B-movie mysteries—many of them with legendary silver screen cad Warren William as L.W.—and a 1948-49 radio series with Gerald Mohr…who also tackled the role in a handful of the films.)  The TV Wolf starred Louis Hayward and since I hadn’t sampled it I was only too happy to help Br’er Curt out.  We have since that time swapped many e-mails; he’s currently working on a DVD project capturing those episodes of The Felony Squad that I had to give up when we reluctantly jettisoned getTV from our DISH programming.

Curt is the proprietor of In Search of Jack Boyle: On the Trail of Boston Blackie’s Forgotten Creator—the title is self-explanatory—and he also blogs at Maljardin: Musings From the Desmond Crypt, a site dedicated to the cult horror TV series Strange Paradise.  He asked me if I would be amenable to hosting a guest review of the DuMont sitcom Colonel Humphrey Flack, and I welcomed the idea with open arms; TDOY has featured many guest pieces here in the past, from resident guest movie reviewer Philip Schweier to cub reporter Tom Stillabower.  I know you’re going to enjoy Curt’s contribution as much as I did…so without further ado, I present…Mr. Ladnier.

COLONEL HUMPHREY FLACK:
THE DUMONT NETWORK’S FABULOUS FRAUD

Audiences love a light-hearted con story.  The enormous popularity of big screen productions like The Sting and Ocean’s Eleven paved the way for such recent television successes as Leverage, Hustle, and their like.  And these series had predecessors on the small screen, from ABC’s quintessential western sharpster Maverick to NBC’s criminally short-lived The Rogues.  But ushering these series onto television’s airwaves was the grand-daddy of all comedic con artist shows, the DuMont Network’s 1953 production Colonel Humphrey Flack.

Colonel Flack, a lovable scoundrel who inhabited DuMont’s Wednesday night line-up, was a genial fraud who lived by his wits.  Possessed of an air of quality and a taste for the finer things in life, he frequented the best clubs and hotels, typically with only a few cents to his name.  Flack never let the nuisance of poverty stand in the way of his comforts, much to the consternation of his less polished – but more practical – confederate, Uthas Garvey.  But in spite of his penchant for living beyond his means, Colonel Flack was more an opportunist than a criminal.  He was gifted with an unerring knack of turning any situation to his own advantage, and the insight to realize that there was money to be had whenever others were cheating the system.  He had a professed dislike of “beastly chiselers,” whom he took every opportunity to fleece in Robin Hood fashion (pocketing a modest percentage to cover expenses). 

Colonel Flack creator Everett Rhodes Castle
Despite television’s relative infancy in 1953, Flack and Garvey were old hands at the confidence game by the time they stole onto DuMont’s schedule.  The colonel was the brainchild of magazine writer Everett Rhodes Castle, who chronicled Flack’s exploits in a dozen issues of The Saturday Evening Post between 1936 and 1946.  Castle’s yarns proved popular, and as early as the spring of 1939 his creation had already leapt from the page to the airwaves – not on radio, but on the fledgling medium of television!   Weeks ahead of the National Broadcasting Company’s general demonstration of television at the New York World’s Fair, the Colonel had already been featured as the protagonist of NBC Television’s one-shot production A Spot of Philanthropy the evening of April 13, 1939.  Loosely based on Everett Rhodes Castle’s 1938 short story of the same name, the program starred George Taylor as Colonel Flack and Michael Drake as the long-suffering Garvey (1).  This early televised effort established Colonel Humphrey Flack as one of the first characters from popular contemporary fiction ever to be adapted for television.

Despite his early foray into television, it took some time for Colonel Flack to break into radio.  He finally took his place behind the microphone on a pair of episodes of the NBC Blue series The Listening Post.  February 20, 1945 saw his debut in a dramatization of the Saturday Evening Post story “It’s All Done with Credit” (2), and the June 22, 1945 episode saw his return in “Colonel Flack and the Tender Ethic” (3).  Flack fans must have been delighted, as these stories came to life over the airwaves within days of their original magazine publications.  Three years later, the Colonel finally snared a sustaining series on network radio when the Wilbur Stark / Jerry Layton company Program Productions sold NBC a twelve-episode run of Colonel Humphrey Flack.  Premiering at 8:00 PM EST on Thursday July 3, 1947, the series was a summer replacement for either The Aldrich Family or A Day in the Life of Dennis Day (announcements from the era disagree).  Directed by Ed King, the series starred Wendell Holmes as Flack and Frank Maxwell as Garvey, in scripts written by Tom Dougall and Sheldon Stark (4).  At the close of the summer season, NBC declined to contract for further episodes, and the series folded with its September 18, 1947 broadcast.
Wendell Holmes as Colonel Flack

Also in 1947, mystery luminary Ellery Queen chose Colonel Flack for inclusion in the hardcover anthology Rogues’ Gallery: The Great Criminals of Modern Fiction.  Published under the London imprint Faber and Faber, the collection Included Everett Rhodes Castle’s 1943 tale “The Colonel Gives a Party.”  The story’s publication in Queen’s anthology marks the colonel’s only appearance between the covers of a book.  As of this writing some 70 years later, the remainder of Colonel Flack’s literary escapades remain uncollected and unreprinted. 

Undeterred by the failure of their 1947 radio production to gain traction, Stark-Layton Productions redoubled their efforts to further develop the Flack franchise.  In 1953, they sold pilots for both a proposed television series and another radio adaptation to ABC.  The television production aired under the title “Colonel Humphrey J. Flack” as the May 31, 1953 installment of Plymouth Playhouse (a.k.a. ABC Album Playhouse).  This time around, British actor Alan Mowbray stepped into the role of the colonel and Frank McHugh played Garvey, in a story about the impoverished pair embarking on an ocean cruise courtesy of tickets won in a raffle (5).  The production was rebroadcast on the West Coast two weeks later, on June 16, 1953 (6).

The radio pilot brought the Mowbray/McHugh pairing before the microphones of ABC Playhouse for that series’ June 11, 1953 broadcast, also titled “Colonel Humphrey J. Flack.”  The episode related Flack and Garvey’s plan to aid a young medical student in recovering his life savings (7).  In selling ABC pilots for both radio and television, Stark-Layton Productions probably felt they had all bases covered for the launch of a new Flack series.  But in the end, the network declined to move forward with either.

Frank Jenks (as Garvey) and Alan Mowbray (as Flack)
However, the failure of the ABC television pilot had a silver lining.  Rather than throwing in the towel on the project, Stark-Layton switched gears and pitched it to the DuMont Television Network.  The gamble scored success and, under the sponsorship of the American Chicle Company, Colonel Humphrey Flack joined DuMont’s weekly line-up on Wednesday October 7, 1953.  Alan Mowbray returned in the role of Colonel Flack, but Frank McHugh did not make the transition from the pilot.  Instead, the part of Garvey was taken up ably by veteran character actor Frank Jenks (8).  The series was well-received, with Billboard praising its “smart scripting” and the “smooth teamwork” of its principal performers.  “Here’s one show that continues to provide us with welcome relief from mayhem, cops and robbers,” was the sentiment from the television critic of The Brooklyn Daily Eagle (9).

Perhaps most pleased with Colonel Humphrey Flack was the star himself, Alan Mowbray.  Though he had portrayed a wide range of characters in hundreds of films, Mowbray feared he was best remembered for the handful of times he had played a butler.  Landing the lead in DuMont’s series changed that.  “Now I’m called ‘Colonel’ as much as I’m called Mowbray,” he confided to reporters in 1954 (10).  Even more satisfying was the remark from Flack creator Everett Rhodes Castle, who commented that he couldn’t tell where Alan Mowbray left off and Colonel Flack began (11).  “I always try to be the complete rogue,” Mowbray expounded upon his affinity for the character, “but always keep within the law.  The colonel never commits an overt act of any sort.  That’s important because so many children are watching” (12).

Children and adults alike tuned in to make Colonel Humphrey Flack a mainstay on DuMont.  The network chronicled Flack and Garvey’s escapades through 39 live weekly telecasts, eventually drawing the season to a close on July 2, 1954.  With the Colonel’s departure from the airwaves during the summer months, newspapers reported that the series was likely to move to CBS (13).  In the end, however, autumn was not to see Colonel Flack’s return to any network.  DuMont had some limited success in syndicating their kinescopes of the original 39 broadcasts to regional markets, but no further episodes of the series were put into production.  Alan Mowbray later attributed the unexpected cancellation of the show to the rise in popularity of westerns.  “We were crowded off by cowboys,” was his glib assessment (14).

With his prolonged absence from network schedules, things looked bleak for Colonel Flack’s television career.  But you can’t keep a good rogue down, and in 1958 Flack was back, when CBS Films approached Stark-Layton Productions about a revival to be marketed in first run syndication.  Sporting the almost imperceptibly tweaked title of Colonel Humphrey J. Flack, the new series went into production in the autumn of 1958, bringing Alan Mowbray and Frank Jenks back in the principal roles.  Mowbray was heartened by the fact that this revival would be shot on film, unlike the series’ earlier live incarnation on DuMont.  “Every time I went in front of those live cameras I wished I wasn’t there,” he remarked to The Detroit Free Press. “Why I didn’t collapse at the end of the season I don’t know.”  He was happy for the chance to portray Flack in a more polished filmed production -- and the prospect of residuals for subsequent reruns was also enticing.

Colonel Humphrey J. Flack hit the airwaves at the close of 1958, and was sold to major markets across the U.S.  Attracting sponsors ranging from Standard Oil to Budweiser, the 39-episode package garnered praise from Variety as “the only fresh comedy series in syndication.”  However, critical acclaim did not prevent some misconceptions from arising about the new series’ content.  Few of the filmed episodes were remakes of installments from DuMont’s earlier live production, but returning fans who tuned in to episodes such as “Saddle Sore” or “Back to the Coal Mines” may have gotten the mistaken impression that the revival series was simply an attempt to re-shoot the original 39 scripts. 

Certainly, multiple sources over the years have cited this as fact, but the idea doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.  A comparison of the titles between both series reveals very few similarities, and Alan Mowbray himself drove the final nail in this misconception’s coffin.  In a 1959 interview, he reflected on Flack’s filmed exploits in relation to the earlier live telecasts.  “We used … new stories this season, so we [still have the] old ones to dip into if our … writers can’t come up with anything.  They are our insurance policy” (15).  So Mowbray believed the DuMont scripts could be used as the basis of a subsequent season for 1959–60.

Unfortunately, even having a few dozen scripts in reserve couldn’t ensure a second season for Colonel Humphrey J. Flack, and CBS Films commissioned no further episodes after their run wrapped production in the spring of 1959.  Given that low ratings were the primary factor behind the series’ demise, fan response to the cancellation was surprisingly vocal.  When Michigan broadcaster WWJ-TV removed the show from its schedule in December 1959, a local civic group published a protest on the front page of The Detroit News and organized a letter-writing campaign to CBS Films (16).  In the end, Flack fans could take comfort in the fact that the filmed series remained available in syndication for years, but no new episodes would be produced. 

Today Colonel Flack persists primarily as a footnote in entertainment history.  His radio adventures are lost, and his print appearances languish in the yellowed pages of vintage periodicals.  A handful of kinescopes of his DuMont exploits are held by the UCLA Film Archive in California and the Paley Center for Media in New York, while his syndicated television series is now a part of the Viacom film library.  Aside from one or two isolated broadcasts, he has been absent from the airwaves for decades.  Yet despite being all but forgotten today, he blazed a trail for series ranging from It Takes a Thief to Tenspeed and Brownshoe.  And for that, God bless Colonel Humphrey Flack!

SOURCES
1.           Terrace, Vincent.  Television Specials: 5336 Entertainment Programs, 1936 – 2012 (2nd edition).  McFarland Press, 2013
2.           The Abilene Reporter-News: Abilene, Texas (February 20, 1945)
3.           The Findlay Republican Courier: Findlay, Ohio (June 22, 1945)
4.           Billboard Magazine: “Colonel Humphrey Flack” (July 19, 1947)
5.           The Cleveland Plain Dealer: Cleveland, Ohio (May 31, 1953)
6.           The San Bernardino Sun: San Bernardino, California (June 16, 1953)
7.           The Abilene Reporter: Abilene, Texas (June 7, 1953)
8.           Billboard Magazine: “Colonel Humphrey Flack (TV)” (October 17, 1953)
9.           The Brooklyn Daily Eagle: Brooklyn, New York (November 25, 1953)
10.         The Cincinnati Enquirer: Cincinnati, Ohio (June 29, 1954)
11.         The Chicago Daily Tribune: Chicago, Illinois (January 24, 1959)
12.         The Cincinnati Enquirer: Cincinnati, Ohio (June 29, 1954)
13.         The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (June 18, 1954)
14.         The Chicago Daily Tribune: Chicago, Illinois (January 24, 1959)
15.         The Detroit Free Press: Detroit, Michigan (May 31, 1959)
16.         Broadcasting: “Flack for ‘Flack’” (December 21, 1959)

NOTES & EPHEMERA
1.           An item in the September 21, 1939 edition of The Los Angeles Times refers to NBC’s April production of A Spot of Philanthropy as part of “a series of television plays dramatizing the popular Colonel Flack stories.”  This seems spurious, as no evidence exists of further productions on NBC.
2.           The broadcasting trade publication Ross Reports on Television states that the Colonel Humphrey Flack episode aired by the DuMont Network on May 1, 1954 was titled “The Cruncher.”  However, multiple newspapers report that the episode broadcast on that date was “King Hakmir Khan.”  Ross Reports does not provide an episode title for the May 7, 1954 broadcast, so this is the probable air date for “The Cruncher.”
3.           While the show’s basic formula remained substantially the same between the DuMont series and its later syndicated incarnation, there was one significant change.  A laugh track was added to the filmed series, giving the revival a more pronounced “sitcom” feeling.
4.           Some sources state that the 1958 – 59 CBS Films series was later marketed under the alternate title The Adventures of Colonel Flack. To date, no advertisements or documentation confirming this variant title have surfaced.  However, newspaper listings do confirm that the series was aired in the New York and New Jersey areas under the title The Fabulous Fraud circa 1960, and as The Imposter in 1961.
5.           Two large archives of scripts from the DuMont Network’s Colonel Humphrey Flack are known to exist.  One is included in the Edward Jurist Papers, 1940-79 held in the UCLA library’s special collections and the other resides with the Steven H. Scheurer Collection of Television Program Scripts at the Yale University Library.

The Colonel Flack stories in THE SATURDAY EVENING POST
1.           Introducing Col. Humphrey Flack (April 25, 1936)
2.           Col. Humphrey Flack Makes Three Thousand Per Cent Net (November 21, 1936)
3.           Colonel Humphrey Flack and the Barking Overcoat (January 23, 1937)
4.           Colonel Flack and the Affair of the Countess Radeska (May 15, 1937)
5.           Clean-Up (July 24, 1937)
6.           The Colonel Builds a Backfire (November 6, 1937)
7.           The Great Christmas Sweepstakes (December 25, 1937)
8.           A Drop of Elephant Blood (March 5, 1938)
9.           A Spot of Philanthropy (November 12, 1938)
10.         The Colonel Gives a Party (May 8, 1943)
11.         It's All Done With Credit (February 17, 1945)
12.         Colonel Flack and the Tender Ethic (June 23, 1945)
13.         Colonel Flack and the Common Man (April 20, 1946)

COLONEL HUMPHREY FLACK (1953–54) episode list
1.           Art is Fleeting (October 7, 1953)
2.           Saddle Sore (October 14, 1953)
3.           The Eight-Ball and the Side Pocket [a.k.a. The Pool Table] (October 21, 1953)
4.           The Rumboldt Affair [a.k.a. The Horse Race] (October 28, 1953)
5.           title unknown (November 4, 1953)
6.           The Bucket Shop (November 11, 1953)
7.           The Missing Heir (November 18, 1953)
8.           title unknown (November 25, 1953)
9.           The Movie Racket (December 2, 1953)
10.         The Syndicate (December 9, 1953)
11.         The Inventor (December 16, 1953)
12.         African Expedition (December 23, 1953)
13.         The Flack Match (January 2, 1954)
14.         The Wildfire Fund (January 9, 1954)
15.         Prince Fahz of Baklava (January 16, 1954)
16.         The Mansion (January 23, 1954)
17.         The Department Story (January 30, 1954)
18.         The Knave of Diamonds (February 6, 1954)
19.         The Monaco Stradivarius (February 13, 1954)
20.         Do You Call This a Life? (February 20, 1954)
21.         The Flower Girl (February 27, 1954)
22.         The Latin Major (March 6, 1954)
23.         The Columnist (March 13, 1954)
24.         The Pomeranian Society (March 20, 1954)
25.         Vacation (March 27, 1954)
26.         The Swami (April 3, 1954)
27.         The Wild West (April 10, 1954)
28.         Poor Little Rich Boy (April 17, 1954)
29.         Gambling Fever (April 24, 1954)
30.         King Hakmir Khan (May 1, 1954)
31.         title unknown (May 7, 1954)
32.         Achilles Heel (May 14, 1954)
33.         The Perfume Story (May 21, 1954)
34.         Good Old Bob (May 28, 1954)
35.         Back in the Salt Mine (June 4, 1954)
36.         By the Beautiful Sea (June 11, 1954)
37.         Atlantic Crossing (June 18, 1954)
38.         Happy Birthday (June 25, 1954)
39.         The Bradley Diamond (July 2, 1954)

COLONEL HUMPHREY J. FLACK (syndicated) episode list
1.           Lady Bluebeard                                                                                                                   
2.           Colonel Flack Gets Kilt
3.           The Formula
4.           The Bank Teller
5.           Something for the Birds
6.           The Real Estate Caper
7.           Saddle Sore
8.           Colonel Flack’s Big Deal
9.           The Big Wheels
10.         The Diamond Ring
11.         Colonel Flack to the Rescue
12.         The Blackmailer
13.         The Star Maker
14.         The Treasure Hunt
15.         The Emperor’s Snuff-Box 
16.         In Flack We Trust
17.         Flack and the Maharajah
18.         Colonel Cupid
19.         Back to the Coal Mines
20.         The Hypnotist
21.         The Producer
22.         The Happy Medium
23.         The Friendship Club
24.         Colonel Flack and the Gangster
25.         Horse of Another Color
26.         Follow the Bouncing Meatball
27.         West of the Weirdos
28.         Colonel Flack and the Little Leaguers
29.         Colonel Flack’s New Muffler
30.         Garviola, the Matador
31.         Surplus
32.         The Missing Moolah
33.         Colonel Flack and the Dragon
34.         Pearls of Wisdom
35.         Spaceship Ahoy
36.         Up from the Apes
37.         The Tycoon
38.         Colonel Flack and the Counterfeiter
39.         Lo, the Etruscans

Friday, March 3, 2017

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Highway 13 (1949)


The Norris Trucking Company has been the focus of several unfortunate accidents, thanks to some generous use of stock footage from Republic serials.  But when Henrietta Norris, heiress to the Norris fortune, meets her demise in an automobile wreck along the same stretch of California highway that’s claimed so many gearjammers, her father (Tom Chatterton) and husband Frank Denton (Michael Whalen) sit up and take notice.  (Ms. Denton and the drivers all perished along Highway 13.  Get it?  Because “13” is an unlucky number.  Hello?  Bueller?)

Robert Lowery and Dan Seymour
Driver Hank Wilson (Robert Lowery) witnessed Henrietta’s accident, and he’s soon paired up with apprentice trucker George Montgomery (Steve Pendleton, billed as “Gaylord”)—who’s really a private investigator looking into the matter at Denton’s request.  Montgomery is killed in a suspicious truck accident not long after, and Hank is immediately fingered for the crime.  But Wilson is a right guy; it’s hard to believe he could be capable of such mayhem; suffice it to say, there’s no shortage of suspects including Norris personnel manager Mary Hadley (Maris Wrixon) and cantankerous garage/café owner Bill “Pops” Lacy (Clem Bevans).

No one was more surprised than I when I watched Highway 13 (1949) because this makes the second “Forgotten Noir” in a row that’s actually a fairly decent little B-picture.  Tooling along at a crisp, economical 58 minutes, Highway has a very good cast and was directed by journeyman William Berke (Shoot to Kill), who demonstrates with confidence that he knows his way around a programmer (this puppy was shot in three-and-a-half days).  Maurice Tombragel (whose contributions include the serials The Great Alaskan Mystery [1944] and Mystery of the Riverboat [1944]) gets the credit for the screenplay, from a story by John Wilste.

In his write-up for Highway 13 at DVD Talk, Stuart Galbraith IV is most laudatory—labeling the film “a genuinely baffling mystery that keeps viewers guessing.”  Steve at the Mystery File blog has a dissenting opinion: “Most other reviewers of this film rate it a whole lot higher than I do, but personally I don’t care for crime films in which the culprit(s) is/are obvious…”  I kind of have to throw in with Steve on this one; the individual(s) responsible does stick out like a sore thumb (when one of your suspects resembles the Gavin Elster character from Vertigo—not an encouraging sign) but despite this (and a finale that’s a teensy bit contrived) I’d still give the movie high marks (sometimes getting there is half the fun…even if you have predicted the outcome).

Mary Gordon and Clem Bevans
Most of the time when I’m watching Robert Lowery in a movie I’m trying to figure out why so many people thought he looked like Clark Gable.  (Lowery was in last week’s “Forgotten Noir,” Western Pacific Agent [1950]—though he didn’t make it past the first reel.)  But props to Bob—he’s very effective in Highway 13 (I also liked him in another Robert L. Lippert production reviewed on the blog, Arson, Inc. [1949]) and his chemistry with Monogram pin-up girl Pamela Blake (she plays his love interest, a waitress named Doris) is astoundingly good.  (Galbraith observes that Lowery resembles Victor Mature more—I’m with him on this.)  The casting in Highway is one of its major strengths; it’s filled with old pros like Clem Bevans, Mary Gordon (“Mrs. Hudson!”), and Lyle Talbot.  Talbot must have had one hell of an agent—he’s barely in the film and yet he’s mentioned in the opening credits; character veteran Dan Seymour (as an insurance agent named Kelleher) gets more screen time yet goes unbilled.

Pamela Blake and Robert Lowery
The short running time of Highway 13 is also a plus—it zips by so fast you aren’t afforded the opportunity to see where the seams show.  Galbraith also notes that “Lippert must have gotten access to the big diner set from some other movie; it's too elaborate to imagine that it was constructed for this film.”  (I concur, and thought the “Clover Café” background was very impressive for a programmer.)  Highway 13 has resurfaced on DVD as part of the Forgotten Noir series now available at The Sprocket Vault and can also be rented from the new ClassicFlix Underground.  (As to its noir bona fides—DVD Talk says yay, Mystery File says nay…proving it to be one of the most elastic of movie definitions.)

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Adventures in Blu-ray: Panther Girl of the Kongo (1955)


Wildlife photographer Jean Evans (Phyllis Coates) is reverently referred to by the natives of Utanga as “Panther Girl”—in honor of an act of bravery performed when she saved the life of one Utangian as he was being attacked by a panther.  Though she’s achieved a position of trust with the people of the Utango village—they assist her in her work, filming the local flora and fauna—the superstitious natives become petrified of the latest creature to parade before her camera lens…a giant crawfish.  Even the rational Jean wants to know what’s going on, and so she sends word for her friend Larry Sanders (Myron Healey)—yes, that is his actual name—to join her so that the two of them can clear up this baffling crustacean mystery.

Arriving in the village, Larry gets a not-particularly-warm-welcome from a pair of goons in Cass (John Daheim, billed as John Day) and Rand (Mike Ragan), who want very much for Lar to beat a hasty retreat from Utanga.  Why?  Well, the two henchmen are in the employ of a slightly mad scientist named Morgan (Arthur Space)—whose unorthodox chemistry experiments are responsible for the ginormous lobster tooling around Utanga.  Morgan’s eevill scheme is to plunder a nearby diamond mine (unknown to the local authorities) and to continue doing this, he needs to scare off the natives.  To assist him in his work, he not only relies on Cass and Rand but a rival tribe, the Returi, who in true firewater-to-the-Indians fashion are kept pliable via a strong narcotic supplied by the diabolical Morgan.

Quicksand traps! A killer gorilla! Rampaging lions! Lobsters as big as houses! These are just a few of the perils that Panther Girl and Larry must deal with in their heroic quest to stop Morgan and put an end to his misdeeds within the span of twelve chapters.  (I’d suggest a vat of clarified butter and plenty of bibs to subdue the big seafood creature…the rest of the hazards will require some serious skulling.)

Panther Girl of the Kongo (1955) was the penultimate serial to be released by the MGM of B-picture studios, Republic; after King of the Carnival (1955), the low-budget film factory revered for its western programmers and chapter plays decided to ring down the curtain as far as enticing young kidlets into Saturday afternoon matinees each week.  (Republic’s classic serials would later resurface on the small screen in feature film form.)  Clearly inspired by such giant creature films as Them! (1954), Panther Girl is not—despite what it says on the poster art—“the most exciting serial ever filled!”  But if you’re like me and you enjoy a generous sample of cinematic fromage every now and then…Panther Girl will satisfy any true aficionado of movie camp.

If motion pictures were subject to “truth-in-advertising” laws…this serial would be more accurately titled Panther Girl of the Stock Footage.  Despite being unsurpassed in the production of cliffhangers since the studio’s first release of Darkest Africa in 1936, Republic’s post-war serial output had started to take on assembly line proportions—they were a bit mechanical and formulaic, and a far cry from their previous chapter plays like Drums of Fu Manchu (1940) and The Adventures of Captain Marvel (1941), considered by many serial scholars to be among the finest examples of what the French once called "cine-romans" or "films a episodes.”  By the time Panther Girl went before the cameras, Republic’s serials were mostly relying on one writer (Ronald Davidson) and one director (Franklin Adreon), who also doubled as associate producer.

And then there was the stock footage.  Panther Girl of the Kongo relies heavily on material previously seen in the studio’s popular Jungle Girl (1941)—those scenes of Phyllis Coates’ character swinging through the trees are those of Jungle Girl’s ace stuntman David Sharpe, not to mention the scenes of Panther Girl diving into a river and tangling with a lion.  Coates’ Panther Girl costume is an exact match of the get-up sported by Frances Gifford in Jungle Girl…which seems kind of fitting, since both the studio’s first and last female heroines are wearing the same outfit.  If you’re unfamiliar with Jungle Girl, the deception will probably go undetected; the problem is that they also used liberal dollops of footage from the previously mentioned Darkest Africa for Panther Girl’s “killer gorilla” chapter—and the outfit worn by Ray “Crash” Corrigan in Darkest doesn’t quite match the costume used in the newer footage of Panther Girl.

Howard and Theodore Lydecker were Republic’s ace special effects artists…but I suspect the brothers might have been phoning it in on Panther Girl of the Kongo.  The giant lobster creature is really just your run-of-the-mill crawfish placed on a set with miniature props (you might recognize this technique from the later The Giant Gila Monster, released in 1959).  It works as well as you might imagine…but it’s hard not to notice that the “lobster” rarely interacts with the other actors—and when it does, it’s in the form of a large plastic claw that unconvincingly reaches out to grab people every now and then.  When you know that this serial actually went over budget (by close to $7,000) you might ponder where the extra seven large is up on the screen.

I don’t want people to get the impression that I don’t like Panther Girl of the Kongo.  Even while you’re rummaging around in that drawer for your suspension of disbelief, it’s one of the better-acted chapter plays in that era.  Phyllis “Gypsy” Coates, best remembered for playing Lois Lane in the first season of TV’s The Adventures of Superman (and as Mrs. Joe McDoakes in any number of those wonderful one-reel Warner Brothers comedies starring George Hanlon), makes for a most engaging heroine…and veteran B-western bad guy Myron Healey (on the right side of the law for a change) has a nice chemistry with Coates (a lot of the male-female pairings in Republic serials come off as forced).  John Daheim follows in the footsteps of such studio stuntmen as Tom Steele (he’s Healey’s double) and Dale Van Sickel, who were often called upon for acting roles to save a little money (and Daheim isn’t too shabby).

I’ve mentioned that I’m a fan of character great Arthur Space (he’s one of four suspects in a production I covered previously on the blog’s Serial Saturdays, Government Agents vs. Phantom Legion [1951]) but I’m not going to mince words: he’s kind of weak in the villainy department.  (Space comes off as peevish, as if he were the Rexall family druggist and he’s not too wild about coming out from behind the counter.)  The only other thespian of note in Panther Girl is Roy Glenn, a distinguished actor with a long radio resume (you can hear him in recordings of Amos ‘n’ Andy and The Jack Benny Program…but he also worked shows like Suspense and Tales of the Texas Rangers) who later appeared in prestige films like Carmen Jones (1954).  (Sadly, actors gotta eat…and Roy had to tackle demeaning roles like that in the 1953 serial Jungle Drums of Africa; he got to be one of the bad guys in that one.)

Panther Girl of the Kongo made its Blu-ray debut on February 21st courtesy of Olive Films (as always, many thanks to Bradley Powell for the screener), which is happily starting to unearth these wonderful Republic chapter plays (previous Olive releases include The Invisible Monster and Flying Disc Man from Mars)—many of which have not received an official home video release.  “Panther Girl of the Kongo might not be as well remembered as other serials,” observes Olive Films’ Alex Kopecky, “but we feel it’s deserving of a place alongside our favorites, because it epitomizes a lot of the elements that we love about classic serials.”  To that I’ll just add: pass the popcorn.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Western Pacific Agent (1950)


Bindlestiff.  It’s a slangy word for a hobo or tramp, and apparently, it’s been out of usage for so long Microsoft Word is asking me “What the hell, Ivan?”  Be that as it may, the expression gets quite a workout in Western Pacific Agent (1950); as a train passenger (Jason Robards, Sr.) explains to his lady friend (Vera Marshe), most bindlestiffs are merely migrant workers…but some of them, to borrow the nomenclature of our orange Commander-in-Chief, are “bad hombres.”  The gentleman proceeds to tell the woman (and the movie audience) of one such wicked transient.

Though he’s recognized by his fellow rail-riders under his nom de hobo “The West Coast Kid,” the Kid is better known to his friends and family in Chester, California as Frank Wicken (Mickey Knox) …and he’s returned to his hometown to put the bite on his old man (Morris Carnovsky), who owns and operates the town’s general store.  No dice, Papa Joe tells his son—not one thin dime until Frank agrees to straighten up and get a J-O-B.  The ambitious Frank decides to take a shortcut and rob railroad agent Bill Stuart (Robert Lowery) of a $50,000 fruit pickers payroll; in doing so Wicken not only clubs Bill until his brains turn to guacamole but sticks a shiv in the stationmaster (Anthony Jochim) for good measure.  Fleeing with the cash, Frank leaves the murder weapon behind…because he isn’t very bright.  (I’m no lawyer…but I think Wicken just might swing for those killings.)

Stuart Galbraith IV at DVD Talk says of the ubiquitous Sid Melton: "He grows on you." (So does kudzu.)

To solve the murders, a special railroad agent named Rod Kendall (Kent Taylor) is brought in…and you’d think if he was that much of a big deal this movie would have been titled Western Pacific Special Agent.  Kendall, with the help of the local sheriff (Dick Elliott) and a stooge played by Sid Melton (because this is a Lippert film, after all) gets down to cases; the company has had the foresight to pass out a list of the serial numbers on the bills to local business so that Frank is unable to spend any of his ill-gotten gains.  Oh, the irony!  (All we need now is Bill Forman chortling about how terribly Wicken screwed up like a classic broadcast of The Whistler.)  Frank is ultimately unable to outrun the long arm of the law because…well, you know the drill—weed of crime, bitter fruit, yada yada yada.

Unlike a lot of the programmers on these Forgotten Noir DVDs (available for purchase at The Sprocket Vault or to rent from the new ClassicFlix Underground), Western Pacific Agent is a dandy little B-noir (yes, I think this one qualifies) from director Sam Newfield (and his producer, brother Sigmund Neufeld) that’s a hell of an entertaining movie to watch.  No less than an authority than the late John Cocchi—author of one of my favorite film reference books, Second Feature—spoke most highly of the film: “One of the brothers’ very best is this crime drama in which the heroes become secondary to the villain.”  I think he pretty much nails it; the top cop is played by Kent Taylor who, despite his lengthy movie resume, I can never think beyond TV’s Boston Blackie.  Taylor’s Randall is competent but uninspiring—he seems annoyed by Melton’s comic relief (I’d gamble he’s not the only one) and his “romance” with Martha Stuart (Sheila Ryan)—yes, that is the character’s name—is dull stuff.

The top performances in Agent go to Mickey Knox, who would later enjoy great success in Italian films in the 1960s/1970s (he was a favorite of director Sergio Leone), and Morris Carnovsky, a respected stage actor whose movie career was cut off at the knees by the blacklist.  Knox is so convincing as an amoral drifter it’s scary (Stuart Galbraith IV at DVD Talk notes that Woody Harrelson’s character in Natural Born Killers [1994] is named “Mickey Knox” and wonders if Oliver Stone ever saw Agent—I’ll bet this was Quentin Tarantino’s contribution) and the cruel twist of Fred Myton’s screenplay (from a story by Milton Raison) kind of makes you feel a little sorry for the little jerk.  Carnovsky proves to be the consummate pro in that he demonstrates despite having to be in this B-picture he’s going to give 100%.

Dick Elliott is always a welcome presence, and vets like Frank Richards and Ted Jacques turn in solid performances as two “bindlestiffs” who become hoboes of interest in Randall’s investigation.  (Look quickly and you’ll see our old buddy, B-western heavy Charles King, with a bindle as well.)  I’ll slip into a Stanley R. Sogg impression and let you know “the ever popular Margia Dean!” has a brief bit as a female hobo…proving that riding the rails was an equal opportunity occupation.  Why Jason Robards, Sr. goes unmentioned while his female companion gets a nod in the opening credits is a question I can’t answer…though the cynic in me speculates the actress in question might have been a friend of the producer, if you know what I mean and I think you do.

Western Pacific Agent wraps things up with exciting shootouts at an old shack and a bascule bridge that per the {always reliable) IMDb is the Henry Ford Bridge on Terminal Island (Long Beach) where Knox’s Wicken meets a memorable end.  I only wish they had made a little more use of the Western Pacific streamliner the Zephyr Vista Dome, which was introduced in this picture (some of the scenes were shot on the train’s Frisco-to-Chicago run).  Other portions of Agent were lensed at Oroville (their dam has been in the news lately) in the Feather River country of Northern California.  Great little B-picture, and one of the stand-outs in the Forgotten Noir collections.

Friday, February 17, 2017

Forgotten Noir Fridays: Mr. District Attorney (1941)


P(rince) Cadwallader Jones (Dennis O’Keefe), newly-minted Harvard Law graduate (summa cum laude!), is given an opportunity (thanks to some political pull from an uncle) for a job in District Attorney Thomas Winton’s (Stanley Ridges) office.  For an Ivy League graduate, Jones doesn’t seem too bright; in handling his first assignment in court, he inadvertently allows a mobster (Ben Welden) to go free by arguing a point of law that forces the judge (George Watts) to declare a mistrial.  This little clusterfudge hits the front page of the paper where ace reporter Terry Parker (Florence Rice) works—the same periodical that hopes to back Winton in a tough reelection race against criminal attorney (emphasis on criminal) Arthur Barret (Minor Watson).

As punishment for being such a doofus, Jones is given a busywork assignment: a closed case (complete with a mountain of paperwork) involving a crooked politico named Paul Hyde (Peter Lorre), who made off with a tidy sum “liberated” from a public fund several years earlier.  Hyde has disappeared and is presumed dead…but when four fifty-dollar bills from that fund turn up at a local racetrack there’s no question that Mr. Hyde is back in circulation; Winton, however, takes the case away from screw-up Jones and hands it off to a more experienced litigator.  Jonesy and Terry team up to investigate the case, which leads them to murder, money, and mayhem before the final fadeout.

Back in November of last year, one of the entries on the blog’s Forgotten Noir Fridays was Mr. District Attorney (1947), a B-picture inspired by the popular radio show of the same name (from 1939 to 1953).  The 1947 version of Attorney was actually the fourth time the movies tried to start a film franchise based on the radio program; this week’s Forgotten Noir entry is the first go-round for Mr. District Attorney, released by Republic in 1941.  The 1941 film was originally going to be just a run-of-the-mill programmer cranked out by the Republic folks, but studio head Herbert J. Yates liked what he watched in the rushes and decided to appropriate a little more fundage to make the picture a “special.” 

In From Radio to the Big Screen, Facebook chum Hal Erickson notes: “To that end, [Yates] hired playwright F. Hugh Herbert (Kiss and Tell, The Moon Is Blue) to contribute additional dialogue, which may explain why the witty badinage between O’Keefe and Rice is the best thing in the picture.”  Mr. District Attorney is a tol’able little feature, but I disagree with Hal about the screwball comedy aspect involving O’Keefe and Rice; I found their relationship forced, and really—if I wanted to watch an attorney and his romantical escapades I’d put on a rerun of Bachelor Father.  I do agree wholeheartedly with Hal when he compares the comedic shenanigans in Attorney to the treatment detective Ellery Queen was receiving at Columbia at that time (with Ralph Bellamy playing the great sleuth for laughs)—neither approach served those gumshoes well.

I will say this in Mr. District Attorney’s favor: as the movie heads toward the end of its 69-minute running time it puts a nice spin on the plot (unfortunately resolved with a comedic car chase involving the principals).  The supporting cast is also first-rate: Grady Sutton is uncredited as a haberdashery salesman who appears at the beginning and end of the movie (he’s in on the lighthearted wrap-up), and I also spotted TDOY faves like Vince “Elmo” Barnett, Billy Benedict, Tommy Cook, Dick Elliott, Fred Kelsey, and Dave Willock (he has no dialogue, but he’s easily recognized as a photographer seated beside Rice in a courtroom scene).  I thought Peter Lorre was a little subdued in his role of villain—otherwise the rest of the veterans turn in solid work.

Republic followed Mr. District Attorney with Mr. District Attorney in the Carter Case (1941), described by Hal as “a notch better than its predecessor,” and a third entry in the franchise, Secrets of the Underground, was released in 1943—with D.A. “Winton” from the first two films shunted off to a bit role (and played by Pierre Watkin).  If you mosey over to The Sprocket Vault, you’ll find the 1941 movie and previous Forgotten Noir discs back in print—Richard M. Roberts will probably have more info on this but it looks as if Kit Parker Films has decided to release these little gems on their Vault label (which would explain their gradual fade-out from the VCI website).  While I didn’t care for the heavy comedy in Mr. District Attorney (Kit Parker calls it on their website a “whimsical filmization”), overall I found the picture to be a pleasant if unremarkable viewing experience.  (The New York Times’ Bosley Crowther had a dissenting opinion, calling it “the worst bad picture of the year.”  That had to have left a mark.)

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Animation fascination


Back in September 2016, I beat the drum for an Indiegogo project instituted by Tommy José Stathes—early animation historian, archivist, preservationist, and societal gadabout—that would bring to DVD/Blu-ray fifteen early animation shorts starring the irrepressible Bobby Bumps, a beloved cartoon tyke who headlined a good many one-reelers for the John Randolph Bray cartoon studio between 1915 and 1925 (Bobby was created by J.R. Bray animator Earl Hurd).  Stathes, who owns one of the largest silent film cartoon collections in the world, has made it his mission to share these goodies through his home video company Cartoons on Film; the organization is dedicated, to quote the website, “to shar[ing] these masterpieces and prevent[ing] them from being forgotten ever again.”

One of Cartoons on Film’s previous DVD/Blu-ray releases, Cartoon Roots, was reviewed by yours truly at my “Where’s That Been?” column at ClassicFlix back in April of 2015…and in the interim, I had purchased its sequel Cartoon Roots: The Bray Studios – Animation Pioneers with every intention of writing it up in this space at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear.  The delay on this requires a bit of an explanation: I have two Blu-ray players here in Castle Yesteryear.  One of them is connected to the desktop computer in my bedroom…but it no longer plays new Blu-rays because the software that came with the computer insists I pay for an update before it will commence with the Blu-ray thing.  (I simply refuse to submit to this kind of extortion.  It’s akin to paying for sex.)

The other player is in the living room…and since the TV out there is often held hostage by my MSLSD-obsessed father, it’s a little difficult scheduling time to watch any Blu-rays.  I try to do it after he’s officially called it quits for the day (and has headed off for sleepy bye) …but by the time, I’m usually too exhausted to watch anything myself.  (Also, too: my mother suffers from insomnia, and she’s been known to wander out into the living room at that time of night after getting the full two hours of shuteye.  I know the last thing she’s going to want to do is watch silent cartoons.)  It wasn’t until I finally decided that I would stop putting it off and just tear off the shrink wrap that I realized—this is a DVD/Blu-ray combo.  I could have watched this on the DVD player in my bedroom.  So mea maxima culpa to you, Tom…but as I have noted so often here on the blog in the past—I can be a real idiot at times.

As befitting its title, the content of Cartoon Roots: The Bray Studios focuses on shorts produced at one of the most inventive of the cartoon factories (and the first successful animation company in America).  The Bray Studios’ first effort, The Artist’s Dream (1913; a.k.a. The Dachshund and The Sausages), kicks off the proceedings; this famous short is a delightful little outing in which a little cartoon weiner dog drawn on an artist’s easel ingenuously gobbles up a plate of bangers…much to the animator’s bewilderment.  The Artist’s Dream was featured on The Greatest Cable Channel Known to Mankind™ in October of 2012 on a presentation of early New York animation shorts hosted by cartoon guru Jerry Beck and TCM oracle Robert “Bobby Osbo” Osborne.

The House of Yesteryear was probably in one of its frequent non-TCM periods at the time the previously mentioned special was televised…but I was able to catch the 100th Anniversary of Bray Studios two years later, which is where I saw one of the DVD/Blu-ray’s other ‘toons, A Fitting Gift (1920).  Gift stars Judge Rummy, who was the subject of a popular comic strip by Tad Dorgan (from 1910 to 1922) that was adapted by the Bray Studios in a series of shorts from 1918 to 1922.  Accompanied by his sidekick Silk Hat Harry, His Honor browses various corsets in a shop to find a suitable one for his wife.  Wacky complications ensue.  J.R. Bray brought several personalities from the “funny papers” to the big screen, represented on Cartoon Roots: The Bray Studios with characters like Krazy Kat (The Best Mouse Loses [1920]) and Jerry on the Job (The Tale of the Wag [1920]).  Even the popular Bobby Bumps series had its origins in comic strips; creator Earl Hurd drew an embryonic version of Bobby as “Brick Bodkin” for The New York Journal from 1912 to 1914.  (There’s one of Bobby’s cartoons on this set: Bobby Bumps’ Pup Gets the Flea-enza [1919].)

A chief reason why I—and by that rationale, so many others—find silent cartoon shorts so fascinating is that they were truly inventive little creations…and not just geared to juvenile audiences (some of the material is a little on the risqué side).  How Animated Cartoons are Made (1919) is a jewel, starring animator Wallace Carlson as himself in a short that “documents” how he put together a typical “Us Fellers” cartoon (a short-lived Bray series featuring a daydreaming tyke who answered to “Dreamy Dud”).  Granted, the short deviates a great deal from reality (it leads you to believe producing cartoons was a one-man show…which it most assuredly was not) but it’s most entertaining in its skillful blend of live action and animation.  This would be one of the Bray Studios’ hallmarks; directors like Max Fleischer and Walter Lantz used the live action-animation device often, and are represented on this release with The Tantalizing Fly (1919—with Koko the Clown!), The Pied Piper (1924—starring Dinky Doodle and his pup Weakheart), and The Lunch Hound (1927—Pete the Pup).  It will come as no surprise that Fleischer and Lantz would later start their own studios; Terrytoons’ Paul Terry was also a Bray employee (and his legendary Farmer Alfalfa appears in the 1916 outing Farmer Alfalfa Sees New York.)

Rounding out Cartoon Roots: The Bray Studios are Col. Heeza Liar’s African Hunt (1914), The Police Dog on the Wire (1917), Chemical Inspiration (1921), and The Point of View (1921)—an interesting public service announcement about the need to see your optometrist regularly.  Fans of Winsor McCay might get a chuckle out of Diplodocus (1915), a cartoon that was clearly inspired by McCay’s famous Gertie the Dinosaur (1914).  (There is a lot of gossip and speculation as to what Bray “liberated” from McCay in terms of animation techniques—I won’t get into it here.)  Cartoon Roots: The Bray Studios is also stuffed with a lot of lovely extra goodies (promotional art, trade paper items) and is supplemented with a “program guide” with detailed information on each short as well as informative essays from Stathes, Beck, David Gerstein (who scored several of the shorts), and Facebook compadre Thad Komorowski.  Animation fanatics will want a copy of this so that they can hug it and squeeze it and pet it and call it “George” …but classic movie fans in general should hie themselves to Amazon and grab one for its indispensable historical value.