…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?
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
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 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.
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) |
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)
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.”
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.
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)
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 |
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 |
![]() |
| Pamela Blake and Robert Lowery |
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.
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.)
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.
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.
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.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)











































