HOTEL (1967)

A couple at the New Orleans airport take their room key from the hotel they were staying at, the Saint Gregory, and having forgotten to turn it in, throw it into an ashtray where it is picked up by a professional thief (Karl Malden) who heads to the hotel, ready to begin a burglary binge. At the hotel, we see that the #3 elevator is a bit rickety but hasn't been reported yet (let’s call this Chekhov's elevator). The hotel owner (Melvyn Douglas), who laments the passing of the old days (he is, among other things, against desegregating the hotel), has to sell the hotel. His choices: 1) sell to hotel magnate Kevin McCarthy who wants to completely renovate it into a modern mechanized place full of conveyor belts, which would most likely displace most of the current workers; 2) get funding from a union, which would, of course, mean unionizing the current workers; 3) sell to a real estate company that wants to tear down the hotel and put up an office building. Douglas relies on his manager (Rod Taylor) to help him make a decision even while Taylor has his hands full with the day-to-day concerns of the guests. McCarthy and his retinue are staying in a high-class suite; he makes his assistants pray with him on their knees to make their mission a success, even as he has meetings in an open bathrobe and sleeps with his younger French mistress (Catherine Spaak). In another suite are a British duke (Michael Rennie) and duchess (Merle Oberon); we first see them sneaking up to their room by the service stairs because they're ducking a hit-and-run investigation involving the death of a child. Rennie is up for an important diplomatic post and Oberon bribes the house detective (Richard Conte) into getting rid of their car. McCarthy sends Spaak to be squired about the French Quarter for a day by Taylor so she can play spy and report back with information McCarthy can use in negotiations. She gets some info, but Taylor takes her to his apartment where they listen to jazz and have sex. In another plotline, a Black couple show up with reservations, but Douglas turns them away; it turns out they are part of McCarthy's plan to squelch Douglas' deal with the union by exposing the incident to the press. And let's not forget that elevator which hasn’t been fixed yet.

Many critics see this as an update of the old warhorse GRAND HOTEL which follows various characters and their interlocking relationships over the period of a couple of days. Here, however, there is a central character, Taylor, who is far more charismatic and interesting than any of the guests. The two main plots (McCarthy's machinations and Oberon's attempt to save her husband from the law) are fairly predictable, and Spaak is the only one to get a fleshed-out backstory. In Malden's sideplot, he is stuck with grinning idiotically as he creeps about in rooms and runs from the cops. His predictable story runs out of steam quickly. That leaves Taylor carrying the movie, and he is almost successful. Taylor is handsome, charming, and dynamic, though his character is awfully flat considering we're supposed to identify with him. Taylor, far and away, does the best acting here, with Oberon and Rennie doing OK. Spaak feels like she's sleepwalking through her part, and McCarthy doesn't have the gravitas to make his character seem serious or threatening. There are some nice side turns by Clinton Sundburg, Alfred Ryder and Harry Hickox (the anvil salesman from The Music Man), and jazz singer Carmen McRae is good in a small role as, yes, the singer in the hotel's bar—she and Taylor show hints of an interesting relationship that isn't examined. Oddly, I feel like this movie is a bit too short. A couple of side stories are glimpsed (in addition to McRae, there's a bell captain who meddles in things and a couple of rich lads who invite whores up to their room for a party) that might have been interesting. There are a handful of location shots in New Orleans but they don't amount to much. Still, the hotel sets are effective. The ending is not especially satisfying, with the Rennie/Oberon story left with loose ends, but the last scene is nice. Directed by Richard Quine, a character actor in the 40s who became a rather undistinguished director in the 50s (except for Bell, Book and Candle). Based on a bestseller by Arthur Hailey (Airport). The whole thing is lazily involving if not engrossing, but I’d watch it again for the sexy Rod Taylor (pictured). [TCM]

LOVERS AND LOLLIPOPS (1956)

Ann is a young widow who lives in Manhattan and works as a model. She has a 7-year old daughter named Peggy who is entering a mildly bratty phase. One night, Ann goes out with Larry, an old friend who has just returned from a few years working as an engineer in South America. Larry buys Peggy a toy boat which she insists on taking with her as they head out for a day on the town. At the Museum of Modern Art, Peggy proves to be a bit of a handful, eventually floating her boat in a pool in the sculpture garden and needing help getting it out. Generally, it seems like Peggy has taken to Larry's presence and he and Ann start to talk about a future together, with Larry willing to talk to his bosses about transferring to Manhattan. The two start spending more time together and Peggy, possibly threatened by the growing relationship, starts acting out around Larry. She hides from him in a beach parking lot, then disobeys orders not to take all the lollipops out of a beach bag (she tries to stuff them all in her mouth, then plants them in the sand). On a trip to Macy's toy department with Larry to pick out a new toy, Peggy dawdles on purpose which irritates Larry. When they get home, Peggy claims that Larry slapped her (he didn't) which causes Ann to slap her. It seems like Peggy might be successful in spoiling Ann and Larry’s relationship, but after a break of a couple of days, Larry tries one last tactic: a new puppy.

This is a very low-budget film, shot on location on the streets of New York with a small cast and post-dubbed dialogue. The directors, Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin, had a fluke hit a couple years earlier with a similar child-focused slice of life story called Little Fugitive. This didn't have the same success and it's a bit rough around the edges, but it has mild charms. The acting is deceptively good all around, with the three leads seeming very natural, all probably fighting the temptation to exaggerate their feelings and actions as in a typical Hollywood film. Peggy's acting-up never leads to anything dangerous; when she hides in the parking lot, I was sure there would be drama, but she doesn't run out in the path of a car, and Larry refuses to overreact to the situation. Of course, this means the movie lacks some energy and tension—there was no doubt in my mind that lonely Ann and nice-guy Larry would wind up together. Cathy Dunn (Peggy) never made another movie but she certainly shows low-key promise here, being cranky and irritating without overdoing it. Lori March (Ann) went on to soap operas. Gerald S. O’Laughlin (Larry), a favorite tough-guy character actor of mine, does a nice job as the suitor, sensitive to Ann's situation and not willing to give up on winning over the mercurial daughter. One nice situation has Peggy see a hippopotamus named Larry at the zoo; later she draws the hippo and his name in chalk on the sidewalk, but when Larry shows up, she tries to erase the name, afraid that he'll think she was insulting him by comparing him to a hippo. I'm glad I saw this low-key film but it won't be everyone’s cup of tea. [YouTube]

JUST IMAGINE (1930)

In the year 1980, people have numbers instead of names, they use one-person planes instead of cars (a bit like the Jetsons do), they need governmental approval to marry, and they get children from vending machines on the street. John Garrick is in love with Maureen O’Sullivan and meets her in mid-air as their two planes hover to discuss their situation. Another man (Kenneth Thomson) has applied to marry her, and as Garrick has been judged the less impressive of the two, Thomson has been given priority. She loves Garrick, but he has only a couple of months to do something in his field (he's a pilot) that will make him stand out above Thomson. To help him forget his troubles, Garrick's roommate (Frank Albertson) takes him to see a scientist resurrect a man who died in 1930—he was struck by lightning while playing golf. The man (El Brendel), rather like Woody Allen in Sleeper, is reanimated and is confused and astonished by the future world, and Garrick and Albertson take him in. Meanwhile, another scientist tells Garrick about a spaceship he has built and suggests that if Garrick could fly it to Mars, that might be enough to get him married to O'Sullivan. The roommates take off, with Brendel as a stowaway. On Mars, the three get involved with King Loko and Queen Loo Loo, discover two different tribes of beings, witness an elaborate dance scene performed around a huge idol, and finally make it back home where Garrick is praised for his trip and gets to marry O’Sullivan. 

You would think an early talkie sci-fi musical would be fun, if only as a period piece, but this ludicrous mess is hard to take. The only reason I sat through it was the fabulous set design. Apparently a big chunk of the films' budget went to its look: the modern apartment, the New York cityscape (looking much like the city in Fritz Lang's Metropolis), the scientific labs, the Martian landscape. The plot seems to have been thrown together in a few days to justify the visuals. In fact, the weak plot may be a consequence of the film being a musical, with the narrative seen as relatively unimportant compared to the songs and production numbers. The Mars sequence, which has a convoluted and forgettable plot, features a spectacular number, the abovementioned dance with the giant idol which was reused in the original Flash Gordon serial. It also contains a running joke that would not have been possible under the Production Code a few years later: the king of Mars is apparently gay and has a thing for El Brendel. The funniest line in the movie is when Brendel realizes that he's being flirted with and says, in reference to the queen of Mars, "She’s not the queen, he is!" In the end, Loko returns to Earth where they just might wind up as together as Garrick and O’Sullivan. Another standout line: When Garrick complains to a spinsterish census taker about the unfairness of the law, she replies, "The Marriage Act, like the Volstead Act—a noble experiment." (Prohibition, the Volstead Act, was still the law of the land in 1930.) The songs are unmemorable, El Brendel's shtick is quite dated (though I did laugh at a few of his bits), Garrick is flat, and O’Sullivan is given little to do, which leaves Albertson and Marjorie White, as his girlfriend, as the bright spots in the film. They are both energetic and amusing, which the leads are not. It doesn't help that the only available print, one shown on the Fox Movie Channel some years ago, is in poor shape. For the visuals alone, this might be worth restoring, but I won't hold my breath. Many critics have done political and cultural readings of the film, particularly as concerns the low status of women reflected in the future, but I can't work up the energy to participate. For me, this movie is all about the sets. In the photo above, Albertson and Brendel at to the left and Garrick is to the right. [YouTube]

REVOLT OF THE BARBARIANS (1964)

In 300 A.D., northern areas of Rome are besieged by, well, revolting barbarians. Darius and his men of the 10th legion are on their way home to Rome after months of battle when they are stopped by Claudius, an emissary of the emperor, and given a new task: head to Gaul and stop the systematic robbery of gold, intended for the soldiers' payroll, by the raiding barbarians. The legion heads to the town of Trivero where Darius and his buddy Marcus disguise themselves as merchants. They get to know Demetrius, head of the city; Livia, who is anti-Rome because Romans were responsible for the death of her father; her aunt Augusta, a woman of indeterminate loyalty; Brutus, the head of the Praetorian Guard. There is more going on here than we see on the surface: it appears that the gold pieces (which are marked with a distinctive 'X') are being stolen by barbarians who are being controlled by Demetrius, and Darius sees the coins turning up in Trivero. Claudius orders Darius and his men to stage a fake gold delivery as bait for catching the bandits. It turns out there is a conspiracy apparently headed by Brutus, but Darius suspects that he has higher-ups controlling him, as a series of double-crosses confirms.

This is not uninteresting, but if you're new to the peplum genre, this may not be the one to start with. The presence of oiled-up musclemen and people in togas are two of the primary criteria for the genre; here, you will find togas but no muscles, or even bare male chests, muscular or otherwise. Roland Carey, as Darius (pictured), is an OK hero that we can root for, and he's handy with a sword, but he is strictly of average build, as is Marcus (Gabriele Antonini). The women are attractive but not as buxom as one might expect. Once you get past the physical glitches, the rest is entertaining enough. The plot is a tiny bit more complicated than usual, and the sword fights are pulled off well, if a bit padded out at times. The soundtrack, as with most Italian movies of the era, is completely dubbed, not only in English speech but with background noises done by foley artists as well, but here the foley department went a bit overboard, with, for example, the sound of two men running sounding like horses clomping. When horses actually are clomping, the sound is overwhelming. There is a musical theme used in some of the fight scenes that is reminiscent of the Rumble music from West Side Story. Ultimately, the title has little meaning, as any barbarian revolt is secondary to the actual intrigue. [YouTube]

DOCKS OF NEW ORLEANS (1948)

In the only scene in this movie set at the title location, two suspicious looking men, Grock and Pereaux, try to stop a shipment of chemicals from going to South America, but the ship is too well guarded. Meanwhile, LaFontanne, the head of the chemical company, calls on Charlie Chan, fearing a "secret enemy." The chemical, a variation of perchloric acid which can be used as a weapon, was produced in a partnership with Castanaro and Von Scherbe, On the morning that Chan is to meet with LaFontanne, Castanaro and Von Scherbe show up at the office and demand that LaFontanne sign an agreement that ensures that, if one of the partners dies, the others will get his share of the profits. He is reluctant but does eventually sign. Then, LaFontanne has a new visitor: Oscar Swenstrom, the inventor of the chemical, who feels cheated by the partners because he won't get a share of the profits. LaFontanne's secretary (and niece) Rene calls the cops, but by the time they get there, LaFontanne, who went into his office to listen to a radio concert, is found dead, possibly of a heart attack. When Chan arrives, he figures out that poison gas was actually the culprit, but how it happened and who did it are unclear. There end up being four parties of interest: 1) the remaining partners; 2) Grock and Pereaux (and a woman who calls herself the Countess) who are after the formula for the chemical; 3) Swenstrom (and his opera singing wife whom we never meet but who is mentioned more than once); 4) the niece Rene who had a chunk of the partnership, and the office manager Thompson who is Rene’s tagalong buddy. Chan is on the case with help from the cops—and hindrance from his son Tommy and chauffeur Birmingham Brown.

The generally accepted Charlie Chan film canon consists of over forty films made between 1931 and 1949. Three different actors played Chan. The first and best known is Warner Oland; after his death, Sidney Toler took over, followed by Roland Winters. Winters, who seemed the least yellowface Chan. is often regarded as the least of the three (partly because his movies, made by Monogram, had the lowest budgets, sometimes being shot is just a week or so), but in an attempt to look at him with fresh eyes, I found that he's not bad. He doesn't have the spark that Oland had, but he also is less lethargic than Toler was—Toler did his last few Chan films while suffering with cancer, but even before that, Toler was not terribly energetic. In this, the second of six Chan films that Winters starred in, he tries to follow the Oland template of quiet dignity with occasional subtle snark directed at those who underestimate Chan's talents. Black comic actor Manan Moreland played Birmingham in several Chan movies, and despite usually being depicted as scared and bumbling, he is usually a highlight of the films, as he is here. His interplay with Victor Sen Yung (as Tommy, also a bungler) is fun—they even get to do a short song, "The Chop Suey Boogie," on violin and piano. He also does a funny double-talk bit with Haywood Jones (fine in the only movie he ever made). The rest of the cast is adequate, mostly a bunch of middle-aged white guys in suits and hats who can be difficult to distinguish from each other. John Gallaudet is good as the police captain, as are Virginia Dale (Rene) and Rory Mallinson (Thompson). If you're familiar with the concept of Chekhov's gun, the opera singing wife who sings on the radio is the Chekhov's gun here. There's not a lot of action but the clever climax plays out nicely. The movie is basically an uncredited remake of MR. WONG DETECTIVE, an earlier Monogram movie. Best lines: one impatient character, wanting Chan to cut to the chase, says, "Forget the parables, Chan!" and later, "Never mind the platitudes, Chan, talk!" Of course, Chan wouldn't be Chan without those platitudes and parables. More Roland Winters coming up soon. Pictured are Moreland, Winters and Sen Yung. [DVD]

THE GREAT WALTZ (1972)

This biopic about the great waltz composer Johann Strauss Jr. is related to but not directly based on the 1938 film of the same title. It begins with Strauss's father (Nigel Patrick) in the middle of conducting a concert when he is confronted by his estranged wife Anna (Yvonne Mitchell) because she has learned that his mistress Emily has borne him a child and named him Johann, just like his legitimate son (Horst Buchholz, pictured). After he refuses to rename the child, Anna, in revenge, springs the news on him that Johann Jr. has decided to become a violinist, a career his father was set against because of its financial insecurities. But another reason might be jealousy, as we find out when Anna tells Johann Sr. that the son's teacher believes that Johann Jr. is likely to surpass the talents of his father. When Johann Jr. gives his first concert, his mother has "Jr." put on the poster in tiny letters, and when the audience sees him, they express their disappointment loudly (his small orchestra is belittled as a "ragtag group" of tavern musicians). Two men who were hired by Senior to disrupt the concert begin booing loudly, and the audience joins them, but eventually Johann wins them over and his father eventually softens when he hears him play. That night, he meets opera singer Jetty Treffz (Mary Costa) who encourages him. He shoots to fame quickly and a few years later he runs into Jetty again, who is the mistress of Baron Tedesco (Rosanno Brazzi). The Baron senses an attraction between Jetty and Johann and tries to keep them apart, but eventually they marry, with (more or less) the best wishes of the Baron and of Johann's mother. Their relationship is troubled a bit by Johann's roving eye and Jetty's buried secret (she has a bastard son). All that remains is for the Blue Danube Waltz to shoot Johann to everlasting fame.

This is much like Andrew Stone's earlier biopic, SONG OF NORWAY which was about Edvard Grieg. Both are long musicals about 19th century classical composers, both treat large swaths of their lives, and both incorporate several dance numbers set to the melodies of the composers. They are good-looking films seemingly made with adequate budgets. And despite having some fans, both were commercial bombs, both being part of that ill-fated Hollywood movement to find another musical blockbuster like THE SOUND OF MUSIC. Unlike NORWAY, this one has less pandering to a family audience, but it's not necessarily a better movie; it's not a bad movie, but it is overly long and frankly, the musical numbers, arriving every ten minutes or so, wore me out. But the clincher may be the terrible, at times unintentionally comical, sung narration, lyrics set, I'm assuming, to Strauss melodies, though I'm not sure. Horst Buchholz is on screen most of the time and he's really very good (and easy on the eyes) but the script doesn't make him a very consistent character. Mary Costa (Jetty) is an opera singer, probably best known as the voice of Disney's Sleeping Beauty. She looks the part but gives a rather bland performance, as does Rosanno Brazzi who is wasted, left mostly to look sad or mildly perturbed. The musical numbers I mentioned above are actually quite nicely done with lots of athletic leaping and swirling, but there are just too many of them. The very good choreography is by Onna White who did fine work in BYE BYE BIRDIE, THE MUSIC MAN and OLIVER! The production values are good, as is the cinematography. Despite all that, it never fully came to life for me. [TCM]

BOWANGA BOWANGA (1951)

We are told through voiceover that the story we are about to see is one of any number of legends about unknown Africa. "Is it fact or fiction? Who can say?" Indeed. Next we see Count Sparafucile and his buddy plain old Kirby on safari, seeing (via badly inserted stock footage) lots of animals in the brush and one gorilla who seems ready to head off for some affection with a human woman, the two never to be seen again. Then they find an unconscious man on the ground whom Kirby recognizes as a guide named Trent. The man wakes up delirious, having become lost, mumbling something about "white sirens of Africa," and Kirby and the Count nurse him back to health. In a flashback, we see Trent, living with his alcoholic father in Africa, witness a group of white female natives, called Ulama, perform a frenzied dance ceremony (involving a quick shot of bare breasts). Years later, he has returned to Africa to get proof of the existence of the "white sirens." Kirby and the Count join him and soon enough, they are captured on a plateau where the Ulama, some of whom can speak broken English, live. The trio see that the women have enslaved some men, and learn that the Ulama use the strong men to service their queen and the weak ones to sacrifice to the Fire God. The queen gets excited when she sees the moderately hunky Trent and claims him for her use, irritating a group of jealous sirens, with the other two marked for sacrifice (though if I'm not mistaken, Count Sparafucile gets used himself by a lesser siren). Conflict ensues with one of the younger, more suburban looking sirens, Owoona, helping the men escape from the clutches of the queen and the Fire God in the nick of time.

This exotic B-movie melodrama runs with the whole "wild white women" thing (its alternate title is WILD WOMEN), with Black Africans shunted off to the background. Usually in a movie of this genre and era, the white women are in danger and need saving, or perhaps are misguided and need saving, but here, the white sirens don't need any saving at all—they’re rather vicious and only need men for procreation—forget the weaklings and the nerds. (To be fair, neither the Count nor Kirby are really weak or nerdy, but just not as studly as Trent.) It's almost surreal how much cutting back and forth there is between studio scenes and grainy, sometimes blurry stock footage, much of which was apparently taken from silent movies. In its own weird way, it's effective. The acting is of two qualities: trying hard and not trying at all. The women don't try at all, barking out syllables, looking pissed off, while decked out in make-up and nicely done hair. Of course, they're not really playing characters. Even the queen (Dana Wilson, who later married Albert Broccoli, producer of the James Bond films) isn't given much to differentiate her from the other sirens. Only the wholesome looking Owoona (Charleen Hawks) has any character at all. The men acquit themselves a little better because they actually have sketchy characters to portray. Lewis Wilson (the original Batman in the 1943 serial) is fine as Trent, Mort Thompson is likably casual as Kirby, and Don Orlando is mild comic relief as the Count. There are a few tribal dances to enliven the sometimes slow proceedings, including the "Hoy-ya, Boy-ya, Hoom-bah" song. I just had to see this for the title, and at a skosh over one hour, it’s mostly painless B-jungle movie fun. [YouTube]

SHADOWS OVER SHANGHAI (1938)

During the Chinese-Japanese war, at the Woosung Refuge for War Orphans in rural China, Irene, a teacher, wishes that the world's populations could all get along like all the children do. Of course, as soon as she says this, a group of boys begin fighting, causing the old guy who runs the place to chuckle knowingly. Hearing a biplane buzzing past, she sees that it's her brother Peter, who frequently stops by when he's in the air. (We never really know what he does; is he a military pilot or a courier or just a recreational pilot?) This time, however, he zooms on by, being chased by another plane piloted by a villainous looking fellow in a goatee named Sargoza. Peter is shot down and Irene, discovering the wreckage, pulls him out, injured but alive. He gives Irene a half of an amulet and asks her to sail for San Francisco and deliver it into the right hands; when matched with the other half, it will free up five million dollars donated by a Chinese-American family for the Chinese to spend on munitions. She immediately heads for Shanghai to catch a ship that is evacuating foreigners. Meanwhile Sargoza has followed her and tries to kidnap her off the street in broad daylight. She is saved by photographer Johnny McGinty, but doesn't stick around to thank him. As it happens, Peter has sent Irene to rendezvous with a man named Barclay, and McGinty is an old pal of Barclay's, so fate throws them together again. McGinty is planning on catching the next ship out and says he will accompany her, but she needs a passport to get on the ship and doesn't have one. (I note here that we never find out what nationality she is; she looks like an all-American gal but has a slight unidentifiable accent.) Barclay suggests that she and McGinty get married so she can get on the ship with him, then get it annulled in San Francisco, so they do. He also agrees to hide the amulet in his camera case. Here, the story begins to fall apart before our eyes. In addition to Sargoza (a former Russian embassy worker who is out to get the money for himself), a Japanese official named Yokahama is now on their trail, apparently also after the amulet half. Irene gets an incense burner as a wedding gift and they decide to hide the amulet in there, but then they don't. Irene is told that because of new rules, being married to an American will not be good enough to get her on the ship (but at the end, she gets on anyway). Finally, in a spectacularly anti-climactic ending, Roosevelt bans all shipments of munitions to countries at war, so all this effort has been for naught. Or maybe not all the effort: it seems that McGinty and Irene enjoy being married after all (though she has given no sign of that at all) so they head off to San Francisco as a happy couple.

Yeesh! This movie is a bit of a mess. It's a Poverty Row production, and the script and acting problems inherent in such films are magnified here. The sets and costumes are plain and cheap looking, the plot logic is lacking, and the acting is just bad all around, with everyone seeming tired or bored. I have never liked James Dunn (McGinty); he always comes off as weak and unlikable (except in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for which he won a supporting actor Oscar in 1946) and he's no different here. The man hasn't an ounce of romantic chemistry in him. His left arm is injured and out of commission, and the only reason for this plotwise seems to be that it's a good excuse for McGinty's bosses to send him back to America for a desk job. (I wondered if Dunn's arm had been injured in real life, but I couldn't determine that.) Lynda Grey (Irene) is drab and wooden. Ralph Morgan (Barclay) is, like Dunn, an actor I have never warmed to. He is always stiff and free of charisma. But of the three leads, he comes off the best, perhaps because he is basically a peripheral character who operates as a key to certain plotpoints. Robert Barrat, a respectable character actor with over 150 credits on IMDb (I know him mostly from westerns and crime movies), gives by default the best performance, though his role as Sargoza is one-dimensional. Edward Woods (Peter) shows promise, but vanishes after the first ten minutes, though we are given to understand that his character survives his injuries.  Unless like me you enjoy trolling through the YouTube algorithm suggestions for little-known B-movies, there is no reason to watch this. It's not painful, but it's not interesting or fun. Pictured are Grey and Dunn. [YouTube]

HOLIDAY FOR SINNERS (1952)

It's Mardi Gras in New Orleans and we see lots of celebrating revelers, except, as a narrator tells us, down "narrow streets where the bands and cheering were barely heard." Down one of those dark alleys, a handsome priest (Richard Anderson) visits a tenement apartment where a worn out young doctor (Gig Young) has been attending to a dying man. The priest performs last rites and the two, boyhood friends, chat on the way out about the future. Anderson is sure that the diocese will fund a new neighborhood clinic, but Young, no longer very optimistic, has accepted a research position in India, and his girlfriend (Janice Rule) has tentatively accepted his offer of marriage. At his apartment, Young, who owns a pet monkey, is visited by an older blustery but broken down boxer (Keenan Wynn) who is going blind with little hope of a cure, and trying to get $1500 that his former manager owes him. The manager, however, claims that Wynn has gone batty and should be institutionalized. Soon, Anderson finds out that the church has put off investing in a new clinic. One more character is introduced: a reporter (William Campbell) who takes advantage of Wynn's situation to get a headline. These sad lives intersect, leaving at least two dead by the end, but a glimmer of redemption remains.

This gloomy melodrama has some good performances and some nice location shooting in New Orleans (though the overall look of the film is dark and claustrophobic) but ultimately has nothing special going for it to distinguish it from other B-range dramas of the era. Part of the problem is that there isn't a compelling main character. Young is the one who is central to all the stories, but he has little charisma and from the opening he comes off as beaten down and disillusioned. He and Anderson and Wynn are supposed to have been childhood friends but they don’t really come off as strongly connected. Wynn gets lots of critical praise, but to me it felt like he was chewing scenery occasionally, and his character is a self-defeating, sometimes obnoxious mess. Anderson, Campbell, and Rule give the best performances. I could take the gloom and sadness if I cared about the outcomes of any of the character plotlines, but I really didn't. Pictured are Anderson and Young. [TCM]

A VERY MISSING PERSON (1972)

Westering (Ray Danton) is the leader of a small new age cult who lives on a houseboat and plans to take his followers to a faraway island and start the colony of New Eden. But we know he's a bit too slick and handsome (and horny) to be genuine—he is in the process of dumping his current mistress Eve for a woman who calls herself Sister Isabelle. The group comes to the attention of Inspector Oscar Piper (James Gregory) when a banker asks for assistance in finding Lenore, a runaway heiress, last seen in a hippie van heading out to join a commune. She is needed to attend to various financial matters and Oscar, head of the homicide department, says they will do their best to return Lenore to "the bosom of her bank." Technically, the case is not part of his beat, but his sort-of girlfriend, retired teacher Hildegarde Withers (Eve Arden), eggs him on to let her investigate, with travel assistance from her handsome young neighbor Aloysius Fister (Dennis Rucker); he drives a motorcycle and she rides in the sidecar. Charmed by Hildy, the hippies let her on the boat and she is witness to the death of Westering when he drinks a glass of wine poisoned with arsenic. Now that there has been a mysterious death, Oscar can get involved. He believes that the trip to an island would never have happened because the boat isn't seaworthy. Soon, they discover that Sister Isabelle is Lenore, so she's a suspect, as is Westering's wife Aleatha (Julie Newmar) who runs a fancy French restaurant, doesn't belong to the cult, and claims not to have been bothered by Westering's affairs. Hildegarde also discovers that the restaurant has a supply of the wine that was poisoned. A mysterious middle-aged hippie named Onofre, who was planning a rival cult, is also a suspect—Hildegarde calls him Rasputin because of his long hair, long beard, and flowing robe. Lenore, who may be in danger because of her money and her status as mistress to the dead man, lives with Hildy temporarily which allows Aloysius to flirt a bit with her, as well as be her protector. Another death or two is in store before Hildegarde figures things out.

If you've been a long time reader of my blog, you might remember Hildegarde Withers as the main character in a handful of 1930s mysteries based on a series of books by Stuart Palmer. Her best portrayer, Edna May Oliver, played her as a prickly, aloof spinster who carries on a mildly flirtatious relationship with Oscar. In this movie, based loosely on a posthumously published novel that was finished by another author, Arden plays Withers with no hint of spinster and just a little hint of prickliness. But the character never quite gels and she winds up feeling like a poor fit for the hippies & drugs milieu into which she is thrust. James Gregory, immortalized as the cranky Inspector Luger in TV's Barney Miller, is certainly cranky here, but not as charming as James Gleason was in the 30s movies. He has little to do and maybe because of this has zero chemistry with Arden. This may be an idiosyncratic observation of mine, but both actors have very distinct and mannered performing styles—Arden drily overemphasizing her dialogue and Gregory growling his—and the combination got irritating after a while. Aside from the TV show Our Miss Brooks, Arden was not usually a leading lady, and her delivery may be why. Danton has dark charisma here but he's not around long. Rucker, as Hildy's boy pal, looks like a TV version of Robert Redford and is quite good, giving a well modulated performance that gives us a rest from the more dominating tones of the leads. Robert Easton looks appropriately unappealing as the rival cult leader, Julie Newmar is not convincing as the suspicious widow, and Skye Aubrey is bland as the heiress. You may recognize Bob Hastings (Carpenter in McHale's Navy, Kelsey the bartender in All in the Family) and Pat Morita (from The Karate Kid movies) in supporting roles. A big clue to the killer's identity is provided by Hildegarde when she notes that a supposed suicide note is fake because the uneducated writer of the note properly used a semi-colon—nice that they worked in a nod to her teaching days, far-fetched as it is. This was a pilot, like the 1972 Hound of the Baskervilles, for a TV series of rotating detective shows. Much as I usually like Arden, I don’t know that I would have kept watching these. Pictured are Arden and Rucker. [YouTube]