THE DEVIL PLAYS (1931)

The first five minutes of this film is fun: a man walks into a room where a cluster of people are examining the body of someone who has been stabbed to death. When the visitor, Jerry, wonders out loud why no one has called the police, they begin chuckling as the dead man gets up off the floor—it's all been a harmless parlor game. Sadly, the movie goes downhill quickly from here. This early sound film from Poverty Row studio Chesterfield is deadly dull. It's only an hour but it took all the patience I could dredge up to stick with it to the end. As you might predict, these folks who are apparently spending a weekend together at a mansion in the country eventually do have to deal with a real murder. Involved, along with Jerry Murdock, are two married couples, the Stileses and the Quincys; Harry Forrest, a mystery author; and Diana, Mrs. Stiles' sister. Some intrigue is revealed: Harry has a rendezvous on a balcony with Diana; Jerry has loaned Mrs. Stiles money to open a tea shop; someone has doped up the Quincys so they'll sleep soundly. A chauffeur sees someone sneaking around after midnight, and the next morning, Jerry is discovered dead (for real). Inspector Brown and his comic relief sergeant arrive to interrogate everyone, including Rita, a possible golddigger, who shows up claiming to be Jerry's widow. Soon, Mrs. Quincy is stabbed to death behind the counter at her tea shop. The cops ask the novelist for help in sorting things out.

There’s nothing really wrong with the plot or even the writing—it plays out like an average B-mystery, slightly less convoluted than most. But in every other aspect, this is a tedious affair. The director, Richard Thorpe, went on to a long if undistinguished career, but shows very little flair here, though in addition to the atmospheric opening, there's a nicely shot overhead scene of pandemonium breaking out in the tea shop when Mrs. Quincy is found dead. The actors are a rather sorry lot. I’d never heard of any of them, though most had decent careers in supporting roles or B-movies. They are generally competent, though no one stands out as interesting. Jameson Thomas, who plays the novelist, is one of the most colorless B-leads I've ever seen.  The movie isn’t exactly actively bad, but it’s just so damned boring. Pictured is Edmund Burns who plays Quincy. [Amazon Prime]