SHIP OF FOOLS (1965)

It’s 1933. A passenger liner takes off from Vera Cruz in Mexico on a month-long trip to Bremerhaven in Germany and a dwarf on the ship (Michael Dunn, at left) talks directly to the camera about it being a ship of fools, wondering if we might recognize anyone on board. We get to know a large cast of characters. The German captain is fond of the young ship's doctor (Oskar Werner) who has a weak heart and who, despite his blond good looks, seems inexperienced in love; this is his last trip on the ship and the captain encourages him to live it up. Jose Ferrer is a loud, antisemitic German publisher who dallies with a young good-time girl and makes obnoxious proclamations about race at the Captain's dining table. An insecure and struggling young artist (George Segal) is traveling with his mistress (Elizabeth Ashley), also an artist, though they are bunked in separate cabins and seem anxious to see if a month of not having sex will strengthen their tenuous bond—though talented, he's a bit hotheaded and produces political art that she doesn’t care for. A lonely but aloof middle-aged woman (Vivian Leigh) drinks and flirts without much success. Heinz Ruhmann, a German Jew, has been ejected by Ferrer from the Captain's table where most of the German passengers sit; he shares his exile table with Dunn and later with another German who makes the mistake of mentioning that his wife is Jewish. Lee Marvin is a washed-up baseball player who has regrets. There is also a wheelchair-bound evangelist and his weakling nephew who is getting tired of pushing him around and not having a life of his own. The ship stops in Cuba to pick up hundreds of Spanish workers who have no jobs after the sugar market collapses; they are pressed in tightly in steerage. Arriving with them is a countess (Simone Signoret), being deported after taking sides with labor agitators. She asks Werner for sleeping medicine, but he figures out she is an opium addict looking for a fix. However, the two slowly bond and have a tender relationship that becomes physical—she picks up a dry medical book from his shelves and reads from it, pretending it’s "Lady Chatterley’s Lover."

Other episodic setpieces involve a flamenco dancer (Jose Greco) and his largely female troupe, some of whom Greco pimps out to passengers. The evangelist's nephew falls for one of the dancers, then is disillusioned when she asks him for money before she lets him in her room. A rich couple insist on having their bulldog sit at the Captain's table at dinner; when two beastly children throw the dog overboard, a Spanish woodcarver from steerage (whom Segal has been chummy with) jumps over to save it, which he does at the cost of his own life, but the couple only care about the dog. Leigh leads an officer (Werner Klemperer) on but dismisses him, and he tells her she will end her years sitting at sidewalk cafes with a paid escort. A drunken Marvin comes on to her, but when he assumes she's a whore, she beats him and throws him out of her room. When Ruhmann seems not at all concerned about the status of Jews in Germany, Dunn berates him and he replies, "There are a million Jews in Germany—what are they going to do, kill all of us?" By the end, as they disembark in Germany, some stories are tied up, others are not, and the coming Nazi horrors are foreshadowed. Dunn turns to us again and corrects his opening remarks: "What has all this to do with us? Nothing."

Based on a novel by Katherine Anne Porter, drawn from an actual trip she took, this film is often criticized for being a puffed-up and overlong all-star vehicle (sort of true), or a Grand Hotel imitation set at sea (definitely true). At 150 minutes, it is certainly too long by almost a half an hour, but its length does give the various characters and stories room to breathe, with Signoret, Werner and Leigh given the most focus—those three also give the best performances, though most everyone is good. Michael Dunn, who got an Oscar nomination, is especially fine and deserved more screen time; because he functions as a kind of Greek chorus, his character is the only one that is never fleshed out. Segal and Ashley, early in their careers, are sexy and charismatic. Charles de Vries is good in a one-note but effective performance as the nephew. Leigh, in her last screen performance, feels a bit artificial at times, like she's giving us a reheated version of Blanche DuBois, but that is sort of what the character calls for. She has a moment near the end where she slips in a Scarlett O’Hara simper that is perfection. Signoret and Werner (pictured at right) give well-measured performances that could have tipped over into overdone sentimentality, but they never do. The blustery Ferrer strikes the only false note. The ship sets look real enough; it's obvious that it was all shot in a studio with ocean backgrounds, but that's not bothersome in this melodrama. Stanley Kramer directed in widescreen black & white and you really don’t miss the color. Set aside an afternoon for this, overlong but not painfully so. [TCM]

HAMLET (1964—Russian version)

This visually stunning film from Russian director Grigoriy Kozintsev may be the best film adaptation of Shakespeare that I've seen. I imagine it helps to have some familiarity with the original play; this is in Russian with English subtitles, and I don't know if the subtitles are taken directly from Shakespeare—the most famous speeches and lines are, but I wondered if some lines were translations into English of the Russian translations (written by Doctor Zhivago author Boris Pasternak) of the original. Partly because my eyes were dazzled by the visuals, I occasionally had a hard time keeping up with the subtitles, but I know the play so I had no problem keeping up. The performances are all solid. I think Hamlet is a difficult role because the text leaves it open to so much interpretation. The play has famously been described as being about a man who can't make up his mind—I won't do a full plot summary, but basically Hamlet spends the whole play trying to decide when and how to take revenge against Claudius (Hamlet's uncle) who killed the king (Hamlet's father) and married the widowed queen (Hamlet's mother). The general consensus among the play's characters is that Hamlet, who is acting acting strange from the start, goes insane, but is he really or is he faking it? The famous phrase about there being a "method to the madness" comes from this play, but it's not always clear how much of Hamlet's behavior is deliberate method. Some actors have made him almost playful at times, others make him fixate on revenge more seriously, and some play him as psychologically confused. Innokentiy Smoktunovskiy leans into the confusion. His performance is not especially layered but it is effective enough. At nearly 40, he’s a bit too old for the part of the student prince, but most other major films have featured actors between 35 and 40 in the role (Olivier, Kenneth Branagh, Mel Gibson) so we're used to that—in fact, Ethan Hawke in the modern 2000 adaptation is probably the youngest big screen Hamlet at thirty. Smoktunovskiy goes the naturalistic route, with his monologues delivered as voiceovers, and gives the part the gravitas it needs. The other actors are fine, though none really stand out except for Anastasiya Vertinskaya who is the best Ophelia I've seen, handling the sad downward spiral of the character with restraint and believability. 

But as I've noted, it's the look of the film that will impress you. Much of the movie is shot on outdoor locations, hence hills and beaches and fields galore. The traveling players' play is performed in an outdoor setting and it works well. The very impressive castle looks for all the world like a real castle but it's apparently a set that took six months to build. Much if not most of the action takes place at night, taking advantage of the stark black and white cinematography. In widescreen, the deep focus shots are remarkable. One online reviewer noted a resemblance to the style of Ingmar Bergman, and that is emphasized by the leading man's blond hair and Max von Sydow look. The voiceover "To be or not to be" soliloquy starts with Hamlet looking right at the camera, then walking along the castle walls against the tumult of the sea next to him. The appearance of the king's ghost is a fantastic visual effect. At two and half hours, the text has obviously been cut, but as far as I'm concerned, no harm has been done. A beautiful and powerful movie. [YouTube]

THE KING AND THE CHORUS GIRL (1937)

The deposed King Alfred VII is living a dissolute life in Paris with his only two subjects, Count Humbert and Duchess Anna, who act as his servants. One morning, Alfred lies in bed, seemingly dying but actually hungover—he never has any fun because, as the Duchess says, it takes him "three days to pass out, three days to come to," then Humbert notes, "And then it's always Sunday." His doctor diagnoses him with acute boredom. They take him out to the Folies Bergère where he is smitten with Dorothy, a chorus girl who he thinks is flirting with him by flashing light in his face with a small mirror, though it turns out that she flashes that light at whoever happens to be sitting where he sat. Attracted to her, he asks her over for dinner, but when she arrives, he's already forgotten about her and is asleep in bed. The next day, to goad Alfred, Humbert tells him that Dorothy never even showed up, which intrigues Alfred who is used to getting what he wants. Humbert and Anna contact Dorothy and enlist her in a plan: Anna thinks that Alfred needs someone who will resist him in order to come back to life, and she agrees to be the resister. Their first date at her place is a disaster because he's already drunk when he shows up. He passes out on her bed and she goes to his apartment to sleep. Slowly he warms up to her, and she to him, but when she realizes that a King would most likely not marry a commoner, she gets Humbert to hire an American waiter to pose as her fiancé to help her break things off. As you might expect, there is eventually a happy ending for the king and the chorus girl who are last seen heading to Niagara Falls.

This is, for the most part, a totally average 1930s rom-com, in many ways not that different from more modern iterations today on the Hallmark Channel. The script was co-written by Groucho Marx, and many critics find it disappointing that it's so pedestrian. But I suspect he was brought in as a joke doctor to work on the screenplay by Norman Krasna. Some of the lines are fairly Marxian: "How did you find Belgium?"; "I didn’t look for it." When Dorothy says to Humbert that there is no royalty in America, he replies, "A smart, well-dressed royalty is awfully good for the tourist trade." There is also a fun running gag about an ancestor who was Alfred IV & V. These bits are sprinkled throughout the movie, but the actors' delivery doesn’t always do them justice. Joan Blondell, as Dorothy, is quite good, as is Edward Everett Horton as the scheming and dithering Humbert. Mary Nash is a bit bland as Anna, though it's nice to see Jane Wyman in a small role. Fernand Gravet (who later went by Gravey) is a letdown as the King—he seems to be trying to throw himself into the part, but he's all surface, no depth. He only made a handful of movies in Hollywood, with his biggest role as Johann Strauss in THE GREAT WALTZ, but he had a long career in French films up to his death in 1970. Directed by Mervyn LeRoy who went on to better things, like THE WIZARD OF OZ. Pictured are Nash, Gravet, and Horton. [TCM]

THE ROCKET FROM CALABUCH (1956)

Prof. Hamilton (Edmund Gwenn), an American rocket scientist, is unhappy that his work is being used for warlike ends, so he walks away one day and secretly goes to the Spanish island of Calabuch to live a simple existence. When he arrives on the beach, Juan, a small-time smuggler, sends him into the village to take a small package to a man nicknamed Lobster. Lobster happens to be in jail, and the police chief (and military leader) Matias throws Hamilton in jail with Lobster, assuming he's a smuggler as well. Matias seems like a hard ass at first (we see him marching soldiers dressed in ancient Roman garb about town in an army drill), but it turns out not so much: the lock on Lobster's jail cell is broken, so Lobster and Hamilton can basically come and go at will—and because Lobster is the only projectionist in town, his presence is necessary on movie night. We meet the various charming and eccentric inhabitants of the town, including Matias's daughter Teresa who plans to elope with Juan; Elisa, the schoolteacher who has her students sing their multiplication tables; Vicente, who takes days to paint a name on a canoe on the beach; Fermin, a sad sack soldier left out in the elements to guard against an imagined threat from the sea. There is also a lighthouse keeper who plays chess over the phone with the village priest; a bullfighter to comes to the village for a festival with an older, lazy bull who manages to chase the bullfighters into the sea, and a fireworks maker who ends up getting some help from Hamilton for a festival display that they hope will win the village a prize. As in other movies filled with odd but good-hearted townspeople (Ealing comedies like TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT and WHISKY GALORE, any number of Frank Capra movies, the TV show Northern Exposure), there aren't really any bad guys, and everyone comes together at the end to try and save the outsider from a menacing force—in this case, the US government helicopter that arrives to take Hamilton back home.

I was unfamiliar with the Spanish director Luis Garcia Berlanga, but he displays a fine, light touch here; you occasionally expect things to move in the direction of magical realism, but it never goes that far. Gwenn, in his last film role, is fine, often coming off in personality like Kris Kringle (MIRACLE ON 34TH STREET), even going so far as to play matchmaker for Lobster and the schoolteacher. It's disappointing that, though it appears that Gwenn is reciting his lines in Spanish, a different actor dubs him, who sounds nothing like Gwenn. The only other actor I was familiar with is the Italian Valentina Cortese as Elisa. Lobster, the main secondary character, is played well by the handsome and charismatic Franco Fabrizi. The various plotlines are easy to follow, though I never figured out what was up with the Roman garb in the opening scene. This is a light and charming film (which is predictable in its unpredictability, if that makes sense) that should be better known. Pictured are Fabrizi and Gwenn. [Criterion Channel]

SADDLES AND SAGEBRUSH (1943)

Cowboy Lucky Randall (Russell Hayden) is hangin' with a gang of singin' cowboys (Bob Willis and the Texas Playboys) when he gets an offer to work as a hired gun and bodyguard for Krag Savin (William Wright) in the frontier town of Pinon City. Savin claims he needs protection from a group of violent squatters living illegally on land outside the town, but Lucky's comic relief sidekick Cannonball (Dub Taylor) thinks the setup sounds suspicious so he follows Lucky. In Pinion City, Savin says that Lafe Parker is stirring up the squatters and needs to be fought, and he sends his men to the Parker ranch to set fire to the land. Lafe goes into town looking for a showdown with Savin but is wounded by Blackie, a Savin henchman. Lucky and Cannonball get the lowdown from Parker and his daughter Ann (Ann Savage). The squatters are actually legitimate homesteaders, but Savin and his men have been rustling cattle and fencing off grazing land in an attempt to claim the land for themselves. Lucky shifts his allegiance to Parker and Ann, deals with an ambush by Savin's thugs (resulting in two of them shot and two of them captured by lasso) and sends a telegram to the state capitol to find out the legal status of the land. Knowing the reply will confirm the free range status of the land, Savin's men rob the mail stagecoach that contains the reply. Lucky, Cannonball and Ann seem to be defeated, but Bob Willis and his gang arrive to help save the day.

At less than an hour (and with at least ten minutes taken up with songs), this B-western zips along quickly. It's nothing special but it's a good example of its genre, the singing cowboy western. It is predictable but there is a certain pleasure in watching the gears turn, as there is with most genre films. Russell Hayden does not cut a particularly strong heroic figure (he could be sturdier and better looking) but he's OK. Ann Savage, who hit B-film femme fatale icon status thanks to a fierce performance in DETOUR, is fairly bland here. You just have to go with flow as far as Bob Willis and company, well known performers of Western swing who released over 100 singles during their career, with a handful hitting #1 on the country charts. They perform five songs here, including "Hubbin' It," which was used as the title for a biography of Willis. I'm not sure what that phrase means; it seems to be a version of "keep on keepin' on' or "humping" in terms of struggling along with a heavy load: "It's your wagon load / Keep right on hubbin' it / Down that lonesome road." The songs don't further the plot, they're just like little distractions. William Wright, a B-actor who was in around 40 movies in the 1940s, is a little wooden as Savin. I very much liked Dub Taylor as Cannonball. He was in hundreds of movies and TV shows, and I think of him as a classic-era M. Emmet Walsh. Takeaway line, in defense of the settlers: "It's the sweat of the little man that makes this country great." Pictured are Hayden and Taylor. [YouTube]

HERCULES AND HYLAS AGAINST THE CAT-MEN OF MERCURY (1962)

Burly Hercules and his young blond ward Hylas are enjoying a relaxing swim on the shore of Photia Island when a contingent of battered and tattered men from the town of Phallogos beg for help. Cat-human mutants—full grown men with cat faces and furry bodies—have been ransacking the town at night and hiding in the hills in the daytime. No one knows where they came from, though guards Stephanus and Gordano reported seeing a bright light in the sky the night before the first attack. Those who have tried to stop or capture them wind up hypnotized into immobility by the swishing of the Cat-Men's tails. Even worse, Queen Newmara has apparently fallen in love with one of the Cat-Men, Felixus, and is rumored to be planning to let the city be overrun by the mutants. Hercules and Hylas accompany the men back to the city where Hylas is immediately kidnapped by the Cat-Men and held for ransom in the hills. Queen Newmara takes Hercules' mind off of rescuing Hylas by mixing him cocktails made with the Gin of Forgetfulness and making out with him in the daytime even as she hides the hairy, lithe Felixus as her midnight lover, leaving poor King Reg lots of time for his hobby, astronomy. But it is Reg who discovers strange flashes of light coming from the planet Mercury, apparently in communication with Earth. Could the Cat-Men have arrived from Mercury as a pre-invasion force? And can Hercules pry himself from the charms of Newmara to save both Hylas and the city?

This may be the first science fiction peplum movie (but not the last, with HERCULES AGAINST THE MOON MEN coming two years later), though some argue that 1956’s FIRE MAIDENS FROM OUTER SPACE was more peplum than sci-fi. The planet Mercury wasn't officially recognized until the 1500s, but it's called by that name here—of course, when have muscleman movies ever been sticklers for facts? If you take away the element of alien invaders, this is a run-of-the-mill sword and sandal movie: oiled, muscled men in togas; evil queens in flowing robes, a populace in trouble. One difference: the shiny silver spaceship, hidden in the hills, in which Hylas is held captive. Mark Forest is an impressively muscled Hercules; Angelo Zanolli, with his hair dyed silver blond, is a cute but broody Hylas. In myth, Hercules and Hylas were lovers, though that is mostly covered up here, except for the hints we get from the way Herc melts when Hylas bats his baby blues at him. And, of course, there's the final scene: with Queen Newmara packed away in the silver spaceship which Hercules flings back into the heavens, Herc picks up Hylas and takes him to the royal bedroom where, as far as we know, Felixus is still present and waiting for company. Cassandra Cassamassima, in her only screen credit, is appropriately buxom and flirty as the queen. Pictured are Zanolli and Forest. This is getting a special April 1st airing on TCM so catch it while you can.

I VITELLONI (1953)

It's a night at the end of summer in a small coastal Italian town. Miss Mermaid is being chosen at an outdoor festival, and we meet the "vitelloni" (variously translated as calves, idlers, loafers, or slackers) of the title: Fausto, the handsome self-styled ladies man and group leader; Leopoldo, the glasses-wearing intellectual and would-be playwright; Riccardo, a singing tenor; Alberto, a somewhat childlike, lighthearted guy; and the narrator, Moraldo, the youngest of the group but also the quietest and most thoughtful. These guys, despite having some ambitions, are all in their mid-to-late 20s and still live with their families. Moraldo's sister Sandra wins the Miss Mermaid award but faints as she has the sash put on. We realize this is movie shorthand for 'pregnant,' and Fausto, the impregnator, is forced by his father to do right by the girl; the father says Fausto will marry Sandra "if I have to kick your ass all the way to church." Reluctantly, he does, and while in Rome on his honeymoon, the gang is a bit adrift. Leopoldo calls Fausto a man of passions, but Alberto says he's just horny. Leopoldo, who lives with his aunts and types out his plays into the night, carries on a tentative flirtation with a neighbor girl from their windows. Riccardo is concerned with his growing gut. Alberto has to sneak drinks out of sight of his mother and sister, who has her own secret: she's stepping out with a married man. Moraldo walks the city streets alone at 3 a.m. and strikes up a friendship with a teenage boy who is also out at three on his way to his job as a luggage handler at the train station. Fausto returns with a mustache (which is big news in the village) and Sandra's father gets him a job at an antique gift shop, but it's not long before Fausto is back to his flirtatious ways, first with his boss’s wife and later with a dolled-up high class woman he sits next to at the theater (flirting even with his wife right next to him). 

Come winter, the most exciting events in their lives involve facial hair: Riccardo grows a mustache, Leopoldo grows a goatee, and Alberto gets sideburns. But soon, after Fausto is fired for his flirty behavior (he has always considered the job menial but it brought money into his household), he and Moraldo plot a revenge robbery: stealing a large angel statue from the store's warehouse—their attempt at carting it around trying to sell it to local churches is amusing. When an famous but washed-up older actor comes to town, Riccardo sends him a copy of one of his plays and the actor wants to meet with him to talk about producing it. But the actor gets drunk, takes him down to the nighttime docks and makes a pass at him. Alberto gets obnoxiously drunk at a big party and later feels helpless when his sister goes against his advice about her affair. Finally, after the birth of Sandra's baby, Fausto spends the night with an actress; Sandra gets wind of it and disappears, leaving the five buddies to set out in search of her.

This early film from Federico Fellini looks and feels like none of his later movies from the 60s that made him an international name—one party scene, involving drunks and huge papier-maché heads, does feel like later Fellini. In many ways, it's a traditional coming of age story, though the characters are much older than is usual for this genre. It's unclear at the end if any of them have really grown. The narrator, Moraldo, gets the gumption to leave town in the final scene, but we don't know how much getting out of town will actually affect him. Though we see much of the action through his eyes, and the actor playing him, Franco Interlenghi, gives perhaps the best and most subtle performance, his character is the least developed. Some critics read the film as semi-autobiographical, in which case Moraldo's gift for observation may be what will serve him in his future as a filmmaker. Very few viewers take note of some gay subtext with the character. His first meeting with the teenage Guido definitely has the feel of an awkward after-hours pick-up, and Moraldo is the only one of the idlers who never seems interested in women. Moraldo is our way into the lives of these men, but Fausto is treated as the main character and Franco Fabrizi is excellent in the role; he’s attractive and generally remains sympathetic despite his caddishness, though some IMDb critics would absolutely disagree with me. While we don't condone his behavior, he also does not come across as deliberately hurtful (he does try to shield Sandra from his behavior), and there is a certain adolescent innocence in the way he acts on his urges, though of course we know he should have grown out of that years ago (his age is explicitly given as 30). Alberto Sordi (Alberto) went on to a very long career, known largely as a comic actor. Leopoldo Trieste is Leopoldo, Riccardo Fellini, the director’s brother, is Riccardo, and Leonora Ruffo is Sandra, and they are all fine. The five idlers have great chemistry and the film feels realistic without being grittily naturalistic. I had avoided this film in the past, never quite being in the mood for a dreary kitchen-sink film but my pre-judging was wrong and it's quite enjoyable. Pictured at left are Fabrizi and Interlenghi. [TCM]

BOMBER'S MOON (1943)

During WWII, American bomber pilot Jeff Dakin (George Montgomery), flying for the British, is trying to return to England after getting attacked in the air over Belgium. He tells his younger brother Danny, the bomb sighter, to use his parachute to escape the damaged plane, but as he falls, Danny is shot and killed by German pilot Streicher, who seems to take great delight in the killing. Jeff bails out, is captured, recovers from his injuries and is sent to a prison camp for officers. He is cared for by Russian nurse Alexandra (Annabella) and becomes buddies with Paul (Kent Taylor), a Czech prisoner who is planning an escape. The three manage to get out during an air raid and make their way to the home of Nazi economist Prof. Mueller who is actually a resistance leader who gives them papers and plans for getting out to Holland. But as they're about to leave, Paul is revealed to be a Nazi spy who kills Mueller and calls a Gestapo colonel to come and get Jeff and Alexandra. The two get away and pose as a married couple to get to Rotterdam where they make contact with another resistance fighter before the last leg of their trip to England. But when Jeff discovers that Nazi pilot Streicher is about to take off on a spy trip to assassinate Winston Churchill, he stays behind and poses as a German flier in an attempt to stop the assassination and to get revenge for his brother. This war film is thoroughly average and wastes an evocative title (it's referenced briefly at the beginning and end; it refers to a clear night with a bright full moon) and a good lead actor. I usually like Montgomery as a B-movie lead but he feels tamped down here by the script and direction. Certainly the storyline has promise, but the fairly quick pace of the proceedings, usually a plus in B-films, doesn’t allow much character or plot development. Annabella is OK in a mostly thankless role, Kent Taylor is also OK, and Martin Kosleck, one of Hollywood’s go-to Nazis, is a little better but his role is too small. The director of credit is Charles Fuhr, a pseudonym for three directors (mostly Edward Ludwig) and that may be one reason why the movie doesn't quite come together. Still, it's relatively painless and fans of George Montgomery (pictured) will like this enough. [YouTube]

BORN RECKLESS (1958)

It's Rodeo Week in the small town of Redrock and handsome, studly, nice-guy rodeo rider Kelly Cobb takes up a collection at the bar to help pay the medical bills for Charlie, a rider who took a bad spill. Across the room, buxom blonde singer Jackie Adams is fighting the drunken advances of a sports reporter, and when he gets aggressive and starts pawing her outside the bar, Kelly steps in and kicks some ass which starts a big brawl. Kelly, Jackie, and Kelly's old-timer buddy and assistant, nicknamed Cool Man, drive away before the cops come. Kelly's story: though still young, he is at the far end of prime rodeo cowboy age. He's trying to collect enough prize money so that he and his older buddy Papa Gomez can pool their cash and buy a nice-sized farm to retire to. Jackie's story: with good trick riding skills and a good singing voice, she is hoping to get a reputation as a glamorous rodeo queen. At the next rodeo in Little River, Kelly wins some money, but the crooked organizer absconds with all the cash. They travel on to a big 2-day rodeo event at Panamint, but Kelly spends the night drinking and carousing with Liz, a wealthy rodeo divorcée (whom Cool Man calls "cheap saddle trash"), and when she drops him off the next morning, he’s hungover from booze and worn out from their bed antics and he performs terribly in all of his events, even being responsible for getting Cool Man injured. That night, upset that Kelly hasn't even noticed that she's fallen in love with him, Jackie heads to Liz's house, catches them in heavy petting mode on the patio, and tosses them both in the pool. Between Jackie's outburst, Cool Man's cold shoulder, and Papa Gomez's obvious disappointment, Kelly tries his best to win every prize he can on the last day of the rodeo.

Though I do have some tolerance for B-westerns of the 30s and 40s, I'm not a fan of the rodeo western so this was a bit of a chore to sit through. I did it mostly because I’m a fan of Jeff Richards, the handsome B-actor (ISLAND OF LOST WOMEN, SECRET OF THE PURPLE REEF) who plays Kelly. He is convincing both as an aging rider who very much wants to settle down, and as a horndog who lets Liz sap his precious bodily fluids, as Sterling Hayden puts it in DR. STRANGELOVE. Mamie Van Doren, whose breasts are practically in 3D in her opening number, is serviceable, though her biggest strength here is in her musical numbers which she puts across well. There are several songs scattered throughout, the best being a catchy little number called something like "Huggable Loveable You" performed by rockabilly singer Johnny Olenn. Familiar supporting actor Arthur Hunnicut is good as Cool Man. Some viewers are baffled as to why the red-blooded heterosexual cowboy Kelly doesn't chase after Jackie from the start. That's a good question, and I assumed that he sensed that she was tired of lustful adulation and tried to just be a friend. But it's best not to think too hard about character and motivation here, and just enjoy the sexy leads and the occasional rodeo action. Pictured is Jeff Richards.[TCM]

THE ANDERSON TAPES (1971)

We meet career safecracker Duke Anderson (Sean Connery, at right) in his last therapy session before he is freed from a ten year prison sentence. He tells the group that blowing open a safe and plunging in was sexually arousing, comparing it to both seduction and rape. The session is routinely recorded on tape—a recurring motif here is how much of what we do in our modern life is caught on tape, video or audio. When he leaves prison, most of what Anderson does is recorded, the irony being that none of the surveillance is aimed at him; we see him caught on tapes intended to record the actions of others, whether Black Panther members, drug dealers, or cheating mistresses. Anderson visits his former lover Ingrid (Dyan Cannon) who has become a high class call girl who is kept by her older lover in a fancy apartment building. He comes up with the idea of one last big heist: break into the building over the quiet Labor Day weekend and clean out most of the residents' valuables. He collects some old gang members, enlists the aid of a gay antiques dealer (Martin Balsam) who can accompany the gang and let them know what's worth stealing, and begs favors from a Mafia boss who asks Anderson to employ a pain-in-the-ass psycho named Socks, then kill him afterwards. The plan works at first as the residents are burgled (and interact with the crooks in varying degrees of humor or danger), but a paraplegic boy whom Anderson didn't know about is able to call for help over his ham radio, and things don't wrap up as planned.

This is a fun heist movie, not a comedy exactly (though I can see "black comedy" being used as a descriptive genre) but generally played lightly. Connery gives a very good performance, trying to keep things under control and keep his cool as things slowly fall apart. Cannon is fine in the first half but has little to do later. Though the gay character is portrayed in a dated stereotypical fashion that modern viewers may not like, Balsam manages to make him interesting and relatively inoffensive. Christopher Walken has his first major film role as a young crook. Another film newcomer is Garrett Morris who plays a cop given an important part in the climax. Margaret Hamilton has what amounts to a cameo as an elderly resident whose reading habits incline toward The Story of O, and Judith Lowry is fun as Hamilton's disapproving roommate. There is fine support from Alan King (the Mafia boss), Conrad Bain, Stan Gottlieb, Anthony Holland and Ralph Meeker. I won't spoil what happens with the tapes (a lovely final moment of irony) except to say that they are no help to the police. If this was produced today, it would be a draggy 2 hours plus, or worse, a seven-hour streaming show, but at 100 minutes, the director, Sidney Lumet, keeps the action flying by. Recommended. [Criterion Channel]

JEOPARDY (1953)

A family travels into Mexico for a short fishing vacation at an isolated beach. Helen (Barbara Stanwyck), her husband Doug (Barry Sullivan), and their 10-year-old son Bobby (Lee Aaker) have an uneventful trip from Tijuana to Baja California. There are two obvious moments of foreshadowing: the car is stopped briefly at a Mexican police roadblock, and we see that Doug has brought a revolver along in the glove compartment. At the beach, Bobby goes out to play on an abandoned pier and when he comes back for lunch, his foot gets stuck under a wooden plank—no one noticed the sign, in Spanish, warning of danger. Doug goes out and frees him, but on the way back, Doug falls through some rotted wood and winds up trapped in shallow water, his feet pinned by a fallen piling. Helen and Bobby are unable to free him and, realizing that eventually the tide will come in, Helen takes the car to look for help. She drives back to find an uninhabited gas station, breaks into a tool shed to get some rope, and discovers an American named Lawson (Ralph Meeker) standing near the road. She asks him to come with her to help, not noticing the dead body near the road. Soon Lawson finds the gun and reveals that he is an escaped killer, the one the roadblock had been set up for. The rest of the film is a cat and mouse game with Helen trying to figure out how dangerous this guy really is, and Lawson keeping the upper hand with his gun and his bravado. (At one point, he tells her she talks so much, she must drive her husband crazy, one of the few bits of humor in the film.) Finally, after blowing through another roadblock and changing a flat tire, Helen lets Lawson know that she's willing to have sex with him, and even leave with him, in exchange for saving Doug's life. By the time they get to the pier, the water is getting close to Doug's face. Will Lawson come through on his promise (and did Helen already come through on hers)?

At a bit over an hour, this plays out like an episode of the old Alfred Hitchcock show. Actually, it's exactly the kind of plot that the Hitchcock show (1955-1965) would specialize in: a small cast, an atmosphere of tension, and a strong working-against-time element. Stanwyck had been extending her career by transitioning from roles of glamour and romance to tough dames with an almost masculine veneer of fortitude. She sort of combines both here, playing both a loving wife and mother, and a hardened woman determined to get what she wants. Viewers have debated whether or not Helen gives in and has sex with Lawson—who, by the way, as played by Ralph Meeker, is sexy in a sweaty, dangerous way—or has held out. We do see them kiss (without romance but with a bit of lust) and I assumed that they went a good deal further. Without spoiling the ending, Stanwyck's last bit of voiceover narration doesn't really clear the issue up, but can be seen if one wants to as one last smidge of evidence that they did. I assume the Production Code was one force in leaving things up in the air, although narratively, the ambiguity does work nicely. Sullivan hasn't much to do as the husband; Aaker is good as the kid; Meeker, as I noted above, does have sex appeal but also retains his edge of danger. The tension is built up well, and it’s a little weird to see publicity shots of the three adult actors more or less clowning around with the gun. Despite some claims, this isn't really noir, but a domestic crime melodrama, Though it's short, it does bog down a couple of times. Still, the ending is satisfying (if nicely ambiguous) and worth seeing for Stanwyck and Meeker, both pictured above. [TCM]

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST (1952)

I have tried and tried to like this ridiculous Oscar Wilde play. It has some very funny lines, amusing situations, and the Lady Bracknell character, an exaggerated figure of class privilege, is one an actor can sink her teeth into. But the characters and the story are so bizarre, it's hard to care a straw for anything that happens—yes, I know the very title warns me. Perhaps this is why it's almost always performed in a campy manner; it’s even become common for a man to play Lady Bracknell in drag. I recently saw a filmed production of the play by the National Theatre of Great Britain which is not only campy but throws in actively queer bits that don't really belong in a play which has little gay subtext (more on that later). So I decided to revisit this first filmed version, shot in a very stagy manner which seems appropriate for a story with no action.

Ernest Worthing (Michael Redgrave) and Algernon Moncrieff (Michael Denison) are buddies of some wealth and class. In the city, Worthing calls himself Ernest though his real name is Jack, the name he uses in the country where he lives most of the time as guardian to his young ward Cecily (Dorothy Tutin). Algernon only uses one name, but when he wants to skip out of his city obligations, he has made up a friend named Bunbury who he claims to visit in the country, usually saying Bunbury is sick and needs attending to. Jack/Ernest is in love with Gwendolen (Joan Greenwood), Algy's cousin, but her mother, Lady Bracknell (Edith Evans, pictured above right with Denison), is hesitant to give her consent, especially when she discovers that Jack has, as he puts it, "lost both parents"—Lady Bracknell replies, "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness"—and his lineage can only be traced to having been found abandoned in a handbag in a train station. Bracknell can't let Gwendolen "marry into a cloakroom and form an alliance with a parcel." For her part, Gwendolen has always been enamored of the name Ernest which is pretty much her only reason for wanting to marry him. To make trouble, Algernon goes out to Jack's country estate and poses as Ernest, whom Jack has always referred to as a bad sort. Cecily has, sight unseen, fallen in love with Ernest (she, like Gwendolen, loves his name) and has written a series of diary entries about her imaginary relationship. Of course, Algernon (as Ernest) is a hit in the country and falls head over heels for Cecily, and when Jack arrives, all hell breaks loose. Then Lady Bracknell shows up.

This is basically a farce with comedic wordplay rather than physical humor. The construction of the narrative is tight with everything locking together by the end, but I can't get past some of the ludicrous situations, primarily that two young women would have dreams of marrying someone named Ernest to the exclusion of anyone else. The circumstances of Jack's birth are equally silly but are dealt with more cleverly. It comes down to pacing and acting. Redgrave and Denison are both fine. Redgrave, though still handsome, was in his mid-40s and pretty much looks it; Denison, in his mid-30s, is a better match for his role. Cecily and Gwendolen don't have much in the way of character backgrounds or personalities, so any competent actress could handle these roles, and Tutin and Greenwood suffice. Lady Bracknell will make or break any production of this work, and Edith Evans is quite good, tamping down the camp element just a bit (her delivery of the line, "A handbag??" is a highlight). In the smaller but very important role of Miss Prism, Margaret Rutherford (Miss Marple in a series of 1960s movies) is every bit as good. I'd love to have seen her take on the role of Lady Bracknell. The production is stagy and static but colorful with great sets and costumes. Of course, the title of the movie mocks my own problem with it: when the line is uttered at the very end of the film, we know that Wilde thinks the whole idea of earnestness being important is silly, so I should just get over my problems with logic and enjoy the wit, and generally, I do. [DVD]

A word on the gay element in the National Theatre production: Wilde was gay, and queer subtext in Dorian Gray is important, both in the relationship between Dorian and his mentors and in the decadent but undescribed behavior that Dorian eventually falls into. Some critics have read a similar subtext in Earnest in terms of the "bunburying" that Algernon does, implying a homosexual double life, and the very term itself suggests such a reading. But nothing in the play suggests that Algernon and Jack are queer besties, nor Cecily and Gwendolen. But in the 2025 film, the four are constantly engaging in retro-gay asides like bumping asses or kissing on the lips. I could deal with a production that bares Algernon as a closet case, or suggests a repressed attraction between Algy and Jack, but otherwise the queering up of the performances feels like an empty gimmick. Still, the production, with colorblind casting, is energetic and colorful. Sharon D. Clarke as Bracknell is actually better than Judi Dench was in the 2002 film; Dench, as she admitted later, tempered her performance a bit too much. Pictured at left are Hugh Skinner as Jack and Ncuti Gatwa as Algernon. Gatwa does come very close to making Algernon a gay stereotype which makes hash of his sudden attraction to Cecily. A production making both men queer, marrying women only for money or position, might be interesting.

THE DIVORCEE (1930)

A group of high society friends have spent the weekend at a country lodge. Jerry (Norma Shearer) is out by the river canoodling with Ted (Chester Morris, pictured with Shearer), much to the dismay of the gloomy Paul (Conrad Nagel) who pines for her. Don (Robert Montgomery), the snarky wit of the group, also pines but not so obviously. Ted tells Jerry they should wait to marry until he has made more money, but she forthrightly tells him, "Waiting isn’t my idea of the king of indoor sports," so as night falls, they head back to the lodge and announce their upcoming nuptials. Don is able to hide his feelings as he flirts with Mary, but Paul gets drunk and, while driving his friend Dorothy home, gets in a car wreck which leaves Dorothy with a facial disfigurement. Out of guilt, he marries her in her hospital bed while she recovers. Years later, Jerry and Ted have friends over to celebrate their third anniversary just before Ted goes to Chicago for a business trip. Someone brings Janice, referred to as a "grass widow" (I had to look this up; it's a woman whose husband is frequently away) to the party, and Jerry is shocked to discover Ted and Janice in a passionate embrace in the kitchen. Ted admits to having had a fling with her some time ago, but insists it meant nothing. He tries to talk Jerry into a more modern view of marriage morals, which he calls a man's point of view; she is not so quick to forgive, referring later to the "marvelous latitude of a man's point of view," but while Ted is away, Jerry goes out on the town with Don and spends the night with him. When Ted returns, Jerry tells him she has "balanced our accounts” but doesn't say with whom. Instead of taking his own advice about modern thinking, he is outraged. That night at a party, Ted gets drunk and makes a scene, and later at home, they have an argument, leading to a split-up and to Jerry proclaiming the famous line, "You're the only man in the world my door is closed to." They divorce and in a quick montage, we see that Jerry does indeed open her door to several men, while Ted starts drinking heavily. Soon, Jerry meets up with Paul again. They decide they're in love and he says he will leave Dorothy to marry Jerry. But an awkward meeting of the three leads Jerry to wonder about their situation, and even to think that maybe she's still in love with Ted, who has been miserable all this time.

This has become known as practically the template for the pre-Code romantic melodrama. It's sexy (Shearer and Morris have good chemistry), allows immoral behavior to occur without tragic punishment, and contains some juicy dialogue, as in Shearer's line about her door being open to the world. When one of Jerry's lovers says he wants her to tell the truth, she replies that the truth is "the last thing any man wants to hear from a woman." The ending may surprise some modern viewers (Spoilers!) as, with no real resolution about Ted's double standard, Jerry and Ted do reconcile in the end. Shearer has to learn, as her character in THE WOMEN also learns, that love has no pride. Critics love Shearer but often find Morris to be a little stiff and mannered, but that fits his character perfectly. Nagel has a fairly thankless role, and Montgomery shines as the happy-go-lucky pal; unfortunately, he more or less vanishes from the last half hour of the movie. The face of the disfigured Dorothy is never seen clearly, and when she pops up near the end, she wears a black veil and looks a bit like Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Future. Despite a vaguely unsatisfying ending—I'd like to have seen Morris suffer a bit more—I recommend this, especially if you're curious about all the pre-Code hooha. [DVD]

NATIVE SON (1951)

A narrator introduces us to Chicago, a beautiful city that nevertheless has its secrets, one of which is the "Black belt," a carefully circumscribed set of neighborhoods, behind "an invisible color line," where most of the Black populace lives. Twenty-five year old Bigger Thomas lives in a slum apartment with his mother and two younger siblings. Bigger has dreams but, we are told, must keep them locked in his heart. His girlfriend Bessie, a waitress, has been given the chance to sing at a club, even as Bigger and his friends plot the burglary of a pawn shop which they ultimately abandon when one guy opts out. A social worker offers Bigger a job as a live-in chauffeur for a rich white family, the Daltons. It's an uncomfortable fit, made more so by the good intentions of the Dalton daughter Mary, who immediately has Bigger drive her and her boyfriend Jan, a left-wing firebrand, out for a night on the town. They bring him into the clubs, and even visit the place where Bessie is singing ("All colored people are so gifted," Mary says on hearing her sing). At the end of the evening, Bigger has to get the seriously drunken Mary up to her bedroom, and as he tries to settle her in bed, her blind mother comes in to check on her. Bigger panics, afraid that she will know he's there, and he presses a pillow on Mary's face to quiet her. When the mother leaves, Bigger discovers that he has smothered Mary to death. Still in a panic, Bigger throws her body in the basement furnace. When no one can find Mary the next day, Bigger gets Bessie to help him in a blackmail kidnap scheme to get money out of the Daltons. Mr. Dalton, thinking Jan and his radical friends are behind it, has Jan arrested, but soon enough evidence of human remains are found in the furnace. Going on the run, Bigger kills Bessie, thinking she was going to betray him. After a rooftop chase, Bigger is caught and, after some political wrangling involving Jan, he is found guilty and sentenced to death.

This is an unusual film, an adaptation of Richard Wright's controversial bestseller from 1940 which was seen as a highly effective protest novel. Hollywood wouldn't touch it—one company wanted to make it but to have Bigger be Italian—but in 1950, it was made independently in Argentina by Belgian director Pierre Chenal with a cast of unknowns, and with Wright himself in the lead role after professional actor Canada Lee had to bow out. Wright was over 40, and Bigger's age was changed from 20 to 25, but still, Wright is unconvincing as a young man. He's also very much an amateur at acting. You can see he's earnest and he plays emotional scenes fairly well, but otherwise he is stone faced, at times looking stunned, like he can't remember his next lines. If Wright had been the lead with studio resources and a full cast of Hollywood players in support, things might have worked better. But the production is clearly low budget, though it is said that it was the biggest budgeted Argentine film up to that time. The tenement set is solid, the rest not so much. The actors all seem like amateurs, either underplaying (Gloria Madison as Bessie) or overplaying (Jean Wallace as Mary, Gene Michael as Jan). Based on the tone of their performances, it's difficult to tell if we're supposed to think that Mary and Jan are supposed to be respected or ridiculed (possibly both, I suppose). The exception is Willa Pearl Curtis who is quite good as Bigger's mother—she went on to a long career in mostly uncredited roles in movies and TV. Leslie Straughn as Bigger's younger brother doesn't have much to do but he seems less artificial than most of the other supporting actors. Good intentions do not necessarily make a good movie, and today's audiences might fault the film for having a simplistic view of race relations. Often censored in its time, and rarely shown for years, the movie has been restored and makes for an interesting period piece. Pictured are Straughn and Wright. [Criterion Channel]

THE NIGHT IS YOUNG (1935)

Fluffy musical comedies about romantic antics among European royalty and aristocracy were all the rage in the early 30s, with Ernst Lubitsch's operetta-like films such as THE LOVE PARADE and ONE HOUR WITH YOU considered the standard to beat. The genre isn't my favorite, but this film, which the critics love to hate, is not bad until its almost startling genre-breaking ending. Archduke Ramon Novarro is in love with Countess Rosalind Russell, but picks lowly ballerina Evelyn Laye as a "decoy" mistress to be put up in quarters at the palace, so he can dally with Russell without the Duke's knowledge. The ballerina already has a boyfriend, a rather sullen pianist (Donald Cook), and when she realizes that Navarro isn't in love with her, she rebels. Of course, this causes Novarro to actually fall in love with her.  He agrees to pay for a production of a ballet that Cook has written, which allows a guilt-free break-up between Cook and Laye and things so smoothly for a time. When Novarro tells the Duke (Henry Stephenson) that he wants to give up his title to marry Laye, the Duke convinces him that it is his duty to family and state to remain a royal, so, in a reversal of the usual operetta ending, he leaves Laye, with a last song and a kiss.

 

This was Novarro's last MGM film and the last big-studio work he would do for ten years. Many critics think he's miscast, but he certainly looks the part, and though his smile turns into a grimace on occasion (perhaps he was thinking sadly about the end of his MGM contract), he's more than adequate for the role. Laye, a British performer, never made it big in Hollywood, and this was her last film for thirty years, but again she's absolutely fine here. The good supporting cast includes Una Merkel as a friend of Laye's and Charles Butterworth as Merkel's steady date—he drives a horse cart and has an amusing song he sings as an ode to his horse, Mitzi. The delightful Edward Everett Horton does his usual reliable wet-blanket sidekick part, earning him the nickname Doodlesack from Merkel. The songs, by Romberg and Hammerstein, are OK, the most memorable being "When I Grow Too Old to Dream." The real problem is the whole thing needed a fluffier, friskier directorial touch.  Certainly a better film than its critical rep would suggest. Pictured are Horton and Novarro. [TCM]

A GUY NAMED JOE (1943)

At a British air base during World War II, Spencer Tracy is a cocky pilot who disregards safety standards and good team behavior. His commanding officer (James Gleason), having had enough, sets in motion a plan to get Tracy to a different base in Scotland on reconnaissance flights and out of harm’s way, and eventually back to the States as a flight instructor. His cargo pilot girlfriend (Irene Dunne) is also unhappy, calling him a "dime store hero," but she melts when he gives her a lovely new dress from London. After a few weeks in Scotland, Dunne visits Tracy and his flying buddy (Ward Bond), and Tracy tries to talk her into going back to the States with him and taking a desk job. One night, before a routine flying assignment, Dunne gets a shiver when she looks at his plane then tells Bond that she's had a premonition that Tracy's number is up and he shouldn’t fly. Sure enough, while attacking a German aircraft carrier, his plane is hit. On Tracy's orders, his other crew members bail out but he makes one last dive toward the carrier, blowing it up but also crashing into the ocean. The next thing he knows, he's walking around in the clouds. A young pilot (Barry Nelson) takes him to see The General (Lionel Barrymore), and Tracy realizes he is in Air Corps heaven. The General assigns him to be a guardian angel to a rookie pilot down on Earth. The trick is that, though he'll be able to influence the pilot with his thoughts, no one will be able to see or hear him. He and Nelson are sent to Phoenix and Tracy works with a rich boy rookie (Van Johnson) to give him skill and confidence. Coincidentally, Johnson is sent to a base in Australia where both Dunne and Bond are stationed. Though it's been a year, Dunne has still not gotten over Tracy's death. But soon, Dunne hits it off with Johnson, and Tracy, jealous, starts to encourage Johnson to engage in hot-dogging feats. Dunne also seems to sense Tracy's presence. Eventually, Dunne agrees to marry Johnson, but when he gets a particularly dangerous mission that she thinks he's not ready for, she sneaks into the plane and flies it. Tracy joins her in an attempt to guide her like he guides Johnson, even though he knows that if she survives, he will lose her forever to Johnson.

When I first got interested in classic films back in the 1990's, this wartime romantic fantasy had a solid reputation and was shown frequently on TCM. I think over the years, it's lost some of its sheen. I had a VHS copy of this in the 90s, but it wasn't released on DVD until 2013 and has not yet made it to Blu-ray. Part of it might be due to the very MGM sentiment and gloss that made it popular in the 40s and kept it watchable for years after. Other movie afterlife fantasies of the era, such as It's a Wonderful Life, The Bishop's Wife, and A Matter of Life and Death, are still in vogue, partly because they are a bit rougher, a bit messier emotionally. Tracy and Dunne are great together, they have a strong supporting cast, and Dunne's character is a strong and independent woman, but the plot feels much more predictable than that of the other films mentioned. From the moment Tracy starts guiding Johnson, there was never a doubt in my mind what was coming next and what the outcome would be. (Spoiler alert: Dunne survives, goes off with Johnson, and Tracy leaves satisfied that she's in good hands. Oddly, the original script called for Dunne to be killed in her last flight and reunited in Heaven with Tracy, but I imagine the studio thought that might send the wrong message to grieving families, not to mention that the Production Code might see her death as a suicide.) There is use of overlapping dialogue in an early conversation scene between Tracy and Dunne which gives a nice sense of casual intimacy to their relationship. I didn't find the low energy Barrymore effective as the God figure, though he certainly returned to fine form a few years later in Wonderful Life. Miniatures used for flight scenes are pulled off pretty well, though modern audiences may not agree. At two hours, it does drag a bit in the middle, but it’s still watchable thanks to the actors, and some small grace notes, especially a sweet scene in which Johnson intercedes to help a lonely nerdy boy get in touch with his mother. There is no one named Joe in the movie; the title comes from the belief of some British children that all Americans call anyone who is a "right chap" Joe. Pictured are Dunne, Tracy and Johnson. [TCM]

MOTHER JOAN OF THE ANGELS (1961)

In a 17th century Polish village, Father Jozef stops at an inn, seeming emaciated and a bit nervous. He is joining a group of priests sent to investigate the reported demonic possession of nuns at a convent, in particular the mother superior, Mother Joan, and perform an exorcism if necessary. A local priest, Garniec, had been accused of sorcery and sexual assault and burned at the stake, though the nuns supposedly looked forward to his visits, and they have been possessed ever since. Where the other priests failed, Jozef is determined to succeed. When Jozef confronts Joan, she names the eight demons that are involved, cackling and creeping about as the other nuns frolic. (One nun, Sister Malgorzata, who is not possessed, visits the village inn frequently, and eventually leaves the convent to partner up with a traveling squire, leading to unhappiness.) When Jozef and the other priests sprinkle the nuns with holy water, they scream and contort, and Joan says that one of the demons leaves, which still leaves seven more. Eating barely enough to stay alive and inexperienced in the ways of the world, Jozef continues his battle, both spiritual and personal, with Mother Joan. She admits that she opened her soul to the demons and enjoys the feeling of being possessed. After consulting with a local rabbi, Jozef decides the only way to exorcise Joan is to take the demon on himself.

This is based on a Polish novella which was itself based on a true story that happened in France and was the basis of Aldous Huxley’s non-fiction book The Devils of Loudun. The most famous adaptation of this story is the controversial Ken Russell film The Devils which covers the confrontation between the first priest (Grandier in real life) and the nuns. This movie picks up some time after that priest’s death, and the character of Father Jozef is also based on a real person. Russell's film is full of blasphemous sexual activity and was originally rated X; this is a much more sedate affair, shot in gorgeous black and white with a fluid camera in sparse settings with imagery reminiscent of the work of Ingmar Bergman. The carrying-on of the nuns is much less explicit here but still unsettling. Lucyna Winnicka is excellent as Mother Joan, alternately seductive and innocent, and Mieczyslaw Volt every bit as good, if less showy, as the mild-mannered priest who becomes focused, determined (he practices self-flagellation), and eventually more unbalanced than the nuns. He seems doomed from the start, though the cause of his doom is not predictable. Volt also plays the rabbi in a short scene near the end. There seems to be confusion over where the film is set. Wikipedia says it takes place in the Russian village of Smolensk, some reviewers refer to it being in Loudun in France. I don't think any place names are mentioned in the movie, but with the background and the character names, Poland seems most likely. A strong feeling of fate runs through this story which falls back on psychological explanations rather than spiritual ones for the possession and its aftermath. Worth seeing, especially if you’re a fan of Russell’s earlier film. Directed by Jerzy Kawalerowicz. [YouTube]

THE SAINT'S DOUBLE TROUBLE (1940)

In Cairo, a nicely dressed man (Bela Lugosi) sends a large box off to a Prof. Bitts in Philadelphia. The return address on the box is that of Simon Templar, better known as The Saint, a reformed gentleman thief who frequently helps the police even if not everyone is convinced that he has truly reformed. But if we've seen any of the previous Saint movies from RKO we know that this man is not Templar. Bitts is excited to get the box; it contains a 4,000 year old mummy that Templar had promised years ago to send to the professor. Anne, the professor's daughter, had a teenage crush on Templar but was upset by his criminal activities, and she still doesn't think well of him. That evening, Templar (George Sanders) visits the professor and takes a look at the mummy, clearly looking for something else that should be there. Ann has a mildly bitter exchange with Templar and we pick up on the fact that Templar seems a bit confused by some of her remarks. In fact, this man is not Templar at all, but a lookalike crime boss named Bates. That evening, a man is murdered right outside the professor's home, and a card left on the body puts the blame on The Saint (it's signed with a hasty sketch of a stick-figure man with a halo). As it happens, Inspector Fernack from New York, who knows Templar, is visiting Philadelphia, and he agrees to help the cops. The real Templar shows up and, though Fernack believes he's innocent, Templar must stay in hiding. Thus begins a series of incidents in which Templar is mistaken for Bates, and Bates for Templar. More deaths occur with Saint calling cards, making it hard for Fernack to stand up for Templar, but with the help of Anne, and after escaping death by drowning, Templar finally brings Bates down and justice is served.

I enjoy the Saint movies but the character never comes to life like Poirot or Perry Mason or Charlie Chan. The chief pleasure here is watching George Sanders cavort in his understated way, wryly delivering dialogue and remaining unflustered no matter what comes his way. He's fine in the dual role, though he changes not a whit of his performance between Templar and Bates, both having the same mannerisms, accent, and way of carrying themselves, though they do dress slightly differently, and Bates sometimes speaks at a slightly faster pace. Part of the fun becomes trying to keep track of who Sanders is playing at any given moment. Helen Whitney (aka Helene Reynolds) is fine as Anne, as is Jonathan Hale who returns from previous films as Fernack. But the most fun comes from Bates' two henchmen (John F. Hamilton as Limpy—guess why—and Elliott Sullivan as Monk) who are frequently confused by the doppelganger gimmick. Monk makes some amusing malapropisms, such as saying that someone is suffering from "hallelujah fascinations" instead of hallucinations. Bela Lugosi is quite good, fairly successfully putting Dracula out of our minds after his first scene. The B-movie budget shows in bland sets and a script in which some plotpoints are never explained. The bad guys are diamond smugglers but one tends to forget exactly what the MacGuffin is. Still, it's fun watching for Sanders and his dual role hijinks. Pictured are Sullivan and Sanders. [DVD]

WORKING GIRLS (1931)

Two small-town sisters, Mae and June, come to New York and get a room at Rolfe House, a boarding house for working women. Mrs. Johnstone, the house mother, tries to keep them on the straight and narrow, closing the windows and pulling the blinds when wild music and dancing start up in the next building, but the girls manage to listen and do a little dancing themselves. 19-year-old June applies for a job as assistant to academic researcher Prof. Von Schrader, but when she admits she has virtually none of the advertised requirements, he ends up hiring her sister Mae, who at least has more education. June sneaks her way into a job at a hotel telegraph office and starts dating Pat, a carefree saxophone player who plays radio gigs. Meanwhile, Mae falls in with Boyd, a handsome Harvard man turned lawyer and both dating sisters wind up barely getting home by the midnight curfew. When Von Schrader proposes to Mae, she tells him about Boyd and he lets her go, assuming she'll be getting married soon. Mae sleeps with Boyd but he leaves town on a business trip and when he returns, he's engaged to a rich girl. June goes to dinner with Von Schrader and talks him into rehiring Mae. He does, though he is now clearly smitten with June. Soon, the situation is this: Mae is pregnant, Boyd is dumped by his socialite gal, and June tries to engineer a literal shotgun wedding for Mae and Boyd, while Von Schrader pines away for June. Happy endings, anyone?

This pre-code film is an uneasy blend of melodrama and romantic comedy, and things do work out for all concerned without a gun being fired, which is not quite how I expected it to end when I was at the halfway point. It's also a blend of realism (the conditions of the working girls, the relationship between Mae and Boyd) and the unreal (the ease with which they find jobs, most of the plot involving Von Schrader) that feels awkward at times. Dorothy Arzner directed and to her credit, things don't get too sentimental or romantic. In fact, both Mae and June wind up at the end in relationships that seem more practical than happy, and I suspect the marriages will last just long enough for the sisters to build up new defenses and get back out on the streets again. They come off as more or less accidental gold-diggers with neither one seen as hardened or especially well-skilled in their use of feminine wiles. This is a B-film from Paramount which means it looks good but has second-rank stars. Two women who never got past the starlet stage play the leads: Judith Hall is June, the smarter of the two, and Dorothy Hall is Mae, the naive one. Both are fine if not standouts. Stuart Erwin is casually charming as Pat, the sax player who pops in and out of the story when needed. Charles 'Buddy' Rogers, who plays Boyd, starred in WINGS, the first film to win an Oscar for best picture, and later married Mary Pickford. Paul Lukas (Von Schrader) would go on to a long career, winning an Oscar for WATCH ON THE RHINE. You may recognize Frances Dee and Claire Dodd as other boarding house residents. One young woman, the front door keeper, is perhaps coded as a lesbian though nothing comes of it. Recommended if only for the slight subversion that the working girl romance is given. Pictured is Rogers. [Criterion Channel]

STRANGE FASCINATION (1952)

Paul Marvan (Hugo Haas) is a once-promising concert pianist whom we first see listening to a piano recital at the Carnegie Hall stage door. Dressed shabbily, we see him go to a Salvation Army hall where he plays piano for no one. In a flashback, we see Paul a few years earlier in Salzburg where he has won accolades for his performance of Chopin pieces. Rich widow Diana Fowler (Mona Barrie) thinks he could be a hit in the States and offers to sponsor a concert tour for him; he would start small (in Columbus, my home town!) and slowly build to an appearance at Carnegie Hall. Divorced from his pianist wife due to career jealousies, Paul has no ties in Salzburg so he accompanies Diana to New York City where he lives in a wing of her luxury apartment. Her children and her bitchy card playing friends don't quite approve of the arrangement but it seems rather innocently one-sided; she's clearly in love while he's focused on his piano playing. He feels bad about asking her for more favors, primarily needing money to pay for the insurance on his hands, but she never turns him down. Alone at a club one night, fussing about his table and chair, he unwittingly spoils the timing of Margo (Cleo Moore), the performing dancer. She thinks he did it on purpose and when she finds out who he is, she goes to his recital, intending to spoil it by fussing and making noises, but she becomes wrapped up in his playing and winds up getting his autograph and meeting him for drinks. One thing leads to another and, both admiring him but also sensing that he might make a good meal ticket, Margo breaks up with her dancing partner Carlo and moves in with Paul, eventually marrying him. Diana is not happy but remains faithful and continues to supply him with money when needed. After a leg of his concert tour is canceled due to weather-related disasters, his career dreams begin to fade and Margo goes back into show business in a musical that her former partner Carlo is choreographing. Driven by desperation and remembering his hand insurance, he deliberately sticks his hand in a printing press, mangling it so he can't use it. But the insurance claim is turned down when the company becomes suspicious. We return to the beginning of the film, with Paul playing in the Salvation Army hall with one hand. Could some kind of happy ending be in store for him?

Hugo Haas made a name as director, writer, and star in B-picture melodramas which usually followed the outline of this one in which he plays an older man taken advantage of by a young, sexy woman, often played by the blonde and buxom Cleo Moore (this was the first of seven films they made together). Moore's bad girl characters usually had some mildly redemptive quality, and here, Margo, though certainly a gold digger, is also truly appreciative of Paul's talent, and sticks with him longer than she needed to. She's also not the cause of his downfall. Diana is the character who is the most used; she hides her love for Paul and somewhat masochistically continues to help him out despite being largely ignored by him in the last half of the film. Some viewers on IMDb call this movie sad and depressing, but it's no more so than any generic melodrama of the era. In fact, against all odds, there is a relatively happy ending for Paul, and hope is held out that he might be able to play concerts again. The acting all around is par for the course, with Moore giving the best performance. Haas typically underplays a bit, which works in some scenes and doesn't in others. Barrie doesn't seem to understand her character and she reacts to everything with a blank, underplayed stoicism. Rick Vallin is fine as Carlo, in a role that should have been better developed. Though Diana's world is supposed to be high class, the film's low budget undercuts that with cheap sets that don't begin to suggest the world of a socialite. Otherwise, this is watchable, and highly recommended for fans of Haas, Moore, or soapy melodrama. [Criterion Channel]

MONSTROSITY aka THE ATOMIC BRAIN (1963)

"Can death be outwitted?" a narrator asks us over footage of a scientist in a hazmat suit engaging in brain transplantation experiments. Will rich old people be able to obtain young healthy bodies? So far, this scientist, Dr. Frank, has put animal brains into a drooling stitched-up thug who looks like an insane Stephen Stills (pictured) and who serves as a guard, and a lovely naked woman who walks around in a trance. All this work is being done for the bitter old Mrs. March who has a plan: she will essentially kidnap a young woman, make the woman the recipient of her will, and have her old lady brain put in the young woman's body so she can be young, sexy and rich. We learn that the doctor has a nuclear reaction switch installed in his lab so he could, if needed, blow the entire place to smithereens (I call that Chekhov's nuclear reaction switch because you know you'll see it again). Mrs. March has advertised for maids and winnowed the replies down to three lovely women: the British Bea, the Austrian Nina, and the Mexican Anita. When they arrive at the mansion, the old lady's first move is to make them turn and pose like models. This sets off mild alarm bells for the women, but not enough for them to leave. Anita is immediately rejected and is given a basement room near Dr. Frank's lab while the other two get upstairs bedrooms. The next day, the upstairs girls are told that Anita has left, but actually the mad doctor has killed the old lady's cat and put its brain into Anita, causing her to crawl and prowl and meow. Nina and Bea become suspicious, and when Bea runs across Anita perched on top of a gazebo, Anita hisses and scratches out one of Bea's eyes. With Anita and Bea out of the running, it's just a matter of time before Dr. Frank straps Nina down to prepare her for the brain transplant. This low-budget 60s horror/sci-fi flick is nothing special, though it may appeal to those who like the combination of sexy ladies, the piling on of outré incidents and cheesy special effects. My favorite moments involve Anita acting like a cat, among the best acting moments in a movie that is indifferently acted by all. Marjorie Eaton as Mrs. March seems to be giving it her all, but she turns in a rather shrill one-note performance that wore me down by the halfway point. Erika Peters, who had a fairly active career in TV shows of the 1960s, is pretty good as Nina. Frank Gerstle, a busy character actor, is adequate but a bit low-key as Dr. Frank. Everyone else feels a bit amateurish, and the post-dubbed sound doesn't help. Though only an hour long, this plods along predictably to a sort of fun final punch-line scene. Don't bother. Released to TV (and mocked on MST3K) as THE ATOMIC BRAIN. [YouTube]

THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES (1972)

Here's a sort of a bonus entry to my recent series of posts about the Sherlock Holmes films of Basil Rathbone. In 1972, ABC made three TV movies as pilots for a series that would have rotated different detectives including Hildegarde Withers (heroine of a series of B-films in the 1930s), Nick Carter (hero of a pulp fiction series and three films in 1939 and 1940), and Sherlock Holmes. The series never happened but the films were broadcast, and this was the first. Stewart Granger played Holmes and Bernard Fox was Watson. Granger was a British actor who came to Hollywood in 1950 and specialized in period and adventure films (King Solomon's Mines, Scaramouche). Fox, also British, had a long career as a character actor, best remembered as Dr. Bombay in the Bewitched TV series). This version, the first American Holmes film in color, begins with Holmes seen in silhouette with his pipe and deerstalker hat as Watson narrates, beginning with a flashback to 1762 as the wealthy Hugo Baskerville kidnaps the daughter of a man who owes him money. During drunken carousing, the abused woman escapes the castle and runs across the nighttime moors. Hugo gives chase, but a demonic hound that glows in the dark (a very good effect) kills him, and Baskerville men have been cursed ever since. Dr. Mortimer (Anthony Zerbe) comes to see Holmes after the latest Baskerville has died on the moors with hound prints nearby. He is concerned because the heir, Henry, is coming from Canada to run the estate, despite advice not to. He doesn't quite believe in the curse, and neither does Holmes, but clearly something sinister is afoot. From this point on, the film follows the 1939 plot to a tee, so you can read the summary in my post. 

Reviewers on IMDb do not like this film, mostly because of its 70's TV-movie limitations. It's silly to carp too much about such things as cheap sets and costumes and models and post-dubbing since those elements are baked into films made for TV (or video). I think the sets are effective enough, and the hound appearance (at right) early on is better than in the 1939 film—maybe just because it's in color. It's also very silly to complain about ways in which this differs from the Doyle story when virtually all dramatizations have done so. (As noted above, this seems to be directly based on the Rathbone film, not Doyle.) There are complaints about acting which are perhaps more applicable, though I find the actors here to be more than adequate. Granger doesn't get much respect as Holmes. I'm not really a fan of the actor, but he seems fine here. I think his biggest problem is that he's not particularly distinctive, as the movie itself really adds nothing new to the story, but I would have watched his series if it had been produced. Bernard Fox is a bit better as Watson, though he benefits from doing some subtle channeling of Nigel Bruce in terms of distracted hesitation. Zerbe is good as the doctor, keeping us in a bit of suspense as to his motives. William Shatner, a couple of years after Star Trek, is very good as Stapleton, a Baskerville neighbor, and I wish he'd gotten more screen time.  The two main women in the cast, Jane Merrow (whom I never would have recognized as being Alais in The Lion in Winter) and Sally Ann Howes (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) are not up to snuff but that may be more due to the writing. I liked Ian Ireland, unknown to me before this, as Henry, and it's nice to see the esteemed British actor John Williams (the inspector in Dial M for Murder) in a small role. I'm in the process of digging up the other two mystery pilots and hope to report back on those soon. My final verdict: harmless and even enjoyable. Recommended if you can get past TV-movie prejudices. Pictured at top left are Fox and Granger. [YouTube]