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]

DRESSED TO KILL (1946)

In Dartmoor Prison, an inmate, John Davidson, is working at his job of making music boxes to be sold at auction. Davidson is serving time for counterfeiting, and a fellow inmate asks him why he doesn’t go for an early release by telling the authorities where he hid the five-pound plates. He doesn't say but he clearly has a plan. At Gaylord's auction house, the three innocuous music boxes are sold fairly cheaply to three people: an upper class fellow nicknamed Stinky who collects music boxes, a middle class man named Kilgour who buys it for his little daughter, and Evelyn Clifford who plans to offer it for sale at her toy shop. After the auction, Col. Cavanaugh shows up, wanting to buy the music boxes. Being too late, he bribes the clerk into giving him the names and addresses of the buyers. At 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes is playing "Danny Boy" on his violin and Dr. Watson is celebrating the publication in the Strand Magazine of his latest Holmes adventure, "A Scandal in Bohemia." Watson's old friend Stinky shows up to chat and tells of being knocked unconscious by a burglar. Despite all the fancy music boxes he owns, the burglar took only a cheap, plain one. However, when Holmes and Watson visit, we discover that the stolen box is not the one that Stinky bought at auction, though it looked similar. Holmes admires the box's unusual tune and memorizes it. Later, Stinky has another late night visitor, the lovely Hilda Courtney who nonchalantly offers to buy the auctioned music box. He refuses and Hilda's brutish chauffeur Hamid throws a knife at Stinky and kills him. Investigating the scene of the crime, Holmes notices the music box gone, goes to the auction house, and gets the names of the other two buyers. When he and Watson go to the Kilgour home, Mom and Dad are gone but they run into a housemaid leaving on an errand who invites them to stay and wait. Eventually, they discover the little Kilgour daughter tied up in a closet. Sure enough, the housemaid was actually Hilda in disguise and she has taken the music box. A cat and mouse game ensues as Holmes tracks down the toy store box. Hilda and Cavanaugh have boxes #1 and #2 and Holmes has box #3 and the memory of box #1's tune. He discovers that, though 1 and 3 play the same tune, there are small differences, and that the music must be coded somehow to reveal the whereabouts of the counterfeit plates. Will Holmes get ahold of #2 before Hilda can get #3, and can either one figure out the code?

We’ve come to the twelfth and final Sherlock Holmes film from Universal, and while it’s not the best of the batch, it's perfectly respectable. It doesn't have the thick atmosphere of some of the earlier ones (like HOUSE OF FEAR) but it's not a spy story (SECRET WEAPON) or a security guard story (like the previous one, TERROR BY NIGHT). In fact, the plot feels a lot like a traditional Holmes story as written by Doyle. It's not based directly on one, but the shoutout to "A Scandal in Bohemia" is fun. Patricia Morison, as Hilda, is perhaps the best femme fatale after SPIDER-WOMAN's Gale Sondargaard. Despite the title, she doesn't actually kill anyone, though she almost kills Holmes (a good scene), but she's a strong antagonist. Edmund Breon is fun as Stinky, though no one else really makes much of an impression. Mary Gordon puts in her last appearance as Mrs. Hudson, as do Basil Rathbone as Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Watson. Some series regulars, such as Ian Wolfe, Harry Cording, and Olaf Hytten, show up. Rathbone may have gotten tired of the job, but it's nice that the series goes out with movies that are still worth watching. Pictured is Nigel Bruce, a bit flummoxed by a pop-up bunny toy. [DVD]

THE THIRD SECRET (1964)

When the secretary for London psychiatrist Leo Whitset opens up his office one morning, she finds him on the floor, dying from a gunshot wound. His last words are "Blame no one but me," so the police assume suicide. However, Whitset's teenage daughter Cathy (Pamela Franklin) disputes this claim, as does TV commentator Alex Stedman (Stephen Boyd, at right) who had been a patient of Whitset's for years. Cathy thinks the killer may have been a patient. Whitset called his patients "good healthy neurotics" but Alex thinks that one of them may have been a paranoid schizophrenic. As their investigation begins, they remember Whitset's philosophy that we all have three kinds of secrets: the ones we won't tell others, the ones we won't tell ourselves, and the third secret (which is not defined in any more detail). Cathy gives Alex the names of his current patients and he visits each one: an art gallery owner (Richard Attenborough) who is himself a frustrated artist; a judge (Jack Hawkins); and a secretary (Diane Cilento) with whom Boyd gets slightly involved. Meanwhile, as Cathy and Alex become close, her uncle finds them looking a little too intimate in her bedroom and suspects that the relationship is unhealthy. With Alex himself as a fourth patient, he soon learns that there is one more patient to hunt down.

This psychological thriller is interesting but less than compelling, and I'm not quite sure why it doesn't work better than it does. One reason is that little tension is generated along the way; the three patient visits feel mostly like the movie is killing time—though it is fun to see a very young Judi Dench as Attenborough's assistant. Boyd, who has the reputation of being a bit wooden at times, is fine here, not so much wooden as a bit distant, which works with the character. The 14-year-old Franklin is very good, playing a character who, though seemingly open and innocent, may be (as Boyd might be too) hiding secrets of her own. The widescreen black & white cinematography is excellent and the ending, which is perhaps a bit predictable, is satisfying. This film disappeared from view for some time, though it did get a DVD release from Fox a few years ago, but Fox is not always very good at promotion of their backlist resources. The YouTube print which I saw is crisp and clean, probably from the DVD or the British Blu-Ray disc. [YouTube]

TERROR BY NIGHT (1946)

The Star of Rhodesia is an infamous diamond, thought to be cursed. Lady Margaret is traveling by train to Edinburgh with it and has hired Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson to guard it, as there has already been one robbery attempt in London. Also on the train is Vivian Vedder, transporting her deceased mother's body to Scotland in a specially made coffin that we saw her inspect at a carpenter's shop. Other passengers: Lady Margaret's son Roland; Major Duncan-Bleek, an old acquaintance of Watson's from his days in India; Prof. Kilbane, a secretive mathematician; the Shallcrosses, a secretive older couple; and Inspector Lestrade, who tells Holmes he is on vacation but is actually keeping his eyes on the diamond. Not long into the journey, Roland is found dead and the diamond is gone, but Holmes reveals that he actually has the diamond and the missing one is a fake. Watson, certain he could do as well at detecting as Lestrade, starts an investigation, with some help from his buddy Duncan-Bleek. Holmes feels the case has the mark of an old pro named Moran, an associate of Holmes' nemesis Moriarty; as no one knows what he looks like, he could be anyone on the train. At one point, Holmes discovers that Vivian's coffin is empty, and has a false bottom with a compartment big enough to hold a small person (as we learn, a man with a poison dart gun who is now hiding on the train). Vivian admits that she was paid to accompany the coffin but knows nothing more. Holmes is also pushed out of the train by an unseen assailant, though he manages to get back on. In the end, the killer is unmasked, after which a delicious final twist occurs.

This eleventh film in the Universal series, somewhat like the previous PURSUIT TO ALGIERS, begins with Holmes not as a detective but as a security agent for hire. But all is forgiven when it does eventually turn into a mystery almost in the Agatha Christie mold—there's even a brief recap of the suspects at the half-hour mark. I also like that it's a train movie; aside from the opening scene at the carpentry shop, it's all set on or about the train, the Scotch Express. The mystery is tricky enough, and the last ten minutes are exciting, unpredictable, and fun. Though there is one more film left in the series, this is the last one with Lestrade (Dennis Hoey). It's fun to see Watson having a friend to chat with, and Alan Mowbray is fine as Duncan-Bleek. Very busy character actor Mary Forbes is good as Lady Margaret, and of course Basil Rathbone (pictured above with Hoey) and Nigel Bruce continue their impersonations of Holmes and Watson in a satisfactory manner. The short and odd-looking Skelton Knaggs, who made a decent career out of playing short and odd-looking people, is the poison dart killer working for Moran. Renee Godfrey, an American, uses an awful artificial British accent as Vivian, which I sure was meant to be a put-on disguise, but no, she's just bad at accents. A solid entry in the series. [DVD]

MRS. O’MALLEY AND MR. MALONE (1950)

After an opening theme song that sounds like it was written for a TV sitcom, we see the host of a radio quiz show call Hattie O'Malley (Marjorie Main), a Montana widow, and when she guesses the name of a Phantom Tune, she wins $50,000 and a train trip to New York City to get the money. (The song she identifies, "Possum Up a Gum Stump," is apparently an actual traditional fiddle song. It was the song her late husband was singing when he got drunk and died trying to fly.) On the train, she reads an article in a true crime magazine about the exciting exploits of Chicago attorney John J. Malone. Meanwhile, in Chicago, Malone (James Whitmore), drunk and penniless after a gambling binge, wakes up in the city morgue with a hangover. He discovers that Steve Kepplar, a former client, has just been released from Joliet Prison on parole (thanks to Malone) and will be hopping a train to New York, as it happens, the same one that Hattie O'Malley is on. Malone decides to get on that train in order to collect the fees that Kepplar owes him. Also on that train following Kepplar: detective Tim Marino who thinks Kepplar will head straight for the missing $100,000 from his bank robbery; Connie, Kepplar's ex-wife, who wants her alimony payments; Brynk, Kepplar's former business partner; and Lola, Kepplar's new gal. Malone meets Hattie at dinner and they hit it off well enough that she gets entangled in the attempts to find Kepplar, who got on the train but hasn't been seen since. Eventually there are dead bodies which appear and vanish, and then have to be moved, leading to the movie's best line: as Hattie and Malone walk a corpse down the train aisle past another passenger, she says, "Come now, mother, hardly a quart in you and you stagger around like you were drunk."

This second-feature comic mystery was an unexpected delight. I do like Marjorie Main but I'm more used to her in supporting parts rather than as the star (I saw one Ma and Pa Kettle movie with her so many years ago I have no memory of it), so I wasn't sure about this. I'm not especially a fan of craggy-faced James Whitmore who usually does fairly dramatic roles, but he does a nice job being light on his feet with good comic timing, and he has good chemistry with Main. They make a fun pair, and it's too bad this didn't become a series of films. The interesting backstory is that this was based on a one-off short story collaboration between mystery writers Craig Rice (and her lawyer character John J. Malone) and Stuart Palmer (and his older lady character Hildegarde Withers). Withers had been featured in a series of B-films in the 1930s and MGM ran into copyright issues so they changed the character's name and background. This is sometimes referred to as a screwball comedy, though it's not antic or romantic enough for that, but it is amusing and fast paced, and has a great supporting cast. Ann Dvorak (Connie), Dorothy Malone (Lola), Fred Clark (the detective) and Phyllis Kirk (in the small role of Malone's secretary Kay) are all great fun. Smaller roles are filled by Douglas Fowley, Clinton Sundberg and Willard Waterman. Trivia note: Clark and Waterman would be standouts in AUNTIE MAME many years later, Clark as Mame's nemesis Mr. Babcock and Waterman as Claude Upson, maker of dreadfully sweet daiquiris. Great fun. [TCM; also on Warner Archive DVD]

PURSUIT TO ALGIERS (1945)

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are supposed to be heading to Scotland for a fishing vacation. As they stroll through the nighttime city streets, chatting about the recent theft of the Duchess of Brockdale's emeralds, they are followed by mysterious men who drop coded messages which lead them to a meeting with the prime minister of Rovenia. The king has just been assassinated and his son Nikolas, who is in London, needs safe conduct back to his country. Plans are made for Holmes to fly to Algiers and from there to Rovenia, but there is no room for Watson, so he takes a passenger liner. On the ship, Watson hears news that a small plane has crashed on its way to Algiers, and he assumes Holmes is dead, but of course, he's not: having his own suspicions, Holmes has arranged for Nikolas to accompany him on the liner. The problem now is that practically everyone they come into contact with seems suspicious. There are two sneaky looking men skulking about, mumbling about a king; Sheila Woodbury, a singer who becomes flustered when she learns that Sherlock Holmes is on board, and who may have tried to push Nikolas, posing as Watson's nephew, overboard in the fog; Agatha Dunham, an older socialite and health nut who has a revolver and wants to throw a big dinner party on the ship; Sanford, a porter who seems to be skulking about everywhere. When the ship makes an unscheduled stop in Lisbon, three more men get on: the sinister looking Mirko, the nondescript Gregor, and the burly mute Gubec. Holmes catches Mirko in the act of trying to throw a knife through his window and slams Mirko's hand in the porthole, injuring him. Eventually, all is sorted out, strange behaviors are explained, villains are thwarted, and even the stolen emeralds from the first scene of the movie are recovered.

The tenth film in the Universal series, after THE WOMAN IN GREEN, is often looked down on as the worst of the batch, but I'm not sure why. The main thing I have against it is that it is less a detective story than a bodyguard story: Holmes is hired not to do detecting but to guarantee safe delivery of a person. Of course, he does do some detecting eventually, but the mysterious tone of many of the previous films is gone here, except for a couple of scenes set in fog. There is no crime mastermind, like Moriarty or the Spider Woman, to contend with. There is no Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. However, there is the enclosed area of the ship, which lends this some of the cachet of a train movie. There is also Martin Kosleck, who made his name playing Nazis in the 1940s, who is very good as Mirko. Marjorie Riordan, as Woodbury, gets to sing, as does Nigel Bruce (Watson) who gives a brief but effective performance of "Loch Lomond."  Rex Evans (Gregor) and Morton Lowry (Sanford) are fine; Gubec is played by Wee Willie Davis, a pro wrestler. Of course, Rathbone is Rathbone (pictured with Bruce), soldiering on even though he was certainly no longer challenged by the role. Watson relates the unpublished Holmes tale of The Giant Rat of Sumatra (a tale mentioned but untold in the Doyle canon), though we only hear the beginning and end. There is a nice twist that leads to a satisfying ending. The closing line is not patriotic or inspirational, but fun. Watson is upset that he was kept in the dark about a secret, and Holmes explains that Watson has too honest a face to keep such a secret, then says, "If you ever decide to take up another profession, never think of becoming an actor!" [DVD]

ROME ADVENTURE (1962)

At the Briarcroft College for Women, young librarian Suzanne Pleshette has been called before the board because she loaned a student her own personal copy of the racy novel Lovers Must Learn after the college cancelled their order. Pleshette stands up for herself and quits, deciding to head off on an open-ended trip to Rome, hoping to learn a bit about life and love herself. (As is implied over and over, she is still a virgin.) On the boat, she bonds with a nerdy young scholar (Hampton Fancher) who installs himself as her keeper, though he could use a keeper himself, and a dashing middle-aged Italian (Rossano Brazzi) who seems interested in teaching her a bit about life and love. She and Fancher move into a boarding house where they meet Troy Donahue, an American student who seems off-putting at first, though we know it's partly because his sexy, sophisticated lover (Angie Dickinson) has just left him. Pleshette gets a job at a bookstore (and gets good life advice from her boss, Constance Ford) and lets Brazzi flirt with her a bit, telling him that she is just bursting with love, calling it a "natural resource that has never been fully explored" (yes dear, we know you're a virgin) but saying she can't give herself over to love until she hears bells ringing, and with Brazzi, all she hears are tinkles. Slowly, Donahue and Pleshette warm to each other when he takes her sightseeing around Rome. Eventually they take a week-long holiday to see the Italian countryside, staying in a hillside chalet, but she remains pure (she's a virgin, you know). Back in Rome, they try to hide their relationship from the others in the boarding house, and when Dickinson shows up, dressed to the nines and ready to start over again, Pleshette gets gloomy and turns to Brazzi to lose her virginity. But knowing what's been going on, he's too gentlemanly to take advantage of her. She decides to go back to the States; will Donahue come to his senses and realize he makes Pleshette hear bells?

One online reviewer notes that, despite much talk about sex (and virginity), and a very sexy seduction scene during which Donahue runs a feather softly all over Pleshette's face in close-up, this isn't really a sex comedy, nor is it quite a melodrama. In its tone, it's a romantic comedy with dramatic interludes, though in its form, at least in the middle of the movie, it's actually more of a travelogue with lots of shots of Roman and Italian sights. My favorite sightseeing scene is when, in Verona, Pleshette stands on a balcony like Shakespeare's Juliet while Donahue recites Romeo's lines below, much to the amusement of a crowd of tourists. Pleshette, in her first starring role, is quite good, despite some of the drippy dialogue she has to say. Donahue is at the height of his blond handsomeness, but I always think he comes off as a tad unwholesome, like his shiny smile is hiding decadent desires. Frankly, I liked Hampton Fancher better; darkly handsome with a passing resemblance to Anthony Perkins, his character is presented as pleasant but boring. He is mockingly called an "Etruscanologist" but he truly loves his work, and I was sorry his role wasn't expanded, though he has a fun scene as Pleshette's escort on a double date with Donahue and Dickinson which ends badly. Brazzi is fine, if his character is predictable and not quite as sexy as he should be. Dickinson's role is important, though fairly small, but she makes every moment count as one of the most unlikeable bitches in 60s cinema. We're led to believe that her character is both slutty and frigid, I guess meaning she's all come-on and no delivery. Jazz trumpeter Al Hirt has a weird cameo playing an unflattering version of himself, starting a fight in a small jazz club. There is a nice musical interlude with Emilio Pericoli singing "Al Di La"; his version made the Billboard top 10 in the wake of the film. A nice enough 60s romance which doesn’t take itself too seriously. Two last bits of trivia: 1) Hampton Fancher is now better known as the co-writer of Blade Runner and its 2017 sequel; 2) the bookstore set is the same set used for the River City Library in The Music Man. Pictured are Pleshette and Fancher. [TCM]

BLACKOUT (1954)

At a jazz club in London, American Casey Morrow (Dane Clark) is drowning his sorrows, broke and drunk because a promised job failed to materialize. An attractive blonde approaches him and offers him a job: marriage. She gives him a wad of cash and asks him to marry her that night. The next thing he knows, it's morning: he has a mighty hangover, a spot of blood on his coat, and he's in the Chelsea apartment of artist Maggie Doone who let him in at 2 a.m. when he was pounding on her door. Maggie is wary but offers to help, and Casey notices a painting of his apparent wife in her apartment. Casey leaves and immediately sees a newspaper headline noting that the wealthy Darius Brunner was found murdered, and Casey recognizes his missing daughter Phyllis as the woman he apparently married the night before (and whose cash he still has in his coat pocket). Back at Maggie's, she says that Phyllis had modeled for her, and that Phyllis is supposed to marry the Brunner family lawyer Lance Gordon. Thinking that Phyllis may be trying to frame Casey for her father's murder, Maggie agrees to help Casey figure out what's going on. Soon Phyllis shows up, insisting the murderer is Lance; she pulled off her drunken midnight marriage to Casey in order to get out of marrying Lance, whom she is sure just wants her money, especially now with Darius dead. From here, plot twists build. Lance is responsible for investing Mrs. Brunner's money in charities that may be bogus; there may be a blackmailer involved; Casey is almost hit by a suspicious car in the street. Then when Phyllis goes missing, Casey finds her in a cozy living room scene with her mother and Lance, and the marriage is still on for Christmas Eve. Who, if anyone, can Casey trust?

This is noir in a fairly light tone. I never really feared for Casey's outcome, though I must give a bit of a Spoiler here to note that I was disappointed that Casey doesn't wind up with Maggie at the end, when it seems that's what we are being primed for. He has much more chemistry with Maggie (Eleanor Summerfield) than with Phyllis (Belinda Lee, pictured with Clark), and Maggie treats him with more respect than Phyllis ever does. So even though it doesn't end that way, I choose to imagine Casey and Maggie walking into the sunset at the end. Dane Clark is like a more innocent and likable John Garfield, and Clark never hits a truly dark low point like Garfield (or other noir leading men) might. In fact, a family reunion scene with Clark and his estranged mom and brother, who own a pub, starts out badly but their problems are resolved quickly. There are plenty of traditional noir elements: the smoky bar, the drunken amnesia, the question of who can be trusted, some betrayals (perceived and real), and though Clark may not be as rough and tough as Garfield or Bogart or Alan Ladd, he does a nice job here. Lee looks the femme fatale part but comes off a bit blandly especially compared to the more interesting and complex Summerfield (who I just saw in her last acting role, a 1998 episode of Midsomer Murders). Favorite line: when Clark asks Summerfield why she has stuck by him, she replies, "I lead a dull life—I want something to put in my diary." [TCM]

THE WOMAN IN GREEN (1945)

Opening narration by Inspector Gregson lets us know that Scotland Yard is stumped by a series of murders, considered the worst since Jack the Ripper—young women are being killed and their right forefinger cut off. Gregson meets with Sherlock Holmes at a club called Pembroke House to discuss the murders. Holmes notices Sir George Fenwick at the club in the company of a beautiful blonde named Lydia. (When Gregson asks if the woman is his daughter, Holmes replies, "Don’t be so naive, Inspector"; when the two leave together and Holmes wonders where Lydia's taking Fenwick, the inspector replies, "Don’t be so naive, Holmes.") Back at her place, the two sit on a couch having a nightcap, staring into a water bowl with floating flowers as he seems to slip into a trance (pictured). The next morning, Fenwick wakes up disoriented, in a cheap boarding house. He sees headlines about another finger murder, then discovers a severed finger in his coat pocket. After Fenwick goes to see Lydia, Fenwick's daughter visits Holmes after she witnesses her father burying a human finger in the backyard. By the time they get to Fenwick's, he has shot himself in his study, a Pembroke House matchbook in his hand. At 221B Baker Street, Dr. Watson is called away and the evil genius Professor Moriarty, assumed to have died in Montevideo, shows up, perhaps holding Watson, to warn Holmes away from the finger murders. Later, Watson shows up unharmed, and Holmes figures out what Moriarty is up to: he and Lydia are working together to hypnotize rich men into thinking they have committed murders (by planting the fingers on them while drugged or in a trance), then blackmailing them. There is an attempt made on Holmes' life from across the street and Holmes and Watson go to a meeting of the Mesmer Club to bone up on hypnotism, which Watson is very skeptical of. In the end, Moriarty seems to have the advantage over a hypnotized Holmes who may well plummet to his death from a high building unless Watson and Gregson can stop him.

This ninth film in the present-day Holmes series has great potential but it falls short of its predecessor THE HOUSE OF FEAR. It's not as atmospheric and its script doesn't quite give it room to breathe, squandering to a degree the talents of Henry Daniell (as Moriarty) and B-femme fatale Hillary Brooke (as Lydia). Both show promise early on, the icy Lydia in her scene with Fenwick (Paul Cavanagh), the brusque Moriarty in his first scene with Holmes, but the 68-minute movie at various times both drags and feels rushed, making Brooke and Daniell (each making their third appearances in the series) less effective than they should be by the end. The plot, not based directly on Doyle, is solid, and draws on the plot of the earlier SPIDER WOMAN. Daniell is not quite as wicked as George Zucco was in ADVENTURES, but he's an improvement on Lionel Atwill in SECRET WEAPON. Nigel Bruce is fine as Watson, but Matthew Boulton is dreadfully plain as Gregson—I'm guessing Dennis Hoey was otherwise engaged and couldn't reprise his role as Lestrade. Certainly watchable, but a lesser effort with maybe a lower budget that previous films. [DVD]

SWEET SAVIOUR (1971)

In a dark room, a group of robed cultists watch a naked woman, laid out on an altar, go through an initiation ritual which climaxes in the bearded hippie cult leader, Moon (Troy Donahue, at left) climbing on top of her for sex as he says, "You are me and I am you," and the group chants, "We are all one." He later refers to the cult as a "family of true democracy," though we never see any democracy enacted. The next scene, shot in the style of an early Andy Warhol film, has the cult members hanging around in a small apartment, smoking and reading and chatting and making out. The purpose of the cult is a bit vague; they talk about God but they also want to make sure that the new member is "cleansed" of her middle-class morals. Two of the women offer a pretzel vendor (also their drug dealer) a blowjob for a discount on drugs. He takes them up on the offer, and he seems to enjoy himself, though one of the women takes a good, healthy spit afterwards. We get a little backstory about Troy who was an evangelist like his dad (one of his women is sure that Moon is Jesus) and had to endure beatings by his father. Now Moon gets his followers excited about having been invited by a famous actress to a swingers party where they'll provide some "unwashed" entertainment for the "straight pig animals," as Moon calls the upper-class partygoers who are anxious to engage in some kinkiness. At the party, after some awkward small talk, they get down to something of an orgy, with various sexual encounters accompanied by a sappy easy listening song called "It Looks Like Love." When all are sated, the cult members begin killing the swingers one by one. 

This is a grimy, junky B-movie, originally rated X, though both the sex and violence are tamer than they would be today. Somewhat surprisingly, Troy Donahue is not bad. Though he never comes off as terribly charismatic, he does take his role seriously, which is more than anyone else on screen does; to be fair, they mostly seem like amateurs, and none of them went on to have long film careers. Obviously based on the Charles Manson murders (the film was re-released as THE LOVE-THRILL MURDERS), even going so far as having the actress be pregnant as Sharon Tate was, it deviates a bit in the end with Moon and his cult getting away with the murders. The last shot is of Moon, riding his motorcycle the next day, flipping off the skyscrapers of Chicago. The movie seems to present two reasons why it should be taken seriously: 1) it shows that the rich "straight" people are hypocrites and just as messed up as the hippie cultists; 2) Moon's sociopathy comes from a deeply messed-up childhood. But neither theme is developed very much. One of the "straights" is an offensively stereotyped gay man named Fritzi who pretends to be a transsexual woman in order to bed one of the studly cultists. The apartment scene goes on far too long, as does the set-up to the would-be orgy. Ultimately, it was hard to sit through due to both tedium and its cheap sleazy look. In interviews at the time, Donahue was quoted as saying that the film would beat out Love Story at the box office. I don't think that prediction came true. [YouTube]

THE HOUSE OF FEAR (1944)

Drearcliff House sits on a cliff above the sea on the coast of Scotland. Owned by Mr. Alastair, the house is currently home to himself and six other men who call themselves the Good Comrades. One night as all are seated for dinner, the housemaid brings an envelope she found under the back door to the addressee, Mr. King. Inside are seven orange pips (or seeds). The men are puzzled but not overly concerned until the next night, King's car plunges over a cliff and he is burned to death. A few nights later, a man named Raeburn gets an envelope with six pips and he is soon found drowned in the sea, his body mangled. At this point, an insurance man named Chalmers goes to London to seek the help of Sherlock Holmes. The men, all single, retired, and wealthy, have named each other as estate beneficiaries, and Chalmers worries that someone is trying to kill them all off for their money. Holmes and Watson head off to Drearcliff, where some of the men, like the owner Alastair, are more welcoming than others (the burly sailor Simpson, the true-crime fanatic Merrivale, who killed his bride years ago but was acquitted of murder). Some threats pop up that may be red herrings, like a poisoned needle placed on a chair and a wine glass that has the scent of bitter almonds, but still, the pips keep turning up and, despite all precautions, men keep dying in gruesome fashion—the house is associated with a saying that no man from the house "ever goes whole to his grave." Inspector Lestrade is called in from London, and the death of the village tobacconist might be related to the deaths at Drearcliff. When Watson goes missing, Holmes must solve the mystery if any of the Good Comrades are to remain alive.

This, the eighth in the Universal Holmes series after THE PEARL OF DEATH, is credited as being based on the Doyle story "The Five Orange Pips," but it really only borrows the title device, and is more related to Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None in which people in an isolated house die one by one. Like SHERLOCK HOLMES FACES DEATH, this has an effective Gothic atmosphere and a tricky plot. Basil Rathbone (Holmes), Nigel Bruce (Watson, who is a little less doddering than usual), and Dennis Hoey (Lestrade) are very good, and the supporting cast is a notch above average. Paul Cavanagh attracts the most attention as the suspicious Merrivale, Aubrey Mather is fine as the friendly Alastair (could his jovial appearance be just a front?), and Holmes Herbert and Harry Cording are good as two of the last remaining Comrades. Gavin Muir (from FACES DEATH) is fine as Chalmers who is only in the beginning and ending. There is no potential femme fatale except for Sally Shepherd as the severe (and also suspicious) housekeeper—imagine a slightly mellower Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca. There are secret passages, dark shadowy rooms, and is a vigorous thunderstorm at the climax. In my estimation, this is certainly one of the best of the Rathbone films, even if it does slow down a bit in the middle. Pictured are some of the Good Comrades with Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade at the end of the table. [DVD]

THE LETTER (1940) / THE LETTER (1929)

One night on a Malaysian rubber plantation, sleeping workers hear a gunshot from the house of the foreman, Robert Crosbie. More shots follow and we see Crosbie’s wife Leslie (Bette Davis, pictured) follow a man staggering down the steps to collapse on the ground as she empties her pistol into him. She seems in a state of shock. Robert (Herbert Marshall), his attorney Howard Joyce (James Stephenson) and the police are sent for. Calmer now, she tells a very coherent story: Geoff Hammond, an old friend, stopped by, unannounced and a bit drunk. He continued drinking as he declared his love for Leslie. She tried to discourage him but eventually he assaulted her. She grabbed a pistol from a drawer and shot him six times, not quite aware of what she was doing. Though she'll have to be arrested and charged, Howard foresees an open-and-shut case of self-defense. Even the policeman agrees; both men seem charmed and a bit in awe of Leslie. However, Howard's native clerk Ong (Victor Sen Yung) complicates the case when he comes to Howard with news of a letter that Leslie sent to Hammond on the night of the murder, saying she was desperate to see him. The letter is in the possession of Mrs. Hammond (Gale Sondergaard), a notorious Eurasian woman. Smelling a blackmail attempt, Howard asks Leslie, being held in Singapore before her trial, about the letter. At first she denies having written it, then admits she did, but only because she wanted Hammond's advice about what kind of gun to buy Robert for his birthday. Howard doesn't believe her but, against his better judgment, agrees to buy the letter for $10,000, all the money that Robert has in savings. Mrs. Hammond demands that Leslie deliver the money herself, a degrading prospect made even worse when Mrs. Hammond throws the letter on the floor and makes Leslie pick it up. All this is kept from Robert until after the trial when the truth about everything is finally exposed, leading to tragedy.

Based on a story and play by W. Somerset Maugham, and not quite on the level of something like CASABLANCA, this is a fine example of the Hollywood studio system at its best. All the performances are great: Davis as steely but conniving, Marshall as hoodwinked and ultimately devastated, Yung as coldly practical, and Sondergaard who creates a fascinating character in only a few minutes of screen time and almost no dialogue. The underplaying Stephenson is a standout as a conflicted man who risks his legal reputation to make sure Leslie goes free. William Wyler directs his actors well, and with cinematographer Tony Gaudio, crafts an exotic looking visual style with an atmospheric use of shadows and moonlight. The opening, Bette Davis coldly firing away on the front porch at Hammond (whose face we never see), is a classic. 

The 1929 version plays out a bit differently. For starters, the first ten minutes presents what remains unseen in the 1940 film, so we know unambiguously what led up to the shooting. We see Robert (Reginald Owen) leave for an errand in Singapore, after which Leslie (Jeanne Eagels) sends a houseboy off with the letter summoning Hammond (Herbert Marshall, who was Robert in the later film). We learn they've been lovers for some time but he thinks she's gotten too clingy, and he wants to end it, especially since he's got a hot Eurasian mistress, Li-Ti. When Leslie threatens suicide, Hammond says he's sick of the sight of her and starts to leave. She then shoots him dead (which is where the 1940 movie begins). The rest is pretty much the same until the end. Being a pre-Code film, this version can let Leslie get off more or less unpunished, whereas Bette Davis has to meet a bad end. Both versions allow Leslie to deliver the famous line from the play, "With all my heart and soul, I still love the man I killed!" Eagels' delivery is more effective because it's the last shot of the movie; the Davis version goes on for a few more minutes to allow a Code-sanctioned ending. Eagels (pictured with Marshall) was a well-known stage actor with a reputation as difficult. She only made three sound films before dying of a drug overdose just months after the release of this movie; she was only 39. Her acting here is fairly stagy, occasionally with a Billie Burke-style tone in her voice, and she has a couple of moments when she seems to be searching for her lines, though she definitely brings the melodrama. Marshall, usually a bit stodgy (as he is in the 1940 film), is nicely scruffy and decadent here. The movie, an early talkie, suffers from a lack of any background music. Though I liked seeing the circumstances of the murder in full here, the 1940 film, thanks in part to the opening, is a classic that can't be beat. [DVD/Criterion Channel]

THE PEARL OF DEATH (1944)

On a passenger liner heading for Dover, a man hides the valuable Borgia Pearl in a corner panel of his suitcase and then is called to the radio room for a message. Naomi Drake gets into his room and steals the pearl. In Dover, she hides it in a camera which she gives to an elderly minister to take through customs, as he is less likely to have his property searched. Later, she takes the camera to her boss, Giles Conover, but instead of the pearl, there's a taunting note from Sherlock Holmes who, disguised as the minister, has saved the pearl. Holmes, Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade deliver the pearl to the Royal Regent Museum where the museum curator shows them how a new electrical alarm system will protect it. Holmes, calling electricity "the high priest of false security," shows them how easy it would be to disarm the system, and while the alarm is off, Conover manages to steal the Borgia Pearl. He is caught not far from the museum, but he has already disposed of the pearl somewhere. As the press blames Holmes for the theft, Holmes investigates the murder of a man whose back was broken, with shattered porcelain figures scattered about the room. This may involve the re-emergence of the murderous Hoxton Creeper, a facially deformed man who was part of Conover's gang but has been thought dead. More murders with similar destruction occur and Holmes figures out that Conover, while being chased, had entered a ceramic shop and deposited the pearl of one of six newly made Napoleon busts which were then sold to customers. Conover and Drake have been tracking down the busts to find the pearl. Soon, Holmes tracks down the last recently bought Napoleon bust, but Conover also knows where it is. Can Holmes outwit him (and Drake, and the brutish Creeper) and save the pearl?

The seventh Universal present-day Holmes adventure is based loosely on the Doyle story, The Adventure of the Six Napoleons. The plot is interesting and the presence of Rondo Hatton as the Creeper gives added interest. The distortion of Hatton's face was caused by acromegaly. He had been a reporter but took small roles in several movies until this one made his Creeper character famous. He played a similar character in a few more movies before his death in 1946, actually getting top billing in THE BRUTE MAN. Hatton's presence (we don't actually see his face until the last ten minutes) helps detract from the weak performance of Miles Mander as Conover. Mander had a long career as a character actor, usually playing passive, milquetoast types, but he just doesn't cut it as an ambitious villain who is supposed to rival Moriarty in his crime career. For me, he brings the film's energy to a halt every time he appears. Evelyn Ankers, as Drake, is fine but underused. Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce (pictured) are rather like old friends by now, as are Dennis Hoey (Lestrade) and Mary Gordon (Mrs. Holmes). Some critics name this as one of the best in the series, mostly because it continued the trend away from wartime propaganda and toward Doyle-style mysteries, and also has a number of people in disguises, though it moves away from the creepy atmosphere of the previous film, THE SCARLET CLAW. I liked it but feel it's a notch below some of the others, though I must say I enjoy the fact that Holmes is responsible for the pearl's theft from the museum. In some of the films, any mistake he made like this would have been part of his plan, but this one is not. [DVD]