Let Scares Be Multiplied

This Opener Scene Got Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man Off To A Roaring Start

Monster Mashing When Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man (1943)

The perhaps scariest scene in all of Universal horror comes at the beginning of this, but just as creepy stuff was done routinely in Sherlock Holmes mysteries also at U and directed by Roy William Neill, who hung up his deerstalker for a one-time dance with Uni monsters (single previous horror film, The Black Room, also excellent). Again I say, if the man had not died early (1946), he'd be cultish and a major noir name for ones in that category he'd have surely done if not for fate's intervention. Universal missed a bet by not putting Neill in directorial charge of all their thrillers; he could have, for instance, elevated the Inner Sanctums with Chaney sure as he had the Holmes with Rathbone. What with Neill and Robert Siodmak on the lot and active, U could have spilt chillers between the pair and made Blackjack every time.

F Meets W was one the Shock (Theatre) watchers dreamed to see. Imagine these two locked in (im)mortal combat! And the fight in this case lived up to promise, stuntmen turned loose in reprise of melee staged a year before on The Spoilers, Frank/Wolf being but applianced vary on John Wayne, Randolph Scott, and same doubles knocking brains out in the Yukon. I knew at age 11 that F Meets W would be a pip and, if not a best in the series, certainly the liveliest. F's monster is on ice instead of sulfur this time; like deer meat, you had to keep him fresh between rounds. Universal was around to doing each monster on per year basis, so then-youth got Mummies, lycanthropes, eventual Ape girls, often as Santa Claus. The films were in unapologetic rut after the first Wolf Man, but weren't sloughed as were series elsewhere that ran down meters quicker.

Chaney dominates in a role he felt proprietary toward. There had been weight gain since The Wolf Man two years before, but he still wore suits well, initial contact with Illona Massey (as Frankenstein's daughter) giving us glimpse of romancer Lon in twilight. "Poor" Bela Lugosi finally plays the Monster he turned down twelve seasons back, by 1943 aware that was defining career misjudge. F Meets W came between Monogram assignments for Lugosi. Critics ignored these and actors thought Mono a slumming address, if not outright disease, but showmen appreciated the little company for always delivering on product promise (most poverty rowers failed at that). Urban "shooting galleries" plus small towns relied on Monogram for fill of bills aimed at Saturday and exploitation markets, these needed more now that we were in a wartime boom. Lugosi in 40's decline? On the contrary, this period between declaration and surrender was a peak of his movie exposure, if not success.

Original Caption Indicates This Was Chaney's Own Pet, "Moose," ID'ed
By Universal as "Famed Dog Actor."

Shuffling the monster deck was inevitable, characters largely played out for individual sequels. Besides, the war had acted as sugar high for kids who wanted movies louder and more boisterous. How else do you explain Abbott and Costello, also out of Universal? The monsters didn't necessarily lose respect, as most understood thrones they once sat on, plus there'd been revival of originals Dracula and Frankenstein to remind everyone that these were cherished franchise. Universal in observance lent real polish to Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man (negative cost: $238,071). Their mini mock-up of the castle and looming waterfall is a landscape on which model railroaders might thrive. Family feeling is maintained by vets of the series now a stock company as sequels piled up: Lionel Atwill, Dwight Frye, numerous others known better by faces than names.

A joy for youth at the time and since is action getting immediately underway with no time spent on exposition or origin stuff re the monsters. We knew their predilections by 1943 and were eager to get on with it. Monster rallies were ideally keyed to wartime patience levels. The Wolf Man comes a-killing to a first reel and does so twice before brief subdue by ineffective authority. By way of loud, there is a mid-way "Festival Of The New Wine" that bids for outsize production number status with oodles of extras, a highlight to reassure us that U wouldn't take admission money for nothing. Lab stuff as practiced before repeats in observance of tradition, except now we're confused (at least I was) by whose energy was supposed to be channeled into what. A climactic blow-up and flood leaves plenty of real estate in which the monsters can hibernate and be found when next needed. Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man streams current on VuDu and looks great in HD. It along with other 40's sequels needs to come out on Blu-Ray, so write your congressman.

A Candidate That For Awhile Stopped Running

The Manchurian Candidate (1962) Sees Into Frightful Future

A Chinese Communist plot hatched during the Korea war comes within hairbreadth of successful US takeover, brainwashed servicemen its unwitting pawns. The Manchurian Candidate could, and probably was, taken as satire when it was new, like a following year's Dr. Strangelove, but events of 11/63 sucked humor out, and from there, Manchurian stood as early alarm to political/societal breakdown ahead. Its being tough (for a while) to re-see The Manchurian Candidate enhanced the aura. The set-up won't bear much scrutiny. You have to want to believe Manchurian's outlandish premise. If the Chinese had really been up to tricks like this, we'd long since have been in their net. There's sure not reassurance that US intelligence was on the job, what with infiltration so easily accomplished as here.

Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey Take Lunch Break on Location

How confused were first-run audiences by The Manchurian Candidate? Many said that the pic was "ahead of its time," which meant lots could make heads nor tails of the thing when new. Communists as patient and far-ahead planners did give us pause, and the idea they could plant an emissary in the White House seemed not so far-fetched in light of top-level spies oft-exposed during 50's run-up to The Manchurian Candidate. There's not comfort at the end, every indication that others in Laurence Harvey's squad are ongoing agency for puppet-masters who need only pull strings and move on to Plan B. Even Frank Sinatra's end summation leaves us figuring he'll be next to load an assault rifle and aim same at elected officials. The Manchurian Candidate earned $3.1 million in domestic rentals and less than half that from foreign ($1.5), but careers got a boost for the critical fave this was. Part-owning Frank later got sore at United Artists for their handling of The Manchurian Candidate and this as much as controversy over content kept it out of wider circulation for part of his remaining lifetime.

Free With Your Bell and Howell Purchase

Playful Pluto (1934) As Companion To Home Movies

This Disney cartoon attained household immortality for coming free with my father's late-40's purchase of a Bell and Howell 8mm projector. Beyond home movies, it was all we had to watch until first Castle reels I purchased in 1964. Sampler footage amounted not to the entire short, but a half-in highlight of Pluto coping with errant flypaper, a segment committed to child's memory that I was happy to relive after reading in Michael Barrier's Hollywood Cartoons that it was a big advance on characterization in WD's output. The difference, it seems, was Pluto's facial response to sticky menace the fly sheets pose, his expression changed from frustration to reassurance and back again. A deft animator named Norman Ferguson was responsible for the leap, and so made a specialty of Pluto from here. Disney progress was such that no one could touch him through a 30's rise, part of that due to Walt's continual upgrades on technique and training he oversaw/arranged. Pluto was the first cartoon dog to traffic in complexity, being a drawn successor to Rin-Tin-Tin, Strongheart, and others, only minus their innate heroism.

Dining On Blu-Ray Italian

60/70's Spaghetti Reheated For High-Def

It was spaghetti weekend at Greenbriar, an occasion sometimes for overeating, but I stopped after two lately released on Blu-Ray, The Big Gundown and My Name Is Nobody. Such was part-parcel of seemingly every week at the Liberty during the late 60's. Between stubble of these and biker pics played non-stop, you could go a month without seeing a clean-shaved face. After the Eastwood/Leones broke out, everyone began releasing Spaghettis, but imitators had not Clint or Sergio, so outcome varied. Lee Van Cleef clicking as Eastwood's friendly, then not-so-friendly, enemy from two Dollar purchases made it a cinch he'd be along in vehicles VC-customized, thus Death Rides A Horse, one or two Sabatas, and long unseen The Big Gundown, which Columbia released here after not-so-judicious cutting. I saw Gundown thus in 1968 and even reviewed it for local press, a job unwisely handed me at age fourteen that lasted for two of the godawfulest movie years a boy could sit through.

Columbia Maintains Lead In Ugly Lobby Card Category

I called The Big Gundown "surprisingly good" at the time, and in context of pretend Eastwoods, it was and remains so. There are two Blu-Rays now in circulation, one from Europe, the other generated here by Grindhouse Releasing. They both have alternate US/Euro versions. I watched the Grindhouse American one with Euro stuff put back in where possible (Italian-dialogue-only kept some of footage out). I get an impression that not many saw The Big Gundown when new, a lot of places getting it at drive-ins or no spot where reasonable comfort could be had. The Liberty, however, kept a big tent for everything no matter how raffish, so we had The Big Gundown for three days same as The Sound Of Music or Gone With The Wind on reissue. It's nice to see discard shows like The Big Gundown brought back on terms more favorable than what was accorded by original release, this a worthy western that Grindhouse has done honor by.

My Name Is Nobody has epic aspiration but goes on long. Sergio Leone had creative input of a sort that others will be more conversant on than myself. A lot of situations look as though Leone had a hand in. Henry Fonda, second-billed to Terence Hill, is the west's fastest gun who'd like to retire, but funnyman Hill of breakout Trinity westerns won't let him. A word about the Trinitys: I don't see anyone restoring them, but these things were massive hits on NC repeat basis, first as singles, then combined to always full-housing. TV spots for them became familiar as test patterns. Terence Hill drawing on guys, slapping them, drawing again, another slap, and so on --- doggone funniest thing since Frog Milhouse rode in on his ring-eyed mule. My Name Is Nobody disappointed locally for Trinity pal Bud Spencer being replaced by Fonda, surely an unkindest cut of all to the veteran actor. Nobody was made after spaghettis gave up being serious. Fast draws of the Euro-west would cede to further east reps of unreality, thus chopsocky popularized by Bruce Lee, another whose brand couldn't be duplicated by copyists.

Columbia Finds Quickest Route To 3D Money

Man In The Dark (1953) and A Race To Theatres

If a tree fell in the forest, Columbia would hear it and be there to cut up the logs. They'd apply spirit of competition to newest hula-hoop that was 3D and beat rivals to ribbon with Man In The Dark, aka The First Depth Pic From A Major Studio. 3D was a gold rush that began and finished quick as ones in the Klondike. Bwana Devil gave off whiff of fortune from December 1952, and by February '53, two-eyed cameras were grinding all over town. Warners figured to lead with House Of Wax, a hurry-up to April 8 open already set at New York's Paramount Theatre. Knowing that 3D amounted to little more than a horse race, Columbia sent Sam Katzman to Fort Ti, but that looked like May delivery at the earliest, leaving a good (or bad for Columbia) month and a half for WB to pan precious ore.

The horse race analogy was apt, most film men being inveterate gamblers. Tracks near H'wood were second home to many if not most. What was 3D but another steed to bet on? Columbia knew Man In The Dark was low-risk on low-budget. Starting it in February toward release four weeks later was a can-do, said the studio to Variety. Dust would be blown off a script from 1936 called The Man Who Lived Twice, that one done for cheap and starring Ralph Bellamy. Among yarns that creaked came plenty with the crook undergoing plastic or brain work to evade law, a far-fetch for any but B-makers (but wait, Bogart had done it in lush Dark Passage from 1947). Whatever the tatter of blueprint, Columbia would wrap Man In The Dark in eleven days, or so they imagined in 2/18 brag to Variety. Fact is, MITD took nineteen days to finish, six of those on location at Ocean Park Pier in Santa Monica where an amusement park and roller coaster finish took place (thanks to historian/depth expert Bob Furmanek at 3D Film Archive for this info).

Variety tabbed it a "three-cornered race" between WB, Columbia, and Paramount. The latter had Sangaree before cameras and was screening rushes to visitor exhibs. The torch lady got a real-life headline boost when papers told of an ex-con who offed his mistress after "brain surgery to correct criminal tendencies." This was but grease on the track toward now-set opening at NYC's Globe Theatre on April 8, Man In The Dark getting sez-me lick at House Of Wax and forty-eight crucial hours to collect admissions ahead of Vincent Price. Columbia claimed to have its own 3-D system, "developed secretly in the studio lab," so they told Variety on 3/4, the trade and hep persons knowing this was code for jerry-rig done over a weekend. All such fairgrounding was fun for guys who'd spent lives at biz shuffle, but hold on, plain-speaker Pete Harrison was about to blow the whistle on Columbia's cheap-jacking.

A BREAKDOWN NO EXHIBITOR CAN AFFORD, cried Harrison's Reports (4/11/53) after Columbia home-office projection of Man In The Dark, which turned into a fiasco for invited press and showmen. Better think twice about 3D installation after seeing this one was Pete's takeaway, him virtually alone among trade-writers for being nobody's toady. Seems Columbia's own projectionist botched the thing royally. Two intermissions required to thread dual machines saw one off to cock-eyed start that couldn't be fixed. Three attempts were made to sync up reels before a second part of the feature was skipped altogether. The crowd at one point sat forty-five minutes in the dark. After an end title and admit of the debacle, Columbia's crew ran the drop-out portion, which by now was salt to wounds. Said summating Pete: If Columbia, with all the technicians it has at its beck and call, could not correct immediately the faulty projection of its own process, you may imagine what difficulty the average operator would have. Consider yourself warned, Mr. Showman.

If There'd Been Award For Ugly Lobby Cards in 1953,
 Columbia Would Have Won In A Walk

Man In The Dark went on to perhaps undeserved reward. Crowds came with expected curiosity. Screw-ups happened, but hadn't that been case with much of 3-D so far? Part of the gag was being fooled, after all, just like with slickers on fairgrounds who hid the pea. Variety was merciful, but had to admit at least some of truth. "Picture looks like a rush job," which they well knew. Being trade-aimed, this may have been acknowledgement that we were all in a shell game together. The review admitted some of depth tricks doing a flop, and sepia prints took away much needed light. "Story, scripting, and performances all are mediocre," which even Columbia might have stipulated. So what did critics expect --- From Here To Eternity? Success, as always, was measured in boxoffice, Man In The Dark returning $1.3 million from burgle of domestic stubholders. Now the show is back for Blu-Ray assault upon home screeners, depth again a trick that works here, plops there. Would Greenbriar recommend? Very much yes, as this is a must, and fun for reasons well delineated by other reviewers. Twilight Time has released Man In The Dark on digital 3D in a limited edition. Let's hope they sell out quick and lease more depthies from studio vaultage.

More Greenbriar 3D HERE.

Where Many Great Scenes Make a Picture

Again With Bogart and Company in The Big Sleep (1946)

Ann wanted to see this as she had just finished the book. I told her not to worry about the sometimes incoherent story, as neither did Howard Hawks, who rightfully was after "good scenes" and not to annoy viewers the rest of the time (as he aptly put it with regards all his post-war stuff). There are good scenes --- The Big Sleep is loaded with them --- and this time I noted what a contribution Max Steiner's score is (wish there was a CD). Ann thought Lauren Bacall had nothing and that Martha Vickers was infinitely better. I mentioned how Vickers' part was cut in order to protect Bacall. Wonder if that reality ever gave LB pause. WB reissued The Big Sleep in 1954 and called it The Violence Screen's All-Time Rocker Shocker, a personal favorite of taglines. What lavish streets and houses they built indoors for this. Bob Steele was terrific for one of the heavies. Bogart would remember and recommend him to later The Enforcer. Bogart and Hawks fell out and wouldn't work together again, HH piqued that offscreen Bogey got Bacall (the latter tells that story in her book). Pity such a petty thing robbed us of further teaming.

Western Pals Take a Budget Ride

PRC Cowboys Compete In A Robust Market

A wartime boom in theatre attendance made even barrel-bottom PRC a warm prospect for independent producers emerging everywhere to pluck the daisies of record grossing. The company had begun as a releasing arm for indies, sort of a low level United Artists, but by 1945 was upgrading to in-house product and purchase of exchanges so as to control all aspects of pic making/selling. Alexander-Stern was linked with PRC from 1942, a reliable source for westerns, exploitation ... whatever sold. A-S had a deal for "Texas Ranger" actioners to join a Buster Crabbe group in filling PRC's western quota. Frontier Fugitives has Tex Ritter and Dave O'Brien pulling ranger duty. Tex was blessed with song and a Texas-real speaking voice. I don't understand what kept him from being a top-most saddle name. At one Fugitives point he even serenades the villains. Cowboys sold from distinct product floors: Republic in the penthouse, Monogram at mid-level, PRC basement stuck. Still, flat rentals were plentiful to be had, what with unprecedented number of small theatres buying. PRC's are tough to find in watchable prints, most having gone PD with quicksand that entails. Frontier Fugitives showed up on Retroplex HD and looks better than low average for a discard oater.

Richard Dix Pioneers The Dual-Identity Hero

This Public Defender (1931) a Dark Knight Arrived Early

The title makes it appear that Richard Dix is playing, well, a public defender, as in courtrooms, but there's nary a scene set there, as what Dix really does is vigilante work on behalf of ones wrongfully accused, his heavy hand dropped on slippery bank officers (a mission Depressioners could readily endorse). I imagined how Dick could don a mask and cape and pretty much become Batman, but how ludicrous would a costumed hero look to reality-based 30's with grown-ups making and watching movies? Dix's Alfred the butler equivalent is shared by Paul Hurst and glory be, Boris Karloff, who gets to talk and act vaguely sinister. Being RKO in a slow patch, Public Defender kind of drags, but its idea is sound, and much better could have been made of it. Dix is more a silly goose than we're accustomed to, but that's largely a dissolute disguise to disarm his opponents. Vigilante themes always tread lightly in US films, there being apprehension of viewers adopting such policy for themselves. "Taking the law into your own hands" remains largely no-no, despite a Code's otherwise collapse. The theme was hot potatoes in 1931 largely as result of a well-known Chicago case where local businessmen established their own cabel to combat runaway vice, this having been dramatized by MGM earlier in the year with The Secret Six. RKO took advantage of a burner still hot and sold Public Defender in terms of "Drama Lifted Boldly From Headlines Of Today's Newspapers." Their pic, however, never gets violent beyond scuffles and a dead man left by one of the heavies, Dix's character little more than occasional distraction to villainy and ultimate helpmate to police, reassurance for a status-quo and would-be censors.

A Rise In Double Features

Getting More For Your Quarter In 1934

So far as film companies were concerned in 1933-34, double features stood for two things: evil and menace. There were other descriptive terms as damning. Argument against combos piled thus: They made shows run too long and so permitted less audience changeover through the day, features took less rental as result of being paired, and twin billing opened the door for independents to horn in on programs. Worst overall was the format taking control away from majors already pinched by collapsing revenue. What was worse timing of two-for-one sales than a Great Depression? ... except where the public was concerned, of course. And there was the argument for double features, the only one perhaps, but enough. Anything that customers bought could not be stopped, and what they wanted was two movies on a single ticket, and in fact, would come to settle for nothing less. Exhibition could fight or give in --- there was plenty of room on the canvas for those who ignored the bell.

Paramount execs sat in "closed meetings" to discuss combat of the scourge, a few promising to fight "all the way to the White House," said Variety, but each knew they'd have to submit. Failure to get resolution among majors and the Motion Picture Code authority led to increased letters on marquees nationwide and a New Deal for picturegoers. The Indiana Theatre in Indianapolis was a "Publix" house, Paramount controlled, and come the dawn of 1934, among first of company strongholds to give in. So long as Para had to play, they'd make a most of it. Toward filling those 3,133 seats came promise of a Giant Double Show Every Man, Woman, and Child Will Enjoy!, with emphasis on that most dreaded aspect of duals --- Both For The Price Of One. As things worked out, Paramount and the Indiana had their cake and ate too, combined program of Six Of A Kind (62 minutes), Miss Fane's Baby Is Stolen (70), and The Rasslin' Match (11) adding up to less than two and a half hours, little more than duration of a typical single feature show with short subjects. Even with such horn of plenty, the Indiana blew out five shows daily between 11:00 am and 9:15 pm. The answer, of course, laid in brevity of features. Majors, including Paramount, would form "B" units to service bottom-of-bills, careful to keep these just over or under an hour's length.

Six Of A Kind and Miss Fane's Baby Is Stolen were programmers, a form that would adapt to B mould as double featuring became entrenched, being neither specials nor B's as we'd later understand them. Studios in any case never liked "B" as a term applied to product, as it smacked of pejorative. Six Of A Kind could and did play as a single, its cast out of comedic top drawers, but times requiring desperate measure obliged the Indiana to bargain with customers. If Six Of A Kind required two of a kind, in terms of feature offering, then yes, the theatre would serve, and willingly. Question then ... would combos hypo business? In this case, no. The Indiana's dual of Six Of A Kind and Miss Fane's Baby Is Stolen, with Amos n' Andy in The Rasslin' Match, went buzz-to-dud route to tune of mere $4,000 in ticket sales. Double billing may have been panacea elsewhere, but not for Indianapolis. Further tinkering sought a cure in the following week, when a tab version of The Student Prince made for stage-screen tandem with Hi, Nellie from Warners. There was jump to $9,500 in the till, but Variety called that "moderate" because of house nut increased by bringing in legiters.

I wanted to experience the Indiana's February 5-12, 1934 show, and here's what happened: First off, I couldn't see any but the first eight minutes of Miss Fane's Baby Is Stolen, and that glimpse came courtesy You Tube. Miss Fane is owned by Universal, along with balance of Paramount pre-49 talkers, and she's been deep-sixed since MCA sent 16mm to tee-vee station buyers. It'll likely stream or DVD-release when pigs take wing, which is too bad, because Miss Fane's Baby Is Stolen starts promisingly, being spun off the Lindbergh case with subject babe (Leroy of Bill Fields contretemps fame) nabbed from his movie star mom. A-1, said Variety, with both boxoffice and punch. We'll not take that punch so long as Universal holds out, but there is at least succor of ready access to Six Of A Kind and The Rasslin' Match, these DVD-permitting bask in two-thirds of what Indiana crowds got for their twenty cent and up admission.

To enjoy Six Of A Kind depends upon tolerance of all half-dozen clowns in review. Do Burns and Allen at their most aggressive play on your nerves? Then be warned. Would Charlie Ruggles and Mary Boland tire rather than amuse? Go elsewhere in that event. I'll assume everyone, here at Greenbriar anyway, likes Bill Fields, but know too that he's only in for half this show, the latter half. Till then, it's B&A making life hell for R&B on a road trip over gravel and dirt that characterized travel in 1934. The way is scarily dotted  with tramps that prey on motorists, in this case familiar threats Walter Long and Leo Wallis of perfidy in Roach comedies. Getting lost amidst such wilds is played for humor, but I found it near as unsettling as things that go wrong for cross-countrying Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night from the same year. Deliverance comes of Fields taking over the show with reprise of a pool table routine honed on stages through a decade before Six Of A Kind. His prattle here, and in search of a "hunchbacked Ethiopian," just had to be ad-libbed or W.C.-written contrary to the script. Whichever --- it redeems deposit on this Six pack and leaves refreshing taste at the finish.

And then came The Rasslin' Match, a first of two Amos n' Andy cartoons made of an announced thirteen. Why stop at two? The shorts apparently fell on a sword that was creators Gosden and Correll's displeasure, the two a no-show (to read dialogue) after initial Rasslin' and follow-up The Lion Tamers. What should have run smooth had not, The Rasslin' Match adapted from a story already air-used, with translation-to-screen clearly gone kerfloo. Small operator Van Beuren had an RKO release deal, RKO in same Sarnoff/RCA ownership bed with NBC radio, home to A&A. Hopes were high as evinced by a Radio City Music Hall booking for 1/4/33, very nice work when a Van Beuren reel could get it. The Rasslin' Match was sold primarily on voices that fans wouldn't miss if homes caught fire, Gosden/Correll themselves pulling $6,500 per week for vaude and picture house apps. Van Beuren may have figured so what if the cartoons disappointed, but RKO had been bit by the flop of non-cat/mouse Tom and Jerry plus The Little King, both series under VB banner and ultimately yanked by the distributor. A specific problem with The Rasslin' Match may have been lack of sentiment that propelled radio's A&A as much as comedy. For animation, the team went only for funny, and based on response, came up a damp blanket. The Rasslin' Match is good as curiosity, however, and Thunderbean has a nice DVD where it abuts other Van Beuren oddities.