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Friday, March 30, 2018

Valentino Nearing The End

Rudy A Loser at Love in Cobra (1925)

Rudolph Valentino as apostle of gloom, just the way viewers in 1925 didn’t want him, so Cobra flopped, massively it’s said. This was an independent project for Rudy, but money wasn’t his, for he had little of that, being debt-ridden as was case for most of time he’d been a star. RV stood for extravagance we associate with idols of yore, buying antiquity on oversea jaunts like he was C.F. Kane, indulging expansive tastes of anchor wife Natasha Rambova. They were kaput by time Valentino did final few that were maybe his best, The Eagle and Son of the Sheik. UA chief Joe Schenck fronted costs for Falcon Lair just to cinch the deal (RV retreat and final address). Cobra and weaker ones before put Rudy’s boxoffice in hazard. He played against type and eschewed action plus smolder his legions liked. They’d been burnt on frankly peculiar stuff Rambova cooked up. She was perceived no good as creative mentor, and what misdirected him to wear a slave bracelet in homage to her? Was Rudy too henpecked, or merely polite, to balk?

What’s good about Cobra is low-key Valentino doing emotional scenes, plus humor, to belie nostril-flare of the first Sheik and parts of others where weak direction were more to blame than him. Rudy’s face is fuller in Cobra, oncoming maturity that reminds me of Ricardo Cortez by the mid-thirties. Seeing Cobra leaves little doubt of RV thriving at precode had fate spared him. Speech would have been no barrier, as he spoke four languages and had but mild, if pleasing, accent (more French than Italian, said some). What rescue there is of Cobra comes courtesy Valentino. The picture had been rushed due to another project flaking out (The Hooded Falcon, treatment by Rambova, and over $100K blown w/o one scene shot). Art direction by William Cameron Menzies is another plus. Cobra if nothing else is polished in best sense of silents reaching technical apex before takeover of sound. There is an Image DVD from years back, derived off prime elements. A Blu-Ray or HD stream of Cobra could do wonders.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Another Invisible Venture From Universal

Laff Till You Hurt at The Invisible Woman (1940)

Line Up, Guys and Ghouls --- The Invisible Woman Can Be Yours To Home-View

Way goofy comedy that Realart sold as a straight thriller when they reissued it, The Invisible Woman was obscure to horror-watchers for being kept out of Screen Gems' TV "Shock" packages. My awareness was restricted to an 8mm highlight reel sold by Castle Films and available on back pages of monster magazines. Art had the transparent woman, visible only in outline, kicking someone in the backside, not promising for chill shoppers, let alone where shipping/handling ran the tab past $6. Query to then-Screen Gems: Why put Chinatown Squad in your Shock group and leave The Invisible Woman off? Maybe they thought we'd resent comedy, but then The Boogie Man Will Get You went in, plus others more foolish than scary. Now there is all of what was Invisible for Universal in a "Legacy" box, from which I sampled Woman and a wartime offshoot, Invisible Agent, another that wasn't, but should have been, included with the syndicated "Shocks." Missing these when they would have made a best impression is rankling still, as catch-up after too many years leaves the pair wanting, no matter the curiosity value in each.

Realart Sells The Invisible Woman For Scares In A 50's Reissue

Universal Gave Barrymore A Straight Portrait Sitting To Publicize The Invisible Woman
Injustice is made plain by credits for The Invisible Woman: Virginia Bruce (titular character) billed over John Barrymore, him in admitted career doldrums, but with a bigger part and more presence here than for occasions where he was top name. Jawn is a dotty professor, not "mad" by Karloff definition, but not unlike BK as benign inventor of 1937's Night Key. A mainstream wanted chills leavened with comedy, and wasn't it time we got more fun out of invisibility? James Whale had seen humorous possibility from the start, and a first sequel even let see-through Vincent Price survive the fade and unmask a killer (not himself) besides. What was left but to burlesque a property wrung out otherwise? Universal truly got money's worth for whatever was spent on rights from H.G. Wells. Besides Woman, then Agent, there was that Man in again for Revenge, then fire sale of a meet with Abbott and Costello. We forget how prolific Universal was with these because of gaps in later years exposure. "Exposure" is tickler of The Invisible Woman, where question is how much we'll see of Virginia Bruce, her understood to be nude while invisible, titillation flogged over much of run time. 1940 audiences had to grab for what eroticism they could get.

Invisible Is Support Feature For a Universal "A"
Opening shot has Charlie Ruggles' stunt double taking headlong spill down a flight of stairs to launch seventy-two minute frenzy.  Foundation for Universal had always been lowbrow comedy, either starring, or in prominent support. The brand had been renewed at fresh vigor with 1939's Destry Rides Again, so was not confined to B's and program pictures U did with chain-driven efficiency. A sameness of funny faces gave unity to product that lent all from them the warmth of family reunions. As U's Plexiglas logo turned, so surely would Shemp Howard or thereabouts be along to spread fun. Even horrors were made less horrible by jesters there for the spook ride. Trick was to embrace comedy relief, for at Universal, it was that relief that often made up bulk of interest in their shows. The Invisible Woman has Shemp plus lamebrains he plays off of, and then Ruggles, a master hand for Lubitsch before, but congenial to dropping trays and falling over furniture here. Witchy Margaret Hamilton is welcome for those old enough to remember when The Wizard Of Oz was a meaningful TV event (seems now like a long time ago, doesn't it?). Braying and pain-in-rear Ed Brophy shows up for slapshoeing, while an immortal part, one of his best, is limned by Charles Lane. Point of this recital is to say that The Invisible Woman is rich dish for ones who treasure comedians as they applied themselves to whatever utility job needed doing. These combined make The Invisible Woman play like a charm, especially with old pro director A. Edward Sutherland for guidance. Get it and have a nostalgic laugh.

Monday, March 26, 2018

A Maynard Whoop-Up In Twelve Chapters

Mascot On Mystery Mountain (1934) With Maynard

Look at the six-sheet above and tell me it's not good as a circus coming to town. And I submit it's art, too. Just think: displays like this were once hung outdoors, left to mercy of rain or punishing sun, then peeled down, tossed out, so another could fill the billboard. Here, then, is why so few survive. Was Ken Maynard doing a serial news? For boys of action age, the biggest. Ken took saddle chances no one else dared. He was Superman before there was such a character. Maynard was no actor. In fact, I'll bet he never memorized a stitch of dialogue, vague ad-lib of tissue narratives getting a job done nicely. Give me Ken in conversation with miracle horse Tarzan over Method improvisation anytime, KM addressing T as "old man" (so indeed, what age was Tarzan, and how long did he live?). Mystery Mountain was for cheapest-of-serial-makers Nat Levine of Mascot Pictures. How cheap? I read once he made players change costume in the open with a rain barrel for privacy. Even Jim and Sam might have blanched later at that.

The Rattler Strikes --- And He Could Be Anybody in Mystery Mountain!

Ken Maynard got princely sum, $10,000 a week, for doing Mystery Mountain, idea being to finish in a month. Nat didn't know his Ken, but realized the cowboy was ornery beyond endure of last employer Universal, where Maynard had a talking series, made enemies of most, and got tabbed as meanest of mean drunks. Was he self-medicating a sad past, stunt injuries that still pained, Daddy issues? (they say he pulled a gun on a director once) Alas, some drunks are just cussed, and that's the whole of it. We'll never know, of course, for who's left that put magnifier to enigma that was Maynard? But he was loved by a public, have no doubt of that. Story I once heard was that Walter Matthau was doing location for a 1972 comedy, Pete 'N Tillie, when someone told him Ken Maynard was shopping at a nearby market. Matthau stopped everything, left a crew standing, while he rushed off to meet and shake hands with his boyhood idol. This was near the end for Ken. He had a squalid finish, but let's pass that. I'm here today for Mystery Mountain, clocking all twelve chapters on my punch card, and ripe to sing praise of a chapter-play to rank among immortals.

To the punch card reference: These were once issued to children going in for Chapter One of a new serial. If you came back each week and got the card punched, there was free admission for a final installment. Think of that dime you saved! Enough to buy lots more than we could imagine today. Mystery Mountain was a hit for Mascot. In fact, it was Levine's biggest but for The Miracle Rider with Tom Mix. Later, after folks stopped caring and Nat was back managing a small theatre (one interviewer found the old man atop a ladder to change marquee letters), Mystery Mountain went into tar-pit that was Public Domain. Buccaneering Tom Dunahoo of Thunderbird Films began selling 8/16mm prints to all comers, which I'd guess were aging men who recalled magic that was Maynard. Would Walter Matthau have bought one had he known? Now we can have Mystery Mountain on DVD from Jack and Jason Hardy at Grapevine Video, outstanding source for silents and early sound rarities. Here's how service-conscious the Hardys are: They released Mystery Mountain on an OK disc several years back, found better elements more recently, and invited buyers of the initial offering to swap in their purchase for the upgrade. I took advantage and was rewarded with a best-yet Mystery Mountain. Do I recommend Grapevine for this and other vintage product? Definite yes.

Mystery Mountain has a masked villain called The Rattler. He can assume disguise of all other characters, including Ken. This is a serial where you can't be sure of anyone, for is it them or ... The Rattler? I admit my disorient when Maynard does spectacular ride work, then turns out to be ... well, you know. The Rattler is so adroit as to make me wonder why he doesn't move to greener fields than scrub where whole of this serial was shot. Turns out there's gold in that thar Mystery Mountain, and a wagon service run by the heroine to be sabotaged throughout twelve serves (that's twenty-five reels, including a long first chapter, if anyone counted). Again a consumer warning: Don't watch serials in a lump --- limit yourself to one or at most two chapters, for these are like hot fudge cake, gooey and fun, but in moderation, please. I'll admit confusion over who The Rattler ultimately turned out to be, for he was unmasked repeatedly in a last couple of chapters, and focused as I was, the progression just lost me. There were also more red herrings than my humble mind could absorb, all in apparent phone conversation with The Rattler as weeks wore on, then each exonerated, or seeming to be, as Ken dug deeper. I tell you, Mystery Mountain is The Big Sleep of serials.

More Ken Maynard and other cowboys at Greenbriar Archive: Back In The Saddle Again, Teams On The Ups and Down, and John Wayne Learns His Trade.

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Ferreting Out Stateside Spies

Heed Italian Poster Warning: Communists May Be Watching You!

Walk East On Beacon! (1952) Raises Red Alarm

Cold warriors for the FBI track communist moles down Boston and other New England-locationed streets, all under producer baton of Louis De Rochemont, whose nod to realism keeps us happily outdoors for much of action. I like how Soviet agents are to large extent trapped rats compromised since 30's mislead into radical groups. Many want out, but dare not for fear of liquidation. Were spies snuffed for switching sides? You wonder how many actual ones were silenced in this way, with no one ever knowing whys of their demise. A lot of what goes here is surveillance: cars followed, houses bugged ... all to joyful low-tech 50's accompaniment. How did we get goods on disloyals at such primitive and plodding pace? The big brains on so-called "Falcon Project" lack smarts as to surveillance in their midst --- she's parked right outside their meetings. Feds grab concealed camera shots of surreptitious meetings and result is like a Columbia feature ready for theatrical play. Microfilm is again slid under postage stamps. Did unknowing collectors ever peel one off to find atomic secrets beneath rarity just purchased? FBI agents are interchangeably efficient, a consequence no doubt of Hoover-approved depiction of the Bureau and technique of spy-busting. Darryl Zanuck at 20th Fox knew to hypo De Rochemont's stuff with star presence or plentiful bang-bang. This could have used more of both. Still, Walk East On Beacon! ranks way over cruder espionage pics of the period, a bulk of which were far less subtle, even if occasionally more fun (Big Jim McLain). It's understood that most Red Scare shows lost money, but Walk East On Beacon! took $1.1 million in domestic rentals, probably an OK return provided negative costs ran reasonable.

Friday, March 23, 2018

Never Enough Arliss

GA Delightful Again as The Millionaire (1931)

George Arliss never was misguided in all the pictures he made. At least I never observed him so. Audiences wouldn't have stood him making a wrong move. I enjoy Arliss because he always takes the smart turn, has always the ideal retort, with never less than a grand scheme to put  situations right. And he's divinely funny in the doing. Not ha-ha or falling down, but understated in ways that flatter our intelligence. I think the secret of Arliss popularity was that he made viewers feel good about themselves. He elevated the mob rather than letting them pull him down. Control of vehicles increased as each came back with profit, Arliss as sure a grossing thing as Warners had during the early 30's, and not just among hoi-polloi and carriage trade --- you'd not imagine so watching today, but his stuff clicked in the sticks. Arliss was down-to-earth enough to remind everyone of Granddad or whatever font of local wisdom they knew. He was not for a moment a remote figure, despite time-to-time frock coats and monocle.

If Arliss had a comedy counterpart, it might have been W. C. Fields, only GA was more benign, his a tolerant approach to knaves and stuff-shirts that Fields would rail mightily, futilely, against. Arliss had sly way of insulting a man without his knowing he'd been insulted. In fact, no one got the wink save us in the dark, George knowing these fools won't get the gag, but we will. What actor took viewership so much into his confidence? It wasn't just stagecraft learned and then transferred to screens. This was Arliss knowing exactly where advantage lay in movies as opposed to theatre, and using them like none so far had. What he didn't realize (or maybe he did) was that no one afterward would duplicate the trick, no matter that all his devices were plain as day to look at and learn from. I regret that young thesps aren't taught him today. If they were, maybe we'd get more distinctive performing. Trouble is, Arliss is such an odd duck to look at, plus all his movies are old, as in real old, and try getting actor school types to look at these when they could study trendier stuff in color. I'm not proposing that Arliss be duplicated --- that's not doable anyway --- but there are sure methods, useful ones, that could be learned.

The Millionaire is modern-set comedy, GA's first such with sound, him a tycoon car-maker put but briefly to pasture before earning a new fortune on wit and daring (another basis of popularity: Arliss was virtually a how-to for upward-mobility). The Millionaire is Dodsworth arrived early, but airy and less the heavy lift of Goldwyn/Wyler's 1936 go. Arliss is told by doctors to slow down, which he doesn't, is pushed by his board-of-directors to build low-grade engines, which he won't. We know all along that Arliss is right, and enjoy immensely his proving it. His was career-long dispersal of common sense. That said, I'd compare Arliss also to Will Rogers, an aristocrat v. rustic, but otherwise supping from a same well. Arliss played a lot of rich men, but never one we'd dislike. He's still the best argument for capitalism we have, but who's watching? TCM plays his stuff, but sporadic. There needs to be more of him, maybe a George Arliss Wine Of The Month selection, or a GA-branded monocle among TCM knick-knacks available from their website. A few Arliss films are on DVD from Warner Archive, but not so far The Millionaire. TCM had a recent run --- this one could use a fresh transfer --- not that seeing/hearing Arliss isn't gracious plenty, but let's have more of his upgraded to HD (so far there are two I've noticed --- The Working Man and The Man Who Played God).

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Radical Update For A Literary Favorite

Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm (1938) Is Now A Big Broadcast

Some months back, Greenbriar looked at Little Lord Fauntleroy, beloved novel source for adaptation right to present day. Cousin to LLF was Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm, published in 1903 and basis for multiple films both silent and talking. Hardship of farm life was keynote, but movies never sat well with that, and besides, Rebecca was for cheering fans of whatever child idol played her. First was not unexpectedly Mary Pickford, her own good will among a public meshing nicely with the book's. A first sound treatment (1932) was by Fox and reasonably faithful, though tough to locate now. Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm was by then purest soap for many who were fed up with grubbier precode, as illustrated by ad below that puts blunt one showman's outreach to clean entertainment, " --- escape from ruthless rackets and sordid crooks ... tinseled women and beady-eyed gigolos ... " Promotion like this was proof that not everyone was enamored of movies that spelled out sin. Not a few parents were forbidding film altogether to offspring, so raunchy had they gotten. Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm was then " ... as refreshing as a mountain breeze," and a show safe for "the Whole Family."

Few saw coming a wholesale revamp 20th would do when next came Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm in 1938, a singing reproof to no-fun on the farm too long the bane for previous Rebecca readers, and watchers of film versions gone past. Those who wanted fidelity to the book could go fish, for here was new day and one not to be disguised by advertising, Fox up front as to streamlining and "happiness hook-up" for the "great (old) piece of entertainment property." There was, of course, pecking order for literary classics, many for which a public built walls against Hollywood philistinism, while others less revered might be cut to fit current fashion. Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm appears to have been, by 1938, among the latter. I wonder how many, if any, complained upon exit from theatres crowding for Shirley Temple. She was still princess of all surveyed on the 20th lot, the more so because her vehicles were made economically and so showed profits habitually a best or near so for years they came out (Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm was surpassed only by Alexander's Ragtime Band for 1938 gain). Zanuck policy had lately eased Temple into re-work of Mary Pickford properties, plus explore of child stories everyone knew from their own youth, thus a pre-sold label shipping out with each. Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm then, would serve less its source novel than a ready audience for whatever showcased Shirley Temple.

Shirley Temple was approaching slicker ice, 1938 a last banner year before a decline wiser heads would have seen coming. Irony was her performing talent at peak, that a last line of defense against encroach of adolescence. DFZ and 20th handlers would not have kidded themselves that all this could last forever, though assurance Shirley showed ("I'm very self-reliant" her signature line in Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm) might argue to the contrary. Hadn't Variety assured that Shirley's "theatrical genius will carry her through the transition from chubby, imitative childhood to secure station as a great entertainer and money name in the adolescent phase of her career"? That wouldn't happen, as now known, though there would be an adolescent, then ingénue, career, if one far short of "money name" status Shirley Temple knew as a child. Variety's reviewer had not reckoned with a public's determination that she not grow up, doing so an affront to legions that loved Shirley.

If Disney's Snow White Had Been Live-Action, Would It Have Been Shirley Temple Who Met The Seven Dwarfs?

Proof that she had never been better came with wow finish to Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm that was "Toy Trumpet," a dancing duet with Bill Robinson and chorus. Variety blew trumpets of its own for Shirley's "extraordinary precision and skill" in doing the number "for seven minutes without a cut," the boost deserved but not accurate, as her sustained tap with Robinson goes just past two minutes w/o edit, still  extraordinary trouping on both their parts. Worthy of plaudits were five other tunes composed fresh for Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm, most hit-bound and positioning Temple for a next, Little Miss Broadway. Already there was nostalgia for Shirley days gone by, which she acknowledged by reprise of tunes from earlier vehicles, "On The Good Ship Lollipop" and "Animal Crackers in My Soup" having become standards over short seasons since she first performed them. Musicals might have been the genre to stay with, what with Shirley's increased aptitude for them, but later move to Metro, which would have seemed ideal strategy at the time, saw her left in dust by engine that was Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland, two whose act could not be topped, or even approached, by added company. Unkindest cut was Temple told in tactless terms by MGM music and dance staff that she was nowhere near a talent standard they meant to maintain. Later pacting with Selznick would mostly exploit rather than exalt an awkward-aged Shirley (best of the bargain for DOS: her hugely publicized wedding to John Agar). Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm is available on quality DVD from Fox (with colorized viewing option), and Amazon streams the feature in HD.

Monday, March 19, 2018

When Critics Liked A Universal Horror Release

A British Way To Scare: Dead Of Night (1946)

In case you haven't watched, please do, as this is an abiding classic of chiller type where quiet UK countryside becomes stuff of nightmare thanks to five tales of terror wrapped round bucolic setting. US distribution by Universal played havoc, a couple of stories shorn altogether and doing damage to the rest (Universal oddly issued stills of the missing segments along with publicity for the film). Dead Of Night is carefully calibrated, so it's got to be seen complete. William K. Everson was a champion, naturally, him having been raised on the Isles, and he'd write eloquently about the omnibus in his Classics Of the Horror Film (published 1974), which made us long to see Dead Of Night, even as it remained difficult-to-catch until video came to the rescue. Dedicated enough horror fans generally have Dead Of Night on their Halloween plates, and evangelize on its behalf the rest of the year. Arguments tend to revolve around which is better: this, The Uninvited, The Haunting, or a handful of others among a pantheon of vintage scares.

The framing story appears to be merely that until climactic pay-off where all of what went before ties like a noose. Imitators have stole bolts from Dead Of Night cloth, but there's no duplicating  atmosphere lost to time that was immediate postwar in England, its unsettling quality lent by unique moment and place. The stories are told casually by guests at a country house with no particular set-up for ghostly mood. It isn't night, let alone a stormy or baleful one. The light outside a window is reassuring. In other words, Dead Of Night doesn't need the tropes that made so many US chillers anything but chilling. There were top talents applying themselves to spookery here, a group of directors turning hands to separate portions of the whole. Your favorite among the tales might vary according to views. I find each effective save a misjudged comedic break that we'll presume was put there for halfway relief of tension.

The stories begin brief. A racecar driver crashes and sees portent of doom from his hospital room. This one goes by quick, but packs a punch of Miles Malleson, future light presence at Hammer, as a hearse, then bus, driver issuing cheery invitation to premature death. Then there's Sally Ann Howes telling of a Christmas party where she encountered specter of a years-before murdered child. That one's effective thanks to set design of a house with many a hidden passage; you could easily imagine ghosts making their undetected place here. Third comes the Haunted Mirror, which Everson regarded best of the lot, and here's where intensity ramps up. Audiences maybe needed the light serving that followed of Basil Radford and Naunton Wayne as golfers competing for love as well as on links, with haunting a result of one cheating the other on a bet. It's a weak link in an otherwise taut chain, not unlike the telephone story in Black Sabbath a few decades later, this where some will find usage of DVD's chapter skip feature.

The longest and most ambitious of the lot is a story from which elements just had to have been borrowed for Psycho, so striking are parallels between this tale of a ventriloquist possessed by his dummy and later on Norman Bates by his mother. The device of a ventriloquist performing in edgy opposition to his dummy seems to me an excellent concept for modern-day performing, if such could remain an act and not tip over into reality and consequent madness. There's something inherently frightful about deadly dummies, or devil dolls if you will, these being evergreen to the service of horror, as witness more recent success and sequels in the "Chucky" series. Dead Of Night must have walloped an English public when new. When had they been served home brew potent as this? Horror films had been discouraged for a large part in the UK, so a Dead Of Night was even more a departure from norm. Word-of-mouth must have been terrific.

Universal was the natural stateside handler for Dead Of Night, but not necessarily for its horrific content. Fact is, Uni preferred selling DoN as anything but a chiller, opting instead to emphasize "psychological" elements of the package. Suggested press for newspaper use was all over suspense that came of tormented minds, with ghosts and the supernatural played down. What Universal wanted was another Spellbound, that having rung bells for Selznick-UA. Psychology being a prevailing fad put Dead Of Night into what Universal hoped would be a sophisticated column way above monsters they had but lately separated from. An early trade announcement (2/4/46) tipped Universal's enthusiasm for "dream sequences" they promised would pervade Dead Of Night, "FIVE completely separate dream stories woven into a central pattern," even though, of course, the company would end up dropping two of these before releasing the film in June, 1946.

Lift-off was at New York's Winter Garden, where Dead Of Night played four successful weeks. Universal prepared special ads quoting critics and promising something "Thrillingly Different" in screen entertainment, a picture that was "One in 10,000." The campaign was farmed to urban centers where there was potential for highbrow attendance. Universal knew Dead Of Night was deep-dish, but didn't want to sell it as an art film, their intent from a beginning to tender the import as "one of its top releases for the year," result being somewhat schizophrenic salesmanship, which may have been appropriate considering the psych push Uni had on the pic. Some territories chose a more lurid approach, Chicago's first-run pairing Dead Of Night with Desi Arnaz in Cuban Pete and using a scantily-clad cartoon to further boost Universal's elevated shock show. "Here is the picture that has New York movie-goers agog," said ads for the RKO Grand, positioning Dead Of Night as an "Adults Only" attraction. The pressbook got down to bally basic with ideas tried-and-true: having a "brave" couple watch Dead Of Night alone after midnight and rewarding them accordingly, building shadow boxes in the lobby through which "ghosts" could be seen, etc. In smaller markets, a greatest obstacle Dead Of Night had to overcome was the fact it was British and therefore less of a lure to rube patronage.
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