THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 31

What are you up for? Whether it's British musical hall comedy, World War II intrigue, post-World War II intrigue, or a hoary TV remake of a hoary 1927 movie, we've got you covered!

O-KAY FOR SOUND (1937): A TV Guide description of the British comedy O-Kay for Sound would probably read, "Six out-of-work zanies mistaken for wealthy investors run riot at a movie studio." Any further description is superfluous. But let's try.

O-Kay for Sound marks the screen debut of The Crazy Gang, a proto-Monty Python for the working class, made up of a trio of comedy teams (or double acts, as the Brits call them). The movie's throughline -- movie studio head Hyman Goldberger has 24 hours to keep his studio from going bankrupt -- allows the Gang take over the musical currently in production, which, of course, becomes a rousing success. In between their routines are some song & dance numbers (one in blackface), an extraordinarily violent Apache Dance, and lone American Fred Duprez using a comedic Yiddish accent as Goldberger. Just how funny it is depends on your acceptance and understanding of semi-prehistoric humor. 

One thing you likely won't understand is the Crazy Gang itself, as their accents, slangs and references made their movies impossible to release in the US. All you can do is figure out the individual team's styles and hang tight. Naughton & Gold are low-class Scots who ridicule the upper class. Nervo & Knox are rough house. Flanagan & Allen (the best of the three teams) share rapid-fire, pun-filled conversations and sing wistful tunes. The Crazy Gang's funniest routine in O-Kay for Sound, a lampoon of British military melodramas, was likely straight from its original stage version at the London Palladium, and is the movie's highlight. Just as Animal Crackers is the closest we'll ever come to seeing the Marx Brothers on Broadway, so O-Kay For Sound gives us an idea of what an evening in the company of the Crazy Gang was like. Just don't expect to understand more than one out of four of their jokes. (If you're up for a drinking game, take a shot each time Knox runs his forefinger under his nose before wiping it on the jacket of whoever's standing closest to him.)

BONUS POINTS: During a row, Knox says, "You know what you can do!", to which Nervo replies, "Yes, but it's impossible." Or was it Nervo to Knox? Or Naughton to Gold? Or some other combination?

THE HOUSE ON 92ND ST. (1945): In the days leading up to World War II, German-
American Bill Dietrich works undercover for the FBI in New York in order to infiltrate a suspected German spy ring. Under the tutelage of his American handler Inspector George Briggs, Dietrich is assigned to prevent the enemy from getting the top-secret Process 97 formula (a/k/a the atomic bomb) and to find out the identity of the ring's leader, known only as Mr. Christopher. Over time, his Nazi contact Elsa Gebhardt discovers that he's no more Nazi than Mickey Mouse, and deserves a rodent's fate. He's saved in the nick of time by Briggs and half of the NYPD, who also discover the not-so-mysterious Mr. Christopher at the scene.

Based on a true story, The House on 92nd Street is perhaps the earliest documentary-style police procedural, and probably influenced The Naked City. Its use of genuine undercover footage of Nazi spies in New York and abundant location filming give it a you-are-there feeling. If that wasn't enough reality, J. Edgar Hoover, always ready to endorse a project that put a good light on the FBI, allowed cameras into the agency headquarters and let employees play themselves. You can tell who they are: they look ordinary and move stiffly, even when sitting down.

Lloyd Nolan, an actor I've come to enjoy in his 1940s roles, does the NYPD proud as Insp. Briggs -- smart, no-nonsense, always ready with a good idea. I wasn't familiar with top-billed William Eythe (Bill Dietrich); if I've seen him elsewhere, he sure didn't make any impression on me. It's the spies who command the screen here. All homely except for Signe Hasso as the ringleader, these folks were born to play Nazis whether they wanted to or not. It was the best way to stay employed in the USA during wartime if you were of German extraction, that's for sure. Entertaining and well-made, The House on 92nd Street is a good place to visit some dark night.

BONUS POINTS: Speaking of Naked City, Harry Bellaver, one of the stars of the TV series of the same name, is a Nazi undercover spy here, while Man from UNCLE fans will recognize Leo G. Caroll as the traitorous Col. Hammersohn. 

TOKYO JOE (1949): Former Army pilot Joe Barrett returns to Tokyo in order to buy back his old bar and reunite with his ex- wife, Trina. In need of some fast money, he's forced to partner up with vice lord Baron Kimura in a literally fly-by-night transport company, which is to smuggle in Kimura's old partners in crime, now in Korea. To sweeten the deal, Kimura threatens to release proof that during War, Trina went all Tokyo Rose on shortwave radio. Which is true -- otherwise, the government would have taken away her daughter... whose father is Joe... and who will be killed if he doesn't do the job.

The only thing more cynical than Bogart's character Joe Barett is the way Tokyo Joe tries to shoehorn elements of Casablanca into its story.  A cynical American who owns a bar in a foreign country, and whose ex is now married to another man, is reluctantly turned into a hero at the climax. There's even an old love song ("These Foolish Things") to haunt him ad nauseum. Now replace exotic Northern Africa with post-war Japan, a sexy Swede with a Russian who's about as sensual as an empty bottle of rice vinegar, and her Nazi-hunting husband with a lawyer. Oh yeah, real romantic.

Created by Bogart's Santana Productions, Tokyo Joe was hyped as the first American feature shot in post-war Japan. But the leads stayed behind on the comfy Columbia Pictures lot, so it's Bogart's quite obvious stand-in walking the streets of Tokyo and riding rickshaws. (His judo stunt double is even less believable). As Trina, Florence Marly, more wooden than a cigar-store Russian bottle blonde, should have been replaced by her stand-in. And while Alexander Knox isn't the dishiest actor in the world, he seems to be the type of guy who would marry Trina (Bogart sure doesn't). The best of the supporting players is Sessue Hayakawa as Kimura. Quiet and mildly threatening at all times, his occasional "Ah so" to Joe is amusingly sarcastic. Had the script focused on their relationship, Tokyo Joe would have made for a darker, more interesting movie. As it is, it would have worked better as a B-picture with a smaller budget, low-rent cast, and a quarter-hour shaved off its 90 minutes. 

BONUS POINTS: In a brief turn, Hugh Beaumont goes toe-to-toe with Bogart as a military official -- and wins! He should have gotten more roles like this. Come to think of it, Beaumont would have been perfect in the lead in my fantasy B-version of Tokyo Joe.

LINCOLN MERCURY STARTIME: THE JAZZ SINGER (1959): The one-hour, videotaped color remake of The Jazz Singer was Jerry Lewis' attempt to turn back the cultural hands of the clock to a time when the idea of a fifth-generation cantor disowning his show biz son was considered the stuff of high drama. The title itself doesn't even make sense here, seeing that the character of Joey Robin (nee Rabinowitz) is a stand-up comic who occasionally sings standards big-band style. This Jazz Singer exists solely to give Jerry a chance to stretch his dramatic acting muscles (which atrophy immediately), while creating a fictional version of his real life, unsuccessful attempt to win the respect of his father Danny Lewis, a one-time, third-rate vaudeville comic and Jolson imitator. Jerry, save it for the shrink!

No cliche is left unturned in Jerry's Jazz Singer,. The "Oy yoy yoy" mother. The wisecracking uncle. And of course, the stern, old-fashioned father who actually says, "I have no son". The story and the characters were borderline hackneyed in the 1927 movie; 32 years later, they were the Jewish version of Amos & Andy, only here the comedy is strictly accidental. Just when you think you've seen it all, the climax redefines the word "tasteless", when Joey Robin, still in his sad clown make-up, rushes from his dressing room to visit his dying father. (To strengthen the Jolson connection, Lewis is one step away from blackface.) As his father dies, Joey takes his place at the temple and sings "Kol Nidre" while still made up as a clown. Such was Jerry's clout in 1959, when he was the highest-paid actor in Hollywood, that nobody said no to any of this.

The cast is a mishmash of Yiddish theater (Molly Picon as Joey's Mama), movies (Eduard Franz as Cantor Rabinowitz, the same role he essayed in Danny Thomas' 1952 Jazz Singer), burlesque (Joey Faye as Joey's manager), light opera (23 year-old Anna Maria Alberghetti as the singer who gives Joey his big break), and Jerry's regular co-stars (Del Moore as a hot-headed agent). While this production of The Jazz Singer was quickly forgotten, it continued to have its effect elsewhere. In 1965, Gary Lewis wore make-up very similar to his father's on the cover of the album Everybody Loves a Clown, while Jerry himself would don it once more in his unfinished Holocaust drama The Day the Clown Cried. Good Lord, didn't his people suffer enough?

BONUS POINTS: Once you realize that Alan Reed (Joey's uncle) was the voice of Fred Flintstone, you keep expecting him to yell "Yabba dabba doo!" in Yiddish.

 

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