THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 58

One of these selections proves how even the most talented people can fall on their butts, while another is a warning that just because you've got a title everybody has pleasant memories of doesn't mean it's going to work again. As for the other two -- don't judge a movie by its cast, and pay attention to your feet. Sounds interesting, right?

ONCE IN A BLUE MOON (1934): Three of the four movies made by Ben Hecht & Charles MacArthur for Paramount ranged from good to great. So perhaps it was inevitable that the fourth would miss the mark. But that would put it gently, for Once in a Blue Moon is the kind of shockingly bad, amateur-night debacle of a mess of a misfire that appears once in a you-know-what. 

And it's not like it doesn't have a good idea for a comedy, as it follows a group of post-Revolution Tsarist royals hiding out with a one-man traveling circus run by a magician named Gabbo the Great. Unfortunately, insipid subplots including (but not limited to) a sick horse, a counterfeiting machine, and children saving the day toss whatever chance Once in a Blue Moon had as an offbeat political satire right into the samovar. And that's not including blah dialogue, terrible acting, and overall dismal production. If wasn't for the Paramount logo, you'd have no idea it was released by one of the majors. 

The only interest that Once in a Blue Moon might generate today -- and it's pretty thin --is that it's the only starring feature for the once-acclaimed, now-forgotten comedic stage actor Jimmy Savo, whom Charlie Chaplin hailed as the world's greatest pantomimist. But this being a talkie, Savo's pantomime is tertiary to his irritatingly cloying delivery and relentless pathos-with-a-capital-P. (The love he shows for his horse borders on bestiality.) Maybe his shtick worked onstage, but it's insufferable onscreen unless you're between the ages of three and four. And there weren't enough of them, as the movie lost $350,000 -- the equivalent today of almost $7,000,000. 

Locked up in the Paramount vault for two years until its 1935 general release (1936 in New York!), Once in a Blue Moon's 67-minute runtime, sloppy editing, and occasional explanatory intertitle suggest a whole lot was left on the cutting room floor; the promo ballyhoo promising "A CAST OF 600" was obviously an act studio desperation. I'm glad I watched it, though, just to see just how far off the rails a couple of talented guys like Hecht & MacArthur could fly. The answer: very. 

BONUS POINTS: Once in a Blue Moon marks the movie debut of future movie mainstay Howard DaSilva as a Communist revolutionary. A couple of decade later, DaSilva would get caught up in the Hollywood Red Scare. C'mon, guys, it was only a movie!

BLIND ALLEY (1937): If you've seen it once, you've seen it a dozen times: A killer and his gang are on the run when they make themselves at home with a nice family until the coast is clear. Blind Alley shakes things up, as the captive dad is a shrink who begins an ad hoc psychiatric session in order to figure out how the killer got this way and have him surrender to the authorities. Sort of like Bogart's The Desperate Hours meets Montgomery Clift's Freud, only with Chester Morris and Ralph Bellamy. Sound like a letdown? Eh, not really.

While it seems naive some nine decades later, Blind Alley is actually fascinating, seeing that it takes seriously the idea of psychiatry, including dream analysis, getting to the root of a criminal's behavior. (Wilson's bizarre nightmare, shown in a solarized negative, is unique for its time.) Morris gives an in-your-face performance as the psycho killer, although he often sounds like he's aping James Cagney. Bellamy probably has the more difficult of the two roles, as he's playing a shrink calmly analyzing a criminal with a chip on his shoulder and a gun in his holster.  And he's not getting paid for it, either!

The who-the-heck-is-she Rose Stradner makes zero impact as Shelby's wife, so it's up to Ann Dvorak to carry the femme portion of the show. Possessing a distinct beauty and style, Dvorak (pronounced VOR-zhack) had a good start in movies before being shunted into lower-budget pictures like Blind Alley. Watch her carefully here -- you can feel she's better than the material she's been given. Yet while you may not find Blind Alley any more believable than Dvorak does, you'll be surprised just how entertaining a movie with a well-worn story can be. And if you don't believe me, Columbia shot a remake 11 years later as The Dark Past with William Holden and Lee J. Cobb as the killer and shrink respectively, and it was still good. Just not as good without Chester Morris and Ann Dvorak.

BONUS POINTS: Pre-TV fame alert: Milburn Stone (Doc on Gunsmoke) and John Hamilton (Perry White on Superman) briefly sit together in the front seat of a car. 

SHAKE HANDS WITH YOUR FEET (C. 1949): Have you ever given a thought to
your feet? And why not? Maybe this 15-minute educational short from the American Podiatry Association will put you on your toes. 

By the way, did you know that people spend more time on their hair than their feet? That's what the narrator says, although I've never met anyone who stands on their hair. But I stand proudly with the 72% of the population over the age of 2 who, over 75 years ago, had a foot disorder (for me, it's plantar warts, in case it's slipped your mind). Although I bet many of that 72% can't stand at all. And to that, I'll posit that 99% of today's population won't stand to watch anything called Shake Hands with Your Feet.

These medical shorts have always mystified me. Where were they shown -- classrooms, town halls, carnival tents? And since this particular one was released during National Foot Health Week -- God, how boring was life then? -- this film had an even shorter than usual lifespan. But as with these mini-documentaries, there's plenty of real people to remind us that only movie stars looked good in the late '40s. Oh, and don't get me started on those close-ups of gross-looking feet. As for fashion -- there's a five year old boy dressed like your grandfather. And, like grandpa, he's going to podiatrist. Damn, kid, get rid of those old man shoes and put on a pair of sneakers!

There's another piece of information that I found more interesting than any advice offered (like wash your feet). And that is, there was a time -- like circa 1949 -- foot inspection examinations by the local Boards of Health were compulsory in many public schools. These days, MAGA would probably doxx those docs. 

BONUS POINTS: Thanks to the narrator, we can hear that "chiropodist" was pronounced with a "ch" back in the day. 

SOME LIKE IT HOT (Unaired TV pilot, 1961): For every movie comedy made into a hit TV series, there are a half-dozen flops. One that never even made it past the pilot episode was Some Like it Hot, based on the Billy Wilder farce. 

Wait a minute, I hear you ask, how were they going to make a series out of two guys in drag on the run from the same hoodlums every week? See, that's why you're not a TV producer. Jerry and Joe -- the characters played by Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon -- undergo surgery to give them new faces. Home free, right? No way. Now the feds make them get into drag again and send them undercover to get the goods on the same hoods who pulled off the gangland killings they witnessed in the movie. And once they do, they go on the run again. Rinse, lather, flip the channel. 

In one of television's more blatant bait-and-switch tactics, Curtis and Lemmon repeat their roles in the first scene while awaiting both their surgery and obnoxious laugh track. (They must have been paid a bundle for their five minutes on screen.) Post-op, singer Vic Damone and journeyman actor Dick Patterson take over for them, while Tina Louise is in the unenviable position of trying to make people forget Marilyn Monroe. (A brief appearance by Rudy Vallee seems to be based on Joe E. Brown's role.) You can also spot supporting actors from the Some Like it Hot movie and The Untouchables TV series. For anyone who was around in the early 1960s, it's like a reunion of your favorite relatives.

As for the leads, Damone is better than expected and Patterson pretty much
nails Lemmon in delivery and physical humor, although they often come off as Martin & Lewis knockoffs. While it never would've been held in legendary regard as the original had it gone to series, the pilot for Some Like it Hot is, objectively, no worse than most of the sitcoms of its time: dopey, no real laughs, and overacting standing in for thoughtful comedy. Think of it as Some Like it Tepid. 

BONUS POINTS: Liberace's violinist brother George has a cameo as a violinist. 

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 6

What would I do without YouTube and TCM? Well, have a more meaningful life with time for charity and volunteer work. But who needs that when there's so much celluloid and kinescope history to discover? I'm approaching the last chapter of my life, and I'm going to have fun!

 

ANY NUMBER CAN PLAY (1949): Charley Enley Kyng (yes, that's how his name is spelled), the  owner of a high-class gambling joint, has problems. He's losing the respect of his college-age son Paul; his wife Lon is on the verge of leaving him; one of his employees is in debt to a couple of low-rent gunmen; and his heart is ready to give out. Otherwise, things are going great. On the night one craps player is about to break the bank, the gunmen make a move to rob the joint.  Paul and the gamblers put their lives on the line to force the crooks to flee. Deciding to cash in his chips, Charley sells the casino to his employees in order to spend his remaining years with his family instead of slot jockeys and card sharks.

Nothing particularly outstanding about that outline, I admit. But thanks to director Mervyn LeRoy, Any Number Can Play feels like a preview of the more adult dramas that would come along in the 1950s. Even the fluid cinematography and occasional long takes separates it from other studio releases of its time. Clark Gable seems to enjoy his interesting dialogue, while the women in his life -- played by Alexis Smith, Audrey Totter, Mary Astor, and Marjorie Rambeau -- are all strong and smart. 

Best of all are enough familiar faces to fill a card deck. Some, like Wendell Corey as the crooked dealer, and William Conrad -- brilliant as a sleazy, sociopathic hoodlum with the annoying habit of addressing everyone as George -- were fairly new to movies in 1949. Yet the old timers stand out, too, many of them playing against type. It's the closest that they or Gable came to film noir. If you're tired of Mutiny on the Bounty or It Happened One Night, put your chips on Any Number Can Play some evening. (That's the final gambling pun you'll be reading here.)

BONUS POINTS: Imagining Louis B. Mayer having a fit in the screening room as he watched MGM's longtime loveable actors Frank Morgan and Lewis Stone playing, respectively, a nasty craps shooter, and an alcoholic, suicidal degenerate poker player. 

GANGS OF NEW YORK (1938): No, this is isn't the original version of the Martin Scorsese movie. It isn't even based on the 1927 book of the same name. What it is, is one of Republic Pictures' rare non-Westerns. When gangster John Sullivan is preparing for parole from prison, he's put into a cell behind a wall in the warden's office. (Sure, every prison has one of them!). Undercover cop Rocky Thorpe, a dead ringer for Sullivan, takes his place as a gang boss, gathering evidence to pass along to authorities. But not everyone in his gang believes he's the real deal -- not even his dog or girlfriend... especially when he starts falling for Connie Benson, the sweet sister of one of the gang member's wannabes. Good thing  the real John Sullivan breaks out of his one-man cell to set things straight for all involved!

Absurdities abound in Gangs of New York, which doesn't negate its entertainment value for a moment. It just might be one of the best B-movies of its genre even as you're thinking I don't believe a second of this from the first scene right through its happily-ever-after climax 67 minutes later. 

Charles Bickford puts his rough manner to good use as Thorpe/Sullivan, although at times you get the feeling he realizes how nutty the script is. It's always nice to see the classy Ann Dvorak (as Connie) even as she's slumming in poverty row epics like this. Former boxer "Slapsie" Maxie Rosenbloom plays it serious for probably the first and last time of his movie career. And the should-be-better-known Harold Huber hits his usual home run as Bickford's sidekick Panatella. He's smokin' good!

BONUS POINTS: Gangs of New York was written by the eventually-legendary Sam Fuller. See, even the greats have to start somewhere.

PAGLICACCI (1936): My problem with operas is that they never stop with the
singing. And it's always in a foreign language! So props to the producers of Pagliacci, because this version from the UK is a drama with half a dozen songs from the opera sung in English!

 A traveling opera troupe is performing Punchinello, in which a sad-sack clown discovers his wife cavorting with a handsome young man and her former lover. Lead actor Canio has no idea that his wife, Nedda, is doing the same thing offstage. (Pagliacci was meta before people knew what it meant). Finally discovering life imitating art, Canio exacts deadly revenge on Nedda and her bf during a performance in front of a shocked audience. Yeah! That's what we wanna see!

Pagliacci, then, is like an RKO noir with a higher pedigree. The songs roared by star Richard Tauber (a big noise in the opera world back in the day) are often difficult to understand due to his Austrian accent. But the story itself is so clear that Tauber could be singing in Mandarin and you'd know what was going on -- unlike that shmuck Canino not knowing what's going with his cheating wife. If nothing else, by watching Pagliacci you can pass yourself off as an opera buff at your next party. 

BONUS POINTS: Pagliacci's prologue and climatic opera scene were filmed in the German film process Agfacolor under the name British Chemicolor. I guess the Brits were expecting Germany to become the enemy any day. 

SMOOTH AS SILK  (1946): Broadway actress Paula Marlowe two-times her boyfriend Mark Fenton and drunk rich kid Don Elliot in order to star in a play written by Don's uncle Stephen. (If she's two-timing two guys, does that make her a four-timer?) Mark gets his revenge by murdering Stephen and pinning it on Paula. When that ruse starts to fall apart, he convinces Don he did it while blackout drunk. But you don't think ace District Attorney John Kimble won't see through that, do you?

Even with Smooth as Silk running 64 minutes, the above synopsis sounds a little thin. That's because I've left out a few subplots that are introduced before going nowhere. Early on, it seems like Paula's kid sister Susan is going to be John Kimball's love interest, but that never happens. A guy shows up to warn Paula being accused of murder isn't going to help her career, then disappears before we find out exactly who he is. Paula herself vanishes from the movie 10 minutes before the climax, so we never find out if that mystery man's prediction is correct. At one point, it even seems like kid sis Susan is going to hook up with Don Elliot before that, too, fizzles out. Now that I think of it, you could take Susan out of the story and it wouldn't affect the story one bit.

Ahh, who cares? It's Smooth as Silk's fast pace and host of B-movie actors that make for fun viewing. Virginia Grey makes Paula Marlowe as hideous a creature as one could find -- you kind of wish she goes to the chair for a crime she didn't commit. As Mark Fenton, Kent Taylor -- a two-bit version of the similarly-named Robert Taylor -- oozes anti-charm from every pore. Familiar character actors John Litel, Charles Towbridge, and Milburn Stone round out the cast, helping to make Smooth as Silk live up to its title.

BONUS POINTS:  John Litel and Kent Taylor light up their cigars at a smoke shop with a gas-powered lighter, something that today is likely quite illegal. 

THE STEVE ALLEN SHOW (12/30/53): A year before originating the Tonight show, Steve Allen hosted a similar live series local to New York, airing from 11:20 p.m. to midnight, sponsored by Ruppert Knickerbocker Beer (100% starch free, as Steve repeatedly reminds us during the live commercials where he actually drinks the stuff).

The Steve Allen Show, then, provided the template for the original Tonight. Steve comes out, adlibs some comments, answers some audience questions, and plays a number on the piano before getting the show rolling.

 Other music segments feature Steve Lawrence (singing a torch song on a set made to look like a tavern) and, later, his wife Eydie Gorme. In between, Allen interviews humorist Roger Price ("humorist" meaning he's unfunny), someone with the honorific American Campus Queen, and the astonishingly dull members of the audience. At some point, Father Knickerbocker (the sponsor's logo come to life) talks about the Brooklyn Children's Museum in excruciating detail.

Obviously, The Steve Allen Show is absolutely nothing like today's counterparts, where everyone involved appears to have been shot up with amphetamines. The whole idea of Steve's show seems to be lulling you to sleep with very gentle humor and easy-listening music. It makes more sense than Jimmy Fallon playing Charades while giggling like a maniac.

BONUS POINTS:  The Steve Allen Show (and the original Tonight) originated from the Hudson Theater, where my wife and I saw Plaza Suite earlier this year. Considering tickets to the TV show were free, Steve's audience got the better deal.

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