THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 66

 Pre-codes dominate today's quadruple feature, with one semi-noir rounding out the show.

CHINATOWN NIGHTS (1929): This must be the only movie where its source material -- in this case, Samuel Ornitz's Tong War -- is given almost equal billing on the one-sheets and opening credits, making me think either the guy had a lot of pull at Paramount or the phrase was on everybody's tong -- er, tongue.

Two tong leaders -- nightclub owner Chuck Riley (Wallace Beery) and Chinese businessman Boston Charley (Warner Oland) -- are on the Zhan tu (that's warpath to you white devils).  Chuck falls hard for uptown dame Joan Fry; before you can say "dim sum", the two are shacking up, Chinatown-style. But the couple are from two different worlds -- you might call them a dim sum -- and it seems inventible they're going to break like a bamboo chopstick. 

The William Wellman-directed Chinatown Nights has potential but is an utter mess. Filmed as a silent, the Paramount bosses ordered it reshot as a talkie. Dialogue was simply dubbed in over some silent footage, with real talking scenes added only when necessary. By my estimate, it's 50/50 split, and a bad one at that. Much of the dubbed dialogue is out of synch with the actors' lips; the back and forth between the two styles is jarring, often happening in the middle of a scene. Chinatown Nights would have worked better one way or the other rather than an awkward hybrid that likely fooled nobody.

As with the truculent Louise Brooks in The Canary Murder Case, Chinatown Night's leading lady Florence Vidor left the dubbing to someone else. Wallace Beery had no problem yakking his lines as the gangster whose hard heart softens with love. And you can never go wrong with Warner Oland in one of his stereotypical Asian roles. Unless you're Asian. Then you can join the non-movie nerds of today who will find nothing of interest in Chinatown Nights except wondering why people in 1929 paid 10 cents a ticket to watch it.

BONUS POINTS: In an effort to get Chuck out of the crime business, Joan tells the authorities that the tong members are illegal immigrants and suggests mass deportations. Say, that sounds familiar....

SAFE IN HELL (1931): New Orleans chippie Gilda Carlson, accused of murdering a john, is dropped off in Tortuga by her seaman sweetie Carl Bergen, who promises to return to her when the coast is clear. It's hard enough for Gilda to keep away from the horny criminal hotel guests without the local hangman Bruno figuring out how to get his paws on her as well. The unexpected arrival of a certain man from Gilda's past offers the chance of her escape from this island. But just try telling Bruno the hangman that.

Let's get this out of the way: Safe in Hell is one of the grimiest, sweatiest, squirm-inducing studio releases of its time; you've never seen so much spitting or sexually-depraved behavior on celluloid. Every glimmer of hope is killed with all the joy of a New Yorker stomping on a spotted lantern fly. And talk about racy! When Gilda checks into the hotel, one of the male guests warns his pals to avoid using "words ending in 'it', 'itch', and 'er'." While modern day viewers may think Gilda is being punished for her sins, Safe in Hell's original trailer describes her "The Little Girl Who Tried So Hard To Be Good -- And The World Wouldn't Let Her"; pre-code movies usually cut slack to Depression-hit janes who did what they had to in order to survive.

The long-forgotten Dorothy Mackaill gives the doomed Gilda the right balance of cynicism and faith; it's the kind of pre-code character that anticipates Jane Fonda's turn in Klute decades later. The ever-boyish Donald Cook, as Carl, really looks like the kind of guy who'd forgive his girlfriend's trespasses. Yet for all the greasy goons who populate Safe in Hell, it's the two black actors -- Nina Mae McKinney as the barmaid and Clarence Muse as the porter -- who stand out. Not only are they terrific actors whose careers were unfairly confined to roles like these due to their race, their characters seem to be the only decent people on the island. Maybe they need their own ICE troops to throw out the white illegals.

BONUS POINTS: Safe in Hell is the earliest studio movie I know of that begins only with the title card, saving the other credits for the end. Director William Wellman seemed to want to get the movie going pronto.

 

NARCOTIC (1933): Dwain Esper, the Emperor of Exploitation, never met a social problem he couldn't cash in on. But unlike his delirious 1934 screed Maniac, Narcotic takes a fairly serious if seriously cut-rate look at drug addiction, while providing enough just enough tawdriness to entice audiences who patronized the more declassee grindhouses. 

This "true biography" follows the downward spiral of Dr. William G. Davis from brilliant surgeon to hopeless addict, starting at the local opium den before moving on to the harder stuff, and eventually hawking his own heroin-laced snake-oil remedy. Soon, he's surrounded by junkies ("If I don't get a pop right away, I'm gonna go nuts!"), hopheads, coke fiends, and -- gasp! -- prostitutes. And thanks to the graphic close-ups that would never be featured in studio releases, Narcotic makes it easy to learn how to puff, snort, and shoot up. Thanks for the instructions, Dwain!

Narcotic contains everything expected from Esper's grimy productions -- flimsy sets, women's gams, rickety silent movie footage of car chases and freak shows, and the requisite stilted line-readings from actors ranging from amateur to washed-up. Special commendation to J. Blackton Stuart, Jr., whose absurd portrayal of a "Chinaman" couldn't be less convincing if he played him as Australian. 

Oddly for the already-odd Esper movies, I recognized character actor Harry Cording (in a rare lead role as Dr. Davis) from his later appearances in the Rathbone/Bruce Sherlock Holmes movies. Having appeared in well over 200 movies, he's the probably the only actor in Narcotic capable of a decent performance, but only when not instructed by the director to chew scenery, mainline heroin, or smoke opium.

BONUS POINTS: In a brief sequence you'll never see on The Pitt, Narcotic also includes documentary footage of a real cesarian birth. When I later described the scene to my wife (a retired nurse), she said, "Oh, that was the old-fashioned way!" 

CRISS CROSS (1949): Burt Lancaster, Yvonne DeCarlo, and Dan Duryea make for
the most dangerous triangle outside Bermuda in this grade-A noir. Steve Thompson (Lancaster) returns to L.A. after odd-jobbing around the country, getting back his old job as armored truck driver, while doing likewise with his ex-wife Anna (DeCarlo), despite her being involved with gangster Slim Dundee (Duryea). Thompson gets the bright idea of arranging for Slim's gang to hijack his truck, split the dough with them, and run off with Anna. Sure, no way that plan won't go off the rails.

All noir elements -- doomed lovers, flashbacks, lust confused with love, greed mistaken for genius -- feature in the fast-moving Criss Cross. Director Robert Siodmak handles every aspect, from actors to lighting to framing, with the same skill that made his previous picture Cry of the City such a great watch. And just when you think you've reached the climax, the story continues into another, unexpected direction followed by another and another -- all within the final two reels. 

As for the cast, the incredibly young, curly-haired Lancaster likely never looked better. He and the borderline trashy DeCarlo have a real connection; they look like a couple who know they're doomed yet unable to resist their unhappy fate. And it's always a treat when Dan Duryea turns up in slimy roles like this, giving off sinister vibes with just his eyes. I don't know how Criss Cross never made it on my radar until now, but it was worth the wait.

BONUS POINTS:  Unbilled bit player Tony Curtis (still answering to the name of Bernie Schwartz) makes his very brief movie debut as DeCarlo's dance partner. And Alan Napier (all together now: Alfred the butler on the Batman TV series), has a small but key role as the classy dipso who organizes the truck hijacking. 

                                                                        *********

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 33

The years 1931-1933 are spotlighted here, with three pre-code features and one short. You won't find these on any of those "Movies You Must See Before You Die" lists. Unless I'm compiling them.

THE VICE SQUAD (1931): While Warner Brothers was getting condemned for allegedly "glamorizing" criminals, here Paramount went in the other direction by exposing crooked cops. For two years, former upright lawyer Stephen Lucarno has been blackmailed into being a stool pigeon by Vice Squad commander Matthews. Having disappeared from his old life, Lucarno now drinks his days away while waiting to frame hookers at night. His life seems to turn around with a chance meeting with his friend Judge Tom Morrison, whose sister is Lucarno's ex-fiancée Alice. But just as a reconciliation with her seems imminent, Lucarno learns an innocent acquaintance, Madeline Hunt, has been framed on a trumped-up charge. Alice gives Lucarno a choice -- return to her and the life he once knew, or lose it all by testifying on Madeline's behalf. 

The Vice Squad plays cute by having cops referring to hookers as "vagrants" and prostitution as, you guessed it, "vagrancy", despite it never being in doubt what these dames are up to. As with a lot of pre-code pictures, The Vice Squad never really comes down hard on these women. If anything, their plight appears to be the fault of society, the Depression, and guys like the ogrish Det.-Sgt. Matthews, who roped Lucarno into being a stoolie when the latter refused to identify a sidepiece who fatally ran down a cop. Better to keep the arrest numbers up than trying to solve the murder of a colleague!

Despite Lucarno getting himself into his mess, Hungarian-born Paul Lukas (Address Unknown, Downstairs) gives the character humanity; his shame at falling so far is shown right down to the worn-out tips of his dress gloves. While only 36, Lucas passes for a middle-aged man who has thrown his life away. (Judith Wood, as Madeline, was 25 but looks two decades younger than him.) Kay Francis, not quite yet the queen of pre-codes, doesn't have a whole lot do other than moon for Lucarno, but she does it with her usual class, style, and lisp. The gaudily-named actor Rockliffe Fellowes makes you hate Matthews even more than you normally would -- here's an guy unafraid to be make a bad cop look even worse. Credit The Vice Squad for giving 1931 audiences the chance to boo the alleged good guys and sympathize with the so-called criminals for once. But did it occur to them that the woman who killed the cop in the first reel got off scot-free?

BONUS POINTS: Street names are altered just enough -- Barrow to Harrow, Christopher to Cristobal -- so it isn't necessarily the New York vice squad that's corrupt. It just... sounds like it.

FALSE FACES (1932): Dr. Silas Brenton, having been thrown out of Bronx General

Hospital for unethical behavior, sets up shop in Chicago where he becomes a plastic surgeon despite lacking the proper training. As Brenton's business and fame grow, his scruples lessen, promoting skin creams, hosting his own radio show, and starting an affair with Florence Day, the wealthy adult daughter of his latest patient, while still sleeping with his secretary Elsie. Brenton's luck runs out when his treatment of a patient's bowlegs ends in an amputation. Acting as his own attorney, Brenton's melodramatic closing arguments sway the jury in his favor -- but his unfortunate patient has the final word. 

Rat bastards weren't uncommon in pre-codes, but Silas Brenton is one for the books -- he lost his Bronx job by extorting money from poor patients at what was supposed to be a free hospital. In Chicago, he refuses payment from a famous actress, then sues her for non-payment to get his name in the papers. He promises to fix the droopy eye of Florence's mother, while knowing all along it'll never work. He refuses to answer the telegrams from the nurse he was sleeping with in the Bronx. Lowell Sherman (who also directed) plays Brenton so that the audience feels pure joy when fate finally catches up to him. He's quite good, often reminiscent of his friend (and real-life brother-in-law) John Barrymore, clearly loving this monstrous character. 

Speaking of pre-code, Sherman's direction gets the idea across of Benton's relationship with Georgia, the Bronx nurse, as he helps her with her coat while the image of his unmade bed lingers in the background. He also gets fine performances from familiar supporting actors including David Landau (70,000 Witnesses) and the doomed Peggy Shannon (Turn Back the Clock). This surprisingly good looking, low-budget release from Sono Art-World Wide (the studio with the outrageous logo) might be called False Faces but is a real treat.

BONUS POINTS: Eddie Anderson has a brief scene as a chauffeur, five years before gaining fame as Rochester on The Jack Benny Program.

FROM HELL TO HEAVEN (1933): This might as well be titled A Grand Hotel Day at the Races. A bunch of couples, singles and suckers, all betting on different horses in the same race, have good reason to hope their choices pay off. Wesley Burt needs to repay the $3,000 he embezzled from his employer. Two-timing dame Colly Tanner is $10,000 in the hole. Horse owner Pop Lockwood is down to his last bale of hay. Sam the bellhop just wants to make an extra buck or two. And a criminal is going for some extra dough before he blows town -- and perhaps for good reason, seeing that his name is Jack Ruby. Stay outta Dallas, Jack!

It would be nice if Universal Pictures, which owns the rights to Paramount's pe-1948 movies, restored the latter's obscure movies for limited-run DVDs. Instead, we have to put up with washed-out prints of From Hell to Heaven on YouTube. It's a real shame, for this is a fun little comedy-drama that never outstays its 67-minute welcome. (Some prints online are missing the first 10 or 15 minutes!). Nor does it shy away from its obvious Grand Hotel influence, seeing that Jack Oakie repeats Lewis Stone's observation that "nothing ever happens" at the resort where most of the action takes place. (Oakie even shoots a knowing glance at the camera when he repeats it at fade-out.) I'll stake my "reputation" and say out loud that From Hell to Heaven is better than Grand Hotel. It's certainly shorter.

In addition to Oakie and fellow Paramount contract player Carole Lombard (whose character is willing to sleep with her ex-bf in exchange for 10-grand), there are enough freelancers and loan-outs from other studios to fill the Kentucky Derby. Berton Churchill and Eddie Anderson (both featured in False Faces), David Manners (A Bill of Divorcement), Clarence Muse (Black Moon), Thomas E. Jackson (Broadway), and a dozen or so more, all playing to type. As each character bets on a different horse at the climax, you may find your loyalty shifting during the race (I was siding with the embezzler). There can be of course only one winner, yet all of the bettors get what's coming to them. Which, unfortunately, will probably never happen to people wanting a restoration of From Hell to Heaven. And you can bet the DVR on that.

BONUS POINTS: As someone who can neither sing, play piano, nor tap dance, I was in awe of Jack Oakie doing all three simultaneously. 

JUST AROUND THE CORNER (1934): Imagine entertainment-starved audiences reacting to a short starring Warren William, Dick Powell, Bette Davis, Joan Blondell, Ruth Donnelly, and Preston Foster! And with music from the still-hot 42nd Street under the credits, Just Around the Corner promised to be a slam-bang, two-reel extravaganza featuring the cream of Warner Brothers' contract players. 

The story doesn't seem to be anything to get excited about -- office drone 

Dick Powell inviting the boss Warren William and his wife Ruth Donnelly over to the house for the weekend for some trout fishing -- but isn't that true of all musicals? Sure, it's strange when Powell makes a point of pointing out the General Electric spotlights in the back yard... Ahh, but there's Bette Davis in the atypical role of happy housewife showing off her wonderful General Electric dishwasher... and General Electric refrigerator... and General Electric oven... and General Electric doorbell -- Uh, what's going on here? And how do they afford this stuff on Powell's salary? 

Glad you asked! It's easy on the General Electric payment plan! Once the dishwasher's paid off, they're getting a General Electric washing machine and iron, too! As THE END appears onscreen, that same entertainment-starved audience is probably thinking, We just paid good money to see a 20-minute commercial!

Actors knew what they were getting themselves into when they put their signature on the dotted studio line, but there was no way these folks ever expected Warner Brothers to throw them into a two-reel theatrical commercial for G.E. It's easy to picture Bette Davis, even at this early stage of her career, being one step away from shoving Jack Warner's hand down a General Electric garbage disposal. From a 21st-century perspective, Just Around the Corner is funnier than anything else Warner Brothers ever released. I mean, not only do Davis and Powell keep reminding us that G.E. appliances save time and money with the quiet repetition of a jackhammer, the refrigerator somehow saved the life of their little daughter! Buy General Electric products: a life may depend upon it.

BONUS POINTS: Joan Blondell gets off easy in her one scene, eating breakfast in bed and never once mentioning the words General Electric.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 32

 It pays to have subscriptions to arcane YouTube channels. They allow me to discover movies and TV shows that I would have otherwise missed, and you to learn about. Lucky you(?).

NIGHT WORLD (1932): Got an hour? Drop by Happy's Club on East 53rd Street, where owner Happy MacDonald is dealing with a bootlegger trying to muscle in on his territory. Club choreographer Klauss is having a little horizontal refreshment with Happy's wife Jill, who's trying to get her husband out of the way, permanently. Tough guy Ed Powell is putting the moves on showgirl Ruth Taylor. Ruth, immune to his "charms", is trying to nurse Michael Rand back to sobriety following the love-triangle murder of his father by his mother. And club doorman Tim Washington is waiting for word on the condition of his hospitalized wife. Make sure to duck when five people in a row are shot to death. Check, please!

How is it that a studio could release a 57-minute movie that packs more storylines than this year's lengthy Oscar-nominees combined, yet takes place in just one evening? Night World is kind of a prototype of the previously discussed Club Havana but with pre-code elements: sex, violence, bootleg booze, adultery, double-entendres, sexy showgirls in skimpy outfits under the tutelage of Busby Berkley, and a running gag involving a gay man. While the budding romance between Ruth and Michael is the main plot point, it's the other characters and situations that keep that Night World chugging along. I mean, what do you want to see, a couple of kids falling in love, or gangsters, guns, and slinky dancers in their dressing room?

Lead actors Lew Ayres and Mae Clarke are fine as Michael and Ruth, but it's the co-stars we've come to see. Fresh from his star-making turn in Frankenstein, Boris Karloff is no less threatening as Happy MacDonald, whose nickname and friendly smile don't disguise the violence lurking underneath. George Raft makes what he can of his brief appearance as the slick yet crude Ed Powell, one of his earliest credited roles. As Mike's shockingly cruel mother, Hedda Hopper gives us a taste of her future gossip columnist style. But it's black character actor Clarence Muse who, as in Black Moon, proves himself at least the equal of his white co-stars (and better than most), bringing humanity and wisdom to his role of Tim Washington, the club's philosophical doorman. Forget the lovebirds -- it's him you're rooting for. Yes, there's a lot going in Night World, all of it worth watching.

BONUS POINTS:  Night World's dizzying opening montage of Times Square theaters, streetwalkers, speakeasies and murderers is still an unexpectedly wild sequence. And look for a young Jack LaRue as a jittery gunman at the climax. 

HISTORY IS MADE AT NIGHT (1937): Good title, strange movie. Comedy! Romance! Drama! Murder! Cultural stereotypes, marital violence, disaster... Only an independent producer like Walter Wanger could have released something this schizophrenic; no studio would have understood it. I'm not sure any would today. 

While in Paris, shipping magnate and all-around nut Bruce Vail frames his estranged wife Irene's new lover, Paul Drummond, for a murder that he committed. Irene is forced return to New York with Bruce; Paul, still unidentified as the alleged murderer, gives chase along with his Chico Marx-style friend Cesare. Irene eventually crosses path with Paul, who, when finding out he's wanted for murder, does the noble thing and returns, with Irene, to Paris on a cruise ship built by Bruce. But midway through the voyage while sailing through a heavy fog in cold waters...

Forget it, you wouldn't believe it. In fact, everything in History is Made at Night is unbelievable, even by Hollywood standards. If it works at all it's because of Charles Boyer and Jean Arthur in the leads -- somehow you believe them even if everything else is ridiculous. Colin Clive is flat-out sociopathic as Bruce, throwing the movie even more off-balance whenever he's onscreen. His is a fascinating, unsetting performance; it's hard to tell if it's due to Frank Borzage's direction or Clive's real-life alcoholism (which killed him weeks after the movie's release). Today, many people name History is Made at Night as their favorite movie ever. Your mileage may vary. Mine sure did, but not enough to end the trip before it was over.

BONUS POINTS: Fourteen years later, History is Made at Night's producer Walter Wanger pulled the jealous husband routine himself by shooting the guy he suspected having an affair with his wife, actress Constance Bennett. 

FINDERS KEEPERS (1955): You can't expect any game show called Finders Keepers to possess a morsel of sophistication. But my God, my God, my God!  It's astonishing people actually carved 30 minutes out of their lives every week to watch dreck like this. If you wonder why its network, DuMont, eventually went out of business, look no further.

As with DuMont's other dreadful game show, the previously-discussed Auction-Aire, the New York-based Finders Keepers depends on the telephonic participants at their homes in the tri-state area, each of whom are certain that they will win the top prize: a piano, a new Westinghouse kitchen ("every woman's dream"), and a trip for two to Paris (combined worth: $3,000!).  "Girl Friday" Peggy O'Shea hides a tag somewhere on a set that resembles a living room and kitchen. The jolly house organist then plays a few bars of a song to provide a hint of the hiding place. The contestant at home then has to tell an audience member where to look, while also responding to the audience's cheering or silence. Then the home contestant has to identify a photo of a building to win the big prize. Otherwise, they get a tea set and a carton of Coca-Cola. Lower gift taxes to pay, I suppose.

Over-caffeinated host Fred Robbins really gets the thrills when introducing guest Richard Egan as tag hunter for one round. Egan, doing a pretty good job hiding his embarrassment, is almost as creepy here as he is in Hollywood Story. As he runs around the set trying to find the tag, you can almost hear him think, "This is what I have to do to plug my latest movie?" Airing only five months, Finders Keepers probably provided vital clues for Goodson-Todman Productions in creating hit game shows like To Tell the Truth, Password, and I've Got a Secret: Let celebrities be the contestants, have them play in person, and keep the damn thing simple! And for those who care, the "mystery" photo no one can identify is the Museum of the City of New York on Fifth Avenue. 

BONUS POINTS: One of the audience contestants is a nervous girl no older than ten. For her participation, she wins a dog. Her reaction signals that she already has a dog her parents hate, and this one will get tossed in the nearest alley.

THE INVISIBLE CITY (1961): Made for WCBS-TV, the Emmy-nominated The Invisible City is not a sci-fi cheapie -- it's a documentary cheapie. And it's about New York. Or, rather, the areas and people the average city dweller never saw or met in 1961, and still don't today. The captain of the Staten Island Ferry. A guy who washes the windows of the Chase Manhattan skyscraper. The lucky folks who live in the Turtle Bay area with their own private park. A seamstress still happily working at Bergdorf Goodman since forever. And it's a fascinating snapshot of not only of a city on the cusp of radical change, but of a style of non-fiction TV as forgotten as its subjects are today.

The narration, gently spoken by Eddie Albert, is the same style used in the intros to the then-current Naked City series -- prose poetry, lifting up rather than speaking down to the audience. The New Yorkers examined are the folks who keep the city humming -- or, like the Turtle Bay residents, provide us with insight to what life was like compared to growing up 30 or 40 years earlier. And you can see some of those changes. Older businessmen still wearing hats, as the up-and-comers go without. Middle-aged women donning white gloves, while their daughters prefer the casual look. Commuters reading the Times on paper rather than iPhones. And smokers. Lots of smokers.

Producer Warren Wallace interviews his subjects with respect and genuine interest. Filmed on black & white 16mm film in cramped quarters -- the window washer's wife is in her modest kitchen -- these sequences are simple and unglamorous, the voices echoey or competing with ambient sound. The music accompanying Albert's narration is very 1961, bordering on modern classical. Compare The Invisible City to today's scrubbed and scripted "reality" series, and weep for current TV viewers. Actually, don't bother. They wouldn't understand anything this good.

BONUS POINTS: The score is performed by the CBS Chamber Orchestra. Yes, there was a time when TV networks had such a thing.

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MOVIE OF THE DAY: "BLACK MOON" (1934)

The usual voodoo tale back in the day featured a blonde, Nordic heroine falling under the spell of Creole-speaking blacks in the tropics. 

Columbia's 1934 shocker Black Moon goes a different route, with its leading female character, Juanita Perez, actually yearning to return to the island of San Christopher, where she grew up. Having never gotten the jungle out of her system, we first see her at home hypnotically playing a jungle drum for her enraptured seven year-old daughter Nancy.


While today she'd look like a member of a drumming circle, this scene -- along with her Latino name and jet black hair -- were cues to 1934 audiences: whatever happens, this dame has it coming. 

Just to make things more explicit, her husband, Stephen Lane, is rich, kind, a devoted husband and father, a captain of industry, and very white. Even his secretary, Gail, is in love with him.

My mother, the voodoo priestess.

I want to be Stephen Lane.

The only thing wrong with him is that he lets little Nancy accompany Juanita (along with Gail and a nurse) for a three-week stay on San Christopher -- just another example of a man lacking a woman's intuition.

A vacation souvenir you don't want to see.

It's not Stephen's fault entirely. Throughout Black Moon, everyone who tries to warn him about Juanita's evil-eye excursion winds up on the wrong end of a dart gun, noose or, in the case of Nancy's nurse, a hot tar pit. By the time he finally shows up to bring everybody home, all hell is more or less literally breaking out. Typical family vacation.

Juanita, you see, has been spending more and more time on nighttime walks, returning glassy-eyed and woozy. While my excuse for such behavior involves the corner bar on 50-cent shot nights, Juanita has been sucked back into the voodoo world (where, according to Uncle John, her nursemaid Ruva took her to ceremonies as a child, where she first "tasted blood." Trust me, 50-cent shots do the trick better.)

That isn't Alka-Seltzer she's
putting into hubby's water glass.

Once Stephen shoots Kala, the village priest, in order to prevent a human sacrifice, the natives decide he must pay the price. Juanita's attempt at poisoning him goes wrong when it's accidentally ingested by Nancy instead. But like any good doctor, Uncle Jack has voodoo antidote in his doctor's bag. Unfortunately, it's an out-of-pocket cost.

"Just close your eyes, kid, you
won't feel a thing."

Unsatisfied with this bungled murder attempt, the natives kidnap Nancy in order for Juanita, now a high priestess, to make her daughter a human sacrifice. This was a pretty stunning turn of events for a studio movie at the time -- even more so when Juanita brings a saber down at her daughter's head, only to be shot dead by Stephen just in time. Yes, typical family vacation alright.

An extremely entertaining, well-made picture with effective black & white cinematography, Black Moon was wild enough to get it banned in the UK. There's violence aplenty, with the aftermath of the nurse's tar pit death particularly gruesome, while Uncle Jack's treatment of blacks rivals what you'd see at Trump rallies. (Uncle Jack, meanwhile, might be the first person in talkies to utter the immortal line, "The natives are restless tonight." Gee, I wonder why, Skippy.)

"Look, Jack, aren't there any shorts
around here? I'm getting a rash behind
my knees."

Then you have Juanita, who's forgets to wear certain undergarments while wearing slinky, see-through dresses. As usual in pre-code movies, everybody seems to have packed their finest clothes for this hot, humid hellhole that lacks even an Applebee's. Even Stephen and Uncle Jack dine in formal-wear even though they never leave the house. You're white, we get it.

"Remember, boss, I'm on your side."

By the way, just about the only black character who isn't a killer or zombie-maker is the Georgia-born Lunch McClaren. As played by the great Clarence Muse, Lunch is as close to a fully-rounded black character you could find studio pictures at the time, being a self-made man with a ferry-boat business, a warm singing voice, and wry sense of humor. He's possibly the only black character you'll see in a mainstream '30s movie who's allowed to shoot a gun with the white folks, and not get fired upon himself. 

Gail, Stephen and Nancy consider
using Trivago for their next trip

Other than Muse, Black Moon's only recognizable actor is Fay Wray, as the faithful secretary Gail, thanks to the previous year's hit, King Kong. Columbia executives were probably thinking, "Hey, let's hire this Fay Wray dish, she knows her way around a jungle." Her hair in Black Moon is black instead of the platinum blonde she's famous for, perhaps so as not to outshine the actress playing Juanita, Dorothy Burgess.

No problem -- Gail winds up with Jack after he shoots his wife to death. That's one way of landing a husband.

                                                  *******************

MOVIE OF THE DAY: "WASHINGTON MERRY-GO-ROUND" (1932)

"The ghosts of [the Founding Fathers] would turn in their graves if they could see how the crooks, the gangsters, the hypocrites have paralyzed our government. They made a scrap of paper out of the Declaration of Independence! They make a joke out of the Constitution of the United States of America!"
      -- Lee Tracy in Washington Merry-Go-Round

There's a special irony that the movie which best captures the zeitgeist of our cynical times was released over 80 years ago.  Far more bitter than any studio movie today, Washington Merry-Go-Round is a Rand Paul speech come to life, a Tea Party gathering writ large. No one gets off easy here, not the politicians who sell their votes to the highest bidder, the constituents who condone the system or those who prefer to complain rather take action. Frank Capra, it's not -- and yet, eventually was. But we'll get to that later.

Brown is shocked to discover that
politicians don't like hearing the truth.

Button Gwinett Brown is a freshman Congressman who's out to rid Washington of the corrupting influence peddlers who got him elected -- one of whom has committed suicide in shame of his own crooked ways. In his first Congressional speech, Brown single-handedly leads the defeat of a pork-barrel bill that power-broker Edward T. Norton was counting on for its kickbacks. The political machine retaliates by getting Brown kicked out of office via a phony vote recount. If only more politicians served hours rather than decades.

"Senator Wylie... are you sure you're not
Charlie Rangel in whiteface?"

Having thoroughly alienated Alice Wylie, a DC socialite who's trying hard not to fall for him, Brown cements his outlier reputation with her grandfather, Sen. Wylie. 

A basically-decent chap who, over 30 years, has been sucked into corruption without even realizing it, Wylie tries to guide Brown into the ways of Washington ("One never takes orders. One gathers by indirection that a certain course would be preferable"). Brown in return accuses him of being part of the problem because Norton pays him off by deliberately letting him win during their high-stakes poker games.

When he and Norton next play cards, Wylie realizes the truth in Brown's statement. Wylie promises to go public with all that he knows about Norton's dirty ways. Norton retaliates with a move that would make him the envy of lobbyists everywhere: arranging to have the Senator assassinated. Does this guy have juice or what? Norton, you see, has plans: "Italy has her Mussolini. Russia has her Stalin. Such a man will rise in America" -- namely, himself. Well, if you're going to dream, dream big.

Brown and the boys make an exception for
gun control when Norton shows up.

Luckily, Brown has one more trick up his sleeve, installing unemployed war veterans at Norton's regular watering holes in order to take notes on his conversations. They ultimately shanghai him to their campground, where Brown is holding captive the man who poisoned Wylie on Norton's orders. 

The assassin's written confession in his hands, Brown offers Norton a gun to make his next move that much easier. A moment later, Norton blows his brains out. That's the next best thing to term limits.

Taken just as a rough outline, Washington Merry-Go-Round appears to be a blueprint for Frank Capra's Mr. Smith Goes to Washington seven years later. A newly-elected Congressman named after a founding father. (Jefferson Smith vs Button Gwinett Brown, a descendant of one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.) A sardonic woman who is at first amused by, then attracted to, the guy. A party elder who takes an interest in him, even as he himself is part of the problem. 

Smith and Brown even drop by the Lincoln Memorial at night for strength as they become pariahs among their colleagues. Both movies were made at Columbia Pictures, for heaven's sake. It's unthinkable that Capra wasn't at least aware of Washington Merry-Go-Round at the time he made his own movie.

Just once, I'd like to see this happen on C-SPAN.

Of course Capra being Capra, he wouldn't stomach just how nasty Congress is portrayed in Washington Merry-Go-Round. Time and again, Brown states how most Congressmen are decent, hard-working people, but we're not fooled. Senators read newspapers or talk about bridge games while their colleagues bloviate at the Congressional podium. Laws
pass without votes. Suicides and assassinations are just part of business. Edward T. Norton is even arranging his political puppets to authorize a military invasion of a Central American country to protect his business interests. (No! Congress would never do such a thing.) 

There aren't enough synonyms for "cynical" to do this movie justice. Congress was outraged by Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, yet appeared to be too busy bloviating, deal-making and murdering colleagues to notice its far more eviscerating predecessor.

How the well-dressed
troublemaker carries himself.

And unlike the naif-bordering-on-simpleton Jefferson Smith, Brown is wide-eyed as to the ways of Washington even before he gets there: "The good people of my district didn't vote for me, some of them didn't vote at all... My only constituents are the crooks who put me in office, and I'm going to use that office to double-cross them the way they've been double-crossing the people!"  

As Brown, Lee Tracy is more abrasive than James Stewart's Smith, but there's a sharp reality in his delivery that jolts even today. He has at least a half-dozen juicy speeches to chew on, all of them quite effective.

How the well-dressed SOB
carries himself.

Alan Dinehart's Norton is one-dimensional compared to Claude Rains' tortured Sen. Paine in Mr. Smith, but that's the way the part was written. I mean, the guy actually plays with swastika-engraved poker chips, so you're not going to get much hand-wringing from him. It's never made clear exactly who Norton is; depending on what you read about the movie, he's either a senator, lobbyist or just a bootlegger made good. Me, I go for evil bastard. Much more encompassing. (When writing about Dinehart's appearance in The Sin of Nora Moran, I stated he was in every other movie on TCM. I stand by that observation.)

Do 22 year-old women
look like this anymore?

Like her Smith counterpart Jean Arthur, Constance Cummings is the skeptical woman who's seen it all in Washington until this small-town upstart comes to town. This being a pre-Code picture, however, Cummings is far more sexy and interesting. She and Tracy have a slapsticky, Capraesque moment when they first meet aboard a train; unsurprisingly, it's the only scene that reeks of silliness. Cummings is a fine example of just how more mature and classy 22 year-old women were back in the day, when they weren't interested in being perpetual adolescents.  

Lee Tracy is concerned that, once again,
 Clarence Muse is upstaging him.

I would be remiss without mentioning Clarence Muse as Brown's valet. A busy character actor, Muse tended to be stuck as butlers, porters and cleaners despite his background in law school and the New York theater. (That's what being black in 1932 did for you.)  Although given dialogue of the "Yassuh, boss" variety, Muse is wonderfully funny and human in his role which, unfortunately, disappears in the final half of the movie's 78-minute running time.

Always a lot of fun to watch -- he's hilarious in the 1932 farce The Half Naked Truth -- Lee Tracy was one of the more colorful actors of his time. Having originated the role of Hildy Johnson in The Front Page on Broadway, he spent much of his movie career playing fast-talking reporters and press agents, with a nasal whine that often makes him sound like a hopped-up W.C. Fields. Tracy had a late-in-life comeback in both the stage and movie versions of Gore Vidal's political satire The Best Man, earning him his only Oscar nomination. 

Washington Merry-Go-Round is one of those interesting, elusive movies unavailable on DVD and only rarely shown on TV. It can't be for a potential lack of audience. Democrats can hiss the bad guy who wants a military invasion to protect his bootlegging enterprise. (Imbibers in the movie are always raving about "the real embassy stuff.") Republicans will cheer Brown's patriotism. Libertarians can point to its portrayal of a broken two-party system. Tea Partiers would agree that Congress is an utterly corrupt institution in dire need of a good flushing-out. Readers of Alex Jones could point with satisfaction to its many references to "the hidden government" really running things. Movie fans would find fascinating its snappy patter and shockingly casual venality. 

Everybody, in fact, can find something to enjoy in Washington Merry-Go-Round. Everybody but the jokers currently in Congress, that is. All the more reason to rip the lid off the Columbia vaults the way Button Gwinett Brown rips the lid off the Capitol. Those "public servants" in Washington wouldn't notice anyway. They're too busy cutting deals with Edward T. Norton's grandchildren.

                                                     
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