MOVIE OF THE DAY: "THE WAGES OF SIN" (1938)

 

On the surface just another low-budget exploitation picture disguised as a
morality tale, The Wages of Sin is in fact far more interesting and serious than one would expect from genre known for anti-classics with titles like Assassin of Youth, Gambling with Souls, and The Road to Ruin.

It also features a cast made up of actresses who knew from unfortunate experience that the information given in the movie's prologue was accurate -- that the majority of young women caught in similar problems weren't the victims of their own poor judgement, but rather of sociopathic men and the society that creates them.  Unlike other movies of its genre, there's very little ironic laughter to be had in its story.

Marjorie is about to really get taken
to the cleaners.

Marjorie Benton works at a gigantic laundry pressing clothes six days a week. She'd like to get an office job, but can't afford nice clothes, seeing that she has to fork over her weekly paycheck to her family consisting of a shrewish mother, a socialist father on strike, a lazy older brother too busy looking at the racing form to work, and a sympathetic younger brother who has to drink water because they can't afford milk, due to a shrewish mother, a socialist father... 

Is everybody happy?

 Marjorie's co-worker Florence invites her on a double date -- even loaning her some of her own clothes -- to a roadhouse out in the sticks. Not used to how the cool kids have fun, Marjorie is soon snozzled on Tom Collins and high on reefer. "Fortunately", she and Florence are given a lift back to the latter's apartment by the charmingly oily Tony Kolinus. 

"Marjorie, meet your new madam -- er, mother."

Tossed out on her keister by her mother for staying out all night, Marjorie moves in with Florence. Meanwhile Tony Kolinus (the more you say it, the more it sounds like an oath uttered by W.C. Fields) arranges for Marjorie to be fired from her job, just so he can turn her into a call girl. After six months of "entertaining" traveling salesmen, she decides that a new profession is in order. Tony agrees, selling her to Fat Pearl, the madam of a brothel. Pregnant with Tony's child, Marjorie is helped to escape by Roxie, another of Fat Pearl's captives. Making her way back to L.A., she finds Tony in the arms of a new hooker-to-be. One pistol and a couple of well-aimed shots later, Marjorie faces a possible date with Ol' Sparky in the local prison. Remember: not having nice clothes can lead you to death row.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?

Wiseass comments aside, The Wages of Sin comes closer to any exploitation film of its time in terms of ugly reality (other than Florence warning Marjorie that marijuana is worse than cocaine). Marjorie's family is about as loathsome as you can find in any movie of the 1930s. The lengthy roadhouse scene features a stripper, a drunken old lady squawking "Listen to the Mockingbird", and a scary young woman yowling "Minnie the Moocher" while twisting herself into a pretzel and chewing on her foot, before getting into a disturbing fist-throwing, ear-chewing altercation with her boyfriend. The glamorous life this is not.

But it's the cast's real-life backstories that put the punch in The Wages of Sin. Constance Worth (Marjorie) was an actress from Australia who gradually drank herself to death after losing her shot at Hollywood A-pictures when sued for annulment a month after marrying Warners leading man George Brent. (I'll give you a moment to ask Hunh?) Clara Kimball Young (Fat Pearl) was a major star in silents until having the temerity to sue her movie-director boyfriend for losing all her savings in bad investments. (Another pause to ponder that.) And perhaps saddest of all, Betty Wonder (Roxie), forever blackballed by the movie industry for testifying on behalf of a young woman raped at a party thrown by M-G-M. See, Harvey Weinstein was just following in the footsteps of the guys who created Hollywood!

Despite a couple of the screenshots I lifted off the internet, the print of The Wages of Sin I recently caught at the Musuem of Modern Art is as close to brand new as you'll ever see. Suprisingly, there was little if any of the usual aren't-I-sophisticated titters from the New York audience. They actually took this movie seriously. 

Except for its climatic message, which advised us that the jury deciding Marjorie's fate was still undecided, and urging us to send our own verdicts (in 300 words or less!) to Reel Life Dramas (the production company), with $10,000 worth of prizes for the winners. When in doubt, always go for the cop-out ending.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 44

 One movie from each decade from the '20s to the 50's, with only one starring an actor you might be familiar with. Hey, I've got to offer something to the masses

SEVEN FOOTPRINTS TO SATAN (1929): As a 12-year-old fan of old horror movies and
young dishy starlets, my heart raced at a black & white still of a bizarre creature with unkempt hair and bad teeth towering over Thelma Todd (seen below). I had no idea what the movie was about, nor did I even care. All I wanted was to see the production, tantalizingly titled Seven Footprints to Satan. 

Alas, this was an impossible dream, for it was apparently lost, or at least misplaced. Then, very recently, a restored version became available for a mere $8.99. I waited for the right time (the 75 minutes my wife would be out of the house), put it on and prepared to be scared witless by monsters and seduced by a sexy actress.

Well, at least I got the sexy actress. As with nearly every rediscovered "lost" movie, Seven Footprints to Satan --originally a silent/talkie hybrid now lacking its original Vitaphone soundtrack --proved to be two footsteps to disappointment. Not that it's bad. The general idea of a couple kidnapped and taken to a strange mansion where they are put through their paces by Satan's minions, monsters, and eventually the host himself, is a good one. But I quickly figured out that the whole thing was a ruse, and that all the "monsters" were actually people paid to scare the male half of the couple (Creighton Hale). 

It's not like I'm giving anything away. You'd figure it out, too, even if 1929 audiences didn't. I realize the comedy/thriller genre was a big thing at the time, but come on. You've got to have genuine thrills mixed with the chuckles. While the actors' make-up and the art design are impressive, conceptually Seven Footprints to Satan isn't much different than one of those pop-up "horror houses" that appear in your neighborhood every Halloween. Is it worth $8.99? For a quasi-legendary once-lost picture, sure. Is it worth watching again? With Thelma Todd in a lowcut dress, absolutely. But not until next Halloween. Or the Halloween after.

BONUS POINTS: One of the "scary" creatures is Angelo Rossitto, the dwarf from the previously-discussed Old San Francisco and Scared to Death. Sheldon Lewis, the guy in the memorable still with Thelma Todd, plays the title role in the genuinely terrible, not-worth-watching-even-once The Phantom. Oh, and a naked woman is tied up to a pole and whipped.

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND (1937): Squire John Meadows is a malevolent, vindictive justice of the peace in a small town he holds in the palm of his hand. When he's not bribing people to break the law on his behalf, he runs the local prison, taking glee on doling out physical and psychological punishment on the inmates -- men, women, and adolescents alike -- with an alarmingly sadistic glee. His latest scheme is to win the hand of the lovely Susan Merton by framing her fiancé George for poaching. When the real poacher, George's friend Tom, confesses to the crime, he is imprisoned. George, meanwhile, goes to Australia to seek his fortune but promises Sue he'll return. Seizing his opportunity, Meadows pays off the postmaster to give him George's letters so they don't get delivered. Deciding that isn't enough, he spreads the rumor that George has married another woman in Australia.

If you want subtlety, you've come to the wrong movie, for It's Never Too Late to Mend -- not the most understated title, either -- stars Tod Slaughter, usually called Britain's answer to Bela Lugosi. You want scenery chewing? Slaughter chows down with the manners of a starving hyena, with his co-stars not very far behind. Even the lovebirds George and Susan engage sweet nothings that went out of style two decades earlier. But that's the whole idea behind Slaughter movies, as they deliberately recreate the over-the-top melodrama of 19th century British stage plays (which is likely why they were never released in the U.S.). And once you get into the groove, your oh-so-sophisticated attitude and heh-heh snickering will give way to emotions you'd rather not admit to possessing. 

Go ahead, you laugh at the  15-year-old boy, imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread for his starving mother, dying in a metal straitjacket. You chortle at the chaplain protecting the prisoners with only the power of his faith. You giggle as Squire Meadows slips the heroic George a mickey in order to steal his newly-won fortune and fiancé. 

Trust me, It's Never Too Late to Mend -- considered one of Tod Slaughter's more "serious" movies --will have you hissing and booing the same way British audiences did when such behavior in the theater was not just accepted but demanded. And wouldn't it feel better to do that at an old, low-budget movie rather than the evening news?

BONUS POINTS: The 19th-century novel and play on which It's Never Too Late to Mend is based so moved Queen Victoria that she demanded the reform of the British penal system.

THE MONSTER MAKER (1944): PRC's The Monster Maker plays like a celluloid Mad-Libs game of countless poverty row movies: A PHONY DOCTOR from EASTERN EUROPE, who keeps a GORILLA in his LABORATORY, injects a CONCERT PIANIST with a dose of ACROMEGALY in order to marry THE PIANIST'S DAUGHTER, who resembles THE DOCTOR'S LATE WIFE, despite HIS ASSISTANT being IN LOVE WITH HIM. 

Credit the three(!) writers for coming up with the acromegaly angle to separate The Monster Maker from other low-budget B's of its type, even if its title damns anyone with the disease as, well, a monster. Very few people had likely even heard of it had it not been for actor Rondo Hatton, a real acromegaly victim. Here, Ralph Morgan has the honors, and only because we needed to see his before-and-after visage. Once a star at MGM (as in the adaptation of Eugene O'Neil's Strange Interlude), Morgan wasn't the only former A-lister who found himself slumming in stuff like The Monster Maker a decade later. A pro to the end, he gives his all for a concept that probably had everyone on the set dizzy from rolling their eyes.

Speaking of one-time A-listers on the skids, Bela Lugosi must have been busy making Voodoo Man at Monogram in order for J. Carrol Naish to win the lead role of Dr. Igor Markoff. Strictly in support throughout his career, he was probably thrilled to get top billing for a change. Hollywood's idea of a linguist, Naish played a wide variety of ethnic roles equaled only by his limited

talent. Italian, German, Russian, Sioux -- you can't tell one from another without the wardrobe and make-up departments cluing you in. (One of Naish's most absurd roles was in The Hatchet Man where his portrayal of a Chinatown resident consists of squeezing his eyelids nearly shut and over articulating his dialogue even more than usual.)

In order to pad out The Monster Maker to 65 minutes, co-star Wanda Blake (the object of Naish's affection) often repeats dialogue spoken to her, only as a question ("Your father visited me for a consultation." "My father visited you for a consultation?"). And we can't forget the ol' gorilla-in-the-lab gag, which serves no purpose other than for Dr. Markoff to try killing his love-starved assistant Maxine. These kinds of things make me love movies like The Monster Maker. It's short, utterly predictable, wildly implausible, and perfectly entertaining.

BONUS POINTS: They don't even try to convince us that the first scene in a Carnegie Hall-style theater is just a faux-loge 20 feet away from the faux-stage

BLACK TUESDAY (1954): The exceptionally violent Black Tuesday shows Edward G.

Robinson at age 61 still in all his glory as Vince Canelli, the star inmate of a West Coast prison where he and his fellow death row resident Peter Manning await their turn in the hot squat. One of the prison guards has been forced to help facilitate the escape of Canelli and others on death row in exchange for the freedom of his kidnapped daughter. But while the guard gets plugged anyway, the criminals look forward to splitting $200,000 in stolen loot Manning has hidden in a place only he knows -- even after he's been shot.

There's something poignant about Edward G, Robinson in Black Tuesday, still speaking with the N'yeah, see? delivery that made people sit up and take notice 25 years earlier. As for his character, Canelli's at an age where he should be enjoying his ill-gotten fortune by lounging on a beach in Acapulco, not breaking out of stir again with guns blazing. Not like Canelli's the reincarnation of St. Jude. While on his getaway from prison, Canelli kicks three of his death row pals to the curb in order to make sure he gets more of the stolen dough. He's willing to risk the life of the badly-wounded Manning for the same reason. Not even Father Slocum, the prison priest he's taken hostage, is safe from his threats. Maybe poignant isn't the right word after all.

Robinson overshadows his Black Tuesday co-stars, although the older, familiar character actors manage to hold their own. (No point in naming names -- you'd only know them by their faces anyway.) But the younger, less impressive supporting actors are straight out of a baby-boomer's Emmy Award "In Memoriam" segment. In addition to Peter Graves (Mission: Impossible) as Manning, there's Milburn Stone (Gunsmoke), Russell Johnson (Gilligan's Island), William Schallert (Patty Duke Show), and Stafford Repp (Batman). Black Tuesday is unlikely to be considered a classic in the Robinson canon like Little Caesar, but it still makes for fine entertainment and demonstrates how commanding an actor he was throughout his entire career.

BONUS POINTS: Sylvia Findley as Ellen Norris, one of the few actresses who looks like she would be Edward G. Robinson's girlfriend (which might be why her imdb profile lists only two movies).

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 43

 One German silent movie + three short subjects = two hours of celluloid bliss.

THE STUDENT OF PRAGUE (1913): The poor, lovesick title character named Balduin is given a bag of money and the woman of his dreams, Countess Margit, by a mysterious stranger named Scapinelli. In return, Scapinelli is to take anything in the student's apartment. Sounds like a good deal -- until the guy steals Balduin's reflection from his full-length mirror. Things start getting even more hinky when the reflection starts turning up everywhere in town, even to kill Margit's fiancé in a duel. Getting a little tired of seeing himself everywhere but mirrors, Balduin shoots him (it?), not foreseeing the consequences for both of them. And as for Scapinelli? He just dances down the road for his next victim.

It's a fool's game to refer to a movie as "the first" in almost any category. So when web jockeys casually refer to The Student of Prague as the "first horror movie" and the "first German art film", take it with a sack full of salt and a side of fries. Nevertheless, The Student of Prague has a lot of good going for it, like the story itself, seeing that it's an interesting take on the Satan-taking-a-soul routine (even if Scapinelli is described as a sorcerer). And for a 1913 production, the double exposures of the two Balduins onscreen simultaneously are surprisingly effective. (The shot of his reflection leaving the mirror as he looks on in horror is one of the more memorable images I've seen in a silent fantasy.)  I'm not sure of the purpose of a Gypsy dancer named Lyduschka popping in and out like a wanna-be spy but she's certainly spooky that way.

Onto the negatives. Co-directors Hans Heinz Ewers and Stellan Rye hold almost every shot too long. And, at 39 (but looking 50), Paul Wegener doesn't look anything like a college student. While Gret Berger, as Margrit, was only 30, she's supposed to be a decade younger but appears to be middle-aged. As usual for the time, both actors chow down on the scenery -- Wegener doesn't react to situations as much as allow the top of his head fly off. Only John Gottowt as Scapinelli, taking delight in Balduin's destruction, gives a truly entertaining performance -- but isn't the bad guy always the best part? The 1926 remake of The Student of Prague starring Conrad Veidt is said to be better, but the original has its charms -- as well as a reminder that if a deal is too good to be true, you're never going to see your reflection again.

BONUS POINTS: Immediately following the opening credits, Paul Wegener and Student of Prague director/writer are seen as themselves visiting Prague, although why is never explained.

POETIC GEMS: THE OLD PROSPECTOR TALKS (1931): It's always a treat to
discover a series of short subjects you never knew existed. Then there's Poetic Gems. 

Produced by someone named William M. Pizor, Poetic Gems appear to have been focused on the works recited by seventh-graders at school assemblies until Bob Dylan blew up that crap but good. Pizor was clearly obsessed with the defiantly middlebrow "People's Poet" Edgar A. Guest -- well-loved in his day by Americans who probably considered Norman Rockwell an abstract artist -- since at least seven of the alleged "gems" in this series were from the poet's hackneyed hand.

The title alone, The Old Prospector Talks, warns that you're about to sit through ten minutes of twaddle, made even twaddler when recited by radio announcer Norman Brokenshire with the gravity of Laurence Olivier reading aloud from The Bible. "I've taken my gold with pick and pan/And sent it back to be stained by man"... Oh, brother. No wonder Guest was able to churn out a poem a day for 30 years like so much sausage. Each line is painstakingly recreated visually with a progressively grizzled prospector, aging before our eyes as he pans for gold, walks his donkey, smokes a pipe -- everything but take a leak in the outhouse behind his rundown shack.

Puerile poetry isn't enough to sustain even a one-reeler, so the tune "Take Me Home to the Mountain", composed for The Old Prospector Talks, is performed by Al Shayne, who should have lost his credentials as "The Radio Ambassador of Song" after the first verse. Accompanied by a queasy marimba, Shayne sings -- make that oscillates -- the saccharine lyrics with a melody resembling "Home on the Range" played sideways. If The Old Prospector Talks is any example, the Poetic Gems were strictly cubic zirconia.

BONUS POINTS: The lyricist of the too-treacly by 1,000 "Take Me Home to the Mountain" was pre-Academy Award/Pulitzer Prize winner Frank Loesser, who wrote the inane songs for Universal's Postal Inspector five years later. 

INFORMATION PLEASE (SERIES 2, #12) (1941): Now this is a short subject series I can get behind: RKO's 10-minute versions of one of the most popular radio quiz shows of its time. That's why people suddenly make themselves scarce when I ask if they want to drop by for a movie.

Hosted by Simon & Schuster editor Clifton Fadiman, Information Please featured three "intellectuals" as its regular panelists -- newspaper columnists Franklin P. Adams and John Kiernan, and composer/musician/actor/wit/pharmaceutical addict Oscar Levant, along with a different guest panelist each week -- in this case, a bespectacled Boris Karloff. Wheel of Fortune it was not.

Now, you couldn't spend even a one-reeler watching a panel of smarty-pants just answering questions read by the host. Therefore, in the Information Please shorts, panelists had to identify things, as, in this case, what kinds of drinks were served in the particular glasses they were shown. (No surprise that the drink Karloff correctly guesses is the Zombie.) They also have to identify nursery rhymes mimed by actors (a little boy with a bottle of rye and a bag of rye flower represents "Sing a Song of Sixpence") and act out literary characters. Would you have correctly guessed that a woman looking out a window as a man walked by was The Lady of Shallot? And did you know "Shallot" was pronounced "Shalay"? John Kiernan did! 

Unlike today, then, there was a time when the average person enjoyed listening to intelligent people. Audiences aspired to be well-educated, and supplied the questions themselves. The top prize for stumping the panel was the Encyclopedia Britannica, which most families probably treasured more than they would a new car. The information I want is when did people prefer to be stupid?

BONUS POINTS: Did you remember "Jack and Jill" had a verse involving vinegar and brown paper? Franklin P. Adams did!

HOW DO YOU LIKE THE BOWERY? (1960): If you were to ask a New Yorker today
that question, they'd probably say, "Not bad. Some of it's out of my reach." But it was way different in 1960 as this 12-minute, 16mm documentary demonstrates, when it was the home to countless bums before they were called homeless (and now, unhoused). 

What's striking about these men (and they're all men) is that many, if not most, are relatively well-dressed in hats, ties, occasionally suits, and overcoats that people would pay good money for in used-clothing stores today. They're mostly self-confessed alcoholics who by and large admit to being unhappy with what's become of themselves. One guy wound up on the Bowery after accidentally running over his wife while backing up his car, and now is just waiting to join her. Another can't get a job due to being partly paralyzed, while a third, at age 70, can't get his old job back at the post office. One optimistic fellow likes that you can get a full breakfast for a quarter. Got to find good luck where you can.

There are moments of dark humor, as with a fellow named Red. Red, who refers to himself in the third person, reminisces about being friends with Trigger Burke, who went to the chair for killing Poochy Walsh. Red himself retired four years earlier from his previous employment as a gunman, having been a member, he claims, of Pistol Local 824 before serving a stint in Sing-Sing. (Everybody's a union worker in New York.) By the way, you can read about Trigger Burke and Poochy Walsh on Wikipedia. 

Red isn't the only interesting person we meet. An unnamed guy who resembles Bela Lugosi -- he even articulates liked a trained stage actor -- has no use for the "stupid" social workers he encounters at the men's shelters. Another denizen, sporting a nose equal to that of the late-in-life W.C. Fields, found himself in the Bowery after the death of his wife. By the end of the short, the title How Do You Like the Bowery? is asked as much to us as it is its inhabitants. 

BONUS POINTS: Of the many flophouses seen, one is named Providence, while another is Newport -- two cities from my home state. If these places still exist on the Bowery, I hope I never wind up there.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 39

Obscurities rule the day here, as, I suppose, they always do. All are worth a watch but for different reasons. Unfortunately, none of them apply to anybody but me.

BE YOURSELF! (1930): So associated is Barbra Streisand to Funny Girl is that
it's almost impossible to remember there really was a Fannie Brice. It doesn't help that she starred in only two movies (her first, made in 1928, is long lost), while took supporting or guest roles in just five others. As with her fellow Broadway star Frank Fay, Brice could never make a successful transition to film. If Be Yourself! is any indication, the problem could be bad scripts.

"Dopey" is the only description that could be given to the movie itself. Be Yourself! is the story of entertainer Fannie Field who, with her younger brother Harry, takes over the management -- and drops plenty of dough on -- punch-drunk boxer Jerry Moore, with whom she is inexplicably in love. Fannie's rival, Lillian, drops her boxer boyfriend McCloskey for Jerry as his star rises and head grows fat, which was likely supposed to remind audiences of Brice's ill-fated real-life marriage to layabout criminal Nicky Arnstein. I'm sure she appreciated the writers' thoughtfulness.

While Brice's comedic Yiddish accent comes and goes depending on her mood, Harry Green (as her brother) puts his into overdrive; initially amusing, it quickly becomes grating, as does his character -- Fannie paid for his education, and all he has to show for it is winning six cents in damages for a client. But nobody is worse than Robert Armstrong as Jerry, whose allegedly funny delivery is poor beyond belief. And neither he nor G. Pat Collins as McCloskey, are remotely believable as boxers -- or as professional actors. (Armstrong would do better in dramas starting with King Kong.)

This leaves Fannie Brice to save whatever day is left by singing six songs. What's most interesting is how her looks change with each style -- plain with pop, goofy as comic, and unexpectedly pretty with torch, thanks to a combination of camera angles, make-up, wardrobe, and acting. She's a talent, no question, but Be Yourself! is strictly for movie nerds and Fannie Brice fans -- are than any around for a woman who died in 1951? -- and is best appreciated as 62 minutes of history that give a faded idea of why she was popular everywhere but movie theaters. 

BONUS POINTS: Early on, Jerry Moore tells Fannie, "Gee, you're a funny girl." Coincidence?  

THE BLACK CAMEL (1931): Unlike other Charlie Chan movies, the real fun in The Black Camel is everything but the mystery. (If you're interested, actress Shelah Fane is murdered a few years after the murder of her lover, with a self-styled seer named Tarneverro being the likely suspect.)

OK, on to the good stuff. The Black Camel was one of the five original Chan movies thought lost in Fox Film's film storage fire in the mid-'30s, before a print unexpectedly turned up decades later. It was also the only one filmed on location in Hawaii (Chan being an Inspector on the Honolulu Police Department), allowing us to see the then-territory long before it became a relatively common tourist destination. The classy Royal Hawaiian Hotel allowed filming on its property as well; if it's still as beautiful as it was then, you just know the tourists aren't as well dressed.

But the cast! The cast! Bela Lugosi co-stars as Tarneverro, the same year as Dracula. Dwight Frye, legendary as Dracula's slave Renfield, is a suspicious butler. Robert Young, 40 years before Marcus Welby, MD, is Jimmy Bradshaw, dreaming of becoming a professional slogan writer (a typical '30s movie trope). Mary Gordon, the housekeeper in the Rathbone/Bruce Sherlock Holmes movies, who has information that helps Chan break the case wide open.  I almost needed a tranquilizer to handle The Black Camel's parade of iconic character actors. (A familiar character here is the starving artist with a British accent and pseudo-philosophical dialogue.) 

The movie also provides a rare scene with Chan's 12 slang-slinging children at the (long) breakfast table. None of the sons were old enough yet to be his incompetent sidekick, leaving that job to Otto Yamaoka as Kashimo, who spends most of the time running around Waikiki on wild nene chases. (If you know that the nene is Hawaii's state bird, it's a funny joke.) Yet for my money, the best moment is when Lugosi first meets Oland. Bela appears to genuinely enjoy their bantering, as if relieved to be rid of the Dracula cape in order to play a "normal" character part. While Charlie Chan at the Opera (co-starring Boris Karloff!) is often cited as the best Chan picture, The Black Camel is the most entertaining.

BONUS POINTS: In the strangest moment of any Chan movie, a bunch of real locals and tourists stand around gawking at the filming of The Black Camel on a beach. Good thing cellphones and TikTok hadn't been invented yet.

EL FANTASMA DE CONVENTO (THE PHANTOM OF THE MONASTERY) (1934): Well, that title
is one way to get audiences to think of an earlier horror movie. Still, this Mexican thriller stands on its own, and without a falling chandelier in sight -- even if, by the end, we see one has already fallen.

After getting lost on an evening hike, married couple Eduardo and Cristina, along with their friend Alfonso, are led to a centuries-old monastery by a strange monk. Hoping simply for a night's shelter and a little dinner, the trio encounter empty coffins, self-flagellation, the shadow of an invisible bat, and over a dozen of the weirdest old monks south of the border. As Cristina and Alfonso fall in lust, the padre tells them the story of a fellow monk who sought shelter there after desiring his best friend's wife... and summoning Satan in order to get the guy out of the way... only to have Satan kill the wife and eventually the monk, who now won't let himself stay buried. Cristina seems to believe this is a good risk for Alfonso to take, while he gradually comes around to her way of thinking. Ahh, young love!

As with other Mexican horror movies of the time, The Phantom of the Monastery is heavy on religious imagery atmosphere, eerie sounds, and an occasionally bombastic score which often distracts from the previous three things. But nothing can distract from the amorous looks Cristina gives Alfonso right in front of her husband, who is the only one who realizes that something very strange is happening all around them and wants to scram. (Sometimes what appears to be cowardice is actually intelligence.)

The scariest moments, other than the dead monk lying in his bed, are the most subtle. Two of them are courtesy of Marta Roel (Cristina), whose lust for Alfonso are signaled with just a brief change of facial expressions -- she's definitely under the control of something (or someone) otherworldly. The other is from Enrique del Campo (Alfonso), whose decision to hire Satan for Eduardo's murder is seen only in his eyes. I couldn't tell if it was a trick of the lighting, del Campo's acting skills, or both, but it's one of the movie's most memorable moments. While its predictable finale goes a little long, The Phantom of the Monastery proves that Mexico could, in its own way, match, and maybe surpass, the creep factor in Hollywood horror/thrillers, while throwing in a few surprises of its own.

BONUS POINTS: The mummified dead monk letting Alfonso know where to find Satan's instruction book. You have to see it to appreciate it.

HITLER: DEAD OR ALIVE (1943): Imagine Quentin Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds with a budget of a two-week car rental, and you've got Hitler: Dead or Alive. Three goofy gangsters -- Steve, Dutch, and Joe -- have been promised one million dollars by a patriotic American if they successfully kidnap Hitler and bring him back the US to face justice. Sound impossible? Not when the trio join the Canadian Army; hijacks a military plane to parachute into enemy territory, where every German speaks perfect English; and the country is filled with citizens willing to help them. Why didn't anybody think of this in real life?  

Contemporary audiences unfamiliar with movies like Hitler: Dead or Alive would likely be astounded how a silly, low budget piece of claptrap that made no sense entertained ticket-buyers in 1943. Easy! War-weary folks wanted to be distracted by silly, low budget pieces of claptrap that made no sense -- especially at a time when civilization was hanging in the balance. It was just one of many farces like Hal Roach's The Devil with Hitler and Nazty Nuisance turning Shicklgruber into a laughingstock. 

The biggest actor here, figuratively and literally, is Ward Bond as Steve, while familiar comedic wise guy Warren Hymer does his usual "Gee, boss" routine as Dutch. Bobby Watson, who portrayed Hitler in the two Roach comedies, repeats the role here, where he's billed as Bob Watson, perhaps reflecting his more serious portrayal. That is, as serious as can be when Ward Bond forcibly shaves off the moustache hiding a scar to make sure this Hitler isn't a body double. 

Things get dramatic at the climax when German soldiers, having captured the gangsters, mistakenly kill the clean-shaven Hitler before turning their rifles on four neighborhood children just because. Ward Bond gives an impassioned speech straight to the camera warning us that the Nazis must be stopped. When you consider Bond was one of Hollywood's most passionate right-wing antisemites, it's a brilliant performance. If nothing else, Hitler: Dead or Alive gives an idea of what movie audiences willingly sat through anything to get away from bad news. Which means you might enjoy it today.

BONUS POINTS: As cheap as any movie ever made, The Devil with Hitler was filmed at something called Fine Arts Studios.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 35

Three Paramount pre-Codes, two John Carradine appearances, two stories involving soul transfers, and one Monogram B-picture. Is this heaven or what?

PICK UP (1933): Mary Richards (not the news producer in Minneapolis with the wacky friends) is let out of prison after serving time for an extortion racket -- which ended in a mark's suicide -- run by her husband John, who has three more years to serve. Having nowhere to go on a rainy evening, Mary ducks into a cab driven by Harry Glynn, who takes pity on her, invites her to move in with him, and gets her a job at the taxi garage as a phone operator. Mary, who hasn't told Harry of her unsavory past, urges him to pursue his dreams to open his own auto repair garage. Over time, they rise the up the social ladder. Just as Mary gets her marriage annulled, John breaks out of prison with the idea of killing Harry, who's fallen in love with a shallow rich divorcee. Mary manages to convince John to hit the road with her in order to save Harry's life. Tell it to the judge!

Pick Up has plenty of pre-code moments, starting with references to "the badger game" (where a woman entices a man to a phony romantic liaison, only to have her husband break it up and force the victim pay hush money). Because Mary is still married, she and Harry shack up for three years; while they're never seen in bed together, you get the idea they're not just roommates. The subplot of the wealthy woman who strings along a "caveman" for her own amusement was typical of the time, as was her horselaugh when the sap proposes marriage. (Pre-codes were often down on rich people, who do stupid things like throw parties where guests dress like children, play on see-saws, and drink out of baby bottles as they do here.) Even the typically sleazy opening theme by the Paramount orchestra promises a good time. 

So why is Pick Up just kind of meh? Other than the slow pace, the fault ultimately lies with George Raft as Harry. An actor's flat, low-key style can often be interesting, drawing you in, making you wonder what makes him tick. All you wonder about Raft is if he would have even gotten a movie contract had he not been best friends with Bugsy Siegel. A pro like cutie-pie Sylvia Sidney, as Mary, leaves him in the dust in every scene they share. In fact, everyone in Pick Up outshines Raft, whose one moment of drama -- hiring a lawyer to defend Mary when she runs off with John -- sounds no more emotional than ordering a new set of tires. Hell of a shiny head of hair, though. (If you're going to watch Pick Up, stick with it 'til the end just for its ludicrous only-in-the-movies courtroom climax.)

BONUS POINTS: An outrageous phallic symbol is provided by close-up of Harry's fuel pump overflowing into Muriel's gas tank. Honest.

SUPERNATURAL (1933): Supernatural's poster promises a great time, and by and large delivers, well, a good one. One doesn't expect a dish like Carole Lombard in a borderline-fantasy/horror movie, where she plays Roma Courtney, who has inherited her late brother's fortune. Desperate to know how he died, Roma falls for the promises of Paul Bavian, a sham psychic who tries to worm  his way into her heart money. His plans are interrupted by Dr. Carl Housan, who has revived the spirit of executed killer Ruth Rogen. Guess whose body she decides to park in? By the end of Supernatural's 65 minutes, Bavian learns the hard way that you don't want to get involved with a woman whose soul has been hijacked by a very unpleasant dead murderer.

Supernatural, a Paramount Picture influenced by Universal's horror shows, is unique by offering two views of the fantasy world. It presents psychics not just as scammers, but criminals -- Bavian kills his landlady when she threatens to spill the beans on his phony baloney. Yet it totally accepts the possibility of the revival of a dead person's soul. (You may recall Man With Two Lives passing off a similar idea as a coma-induced dream.) Perhaps to make sure audiences knew Dr. Housan wasn't a nutty scientist like Dr. Frankenstein, he's played by H.B. Warner, best known for starring in King of Kings six years earlier. How bad could he be if he played Jesus, right? 

Carole Lombard is quite good as the before-and-after Roma Courtney; her style -- even her looks -- change dramatically when becoming possessed by Ruth Rogen.  Roma is such an innocent that you kind of understand why she doesn't see through Alan Dinehart's Paul Bavian -- he has such a kind manner (for a murderer). Pre-cowboy Randolph Scott looks good in a tux, but it's difficult to picture Lombard falling for him. Supernatural is no classic, but it's an interesting change of pace from Paramount's usual sexy comedies and pre-codes. And from what I've read about the guys who ran movie studios then, they all could have used a soul transplant. 

BONUS POINTS: The bizarre, montage-heavy prologue featuring Ruth Rogen testifying in court and newspaper headlines playing up the trial. The rest of the movie doesn't live up to its promise, but it's a nice opening.

THIS DAY AND AGE (1933): So connected is Cecil B. DeMille to Biblical epics that it's a little stunning to stumble across his early pre-Code talkies, especially This Day and Age. A beloved tailor named Herman Farbstein is gunned down by gangster Louis Garrett for not paying up for a protection racket. After Garrett is found not guilty, three high school seniors look for proof of his crime, leading the gangster to murder one of them. Fully expecting that Garrett will once again get off scot-free, a bunch of the victim's friends decide that vigilantism is their only choice. But don't worry -- before they string him up, they'll make sure he gets a fair trial with a jury of every blood-hungry teenage boy in town. Wait, don't they know females are allowed to serve, too?

With a climax almost-embarrassingly influenced by Fritz Lang's M, This Day and Age plays on the crime-weary audience's disgust with pesky things like law, evidence, and guilt beyond reasonable doubt. Perennial heavy Charles Bickford plays Garrett as such an evil guy that you really don't mind seeing him lowered into a huge hole of hungry rats. Don't ask me to recount the name of the high school kids or the actors who play them -- most of them are interchangeable pretty boys who dress more like legal interns than highschoolers. 

There's enough spectacle and violence here to keep modern audiences alternately entertained and shocked. (The murders are particularly brutal, while a teen girl essentially volunteers to be possibly raped by Garrett's bodyguard in order to distract him from his job.) Per usual with DeMille pictures, every dollar of the budget is onscreen, with hundreds of extras, large sets, and handsome cinematography making This Day and Age an unusually impressive-looking Paramount production. 

And don't worry about the girl and the bodyguard. When he learns that she's a virgin, he shakes his head and mutters, "I like my olives green, but I don't pick 'em." See, he's a nice guy after all!

BONUS POINTS: The brief role of the extraordinarily articulate school Vice-Principal is credited to John Peter Richmond, who would soon change his name to John Carradine.

VOODOO MAN (1944): It's an adage first spoken by Aristotle: a movie doesn't
have to be great to be a great movie. Exhibit one: Voodoo Man, wherein two fellows named Nicholas and Toby are kidnapping young women in order for their boss, Dr. Marlowe, to transfer the right soul into the body of his wife who's been dead 20 long years, yet kept in excellent condition somehow or another. Plenty of people would like anybody's soul transferred into their living spouses, but that's another story entirely.

A major studio would have made a B-picture like Voodoo Man an utter bore thanks to writers, directors and actors who were ashamed of the assignment. But the behind-the-scenes folks at Monogram knew exactly how to excite the audience and find the right actors who could sell the product. And in this movie, Bela Lugosi (Marlowe), George Zucco (Nicholas), and John Carradine (Toby) not only sell it, they offer a money-back guarantee if you aren't entertained. 

As usual, Lugosi plays it totally straight, putting memories of his stage days in Hungary out of his head for the sake of the movie. Zucco is hilariously out of place as the owner of a gas station (where the women are kidnapped) who doubles as a boogity-boogity-chanting shaman during the attempted soul transfers. The relatively young (38) whippersnapper Carradine successfully goes to toe with these two legends, channeling Lennie from Of Mice and Men as the IQ-deficient Toby, running around with his arms stiffly at his sides with his mouth agape like the Bryce Canyon. Movie snobs who go gaga for Godard or run tout suite to Truffaut don't know what they're missing by turning up their snooty noses at Voodoo Man. It even features a subplot about a screenwriter named Ralph who's trying to solve the mystery of the disappearing women in order to write a movie about the disappearing women starring Bela Lugosi! That's kind of Fellini, isn't it?

BONUS POINTS: The legendary director William "One Take" Beaudine lives up to his nickname when the gas-ration sticker on a car windshield changes from shot to shot.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 27

 As the years pass by with ever-quickening speed, I realize now just how limited time has become. So if I don't like an old movie or TV show, I turn it off after 10 minutes. Therefore, the following were worth my hour or 70 minutes, but not necessarily yours. 

THE PHANTOM BROADCAST (1933): Roll over Milli Vanilli, and tell Bing Crosby the news!
Radio crooner Grant Murdock is the handsome heartthrob of women everywhere. What they don't know is that his sexy voice belongs to his hunchback/clubfooted manager and piano accompanist Norman Wilder. Wilder is willing to put up with Murdock's ego and thoughtless womanizing as long as the dough is rolling in. But Murdock goes too far when he sets his sights on Wilder's new voice student, the innocent Laura Hamilton. Wilder drops by his apartment intent on killing him, only to discover someone else has beat him to it. Believing Laura is the murderer, and wanting to protect her, Wilder calls the cops, falsely confessing to the crime. A moment later, Laura drops by, unaware Murdock is dead.  Now she tells him! 

What Monogram Pictures lacked in money, they more than made up for in the occasional offbeat movie like The Phantom Broadcast, sensitively directed by Phil Rosen. Filling out the movie is a subplot of gangster Joe Maestro trying to kill Wilder in order to take over Murdock's career. From what I've read about organized crime's decades-long influence in show business, I'd say that more was true to life than a musical ventriloquism act with a human dummy. Even less believable is the idea of Wilder taking a murder rap for a student he's known for one day. His far too noble -- make that stupid -- move leads to him getting shot by the police while escaping, only to make one last appearance on the radio, singing for a startled studio audience before dying. Yes, it's melodramatic and farfetched, but also surprisingly downbeat -- especially when the real killer, Murdock's jilted girlfriend, gets off scot-free on a cruise to Europe!

Of the cast, British-born Ralph Forbes is the best in his role of the unfortunate Norman Wilder. A handsome leading man already turning to character work in his late 20s, Forbes never plays for the audience's sympathy. Wilder accepts his fate, while having found a way to capitalize on his talent, even if it means being literally the man behind the curtain. Forbes has a nice moment when, standing before a full-length mirror, he briefly sees himself tall and proud, minus his physical deformities, before returning to his real self. For all its implausibility, The Phantom Broadcast is ultimately a fascinating B-movie that deserves a good restoration and reappreciation. Just don't expect much in the way of realism (except for a talented guy wanting to kill the jackass taking the bows).

BONUS POINTS: Phil Rosen also directed the previously-discussed Beggars in Ermine, The Strange Mr. Gregory, and The President's Mystery. A former cameraman, he was also a founding member of the American Society of Cinematographers.  Why doesn't this guy have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame? 

NIGHT OF TERROR (1933): A hideous serial killer known as The Maniac has murdered millionaire Richard Rinehart. This doesn't seem to bother Arthur Hornsby, a scientist living at the Rinehart mansion, who has himself buried in the back yard for eight hours to prove that he's developed a way to revive the dead. As various Rinehart relatives meet a bad end, the faithful servant Degar sure seems to be the killer... as does his wife Sika... and Richard's brother John... In fact everybody but Arthur Hornsby, who's in a coffin six feet underground -- or is he?

Night of Terror seems to be Columbia Pictures' sole entry in the horror cycle of the early 1930s. The studio convinced Universal to loan out Bela Lugosi for his services as Degar, a role that defines the word "thankless". Columbia wasn't known for big budgets, but, Night of Terror could pass for a PRC quickie. "Exterior" scenes take place at night in order to disguise the cheap sets; actors peek through doorways and skulk around the mansion to pad out the running time; the smartass reporter continually insults the stupid police chief investigating the murders; the science behind an inane experiment is never explained; and the primary suspect -- Degar -- speaks slowwwly in order arouse our suspicion. The only thing we suspect is that the writers came up with Night of Terror the day before shooting started.

Lugosi likely knew he deserved better than programmers like Night of Terror -- it's easy to picture him silently choking every time his character Degar has to say "Yes, master" to his employer. (He was probably cast because of a similar "exotic" get-up he wore the year before in Chandu the Magician at Fox.) While it's always a pleasant change of pace to see Lugosi as someone other than evildoer, it's just too bad it has to be in a throwaway like Night of Terror. Looks good in a turban, though.

BONUS POINTS: In a strange finale, The Maniac -- who is actually pretty weird-looking -- returns to warn the audience not to tell anybody who the real killer is, or else, "I'll come into your bedroom late at night and tear you limb from limb!" I believe him.

DANGEROUS TO KNOW (1938): It's a tale as old as crime. Underworld kingpin Stephen Recka decides that marrying blue blood Margaret Van Case will be his entree to high society. All he has to do is frame Van Case's fiancée Philip Easton for embezzlement. Still, there is the little problem of Recka's jealous mistress Lan Ying... and Police Inspector Brandon snooping around... and his own gunsel Nicki Kusnoff trying to take over his criminal empire. Can't a gangster have a moment's peace?

I've said that the best B-movies were made by the Poverty Row studios, but Paramount's Dangerous to Know is an excellent example of what the majors were capable of when they hired the right people and left them alone. Director Robert Florey puts some thought into the camera set-ups, and getting solid performances out of the cast. 

And what a cast! Akim Tamiroff is Recka, a Bach-worshipping crime boss who has the city government under his fat thumb, yet wallows in self-pity for not being "respectable." His "exotic" live-in girlfriend Lan Ying is typical of the kind of role Anna May Wong was forced to accept at the time, but she gives it a depth that comes from experiencing the second-rate treatment she herself was given by the studios.

Offering strong support is Lloyd Nolan as Brandon, the witty yet driven cop who can gift Recka with a pair of chocolate handcuffs as a birthday gift while promising to get him to the electric chair eventually. (Nolan should have been given an entire B-movie series as Brandon. He's great.) Almost stealing movie is Anthony Quinn as Recka's sidekick Nicki -- not necessarily because of any overriding talent, but because he's only 23 years old and is already, y'know, Anthony Quinn. Possessing a smart director, crackerjack cast, and a speedy 70-minute running time, Dangerous to Know makes for a better watch than expected.

BONUS POINTS: A tense conversation between Lan Ying with a guest repeatedly uses the word "hostess" to get across the idea that she's actually Recka's live-in mistress -- a clever way of ducking the censor's scissors in the post Pre-Code days.

THE JACKIE GLEASON SHOW: EDDIE CANTOR'S 65TH BIRTHDAY (January 12, 1957): When the most interesting part of a live TV show is wondering if the star is going to keel over in the closing moments, something is wrong. But that's the chance you take when celebrating the not-so-healthy birthday boy Eddie Cantor, whose professional stage career began in 1907. 

Things begin badly enough when the flashy women who usually appear in Gleason's opening credits are replaced by lisping seven-year-old girls glammed up like Times Square trollops. Edward R. Murrow then warms up the crowd with a grim tribute more appropriate for a funeral. Then there's the dearth of Cantor's friends and contemporaries. Instead of, say, Jimmy Durante, Jack Benny, and Groucho Marx -- the kind of people who would give this show some entertainment value today -- we have the likes of... Eddie Fisher! Pinky Lee! Nepo-baby Mailyn Cantor! An interminable "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee" production number! I suppose Lucille Ball & Desi Arnaz's appearance makes some kind of comedic sense, but I don't recall a series titled I Love Eddie. At least Burt Lancaster gets two plugs for his latest movie, The Rainmaker, so it's not all for naught. 

The only people from Cantor's generation who deign to appear are George Jessel (who'd do 10 minutes at an autopsy) and Burns & Allen (in the 1957 version of Zooming in by appearing on film rather than in person). Hell, Jackie Gleason couldn't be bothered contributing a 15-second tribute, and it's an episode of his own show! 

Maybe Murrow's solemn introduction was appropriate after all. Viewers, aware of Cantor's two heart attacks, were probably concerned when, near the end, the enervated host needs to carefully sit down and slowly drink a cup of water provided by a stagehand. Immediately after the closing credits, Cantor was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Now that would have been interesting to watch.

BONUS POINTS: Thanks to one of the sponsor's commercials, we learn that the Bulova Senator watch can withstand the shock of its owner playing piano. 

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