THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 3

I've come to accept that I'll likely never return to my usual, pre-pandemic sleeping schedule. Not that I was ever one of those lucky, eight-straight-hours-a-night people. But thanks to the internet and occasionally a revisit to a movie from my own collection, there's always a movie or forgotten TV program at my disposal worthy of a brief mention, even if it really isn't worthy. 

ALIBI (1929): Released from prison, gangster Chick Williams resumes his romance with Joan, the daughter of Police Sgt. Pete Manning. When a cop is murdered in a heist, Chick falls under suspicion, despite his seemingly airtight alibi.  With the unlikely help of Danny McGann, who's not the annoying rich lush he appears to be, the killer is found out and, during a police chase, falls off a rooftop because it's more dramatic than being shot.

For me, Alibi ticks all the boxes: gangster genre, early talkie, interesting direction (by Roland West) with touches of German expressionism, art deco sets, and Chester Morris in the lead. Not necessarily a great actor, Morris nevertheless is always interesting, especially when playing heels like Chick Williams. While the other actors are serviceable, Morris brings a simmering tension that breaks at the climax when his character betrays his true personality.

Alibi's only problem is Regis Toomey's portrayal of Danny McGann. Overplaying the stereotypical  drunk, Toomey pulls every cliché in the Hollywood book -- stumbling, slurring, giggling -- that you see only in movies. He also gets the longest, most melodramatic death scene outside that of Sunny von Bulow. If he was looking for the first Oscar nomination for best actor, he must have been chagrined by Chester Morris receiving it instead. 

BONUS POINTS: The expressionistic prison shots at the beginning, making it look like The Hoosegow of Dr. Calagari. 

ALL-AMERICAN CO-ED (1941): Bobby Shepard (Johnny Downs) of Quinceton University pranks the all-girls Mar Byrnn by entering its free tuition contest in drag, only to fall in love with student Virginia Collinge (Frances Langford). And if you think that's a flimsy story for a full length movie, you're right. All-American Co-Ed is one of Hal Roach's 49-minute "Streamliner" releases. And the only reason it's that long is because of its four musical numbers. 

The fun of All-American Co-Ed  -- rightly promoted in newspaper ads as THE SEASON'S GAYEST MUSICAL! -- is how much of its sexualized humor crosses the line of what was otherwise permitted at the time ("Bobbi" Shepard is caught sitting on a guy in what somebody appears to think is the reverse cowgirl position), or how a song laments that the farmer's daughter "can't rhumba with an old cucumber." Wow.  

Most of the music is typical of a 1940s B-picture, with titles like "I'm a Chap with a Chip on My Shoulder", sung by Johnny Downs as his character's nom de drag The Flower Queen(!). On the other hand, Langford's showpiece, "Out of the Silence" is an Oscar-nominated forgotten gem sung, arranged and filmed in an almost hypnotic style far out of step from the movie's silliness. It's the best scene in the picture, and probably the only one from a Roach Streamliner that resembles an A-picture.

A weirdly enjoyable movie, All-American Co-Ed suffers from the appearance of Noah Berry, Jr. and Alan Hale, Jr. as a couple of nitwits who make you realize what Hal Roach lost when he parted ways with Laurel & Hardy. Yet, overall it's still an entertaining way to spend a late night or pre-dawn 49 minutes if you can't sleep or don't want anyone to know the kind of ridiculous movies you watch. 

BONUS POINTS: Harry Langdon shines as the Mar Brynn publicist, while the great African-American actress Lillian Randolph almost steals the movie as a laundress in a hilarious scene that, in lesser hands, would be offensive to modern audiences. In fact, it probably is anyway, but I'm not modern. And look fast for future noir queen Marie Windsor as one of the Mar Brynn cuties. 

THE CASE AGAINST BROOKLYN (1958): New York police detective Pete Harris goes undercover to bust an illegal gambling ring and the crooked cops protecting it. A little too dedicated to his job, Harris's bullheaded approach gets his partner Jess Johnson killed in the line of duty. He also puts his marriage in jeopardy by pretending to romance Lil Polombo, a lush whose husband Gus killed himself rather than being murdered by the mobsters to whom he's deep in debt. But that doesn't matter after Harris's wife is killed in a hit meant for him. Now it's personal! 

The Case Against Brooklyn, based on a true story, is kind of shocking, in that it seems every cop in this particular Brooklyn precinct was on the take. Too, Pete Harris, is fairly unlikeable, putting everybody around him in danger just for a promotion.

Too bad The Case Against Brooklyn -- one of the all- time great titles -- doesn't  live up to its premise. Shot mostly on L.A. soundstages,  it lacks authentic New York atmosphere. But McGavin is fine as the hotshot cop "dating" the alky widow just to get information on the criminals. I just wish this true-crime tale was more realistic. Especially the scene where pop star Bobby Helms sings his latest single in a bar while accompanied by a jukebox.

BONUS POINTS: The only movie I know of with someone murdered by an exploding telephone. 

I, JANE DOE (1948): A woman known only as Jane Doe is found guilty of murdering Stephen Curtis. When she's found to be pregnant with Curtis' child, his widow, Eve, defends her at a retrial. Curtis, we learn, was a two-timer who met and married the defendant -- whose real name name is Annette Dubois -- when he was shot down in action over Europe in the War. He soon disappeared, sending a lawyer to her to sign an annulment. Still in love with Curtis, Annette tracked him down to New York where we learn what really happened the day the two-timing louse was killed.

Like The Case Against Brooklyn, there's nothing really bad about I, Jane Doe. In fact the snappy first reel promises a good noir. But the retrial bogs down with more flashbacks than Brian Wilson's acid experiences, interrupted by the prosecutor shouting his objections and the reaction shots of the title character, played by Vera Ralston, the Greta Garbo of Republic Pictures.

As with her role in Angel in the Amazon, Ralston's emotions run the gamut from A to A-, with her glycerin-teared eyes forever on the verge of running down her face without actually doing so. No other actress had so many close-ups in one movie, likely at the behest of her lover, Republic president Herbert Yates. 

Director Joseph H. Auer does what he can with the material (and Ralston), focusing on the technical aspects, which are often quite good. The best of the primary actors is John Carroll, who makes Stephen Curtis a heel that you eventually believe deserved to get plugged. There's enough in I, Jane Doe to keep you fairly engaged and the bombastic score will keep you awake. Still, it would have been better as a straight-ahead B-picture with 10 of its 85 minutes shaved off. And someone other than Vera Ralston starring in it.

BONUS POINTS: The always-engaging character actor Leon Belasco makes the most of his brief appearance as Curtis's amusingly creepy, slithery, grimacing lawyer. His performance is a master class on making the most out of an otherwise throwaway role, and should be seen by aspiring actors everywhere to let them see a real pro in action. 

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