THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 4

 The more I search out cinematic and televisic curios, the more I realize my life is nothing to brag about. I also realize there's no such word as televisic. But while classics are continually rerun and rehashed, I can shine the spotlight anew, for just a few paragraphs, on the forgotten and ignored... before they're forgotten and ignored once again.

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BY WHOSE HAND? (1932):  Jim Hawley, a fast-talking reporter (is there any other kind?) hops a train where escaped convict Killer Delmar is said to be hiding in one of the cars. While Jim is distracted by a cutey named Alice, a jewelry dealer named Chambers (who's almost a double for Piers Morgan) is murdered after unwittingly smoking marijuana -- but by whom? The unseen Killer Delmar? Eileen, the woman Kenneth was last seen with in the club car? Chick, Delmar's partner in crime who ratted him out? And  what's really in the coffin that's allegedly carrying a widow's late husband anyway? 

Despite its short running time, By Whose Hand? takes a while to pick up steam (Get it? Train, steam?). There's way too much time devoted to the cinematic bacteria known as "comedy relief" -- here, an unnamed drunk who pesters Jim Hawley throughout the movie, and a cutesy couple on their honeymoon. But once Killer Delmar escapes from the coffin (trust me, it's no surprise) and Chick the rat breaks out of his handcuffs (smart cops they have there in L.A.), things start getting good. Meaning creepy and violent.

While Ben Lyon has the lead as Hawley, Nat Pendleton impresses in one of his few non-comedic roles as Killer Delmar, giving him the chance to go full scary psycho killer.  And it's great to see Dwight Frye in a non-horror role, here as Chick the rat, who gets a fine death scene after a shiv in the back: only the second of five -- five! -- murders on this train ride. Don't they sell insurance for things like this?

BONUS POINTS: By Whose Hand? is told in flashback, beginning with the first murder at midnight before we see the hands of a clock go backwards to 8:00, where the story proper begins. Also, props to Pendleton for crawling and walking atop a real speeding train, where he later gets into a fight with Ben Lyon. 

CLIMAX! (1954): Live plays were a staple of 1950s television. One evening, the CBS series Climax! presented the first portrayal of James Bond in Casino Royale.  This being a one-hour presentation (51 minutes without commercials), certain liberties were taken with the story.

At least I presume they were. While I have only dim memories of the 1967 movie spoof with Peter Sellers and Woody Allen, and never saw the more recent remake, I can safely state that there was more to them than just a game of baccarat at the titular gambling house. 

Another difference is that here, James Bond --  Jimmy to his friends -- is an American agent. Felix Leiter, his American counterpart, is now British and renamed Clarence. There are no CGI explosions or dangerous motorcycle leaps over rooftops either. 

In fact, any James Bond fan will be mighty disappointed watching faded kinescope originally broadcast "From Television City in Hollywood!" as the announcer proudly boasts. Bond has to win a long round of baccarat in order to clean out the bankroll of his archenemy Le Chiffre. But if he does, Le Chiffre will kill Bond's former lover Valerie. Hey, Jimmy, she's an ex, not your current squeeze, remember? Take the money and run!

Nelson's OK -- he's kind of like Glenn Ford's kid brother -- but he's not the 007 today's audiences know. But you can't take your eyes off the short, stout, flinty-eyed, chain smoking Peter Lorre as Le Chiffre, a French spy working for the Russians as played by a Hungarian with a German accent. Between that and the reversed nationalities of the good-guy agents, it's difficult to keep track of who is what.

BONUS POINTS: The cigarette endlessly dangling from Peter Lorre's lips like a broken diving board. Nobody in a tuxedo has ever looked so sleazy, even when he's not trying to. Unless he is.

THE DEVIL IS DRIVING (1932):  Gabby Denton gets a job as an auto mechanic at the garage run by his strangely-named brother-in-law Beef Evans. Gabby learns that the garage, located on the bottom floor of an eight-story building, is also the center of a car-theft ring apparently run by a hoodlum named Jenkins. When Beef's young son is almost killed by one of the stolen cars, he  threatens to turn Jenkins over to the cops, leading to his violent demise. A lucky film shot by a newsreel cameraman proves how "Beef" died. Justice is served, and Gabby marries Jenkins's mistress. Sloppy seconds, Gabby, sloppy seconds!

A snappy little Paramount pre-code, The Devil is Driving doesn't quite live up the the promise of its title or great trade advertisement, but is still a good way to spend 64 minutes.  Edmund Lowe, a former silent movie leading man, made a good transition to sound; the repartee of wisecracks and risqué come-ons between he and leading lady Wynne Gibson is amusing and a little shocking today. (Lowe, looking for his hat: "What are you sitting on?" Gibson: "Oh, Judge, do I have to answer?")

George Rosener almost steals the show as a nasty deaf-mute nicknamed, naturally, Dummy. Allegedly Jenkins's servant, Dummy is the real brains behind the organization, communicating to his underlings via an electric autopen hooked up to machines throughout the building. I wish more criminals were this cool.

But the real star of The Devil is Driving is the art deco building that doubles -- make that triples -- as a garage, speakeasy, and criminal enterprise, helping to create the most unusual murder scene ever. After locking the unconscious Beef Evans inside a locked garage with a car's motor running, the thieves prop his dead body behind the steering wheel. They then send the vehicle driving several flights down the winding entryway and into traffic, where it's promptly smashed by a truck. Remember that when approaching a parking garage.

BONUS POINTS: Non-stop barrage of dialogue like, "There's a new style for wiseguys like you: they're wearing their socks in their nose!" And if you're talking to someone with a bad attitude, answer them with, "What's in your shirt?" Nobody will understand you, but at least these things should diffuse the situation.

THE LINE-UP (1929): This very low budget, 3-reel short encapsulates everything negative about early talkies. Long, static takes. Bad dialogue. Worse acting. Terrible audio.Never trust an indie studio called Classic Pictures, Inc.

Pressed for cash in order to save his nightclub, Edward Farron accepts $5,000 from a shady guy named Johnson to deliver an envelope to an even shadier guy named -- wait for it -- Bum Chiggers.  Cops later arrest Farron for unknowingly giving Chiggers money to kill gangster Whitey Harris. (Always make sure you're not delivering orders to hitmen.) Dragged to the station house, Farron starts to spill the beans when he's shot by a cop -- who turns out to be the aforementioned shady guy Johnson. Farron survives the shooting better than the audience does the movie.

The Line-Up is hypnotic in its mediocrity. The establishing shot at the nightclub lasts several seconds while the actors sit still at their tables without moving or saying a word. Others practically walk into the camera. Whenever Viola Davis, as Farron's fiancée Alyce Vernon, opens her yap, all you can think is, She can't be serious... can she?  In one scene, perhaps being too far from the microphone, the actors are almost inaudible, which, upon retrospect, is a blessing. No coincidence that the sound engineer is listed as George Crapp.

Want more? The scene dresser didn't do a thing to make the crummy nightclub look any better than it did before Farron's $5,000 makeover. The editor didn't remove the long moment of Viola Davis looking at director Charles Glett for her cue before speaking.  Glett himself can be head yelling "Cut it!" to the cameraman at the end of two scenes. What kind of bootleg hooch was floating around this set?

How a single print of The Line-Up survived while major studio releases have vanished forever is one the inexplicable mysteries of cinema. I intend to watch it a few more times just to make sure I didn't imagine it.

BONUS POINTS: Introductory shots of the climactic line-up -- with close-ups of cops in eye masks and suspects twitching and sweating -- are played out in dead silence, resembling an outtake from a David Lynch picture. 

70,000 WITNESSES (1932): When college football player Wally Clark drops dead
during a football game, suspicion falls upon quarterback Buck Buchanan, the brother of gambler Slip Buchanan, who's placed a goalpoast-high stack of money on the game. It doesn't help that Slip slipped Buck what was supposed to be a vial of a harmless knockout drug to pour into Wally's water. Police Detective Dan McKenna puts Buck on the hot seat before hitting upon an idea. He orders the two teams to replay the game from the second half on, convinced that somebody will crack under pressure. Nitroglycerine is involved, too, but not in any way you've ever considered.

70,000 Witnesses was Paramount's second gangster-throws-college-football game picture of 1932, the other being The Marx Brothers's Horse Feathers. David Landau played the gangster in the latter, and the detective here. Phillips Holmes, a near-twin for Tom Brady, is the pretty-boy quarterback Buck, whose college education has been paid for by his brother. Gangsters don't do good deeds without expecting something in return, you know, family or not.

Director Ralph Murphy brings some panache to the overall look of the movie, making good use of  dramatic lighting, close-ups, and quick editing, particularly during the detective's third degree of the players. If you can put up with Charlie Ruggles's comedy relief as a tipsy sports writer, 70,000 Witnesses is an enjoyable sports/murder mystery/  comedy/ drama, and the only one where the coroner pronounces the official cause of death as "an explosion in the brain." No guns, either.

BONUS POINTS: Producer Charles R. Rogers brought over a passel of supporting actors from his previous movie, The Devil is Driving, including George Rosener as the owner of the restaurant where Slip Buchanan works out of. Rosener proves to be as creepy wearing a toupee and talking as he was bald and mute.

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