THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 14

 Two Peter Lorres, one Fred Allen, the return of the always-confounding Vera Ralston -- it's a never-ending waterfall of movie and television revelry. Why couldn't YouTube have existed when I was a teenager?

CRACK-UP (1936): A textbook example of how one actor can elevate an otherwise so-so picture. Airplane magnate John Fleming, whose human mascot is the nutty Col. Gimpey, has hired Ace Martin to fly him non-stop to Berlin in order to test his new propellor -- the plans of which he stole from Martin. Martin's friend Joe Randall steals the plans back, not knowing that Martin intends to sell them to Baron Tagger, a representative of an enemy power. Martin doesn't realize that Tagger has been disguised as the harmless Col. Gimpey. When Fleming, Martin, and Randall embark on their flight, Tagger stowaways with them in order to take the propellor plans to his homeland. Caught in a storm, the plane goes down off the Irish coastline and starts to sink. As a rescue ship nears the plane, only one lifejacket is found to be useable. A gun is fired. Which man will live?

OK, look at the poster. You know who makes Crack-Up worth 75 minutes of your time. In only his third American movie, Peter Lorre acts everyone off the screen without a sweat. So radically different in style, delivery, and looks, Lorre must have had an extraordinary effect on 1936 audiences -- there was simply no one else around Hollywood like him. Because I didn't know Crack-Up's story, Lorre's real character (Baron Tagger) was unexpected and completely believable. Just the way he walks toward the camera after shooting one of his bumbling spies is chilling and, in a dark movie theater on a big screen, probably terrifying.

There's not much else to recommend Crack-Up. Brian Donlevy, as Martin, is second to Lorre in the acting department, giving a hint of his future character work. The only other familiar face is Ralph Morgan (brother of Frank, aka the Wizard of Oz), as Fleming. His wife, having run off to Paris with his business partner, sets in motion the events that land her husband in the cold Atlantic. Served him right.

BONUS POINTS: The awesome gall of Crack-Up's producers. Fully aware that Nazis had final say over Hollywood movies released in Germany, the transatlantic flight is to Berlin, while the "enemy" country is never named -- despite Lorre's accent. Gut gemacht, freund!

THE FLAME (1947): The dying Barry MacAllister gets engaged to his live-in nurse
Carlotta, not realizing she's in cahoots with his half-brother George, who is waiting for the guy to kick off and inherit his fortune. As Carlotta unexpectedly falls in love with Barry, she doesn't know that George has been carrying on with nightclub chantoosie Helene, who's cheating on her boyfriend Ernie. Once Ernie starts to catch on to George's plot against Barry, he instigates a blackmailing scheme. As Barry's health miraculously improves, Carlotta makes it clear to George that she's never coming back. Having nothing to live for, George plugs Ernie with a revolver, as Ernie returns the favor.

I didn't give away the ending there -- we saw the shootout at the very beginning of The Flame, which, in a device ripped off from Double Indemnity, is told in flashback as George waits for the police. And that nurse-marrying-the-sick-guy routine is an echo of Voice of the Whistler. But I cut The Flame plenty of slack since it's Republic Pictures' attempt at competing with the major studios by releasing what resembles a Universal picture. Both the direction (by John H. Auer) and artistic design are top-notch; the supporting players (Hattie McDaniel and Henry Travers) were no strangers to A-features, either.

What gives the game away are the leads. John Carroll (as George), a Clark Gable proxy, was by now a regular presence at Republic. As Barry, Robert Paige seems to be the go-to guy when Ralph Bellamy was unavailable (or too expensive). Two years shy of his Oscar-winning role in All the King's Men, Broderick Crawford overshadows them both as Ernie, the intimidating mugg who's fully aware Helene is using him but just can't shake her. 

The weak link, as she is in all her movies, is Vera Ralston as Carlotta. She tries -- oh, how she tries -- to be Ingrid Bergman, even as her character is French. But to her credit (or, more likely, that of the director), Ralston's performance here is better than two of her previously-discussed pictures, Angel on the Amazon and I, Jane Doe -- that is, she's almost pretty good. If you ever wondered what a B-movie would look like with an A-budget and running time (you mean you haven't?), The Flame provides the required heat.

BONUS POINTS: While the interiors were filmed in Hollywood, The Flame's budget allowed some genuine New York exterior shots of the Hampshire House, Fifth Avenue, and Central Park. Is this really a Republic Picture I see before me?

ARMSTRONG CIRCLE THEATER: FRED ALLEN'S SKETCH BOOK (1954): Contrary to its title, Fred Allen's Sketch Book has nothing to do with the art world. It features, instead, the comedian starring in three playlets. He's a boss trying desperately trying to figure out a math riddle in "Twenty Horses"; a bartender dealing with a customer and his robot in "Hour of Letdown"; and, in a very free adaption of James Thurber's "The Private Life of Mr. Bidwell", a bored partygoer amusing himself to his wife's embarrassment. All this in 30 minutes, including commercials and credits, live from New York. 

A change of pace for Armstrong Circle Theater, Fred Allen's Sketch Book feels like the pilot episode for a series after the star failed with previous attempts in television. He's surrounded by familiar character actors (including Kenny Delmar, who played Sen. Claghorn on Allen's radio show), all of whom could have been regulars on a Sketch Book series. And having someone else write the scripts would have taken a welcome load off his shoulders.

However... while "Twenty Horses" is entertaining (even if I did solve the riddle pretty quickly), the other pieces don't have much of a point to them other than fill out the rest of the half hour; they wring out Allen's famously dry wit until it's positively arid. Only in his (likely) self-written introduction -- where, among other things, he observes that Americans have shorter attention spans in these fast-moving days of 1954 -- does he sound like the Fred Allen that his radio fans loved over the years. A pleasant if slightly disappointing half-hour with a concept, if done right, would work well today, at least for a short attention spanned guy like me.

BONUS POINTS: A wardrobe assistant helps change Fred's look between scenes. As the assistant puts his hand on the bartender hairpiece, Fred asks him to "take off the Sammy Kaye", a reference to the toupee-wearing orchestra leader -- an ad-lib that surprises Fred himself, as he laughs seconds later. That's the Fred Allen we're looking for!

 THE 20TH CENTURY-FOX HOUR: OPERATION CICERO (1956): Turkey, World War II. The British Ambassador's valet is selling top secret information regarding the Allies to the German embassy officials. When the valet, known to the Germans by the codename Cicero, has made enough money, he plans to run away to Rio de Janeiro with his former boss's widow, Anna, who is holding on to the spy's ill-gotten gains for safekeeping. Just as he prepares to sell documents regarding the D-Day invasion for his final payday, Cicero learns that Anna has fled to Switzerland with his money. But wait, there's more! She's also written a letter to the British embassy warning that Cicero is the spy they've been looking for... and another to the Germans claiming that he's been feeding them false information. Despite having two spies for two countries on his tail, Cicero manages to escape to Rio with his D-Day payout, where he plans to live the good life -- a scheme that doesn't go as planned. And the best part? It's a true story!

"Operation Cicero" is an episode of the 60-minute anthology series The 20th Century-Fox Hour, which presented condensed remakes of the studio's movies. And if this is a typical example, each episode used the same sets and exterior shots from the original films whenever possible to speed up production and save some dough. In this case, "Operation Cicero" was based on the 1952 release 5 Fingers, starring James Mason as the spy. Just the 5 Fingers trailer alone shows how the TV version remake slavishly followed the original. 

The remake unexpectedly presents Ricardo Montalban as the spy; it's nice seeing the Latin lover convincingly playing a rotter for a change. Peter Lorre makes the most of what is essentially a glorified cameo as Montalban's German contact. A fascinating, well-paced production, "Operation Cicero" proves that you can tell a forgotten story of World War II in less than an hour that four years earlier took 105 minutes, and not miss a beat. 

BONUS POINTS: One of the actors playing a British embassy official, Alan Napier, would gain fame with a new generation of viewers a decade later as Alfred, the butler on Batman.

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