THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 24

Every time I consider watching movies that critics put in their "Top 50" lists, I usually come to my senses. Life is too short to miss the films (and TV shows) nobody wants to see.

ADVENTURE GIRL (1934): Here's an idea. Next time you take a vacation, lie about it and "recreate" your "adventure" with a camera crew. That's what former movie extra/bit part player Joan Lowell did with Adventure Girl. When the prologue describes her story as "well-nigh incredible", they don't know the half of it.

Better suited as a Vera Ralston jungle picture, Adventure Girl is also narrated by Lowell, who likely realized the only way she was going to be a real actor was to make a phony docudrama on the cheap. (It's essentially a silent movie with narration and sound effects.) Lowell further puffs up her faux-C.V. by coming up with every allegedly good idea during her voyage to South America, despite the crew including her lifelong-seafaring father and two former Marines. About the only thing she doesn't claim credit for is building their yacht -- and that's only because she's too busy bragging about saving everyone from certain death.

Adventure Girl's primary story concerns Lowell searching for a mysterious emerald belonging to a tribe in Guatemala. In order to find it, Lowell promises them that she'll retrieve the rich minerals hidden on their land. Displaying the worst side of "civilized" explorers, Lowell admits to us that it's all a lie, and that she really intends to steal the emerald. 

Yet we're supposed to sympathize with this thief when the tribe catches her in the act -- a crime punishable by death on a fiery bale of hay. And by God, she deserves it! Unfortunately, her first mate arrives to untie her just as the flames are touching her tush. They hop on their raft and make their escape from the villagers by setting their river on fire with gasoline. Adventure Girl is one of the few movies where you're disappointed the so-called good guys get out alive.

BONUS POINTS: A couple of scenes feature jungle animals engaged in fights to the death, including one featuring a mongoose and a snake that reminded me of a similar moment in The Letter. They might be a little difficult to watch, but at least they're real, unlike the rest of this claptrap.

 THE TRUMPET BLOWS (1934): Some movies are worth talking about due only due to their sheer absurdity. The Trumpet Blows is as good (or mediocre) as any. I mean, do you buy George Raft and Adolph Menjou as Mexicans? 

The American-educated Manue Montes (Raft) returns home to live with his big brother Pancho (Menjou), who has disguised his criminal past by becoming a successful rachero. Before you can say Hola, Manuel sleeps with Chulita, the woman Pancho wants to marry.  (It happens to the best of us, right?) The next morning, Manuel takes off for Mexico City to pursue his dream of being a bullfighter. He renews his affair with Chulita, who, realizing Manuel sucks at his new job, convinces Pancho to talk sense into him. He should have started by convincing him that they quit this movie instead.

There's a reason why I had never heard of The Trumpet Blows until recently reading about it in a book about pre-Code movies: it's ridiculous. I don't care how big a sombrero Menjou wears, how dark Raft's makeup is, or how much mascara and lipstick is smeared on Frances Drake (Chulita): nobody, and I mean NOBODY with a speaking role here is convincing as a Mexican. Menjou ditches his dubious accent before the end of the first reel, while Raft -- never an actor with any range -- doesn't even try. Too, Raft definitely isn't credible as a bullfighter -- especially one who lacks a killer instinct -- seeing that most of those scenes are stock shots of the real thing. When Raft is briefly swinging his red cape, the bull he's facing is a very obvious rear projection, like a dramatic version of the Three Stooges' short What's the Matador?. 

There are a few moments here that shocked the bluenoses, like the way Raft tells the housemaid, "Pour me my coffee" while lying in bed, making it sound like a filthy come-on. And it's clear that he and Chulita hit the sack on their first "date" and start shacking up later on. None of this makes The Trumpet Blows -- a title begging for a nasty wisecrack -- worth watching, however, unless you're looking for 72 minutes of unintended laughs. 

BONUS POINTS: Pancho's sidekick Pepi is played by Sidney Toler, who, four years later, would go the yellow-face route as Charlie Chan. And, as always, he still looks and sounds Asian despite being caucasian. Ai yi yi!

A WELCOME TO BRITAIN (1943): When American soldiers were shipped to the UK during World War II, Britain's Ministry of Information provided them with a 40-minute instructional film advising them of their host country's ways and manners. Starring actor and Air Force Captain Burgess Meredith, A Welcome to Britain was later renamed How to Behave in Britain, which is a more accurate title for those rowdy GI's.

Meredith, who also had a hand in writing and directing A Welcome to Britain, was an excellent choice for the job; while recognizable, he looks and sounds more like one of the soldiers who watched this than your typical actor. Leading us on a casual tour of the quaint UK countryside, we learn how to handle yourself in a pub (be quiet; they'll come around and chat to you eventually); what to do when invited to a civilian's home for dinner (food was even more strictly rationed than in the US, so take it easy on the helpings); and offer American cigarettes to everyone you meet (I guess Lucky Strikes were better than Woodbines). And talk about the Brits being friendly people! Even the stationmaster offers Meredith a spot of tea -- and in a china cup, yet.

A couple of segments are interesting for different reasons. The first is when Meredith warns white American soldiers they better get over any prejudice against blacks. Not only are there "less social restrictions in this country", black soldiers are fighting this war, too. Of course, Meredith refers to one of them as a "colored boy" but, hey, it's a start! Later, while Meredith tries to figure out the local currency with a cab driver, Bob Hope unexpectedly appears, not so much to help, but fast-talk his way into relieving his co-star's money before taking off as fast as he arrived. Hope, here in his prime, gets laughs (from me, anyway) with his brilliant delivery. US soldiers couldn't have gotten a better Welcome to Britain than this movie, which holds up both as entertainment and a piece of history. Anybody know if the Brits still offer a cup of tea to strangers in uniform?

BONUS POINTS: While I'm no smoker, it's kind of a relief to see people puffing away without holier-than-thou folks showing their displeasure by pretending to cough.

THE STEVE ALLEN PLYMOUTH SHOW (11/16/1959): There are so few surviving videotaped color TV shows from the '50s that it feels almost imperative to watch them. But color doesn't translate to great. This particular episode is a disappointment for Steve Allen fans who remember his myriad of entertaining talk shows over the years. The Plymouth Show was a variety series, with little room for the spontaneity he excelled at.

While music is provided by Pam Garner and Frankie Laine, the comedy skits include Steve interviewing three "scientists" looking for a cure for the common cold. Louis Nye and Don Knotts do the best they can here with the so-so material. However, Dayton Allen -- you might remember his catchphrase Whyyyy not? -- is hilarious; this guy really knew how to elevate a script just by being funny. On the other hand, a sketch featuring guest William Bendix about the overuse of laugh tracks and violence on TV is dull going. As for Steve himself, he opens the show with silent blackout skits accompanied by music (ripped off from Ernie Kovacs) but redeems himself in the entertaining Question Man segment (later ripped off by Johnny Carson as Carnac the Magnificent).  

What makes this otherwise meh episode legendary is the appearance of the least-anticipated variety show guest ever, beat generation icon Jack Kerouac. Looking bored, embarrassed, and/or inebriated, Kerouac gamely submits to a brief interview (asked to define the term "beat", he replies, "sympathetic"), before reading from On the Road while Steve noodles a jazzy piano improv. Even more head-spinning is when Kerouac returns with the rest of the cast for a final bow, uncomfortably placed between William Bendix and Frankie Laine. If a Steve Allen Plymouth Show episode had to exist, thank God it was this one -- because if it didn't, you wouldn't believe it ever happened. 

BONUS POINTS: During one of the commercials, the Plymouth spokesman compares the car's fins to a toy boat's rudder. And by the way, they aren't really fins, they're stabilizers, so get it straight, people.

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