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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