THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 28

 This Early Show entry is something of a cheat, since I caught two of the movies at the Museum of Modern Art's recent film restoration festival (a special thank you to my wife for MOMA membership on Christmas!). These two movies may appear on TCM soon, by why take the chance by waiting? 

MAN, WOMAN AND SIN (1927): Newspaper reporter Al Whitcomb, a young man
with a humble background who lives with his mother, falls crazy in love with society editor Vera Worth, not realizing she's the sidepiece of his boss, Mr. Bancroft. Vera strings Al along for her own amusement, to the point where he's buying expensive gifts with money set aside for mom. When Bancroft catches Al at Vera's apartment, a fight breaks out between the two men; in defending himself from a fatal blow, Al accidentally kills his boss. Vera lies under oath as to the truth behind the incident, leading to the death penalty for Al. Will Mom's pleas to Vera to recant her testimony save her beloved son? Go on, guess.

 Man, Woman and Sin is an example of "It's the singer, not the song" -- even if it is a silent movie. And the "singer" is John Gilbert. Usually playing the sophisticated or caddish type, Gilbert here is totally believable as the shy young man who grew up in poverty, and is too naive to realize that Vera is way out of his league. Whether gazing at her with awe, throttling a colleague who warns him about her, or sitting helplessly in the courtroom, Gilbert sells his role without ever overacting. An extraordinary scene comes when he's hiding in an abandoned, allegedly haunted house after killing Bancroft. As he sits on the floor gripping his handkerchief for comfort, a large shadow of a hand comes into view, causing him to cower and scream in terror before realizing it's only his mother -- a heartbreakingly convincing moment that no other leading man of his time could have equaled or had the cojones to attempt. (The more I see of John Gilbert, the more I believe he's one of the most underrated movie actors ever.)

At the time of its release, Man, Woman and Sin received extra interest for co-starring stage actress Jeanne Eagles, star of the previously-discussed The Letter. As with Gilbert, Eagles, at 37, is a little old for her role. Yet you can still get why a guy like Al would steal money and even threaten his mother for speaking ill about her. It's a shame that the recently restored print of Man, Woman and Sin is available only at New York's Museum of Modern Art, where I recently caught its first official screening in almost a century. It's a wonderful example of a done-to-death story becoming something exceptional with the right actor (and a live piano accompaniment).

BONUS POINTS: Twelve year-old Phillip Anderson, who plays Al Whitcomb as a child in the early scenes, went on to a 30 year-career editing movies including Ocean's Eleven, Sayonara, and The FBI Story -- proof that there's a life for child actors when they grow up.

ARROWSMITH (1931): The second MOMA screening. Former small-town doctor Martin Arrowsmith has spent two years trying to find a one-size-fits-all cure for every disease when he's assigned to the West Indies to see if it works on ending the bubonic plague. He's ordered to inject only half the population with the serum, and the other half with a placebo to see if the real thing actually works. As Arrowsmith loses himself in work, his wife Leora is killed by the plague herself. No longer caring about the rules of science, he drunkenly orders all the islanders to get the serum. While their lives are saved, Arrowsmith, filled with self-contempt, returns to the US, vowing to get back to real science rather than headline-grabbing news his lab prefers, like saving the lives of an entire nation. What the...?

If you wanted someone to play a distinguished hero in 1931, you went straight to Ronald Colman -- even if, as Martin Arrowsmith, he's roughly 15 years older than his character. Audiences of the time didn't care, since he was epitome of class, And if you wanted self-sacrifice, you went with Helen Hayes as his wife. Poor Leora gives up her nursing career to nurse her husband, who not only becomes the accidental cause of her death (you'll never smoke a cigarette without making sure a germy lab vial didn't drip on it first) but may have had a brief affair with rich bitch Joyce Lanyon (Myrna Loy, made-up to look almost Oriental, her typical role at the time). Their affair, if there was one, is presented so subtly that it's likely because producer Sam Goldwyn wanted the audience to sympathize with Arrowsmith that much more when Leora dies.

Speaking of Sam Goldwyn, his once-a-year movies were always big-budget, glossy productions that made MGM pictures look like Monogram B's, and Arrowsmith is no different. This was probably the best-looking movie of 1931, with huge sets filled with enough props to fill a warehouse. Director John Ford must have worked closely with the cinematographer and lighting crew, too; he seems to have been influenced by German cinema's expressionism movement at the time. Restored to its original 101-minute running time, Arrowsmith is a little slow, with scenes that drag the momentum on occasion. Still, it's a fascinating movie that, if nothing else, is beautiful to look at, and proves once and for all that saving lives is secondary to scientific principles. 

BONUS POINTS: Dr. Oliver Marchand, the West Indian doctor played by Clarence Brooks, is portrayed as Arrowsmith's professional equal, a chance rarely given to black movie characters or actors at the time.

NIGHT TRAIN TO MUNICH (1940): Days before the UK and Germany go to war, British spy Gus Bennett goes undercover in Berlin as a Nazi official in order to rescue the kidnapped Czech scientist Axel Bomasch and his adult daughter Anna, while making sure a real Nazi official Karl Marsen never catches on to the ruse. Bennett pulls it off, until being recognized on the titular train by an old school chum. Marsen turns the tables on Bennett, only to learn that the Brits are far more clever than he realizes.

As with the previously-discussed Q Planes, the British production Night Train to Munich takes on the Nazis with a mixture of drama, suspense, upscale British wit, and romance. While Margaret Lockwood is top-billed in the credits, it's 32 year-old Rex Harrison who steals the show here. Not only does he deliver lines with exquisite charm and style, he gets to sing a couple of songs when disguised as a music hall entertainer. While the Nazi threat is definitely taken seriously, the movie itself is often quite the lark, with a dandy climax taking place on a tram from Germany to neutral Switzerland, and everybody's pistols seemingly containing a couple of dozen bullets. You won't believe a second of it, but it's still exciting (and utterly unique).

Three of Night Train to Munich's co-stars are worth mentioning. Paul von Henried gives Karl Marsen a convincing mixture of good guy (as when he's undercover as a prisoner in a German concentration camp with Anna) and bad (remember, he's really a Nazi!). When von Henried moved to Hollywood, he dropped the "von" from his name and became of Warner Brothers' most popular wartime leading men -- you know him as the anti-Nazi activist Victor Laszlo in Casablanca. Serious movie buffs will recognize character actors Basil Radford and Nauton Wayne repeating their lighthearted roles of the slightly befuddled friends Charters and Caldicott from the 1938 Alfred Hitchcock classic The Lady Vanishes (which also starred Margaret Lockwood). It's Caldicott who blows Bennett's cover on the train, while Charters figures out a way to warn the spy that Marsen is on to him. While dealing with a deadly serious subject, the multi-genre Night Train to Munich is great fun all the way around. I just hope I'm never caught up in a similar shootout on the tram from Manhattan to Roosevelt Island.

BONUS POINTS: The miniatures standing in for real sets. Yes, it's obvious, but it's so much more charming than greenscreen or CGI.

THE STEVE ALLEN SHOW (January 19, 1958): Before Fidel Castro and his merry
band of comunistas came marching into Havana, Fulgencio Batista was running the show. Well, him and the Mafia, back when the island was a haven for American tourists ready to drop a wad at the casinos. So, the Havana Riviera Hotel was delighted to play host to Steve Allen and his gang one winter evening.  And if nothing else, it sure makes an historically interesting change from his usual New York headquarters.

After Gene Rayburn does his announcer's shtick in Spanish, Steve walks to the Riviera's main room, where he quickly (and kind of shockingly) opens with, "Well here we are in Havana, the home of the pineapple and Meyer Lansky." Not that it was any secret that Lansky was the owner of the Riviera, and who was doubtlessly happy to get a free, one-hour commercial for his business. And boy, do we see a lot of the Riviera, whether in the casino area (where Steve Lawrence lip-syncs "Begin the Beguine"), poolside (where Mamie van Doren lip-syncs "Sand in my Shoes" and the dance team of Augie and Margo do the mambo). But what really stands out is how well-dressed the gamblers and audience are, completely different from the dumpy t-shirt & shorts crowd you find in any casino today. Say what you want about the Mob, but at least they enforced a dress code.

Otherwise, it's pretty much just another Steve Allen episode, with guest Edgar Bergen & Charlie McCarthy, and the Man in the Street interviews (Tom Poston, Louis Nye, Don Knotts, and dummy Mortimer Snerd) in Havana rather than Manhattan. Steve saves special guest Lou Costello (almost a semi-regular on the Allen show by the end of his life) for the last 15 minutes, where the comedian recreates an old gambling skit he originated with Bud Abbott, from whom he split less than a year earlier. Tom Poston slips easily into the part of the wiseguy who unexpectedly gets swindled by the allegedly naive Costello. Meyer Lansky probably got a good laugh out of it. Although had it happened to one of his soldiers, both guys would been whacked on the spot.

BONUS POINTS: Familiar comedic character actor Cliff Norton does the commercials for the Johnson's Wax, Jubilee, Glade, Glo-Coat, and other products your mother used for cleaning the house when she had no other options in life.

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