THE EARLY SHOW. PT. 41

The first and third movies here have been part of my collection for a while; I figured it was time to give them another spin before deciding if they were ready for the glue factory. And, if you're wondering, I've decided to keep them for a future go-round with the optional commentary. It's hard to let go of the nearest and dearest in your life.

BEHIND THE DOOR (1919): If Howard Hawks' theory holds true -- that a movie should
have three great scenes and no bad ones -- Behind the Door is 2/3 of the way there.  Otto Krug, a former captain turned taxidermist, enlists in the military when war is declared on Germany. As usual (in movies, anyway), his bride Alice sneaks onboard his ship, which is soon torpedoed by a German sub. When Alice is kidnapped by the sub's commander, Krug spends the rest of the war in hot pursuit.

There's a bit more I've left out, such as a subplot involving Alice's miserly banker of a father who wants to marry her off to his assistant, and the anti-German bias Krug feels from his neighbors, neither of which has anything to do with the main story; Behind the Door could actually have been an hour instead of its current 70. (A few more minutes of missing footage are covered by stills and recreated intertitles.) But then it wouldn't have been a Paramount Artcraft Special. 

Yet what works definitely qualifies as great. The first is a brutal, ugly fight between the townsfolks and the German-American Krug, where director Irvin Willat seems to have said, "OK, boys, just beat the shit out of each other until I say 'Cut'." They might not be really bleeding, but it isn't for lack of trying. The second involves Krug learning Alice's fate from the captured German sub commander. If the flashback establishing the a gang rape doesn't make you gasp, perhaps the sight of her dead body being shot out of a torpedo launcher might do the trick. And if not that, well, there's always Krug preparing to put his taxidermy tools to good use on the bad kraut. 

Much of Behind the Door's dramatic acting is of the fist-pounding-in-the-hand variety (literally, in the case of the banker). The grandiloquently-named Hobart Bosworth, though, plays Krug in Behind the Door's violent finale in a fascinating way, his seething anger initially masked by a boys-will-be-boys response when learning Alice's awful fate. Comedian-turned-dramatic actor Wallace Beery is the commander, who describes his terrible deeds with the delight of the devil himself. Despite its (unnecessary) ethereal finale involving Krug and Alice reuniting in the afterlife, Behind the Door will likely surprise and shock any present-day viewer. 

BONUS POINTS: As with other restored silents, the original tinting heightens both the drama and poignancy at the right moments.

THE BAT WHISPERS (1930): By 1930, there had been a half-decade's spate of "old dark house" mysteries that mixed chills with laughs. Some went from stage to film and, like The Gorilla and The Cat and the Canary, remain entertaining. 

Then there's The Bat Whispers, which focuses too much on the alleged laughs to the detriment of the story involving hidden embezzled funds and a murderous caped criminal known as The Bat (supposedly the inspiration for Batman), who has promised find the money before the police have a chance to stop him. The perpetually-scowling Detective Anderson, something of a nasty piece of work himself, accuses the half-dozen or so suspects of being in on the crime as he tries (somewhat ineffectually) to solve it before the Bat strikes again. If only he tried to solve the problem of Lizzie the housemaid, whose constant "funny" frightened screams ruin whatever suspense The Bat Whispers has to offer. 

Outside of Fisheye favorite Chester Morris (as Anderson), just about the only entertainment value here is technical. The Bat Whispers was shot on the 65mm widescreen Magnifilm -- pretty much identical to Grandeur used for the previously-discussed The Big Trail the same year. (Both were also shot on regular 35mm for "normal" screenings.) But unlike The Big Trail, where the process worked well with the location shooting, Magnifilm only makes what we're watching resemble a filmed stage play. Perhaps aware of the problem, director Roland West jazzes things up from time to time with astonishingly fluid camerawork and dramatic lighting. usually in close-ups of Morris.

It would be easy to assume Morris was imitating Clark Gable, what with the thin moustache and the near-identical delivery -- only Gable was still working as an extra in 1930. Morris actually often seems to be acting in a different movie from everyone else in The Bat Whispers, which, by its end, tips its hand simply due to attrition -- just how often is a certain character offscreen during crucial moments? And while we're asking questions, why didn't The Bat knock off Lizzie the screaming housemaid when he had the chance?

BONUS POINTS: In a rather charming endpiece, a theater curtain closes after the final scene. When it re-opens, Chester Morris approaches the camera to request that viewers not give away the ending. 

MAMBA (1930): The setting is German East Africa, 1913. German and British troops, a year away from being at war with one another, occupy a village. Not yet enemies, they are united in friendship, good beer, Picadilly Cigarettes, and their disgust for Aguste "Mamba" Bolte, a wealth yet slovenly businessman who makes Jabba the Hutt look like Tyrone Power. Desperate for both respect and love, Bolte kids himself into thinking he's getting both when marrying Helen, a young woman whose father has pimped her out in exchange for a loan. The only thing preventing Helen from jumping out of the nearest baobab tree is Karl von Roden, a handsome German soldier who's fallen verliebt with her. But just as their affair blossoms, Karl is called away when war is declared. Lucky for her Bolte is drafted. Even luckier he's killed by natives no longer willing  to put up with colonialism. Unluckier, though, is that she and other solider wives are trapped in a fort under siege by said natives. But nothing will stop a certain handsome German soldier from rescuing her -- even if it takes the British troops to rescue him first.

Yet another 1930 release where the technology was the big draw, Mamba was (deep breath) the first dramatic, non-musical feature shot in two-strip Technicolor. And all this from the humble Poverty Row studio Tiffany-Stahl! Yet it's for all these reasons and more that Mamba likely makes for a difficult watch for many people today. The two-strip Technicolor, with its prominent reds and greens, looks strange to modern eyes. The sound is as far from Dolby as Tanzania is from Burbank. Every cliche that Hollywood of a century ago could use regarding Africans is on display. (And speaking of cliche, what is it about German soldiers with their facial scars and monocles?) 

But all these possible snags pale when compared to Jean Hersholt as Aguste Bolte. Seemingly the precursor to Charles Laughton's nearly identical role in White Woman, Hersholt -- or at least his character -- lacks the latter's dark wit. He is simply, as von Roden describes him, a pig on two feet, whose body odor drifts from the screen and sweat permeates the film nitrate. One is relieved when the tables finally turn on him. His performance in Mamba will make you think twice the next time the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian award is given at the next Oscar ceremony.

A big hit when its $2 ticket in New York is the equivalent of $37 today, Mamba is unexpectedly poignant as well. You know early on that the deep friendship between the British and German troops will come to an end in the final reel or two thanks to the machinations of their governments. And when the Brits take over the German command at the climax (killing natives a-plenty in the process), the stiff-upper lip Major Cromwell refuses to take von Roden prisoner, instead sharing his Picadilly cigarettes as in the old days. It almost erases the foul memory of Jean Hersholt's title character.

BONUS POINTS: One of the native children is allegedly played by Matthew Beard, better known as Stymie from the Our Gang comedies.

MURDER, HE SAYS (1945):  Pollster Pete Marshall is looking for a colleague gone missing in the Ozarks. The Fleagle family, consisting of Mamie, her second husband Mr. Johnson, her twin sons Mert and Bert, and slow-witted daughter Elany are the murderous culprits. As they try to pry the secret hiding place of the money from a bank robbery pulled by a cousin from the dying Grandma, they hold Marshall hostage with the idea of killing him, too. The cousin's daughter Claire swings by pretending to be in on the robbery, but actually wants proof of her father's innocence. With only a nonsense song provided by Grandma providing clues, Marshall and Elany search the dilapidated house for the loot -- when the real bank robbing sidekick Bonnie shows up to get her share.

With a throughline like that, Murder, He Says -- the strangest (and most daring) studio comedy of its time -- is a mix of Arsenic and Old Lace and Last House on the Left. And I didn't even get to Mr. Johnson's liquid radium that makes people and animals glow in the dark -- and if they take too much, kills them as it did Marshall's colleague. Death hangs over the movie as much as any horror movie, with idiot twins Mert and Bert continually trying to kill Marshall, and Mamie threatening to do the same with Grandma. (We never see the dead pollster but we know the body's there somewhere.) The only reason the studio was able to get this passed the censors must have been because it was too absurd to take seriously.

The Fleagle family portrayers deserve a couple of mentions Marjorie Main is in proto-Ma Kettle mode, only with a knife usually a few inches from Marshall's throat, while Peter Whitney is excellent as the shotgun-carrying twins (the split screen used when they're on screen together is aces as well), as is Jean Heather as the beyond-creepy Elany. 

The most surprising performance comes from Fred MacMurray as Marshall. With an endless supply of pratfalls, double-takes, and wacky delivery, it's remarkable this is the same guy who did such a superb dramatic job in the classic noir Double Indemnity the year before. For a role that seemed tailor-made for fellow Paramount player Bob Hope, MacMurray is that much better for being such an unexpected choice. Although Murder, He Says misses the "classic" mark by a few points -- especially with an endless climactic chase scene through hidden hallways leading to a silly bit with a hay thrasher, it nevertheless has fans galore who consider it one of the all-time great laugh-getters. But it's worth watching once to see what moviemakers could get away with in 1945...and seeing Fred MacMurray briefly glow in the dark.

BONUS POINTS: The melody of the nonsense song featuring the hidden money stash clue is identical to the theme of NPR's All Things Considered. I wonder if the estates of the original composers ever considered suing for plagiarism. 

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