THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 44

 One movie from each decade from the '20s to the 50's, with only one starring an actor you might be familiar with. Hey, I've got to offer something to the masses

SEVEN FOOTPRINTS TO SATAN (1929): As a 12-year-old fan of old horror movies and
young dishy starlets, my heart raced at a black & white still of a bizarre creature with unkempt hair and bad teeth towering over Thelma Todd (seen below). I had no idea what the movie was about, nor did I even care. All I wanted was to see the production, tantalizingly titled Seven Footprints to Satan. 

Alas, this was an impossible dream, for it was apparently lost, or at least misplaced. Then, very recently, a restored version became available for a mere $8.99. I waited for the right time (the 75 minutes my wife would be out of the house), put it on and prepared to be scared witless by monsters and seduced by a sexy actress.

Well, at least I got the sexy actress. As with nearly every rediscovered "lost" movie, Seven Footprints to Satan --originally a silent/talkie hybrid now lacking its original Vitaphone soundtrack --proved to be two footsteps to disappointment. Not that it's bad. The general idea of a couple kidnapped and taken to a strange mansion where they are put through their paces by Satan's minions, monsters, and eventually the host himself, is a good one. But I quickly figured out that the whole thing was a ruse, and that all the "monsters" were actually people paid to scare the male half of the couple (Creighton Hale). 

It's not like I'm giving anything away. You'd figure it out, too, even if 1929 audiences didn't. I realize the comedy/thriller genre was a big thing at the time, but come on. You've got to have genuine thrills mixed with the chuckles. While the actors' make-up and the art design are impressive, conceptually Seven Footprints to Satan isn't much different than one of those pop-up "horror houses" that appear in your neighborhood every Halloween. Is it worth $8.99? For a quasi-legendary once-lost picture, sure. Is it worth watching again? With Thelma Todd in a lowcut dress, absolutely. But not until next Halloween. Or the Halloween after.

BONUS POINTS: One of the "scary" creatures is Angelo Rossitto, the dwarf from the previously-discussed Old San Francisco and Scared to Death. Sheldon Lewis, the guy in the memorable still with Thelma Todd, plays the title role in the genuinely terrible, not-worth-watching-even-once The Phantom. Oh, and a naked woman is tied up to a pole and whipped.

IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND (1937): Squire John Meadows is a malevolent, vindictive justice of the peace in a small town he holds in the palm of his hand. When he's not bribing people to break the law on his behalf, he runs the local prison, taking glee on doling out physical and psychological punishment on the inmates -- men, women, and adolescents alike -- with an alarmingly sadistic glee. His latest scheme is to win the hand of the lovely Susan Merton by framing her fiancé George for poaching. When the real poacher, George's friend Tom, confesses to the crime, he is imprisoned. George, meanwhile, goes to Australia to seek his fortune but promises Sue he'll return. Seizing his opportunity, Meadows pays off the postmaster to give him George's letters so they don't get delivered. Deciding that isn't enough, he spreads the rumor that George has married another woman in Australia.

If you want subtlety, you've come to the wrong movie, for It's Never Too Late to Mend -- not the most understated title, either -- stars Tod Slaughter, usually called Britain's answer to Bela Lugosi. You want scenery chewing? Slaughter chows down with the manners of a starving hyena, with his co-stars not very far behind. Even the lovebirds George and Susan engage sweet nothings that went out of style two decades earlier. But that's the whole idea behind Slaughter movies, as they deliberately recreate the over-the-top melodrama of 19th century British stage plays (which is likely why they were never released in the U.S.). And once you get into the groove, your oh-so-sophisticated attitude and heh-heh snickering will give way to emotions you'd rather not admit to possessing. 

Go ahead, you laugh at the  15-year-old boy, imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread for his starving mother, dying in a metal straitjacket. You chortle at the chaplain protecting the prisoners with only the power of his faith. You giggle as Squire Meadows slips the heroic George a mickey in order to steal his newly-won fortune and fiancé. 

Trust me, It's Never Too Late to Mend -- considered one of Tod Slaughter's more "serious" movies --will have you hissing and booing the same way British audiences did when such behavior in the theater was not just accepted but demanded. And wouldn't it feel better to do that at an old, low-budget movie rather than the evening news?

BONUS POINTS: The 19th-century novel and play on which It's Never Too Late to Mend is based so moved Queen Victoria that she demanded the reform of the British penal system.

THE MONSTER MAKER (1944): PRC's The Monster Maker plays like a celluloid Mad-Libs game of countless poverty row movies: A PHONY DOCTOR from EASTERN EUROPE, who keeps a GORILLA in his LABORATORY, injects a CONCERT PIANIST with a dose of ACROMEGALY in order to marry THE PIANIST'S DAUGHTER, who resembles THE DOCTOR'S LATE WIFE, despite HIS ASSISTANT being IN LOVE WITH HIM. 

Credit the three(!) writers for coming up with the acromegaly angle to separate The Monster Maker from other low-budget B's of its type, even if its title damns anyone with the disease as, well, a monster. Very few people had likely even heard of it had it not been for actor Rondo Hatton, a real acromegaly victim. Here, Ralph Morgan has the honors, and only because we needed to see his before-and-after visage. Once a star at MGM (as in the adaptation of Eugene O'Neil's Strange Interlude), Morgan wasn't the only former A-lister who found himself slumming in stuff like The Monster Maker a decade later. A pro to the end, he gives his all for a concept that probably had everyone on the set dizzy from rolling their eyes.

Speaking of one-time A-listers on the skids, Bela Lugosi must have been busy making Voodoo Man at Monogram in order for J. Carrol Naish to win the lead role of Dr. Igor Markoff. Strictly in support throughout his career, he was probably thrilled to get top billing for a change. Hollywood's idea of a linguist, Naish played a wide variety of ethnic roles equaled only by his limited

talent. Italian, German, Russian, Sioux -- you can't tell one from another without the wardrobe and make-up departments cluing you in. (One of Naish's most absurd roles was in The Hatchet Man where his portrayal of a Chinatown resident consists of squeezing his eyelids nearly shut and over articulating his dialogue even more than usual.)

In order to pad out The Monster Maker to 65 minutes, co-star Wanda Blake (the object of Naish's affection) often repeats dialogue spoken to her, only as a question ("Your father visited me for a consultation." "My father visited you for a consultation?"). And we can't forget the ol' gorilla-in-the-lab gag, which serves no purpose other than for Dr. Markoff to try killing his love-starved assistant Maxine. These kinds of things make me love movies like The Monster Maker. It's short, utterly predictable, wildly implausible, and perfectly entertaining.

BONUS POINTS: They don't even try to convince us that the first scene in a Carnegie Hall-style theater is just a faux-loge 20 feet away from the faux-stage

BLACK TUESDAY (1954): The exceptionally violent Black Tuesday shows Edward G.

Robinson at age 61 still in all his glory as Vince Canelli, the star inmate of a West Coast prison where he and his fellow death row resident Peter Manning await their turn in the hot squat. One of the prison guards has been forced to help facilitate the escape of Canelli and others on death row in exchange for the freedom of his kidnapped daughter. But while the guard gets plugged anyway, the criminals look forward to splitting $200,000 in stolen loot Manning has hidden in a place only he knows -- even after he's been shot.

There's something poignant about Edward G, Robinson in Black Tuesday, still speaking with the N'yeah, see? delivery that made people sit up and take notice 25 years earlier. As for his character, Canelli's at an age where he should be enjoying his ill-gotten fortune by lounging on a beach in Acapulco, not breaking out of stir again with guns blazing. Not like Canelli's the reincarnation of St. Jude. While on his getaway from prison, Canelli kicks three of his death row pals to the curb in order to make sure he gets more of the stolen dough. He's willing to risk the life of the badly-wounded Manning for the same reason. Not even Father Slocum, the prison priest he's taken hostage, is safe from his threats. Maybe poignant isn't the right word after all.

Robinson overshadows his Black Tuesday co-stars, although the older, familiar character actors manage to hold their own. (No point in naming names -- you'd only know them by their faces anyway.) But the younger, less impressive supporting actors are straight out of a baby-boomer's Emmy Award "In Memoriam" segment. In addition to Peter Graves (Mission: Impossible) as Manning, there's Milburn Stone (Gunsmoke), Russell Johnson (Gilligan's Island), William Schallert (Patty Duke Show), and Stafford Repp (Batman). Black Tuesday is unlikely to be considered a classic in the Robinson canon like Little Caesar, but it still makes for fine entertainment and demonstrates how commanding an actor he was throughout his entire career.

BONUS POINTS: Sylvia Findley as Ellen Norris, one of the few actresses who looks like she would be Edward G. Robinson's girlfriend (which might be why her imdb profile lists only two movies).

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