THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 45

From the dawn of sound to Beatlemania -- for you youngsters out there...

THE CANARY MURDER CASE (1928): The first of Paramount's mysteries with amateur detective Philo Vance, who's always happy to help the NYPD solve a murder. Here, The Canary is an entertainer, not somebody's pet. There's no shortage of suspects, starting with rich kid Jimmy Spottswoode, with whom she had a brief fling, and his fiancée Alice LaFosse; Jimy's father; three other men she's been having a go at; and a husband fresh out of prison. When Jimmy later confesses to the crime, Vance knows he's lying but has to figure out how to prove it when the real killer dies in an auto accident. 

More than any other movie detective, Philo Vance is dependent on his portrayer. Sure, he's an effete intellectual smarty-pants like Sherlock Holmes, but otherwise he has no personality to speak of. At least William Powell provides the proper panache, style, and what have you. He and Eugene Pallette (as the corpulent police Sergeant Heath) handle their dialogue like the longtime stage actors they once were, with their contrasting personalities providing plenty of amusing moments. 

It's the first 20 or so minutes that are problematic. Filmed as a silent in mid-1928, the Paramount execs quickly ordered it reshot as a talkie. Louise Brooks, as The Canary, had already sailed for Germany to make Pandora's Box and refused to return. Since the Canary is killed early on, another actress was hired to dub in Brooks' dialogue. Not only is what we're hearing obviously not Brooks' voice, it doesn't match what her lips are saying. And when certain very short parts of her scenes had to be reshot rather than merely dubbed, the other actress is conveniently (and awkwardly) offscreen as she speaks. A few other brief silent portions of the movie are jarringly voiced by the real actors but lack ambient sound effects of, say, slamming doors and auto engines. 

Simply as a murder mystery, The Canary Murder Case isn't bad. The suspects all have reasons to kill the dame. It keeps you guessing until the end. But between the dubbing and the solution to the murder being as absurdly convoluted as any ever dreamed up -- typical for the Philo Vance movies I've seen so far -- it's surprising that The Canary Murder Case didn't murder the series almost before it started.

BONUS POINTS: Whether by accident or not, one of the suspects, played by Gustav von Seyffertitz, is a double for Lenin.

GRAND EXIT (1935):  Former investigator Tom Fletcher is rehired by his old employer Interoceanic Fire Insurance Company to figure out who's behind the string of fires at buildings they cover. Over time, he and his sidekick John Grayson run into Adrienne Martin, who happens to be at each fire they investigate. Adrienne lights a fuse in both men. Sparks fly. Flames of love grow. But does smoke get in their eyes?  It's a match made in hell! (Thanks to one-sheet on the right for inspiring all that hype.)

Grand Exit really does keep you guessing, as Tom and John have plausible motives to be the firebugs. Tom was previously fired by Interoceanic and replaced by John. Sure, Tom arranges for John to stay on the payroll -- so his junior partner can be proven to be the arsonist as he suspects. And if not John, then Adrienne could be a good fall guy, considering her unusual interest in his investigation. On the other hand, Tom could be exacting revenge on the company for getting fired in the first place and needs to frame somebody to pin the fires on, like Adrienne. 

Yet with all these conflagrations, Grand Exit is surprisingly lighthearted. Edmund Lowe, on the cusp of the end of his leading man days, and Ann Sothern at the beginning of her career, get plenty of laughs in roles appearing to be influenced by William Powell and Myrna Loy in Thin Man, right down to his penchant for day drinking.  Onslow Steven makes for a good straightman of the trio, thanks partly to his offbeat good looks. Lowe is undeniably the star, though, thanks to his fast-paced delivery and pulling shenanigans like impersonating a nut in order to follow a lead in a psych hospital. Never quite as charismatic as Powell, there's nevertheless a certain style about him that catches me off-guard every time I see him (The Gift of Gab notwithstanding). He was probably forgotten by the time of his death in 1971 but deserves a second look. But I still don't know what the title Grand Exit has to do with arson.

BONUS POINTS: One of the newsreel stock footage of fires features a brief shot of a building with a sign reading PLYMOUTH CHURCH. Just for what I consider fun, I did a Google search, and discovered it's located in Brooklyn and was part of the Underground Railroad during the 19th century.

SHAKE HANDS WITH THE DEVIL (1959): Looking at its American promotional material like the one-sheet on the right, you'd get the idea that Shake Hands with the Devil was a gangster picture. This was merely to fool people who would otherwise have no interest in watching an historical drama from the UK about Northern Ireland, circa 1920. 

Janes Cagney plays Sean Linahan, an erudite medical professor by day and the second in command of the Irish Republican Army by night. All of the actor's familiar mannerisms are with him, right down to the way he stands with his arms not quite at his sides, looking like he's preparing to throw a punch or break out into a dance routine. 

At 60 years old, Cagney resembles a paunchy, aging bulldog who still has it in him to rip your face off, as his character's "cause" isn't so much freeing Ireland but a psychopathic urge to commit violence for the sake of violence -- kind of like Kenneth Branagh's Belfast meets Warner Brothers' White Heat, but with different accents. So it's a real downer that his co-star, Don Murray, is such a wet sock in comparison as the American-born Kerry O'Shea, drawn into the cause when his roommate is killed by British forces. 

Murray is totally at sea in a role that should have gone to someone who could convincingly play a confused young man while still holding his own when surrounded by the likes of Cagney, Michael Redgrave, Glynis Johns, and Richard Harris (as a nasty IRA member). Not even the fine director Michael Anderson seems to have been able to draw anything more than average from Murray, even as he frames and lights every scene to perfection. A step or two away from great, Shake Hands with the Devil is still a riveting drama, giving an idea of where Cagney's career could have gone had he not retired two years later.

BONUS POINTS: In what was likely a daring bit of drama at the time, graffiti scrawled on a wall reads UP THE REPUBLIC. That's tellin' 'em!

THE MUSIC OF LENNON & MCCARTNEY (1965): Way too many people thought a little of the Beatles magic would rub off on them if they recorded the band's music. Way too many of them were wrong, as proven in this 1965 British special hosted (as if at gunpoint) by John and Paul themselves. The singers here who had been given Lennon & McCartney songs not recorded by the Beatles -- Peter & Gordon, Cilla Black, and Billy J. Kramer (all managed by Brian Epstein) -- come off quite well because their versions are literally incomparable. It's only when you hear remakes of Beatle recordings by the likes of a baroque-style orchestra or someone named Antonio Vargas you realize how important the Beatles themselves are to this music. And don't get me started on the allegedly groovy choreography by bleached blondes in go-go boots, which is the antithesis of what the Beatles were all about.

The interesting moments are few. American soul singer Esther Phillips' "And I Love Him" could have been a minor hit had it been written for her. At the piano, Henry Mancini's version of "If I Fell" demonstrates how strong their melodies could be. But the most memorable moment in The Music of Lennon & McCartney is "A Hard Day's Night" orated by Peter Sellers as Laurence Olivier playing Richard III. In addition to being pretty funny, it (deliberately?) makes the lyrics to the original recording sound really, really silly. Sellers and Mancini, by the way, are the only guests who perform live.

The hacks responsible for the subpar script put the naturally witty John and Paul on the same level of the atrocious Beatle cartoon series. (John's opening smirk immediately gives the game away.) It isn't until they're joined by George and Ringo to perform lip-synch their latest single, "Day Tripper" and "We Can Work It Out" are you reminded that these guys revolutionized the music world. These two moments alone prove The Music of Lennon & McCartney would have been a better showcase had it featured the Beatles and nobody else. Except maybe Peter Sellers.

BONUS POINTS: Ever have the desire to hear a Beatle song sounding machine-gunned out by a flamenco dancer? This is your chance.

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