Two more obscure European movies take their place alongside a pre-code political drama and a legendary early talkie that marked the beginning of the end of one of the most popular silent actors of his time.
HIS GLORIOUS NIGHT (1929): You might not have heard of His Glorious Night, but if you're a fan of Singin' in the Rain, you're definitely aware of it. You know the scene when Gene Kelly's character bombs in his first talkie while moaning, "I love you, I love you, I love you"? This movie was the inspiration. To quote Paul Harvey, now you know the rest of the story.The mockery inflicted on Gilbert at the time of His Glorious Night's release was unfair and cruel (even if he over enunciates the word "cruel" with two syllables throughout the movie.) Yes, the love scenes between Gilbert and leading lady Catherine Dale Owen are overwrought, and in need of rewrites. But contrary to legend, Gilbert doesn't have a squeaky voice. Rather the deep resonance that his silent movie roles implied, he sounds like a normal person. Too, the romance genre he specialized in during the silent era became a thing of the past in favor of musicals, gangster pictures, and wisecracking comedies.
So after nearly a century of being buried in the MGM vaults, the biggest realization of the recent restoration of His Glorious Night -- a truffle of a trifle about royal love lives, mix-ups, and the like -- is that it's a comedy. It's supposed to be funny, and, when Gilbert and Owen aren't pitching woo, they're funny, too, as are the supporting characters, including Owen's mother and a perpetually squabbling couple who appear throughout. Shout out, too, to Gustav von Seyffertitz, hilarious as the nervous, confused police commander. I laughed out loud a good half dozen times during His Glorious Night, and always on purpose. The production's problems lie not with Gilbert but the technical crudeness inherent in early talkies, along with the pedestrian direction by Lionel Barrymore. Had Ernest Lubitsch, the master of the sophisticated sex comedies, called the shots, His Glorious Night would have turned out better all around, and maybe have given John Gilbert a better transition to sound. His later movies, like the edgy pre-code Downstairs, proved he was as good as many of his contemporaries. His Glorious Night might not be glorious but doesn't deserve the negativity from by wiseasses who don't know any better. (You can tell what kind of a life I lead when I sob Leave John Gilbert alone!)
BONUS POINTS: Gustav von Seyffertitz's pledge, "I know nothing!" would later be echoed by Sgt. Schultz in Hogan's Heroes. Must be a German thing.
THE BILLION DOLLAR SCANDAL (1933): At a time when it seems like the 1% can
get away with anything, up to an including murder, it's nice to see when one of them gets it, even if it's only in a pre-code picture. The big money scandal here involves the fleecing of the American taxpayers by a group of oil magnates led by John Masterson. His live-in physical trainer, ex-con "Fingers" Bartos", turns states evidence against them at the behest of a crusading newspaper publisher. Knowing their lives will be ruined if Bartos testifies before a closed-door Congressional committee, Masterson and his pals hire a fixer named Carter B. Moore to keep the guy's yap shut. And by fixer, I mean hitman.The one-sheet on the right implies that The Billion Dollar Scandal is based on a true story, although my research can't confirm it. This doesn't prevent the movie from being an interesting slice of life drama when Depression-era audiences had it in for the uber-rich who never seemed to pay for their crimes while petty transgressors like Bartos and his pals Ratsy Harris and Kid McGurn spent years up the river simply for lack of a good lawyer. Almost a century later, the oil barons portrayed here are as hateful as any of today's tech billionaires -- they boast of their illegal behavior and how they're out to help only each other while screwing over the rest of America.
BONUS POINTS: The Billion Dollar Scandal is one of the few movies where I recognized damn near everybody. In addition to Frank Morgan (The Wizard of Oz) and Sidney Toler (the Charlie Chan Monogram mysteries), and dozen or so character actors, there are representatives from a slew of classic horror movies of the time: Robert Armstrong (King Kong), Edward van Sloan (Dracula), Olga Baclanova (Freaks), and Irving Pichel (Dracula's Daughter). For me, this is cinematic comfort food.
SZIRUSZ (SIRIUS) (1942): Recently I was in the mood for a 1940s Hungarian time-
travel/romantic-comedy/sci-fi musical. Lucky me, I stumbled across Sirius. See what happens when you wish hard enough?
Count Tibor Akos is taken to 1784 Austria in eccentric Professor Sergius's mini-rocket. Still dressed in his era-appropriate costume party outfit, Tibor spends his time at a royal party, where he falls in love with Italian opera singer Rosina Beppo, and insults everybody else. Tibor's misbehavior climaxes in a duel with his own great-grandfather. As Tibor is wounded, Sergius returns in time to bring them both back to 1942 Hungary.
Other than the shockingly diaphanous slips worn by ballerinas in a dance sequence, there's nothing in Sirius that wouldn't have been out of place in a Hollywood movie of its time. Tibor continually mentioning future events to the baffled 18th-century royal court; the only-a-dream copout; and the climactic reveal of Sergius's daughter being Rosina's lookalike great-granddaughter (which anyone familiar with old movies would have predicted before the mini-rocket even took flight to the past).
Well, so what? Sirius is a charming, witty movie, similar to Leslie Howard's time-travel move of a decade earlier, Berkeley Square, only with laughs. Even when Sergius is carted off to the bughouse, babbling about how he stood beside Atilla the Hun and witnessed the creation of earth on his travels, you want to believe the men's adventures. That whole "explanation" of how the mini-rocket crashed after two seconds in the air? Hungarian goulash, if you ask me!
BONUS POINTS: Viewers can come up with their own ideas of a 1942 Hollywood version of Sirius. Fredric March insults the royal court of 1784 Germany while falling in love with a French opera singer played by Alexis Smith. Alan Mowbray as March's great-grandfather, George Zucco as the nutty professor -- why didn't Warner Bros. buy the American remake rights?
KRAKATIT (1948): Attention, fans of science fiction, film noir, obscurities, and all-around strange stuff. The year American studios were churning out detritus like The Babe Ruth Story and My Dog Rusty, the Czechoslovak Film Company released Krakatit, a production that anticipated the atomic bomb scare of the 1950s the hallucinogenic 1960s, and the all-round paranoia of 1970s. And to make it that much more futuristic, it's based on a 1924 novel, long before Robert Oppenheimer had even heard of a place called Los Alamos.
Krakatit's opening scenes could be right out of a typical Hollywood film noir of the time. A dangerously ill unidentified man has stumbled into a hospital. Strapped with an oxygen mask to stay alive, he falls unconscious, leading to a flashback that carries the rest of the movie. He's a scientist named Prokop, and has developed Krakatit, a weapon (named after the Krakatoa volcano) that makes the A-bomb look like a water balloon. Falling ill after a small sample blew up in his lab, he had given the formula to a friend. In short order, Prokop receives a letter from his colleague's girlfriend... stumbles to the home of a village doctor... is approached by a strange man named Carson acting as a representative for a country wanting the formula... creates another bomb made out of cosmetics... and experiences still more adventures, climaxing with Krakatit destroying several European capitals.
Is any of it real? Are they dreams? Hallucinations? Hallucinations of dreams? Dreams of real events? Real events made hallucinative through his illness? Take your pick, folks. All I can tell you is that Krakatit doesn't resemble any other movie of its time.
Karel Hoger gives Prokop a haunted, guilty demeanor throughout, ashamed of his "talent" for creating explosives out of anything handy. Worthy of mention is Eduard Linkers as the chatty, nattily-dressed Carson. His lighthearted performance is similar to the pre-Bilko Phil Silvers during his movie days, and gave me a smile every time he appeared onscreen. Had Krakatit been made in Hollywood by an independent studio like Monogram with a larger than normal budget, it would be considered a movie landmark, and the greatest American sci-fi noir (if there is such a genre) ever made.
BONUS POINTS: Four years before the publication of the novel Krakatit, its author Karel Capek wrote the stage play R.U.R., which introduced the word "robot". This guy was really on to something.
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So after nearly a century of being buried in the MGM vaults, the biggest realization of the recent restoration of His Glorious Night -- a truffle of a trifle about royal love lives, mix-ups, and the like -- is that it's a comedy. It's supposed to be funny, and, when Gilbert and Owen aren't pitching woo, they're funny, too, as are the supporting characters, including Owen's mother and a perpetually squabbling couple who appear throughout. Shout out, too, to Gustav von Seyffertitz, hilarious as the nervous, confused police commander. I laughed out loud a good half dozen times during His Glorious Night, and always on purpose. 
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