THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 35

Three Paramount pre-Codes, two John Carradine appearances, two stories involving soul transfers, and one Monogram B-picture. Is this heaven or what?

PICK UP (1933): Mary Richards (not the news producer in Minneapolis with the wacky friends) is let out of prison after serving time for an extortion racket -- which ended in a mark's suicide -- run by her husband John, who has three more years to serve. Having nowhere to go on a rainy evening, Mary ducks into a cab driven by Harry Glynn, who takes pity on her, invites her to move in with him, and gets her a job at the taxi garage as a phone operator. Mary, who hasn't told Harry of her unsavory past, urges him to pursue his dreams to open his own auto repair garage. Over time, they rise the up the social ladder. Just as Mary gets her marriage annulled, John breaks out of prison with the idea of killing Harry, who's fallen in love with a shallow rich divorcee. Mary manages to convince John to hit the road with her in order to save Harry's life. Tell it to the judge!

Pick Up has plenty of pre-code moments, starting with references to "the badger game" (where a woman entices a man to a phony romantic liaison, only to have her husband break it up and force the victim pay hush money). Because Mary is still married, she and Harry shack up for three years; while they're never seen in bed together, you get the idea they're not just roommates. The subplot of the wealthy woman who strings along a "caveman" for her own amusement was typical of the time, as was her horselaugh when the sap proposes marriage. (Pre-codes were often down on rich people, who do stupid things like throw parties where guests dress like children, play on see-saws, and drink out of baby bottles as they do here.) Even the typically sleazy opening theme by the Paramount orchestra promises a good time. 

So why is Pick Up just kind of meh? Other than the slow pace, the fault ultimately lies with George Raft as Harry. An actor's flat, low-key style can often be interesting, drawing you in, making you wonder what makes him tick. All you wonder about Raft is if he would have even gotten a movie contract had he not been best friends with Bugsy Siegel. A pro like cutie-pie Sylvia Sidney, as Mary, leaves him in the dust in every scene they share. In fact, everyone in Pick Up outshines Raft, whose one moment of drama -- hiring a lawyer to defend Mary when she runs off with John -- sounds no more emotional than ordering a new set of tires. Hell of a shiny head of hair, though. (If you're going to watch Pick Up, stick with it 'til the end just for its ludicrous only-in-the-movies courtroom climax.)

BONUS POINTS: An outrageous phallic symbol is provided by close-up of Harry's fuel pump overflowing into Muriel's gas tank. Honest.

SUPERNATURAL (1933): Supernatural's poster promises a great time, and by and large delivers, well, a good one. One doesn't expect a dish like Carole Lombard in a borderline-fantasy/horror movie, where she plays Roma Courtney, who has inherited her late brother's fortune. Desperate to know how he died, Roma falls for the promises of Paul Bavian, a sham psychic who tries to worm  his way into her heart money. His plans are interrupted by Dr. Carl Housan, who has revived the spirit of executed killer Ruth Rogen. Guess whose body she decides to park in? By the end of Supernatural's 65 minutes, Bavian learns the hard way that you don't want to get involved with a woman whose soul has been hijacked by a very unpleasant dead woman.

Supernatural, a Paramount Picture influenced by Universal's horror shows, is unique by offering two views of the fantasy world. It presents psychics not just as scammers, but criminals -- Bavian kills his landlady when she threatens to spill the beans on his phony baloney. Yet it totally accepts the possibility of the revival of a dead person's soul. (You may recall Man With Two Lives passing off a similar idea as a coma-induced dream.) Perhaps to make sure audiences knew Dr. Housan wasn't a nutty scientist like Dr. Frankenstein, he's played by H.B. Warner, best known for starring in King of Kings six years earlier. How bad could he be if he played Jesus, right? 

Carole Lombard is quite good as the before-and-after Roma Courtney; her style -- even her looks -- change dramatically when becoming possessed by Ruth Rogen.  Roma is such an innocent that you kind of understand why she doesn't see through Alan Dinehart's Paul Bavian -- he has such a kind manner (for a murderer). Pre-cowboy Randolph Scott looks good in a tux, but it's difficult to picture Lombard falling for him. Supernatural is no classic, but it's an interesting change of pace from Paramount's usual sexy comedies and pre-codes. And from what I've read about the guys who ran movie studios then, they all could have used a soul transplant. 

BONUS POINTS: The bizarre, montage-heavy prologue featuring Ruth Rogen testifying in court and newspaper headlines playing up the trial. The rest of the movie doesn't live up to its promise, but it's a nice opening.

THIS DAY AND AGE (1933): So connected is Cecil B. DeMille to Biblical epics that it's a little stunning to stumble across his early pre-Code talkies, especially This Day and Age. A beloved tailor named Herman Farbstein is gunned down by gangster Louis Garrett for not paying up for a protection racket. After Garrett is found not guilty, three high school seniors look for proof of his crime, leading the gangster to murder one of them. Fully expecting that Garrett will once again get off scot-free, a bunch of the victim's friends decide that vigilantism is their only choice. But don't worry, before they string him up, they'll make sure he gets a fair trial with a jury of every blood-hungry teenage boy in town. Wait, don't they know females are allowed to serve, too?

With a climax almost-embarrassingly influenced by Fritz Lang's M, This Day and Age plays on the crime-weary audience's disgust with pesky things like law, evidence, and guilt beyond reasonable doubt. Perennial heavy Charles Bickford plays Garrett as such an evil guy that you really don't mind seeing him lowered into a huge hole of hungry rats. Don't ask me to recount the name of the high school kids or the actors who play them -- most of them are interchangeable pretty boys who dress more like legal interns than highschoolers. 

There's enough spectacle and violence here to keep modern audiences alternately entertained and shocked. (The murders are particularly brutal, while a teen girl essentially volunteers to be possibly raped by Garrett's bodyguard in order to distract him from his job.) Per usual with DeMille pictures, every dollar of the budget is onscreen, with hundreds of extras, large sets, and handsome cinematography making This Day and Age an unusually impressive-looking Paramount production. 

And don't worry about the girl and the bodyguard. When he learns that she's a virgin, he shakes his head and mutters, "I like my olives green, but I don't pick 'em." See, he's a nice guy after all!

BONUS POINTS: The brief role of the extraordinarily articulate school Vice-Principal is credited to John Peter Richmond, who would soon change his name to John Carradine.

VOODOO MAN (1944): It's an adage first spoken by Aristotle: a movie doesn't
have to be great to be a great movie. Exhibit one: Voodoo Man, wherein two fellows named Nicholas and Toby are kidnapping young women in order for their boss, Dr. Marlowe, to transfer the right soul into the body of his wife who's been dead 20 long years, yet kept in excellent condition somehow or another. Plenty of people would like anybody's soul transferred into their living spouses, but that's another story entirely.

A major studio would have made a B-picture like Voodoo Man an utter bore thanks to writers, directors and actors who were ashamed of the assignment. But the behind-the-scenes folks at Monogram knew exactly how to excite the audience and find the right actors who could sell the product. And in this movie, Bela Lugosi (Marlowe), George Zucco (Nicholas), and John Carradine (Toby) not only sell it, they offer a money-back guarantee if you aren't entertained. 

As usual, Lugosi plays it totally straight, putting memories of his stage days in Hungary out of his head for the sake of the movie. Zucco is hilariously out of place as the owner of a gas station (where the women are kidnapped) who doubles as a boogity-boogity-chanting shaman during the attempted soul transfers. The relatively young (38) whippersnapper Carradine successfully goes to toe with these two legends, channeling Lennie from Of Mice and Men as the IQ-deficient Toby, running around with his arms stiffly at his sides with his mouth agape like the Bryce Canyon. Movie snobs who go gaga for Godard or run tout suite for Truffaut don't know what they're missing by turning up their snooty noses at Voodoo Man. It even features a subplot about a screenwriter named Ralph who's trying to solve the mystery of the disappearing women in order to write a movie about the disappearing women starring Bela Lugosi! That's kind of Fellini, isn't it?

BONUS POINTS: The legendary director William "One Take" Beaudine lives up to his nickname when the gas-ration sticker on a car windshield changes from shot to shot.

                                                          ***************

MOVIE OF THE DAY: "LOYALTIES" (1933)

 

In light of recent events, as the cliche goes, it's interesting to watch the 90 year-old British movie Loyalties. During a weekend pajama party for champagne-swilling plutocrats, Jewish businessman Ferdinand de Levis discovers that £1700 has gone missing from his wallet. The most likely thief is another guest, the openly antisemitic Capt. Ronald Dancy, who denies de Levis' accusations. The other, slightly less-openly antisemitic guests prefer to believe (or claim) it was the work of an intruder. As word of the theft gets around the private club these jokers belong to, de Levis is urged to stop his accusations. Confident that there's no proof as to who committed the robbery, Dancy takes de Levis to court for slander, a move that eventually turns fatal for the captain/bigot/thief.

Which profile would you believe?

Unlike the previously-discussed American movie Counselor-At-Law starring John Barrymore, the religion of the lead character (played by Basil Rathbone) is front and center in Loyalties, as is the discrimination he faces. Even in the pre-Code days, American movies couldn't get away with dialogue like "You damn Jew!" as Loyalties does here, the Brits not averse to an extra dose of realism. 

De Levis' "friends" are despicable to the core. The business club members care more about protecting a thief than seeing justice served. One of the women attending the slander trial wonders if the jury's "two chosen people" should have been rejected by the defense.  At no time does anybody other than de Levis give a damn about the crime -- it's all about loyalties to one's class. (When Dancy meets his inevitable fate, it's de Levis who's blamed.)

Yet Loyalties is more complex than it seems. The bigots don't care for de Levis but allow him as part of their little circle. De Levis himself initially agrees to drop charges against Dancy in exchange for membership in the Jockey Club. It's as if both camps are deliberately daring each other (and themselves) to see how far they'll go before somebody snaps. 

C'mon, Basil, can't you be a little more obvious?

Basil Rathbone's performance is especially interesting, even if he's as believable here as Barrymore was at playing a Jewish character, Throughout Loyalties, he's contemptuous of these awful people, yet appears quietly desperate to be part of their clique, even if it means trading justice for another step up the class ladder. 

But what really fascinates is how Rathbone plays de Levis. He's not just foppish, but downright effeminate, doing his best to portray him not as Jewish but a stereotypical gay man of his time. Pursing lips, hands on hips, tilted head -- it's almost as if Loyalties wants to portray the other characters as being so blinded by antisemitism that they can't see the obvious staring at them. (Jews might have been looked down upon, but homosexuality was illegal in the UK until 1967.)

Alan Napier (left) was old before he was young.

 Director Basil Dean jazzes things up visually from time to time with flashbacks, montages, interesting close-ups, and a climax that had me saying "Wow!" out loud. A couple of supporting actors are worth a mention, too. Miles Manders (the despicable Capt. Dancy) would appear with Rathbone over a decade later in the Sherlock Holmes movies The Scarlet Claw and The Pearl of Death. The one rich bastard who suspects Dancy of the crime, Gen. Canynge, is played by Alan Napier, who looks almost exactly as he did as Alfred the butler in the Batman series three decades later despite being only 30 years old here. Loyalties, then, makes for a remarkable viewing for cultural, historic, and, sadly, contemporary reasons. 

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THE BEST AND THE BRIGHTEST

 A quick look at the 2004 presidential race as it stands today.

A candidate currently on trial for crimes involving hush money paid to a porn "star" with whom he had a tawdry sexual encounter, yet who still has the support of his party and his Christian fans, the latter of whom are sending him money while admiring his "billionaire" status.

A candidate whose most recent gaffe involves recounting the tale
of his uncle getting eating by cannibals in Papua New Guinea, and who still claims his eldest son was killed in Iraq instead of by cancer.

A presidential candidate who freely talks of how a worm ate away part of his brain, has cognitive problems, believes Covid was a bioweapon designed to spare the lives of Jewish and Chinese people, and once urged his previous wife to kill herself.

                                       AMERICA: THE ENVY OF THE FREE WORLD!

                                                      *****************************

IN THE MOOD FOR MOOD

 It appears that early spring is the time for my creativity to take a hike; I've had one or two pieces on the fire for weeks now, long enough for said fire to go out. I'll return to them when the brain switches on again. Perhaps this is the time for me to pay attention to a piece of junk mail that arrived yesterday -- a missive I never thought I'd live long enough to see, but am now too old to get excited about.

The product is called Mood, and its address, hellomood.com, sounds like an advertiser on Lifetime or HGTV; the type that sells products to turn your home into your personal spa, like Danish Sticky Bun-aroma incense, or skin lotions made from only the most endangered rainforest plants. 

I hope my mailman doesn't get the wrong idea.

Wrong mood, friend. This mood is the kind that until recently was illegal in all 50 states. Marijuana has now joined the ranks of cable TV, phone services, and Medicare scams as junk mail you didn't know you needed. 

Not that the mellow Mood folks call it marijuana. This is THC and cannabis, in a half-dozen delightful means of consumption: edibles, pre-rolls, gummies, vapes, flowers, and concentrates. No longer will you have to search the bottom of your underwear drawer for rolling papers. Nor will you need to make sure you have snacks on hand when the munchies start -- not when the stuff is already in the "food". 

And it's not like they're marketing this stuff to kids. The Mood card is addressed to OUR FRIENDS OVER 21. They have no idea just how far over 21 we are.

Looks like somebody got there way
before Mood.

Remember when you smoked a joint to get stoned, period? That's so 1975! These days, cannabis, like automobiles, computers, and slippers, come in different styles: Classic, Chill Euphoric, Relieved, Energized, and more. One is "perfect for deep conversation, making art, brainstorming." Sure. As I recall, the deep conversation we engaged in while stoned were comparing Bugs Bunny to Daffy Duck. Art never getting the past the sharpening the pencil stage. And brainstorming was along the lines of, "I've got it! What if we made a three-hour movie of us watching a three-hour movie!" 

That particular Mood product, by the way, is called Ice Queen Dab Badder, to be used in a dab ring. (Drop me a line if you know what the hell these things are.) One of the pre-rolls -- "a slice of happiness that melts over you like butter on freshly baked bread" -- is called Wonder Bread. Are they too stoned to realize there's such a thing as copyright laws?  

I don't recall side effects like comparing legs.

My dope days ended around 1994, when alleged creativity gave way to sleepiness. But about seven years ago, while at a Super Bowl party, I was invited by the host to step outside with some other guests to indulge. He warned me that grass had changed over the years. But so had I! Just not enough. 

For several minutes, I felt nothing. Just as I was ready to ask for my money back (not that I paid anything anyway), my brain suddenly felt like it was expanding and shrinking like a car-washing sponge. The laid-back vibe that the marijuana of long ago had "advanced" to an out of control fear that I was never going to be normal again.

Where were these marijuana
girls when I was smoking?

After returning inside, I stood totally still as the sounds and sights of the party felt like locomotives speeding toward me from all sides. Whatever felt like drug-induced paranoia in the past was nothing compared to this. How long did I stand there frozen in place? Two minutes? Five? Twenty? 

In reality -- something I was desperately in need of -- it was probably 30 seconds. I stumbled into the next room to grab my jacket and get the hell out of there without even a goodbye to my generous host. 

I haven't tried it since. I doubt Mood will tempt me to try it again, even in gummy form. Living in the year 2024 has made my mood paranoid enough.

Just how paranoid? A few minutes after browsing the Mood site in order to glean information for this piece, I received an email from its co-founder thanking me for visiting, even though I hadn't left my name or address. Who needs high-octane pot when life as we know it is this weird?

                                                               *********

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 34

 Strictly by coincidence, this Early Show has two "bringing the dead back to life" movies, and two TV shows from the early 1960s. If you've seen any of these, the next drink's on me. On a Zoom call, I mean.

SIX HOURS TO LIVE (1932): Paul Onslow, an ambassador of Sylvaria, has been assassinated by an unknown person. Good news: The police commissioner has a friend who's invented a machine that can bring the dead back to life. Bad news: They can stay alive only six hours. (You'd think he'd have worked a little harder on fixing that glitch.) Onslow will use that time to have dinner, explain to the woman who loves him that he's no longer the marrying kind, find the guy who killed him, and remind the police commissioner that death is scary only in your mind. I'd have dropped a couple of tabs of acid, but to each his own.

Sci-fi, horror, and politics were hot stuff in the early '30s movies. Six Hours to Live manages to combine all three genres, along with a dash of romance. Onslow is the only representative who refuses to sign a pact involving international finance, believing that it's a cover for the major governments to make out like bandits while their citizens get nothing. He isn't wrong -- that's why someone at the table wants him out of the way in order for a substitute to vote yea. Otherwise, the pact is null and void, as Onslow will be in a few minutes. Once revived, he has a new appreciation for life, taking a moment to help a streetwalker (money only!) and a little flower girl (ditto). Onslow doesn't even kill his assassin, preferring that the guy suffers "a living death". Today, that's known as, well, life as we know it.

Six Hours to Live's political angle was typical for its time, being a mildly progressive subplot that drives the story. Warner Baxter makes Onslow the rare rich guy in a silk cape who's on the side of the little man. (The cape also gives a Dracula-vibe when he's closing in on his killer.) Nor does he overdo his (second) death scene. Wilting like a flower, Baxter rests alongside a tree as a beatific gaze passes over his eyes as the end comes. Director William Dieterle (Syncopation) provides style perfectly fitting all the genres the movie covers -- the life-revival scene could fit in any horror movie of its time. It's just too bad that, as usual, Six Hours to Live's print on YouTube is bleary and over-pixilated. The Musuem of Modern Art possesses a restored version, but you have to be, you know, a scholar to access it. Ergo, I advise you to skip Six Hours to Live as it appears online and wait for someone at MOMA to drop dead for six hours so you can sneak in and see their print. (Kidding, MOMA, kidding!)

BONUS POINTS: Two years earlier, co-stars John Boles and Marilyn Harris were in Frankenstein, as Victor Moritz and the little girl who gets thrown in the lake respectively (if not respectfully).

MAN WITH TWO LIVES (1942): When nice guy Phillip Bennett dies in an auto

accident, his father asks Dr. Richard Clark to make good on his reviving-the-dead experiments. Good news: it works! Bad news: the soul of a gangster named Panino, who was executed at the same time, enters Phillip. Why don't these scientists ever take these things into consideration? 

By the 1940s, only a B-movie outfit like Monogram would try pulling off a sci-fi/ gangster hybrid like Man with Two Lives. And gosh darn it, the thing works -- up to a point. One-time A-list supporting actor Edward Norris plays the title role -- or roles -- convincingly; his transformation into a cold-blooded gangster is something of a shock, as is his blunt romancing of Panino's trashy moll Helen, along with his growing hatred of his loving family and fiancée Louise. Even Panino's gang is scared of him. Yet you can see something of the good Phillip underneath the monster from time to time, giving his character a complexity not usually seen in B's. You actually start feeling sorry for him -- here's a guy through, no fault of his own, is on a very obvious self-destructive path, thanks to an ill-considered wish from his loving father and twisted brilliance of a scientist...

Which is probably why at the very end, Man with Two Lives goes kablooey when the story turns out to be a nightmare suffered by Phillip during a four-day coma following the accident. I hate when that happens, especially in a movie as good as this. Had Man with Two Lives (couldn't Monogram afford a "The" in the title?) been a pre-code from a decade earlier, Phillip would have been shot by a cop as he was here, but too damn bad about how it wasn't his fault. His father and the scientist would be condemned to a lifetime of guilt; his fiancée would never know a day's happiness from then on. Doesn't that sound like a better picture?

BONUS POINTS: Phil Rosen, the director of Man with Two Lives, showed how powerful a gloomy climax could be with his previously-discussed Monogram pre-code The Phantom Broadcast. 

DR. KILDARE (UNAIRED PILOT) (1960): It isn't unusual for a TV series to undergo cast
changes before its premiere. Dr. Kildare went a step further to change the lead actor and concept. For the pilot, Lew Ayres was brought back to recreate his starring role from MGM's nine Kildare movies from 1938 to 1942 (and 1950 radio series).  No longer a young intern, he's now chief diagnostician at Blair General Hospital. And as Dr. Gillespie mentored him decades earlier, so Kildare mentors the young intern Dr. Grayson. The circle of life and all that.

Lionel Barrymore, the original Gillespie, was six years dead but not forgotten, as his portrait hangs in Kildare's office. Ayres even quotes a line of dialogue Barrymore spoke in one of the movies (a reference to a "mentally retarded ringtail baboon" wouldn't make the cut today). The story itself -- Kildare wanting to keep Dr. Grayson at the hospital rather than allowing him to go into private practice -- is a remake of one of the early Kildare movies. (Don't ask me which; they all blend together in my memory.) Kildare goes behind Grayson's back to upset his plans, causing a brief rift between the two before amends are made during a run-up to brain surgery, no doubt a common event in busy hospitals during the overnight shift.

As when he was the young Kildare, Lew Ayres is a warm, comforting presence; you'd want him as your GP even if he didn't accept insurance.   Joe Cronin is serviceable the role of Dr. Grayson -- but why didn't that part go to the charismatic, 24-year-old Robert Redford instead of the brief uncredited role he has here? No matter. Lew Ayres and MGM parted ways when his request that Dr. Kildare not be sponsored by cigarettes was refused. (Who did this guy think he was, a doctor?) The studio revived the original idea of young Dr. Kildare mentored by the wise Dr. Gillespie, giving Richard Chamberlain and Raymond Massey a comfortable five-year run shilling cancer sticks between visits to the O.R. It's my personal diagnosis that this was the first example of TV producers trashing the older audience in favor of younger, primarily female viewers. Now pay the receptionist on the way out.

BONUS POINTS: The Kildare pilot was directed by John Newland, the director and host of One Step Beyond. Olan Soule, one of the most familiar character actors in TV history, plays a doctor. Do a Google Image search; if you're of a certain age, you'll automatically say, Oh, that guy! 

ONE STEP BEYOND: THE SACRED MUSHROOM (1961): Next to The Twilight
Zone, One Step Beyond was my favorite spooky show during childhood. The difference between the two was that One Step Beyond was based upon true stories -- maybe. As host John Newland explained at the end of the episodes, nobody could prove or disprove their veracity. For a gullible eight year-old, that was good enough.

One episode, titled "The Sacred Mushroom", couldn't be disproved, though, because it wasn't a dramatization at all. Newland and his crew travelled to a village in Mexico to investigate a 'shroom that, when ingested, allegedly provided the gift of ESP.  After bribing some locals with medicine, Newland and his pals are able to meet up with a shaman at a midnight ceremony, where a missionary and two American scientists eat the 'shroom. Aside from the missionary getting an embarrassing case of the giggles, the Yanquis show zero side effects. The shaman does correctly diagnose one of the scientist's heart problems and, while he's at it, solves a local burro theft, which makes me wonder if med schools and police academies are a waste of time and money.

Eventually it's time for Newland himself to get in on the action. Under the care of a certain Dr. Baharish, Newland first needs to take an ESP test while sober. When he flunks that, it's time for the mushroom, which leaves him feeling "fine" and "strong", along with a sense of "well-being". (My experiences with mushrooms leaned more toward "goofy as hell".) Following a round with a strobe light, which leaves him seeing colors while his eyes are closed, it's time for a repeat of the ESP test, where he now scores higher than before. Personally, I would have been more convinced if he had found a stolen burro. "The Sacred Mushroom" promises more than it delivers -- I was hoping for Newland to yell, "The walls are melting!" -- but when was the last time you saw a 1961 TV show where someone ate a (semi) magic mushroom?

BONUS POINTS: "The Sacred Mushroom" was One Step Beyond's most popular episode. It was also the only one not to go into syndication after its original network run. I wonder if John Newland saw that during his 'shroom trip. 

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TULSA JOKER

 

Sitting on the floor between takes at a former psych
hospital for six days in the middle of winter
would've been OK if the damn show had been
picked up by the network.

If it hasn't been made clear by now, let me assure you that background work is like any job. Sometimes it's fun; other days, all you want to do is go home. Mostly, it's OK. Anyone who gets into it expecting glamour is delusional. And those wanting it to be "fair" -- whatever that means -- has no idea how the game of life is played. 

It helps if you're willing to work overnights or accept 3:00 a.m. call times -- I'm not -- but often it just comes down to looks. Most of us accept our fate. I'm quite aware that my looks peaked a few years ago and, like the recent eclipse, lasted but a short time. As long as I'm not verbally reminded of it, I'm fine.

So I'm happy to live in New York rather than Atlanta, where the Paramount+ streaming series The Tulsa King is filmed. (Does Atlanta look that much like Tulsa? On a cheaper soundstage, it does.) The casting agency providing background quit this week when Tulsa King's star was heard disparaging some of the extras' looks with observations like "fucking ugly", "fat guy with a cane", and the old standby "tub of lard". 

Pot, kettle.

That's bad enough. But when those words are spoken by Sylvester Stallone, as they were here, then it crosses the line to You gotta be kidding me. 

I'm not going to disparage someone who looks (and sounds) like he was repeatedly punched in the face with cement block before undergoing mediocre plastic surgery and bathing in bronzer. That kind of thing is beneath me. I merely allow you to look at the picture and decided for yourself: Does this creature have the right to insult the looks of anything that walks on two feet, including probiscis monkeys?

By all means, laugh. But this was the
submission that got me the part of
"1980s Porn Convention Attendee"
on The Deuce. And I still didn't make 
final cut when it aired!

After he (and the director!) were through with their physiognomy studies, Stallone demanded, "Bring pretty young girls to be around me". As if they would do such a thing if they weren't being paid for the "pleasure". And since the "fat guy with a cane" was probably the only guy with a cane on set, throwing in "fat" is pretty ugly (there's that word again!) on Stallone's part.

I've experienced similar situations on sets, but nobody heard the star or director say, "Get rid of that skinny goofball." It usually comes down to, "Move the guy with the glasses." No problem. They want a particular look in the shot. I get it. it's just business. Polite business. Professional 

business.

In addition to taking a glance in the mirror, Stallone might want to remember that he's remained as relevant as he is by playing (and replaying and re-replaying) Rocky and Rambo (introduced in 1976 and 1982 respectively); appearing in the increasingly ridiculed Expendables movies; and that Tulsa King is running on a platform that lost $490 million in the last quarter of 2023. Rather than making fun of extras, he should be happy anybody wants to be seen with him, even for money. 

                           ***************

RATTLED

Would the Times ever make the top of 
 their front page look like that?

 Depending on where you live, a 4.8 earthquake might be akin to a belch following a large serving of goulash. To us residents of the Northeast, it's cause for panic, and local news shows to take over the airwaves for a few hours, damn the commercials and full ratings ahead.

Personally, it allowed me to text and email various friends and family the words I never thought I'd say: We just had an earthquake!  For those who currently or used to live in California, their response could have been, What else you got? But they were gracious enough to listen to the deets, as the kids say.

Oh, you want to hear it, too? Well, alright. I was in the kitchen when a weird rumbling sound followed by shaking started. For the first second or two, it felt like a large truck going by, But as it grew louder and more fierce, I knew this was no vehicle. By the fifth second, I thought there was a pretty good chance of the ceiling collapsing, so I did what anyone would have done: run to the window to see if a giant crack had appeared in the middle of 84th Street as neighbors ran around screaming and crying.

It didn't and they weren't. The scene was actually quieter than usual. What a letdown. The shaking faded away after 10 or 12 seconds. It felt longer; in some areas, people reported it lasting 20 to 30 seconds. (A very small quake located in Queens several weeks ago went unnoticed by most of us.)

Trump was quoted as saying, "It was Ramapo's
fault! I had nothing to do with it!"

This was one of the rare occasions when New Yorkers felt comfortable talking to neighbors and strangers alike -- Did you feel the earthquake? Everyone with a cellphone got an emergency message roughly an hour later advising us what happened. Thanks -- for nothing! We know what happened. 

News anchors, along with city and state officials, went into overdrive, reporting for hours that there was little or no damage to report. And they had the video to prove it! Oh, folks in New Jersey, close to the epicenter, posted home videos of dogs going crazy, pictures falling from the walls, everyone saying, "Is that an earthquake?" What the hell do you think it is?

They're getting weaker while I'm
growing stronger!

Thanks to the usual hustle & bustle of the city, nobody who was outside at the time felt anything. Neither did anyone at my wife's tap class. It wasn't until we were both home when the aftershock hit at exactly 6:00 p.m. -- right in time for the local news! -- that she felt it. It didn't last as quite as long, nor was it as violent as the morning quake, being "only" a 4.0. 

Having grown up in the suburbs of L.A., my wife experienced at least five quakes in that time. According to her, the West Coast quakes were more like waves, while this one was just shaking. It's called an "earthQUAKE", not "earthWAVE".

This time, the aftershock alert came only 12 minutes later, followed by the official confirmation at 7:07, with the assurance "NYers can continue usual activities." Apparently, I had jumped the gun because I already picked up dinner at 6:50. I'll wait for the official word next time.

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STRICTLY ON BACKGROUND, PT. 61: ODDS & ENDS

 As of this writing, I find myself in a work slump, having gotten only two background gigs since the end of the strikes. It was concerning, until looking over my work spreadsheet. After returning to work following my covid vaccination, I worked only seven times in 2021. But the following year was my busiest ever; perhaps I'm on the same trajectory. Or MAYBE IT IS ALL OVER FOR ME!!! Until I find out for sure, here are some that range from Is that him? to Nah, I don't see him at all.

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON: February 19, 2022, Cardinal Hayes High School for Boys, Bronx, NY. I had been booked to be part of a 1930s radio audience for a project titled Grey Horse. That was good enough, seeing that I love doing period pieces. But when learning it was the code name for Killers of the Flower Moon -- that was a thrill and a nine-tenths. We spent two days shooting at the auditorium of the school, which was Martin Scorsese's alma mater. 

We were actually on set only about an hour the first day, and three hours the next. Scorsese directed the "radio actors" and, when it was time for our reaction shots, left us in the hands of his assistant. But we saw enough of him in action both times to feel like we were part of the cool crowd. As for where I am -- see the grey-haired woman in the middle of the shot in the front row? Go three rows directly behind her. I've enlarged it for your oohing and aahing pleasure.

MR. & MRS. SMITH: June 7, 2022, Tompkins Square Park, first episode of the series. These are my own clothes, and one of the rare times I got wear sunglasses. When we returned the following Monday to shoot other angles, they gave me a different wardrobe. It was for naught; this was my only on-camera appearance on the episode. And the entire season, come to think of it. Guess I made quite the impression!

MAESTRO: July 7, 2022, Carnegie Hall. Another period scene, this time 1943. We were watching Bradley Cooper as Leonard Bernstein conducting the New York Symphony for the first time. Cooper not only looked like Bernstein, he, rather than the A.D., did most of the talking to us. He was clear in his direction, and effusive in his thanks, helping to make this one of my favorite gigs ever.  It's too bad you really don't have a chance to see how authentic we all looked. It comes as no shock I was able to find myself; I'm circled in red. Let me save you the trouble of saying it: Pathetic. (I worked on another Maestro theater scene, which took place 1947, but almost nothing of it made the final cut -- but I looked for me!) 

THE GIRLS ON THE BUS: October 6, 2022, Briarcliff Manor, NY. Through the
magic of television, I was an Iowa caucus goer at a Westchester County school gym. I was in four shots, but posted the only one where I'm easy to see. If you watch this episode, look for me in and outside the gym. Or you can just enjoy the show. Yes, that might be the better choice.

THE FBI: January 8, 2023, Fidelity Triangle, Brooklyn. My first post-strike gig, as an attendee of a park dedication. But since this is The FBI, there's also an attempted murder by a terrorist. It was good to get back to work, even if it was chilly with occasional drizzle and a round of sleet. I got to show off my acting "skills" when reacting to gunfire, but audiences were denied my moment of drama in the final cut. Just a coincidence, I'm sure. All they saw of me was at the beginning of the scene (on the rear left), and a crane shot of my scalp (not here, though). And I even wore a suit and tie for the occasion! Total time from arrival to departure: 6:00 a.m. to 12:15 p.m -- my kind of workday.

BLUE BLOODS: January 24, 2024, Brooklyn Masonic Temple. My second (and, so
far, last) post-strike gig. My fifth time on Blue Bloods, and first in seven years to the month where Tom Selleck was present. It's a meeting of cops and a representative of the Teamsters. In the first shot, I'm in the first row, right side, second from the left, head turned to the woman sitting next to me.

When it came time to shoot the reverse angle, some of us were shuttled to the other side of the room. I can now be seen in the third row, peeking over Selleck's head. The scene doesn't last more than four minutes, but we were on the set at least 90 minutes. It was long enough to know that even at age 79, Selleck could still kick my ass. 

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 33

The years 1931-1933 are spotlighted here, with three pre-code features and one short. You won't find these on any of those "Movies You Must See Before You Die" lists. Unless I'm compiling them.

THE VICE SQUAD (1931): While Warner Brothers was getting condemned for allegedly "glamorizing" criminals, here Paramount went in the other direction by exposing crooked cops. For two years, former upright lawyer Stephen Lucarno has been blackmailed into being a stool pigeon by Vice Squad commander Matthews. Having disappeared from his old life, Lucarno now drinks his days away while waiting to frame hookers at night. His life seems to turn around with a chance meeting with his friend Judge Tom Morrison, whose sister is Lucarno's ex-fiancée Alice. But just as a reconciliation with her seems imminent, Lucarno learns an innocent acquaintance, Madeline Hunt, has been framed on a trumped-up charge. Alice gives Lucarno a choice -- return to her and the life he once knew, or lose it all by testifying on Madeline's behalf. 

The Vice Squad plays cute by having cops referring to hookers as "vagrants" and prostitution as, you guessed it, "vagrancy", despite it never being in doubt what these dames are up to. As with a lot of pre-code pictures, The Vice Squad never really comes down hard on these women. If anything, their plight appears to be the fault of society, the Depression, and guys like the ogrish Det.-Sgt. Matthews, who roped Lucarno into being a stoolie when the latter refused to identify a sidepiece who fatally ran down a cop. Better to keep the arrest numbers up than trying to solve the murder of a colleague!

Despite Lucarno getting himself into his mess, Hungarian-born Paul Lukas (Address Unknown, Downstairs) gives the character humanity; his shame at falling so far is shown right down to the worn-out tips of his dress gloves. While only 36, Lucas passes for a middle-aged man who has thrown his life away. (Judith Wood, as Madeline, was 25 but looks two decades younger than him.) Kay Francis, not quite yet the queen of pre-codes, doesn't have a whole lot do other than moon for Lucarno, but she does it with her usual class, style, and lisp. The gaudily-named actor Rockliffe Fellowes makes you hate Matthews even more than you normally would -- here's an guy unafraid to be make a bad cop look even worse. Credit The Vice Squad for giving 1931 audiences the chance to boo the alleged good guys and sympathize with the so-called criminals for once. But did it occur to them that the woman who killed the cop in the first reel got off scot-free?

BONUS POINTS: Street names are altered just enough -- Barrow to Harrow, Christopher to Cristobal -- so it isn't necessarily the New York vice squad that's corrupt. It just... sounds like it.

FALSE FACES (1932): Dr. Silas Brenton, having been thrown out of Bronx General

Hospital for unethical behavior, sets up shop in Chicago where he becomes a plastic surgeon despite lacking the proper training. As Brenton's business and fame grow, his scruples lessen, promoting skin creams, hosting his own radio show, and starting an affair with Florence Day, the wealthy adult daughter of his latest patient, while still sleeping with his secretary Elsie. Brenton's luck runs out when his treatment of a patient's bowlegs ends in an amputation. Acting as his own attorney, Brenton's melodramatic closing arguments sway the jury in his favor -- but his unfortunate patient has the final word. 

Rat bastards weren't uncommon in pre-codes, but Silas Brenton is one for the books -- he lost his Bronx job by extorting money from poor patients at what was supposed to be a free hospital. In Chicago, he refuses payment from a famous actress, then sues her for non-payment to get his name in the papers. He promises to fix the droopy eye of Florence's mother, while knowing all along it'll never work. He refuses to answer the telegrams from the nurse he was sleeping with in the Bronx. Lowell Sherman (who also directed) plays Brenton so that the audience feels pure joy when fate finally catches up to him. He's quite good, often reminiscent of his friend (and real-life brother-in-law) John Barrymore, clearly loving this monstrous character. 

Speaking of pre-code, Sherman's direction gets the idea across of Benton's relationship with Georgia, the Bronx nurse, as he helps her with her coat while the image of his unmade bed lingers in the background. He also gets fine performances from familiar supporting actors including David Landau (70,000 Witnesses) and the doomed Peggy Shannon (Turn Back the Clock). This surprisingly good looking, low-budget release from Sono Art-World Wide (the studio with the outrageous logo) might be called False Faces but is a real treat.

BONUS POINTS: Eddie Anderson has a brief scene as a chauffeur, five years before gaining fame as Rochester on The Jack Benny Program.

FROM HELL TO HEAVEN (1933): This might as well be titled A Grand Hotel Day at the Races. A bunch of couples, singles and suckers, all betting on different horses in the same race, have good reason to hope their choices pay off. Wesley Burt needs to repay the $3,000 he embezzled from his employer. Two-timing dame Colly Tanner is $10,000 in the hole. Horse owner Pop Lockwood is down to his last bale of hay. Sam the bellhop just wants to make an extra buck or two. And a criminal is going for some extra dough before he blows town -- and perhaps for good reason, seeing that his name is Jack Ruby. Stay outta Dallas, Jack!

It would be nice if Universal Pictures, which owns the rights to Paramount's pe-1948 movies, did freaks like me a solid and released the latter's obscure movies as limited-run DVDs. Instead, we have to put up with washed-out prints of From Hell to Heaven on YouTube. It's a real shame, for this is a fun little comedy-drama that never outstays its 67-minute welcome. (Some prints online are missing the first 10 or 15 minutes!). Nor does it shy away from its obvious Grand Hotel influence, seeing that Jack Oakie repeats Lewis Stone's observation that "nothing ever happens" at the resort where most of the action takes place. (Oakie even shoots a knowing glance at the camera when he repeats it at fade-out.) I'll stake my "reputation" and say out loud that From Hell to Heaven is better than Grand Hotel. It's certainly shorter.

In addition to Oakie and fellow Paramount contract player Carole Lombard (whose character is willing to sleep with her ex-bf in exchange for 10-grand), there are enough freelancers and loan-outs from other studios to fill the Kentucky Derby. Berton Churchill and Eddie Anderson (both featured in False Faces), David Manners (A Bill of Divorcement), Clarence Muse (Black Moon), Thomas E. Jackson (Broadway), and a dozen or so more, all playing to type. As each character bets on a different horse at the climax, you may find your loyalty shifting during the race (I was siding with the embezzler). There can be of course only winner, yet all of the bettors hit a payoff -- or at least get what's coming to them. Which, unfortunately, will probably never happen to people wanting a restoration of From Hell to Heaven. And you can bet the DVR on that.

BONUS POINTS: As someone who can neither sing, play piano, nor tap dance, I was in awe of Jack Oakie doing all three simultaneously. 

JUST AROUND THE CORNER (1933): Imagine entertainment-starved audiences reacting to a short starring Warren William, Dick Powell, Bette Davis, Joan Blondell, Ruth Donnelly, and Preston Foster! And with music from the still-hot 42nd Street under the credits, Just Around the Corner promised to be a slam-bang, two-reel extravaganza featuring the cream of Warner Brothers' contract players. 

The story doesn't seem to be anything to get excited about -- office drone

Dick Powell inviting the boss Warren William and his wife Ruth Donnelly over to the house for the weekend for some trout fishing -- but isn't that true of all musicals? Sure, it's a little strange when Powell makes a point of pointing out the General Electric spotlights in the back yard... Ahh, but there's Bette Davis in the atypical role of happy housewife showing off her wonderful General Electric dishwasher... and General Electric refrigerator... and General Electric oven... and General Electric doorbell -- Uh, what's going on here? And how do they afford this stuff on Powell's salary? Glad you asked! It's easy on the General Electric payment plan! Once the dishwasher's paid off, they're getting a General Electric washing machine and iron. As THE END appears onscreen, that same entertainment-starved audience is probably thinking, What the -- We just paid good money to see a 20-minute commercial!

Actors knew what they were getting themselves into when they put their signature on the dotted studio line, but there was no way these professionally-trained folks ever expected Warner Brothers to produce a commercial for G.E. And, boy, did they ever need that training to deliver their trite dialogue without throwing up. I'd go as far to say that Bette Davis never gave a better performance in her life. While her colleagues probably shrugged and sucked it up, it's easy to picture Davis, even at this early stage of her career, being one step away from shoving Jack Warner's hand down a General Electric garbage disposal. From a 21st-century perspective, Just Around the Corner is funnier than anything Warner Brothers ever released. I mean, not only do Davis and Powell keep reminding us that G.E. appliances save time and money with the quiet repetition of a jackhammer, the refrigerator somehow saved the life of their little daughter! Buy General Electric products: a life may depend upon it.

BONUS POINTS: Joan Blondell gets off easy in her one scene, eating breakfast in bed and never once mentioning the words General Electric. It was probably a good trade-off for her onscreen husband losing the promotion to Dick Powell.

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