THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 64

There are actually actors you've heard of here. I must be slipping.

BEHIND THE MAKEUP (1930): Thanks to copyright expiration laws, a treasure

trove -- make that a pile -- of movies released in 1930 are appearing on YouTube every day. Most of them have been forgotten, and for good reason. But any starring William Powell is always a good bet, for he stands out in his early talkies like an ICE agent at a Quinceanera. But in a good way!

Still transitioning from character actor to leading man, Powell is Gardoni, a comedic entertainer from Italy stuck in New Orleans (why? how?) who teams up with third-rate vaudevillian Hap Brown. Even if you've never seen another movie in your life, you know what's coming. Gardoni steals Hap's material, his girlfriend Marie, and money, but eventually gets dumped by his sidepiece named Kitty. Drowning in gambling debts, Gardoni drowns himself for real, allowing Marie to return to Hap. Frankly, had I been that sap Hap, I'd have said "No sloppy seconds for me, lady!" and let her wallow in misery for the rest of her life.

Powell, per usual, towers over his co-stars, even with an Italian accent that sounds like... William Powell doing an Italian accent. As for his comedy partner/romantic rival, Hal Skelly's Hap doesn't come across well; you feel more contempt than empathy for allowing himself to be humiliated. Same with Fay Wray as Marie. Sure, Hap is a third-string vaudevillian, but how can she not see through Gardoni's "amore mio" routine? 

Likely the best thing to come out of Behind the Makeup was teaming William Powell with Kay Francis for the first of several times. Francis gives Kitty her usual chilly rich bitch style, taking delight in wooing Gardoni and ditching him for a millionaire. It's interesting to see Powell in the rare role of a rejected lover -- Myrna Loy never threw him overboard at MGM. As much as I like Powell, I say good for Kay Francis for giving what Gardoni deserved. Now if Hap had only done the same to Marie.

BONUS POINTS: Someone at Paramount's promo department played it cute, billing William Powell third in the posters and lobby cards, but second in the "cast of characters". 

FAST AND LOOSE (1930): The title of the goofy romantic comedy Fast and Loose seems to refer to the characters' behavior, their way with the truth, and the story itself: Spoiled rich kids fall in love with people beneath their class. Rich mother panics, rich father investigates for himself. Most of them wind up in the clink after a police raid at a restaurant. Stern talking-to, followed by love and kisses all around. You've seen it before, and are probably asking, So what?

This what. While Fast and Loose is predictable, the dialogue is... on the witty side. Sophisticated. Very often chuckle-worthy, going from Not bad to Hey, this is some funny stuff! The people credited with the original source material and screenplay are unfamiliar, but the "Dialogue by" goes to Preston Sturges. Ah ha, that explains it!

In only his second screen credit, Sturges is already displaying his talent for writing upscale dialogue that the average moviegoer could appreciate. Fast and Loose flirts with pre-code situations and conversations while never quite crossing the line -- or if it does, it's so subtle that many people wouldn't quite notice. And as with every Sturges movie I've seen, there's one moment that had me laughing loud and long, causing me to miss several subsequent lines of dialogue. It concerns the use of the word "cremated", which gives you a sense of what I find funny.

Oh, there's a cast, too. Miriam Hopkins (in her first feature), Carole Lombard, and Frank Morgan are the famous faces; they and the forgotten Charles Starrett, Ilka Chase, Barry O'Moore, and Henry Wadsworth all do a splendid job with Sturges' words. Had he written and directed Fast and Loose in the 1940s, it would have starred Veronica Lake, Joel McCrea, William Demarest, Rudy Vallee, and Eve Arden. It would have been even funnier, but the Fast and Loose that we have is more than good enough. 

BONUS POINTS: Miriam Hopkins resembles a 1970s model with her frizzy hair, while the pre-glamorous Carole Lombard is unexpectedly cute and innocent. 

LET US LIVE (1939): At the risk of being accused of heresy, I've never been a big Henry Fonda fan, He usually strikes me as flat and chilly, with cold, steely eyes that signals a hot temper seething underneath. 

Well, you can forget that for now, because the forgotten drama Let Us Live knocked me out of my chair thanks to Fonda's astonishingly emotional performance as Brick Tennant, who, along with his friend Joe, is wrongly sentenced to death row for murder. An upbeat, patriotic guy, engaged to his girlfriend Mary, Brick gradually loses his faith in the law, justice, and America itself as the public, the police, and the D.A. are hellbent on killing the two men even when Mary finds proof of their innocence. Only Lt. Everett, the original cop on the case, believes her, as they race the clock to prevent Brick and Joe from going to the chair.

Fonda's transformation from optimist to bitter cynic is remarkable in its believability. While Alan Baxter's Joe was already a skeptic, Fonda is shocked that everything he believed in America was a lie, making Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

look like a MAGA production (It also lays the groundwork for two future Fonda classics, The Grapes of Wrath and The Wrong Man.) Even the happy ending really isn't happy after all, because it's quite clear that the once-sanguine Brick has been changed forever, and nor for better. 

Credit needs to go to director John Brahm and his technical team for their splendid work with Let Us Live's proto-noir cinematography and lighting. A round of applause as well for Maureen O'Sullivan as Mary (this is the best acting of hers I've seen), and Stanley Ridges as the death-happy D.A. As with his other roles, it took me a few minutes to realize it was him -- he's absolutely the most underrated character actor of his time. And let's give Ralph Bellamy a pat on the back as Lt. Everett just because his character is essential to proving the guys' innocence. Let Us Live comes highly recommended from this movie dork. And it runs only 68 minutes!

BONUS POINTS: You'll get lockjaw from saying, "Oh, that guy!" due to all the recognizable character actors. In addition to the perennial Charles Lane, there's Byron Foulger, Dick Elliot, Henry Kolker, Charles Trowbridge, Clarence Wilson, John Qualen, Sam McDaniel...

CLIMAX!: "NO RIGHT TO KILL" (8/9/1956): It seems to be go-to idea for movie and TV writers: when in doubt, churn out an update of Crime and Punishment. If you're unfamiliar with the details -- other than there was a crime followed by punishment -- the TV Guide outline on the right will suffice.

John Cassavetes was still riding high on the previously discussed live TV play Crime in the Streets as a juvenile delinquent. His performance here as the doomed wannabe writer Malcom McCloud is more age-appropriate but less believable. He seems way too smart to declaim his grandiloquent dialogue ("I shall leave!") even though his character probably would likely speak that way to prove he's more intellectual than his Greenwich Village neighbors. Cassavetes is also saddled with direction that screams I killed the pawnbroker!, which only arouses the suspicion of District Attorney Profear when they meet at a party. (Just how McCloud has a friend who knows the D.A. goes unexplained.)

The two main costars come off better than Cassavetes because they're better fits for their roles. Terry Moore makes her cliched character of the dumb but kindhearted waitress sympathetic and kind of believable. She can't help feeling something for McCloud, who's different from the grabby guys who populate her restaurant. (Climax! host Bill Lundigan reminds us that Moore "appears through the courtesy of 20th Century-Fox and is currently starring in Between Heaven and Hell, a 20th Century-Fox production in Cinemascope". Thanks for appearing on the 15-inch TV screen, Terry!)

No offense to John Cassavetes, but Robert Harris comes out on top as D.A. Porfear. Without anything but a gut feeling to go on, the sly, witty Profear gradually allows McCloud to confess without using the third-degree. I will bet a C-note that Harris patterned his performance on that of Edward Arnold, who played the role in the 1935 version of Crime and Punishment opposite Peter Lorre. While Cassavetes is the draw today in No Right to Kill, Harris is the one you wind up remembering.

BONUS POINTS: The commercials for the 1956 Chryslers are impressive, seeing there are up to five on stage at one time, and have pretty cool windows, too! 

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 53

 It's an all-star Early Show spanning 24 years of movies and television, with gangsters, reporters, doctors, and juvenile delinquents ready to entertain, threaten, and shill for the sponsor.

THE GUILTY GENERATION (1931): Gang boss Tony Ricca pays an unexpected visit to his son, a promising architect who's changed his name from Marco Ricca to John Smith in order to hide his parental heritage. Wanting to make amends with his son, Tony promises to set him up with his own architectural business. Marco/John wants nothing to do with him or the whole dirty world of yeggs, tommy guns, and bootleg giggle water. So what is he to do when learning that the girl he falls in love with, Maria, is the daughter of Mike Palmero, another gang leader who's also Marco Ricca's chief rival? 

There's no reason to delve further into The Guilty Generation's story. Just think of Romeo & Juliet mashed with Little Caesar. Now picture Ricca padre e figlio played by pre-Frankenstein Boris Karloff and 24-year-old Robert Young.  Now we're talking Entertainment with a capital ENTER, whether either of them seems Italian or not. (Karloff's attempts are limited to one-word sentences like "grazie" in his British accent).

Too bad The Guilty Generation never lives up to what it promises in the first reel, since Karloff is barely seen again. Apparently, Columbia Pictures decided it was best to give dialect actor Leo Carillo (If You Could Only Cook) the bulk of the movie as Mike Palmero with his "whatsamatter with you, eh?" routine on full display. It's only when Palmero learns that his son has been knocked off by Ricca and finds out John Smith's real identity that Carillo's performance gets serious. Like, real serious.

Constance Cummings isn't given much to do as Maria Palmero except moon over Robert Young and show embarrassment by her brother Joe's drunken antics. Leslie Fenton (The Hatchet Man) jumps into Joe's role with nasty gusto, lashing out at his father and whoever else strikes his fancy.  If Karloff and Carillo had switched roles, The Guilty Generation wouldn't have been guilty of overpromising and underdelivering. 

BONUS POINTS: The startling way Mike Palmero's mother prevents him from interfering with his daughter's happiness still startles nearly a century on.

CLEAR ALL WIRES! (1933): 

From roughly 1932 to 1934, movies were awash in zany political satires, mocking capitalism, communism, fascism, and in the case of Clear All Wires!, journalism. And during that time, you couldn't have a fast-talking, double-crossing, woman-chasing reporter played by anyone other than the great Lee Tracy.

No stranger to faking his own kidnappings, twisting the news to guarantee headlines, or double-crossing his rivals, Chicago Globe reporter Buckley Joyce Thomas and his right-hand man Lefty fly to Moscow to cover the 15th anniversary of the Russian revolution, promising top officials that Pres. Roosevelt will recognize the communist government if they just sit down for an exclusive interview. Faster than you can say dobroye utro tovarishch, Thomas is hanging with Stalin, a commissar, and a disgruntled Marxist who wants to overthrow the current Communist government. But just as Thomas is making room for a Nobel Prize, the head of the KGB learns that his attempted assassination was arranged by the reporter. Not for real, mind you, just for the headlines. Tell that to the firing squad.

Few movies at the time of Clear All Wires!' release were so relentless in satirizing real-life politics and culture as is done here. (Would you expect to see a sight gag involving Stalin?) Yet instead of dating the movie, it oddly feels contemporary in its topical, SNL-style. It's easy to picture young men at the time wanting to become newspaper reporters due solely to the way Lee Tracy makes the job seem so damn fun. Other than that firing squad, that is. 

With James Gleason as the side-of-the-mouth-talking Lefty and Una Merkel as Thomas' ex-lover (and current girlfriend of his editor), and, of course, Lee Tracy's rat-a-tat delivery, Call All Wires! is a banger of a comedy offering an impressive number of big laughs. Highly recommended especially for those unfamiliar with its sadly forgotten star. Maybe I should run a Lee Tracy retrospective in my living room sometime.

BONUS POINTS: As with the Humphrey Bogart picture Sirocco, the dialogue heard in opening scene with Thomas chatting with an Arab chieftain could be taken from a similar interview today.

BEDSIDE (1934): X-ray technician Bob Brown becomes a physician the old-fashioned way: buying the medical diploma off of a washed-up doctor-turned-morphine junkie going by the name of John Smith. (Can't anyone come up with a better alias?) By hiring a real doctor to do the heavy lifting and a PR rep named Sparks, Brown soon becomes the toast of New York society hypochondriacs. But as his lack of medical knowledge and the junkie doctor catch up with him, Brown learns that a piece of paper doesn't make you a real doctor -- especially when he's expected to perform brain surgery on his nurse.

By 1934, Warren William had made a career of playing scoundrels, cads, and scalawags, but his quack role in Bedside takes the bedpan. He gambles away the $1500 his girlfriend Caroline lent him to finish med school; turns away from examining a sick child because he can't be bothered with her; spends more time clipping his photos from newspapers than most doctors do on the golf course; and comes thisclose to killing a patient. And when he isn't at the office -- and often when he is -- he's gambling and drinking his life away. Even I started to find the guy despicable, and I love Warren William.

You know who else loves him? His nurse Caroline (Jean); his medical partner Dr. Wiley (David Meek, the actor who always is meek); and his PR pro Sparks (the ever-reliable Allen Jenkins). The only person on to him is the hophead who sold him the med school diploma (David Landau), and who continues to haunt him by returning uninvited for his morphine fix. (By the end, he's rubbing his nose and talking a mile a minute, indicating that he's become a cokehead, too.) To see a Warren William character brought low due to his own misbehavior isn't all that unusual. But what is, is how low a louse he eventually becomes, and how you wind up rooting for the law to catch up to him. Don't see Bedside before your next annual check-up. And if you do, ask the doc if he knows how to correctly perform a simple suture. You'd be shocked to learn how some so-called medical professionals don't.

BONUS POINTS: Director Robert Florey goes in for a little German expressionism in the climactic scene with Landau taunting William in the o.r. 

THE ELGIN HOUR: "CRIME IN THE STREETS" (1955): This live television play might have introduced every juvenile delinquent cliche of the '50s. The angry young teen out to murder someone just because. His overworked mother blaming herself for how he turned out. His frightened little brother. The Italian immigrant who owns the corner malt shop and whose son is part of the neighborhood gang. The social worker who understands that the kid acts the way he does because he's had a rough life and wants some attention.

You've seen it all before, somewhere or another. But per usual with productions like this, its creators and cast that make it worth 60 minutes of your time. Script by TV legend Reginald Rose, direction by Sidney Lumet. Robert Preston as social worker Bob Wagner. Former Warner Bros. star Glenda Farrell as Frankie's mother. Future Oscar-nominated director Mark Rydell as gang member Lou. Future musician/songwriter/Brian Wilson collaborator Van Dyke Parks as Frankie's little brother Richie. And as the incorrigible Frankie, the future incorrigible director John Cassavetes. All this and the original Elgin Watch commercials!

As good an actor as Cassavetes was, it must have been kind of a stretch for the 26 year-old to play the eight years his junior Frankie. He doesn't look 18 but is convincing enough as one kicked around by life to age beyond his years. Only Mark Rydell (also 26) rivals him in striking looks and talent as the crazy-eyed Lou, who appears headed to the psych ward instead of prison.

As with many 1950s TV productions, Crime in the Streets presents old school stars going toe to toe with young Method-era whippersnappers.  No question Crime in the Streets is dated but is still a good example of a time when TV presented live plays with top-notch New York talent before everybody moved to Hollywood and got as many takes as they wanted with video tape. Meh.

BONUS POINTS: When Frankie and his gang synchronize their watches, it gives us a chance to see a close-up of -- guess what -- Frankie's Elgin watch. How do these ruffians afford them? Oh wait -- they're on sale this week at your local department store!

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 22

 The little lady was out of town for a week, allowing me to catch up on several movies building up on the DVR queue that wouldn't necessarily be up her alley. But how much of what I like really are? Here are just four of them:

CURTAIN CALL (1940): Broadway producer Jeff Crandall and director Donald Avery want to get even with actress Charlotte Morley, who's leaving their employ at the end of her contract, by demanding she star in a terrible play written by the young, first-time writer Helen Middleton. Crandall and Avery believe Morley will refuse the part, thus allowing them to sue her. Unfortunately, she loves the play, forcing Avery to woo Middleton in order to let him rewrite it into a farce in order to save his and Crandall's reputation.

Unlike dramas or gangster pictures, B-comedies tend to be a tough watch. But Curtain Call is the rare exception that, with 15 extra minutes and a bigger budget, could easily have passed for an A release. Barbara Read, as the clueless playwright, happily allows the rest of the cast chew the scenery as if they hadn't eaten in weeks, with Donald MacBride and Alan Mowbray (Crandall and Avery) having the biggest appetite of all. Dalton Trumbo's dialogue is so sophisticated and often hilarious that the quieter scenes with Helen Middleton and her hometown suitor John Archer seem like they were written by someone else.  

The idea of a middle-aged guy faking love with an innocent woman barely out of her teens sounds iffy today, but is played so absurdly that only the usual hair-trigger Twitter crowd would take offense. And while Helen Middleton proudly stands up for herself by refusing any rewrites, it's also made quite clear that her play really does stink from here to Sunday. (Avery's fast-talking press agent describes it as "a hangover on paper.") While it wouldn't necessarily work as a movie today, a smart Broadway producer could turn Curtain Call into a crowd-pleasing stage farce without having to pretend to fall in love with the writer.

BONUS POINTS: The always-welcome Frank Faylen (Dobie Gillis' father on TV) from Natzy Nuisance and Address Unknown plays the press agent, while Alan Mowbray portrayed Satan in The Devil with Hitler.

BLUES IN THE NIGHT (1941): Anticipating Syncopation by a year, Blues in the Night is the story of a New Orleans-inspired band led by Jigger Pine. Only here, the musicians are playing in a New Jersey gin joint run by Sam Payras, who, along with the club's thrush Kay Grant, two-timed their cohort Del Davis after a bank robbery years earlier. Davis has returned with the band in order to open an illegal gambling room upstairs. Jigger finds himself falling hard for the no-good Kay, and takes off with her to join a money-making orchestra. After a stint in the psych ward (playing dopey music for Manhattan swells literally drives him crazy) Jigger returns to his old band in Jersey, where a showdown involving him, Del, Kay, and the bar's clean-up guy Brad Ames, turns fatal for three of them.

Just one of countless examples of a poster promising one thing and the movie delivering another, the semi-noir/musical Blues in the Night should have a better reputation. Director Anatole Litvak (City for Conquest) does a great job with the camera, whether using it as the keyboard's point-of-view for Jigger's hands as he plays piano, or his bizarre mental breakdown. Litvak also cast the movie with plenty of interestingly unattractive character actors: Richard Whorf as the hot-tempered Jigger; Lloyd Nolan as the slimy Del Davis; Howard da Silva as Sam Payras (who makes the mistake of wanting to drop a dime on Del); Billy Hallop, Peter Whitney, and Elia Kazan as members of the band; and, perhaps best of all, Wallace Ford as Brad, described more than once as Kay's "crippled stooge." Once an annoying comedic actor, Ford's talent grew as he eased into dramatic supporting roles. He gives the most subdued performance here, not exactly stealing the movie but being the most grounded in reality.

Jack Warner probably panicked when he saw this defiantly non-box office crew and insisted on tossing in audience favorites Jack Carson and singer/starlet Priscilla Lane as trumpet player Leo Powell and his wife named Character. (I bet ten bucks this was an in-joke by writer Robert Rossen.) While just missing the designation of "classic" by a G-major chord, Blues in the Night is definitely worth its $2.99 price on streaming services. And yes, the legendary title number was written for the movie. It lost the Academy Award for Best Song to "The Last Time I Saw Paris", which nobody sings anymore. Not-so fun fact: A decade after Blues in the Night's release, Elia Kazan, Howard da Silva, and Robert Rossen were caught up in the HUAC red scare investigation.

BONUS POINTS: Don Siegel, credited with the movie's montages, would later become a director, best known for Dirty Harry 30 years later.

STOLEN FACE (1952): Take a jigger of Hitchcock's Vertigo, mix with a shot of Steve

Martin's The Man with Two Brains. Shake well and pour yourself a tangy Stolen Face. Dr. Phillip Ritter falls in love with concert pianist Alice Brent. Learning that she's engaged to another man, Ritter returns home and performs plastic surgery on Lily Conover -- a prisoner whose crime wave started after an accident left her face badly scarred -- to make her look like Alice. Of course, marriage immediately follows because, well, he's a doctor, he knows what he's doing, even when he chooses her wardrobe. But Ritter learns the hard way it takes more than a pretty face and a nice dress to change a sociopathic criminal. Oh, and guess what concert pianist returns to Ritter's life after her engagement breaks up? 

A UK production from Hammer, and something of a preview of their later horror movies, Stolen Face makes sure we know early on that Ritter isn't some crazy doctor because... um... he doesn't charge poor patients! Therefore, it's perfectly understandable that the lovesick guy wants to physically recreate the woman he loves onto someone else's face. And he's played by Paul Henreid, the heroic fighter of Nazis in Casablanca, which only increases our sympathy, especially when Alice takes on the habit of shoplifting furs and jewelry, turning their home into her own private dance hall, and taking up with a new lover. Come to think of it, this doc is too stupid to deserve anybody's sympathy.

The double role of Alice/Lily goes to Lizabeth Scott, who was created herself by Warner Brothers as a Lauren Bacall substitute, right down to the throaty delivery. But while she never really got the same acclaim, Scott pulls off a performance that Bacall couldn't have matched; even though her "Lily" voice was dubbed by someone else, Scott looks different in both roles even while, of course, identical. You can tell, however, Stolen Face's modest budget when, at the climactic showdown between the two women, Scott is never seen as both women in the same shot. No matter -- one of them gets what she deserves.

BONUS POINTS: A bit of production sloppiness occurs when Henreid is walking in front of a back projection of Picadilly Circus. A movie theater in the background is running Joan of Arc starring Ingrid Bergman, which was released five years earlier. And no, I don't know why this is a bonus, other than it shows what a smarty-pants I am.

MACHINE GUN MCCAIN (1969): Freshly sprung from prison after 12 years, armed robber Hank McCain is offered a lucrative "job" by his 20 year-old son Jack: clean out the safe from the Royal Casino in Las Vegas. What Hank doesn't know is that Jack is working for Charlie Adamo, a Mafia lieutenant trying to take over the Royal without the permission of his bosses. But Hank has his own plans for what he's going to do with the money, while "the boys" back East are going to deal with these jokers their own way.

If B-movies were still a thing 1969, Machine Gun McCain would have been one of them. It's one of those European productions -- in this case, Italian -- where the producers hired a couple of recognizable American actors as the leads in order to make gullible Yanks think it was a Hollywood movie. John Cassavetes (McCain) probably took the job to finance Husbands, while telling Peter Falk (Adamo), "What the hell, it's easy money and we spend a few weeks in Vegas shooting guns." They, Britt Ekland and "guest star" Gena Rowlands (Mrs. Cassavetes) pretend to take it seriously, and are probably the only actors who dubbed in their own dialogue, typical on Italian movies where it always seems like the voices are coming from somewhere other than the set.

There's plenty in Machine Gun McCain that wouldn't fly today, like a typical boy-meets-girl scene of the time where McCain's attempted rape of Irene actually turns her on and leads to marriage the next day. McCain's plan to set off several bombs throughout Vegas to distract cops from the robbery would be condemned for inciting a round of homegrown terrorism. Probably the most interesting thing in the movie is how the Mob, still controlling Vegas in 1969, has more or less the entire population on their payroll, as everybody from cab drivers to college students are given photos of McCain and Tucker after the couple pull off the robbery. 

Machine Gun McCain is no Godfather, but fits the bill if, like me, your wife is away and you're in the mood for some entertaining trash made by professionals who can at least keep the camera in focus. (By the way, if you're interested in seeing a movie that shows the genuinely ugly gangster life, watch the 1971 Michael Caine drama Get Carter. It's too good for this blog.)

BONUS POINTS: Machine Gun McCain is the only movie I've ever seen where the credits admit it was "freely adapted from" rather than "based on" a novel, while the cinematographer is listed under the old school appellation of "cameraman". In fact, I don't think I've ever seen that word in any other movie.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 17

The WGA strike has allowed me more time to catch up on movies and TV shows I've missed, didn't know existed, or shouldn't have seen to begin with. Fortunately, none of these four falls into the latter category.

ELSTREE CALLING (1930): Because Hollywood was showing off the newfangled sound system with musical/comedy revues, it was inevitable that the idea would catch on in the UK. Elstree Calling, named for its studio, differs from its US counterparts by spotlighting stage performers rather than its contract players. If nothing else, we get a good idea of what a night in an English music hall was like.

Unfortunately, these entertainers are likely as unrecognizable and dated in their homeland nearly a century later as they are here. So instead of Noel Coward, we get the likes of Will Fyffe and his incessant stingy Scots jokes, and the army boot-wearing Lily Morris singing about being a bridesmaid and never a bride. (You can imagine audiences at the time cooing, "Isn't she a dearie?"). A scene from The Taming of the Shrew featuring an anachronistic runaway motorcycle and pie fight may amuse you, but I doubt it. To my eyes and ears, the most entertaining performers are (coincidentally?) American by birth: obese xylophonist Teddy Brown, and The Three Eddies, a dizzying trio of tap dancers who, as was not uncommon at the time, wore blackface over their real black faces. Don't ask. 

A couple other differences from the American revues: Elstree Calling features a linking story with a guy at home trying to watch the movie on his television (yes, in 1930). And instead of using Technicolor in the big musical numbers, Elstree opted for the way-cheaper hand-tinted Pathecolor, a technique not widely used in years, giving it either a dreamy or cheesy look depending on your point of view. The audio isn't a whole lot better, either -- while the music comes across fine, many actors often sound distant from the microphones. While nicely restored, Elstree Calling has gone from being a must-see to a who's-he and a why-that. But have you heard the one about the Scotsman who hailed a taxi to the hotel?...

BONUS POINTS: Alfred Hitchcock, on the cusp of being recognized as the UK's preeminent moviemaker, is credited as directing "the sketches and other interpolated items". One of his sequences, a husband catching his wife and her lover in the act, not only has his unmistakable touch, but gave me the one laugh in the whole picture.

THE WIZARD'S APPRENTICE  (1930): A young, smartass student of magic decides to impress a woman by making a broom carry water from the basement. And if you've seen Fantasia, you know how that little stunt worked out.

Things didn't go any better over a decade earlier in this one-reeler designed by the legendary William Cameron Menzies. A silent short accompanied by Paul Dukas's famous musical piece, The Wizard's Apprentice can't possibly live up to the Disney version (which had the title of the poem it's based upon, The Sorcerer's Apprentice). Yet the 1930 film, in its own modest way, is more bizarre. 

The Wizard's Apprentice, you see, is live-action, meaning those really are miniature brooms creating havoc. And unlike Disney's, these brooms are upside down (or rightside up -- it's up to you). The film's creators don't hide the fact that the props are connected to wires which have some kind of spring contraption to crudely move the legs from side to side. Between that not-so-special effect and the (all together now) faded print, The Wizard's Apprentice has the uncanny resemblance to a genuine nightmare. The question remains: was this the inspiration for the more-famous remake? Hey, Walt Disney needed to see a rodent scurrying around his office to get the idea of Mickey Mouse, so why the hell not?

BONUS POINTS: The title character is played by Fritz Feld. If the name doesn't ring a bell, perhaps you know him as an older character actor who made a career of playing maître d's, and ended every comment by popping his open mouth with his hand. Now do you remember?

FLAXY MARTIN (1949): Mob mouthpiece Walter Colby goes on the lam after being framed for murder by his no-good girlfriend Flaxy Martin and his client Hap Richie. Hap's gunsel Roper tracks Colby to the home of kindhearted Nora Carson, and kidnaps the pair. Colby and Nora escape and make their way back to Manhattan. After making sure Nora is safely ensconced with a friend, Colby tracks down the real murderer, only to find him dead at the hands of Roper, who tries to do the same to him. A visit by Colby and Hap Richie to the two-timing Flaxy looks like it's going to be lights out for everyone involved, but only one bites the dust, while another has to face the music. 

For a movie called Flaxy Martin, the title character doesn't stick around very long after the second reel. Perhaps screenwriter David Lang was trying to remind audiences of the 1942 hit Roxy Hart, about a similar no-good dame (and the basis of the musical Chicago). Virginia Mayo does a good job as the self-serving, two-timing doll who pits the lawyer and the gangster against each -- her subtle sneers are a wonder to behold -- but Zachary Scott is the real star as Colby.

One of those actors I've heard of but whose movies rarely watched, Scott here bounces back and forth between slimy and heroic and back again. Maybe it's the thin moustache, or his occasionally bombastic delivery. But what really distracted me was how often looks identical to the caricatures of John Barrymore in old Warner Brothers cartoons. On the other hand, Douglas Kennedy (as Hap) resembles Bishop Fulton J. Sheen if the latter had lifted weights and enjoyed the occasional glass of scotch. Happily, the ever-reliable Elisha Cook, Jr. as the slimy Roper looks like himself, which is nothing but positive. Though there are better noirs than Flaxy Martin to be sure, it's worth it for the callbacks (how many times have I seen that apartment balcony?), cliches (wet streets at night, cinematographer's delight!), and cars (by 1949, they were designed the way a nine year-old would draw them). You might not watch it a second time, but you'll get a kick out of it the first.

BONUS POINTS: As usual in these New York-based movies written in Hollywood, the apartment building of the first murder victim -- 652 East 86th St. -- would place it in the middle of Carl Schurz Park.

HEDDA HOPPER'S HOLLYWOOD (1960): Along with her rival Louella Parsons,
gossip columnist Hedda Hopper was the original Twitter scold. Stars trembled when she put poison pen to paper exposing their randy love lives or left-leaning politics. But by 1960, she had become an anachronistic, impotent symbol of everything that was wrong with so-called journalism.

The one-shot TV special Hedda Hopper's Hollywood reflects her yearning for the good old days, providing, at times, a surprisingly poignant trip down memory lane. To her credit, Hopper stays out of the way, allowing the actors to speak for themselves. Stephen Boyd, fresh from co-starring in Ben-Hur, chats with the stars of the original 1925 version, Ramon Navarro and Francis X. Bushman. In an unusual case of an actor giving credit to somebody else, Bob Cummings describes how director Ernest Lubitsch saved his career 20 years earlier. An unsteady Marion Davies welcomes the audience to her home before likely returning to her sick bed. Bob Hope (no surprise) treats his appearance as an excuse to try out new material for his next special, while, in a genuinely emotional moment, the dying Gary Cooper makes one of his final TV appearances to speak fondly of the Western genre he loved.

Young Hollywood gets its turn, too. John Cassavetes obligingly sucks up to Hedda, appropriately on the set of The Phantom of the Opera. Anthony Perkins's opinion of Hollywood is mildly negative, something Hopper would have decried a decade earlier. Nepo-babies Jody McRae and Teddy Rooney make zero impression. But leave it to 14-year-old Liza Minnelli to steal the show with her rendition of "Over the Rainbow". Hedda Hopper might have been a bitch in real life, but she unwittingly presented an hour of television that's become even more bittersweet with time.

BONUS POINTS: Ricardo Cortez takes a few minutes off from his new career as a stockbroker to offer a tribute to his one-time leading lady Greta Garbo. Not only is Cortez's voice unchanged from his movie days, he still has that wonderfully sinister smile!

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