THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 47

You've got to get up mighty early to find two movies directed by people better known (and more talented) as actors; one of those actors starring in another picture; and a Magnacolor short starring a one-time Shakesperean actor now slumming in stoogeville. Aren't you glad you stayed in bed while I did the heavy lifting?

UNUSUAL OCCUPATIONS (#23) (1940): Running for 12 years, Paramount's short subject series Unusual Occupations seems to have picked up where Warners' Ripley's Believe it or Not! left off. Not that anything is impossible to believe, since everything is fully documented in almost-glorious Magnacolor. 

Yet a glance at the entire series takes a rather liberal interpretation of the word "occupations". The Dionne Quintuplets? Cylinder records? Clams that look like ducks? None of these are jobs. Still, some of what we see in this chapter certainly count as side hustles. Painting miniature portraits (Jesus, FDR, and Hitler among other subjects), creating art out of flowers, or growing pumpkins in the shape of human skulls could earn folks a buck or two. But what of the gas station attendant who built a hand-cranked machine to kick yourself in the ass when you've done something stupid -- no charge!

The longest section belongs to John Barrymore, whose occupation on his tax return was "Actor" but in Unusual Occupations appears to be "Collector of Dead Things". As he leads radio announcer Ken Carpenter around his mansion, Barrymore shows off the collection of fish he's caught, animals he's shot, stuffed heads, and a dinosaur tooth, and, not surprisingly, lots of guns. Comfortably ensconced in his self-parody stage of life, Barrymore's deliberately hammy delivery (you have no idea how someone can roll his r's with such ease) and double-takes entertained moviegoers who avoided his classy productions years earlier. Whatever pays the hunting bills, I guess. Although I wonder if Barrymore thought he deserved a round or two with the ass-kicking machine for allowing booze to destroy his career.

BONUS POINTS: A still of Barrymore from this particular Unusual Occupations appeared in a book about film restoration which I owned as an adolescent. It took over 50 years before discovering the movie online. Too bad its current owner plastered a timer and FOOTAGE FILE watermark over the entire movie.

MY TRUE STORY (1951): Columbia Pictures must have run out of radio series to adapt before giving True Story magazine the movie treatment. My True Story appears to have been a one-shot entry into the non-genre, perhaps as a bone tossed to down-on-his-luck Mickey Rooney to direct. A true story about his life would have been a lot more interesting.

Femme convict Ann Martin is sprung from the slammer with the promise of a job from a kindly confectioner claiming to have been a friend of her mother. He is, in fact, part of her three-man pre-prison jewel robbery gang. Ann is set up as the caretaker for dowager Mme. Rousseau in order to steal the secret ingredient for the perfume her late husband created: oil of myrrh.  While Ann starts having second thoughts, the gang is willing to kill the guy who runs the perfume factory, and, if necessary, Ann's bf, and Mme. Rousseau herself. Beware of three wiseguys carrying myrrh!

All due credit to My True Story for coming up with oil of myrrh rather than jewels or money as the criminals' target. But a B-picture starring no one of importance rises or falls on the script and direction. Neither are particularly special -- the dialogue is run-of-the-mill, while Rooney's directorial style seems to be holding the end of each scene for several seconds after the last line is spoken before fading out. Aldo Ray (billed as Aldo DaRae) is featured in his first movie role as Rousseau's chauffeur who's also part of the criminal gang. As for the rest of the cast, Wilton Graff (as the gang leader) seems to be imitating Vincent Price, while character actor Ben Weldon is the only familiar face. Strictly for B-movie fans, My True Story makes for a somewhat interesting if long 67 minutes. 

BONUS POINTS: The ridiculous finale tries to convince you that Ann's change of heart means she'll never serve a day in prison for taking part in a criminal act that wound up with two people dead. 

THE BIG OPERATOR (1959): Any '50s crime picture  beginning with a guy getting knocked on the noggin and tossed into the back of a cement truck definitely gets my attention -- especially when followed by credits accompanied by a brass & drums-heavy theme common in the late '50s. Welcome to the world of corrupt union leader "Little Joe" Braun, who will stop at nothing from preventing honest union guys from testifying against him in a federal investigation -- like torture, murder, and when that's not enough, the threat of torture and murder to be inflicted on a kidnapped child. A guy's gotta keep his job, y'know.

As in Quicksand and Drive a Crooked Road, Mickey Rooney is superlative as Braun. No need for him to give his character any complexity, either -- he's a just an extraordinarily violent, angry guy towered over by the world yet terrifies all who come in contact with him. (You can't tell me the 5'1" Rooney didn't carry around a tremendous grudge -- his onscreen anger is too convincing not to be real.) And as long as he's onscreen, The Big Operator makes for a riveting good show. Unfortunately, unlike his other two movies mentioned above, there's way too much time devoted to the supporting characters, one of whom is set on fire. (Just to set things straight, the hitman did it on his own accord, forcing Braun to admonish him, "Look, you don't set anybody on fire without my permission!")

That supporting cast, though, is dizzying. Jackie Coogan (The Addams Family)! Jim Backus (Gilligan's Island)! Jay North (Dennis the Menace)! Mel Torme (The Fearmakers)! Vampira, Charles Chaplin, Jr, Mamie van Doren, Joey Foreman, Ray Danton, Steve Cochran -- all in Cinemascope! Their presence alone threaten to overshadow Rooney from time to time. But for my money, you can keep the star of jolly MGM musicals and heartwarming Andy Hardy pictures -- I'll take his angry little chumps, doormats, and criminals any time.

BONUS POINTS: Jackie Coogan -- oddly also receiving a "Dialogue Coach" credit -- played opposite Charles Chaplin, Jr.'s dad in The Kid in 1921. 

GANGSTER STORY (1959): There must have been something in the air in the 1950s for
actors wanting to spread their unsteady wings. For not only did Mickey Rooney direct My True Story, Walter Matthau stepped behind the camera for the crime picture Gangster Story. And, as with Rooney's movie, the poster claims (meaning lies) it's a true story. The main difference is that My True Story at least looks professional, while Gangster Story is probably the worst B-movie starring an actor who was already established -- if, admittedly, not exactly famous yet. 

Gangster Story is the usual, uh, story about a gangster. Jack Martin, on the run from the police, robs a bank -- by making it look like he's rehearsing a movie! -- before being found by the yeggs on the payroll of criminal ringleader Earl Dawson, who hires him to join the gang. Martin's first job is to rob the safe from a country club. While Dawson intends to keep his new employee on the payroll, Martin wants to run away to Mexico with Carol, a librarian who has fallen in love with him for no damn good reason. A subsequent shootout with Dawson and the cops puts everybody's plan to bed for good.

OK, not exactly original but serviceable for a 65-minute quickie. The problem is Matthau the director. Working with a penny-ante budget and non-union crew, he appeared to deliberately make sure that Gangster Story looked strictly amateur hour. Camera shots consistently off-center and occasionally out of focus, dialogue looped in during post-production, ham-fisted editing, and a score that sounds like needle drops -- everything leaves you asking yourself questions. Was this Matthau's attempt at a calling card to break out of supporting roles into leads? Did he surround himself with terrible actors to make himself look that much better? And how the hell did his career survive this piece of junk? If Matthau the actor wasn't as good as he was, Gangster Story could be mistaken for an Ed Wood production. Definitely a must-see. (Google the title and see just how many fly-by-night video companies have released it with covers featuring photos of 1970s Matthau.)

BONUS POINTS: The only name I recognized in the credits, Radley Metzger (the editor), would later become famous as the auteur of artsy softcore epics. When that's a step up in a career, you know you started at the dregs.

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THE EARLY SHOW

Good morning, good morning, good
morning, ugh.

 Thanks to my odd sleep cycle, lately I've been waking up as early as 4:30 a.m. Instead of wasting the pre-dawn hours on silly stuff like meditation or exercise, it's given me the chance to do something far more important: watch obscure movies and old TV shows.

Not just any obscure movies and TV shows, but those that nobody in their right mind (like my wife) would watch at any hour. That's the rebel in me. 

None of these are worth an individual write-up, but all deserve a mention, although not necessarily for good reasons. In alphabetical order:

BABO 73 (1964): Before Robert Downey, Jr., there was Robert Downey, Sr. Unlike his celebrated son, Downey pere was the writer/director of underground movies, a phrase that's just asking for trouble. His first, Babo 73, features all the traits of that genre: post-synched sound, non-linear storyline, sloppy camerawork, and alleged subversive humor, like an angry priest sexually assaulting a hitchhiker -- fortunately, offscreen.

Taylor Mead, not yet the Grady Sutton of Andy Warhol movies, plays President Sandy Studsbury. There's also a character named Chester Kittylitter. It's never a good sign when goofy names substitute for real jokes.

The "plot" appears to be about all the president's men creating a political doctrine for their boss. Much of the action takes place on a beach. Someone gets thrown in the water, but I forget who or why. 

That's all I can tell you; although Babo 73 is only an hour long, I pulled the plug after 30 minutes. Maybe you can tell me how it ends.

BONUS POINTS: Proving that just because it's on TCM doesn't mean it's worth watching.

BIG HOUSE, U.S.A. (1955): Ahh, this is more like it! Sociopath Ralph Meeker kidnaps a lost boy and holds him for ransom. When the kid accidentally dies, Meeker dumps the body down a canyon. Well, that wasn't part of the plan.

The police can't pin the kidnapping on him, so they throw him in the slammer for extortion. The leader of the big house's biggest gang hatches a big breakout, forcing Meeker to join them in recovering the hidden ransom money. Which is big.

You can smell the Dragnet influence throughout Big House, U.S.A., with an FBI agent's flat narration and location photography (Colorado instead of California). Ralph Meeker was an inspired choice to play the kidnapper, since his initially friendly good looks soon give way to his dead-behind-the-eyes life choices.

But the real stars are (left to right) Charles Bronson, William Talman, Lon Chaney, Jr., and Broderick Crawford -- without doubt the four ugliest actors ever to appear together in one movie.

It's awe-inspiring how there was a time Hollywood actually wanted guys with muggs like these to step in front of a camera; they're like Halloween masks come to life. Bronson, the youngest of the four and the only one in good physical shape, is shirtless 90% of the time. Women who were dragged to Big House, U.S.A. by their husbands or boyfriends needed something to look at. 

BONUS POINTS: An unexpectedly gruesome moment involving a blowtorch and a dead body. 

BROADWAY TO HOLLYWOOD (1933): No cliche goes untouched in Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's obscure drama of three generations of a family vaudeville act. Jealousy, booze, success, failures, all ending with the grandson filming a dance number on a soundstage while grandpa dies on the sidelines. If only showbiz were really this exciting.

Extant prints of Broadway to Hollywood don't accurately represent its original release, which featured at least one Technicolor production number from the studio's unfinished 1929 musical-comedy revue The March of Time. The sequences remain, but in black and white. (M-G-M used its releases, mainly shorts, as dumping grounds for The March of Time outtakes for years.) 

Broadway to Hollywood is a wanna-be epic that crams in as many Metro contract players like young Mickey Rooney as possible for a scene or two before disappearing. (Jimmy Durante is onscreen for all of one minute!) As if the studio demanded they earn their salary that day, Moe and Curly of the Three Stooges briefly appear as clowns. 

Fully made-up and speaking in high voices with German accents, the Brothers Howard are initially difficult to tell apart. In fact, if you weren't already aware they were in it, you likely wouldn't even know it was them. They probably shot their scene in about an hour before returning to the loving slaps of Ted Healy. The ghost of Louis B. Mayer would be appalled that it's now Broadway to Hollywood's most -- make that only -- interesting scene.

BONUS POINTS: Unintended laughs when actors are filmed tapdancing in such a way that you know their feet belong to somebody else.

CELL 2455, DEATH ROW (1955): The best movie of the bunch, Cell 2455, Death Row is based on the autobiography of career criminal Caryl Chessman. Surprisingly lowkey, the movie begins with Chessman (renamed for reasons unknown as Whit Whittier) looking back on his life from prison as he awaits execution. 

His perfect childhood is ruined by a car accident that leaves his mother a cripple, gradually sending him on a criminal trajectory. In and out of prison, his crimes escalate until arrested for sexual assault and kidnapping -- a capital crime in California -- despite his victims not being able to agree on a description of their abductor. Chessman (or Whittier) uses his time on death row to study law, and winds up postponing his execution several times. 

The most impressive thing about Cell 2455, Death Row is its lack of grimy exploitation. While the movie never absolves Chessman of his crimes, it shows how literally a wrong turn can lead a good kid to a bad life. Willam Campbell gives Chessman just enough depth to make you understand why he became the cause du jour for many celebrities, including Eleanor Roosevelt and Steve Allen (shows you what being a good writer will do for a criminal). In real life, Chessman's luck ran out in 1960 when he finally kept his date with the hot squat. 

BONUS POINTS: A pre-Ben Casey Vince Edwards shows up in the final third as Chessman's wingman -- the only actor who looks familiar. That is, if you're my age. 

THE COMEDY HOUR (1951): Better known as The Colgate Comedy Hour, this early TV series reverted to a more generic title every fourth week when saddled with another sponsor. This particular episode, subtitled "Michael Todd's Revue", is hosted by Broadway legend Bobby Clark.

"Legend", that is, if you're over 100 years old. Otherwise, his surviving movie and TV appearances will either baffle or bug you, Clark being one of those stage actors who didn't translate to the screen very well.

Puffing a cigar, wearing his trademark painted-on glasses, outsized overcoat, and porkpie hat, Bobby Clark is a comedic creature from a different age. His motto seems to be, If it was funny once, it's funny forever. He was wrong.

Between Clark's wheezy jokes and the show's hoary musical numbers, this Comedy Hour doesn't seem like it will live up to its title -- except for two sets of guests. 

Australian siblings The Maxwells are a bizarre sloth-like duo wearing too-small suits and the expressions of clinical morons, whose act initially seems to consist solely of moving a pile of crates around as if drugged. The routine, which doesn't seem to be going anywhere, starts to pay off when it turns into an unexpected acrobatic bit, which, thanks to them appearing under the influence of fentanyl, makes it look even more dangerous than it already is. Genuinely entertaining stuff.

The Comedy Hour's other comedy act is Willie, West and McGinty, whose career, going back to -- get this -- 1900, consisted of one, count 'em, one routine: three idiots trying to build a house. 

While certain details were added and subtracted over the years, the bit is essentially unchanged from the one audiences saw a half-century earlier. Slips, pratfalls, and Rube Goldberg-style gags are performed with atomic-clock perfection, with dialogue consisting of little more than the occasional "Hey!" Having done absolutely nothing else over the decades, they probably could have performed it blindfolded in a dark room. I think they're hilarious.

And if you're wondering how these guys were still able to pull it off when they started this act in the 19th century, that's easily explained. As each of them retired or died, they were replaced -- two of them by their sons. Over time, they went through seven members. So, the Willie, West & McGinty we see here aren't the same ones their original audiences saw, or who appeared in their only starring movie short, Plastered, in 1930. It's like how Saturday Night Live replaces its cast from time to time, until it's completely different. Just not as funny as these guys, who finally rang down the curtain around 1960. 

BONUS POINTS: Knowing that with some people, if it's funny once, it really is funny forever.

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Moe and Curly's scene from Broadway to Hollywood:

MOVIE OF THE DAY: "DRIVE A CROOKED ROAD" (1954)

Eddie Shannon is a lonely little man with big exciting dreams. An amateur race-car driver on weekends, he yearns to enter the big time at Le Mans or the Grand Prix. But that takes the kind of dough his job as an auto mechanic doesn't provide. 

His luck seems to change when Barbara, a beautiful woman with a faulty carburetor and a classy chassis, enters his life. Having never been with a woman, Eddie falls like a pile of Michelins in an earthquake.  

After a date or two where not even a hand is held, Eddie has fallen head over crankcase for Barbara. She returns the favor by introducing him to her friend Steve Norris, who offers Eddie the $15,000 it would take to enter the big time racing world. All Eddie has to do is drive the getaway car when Steve and his wisecracking pal Harold rob a bank. Whaddaya say, Eddie?

He wants to get under her hood, alright.

A rather sunny-looking film noir, seeing that 95% of it takes places in daytime Los Angeles, Drive a Crooked Road nevertheless has the usual ingredients for the genre. What makes it stand out from the rest is the unexpected casting of leading man sap Mickey Rooney. 

 

"Hello, operator? Get me another script like this!"

Having already proven he was quite good in the previously-discussed noir Quicksand, Rooney's performance here is shockingly great. Anyone familiar with his over the top turns as, say, Puck in A Midsummer's Night Dream (age 15 but acting like a bratty seven year-old) or any of his MGM musicals, will be stunned by Drive a Crooked Road.

Laugh it up, guys. That's a criminal-in-the-making
you're talking to.

Not for a second does Rooney appear to be acting. Maybe it's because his persona here is centered around being short, period. One of the guys at the garage continually razzes Eddie about his height. Barbara's taller than him, too, of course. Taking it further, in what must have been a decision by director Richard Quine, everyone in the film towers over Rooney, so that he's always literally looked down upon. 

Just watch him meeting the swells at Steve's beach house party. He's almost cringing, feeling completely out of place, not just socially but physically. Oh, and Eddie's got a scar on his forehead that a dead man could see, as well. When the cards of life were dealt, Eddie received 52 Jokers and an IOU reading Sucker!

Which one of these is not like the others?

Further adding to Eddie's -- let's face it -- juvenile looks are his clothes. When meeting up with Barbara at the beach, he's dressed not in a bathing suit, but an unstylish short-sleeved shirt tucked into pants hiked up just a little too high, making him look like a slightly taller-than-average eight year-old.

And this just happens to be the time when he first meets Barbara's "friend" (read: lover) Steve, played by the uber-masculine Kevin McCarthy. That Eddie can't figure out he's being played a fool by this pair of grifters makes you feel even worse for the guy -- even if the garage owner has lent him a snazzy MG while his own car is in for repairs. Nice boss!

Remind me never to get into a jam like this.

Eddie doesn't want to be part of a federal crime. But the chance of becoming a pro racer and living happily ever after with Barbara (hah!) prove too tempting. (He even fixes up the getaway car for free!) The heist goes off without a hitch -- except for Barbara suddenly disappearing on him. And he still doesn't realize what a patsy he is.

Remember, Eddie, it all started with a dame.

It's only when Eddie visits Steve to find him arm-in-arm with Barbara does the truth start
to land on his crew-cut head. Words are exchanged and threats are made; Harold is ordered to take Eddie for a ride. 

Or, rather, force Eddie to drive to his fate at gunpoint. Resigned to his destiny yet not willing to go alone, Eddie puts his driving skills to use one last time. And while it's not exactly clear what's going to happen to him at the fade-out, it's unlikely to involve steering his way to a happy ending, especially with Barbara.

Going to the beach with Barbara is Eddie's first step to
getting washed up.

Dianne Foster plays the femme fatale to slick, sick perfection, making her totally believable -- to Eddie, anyway -- as she seduces him to a bad end. Foster plays Barbara as a far sexier a woman than Eddie ever met, or even stood within a mile of. You can see why a schlub like him would risk prison for her.

A little man on a long bench with a big chip on his shoulder.

But Drive a Crooked Road is Mickey's show all the way. When some actors better known for comedy try drama, they often overdo the serious stuff just to, you know, prove how committed they are to the part. Not Mickey Rooney here, even when he's offered  chances to prove he's an ACTOR!  

 

Eddie falls for the ol' fixing-the-tie routine.

Whether throwing a phone across the room in anger, nervously drumming his fingers on the steering wheel during the bank heist, or quietly suppressing his anger at being called "Shorty" for the millionth time, he never strikes a false note. And unlike some other film noir chumps, he actually evokes sympathy as the love-struck loser. It even makes you forget Rooney was once married to Ava Gardner. That's some talent, bub.

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To read about Mickey Rooney's other film nor, Quicksand, go here.

MOVIE OF THE DAY: "QUICKSAND" (1950)

Is it too soon to admit I usually found Mickey Rooney annoying, too brash by a hundred, and as endearing as surgery without anesthesia? Yes, I know Laurence Olivier -- not always on speaking terms with subtlety himself -- considered Rooney "the greatest actor of them all." Me? Every time I saw a clip of one his MGM musicals, or some variety show, or his legendary, hot-headed interviews -- always veering off-topic to remind us he was once the most popular movie star in the solar system -- I'd find the nearest pillow to crawl under until the moment passed.

On the other hand, there's his performance in Quicksand, one of the most underrated film noirs of its time. Unlike the know-it-alls he was used to playing, his character here, Dan, is a sap from the opening moments of the movie, disparaging the girl who loves him while falling hard for a cashier named Vera, who's obviously one step away from the alley and two from Tehachapi. 

Sure, kid, nobody's gonna notice that
missing double sawbuck.

Quicksand's story is classic film noir -- the kind of move where the "borrowing" of $20 from the office cash register leads to an escalating series of crimes that climax with a carjacking/kidnapping after the boss is strangled. 

And what would drive an honest, hardworking mechanic like Dan into, well, a quicksand of disaster? A bottle-blonde dame who smells of sex and stinks of the gutter. It makes me feel better about myself that, no matter how stupid I was in the past regarding women, it was nothing compared to your typical noir dope.

Dan reflects on what an idiot he is
to go out with this woman.

You know there's going to be trouble when, on their first date, Vera takes Dan to gaze at a window display featuring a fur coat that's been on her radar since forever. Their reflections looking back at them in the window, Vera can't take her eyes off that coat, while Dan wonders just what the heck he's getting himself into. But we know already: a whole mess of mess. Jeanne Cagney (sister of James) portrays the brassy, brazen Vera, who's hard as nails -- and ready to pound them into Dan in order to get what she wants.

For a fun time, visit Nick's penny arcade!

"Sleazy" can't begin to describe the people and surroundings Dan has to put up with. From his perpetually angry, skinflint boss, to the cheap carnival they go to on their first date, to Vera's former(?) lover, Nick, the rodentesque owner of a low-rent arcade. 

And since Nick is played by Peter Lorre, Quicksand's noir factor ratchets up a dozen or so steps. A guy with the charm of dung-covered Black Mamba, Nick orders some noisy little boys out of the arcade -- "or I'll save you all the trouble of growing up." One of my all time favorite actors, Lorre has a rare presence, unique delivery, and the ability to elevate any movie he appears in. It's he who discovers that Dan has mugged a drunk to pay off a debt, but offers to keep his mouth shut if Dan supplies him with a new car. Nice guy! (Their brief, believably sloppy fight scene -- without stunt doubles -- is a highlight.)

"Would you like to spit on me, Danny?
You can, you know."

For reasons she herself can't explain, a good girl named Helen (Barbara Bates) is head over heels in love with Dan. He ignores her, lies to her, dumps her for Vera, winds up committing more crimes in a few days than most criminals do in a lifetime -- and still Helen keeps coming back for more. Maybe because Dan is the only guy she's dated who's smaller than her. Boasting the style of a nursery school teacher, Helen is the total opposite of the icy Vera, whose eyeballs probably have dollar signs in place of pupils. 

Never trust a dame with a fur coat,
stolen money, and a big, fat smirk on her face.

By the time Dan figures out what Vera's all about -- way after everyone in the audience has -- he's up to his boyish blonde hair in trouble. "What kind of a dame are you?" he demands after she's sold him out. "The kind who watches out for herself!" she replies, and, brother, she's not kidding. All she cares about is the cabbage (and I don't mean coleslaw). If it isn't green and ready to fit in her wallet, she ain't interested in what you're carrying, bub. Unless it's a fur coat. 

Jimmie Dodd (left) turns from the camera
so the Mouseketeers don't see him ogling
a tramp like Vera.

Mickey Rooney isn't the only unexpected actor in Quicksand. Dan's co-worker, Buzz, has only one scene at the very beginning of the movie. He'd be completely forgettable if it wasn't for the fact he's played Jimmie Dodd, a few years away from becoming the Mouseketeer godfather on The Mickey Mouse Club. Quicksand offers the rare chance to see Dodd without large, round discs atop his head.

Mickey Rooney made Quicksand as his career was going into eclipse. Ironically, this was the time he gave his best performances in dramatic movies and, occasionally, on TV. (His portrayal in the corrosive title role of "The Comedian", a live episode of Playhouse 90, is an absolute a career highlight -- especially when you know it's based on a combination of the holy terrors Milton Berle and Red Buttons.) Unlike the MGM musicals he's best known for, Quicksand allows Rooney to often shift down into first gear, giving him several wonderfully subtle moments. Watch him dicker with Lorre over the keys to the stolen car in return of the bloodstained handkerchief he used in the mugging -- a scene where, like a couple of others, he resembles Leonardo DiCaprio not only in looks but style. 

Yet, only 30 years old and already on the third of his eight marriages, he appears to know that his major box-office days are already behind him. For Mickey Rooney, Quicksand was more than just a movie. It was his becoming his life.

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