DAY OF METRO MOVIE-A-TONEMENT

WARNING: Lengthy, unusually nerdy movie column to follow. Proceed with caution. 

From 1928 to 1930, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer released a couple dozen short films known as Metro Movietones. Most were filmed at the MGM Eastern Studios on Second Avenue and 126th Street (shown below) and featured some of the most acclaimed music stars of the New York stage.

Just to get an idea of what Broadway and bigtime vaudeville was like, I sat through all the Movietones -- three hours' worth -- over two days. (When you get to be my age, you realize what's important in life.)

Nowhere do you see familiar names like, say, Eddie Cantor, the Four Marx Brothers, Ethel Waters, George M. Cohan, Bessie Smith, or anyone else who might, just might, ring a bell. Just why MGM didn't convince them or their 14-karat brethren to step before a movie camera for a few minutes is a puzzlement.

Most of the female singers of this time, like Marion Harris, were considered jazzy, which now would be considered something of a stretch. But in 1928, any piece of music with a hint of rhythm beyond that of "Old McDonald" was considered syncopated. Harris is certainly a fine, personable thrush; calling her a "jazz singer", though, is like considering Taylor Swift profound.

While we're talking women, a Movietone favorite was singing siblings: The Brox Sisters, the Ponce Sisters, and, no kidding, the Five Locust Sisters. While the Brox and Ponce sibs are fairly easy on the eyes, the Locusts are about as sexy as a Biblical plague. What all of these acts share are cartoonishly high voices and 1-2-3 rhythm that make them sound far more dated than, say, the Andrews Sisters, whose 1940s big band warbling can still get a room to jump 'n' jive. 

Men get more of their fair share of screentime, which is too bad for them. Leo Beers ("world renowned whistling songster") trills some "naughty" songs in a vaguely effeminate manner while accompanying himself on the piano. Not to be outdone, George Rose, a forgotten vaudeville MC, tells a few "naughty" jokes in an equally effeminate manner before going into a dead-serious Mammy song, Which is strange for a white guy born in the UK. Irish tenor Joseph Regan gets in on the Mammy act as well, proving how influential Al Jolson could be even when it's totally inappropriate. 

It wouldn't be a vaudeville show without novelty acts. Fuzzy Knight ("And His Little Piano") and Jack Pepper appear to have taken a few dexies before ripping off Cliff Edwards' scat-style singing, interrupted by jokes lacking punchlines. Miss Ella Shields, an American by birth, sings and dances as a male British sailor. Frances White does three numbers: one as a Gilded Age matron, another as a child in a onesie, and a third in a strapless gown while swinging a feathered fan. That's versatility right there, folks.

For those who enjoy humor aimed at nationalities other than their own, Van & Schenck perform in Jewish, Irish, and Asian dialects, and the Happiness Boys sing (and bark) a number about a German threatening to kill his dog. Someone else does a blackface stand-up routine about Christopher Columbus. Oh, and there's a guy who plays a musical saw. Maybe this wasn't entirely bigtime vaudeville.

George Dewey Washington is one of the few performers whose style holds up today, as he possesses a strong baritone and a weird hold on your attention. But in what might have been the only way he could have performed on an otherwise all-white bill, Washington is dressed like a stereotypical hobo instead of a tux like the other guys. Still, he receives top billing over four ofays, so no complaining!

The only person in any of these Movietones who went on to better things is Jack Benny. As the MC of The Song Writers' Revue, Jack introduces eight of the best-known pop composers of 1929. Only 35, Jack's famous physical mannerisms are already solidly in place. Unfortunately, he was still years away from his loveable cheapskate persona, making his sarcastic, mildly aggressive delivery even less funny today. (Bonus point: Jack briefly speaks Yiddish, perhaps the only time he ever made a reference to his Jewish background.)

Few viewers today would find the Movietone entertainers, well, entertaining. At best, they can be studied as one does unique specimens of extinct peoples that were wiped out by an "extreme event", otherwise known as Bing Crosby.

Once Bing crooned his way to stardom, his sexy, sophisticated style suddenly made all the Movietone singers, male and female, obsolete. Just a few years after appearing in these shorts, most of them were reduced to "and featuring" status or disappeared entirely from the stage and screen.

These Movietones, then, are valuable because we get to see certain stage folk before being ushered offstage by a new, hipper generation of entertainers. Marion Harris, Jack Pepper, the Brox Sister, George Rose -- they and the rest received huzzahs from audiences and newspaper columnists alike, no matter how moth-eaten they appear now. And don't kid yourself: you would have loved them, too. Possibly.

                                                     ################

LOTSA BOTS

I have a rough idea of how many people read this blog. Some receive updates either from me or Blogger itself. Many of those readers forward certain pieces, usually involving politics, culture, or movies to friends who might enjoy them. And I can tell when the friends forward them to others. 

Once in a while there's a spike when either a piece really hits home, or a bunch of bots try to leave a comment without bypassing the "prove you're a human" page. But in the past week, my review of the 1958 drama Cop Hater, published five years ago, appears to have caught on in an alarming way, as this graph shows:

In the early hours of July 17, Cop Hater bounced from zero (where it had been for three weeks) to 250 and stayed in that general area for the next five days. As I write this (July 23, 1:00 P.M.), it's currently at 75. The total number -- 1,220 -- is primarily from that time frame.

Yeah, I wouldn't trust this crew.

No other piece has seen this happen during those five days. When similar weird spikes happened many years ago, they coincided with a rise in readers bots from Hong Kong, Russia, and a few Eastern European countries. This week, the majority of hits --35% -- have come from the U.S., followed by Singapore at 17%. The other countries are in the single digits. 

Is it possible all these Cop Hater hits are coming from Singapore? Well,
Singapore Business Review reports that bots account for 50.4% of internet traffic in that country. Of that amount, 45% are "malicious".  That sounded like Singapore would be the likely source, although note the phrase "in that country" rather than "from". 

A little more nosing around brought me to a recently published piece from something called SUURV, which in itself sounded pretty sus. But the headline definitely was the real deal:

Aha! Those Singaporeans were the culprits after all! You can read the how and whys here if you're interested (and if you, too, have noticed a sudden interest from a country you have never thought of without the word "Sling" following it). 

The SUURV columnist gives some helpful advice on how to stop the Singapore bot numbers from showing up on the blog, but I'm not likely not follow it. Not only do I not understand what he's talking about, I get a kick out of seeing how some mindless bots are trying to convince me to do whatever it is they want me to do.

But this leaves a very important question: Of all the movies that could have been chosen as their prime target, why Cop Hater? What was wrong with Ingagi, Myrt and Marge, or I Am Suzanne! 

To you it's for exercise. To the police in
Singapore, it's advice not to commit 
another crime.

Well, plenty, I suppose, but that's not the point. Something about Cop Hater -- or the title -- drew the attention of these bots or their programmers. Maybe even the police force itself. There's a site devoted entirely to three countries that use corporal punishment with a rotan for certain crimes -- in Singapore's case, 47 of them.                                                             Sounds like nasty business, to be sure, but Singapore also has one of the world's lowest cases of violent crime, to quote the site, "partly no doubt because the authorities have managed to make the island almost entirely gun-free" (not to mention gum-free, also!).

The weapon so nice, he named it twice.

Weigh the choice. In exchange for getting rid of guns, and thus having a very low rate of violent crime in return, would you be good with your local police force using what James Brown called a licking stick?                                                                          But we're getting off topic. Why Cop Hater? Who's responsible? And will Kash Patel come for me after his next bender?                   

                                                      ###############

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 71

 A trip into the time machine to 1929 and 1930, dropping in on Germany and England, while making two stops in the USA. 

§173 ST.G.B. BLUTSCHANDE (1929):  Or, in plain English, Section 173 of The Criminal Code: Incest. So much for the "innocent" days of silent movies. (The literal translation of the German "blutschande" is "blood shame.")

 Martin Hollman and his late wife's adult daughter Lisbeth (from a previous marriage) fall in love. The local amtmann (i.e., bureaucrat) refuses to grant them a marriage license, citing the incest law, despite the couple not having a blood relation. When informed that Lisbeth has a pea in the pod, the outraged amtmann arrests them, and, following a trial, puts them in separate slammers. Reunited after several years, Lisbeth again gets pregnant. Despite the support of the villagers (including the local pastor), the amtmann once again arranges for their arrest. Lisbeth decides a walk in front of a speeding train is preferable to another jail jolt. 

Clearly, this silent drama would never have been made in Hollywood. Like the 1919 German production about homosexuality titled Different from the Others, §173 St.G.B. Blutschnade is a sympathetic take on its subject matter; while the couple might be in the wrong legally, even the town pastor recognizes they've done nothing untoward morally, including having two kids outside marriage. Lisbeth recognizes the societal hypocrisy when getting a post-prison housemaid job for a rich woman and her unfaithful husband. The wife encourages her adult daughter from a previous marriage to seduce and marry her own stepfather in order to "keep the money in the family."

A fascinating movie for its time, §173 St.G.B. Blutschnade is also kind of a slog to sit through. While the first two reels move at a good pace, the following 70 minutes drag; more than once I hit pause to see how much time was left. It's also an occasionally odd mixture of surreal imagery and over-the- top acting, especially from the nefarious amtmann (which might be deliberate, the easier to hate him). Still, §173 St.G.B. Blutschnade worth a viewing to be reminded how Hitler destroyed Germany's innovative movie industry in a few years' time. Hey, that reminds me, remember that American amtmann who refused to issue marriage licenses to gay couples? Good things we've come a long way since 1929 Germany, amirite?

THE VERY IDEA (1929): After a German drama about incest, it's time for a palate cleanser with a Hollywood a proto-screwball comedy about... eugenics! Get ready to laugh, America!

Alan Camp, a firm believer in "breeding" the right kind of baby via the best genetic lineage, convinces his strong, handsome chauffeur, Joe Garvin, and Joe's beautiful girlfriend Nora, to provide a child for his friends Gilbert and Edith, who are unable to conceive. One year later, Gilbert and Edith return from a "vacation", ready to pick up "their" baby without anyone else being the wiser... over Nora's motherly dead body.

There are some odd things in The Very Idea. Obviously, the idea of eugenics being played for laughs. The eugenicist himself being about the only intelligent person here. And you can tell, too, it was originally a Broadway show, with its lengthy dialogue exchanges, dull direction, as well as adult sophistication that still surprises today. (The movie was banned in a few cities during its original release.) 

While the dialogue is often more silly than witty, The Very Idea provides some good laughs, mainly when Gilbert and Edith give different, increasingly outlandish reasons for their year-long disappearance. Scenes like these offer a rare opportunity to see how a Broadway star of a century ago -- here, Allen Kearns -- would have been onstage, since he seems to be playing to the balcony. (He made only three features.) One sad piece of irony is that Hugh Trevor -- the actor playing the perfect genetic specimen -- died in 1933 of complications following an appendectomy, which should make the eugenicist's thesis questionable at best. Taking the good and the meh into consideration, The Very Idea is a fascinating way to learn that a movie from 1929 could be more adult than your average contemporary blockbuster.

BONUS POINTS: Now if we're talking good genes, co-star Doris Eaton returned to the screen in the Jim Carrey movie Man on the Moon in 1999 after a six-decade retirement. She also gave regular dance performances at AIDS benefits, making her final appearance one month before dying at 106. 

THE FLYING SCOTSMAN (1929): An example of the silent/talkie hybrid genre that fascinates an ever-shrinking cadre of movie fans (hello, me!), the UK production The Flying Scotsman -- that's a train, not a superhero -- chugs along at a brief 59 minutes. In its first (silent)

half, Crow, the train's former coal shoveller, is fired by Old Bob, the engineer, for drinking on the job. As Crow vows revenge, his replacement Jim unknowingly starts dating Old Bob's daughter Joan. The following day, Joan learns Crow is going to hijack the train, hoping to kill Old Bob and Jim in the process, and is determined to stop him.

The most interesting thing about the first 30 minutes of The Flying Scotsman is that it marks the lead debut of Ray Milland (or, as the credits read, Raymond Milland). Perhaps making up for the silence, Milland's facial expressions are rather, er showy; he tones things down in the talking second half, where you can hear his familiar Cary Grant-like diction underneath the character's Cockney accent. 

But what really stuns today are Alec Hurley and Pauline Johnson (Crow and Joan) climbing along and atop of the speeding train without any special effects, cutaways, or process shots -- and Johnson is in high heels!  I bet they didn't even get a "stunt pay" bonus, either. While Hurley keeps the tough-guy expression, I think that's genuine fear in Johnson's face.

Outside of former stuntman Richard Talmadge, I don't know of any other actor, British or American, who would have agreed to this literally death-defying scene. (Hurley could have been killed as the train passed through the tunnel.) If you're at all interested in seeing what was expected of actors back in the day, go to YouTube and fast-forward The Flying Scotsman to the 40-minute mark and settle in. It would have made a great short subject.

BONUS POINTS: Watching two actors almost get killed just to get a good shot makes you have even more contempt for today's "stars".

LORD BYRON OF BROADWAY (1930): You've never seen Lord Byron of Broadway, but you know the story: talented guy uses people on the way up until the tables turn and he crashes back to the bottom. Songwriter Roy Erskin, who gets creative inspiration from breaking women's hearts, hits the bigtime with his stage partners Joe Lundeen and lovesick Nancy Clover. Roy is ready to throw it all away upon meeting Ardis, a classy dame his equal in two-timing -- and who he doesn't realize is Joe's estranged wife. One death later, Roy is back where he started, where Nancy is waiting for him. 

The general idea could have worked as a noirish picture in the '40s -- it kind of reminded me of Blues in the Night -- but Lord Byron of Broadway lacks the polish of later musicals and the star power required to put it over. The two mediocre Technicolor production numbers create only derisive chortles, while supporting players Cliff Edwards and Benny Rubin (of all people!) have more screen presence than the top-billed Charles Kaley and Ethelind Terry. If the names are unfamiliar, it's because Kaley never made another movie, while Terry returned to the screen just once seven years later as an extra. Today they'd call it cancel culture. In 1930, it was simply a case of You stink. 

Contemporary movie historians blame Lord Byron of Broadway's commercial failure on its cynical lead character. Me, I just think it was just not a very good movie, being the usual creaky, unsteady talkie prevalent at the time. So few people saw Lord Byron of Broadway that MGM could get away with recycling one of the Technicolor numbers in a 1933 short starring Ted Healey & the Three Stooges, and again a year later in another short starring Curly Howard with a different pair of stooges, without anyone noticing. But I noticed a stage curtain (above) that was originally in MGM's The Hollywood Revue of 1929. Again, I ask, how did I ever get laid?

BONUS POINTS: Something else I noticed: the uncredited voice of 36-year-old Jack Benny as a radio announcer, two years before his real-life radio debut.

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

A VARIETY OF TOPICS

Doesn't matter if you're on the left or right -- everybody says Hollywood (the catchall word for all things showbiz) isn't what it used to be. But has the entertainment world really changed all that much? Let's thumb through the October 2, 1929 issue of "the Bible of show business" Variety to see.

You can't turn on any news program without another actor or politician complaining about the possible merger of Paramount and Warner Bros. And yet, it almost happened in 1929-- the same month that Fox Film was going to take over Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. The only that stopped these mergers from happening? The stock market crash three weeks later. Like they say, Timing is everything. Honest to God, the idea of a contemporary studio still called Paramount-Vitaphone would have been the greatest thing ever. 

But this merger went through. RKO and Pathe weren't going to let the
destruction of our financial system stop them! And nobody cared about no damn merger!

Remember when pop stars Britney Spears, Amanda Byrnes, Drew Barrymore, and Selena Gomez were provided with room & board at psych wards? Maria Orska, star of German stage and screen, got there before they did. 

Think stage plays today have a tough time turning a profit? The Casino Theatre in Newport, RI says, "Hold my Narragansett."

A day doesn't go by without protests regarding A.I. taking the jobs of real people like carpenters and set designers. But the Schufftan film process had a head start. 

Tell me about it! Have you seen The Real Housewives of Boise?

What's the difference between having to pay for a livestream of a lousy, 27-second heavyweight boxing match and buying a movie ticket for the privilege a week later? (Answer: about 40 bucks.)

Nothing changes in the Motherland. You'd they'd catch on that their people just wanna have веселье. (That's "fun" for all you running dog capitalists.)

Admittedly, this is more political than showbiz, but -- are you listening, Mayor Mamdani?

Killing workers over the stupidest things is an American tradition.

Suing people over the stupidest things is an American tradition.

This is from four years earlier, but I couldn't resist. Threatening to deport people for the stupidest reasons is an American tradition.

                                                                

                                                                  ################

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 70

Strap yourself in as we travel to Bengal, Jamaica, the old West, and a tool supply company. Oh, and Florida, too, but keep it to yourself.

BEYOND BENGAL (1934): The 1930s were a prime era for jungle documentaries, no matter the quality, e.g., the notorious Ingagi. Harry Schenck, Beyond Bengal's star/director, is credited on only three other movies. This made him as qualified as anybody else churning out these things, especially when it came to padding it out with phony footage shot in Florida. (You can figure out the Florida scenes because they're in focus and, well, look phony.) Even the industry trade paper Variety doubted Beyond Bengal's authenticity in its bemused review.

In fact, you can bet your last poisha that anything in focus is as fraudulent as Harry's on-camera friend Joan Baldwin almost dying of jungle fever. Not even the footage of a native guide almost eaten by a crocodile trying passes the smell test. On the other hand, another guide almost getting squeezed to death by a python looks genuine -- but if it is, why didn't the cinematographer help the poor schmuck instead of cranking the camera? Oh, I know why! Non-white = expendable. 

The Bengali segments that are definitely for real are when Harry's pals shoot animals. (At one point, the narrator gloats, "Boy, this is gonna be good!" as one poor tiger is ready to bite the dust.)  When the narrator describes a panther as "the most dangerous and hateful creature on the planet," it's clear nobody involved with Beyond Bengal ever went beyond 5th grade to learn the definition of "ironic". An interesting history lesson to see how you didn't need A.I. to fool the public. 

BONUS POINTS: "Produced in cooperation with HIS HIGHNESS THE SULTAN OF PERAK F.M.S." (as the credits read), Beyond Bengal was nominated for the Mussolini Cup at the 1934 Venice Film Festival. Do they give that out anymore?

VAGABOND ADVENTURE: JAMAICA (1934): In addition to pseudo-documentaries about jungle life, one-reel travelogues entertained audiences at a time when travelling the world was strictly for the wealthy. 

Unlike MGM's Technicolor Traveltalks, the Van Buren/RKO Radio Vagabond Adventures lived down to their name. Its 16mm black & white footage of Jamaica captures none of the "silver rivers", "verdant valleys" and "blue Caribbean sea" the narrator breathlessly describes. His patronizing description of "peasant Negroes" hasn't aged well, either.  And why does the accompanying music sound like a Jewish folk song? However, what it offers is a rare look at Jamaica decades before it was a tourist haven for vacationers and potheads.

The opening shot presents a shoreline without hotels or bars, while the rest of the area doesn't seem to have any buildings more than two stories high. Locals still make sugar the old-fashioned way (it involves an oxen team, which also takes the banana crop to the ships), and peddle their foods at the market.  

Outside of the trolley car and autos in Kingston, Jamaica as presented in this Vagabond Adventure is probably little different from how it had been a century earlier. If you can get past the annoying voiceover, it's more fascinating than any contemporary documentary on the country you'd find today.

BONUS POINTS: We see the statue of Queen Victoria, who the narrator informs us "is lovingly referred to as the supreme lady of Jamaica". Not anymore, I bet.

TRAIL OF THE VIGILANTES (1940): Tim Mason, a reporter from back East, goes undercover out West to expose a colleague's murder by Mark Dawson, a cattleman ripping off locals by running a protection racket.

If you think that's a fairly standard plot for a run of the mill oater, so did director Allan Dwan. That's why he hired someone to do a rewrite and turn Trail of the Vigilantes into a sly upending of the genre while maintaining its serious throughline. From the moment Tim Mason shows up in the ironically named dusty town of Peaceful Valley -- a scene awfully similar to anyone who's seen Blazing Saddles -- you know this is not going to be your typical B-western. 

Luckily, the cast is game, starting with Franchot Tone as Tim, the tenderfoot who doesn't convince anybody he's an old cowhand, with an amusing running gag of making an ass of himself while jumping on his horse. As two ranch hands, Broderick Crawford and Andy Devine send up their usual screen roles, while the great Mischa Auer gets the most laughs as a con man impersonating a Native American chief, Spanish bullfighter, Russian Cossack, and Southern shyster. There is nobody but nobody like Mischa Auer around anymore, and we're all poorer for it.

 And talk about out of the box casting -- Warren William plays straightman as the no-good polecat Mark Dawson. At 46, he carries the bearing of a man a decade older but looks as elegant in Western finery as he did tuxedos during his pre-code days at Warners. Trail of the Vigilantes doesn't always hit the mark -- a scene at a mudhole is straight out of a latter-day Three Stooges short -- but otherwise provides a ranch-sized number of genuine laughs while still providing the action and dramatic arc that comes with the (Western) territory.

BONUS POINTS: Co-star Peggy Moran later recounted Trail of the Vigilantes did good box-office with "New York's sophisticated audiences." 

IMPULSE (PILOT EPISODE) (1952): Before Alfred Hitchcock Presents, there
was Impulse. Or would have been had there been more than its unaired pilot episode. Going by the opening narration of this episode (titled "Mr. Pips"), the series would have explored the idea of the consequences from acting upon our worst impulses. Don't tell me you haven't had the urge.

The eponymous Mr. Pips, a mousy worker at a tool supply factory, is regularly humiliated by his repulsive boss into literally crawling through a rabbit-warren of sky-high crates piled dangerously high to retrieve items. These scenes -- far creepier and more claustrophobic than you'd expect -- are greeted by non-stop derisive laughter by the workers, including the woman Pips has a crush on. Eventually, the laughter stops when Pips, finally pushed to the breaking point, brings a gun to work in order to exact some well-deserved revenge. Never push a mousy guy too far.

Maybe you need some personal connection to the mousy side of life to appreciate it, but character actor King Donovan slams it out of the park as Pips, a perfectly nice guy who's allowed himself to be the object of ridicule by not standing up for himself. When he finally explodes by smacking his boss in the mouth with a gun, I almost shook with joy. Pips forcing the weeping guy to crawl through the crates and ordering the others to laugh at the threat of death? Heaven.  If this was the kind of series Impulse had been like, I'd have owned the entire run on 4K UHD Blu-ray. Oh, and the moral of the episode seems to be Chicks dig guys who threaten violence to others!  

BONUS POINTS: "Mr. Pips" was directed by Alfred E. Green, whose 119 credits include Dick Powell's NRA-rah rah short The Road is Open Again.

                                                    ##############

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 69

 

THE WITCHING HOUR (1934): "From the celebrated stage play by AUGUSTUS
THOMAS", as the opening credits inform us. Don't worry if you haven't heard of it, as it was first staged in 1907, and hasn't been revived since. 

Jack Brookfield accidentally hypnotizes his future son-in-law to murder a rival (you mean it hasn't happened to you?). The only lawyer who'll take the case is Martin Prentice, a former judge whose belief in the paranormal causes yet another climactic, borderline illegal courtroom stunt -- as in The Kiss Before the Mirror, involving gunfire -- we've all become accustomed to in movies like these. Which is why I love them! 

I don't know why The Witching Hour takes place in the South, other than to feature the usual black butlers speaking the way black butlers spoke in these movies. Keeping its timeframe in the turn of the century was a good idea since its basic idea would probably have been accepted by many people, just as the ghost of Martin Prentice's old flame visiting him every day was likely greeted by audiences with a shrug -- doesn't that happen to everybody? A fun, fast paced movie with the occasional welcome surprise -- the most welcome being how movie studios could whittle a four-act stage play like The Witching Hour down to 68 minutes.

BONUS POINTS: The only actor you'll recognize in The Witching Hour is William Frawley, two decades before his run as Fred Mertz on I Love Lucy, as the cynical jury foreman who winds up playing a key part in the defendant's freedom. (SPOILER: It involves hypnotism. Of course.)

THE SECRET BRIDE (1934): Attorney General Robert Sheldon has secretly married Ruth Vincent just before her father, Governor W.H. Vincent, is accused of accepting a bribe. If word gets out Sheldon is married to the Guv's daughter, it looks bad for both men. If he delays the investigation, it looks really bad. Worse still, Ruth refuses to testify on behalf of a woman wrongly accused of the murder of Sheldon's assistant. Ruth, you see, witnessed the crime through the window of Sheldon's apartment at midnight -- they're not supposed to be married, remember? Impeachment or electric chair: what to choose?

Despite featuring two of Warner Bros. top  actors-- Barbara Stanwyck and Warren William -- The Secret Bride is a comedown for both, as it possesses the odor of a mediocre script that the studio thought could be saved by its stars. Released not long after the enforcement of the Hays "code", the movie plays like Warners' attempt into more generic dramas where sex didn't exist and crime didn't pay. Stanwyck didn't stick around long afterwards, becoming a freelancer within a year. William, his caddish roles behind him, was transferred to Warners' Perry Mason series before being shown the door.

While William -- who isn't even billed on some of the lobby cards -- accepts his role with grace, Stanwyck seems vaguely aware that The Secret Bride is a comedown after slam bang pre-codes like Baby Face, Night Nurse, and The Miracle Woman. Both actors disappear in the final reel, as a complicated flashback narrated by another character explains the whole confusing mystery. Had The Secret Bride been made three years earlier, the lead characters would have been shacking up rather than married, the Governor really would have been crooked, and the killer might have gotten away with it because the victim had it coming. Sounds better, right?

BONUS POINTS: It wouldn't be a '30s movie without the reliable gun-in-the-desk-drawer trope, and The Secret Bride gets it out of the way in the first five minutes. 

NON-STOP NEW YORK (1937): Jennie Carr, a witness to a murder, is flying from London to New York in order to stop an innocent man from getting the hot squat at Sing-Sing. Other passengers include Police Inspector Jim Grant, a professional blackmailer, a wiseacre adolescent violin prodigy, and the real murderer. And you thought your last flight was weird.

The through-line is secondary to that humdinger of an airplane showcased in the poster. That's the real star of Non-Stop New York, often placing it (wrongly) in the sci-fi category for years. The British production could have benefited from Alfred Hitchcock's sly touch, but director Robert Stevenson does a serviceable job with his engaging actors, many of whom went on to have fine careers both in the UK and the US. Anna Lee and John Loder pull the old will-they-or-won't-they routine as Jennie and Jim, while semi-familiar character actor Francis L. Sullivan is a proto-Victor Buono as the killer who has a couple more targets in mind. 

Absurd moments abound -- an outdoor deck with a guard rail only waist high, Jim climbing atop the plane while in flight, to name two -- but that's the fun of it, even if it wasn't meant to be goofy. Non-Stop New York takes a while for the story to get up to speed, but once the plane takes off, so does the movie, with a surprise twist courtesy of the violin prodigy. By the way, the wonder of the plane isn't just its futuristic double-decker construction, but that it flies 3,000 miles in "only" 16 hours! It would be nice to know why the designer thought it would be a good idea to put an outdoor flight deck on there, though.

BONUS POINTS: Twenty-five-year-old Peter Bull, possessing an almost unreal blobby face straight out of Alice in Wonderland, makes the most of his brief, slimy moments a blackmailer-wannabe. If his name isn't familiar, you may remember him as the Russian ambassador in Dr. Strangelove.

THE BOY WHO SAW THROUGH (1956): Through walls, that is. Not like he sees
anything important. A minister looking for his false teeth, a cook dropping a roast on the kitchen floor. Nothing that would get a kid in trouble. Unless you're living in a small town at the turn of the 20th century, and you're treated as a freakish troublemaker nobody believes.

At 24 minutes, The Boy who Saw Through plays like a lighthearted episode of The Twilight Zone. And like most of the Zone stories, it seems to be an allegory. The boy's therapist realizes the X-ray vision is real, but advises him not to mention it anymore -- the same way most children who see the truth are told to shut up. 

I couldn't discover if The Boy who Saw Through was part of a forgotten anthology series or merely syndicated to plug a half-hour hole in local TV schedules. Most everything about it is strictly so-so and is included here solely due to its 15-year-old star Ronnie Walken, who would later change his first name to Christopher. Already possessing charisma and ease before the camera, Walken also has a touch of the creepiness he would become famous for. But I guess that makes sense if he can see through walls. 

BONUS POINTS: The near-ever present shadow of the boom microphone is almost a star itself.

                                                      ############