THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 72

 
These four movies live up to the phrase Now I've seen everything. Whether you want to see them is another story.

THE BLACK STORK (1917): If The Very Idea presented the funny side of eugenics, The Black Stork is shocking in its casually positive perspective. Named for the animal that allegedly kills the newborns it deems unhealthy, The Black Stork is based on the career of Dr. Harry J. Haiselden, a surgeon infamous for doing likewise to human babies. Despite Haiselden's notoriety, his movie counterpart, Dr. Dickey, is presented as a hero doing God's work. And if you want proof, when the doctor goes to work on one unfortunate newborn, Jesus cradles the baby's soul in His arms upon its death, so there.

The story, about a man carrying a "defective" gene via his grandfather's "unclean" housekeeper, is extended an extra half hour or so by the mother's nightmare of how her newborn's child's life will turn out if he lives: ostracized by children, rejected and mocked by society in adulthood, killing the surgeon who let him live, and eventually fathering a whole brood of "unfit" kids with what used to be referred to as a downtrodden woman. And in The Black Stork, people unfit to live include those with Down's Syndrome and epilepsy. Oof.

Not once are society's visibly horrified reactions to these people considered out of line; instead, it's those people's fault for living. In order to give The Black Stork a documentary feel, authentic "deformed" children and adults are featured exploited, with Dr. Haiselden himself playing the hero eugenicist! Re-released in 1924 as Are You Fit to Marry? with an additional framing story, The Black Stork played the grindhouse circuit until the early 1940s, when Hitler made the concept of eugenics less acceptable for (public) endorsement.

BONUS POINTS: Henry Bergman, who plays "The Defective" in the mother's nightmare about her child's future, would go on to better things as a regular co-star and assistant director for Charlie Chaplin.

THE DEVIL'S ASSISTANT (1917): The long-forgotten, barely-known-in-his-time Harry Pollard careened between directing mainstream studio pictures and exploitation dreck involving the usual cinematic sins -- drugs, sex, and Satan. The Devil's Assistant combines all of them in a two-reel (cut down from its original five) whirlwind of madness. 

Oh wait, madness is the fourth sin here, suffered by our heroine Marta upon the birth of her baby. She's being treated by the evil Dr. Lorenz, the man who has secretly loved her forever, eventually turning her into a drug slave under his spell. During an attempted rape in a thunderstorm, the roof caves in on them, sending the shamed Marta brief to Hell for a look-see. But maybe it was only a dream, as her husband Jack rescues her from the clutches of the late Dr. Lorenz. (Jack had been dallying with Marta's friend Marion, but we'll forget about that.)

Other than not explaining what happened to Marta's baby -- it isn't clear whether the kid died at birth or went the way of the black stork -- the 30-minute hack job done on The Devil's Assistant's later rerelease doesn't matter to the story. Movies like this exist strictly for shock moments, like Lorenz briefly turning into Satan at Marta and Jack's wedding, Lorenz's chauffeur leering with approval at Lorenz assaulting Marta (probably the creepiest moment in the whole show), and the red-tinted visit to Hell.

Like the similar scene in Spencer Tracy's Dante's Inferno, The Devil's Assistant passes this off as a moral lesson rather than the cheap thrill it really is. But give director Pollard credit for attaching two phony heads and a cheap pair of wings on a real dog to create Cerberus, even if he looks no more evil than the participants in the canine costume contest in our neighborhood every Halloween. All things considered, The Devil's Assistant, even in its barely-rescued-from-self-destruction condition, is a morbidly fascinating psychoactive experience. But the only lesson you'll likely learn: if your current PCP sports a goatee and sinister smile like Dr. Lorenz, find yourself a new one.

BONUS POINTS: Say what you want, but there's something creepy about Death being portrayed by a guy in a skeleton costume and hooded cape.

IMPRESSIONS OF DISRAELI (1931): We're all used to celebrities making political endorsements. But the 15-minute Impressions of Disraeli takes it one step beyond by starring George Arliss as the famous 19th-century Prime Minister promoting Britain's Conservative Party. 

Mind you, Arliss never comes out and says, "Vote the straight Tory ticket!" Instead, he recreates a few of Disraeli's speeches that explained what the Conservatives stood for and why they were better than the Liberals. And what's fascinating is that they appeared to support equal rights, freedom of speech and justice for all, where no class was better than the other -- you know, liberal ideals. The closest he comes to sounding "conservative" is when he endorses tariffs, but only against countries who impose their own. If this is what the current American conservatives were like, I could sleep better at night.

By 1931, Arliss had portrayed Disraeli on the London and New York stages, as well as a silent and talking movie. As far as audiences were concerned, he was Disraeli the way Hal Holbrook was Mark Twain. And, gosh darn it, Arliss really pulls it off. Not that I was around during Disraeli's lifetime (1804-1881) to know for sure. Arliss' make-up and hairstyle appear closer to the real thing than in his 1929 bio talkie, which makes me think he applied it here himself, as he likely did onstage. Never seen in the US (and, for some reason, repeating one speech twice in a row), Impressions of Disraeli is riveting historically and artistically -- this is as close as you'll get to knowing what George Arliss was like onstage. Like anybody but me cares.

BONUS POINTS: The movie is introduced by Conservative Party leader and future Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin (I had to go online to learn who the hell he was).

BOOM (1968): Tennessee Williams' Boom (the exclamation mark exists only in the posters, not the credits) encapsulates everything wrong with "edgy", "stylish" movies from the mid to late 1960s. Bad dialogue, gaudy color schemes, camera movements that call attention to themselves, and an A-list cast wallowing in trash, led by Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor, and Noel Coward. Oh, what a free trip to Italy and a good paycheck will do to some people! 

Taylor is Mrs. Goforth, living in splendor on her private island where she screams at her employees between glasses of vodka and bottles of pills, when visited by Chris Flanders (Burton). Flanders, a distant acquaintance of Goforth's, is nicknamed the Angel of Death, which alerts you how the movie is going to end. At that point, you could go out to dinner and return to catch the climax because nothing but nothing outside of reams of bad dialogue happens in between. Trashy movies can be entertaining (see Machine Gun McCain), but Boom is a stupefyingly pretentious bore.

Aside from Michael Dunn as Goforth's security chief, the only person you'd miss by skipping the bulk of Boom is Noel Coward as the, uh, Witch of Capri. Thanks to his brilliant delivery, Coward actually makes his dialogue sound wittier than it is. Tennessee Williams seems to have had given up all pretense of offering some kind of a "message" in his screenplay, lapsing into either self-parody or the crime of WWI (Writing While Intoxicated). When near the end of Boom Taylor moans, "This is the worst day of my life," I thought, You don't know the half of it, Liz.

BONUS POINTS: Tennessee Williams considered Boom the best movie adaptation of any of his plays, which goes to show artists aren't necessarily the best judges of their own works. 

                                                              ##########

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.

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

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 63

 How can four movies count as five? You'll find out.

TRAPPED BY THE MORMONS (1922): Long before the Church of Latter-Day Saints was an object of satire in a Broadway musical, it was considered a nefarious sexual cult. Just look at the tagline on the billboard for the British silent shocker Trapped by the Mormons.

Nora Prescott, a virginial thing of beauty, is mesmerized by Isoldi Keene, a Mormon elder, into leaving her parents, dumping her noble boyfriend, getting her female coworkers to join the church, and eventually marrying him. (Man, I had it tough just getting a girl to have a beer with me.) When Keene's current wife Sadie objects, he arranges for her murder. Keene's associates decide that Nora, who's finally come to her senses, might as well get the heave-ho as well. This movie might as well be titled Killed by the Mormons. 

You know right off the bat what kind of a scoundrel Keene is, seeing that the very first shot is a close-up of his eyes as he practices his hypnosis skills. He pulls every trick in the book to win over Nora, even the ol' resurrecting-the-dead gag. Religion never comes in to play as far as Mormons here are concerned; it's all about the polygamy. The only thing Nora's elderly father hates as much as the Mormons, it seems, is America because that's where these people come from. Just the seeing "Utah" on a pamphlet is enough to drive dad into a frenzy. I bet he's just jealous of all the tail those guys are getting.

The one thing that keeps Trapped by the Mormons from going full-scale camp is Evelyn Brent's portrayal of Nora. While Louis Willoughby (Isoldi Keene) and Cecil Morton York (Nora's father) compete in a scenery-chewing contest as if their union memberships depended on it, Brent keeps an even keel throughout. It's odd she rarely broke out of B-movies like Symphony of Living  (Interference being an exception). Quite a comedown for the attractive, American-born Brent, who had great success in classy British stage productions during the 1920s. Her character might have been trapped by the Mormons, but Brent herself was trapped by the studios.

BONUS POINTS: I recognized Olaf Hytten, one of the Elders, from his appearances in the 1940s Sherlock Holmes movies. God, how did I ever get laid?

THE INFORMER (1929): Long overshadowed by John Ford's 1935 adaptation of the novel, the original UK production of The Informer is interesting in  its own way. Gypo Nolan, a dimwit former member of the local Communist Party, turns in a comrade for the reward money so he and his hooker honey can sail to America. But being a dimwit, he starts flashing the cash at the local pub, leading folks to figure out what happened, and party officials putting him on "trial" 

Perhaps wanting to make Gypo even less sympathetic, the British version has him rat out his comrade out of jealousy over Katie, the woman they both love. In order to ease his guilt, Gypo eventually gives the reward money to a needy young woman whom Katie mistakenly believes he was carrying on with, leading her to inform on him to the Commies. While Ford's adaptation switches the Commies to the IRA, these changes in the original make for a more interesting story, as they add extra layers of drama and irony overall. The recently-restored DVD of The Informer, then, is well-worth a viewing.

The silent version, that is. Following its production, a sound version was prepared, dubbing dialogue in some scenes while reshooting others. This where the problem starts. Lars Hanson (Gypo) was Swedish, and Lya De Putti (Katie) was Italian, and needed other people to dub in their voices after the fact and, in at least one scene, off-camera while the stars very carefully mouthed their slowly spoken dialogue. Not only is it clunky, it's incredibly distracting, as Katie now has a cockney accent, and Gypo sounds like a talking gorilla. In fact, nobody has an Irish accent in The Informer. Watch the silent version of The Informer with its new score, followed by the part-talkie, and you'll understand why many movie critics thought sound was a bad idea.

BONUS POINTS: In its favor, the sound version recorded with the RCA Photophone process has a pre-credit overture to set the mood. Things like that are important to me, dammit. 

SHAKEDOWN (1950): The cliche of the on-the-spot, lightly unscrupulous but loveable newspaper photographer from the '30s and '40s gets a literal beating in Shakedown. Freelance shutterbug Jack Early turns his newfound gig at a San Francisco broadsheet into a moneymaking machine. First by taking shock, tabloidish photos, then playing criminal kingpins Nick Palmer and Harry Colton against each other for cash. Apparently deciding this isn't dangerous enough, Jack sneaks Harry and his gang into a party with a bunch of society swells so they can rob the joint. But this is one job that won't develop as well as his photos.

It isn't often that you're rooting for the criminals, but you can't help it in Shakedown. Howard Duff makes Jack Early even more of a sociopath than the gangsters. The way Hollywood vet Brian Donlevy plays Nick, I'd have worked for him on the side and thank him profusely. Lawrence Tierney gives Harry a sinister edge, of course, but he won't give you any trouble if you don't mess with him. Now starting the downslope of his career -- he's fourth billed -- Tierney is unusually lowkey in Shakedown, making him sound almost exactly like Humphrey Bogart.

But by the end of the first reel, it's Howard Duff you loathe. He tells a drowning victim and a jumper to pose before he snaps their photos. He breaks up the engagement of photo editor Ellen Bennet (Peggy Dow) before putting the unwanted moves on Nick's wife Nita (Anne Vernon). His own editor (the underrated Bruce Bennett) hates him. In the abyss of Jack's miserable life, he watches Harry hotwiring Nick's car to blow up when he turns the ignition -- and lets it happen in order to get the shot and Nick's wife! You know a guy is despicable when you cheer as Lawrence Tierney slaps him hard on the face and, at the end, gives him what he's been asking for all along. A fast-paced drama with flashes of very dark humor, Shakedown will shake you up.

BONUS POINTS: Still in his bit part days, Rock Hudson has one line of dialogue as a nightclub doorman. 

LA VERITE SUR BEBE DONGE (1952): Sometimes it takes a while to rethink my initial take on a movie. In the case of the French production La Verite Sur Bebe Donge, it was the (over)night after seeing it. Certain images and plot twists came back to me in ways I hadn't appreciated the first time. By the time I had fallen back to sleep, it had gone from being one of those, you know, French movies where philosophical musings pass for small talk and world weariness is the default mood for the lead characters to a fascinating study of a marriage that never should have happened, with both sides to blame.

Director Henri Decoin, a fan of American movies, incorporates Hollywood noir touches throughout the film as we watch Francois Donge (Jean Gabin) dying in a hospital after being poisoned by his wife Bebe (Danielle Darrieux). Through flashbacks, we see how they got to this point -- a combination of Francois' infidelity and Bebe's blind spots concerning both his and her poor choices. (In an amusing moment, they even whisper their doubts to each other during the marriage ceremony). Going back and forth in time, we see, too, that everyone in the couple's orbit, from their family to friends, the doctor, and even a judge knows about the poisoning and can do nothing about it as long as Francois refuses to press charges. Only if he dies can the police move in.

Jean Gabin has the reputation as being one of the great French movie actors of his time, but it's Danielle Darrieux who knocked me out as the killer wife. Initially madly in love with Francois, her innocence gives way to an ice-cold heart. Such is her steely gaze and hardened exterior that Darrieux at times looks like a different woman altogether. As good a director as Decoin is, much of the credit to this transformation has to go to Darrieux herself. 

An American studio like RKO could have made La Verite Sur Bebe Donge with little difference other than a snappier pace than its 113 minutes, but it's fascinating to see a French noir with an American look. As with plenty of films francais, an anti-snob like me has to roll with La Verite Sur Bebe Donge on its own terms if they're to find any enjoyment in it. Fortunately, there's enough Hollywood in the trimmings to have made it an interesting watch. Even if I only realized it at 2:30 in the morning.

BONUS POINTS: Henri Decoin and screen writer Maurice Auberge pull a fast one by setting up Bebe's first scene to be one thing only turning out to be another at the climax. You'll understand when you see it.

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

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 62

Forty-six years separate the oldest and newest movies here, bookended by a silent version of a classic stage play and a semi-update of a classic novel. The fans of the play and the book would object to them. Too damn bad.

GHOSTS (1915): It helps to have a rough idea of what Hendrik Ibsen's groundbreaking play Ghosts is about. Otherwise, you'd think the "Inherited Trait" mentioned in one of the intertitles was insanity brought about by too much partying rather than syphilis. 

Capt. Alving's marriage to the wealthy Helen Arling doesn't prevent him from continuing his roue ways, even at his wedding reception. As time passes, his behavior worsens, even urging his eight-year-old son Oswald to knock back a shot of whiskey. Helen ships Oswald to boarding school, where he becomes a renowned artist... who keeps rubbing the back of his neck because that's apparently an effect of the "Inherited Trait". It also drives him to go off his nut, burn down a church and eventually take poison. Well, that's what syphilis a sore neck will do to you.

Wisecracks more or less aside, Ghosts at least tries to get across the idea of an STD, while definitely keeping the incest subplot of the story, as Oswald falls in love (and almost marrying) the woman he doesn't realize is his half-sister. His real father, of course, sired her out of wedlock -- which comes as a surprise to the guy who thought he was her father. Just why the family doctor knew all this but never told anybody until it was almost too late proves he should have lost his license to practice medicine. Or he just wanted to give Ghosts an excuse to run more than three reels.

Controversial dramas made in 1915 aren't known for subtlety, but Henry B. Walthall (Beggars in Ermine) is quite good as Alving father and son; his climactic nervous/psychological breakdown is remarkably effective and kind of scary. If you cut Ghosts some slack, it's not difficult to understand why it was considered a powerful, adult movie in its day, even if it cuts corners. Watch for Erich von Stroheim in a bit part in the boarding school, too.

BONUS POINTS: Following the opening credits, somebody named Karl Fromes poses as Hendrik Ibsen rather stiffly. Maybe he had a sore neck.

JULIUS SIZZER (1931): Do you remember a comedian named Benny Rubin? He was the go-to actor if you needed an old guy, maybe running a pawn shop or complaining about kids these days. Rarely explicitly Jewish, his character came close enough to give you the general idea.

Not so in the early days of sound, when Rubin's "gift" for Yiddish accents, slangs, and malapropisms came to the fore in many low-budget two-reelers for the smaller studios like RKO Pathe, which released the gangster parody Julius Sizzer. Here, Rubin plays crime boss Liddle Sizzer (you get the joke, right?) and his younger brother, the goodhearted Julius. The "plot", if you can call it that, involves Liddle trying to find the guy who took a shot at him, while he tries to keep Julius, just off the boat from Russia, away from the underworld.

There's very liddle -- excuse me, little -- in Julius Sizzer that would rouse even a smile today. Not that the Yiddish stuff is offensive. In fact, that's the only thing that makes it, and Rubin's other pre-code shorts, almost interesting. No, it's the constant use of the Yiddish accent attempting to make mediocre jokes and puns that's offensive, even if it is fascinating to view a kind of humor that feels as ancient as the Torah. (Liddle Sizzer's weapon of choice is little scissors. Oy vey!). Strictly for undemanding fans of early talkie comedies and historians looking for grant money in order to write seriously about this kind of stuff. 

BONUS POINTS: As often with movies like these, the fascination with Julius Sizzer comes when it inadvertently calls attention to itself as a movie, such as the ambient sound of an airplane flying overhead, a couple of brief moments when it goes out of focus, and the microphone being a little too far from the actors during wide shots.

YOU AND ME (1938): Give credit to director Fritz Lang for putting every genre except Westerns into You and Me: romcom, drama, gangster, comedy, German Expressionism, a touch of leftist polemics -- even Kurt Weill gets into the mix with a couple of songs. Its poor box office made sure there'll never be another movie quite like it again. But it was fun while it lasted (for 85 minutes)!

Five years after their pre-code Pick Up, Sylvia Sidney and George Raft were reteamed, this time as Helen Roberts and Joe Dennis, employees at a department store. Joe, like many of the workers, is an ex-con given a second chance by his boss. Helen is aware of Joe's past but still wants to marry him. But she's hiding a secret from her past, one that derails their marriage, and drives Joe back into a life of crime. 

You and Me's multi-genre hopscotch is dizzying. It begins with an anti-capitalist number, before calming down into your average love story, before whiplashing into laughs, punches, guns, threats, a gauzy recreation of the song a nightclub chanteuse warbles, a bizarre prison fantasy/flashback recounted in rhythm and rhyme by the store's ex-cons... It's all very strange (and strangely entertaining), with camera angles and lighting in the manner of Lang's 1920s German productions. Ergo, it shouldn't have been a surprise that Depression-era moviegoers wanted something a little more accessible to drop their nickels on. 

Sylvia Sidney is nothing less than wonderful as the lovestruck Helen -- she can go from thrilled to despondent without breaking a sweat -- while George Raft is his usual cigar-store Indian self, made even more wooden in comparison by a lively supporting cast, including 28-year-old Robert Cummings, playing ex-cons. I think Raft's most interesting moment was likely off-screen, as he pretended to understand what the heck kind of movie You and Me was.

BONUS POINTS: It's also the only film where a group of criminals are literally taught a lesson (in math).

CASH ON DEMAND (1961): The next time your relatives drop by uninvited for Yuletide cheer,
tell them they're going to watch an update of A Christmas Carol. Then run Cash on Demand. It won't be what they were expecting, but it'll be a nice change from the hundredth screening of the real thing. That is, if they take their holiday fun with nerve wracking suspense and threats of violence. 

Peter Cushing, Hammer Studios' legendary horror mainstay, is the mousy yet Scrooge-like bank manager Harry Fordyce. Two days before Christmas, his ice-cold demeanor is shattered when forced to help rob his bank by a charming criminal posing as an insurance representative. If they don't pull off the heist within the allotted time of 45 minutes, Harry's wife will be zapped by two electrodes attached to her skull. And a happy new year!

When I call Cash on Demand nerve wracking, I'm not kidding, bub. The movie, playing out in real times, continually racks up tension until, as with Double Door, you feel like screaming at your TV. Cushing, detestable for the first several minutes, gradually becomes unexpectedly sympathetic, thanks to Andre Morell's eerily charming role as the robber. His psychological needling of Fordyce brings out, perhaps for the first time ever, the bank manager's humanity. To describe more would be unfair to first-time viewers; catch it next December, as it seems to be one of TCM's holiday favorites. Just be sure to have a glass of strong eggnog on hand to steady yourself.

BONUS POINTS: Fordyce's put-upon assistant is played by Richard Vernon, the disgruntled train passenger who shuts off Ringo's transistor radio in A Hard Day's Night.

                                                                 **********

THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 59

A rare entry with three European movies and only one American. Good Lord, am I becoming a movie snob? 

ALRAUNE (1928): Something must have been in the Riesling during 1920s Germany, when movies about young women driving men literally mad with desire were all the rage --Pandora's Box, Diary of a Lost Girl, and The Blue Angel to name three. The more obscure Alraune adds a little bit of Frankenstein to the mix, as Prof. Jakob ten Brinken decides it would be cool to inseminate the sperm of an executed murderer into a streetwalker. You know, just to see what happens. 

If the original one-sheet on the right hasn't already tipped you off, the mad prof's "creation" -- named Alraune -- grows up to be a sexed-up young lady who can't help but leave a trail of half-crazed men (and one suicide) in her wake.  Eventually, she discovers who (or what) she really is, and, in revenge, gradually comes on to her "Papa". You know, just to see what happens. Like father, like daughter!

Famed German actress Brigitte Helm isn't exactly beautiful but gives Alraune the same literally mesmerizing sense of control over men as she did in Metropolis. She even stares down a pack of male circus lions into submission while in their cage. No wonder guys stand no chance with her -- not even her "Papa", played by Germany's premiere movie actor of the 1920s, Paul Wegener (The Student of Prague). Looking more like a 1950s Soviet official than a professor, Wegener's gradual decline from brilliant but nutty scientist to jealous, semi-incestuous would-be lover is one for the books, adding yet another sick layer to the story.  If you're a man, watch Alraune with the one you love some evening. You know, just to see what happens.

BONUS POINTS: The name Alraune is also a plant that, in mythology, grows where a hanged man's semen dropped to the ground, and grows into the shape of a human. Warning to gardeners: When pulled from the soil, the alraune allegedly lets out a scream that can kill you.

SMARTY (1934): "That was just awful", said my wife after watching Smarty. How could she not enjoy a pre-code comedy about a woman deliberately provoking her husband to respond with physical violence? And then eventually does the same thing with her second husband? When the little wifey tires of hubby #2, she returns to hubby #1 and manipulates him into slapping her twice, while he promises to beat her. And as any woman would do, she melts in his arms, kisses him and whispers, "Hit me again" as Smarty comes to its romantic end. Swooning yet? 

There's stuff in between, but you get the general idea. One of the last pre-code productions (by about six weeks), Smarty was made for Depression-era audiences to delight in the dysfunctional behavior of the idle rich. Vicki, the wife, is emotionally cruel, while husbands Tony and Vernon lack any self-respect. Its arch tone, slamming doors, and attempts at satiric sophistication probably worked in its original stage play incarnation, but as portrayed onscreen, you want to slap the hell out of all of them. As with Blood Money's Frances Dee yearning for "a good thrashing", Vicki isn't just asking for it, she's demanding it. What was up with women 90 years ago anyway?

God knows how, but Joan Blondell, husband #1 Warren William (the King of the Pre-Codes), and husband #2 Edward Everett Horton manage against all odds to create laughs from time to time.  Laid back co-stars Claire Dodd and Frank McHugh are their bemused friends enablers who egg on these sadomasochistic relationships. If emotionally cruel women and self-loathing, physically abusive men are funny to you-- as they apparently were in the UK where it was retitled Hit Me Again --Smarty is the romcom you've been aching for. 

BONUS POINTS: In today's parlance, Tony is triggered by Vicki's use of the phrase "diced carrots", which, while never made explicit, seems to be in regard to a part of his anatomy.

TO THE PUBLIC DANGER (1948): Say, remember those scary 15-minute movies
you had to watch in drivers ed classes back in the day? The ones where people do stupid things like drinking heavily before hopping behind the wheel? Well, years before that, a British movie studio got the bright idea to make a similar kind of picture and releasing it to cinemas. Don't forget the popcorn!

On-the-outs couple Fred and Nancy fall in with the charming Capt. Cole and his drunken mate Reggie at a local pub. In short order, Nancy and Cole get frisky while all four knock back whiskeys for the next couple of hours. The fun continues in Cole's car, as he drinks from a flask and lets Nancy take the wheel from the passenger side and -- BAM! Did they just hit someone riding a bike? No one can agree. Cole decides to stop at another pub where they get even more hammered, leading him to beat the crap out of Fred before continuing their joyride. One of the passengers eventually escapes this hell on wheels while the other three see it to the bitter end.

Sound a bit thin for a feature? Correct call, as To the Public Danger runs just 43 minutes, the perfect length for a brisk double bill. But there's nothing that screams "relaxing day at the movies" here. The first half is essentially 20 minutes of watching our "heroes" becoming progressively drunk, while much of the claustrophobic second half puts you literally in the driver's seat of an out-of-control auto. (The climax is genuinely terrifying.) While its short running time prevents To the Public Danger from wearing out its welcome, it would have been even better with Alfred Hitchcock calling the shots while the actors were drinking them.

BONUS POINTS: The twist ending is a genuine surprise, isn't a cheat, and is kind of funny in a way. Just not for the characters.

POPIOK I DIAMENT (ASHES AND DIAMONDS) (1958): 

Poland, V-E Day, 1945. Two members of the Polish resistance, Maciek and his mentor Andrezj, hang around a hotel waiting to assassinate a high-ranking Communist official. But as the hours pass, and a celebratory dinner for their target gets out of control, Maciek gradually falls in love with a barmaid, forcing him to question both his assignment and the choices he's made in his life that have led him to this pivotal moment. 

 I hadn't heard of Ashes and Diamonds until fairly recently. Word on the street -- OK, online -- was that it was one of the greatest movies ever made. And having finally gotten around to see it, I'd say it was one of the best looking movies ever. Its black & white cinematography and deft staging (as in a bombed-out church) were impressive as anything I've ever seen.

If there's a problem with Ashes and Diamonds is that it never remotely evokes 1945. Everything is strictly 1958, especially its 31-year-old star Zbigniew Cybulski as the philosophical assassin Maciek. Cybulski was for good reason considered the Polish James Dean -- only, to my eyes, a far better and more original actor. Like Dean, Cybulski was an icon of his generation who died in a violent accident, although making it to 40 rather than checking out at 24.

From his first moment onscreen to last, Cybulski is the real deal. Without aping Brando as so many of his contemporaries did, he seems to be creating something brand new right before your eyes. No, I was never convinced this character was actually around in 1945 -- not with that haircut or those cool lightly-tinted sunglasses he rarely removes -- but ultimately it didn't matter. 

For while appearing more modern, he (and the rest of the fine cast, for that matter) made the Eastern Europe political subplots that much easier to understand, the way modern-dress Shakespeare does for me. And in doing so, many of the movie's scenes might have already become permanent fixtures in my memory. Perhaps giving Ashes and Diamonds a second spin one evening will place it on my own imaginary Top 100 list. It's certainly more than worthy of just one viewing. 

BONUS POINTS: Cybulski's last moment onscreen features one of the most remarkable pieces of acting I've ever seen. It's highly unlikely any young actor could equal it today.

                                                          ***********