THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 49

 By sheer coincidence, there are two movies about brain-control -- the same situation I find myself in whenever I notice the YouTube app. 

ROAR OF THE DRAGON (1932): You know the story about the Alamo, right? OK, move the location from Texas to Manchuria. Now change the Alamo to a hotel, Davy Crockett to a drunken riverboat captain, the American soldiers to tourists, and the Mexicans to Chinese bandits. Presto: Roar of the Dragon. 

Richard Dix returns to these pages as Capt. Carson, the cynical sot who finds his purpose in life when under fire. (Unsurprisingly, Dix is less believable playing a drunk than when he really was drunk in the Whistler movies.) He's got the hots for Natascha, the girlfriend of bandit-leader Vronksy. Natascha is played by Gwili Andre, RKO's unasked-for answer to Greta Garbo (or is it Marlene Dietrich?). While Andre is a looker and fairly sexy, her talent is limited to keeping her eyelids at half-staff -- there's a reason why Roar of the Dragon was the highlight of her brief movie career before returning to whence she came, modeling. In front of camera, I mean, not with clay.

Other than ZaSu Pitts and her "oh dear" hand-fluttering routine, the most familiar supporting actor is the great Edward Everett Horton, who gets a dramatic turn -- perhaps for the only time in his career -- when the woman he loves is killed by a bandit. Grabbing a machine gun, the formerly timid Horton starts firing like a madman before getting knifed in the back. Want more unexpected violence? Well, there's an elderly Jewish man getting captured by the bandits, trussed up on a pole and set on fire, forcing Carson into machine-gunning him to death to put him out of his misery. 

One of the loudest early talkies I've ever experienced, Roar of the Dragon features people yelling, guns firing, music blaring, and babies crying (no child-protective services here!), almost continually during its 69 minutes While the pace drags a bit during its final third, you sure won't fall asleep. 

BONUS POINTS: A newspaper headline reads RIVERBOAT CAPTAIN BEATS OFF BANDITS. Now wait a minute!...

REVOLT OF THE ZOMBIES (1936): One of the all-time great movie promotional images -- but anyone wanting to see a full-scale zombie revolt will have to fast-forward to the final three minutes. Otherwise, this is one of those low-budget indies about a man straying where no man should go. Like, into certain low-budget indies.

Armand Loque has discovered the secret of zombie-making in post-World War I French Cambodia. This little talent comes in handy when he decides to take over the village where he and his fellow-geeks are currently encamped. His ultimate target is Cliff Grayson, who is engaged to Claire Duval, the woman Loque loves. Why didn't this egghead put the spell on her?

Hoping to cash in (a little late) on their low-budget, now-legendary cult fave 1932 hit White Zombie, siblings Edward and Victor Halperin decided that any movie with the Z word would bring in the ducats. Not without Bela Lugosi, the star of the original, it wouldn't. Still, Dean Jagger does a fine job as the doomed Armand Loque. (I've always wondered why it took him so long to break into A pictures, since he's always better than his surroundings.) Too, Robert Noland, as Cliff, isn't bad either; where both actors fail is in their love-dovey moments with Dorothy Stone as Claire, where their dialogue sounds straight out of a 19th-century melodrama. 

Another drawback with Revolt of the Zombies is its shabby sets. While the Halperins were able to rent classy soundstages at Universal for White Zombie, here they had to settle for Jagger walking in front of a blow-up photo of Cambodia's Angor Wat temple to set the unconvincing scene. Even if current prints were restored (in addition to its rough quality, it's missing a few minutes), it would look older than a 1936 release. Whatever good can be gotten from Revolt of the Zombies is Dean Jagger's often sensitive performance and his occasionally uncanny resemblance to Anthony Perkins. Too bad there aren't all that many zombies.

BONUS POINTS: The tight close-ups of Jagger's eyes when he's turning on the hoodoo that he do so well belong to Bela Lugosi, lifted from White Zombie. Jagger was probably grateful not that have a light shining straight into his pupils.

THE LADY AND THE MONSTER (1944): Erich von Stroheim must have felt like he'd
hit the end of the road, getting third billing behind B-lister Richard Arlen and (gulp) top-billed Vera Hruba Ralston in a Republic picture with a goofy title. No need, though, for this is an unexpectedly good, if Hollywoodized, adaption of the bizarre 1942 novel Donovan's Brain by Curt Siodmak, who co-wrote the script. 

Prof. Franz Mueller and his assistant Dr. Patrick Corey have finally achieved the dream of keeping the brain from a dead man -- in this case, investor W.H. Donovan -- alive in a jar. Much to the dismay of Corey's sweetie Janice Farrell, Donovan starts communicating with him telepathically. (Dames are so jealous!). As Mueller juices up the formula in the jar to make the brain chattier, Corey receives orders to arrange a new trial for a young man imprisoned for murder. With his personality deteriorating to the point of violence, Corey's left with no choice but to silence the little girl who saw the prisoner at the murder site. Don't blame the man, blame the brain!

Republic Pictures opened the purse strings for The Lady and the Monster, giving it the sheen of a Warners production. Director George Sherman and his crew did a dandy job, too, lighting Richard Arlen's face in a way that reflects his ugly -- evil -- new personality. No longer in the Rolodexes of the major studios, Erich von Stroheim still has what it takes to make an audience take notice, reciting  dialogue in his typical clipped delivery as if he thought this were actually worthy of him.

Bringing up the rear as the nominal star, Vera Hruba Ralston can't even react convincingly to seeing a brain in a jar, appearing more like she's suffering from a mild case of dyspepsia. (In her many, many close-ups, she resembles Teri Garr satirizing her.) If Republic honcho Herbert Yates wanted to do his mistress a favor, he'd have kept out of pictures to avoid being made a laughingstock. Ms. Ralston's contribution and the unfortunate tacked-on happy ending aside, The Lady and the Madman is one of the cooler Republic productions.

BONUS POINTS: Several years earlier, George Sherman directed another sci-fi/medical/crime movie, The Return of Dr. X. You know, the one with Humphrey Bogart as a vampire. 

PLUNDER ROAD (1957): Sometimes, all you need in a movie is 75 minutes of a seemingly successful crime going to hell for everyone involved. If nothing else, Plunder Road will discourage you from robbing $10-million in federal gold bars, no matter how easy it looks. 

The crime itself is interesting because it's something of an updated Western, seeing that the five criminals pull off a train heist Utah before heading to California. But instead of riding horses, they're driving three trucks filled with the loot disguised as or hidden by other items. It's just a darn shame that they didn't anticipate police roadblocks going up. Guess they haven't watched enough movies!

Speaking of watching movies, Plunder Road has an interesting mix of actors in both familiar roles and playing against type. In the former is Stafford Repp (you remember him as the Irish cop in the Batman series) still in his bad guy years, forever obnoxiously chewing gum; the always-welcome Elisha Cook, Jr. looking forward to using his loot to move to Rio with his son; and the more-obscure Steven Ritch as Frankie, who puts his race-car skills to good use trying to avoid the cops. 

Yet the most interesting actors are former leading men Gene Raymond and Wayne Morris. Once A-listers, over time they aged out of their charming manner and good looks and into character parts like the ones they play here. Their grim expressions and cold-blooded ways -- Morris shoots an old gas station attendant without blinking an eye -- show a versatility denied during their star-making days two decades earlier. You have a rough idea of how they and the others in Plunder Road are going to wind up, but that's beside the point. It's the actors that count, and they make it worth watching.

BONUS POINTS: Plunder Road teaches you how to blow up a train with the fuse of a bomb hooked up to a dashboard cigarette lighter. Easier than you think!

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 14

 Two Peter Lorres, one Fred Allen, the return of the always-confounding Vera Ralston -- it's a never-ending waterfall of movie and television revelry. Why couldn't YouTube have existed when I was a teenager?

CRACK-UP (1936): A textbook example of how one actor can elevate an otherwise so-so picture. Airplane magnate John Fleming, whose human mascot is the nutty Col. Gimpey, has hired Ace Martin to fly him non-stop to Berlin in order to test his new propellor -- the plans of which he stole from Martin. Martin's friend Joe Randall steals the plans back, not knowing that Martin intends to sell them to Baron Tagger, a representative of an enemy power. Martin doesn't realize that Tagger has been disguised as the harmless Col. Gimpey. When Fleming, Martin, and Randall embark on their flight, Tagger stowaways with them in order to take the propellor plans to his homeland. Caught in a storm, the plane goes down off the Irish coastline and starts to sink. As a rescue ship nears the plane, only one lifejacket is found to be useable. A gun is fired. Which man will live?

OK, look at the poster. You know who makes Crack-Up worth 75 minutes of your time. In only his third American movie, Peter Lorre acts everyone off the screen without a sweat. So radically different in style, delivery, and looks, Lorre must have had an extraordinary effect on 1936 audiences -- there was simply no one else around Hollywood like him. Because I didn't know Crack-Up's story, Lorre's real character (Baron Tagger) was unexpected and completely believable. Just the way he walks toward the camera after shooting one of his bumbling spies is chilling and, in a dark movie theater on a big screen, probably terrifying.

There's not much else to recommend Crack-Up. Brian Donlevy, as Martin, is second to Lorre in the acting department, giving a hint of his future character work. The only other familiar face is Ralph Morgan (brother of Frank, aka the Wizard of Oz), as Fleming. His wife, having run off to Paris with his business partner, sets in motion the events that land her husband in the cold Atlantic. Served him right.

BONUS POINTS: The awesome gall of Crack-Up's producers. Fully aware that Nazis had final say over Hollywood movies released in Germany, the transatlantic flight is to Berlin, while the "enemy" country is never named -- despite Lorre's accent. Gut gemacht, freund!

THE FLAME (1947): The dying Barry MacAllister gets engaged to his live-in nurse
Carlotta, not realizing she's in cahoots with his half-brother George, who is waiting for the guy to kick off and inherit his fortune. As Carlotta unexpectedly falls in love with Barry, she doesn't know that George has been carrying on with nightclub chantoosie Helene, who's cheating on her boyfriend Ernie. Once Ernie starts to catch on to George's plot against Barry, he instigates a blackmailing scheme. As Barry's health miraculously improves, Carlotta makes it clear to George that she's never coming back. Having nothing to live for, George plugs Ernie with a revolver, as Ernie returns the favor.

I didn't give away the ending there -- we saw the shootout at the very beginning of The Flame, which, in a device ripped off from Double Indemnity, is told in flashback as George waits for the police. And that nurse-marrying-the-sick-guy routine is an echo of Voice of the Whistler. But I cut The Flame plenty of slack since it's Republic Pictures' attempt at competing with the major studios by releasing what resembles a Universal picture. Both the direction (by John H. Auer) and artistic design are top-notch; the supporting players (Hattie McDaniel and Henry Travers) were no strangers to A-features, either.

What gives the game away are the leads. John Carroll (as George), a Clark Gable proxy, was by now a regular presence at Republic. As Barry, Robert Paige seems to be the go-to guy when Ralph Bellamy was unavailable (or too expensive). Two years shy of his Oscar-winning role in All the King's Men, Broderick Crawford overshadows them both as Ernie, the intimidating mugg who's fully aware Helene is using him but just can't shake her. 

The weak link, as she is in all her movies, is Vera Ralston as Carlotta. She tries -- oh, how she tries -- to be Ingrid Bergman, even as her character is French. But to her credit (or, more likely, that of the director), Ralston's performance here is better than two of her previously-discussed pictures, Angel on the Amazon and I, Jane Doe -- that is, she's almost pretty good. If you ever wondered what a B-movie would look like with an A-budget and running time (you mean you haven't?), The Flame provides the required heat.

BONUS POINTS: While the interiors were filmed in Hollywood, The Flame's budget allowed some genuine New York exterior shots of the Hampshire House, Fifth Avenue, and Central Park. Is this really a Republic Picture I see before me?

ARMSTRONG CIRCLE THEATER: FRED ALLEN'S SKETCH BOOK (1954): Contrary to its title, Fred Allen's Sketch Book has nothing to do with the art world. It features, instead, the comedian starring in three playlets. He's a boss trying desperately trying to figure out a math riddle in "Twenty Horses"; a bartender dealing with a customer and his robot in "Hour of Letdown"; and, in a very free adaption of James Thurber's "The Private Life of Mr. Bidwell", a bored partygoer amusing himself to his wife's embarrassment. All this in 30 minutes, including commercials and credits, live from New York. 

A change of pace for Armstrong Circle Theater, Fred Allen's Sketch Book feels like the pilot episode for a series after the star failed with previous attempts in television. He's surrounded by familiar character actors (including Kenny Delmar, who played Sen. Claghorn on Allen's radio show), all of whom could have been regulars on a Sketch Book series. And having someone else write the scripts would have taken a welcome load off his shoulders.

However... while "Twenty Horses" is entertaining (even if I did solve the riddle pretty quickly), the other pieces don't have much of a point to them other than fill out the rest of the half hour; they wring out Allen's famously dry wit until it's positively arid. Only in his (likely) self-written introduction -- where, among other things, he observes that Americans have shorter attention spans in these fast-moving days of 1954 -- does he sound like the Fred Allen that his radio fans loved over the years. A pleasant if slightly disappointing half-hour with a concept, if done right, would work well today, at least for a short attention spanned guy like me.

BONUS POINTS: A wardrobe assistant helps change Fred's look between scenes. As the assistant puts his hand on the bartender hairpiece, Fred asks him to "take off the Sammy Kaye", a reference to the toupee-wearing orchestra leader -- an ad-lib that surprises Fred himself, as he laughs seconds later. That's the Fred Allen we're looking for!

 THE 20TH CENTURY-FOX HOUR: OPERATION CICERO (1956): Turkey, World War II. The British Ambassador's valet is selling top secret information regarding the Allies to the German embassy officials. When the valet, known to the Germans by the codename Cicero, has made enough money, he plans to run away to Rio de Janeiro with his former boss's widow, Anna, who is holding on to the spy's ill-gotten gains for safekeeping. Just as he prepares to sell documents regarding the D-Day invasion for his final payday, Cicero learns that Anna has fled to Switzerland with his money. But wait, there's more! She's also written a letter to the British embassy warning that Cicero is the spy they've been looking for... and another to the Germans claiming that he's been feeding them false information. Despite having two spies for two countries on his tail, Cicero manages to escape to Rio with his D-Day payout, where he plans to live the good life -- a scheme that doesn't go as planned. And the best part? It's a true story!

"Operation Cicero" is an episode of the 60-minute anthology series The 20th Century-Fox Hour, which presented condensed remakes of the studio's movies. And if this is a typical example, each episode used the same sets and exterior shots from the original films whenever possible to speed up production and save some dough. In this case, "Operation Cicero" was based on the 1952 release 5 Fingers, starring James Mason as the spy. Just the 5 Fingers trailer alone shows how the TV version remake slavishly followed the original. 

The remake unexpectedly presents Ricardo Montalban as the spy; it's nice seeing the Latin lover convincingly playing a rotter for a change. Peter Lorre makes the most of what is essentially a glorified cameo as Montalban's German contact. A fascinating, well-paced production, "Operation Cicero" proves that you can tell a forgotten story of World War II in less than an hour that four years earlier took 105 minutes, and not miss a beat. 

BONUS POINTS: One of the actors playing a British embassy official, Alan Napier, would gain fame with a new generation of viewers a decade later as Alfred, the butler on Batman.

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THE EARLY SHOW, PT. 3

I've come to accept that I'll likely never return to my usual, pre-pandemic sleeping schedule. Not that I was ever one of those lucky, eight-straight-hours-a-night people. But thanks to the internet and occasionally a revisit to a movie from my own collection, there's always a movie or forgotten TV program at my disposal worthy of a brief mention, even if it really isn't worthy. 

ALIBI (1929): Released from prison, gangster Chick Williams resumes his romance with Joan, the daughter of Police Sgt. Pete Manning. When a cop is murdered in a heist, Chick falls under suspicion, despite his seemingly airtight alibi.  With the unlikely help of Danny McGann, who's not the annoying rich lush he appears to be, the killer is found out and, during a police chase, falls off a rooftop because it's more dramatic than being shot.

For me, Alibi ticks all the boxes: gangster genre, early talkie, interesting direction (by Roland West) with touches of German expressionism, art deco sets, and Chester Morris in the lead. Not necessarily a great actor, Morris nevertheless is always interesting, especially when playing heels like Chick Williams. While the other actors are serviceable, Morris brings a simmering tension that breaks at the climax when his character betrays his true personality.

Alibi's only problem is Regis Toomey's portrayal of Danny McGann. Overplaying the stereotypical  drunk, Toomey pulls every cliché in the Hollywood book -- stumbling, slurring, giggling -- that you see only in movies. He also gets the longest, most melodramatic death scene outside that of Sunny von Bulow. If he was looking for the first Oscar nomination for best actor, he must have been chagrined by Chester Morris receiving it instead. 

BONUS POINTS: The expressionistic prison shots at the beginning, making it look like The Hoosegow of Dr. Calagari. 

ALL-AMERICAN CO-ED (1941): Bobby Shepard (Johnny Downs) of Quinceton University pranks the all-girls Mar Byrnn by entering its free tuition contest in drag, only to fall in love with student Virginia Collinge (Frances Langford). And if you think that's a flimsy story for a full length movie, you're right. All-American Co-Ed is one of Hal Roach's 49-minute "Streamliner" releases. And the only reason it's that long is because of its four musical numbers. 

The fun of All-American Co-Ed  -- rightly promoted in newspaper ads as THE SEASON'S GAYEST MUSICAL! -- is how much of its sexualized humor crosses the line of what was otherwise permitted at the time ("Bobbi" Shepard is caught sitting on a guy in what somebody appears to think is the reverse cowgirl position), or how a song laments that the farmer's daughter "can't rhumba with an old cucumber." Wow.  

Most of the music is typical of a 1940s B-picture, with titles like "I'm a Chap with a Chip on My Shoulder", sung by Johnny Downs as his character's nom de drag The Flower Queen(!). On the other hand, Langford's showpiece, "Out of the Silence" is an Oscar-nominated forgotten gem sung, arranged and filmed in an almost hypnotic style far out of step from the movie's silliness. It's the best scene in the picture, and probably the only one from a Roach Streamliner that resembles an A-picture.

A weirdly enjoyable movie, All-American Co-Ed suffers from the appearance of Noah Berry, Jr. and Alan Hale, Jr. as a couple of nitwits who make you realize what Hal Roach lost when he parted ways with Laurel & Hardy. Yet, overall it's still an entertaining way to spend a late night or pre-dawn 49 minutes if you can't sleep or don't want anyone to know the kind of ridiculous movies you watch. 

BONUS POINTS: Harry Langdon shines as the Mar Brynn publicist, while the great African-American actress Lillian Randolph almost steals the movie as a laundress in a hilarious scene that, in lesser hands, would be offensive to modern audiences. In fact, it probably is anyway, but I'm not modern. And look fast for future noir queen Marie Windsor as one of the Mar Brynn cuties. 

THE CASE AGAINST BROOKLYN (1958): New York police detective Pete Harris goes undercover to bust an illegal gambling ring and the crooked cops protecting it. A little too dedicated to his job, Harris's bullheaded approach gets his partner Jess Johnson killed in the line of duty. He also puts his marriage in jeopardy by pretending to romance Lil Polombo, a lush whose husband Gus killed himself rather than being murdered by the mobsters to whom he's deep in debt. But that doesn't matter after Harris's wife is killed in a hit meant for him. Now it's personal! 

The Case Against Brooklyn, based on a true story, is kind of shocking, in that it seems every cop in this particular Brooklyn precinct was on the take. Too, Pete Harris, is fairly unlikeable, putting everybody around him in danger just for a promotion.

Too bad The Case Against Brooklyn -- one of the all- time great titles -- doesn't  live up to its premise. Shot mostly on L.A. soundstages,  it lacks authentic New York atmosphere. But McGavin is fine as the hotshot cop "dating" the alky widow just to get information on the criminals. I just wish this true-crime tale was more realistic. Especially the scene where pop star Bobby Helms sings his latest single in a bar while accompanied by a jukebox.

BONUS POINTS: The only movie I know of with someone murdered by an exploding telephone. 

I, JANE DOE (1948): A woman known only as Jane Doe is found guilty of murdering Stephen Curtis. When she's found to be pregnant with Curtis' child, his widow, Eve, defends her at a retrial. Curtis, we learn, was a two-timer who met and married the defendant -- whose real name name is Annette Dubois -- when he was shot down in action over Europe in the War. He soon disappeared, sending a lawyer to her to sign an annulment. Still in love with Curtis, Annette tracked him down to New York where we learn what really happened the day the two-timing louse was killed.

Like The Case Against Brooklyn, there's nothing really bad about I, Jane Doe. In fact the snappy first reel promises a good noir. But the retrial bogs down with more flashbacks than Brian Wilson's acid experiences, interrupted by the prosecutor shouting his objections and the reaction shots of the title character, played by Vera Ralston, the Greta Garbo of Republic Pictures.

As with her role in Angel in the Amazon, Ralston's emotions run the gamut from A to A-, with her glycerin-teared eyes forever on the verge of running down her face without actually doing so. No other actress had so many close-ups in one movie, likely at the behest of her lover, Republic president Herbert Yates. 

Director Joseph H. Auer does what he can with the material (and Ralston), focusing on the technical aspects, which are often quite good. The best of the primary actors is John Carroll, who makes Stephen Curtis a heel that you eventually believe deserved to get plugged. There's enough in I, Jane Doe to keep you fairly engaged and the bombastic score will keep you awake. Still, it would have been better as a straight-ahead B-picture with 10 of its 85 minutes shaved off. And someone other than Vera Ralston starring in it.

BONUS POINTS: The always-engaging character actor Leon Belasco makes the most of his brief appearance as Curtis's amusingly creepy, slithery, grimacing lawyer. His performance is a master class on making the most out of an otherwise throwaway role, and should be seen by aspiring actors everywhere to let them see a real pro in action. 

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MOVIE OF THE DAY: "ANGEL ON THE AMAZON" (1948)

Steam from dry ice wafts through the pseudo-Amazon jungle, while animal noises added post-production echo through the plaster of paris trees. Suddenly, a hunting expedition led by a young blonde woman for whom the phrase "beautiful but vapid" seemed to have been created walks quietly toward us. 

Suddenly, a leopard appears before them. As the men freeze in their tracks, the woman confidently lifts her gun, aims, and shoots at the back projection footage behind her. 

We can be only in one place: a soundstage at Republic Pictures, where Vera Ralston, a former Czech figure skater, is starring in yet another picture at the behest of studio head Herbert J. Yates, no matter if anyone wants to see it. That she's also Yates' mistress is only a coincidence. Welcome to Angel on the Amazon.

Brent and Bennett share memories of working with
Bette Davis and Cary Grant instead of the
girl sleeping with the studio boss.

George Brent and Constance Bennett play pilot Jim Warburton and Dr. Katherine Lawrence, who are flying to South America. When asked about the possible danger for "a woman" on the trip, Warburton chuckles, "She's no woman, she's a doctor!" Had my wife been watching this, she would have rolled her eyes so hard they'd have given me a migraine.

Vera Ralston looks for her next cue while Constance
Bennett wonders how her career came to being fourth-
billed to a talking mannequin.

Yet the flyboy and femme medico, along with three guys (two of whom are bizarrely named Dean and Jerry) do eventually crash in the jungle. They're rescued by Christine Ridgeway (Vera Ralston) and her Latino sidekicks. Although Ridgeway possesses the personality of a shag carpet, Warburton is immediately intrigued by her. Maybe because she seems intellectually unable to put one foot in front of the other, let alone fire a rifle. 

Vera continues looking for a cue, without success.

Ridgeway leads them to her camp, where Warburton quickly learns that not only is she uncomfortable talking about herself, she doesn't even respond well to compliments -- a problem Vera Ralston herself never had to endure.

By the following morning, Ridgeway has left before the others have awoken, leaving behind only a so-long-and-thanks-for-the-distraction letter for Warburton. One of her sidekicks tells him that she's prone to taking off without notice, sometimes for a week, sometimes for two years. Some men would find that a plus when looking for a wife.

Dr. Lawrence is impressed that Christine is able to
drink without having to use a sippy-cup.

Warburton and Lawrence leave for Rio. (As for their three pals, they just kind of disappear, never to be seen again. Good way to keep the budget low.) Any plans Dr. Lawrence had for wrangling her cockpit companion go kablooey when they run into Christine at the racetrack in Rio. 

Despite having shared only 12 sentences and one drink with Christine, Warburton wants to marry her. (There's a new TV reality series: 90 Second Fiancée). But just as he's ready to slip her the ring, Christine spots an elderly man leaving their hotel. Showing a trace of life for the first time, she runs to the desk clerk, who hands her the note the old gent left her: Be happy, dearest. So naturally she gets all morose. Jeez, can't dames do as they're told?

"Give me 10 minutes so we can pad out
the running time."

Christine needs a change of scenery, so she takes Warburton for a spin in her convertible. And by spin, I mean driving the roads of Rio in the middle of the night like a maniac. One blown tire later, she crashes into a palm tree. Warburton, knocked unconscious, wakes up alone the next morning with a lump on his head.

Any other guy would have thanked his lucky stars this nut was out of his hair (or, in his case, toupee). Not Warburton. In an attempt to figure out what the deal is with Christine, he strikes up a conversation with Sebastian Ortega, a friend of her family's, who sets the stage for a lengthy flashback.

Vera hits a B-flat. Very flat.

 Ortega recounts the trip down the Amazon he and Christine's parents, Judith and Anthony, took shortly after their marriage. A black leopard snuck up on them at nap time. As the beast attacked Anthony, Judith (also played by Vera Ralston) grabbed her knife and, screaming in alleged terror, killed it.

Ralston's reaction is the highlight of Angel on the Amazon. The vacant stare she wears throughout the movie is on full display while slashing a leopard that's trying to eat her husband. You could dub in the voice of somebody doing vocal exercises or even yawning, and it wouldn't seem out of place. It's probably this scene, more than any other, that cemented her reputation as a movie "star". 

"Say, aren't you Colin Jost of Saturday Night Live?"

In case you're wondering what this has to do with with Christine, we find out when Warburton visits the now-elderly Anthony at a Pasadena cemetery, where you always want to meet your prospective father-in-law.  In yet another flashback, we see Christine's parents throwing a party for their darling teenage daughter. Her boyfriend, however, has the hots for the startingly-youthful Judith, who looks exactly like Christine. And unfortunately acts like her, too.

Watching the bf putting the moves on mom proves too much for Christine, who hops in her car and drives madly down the road, with her parents in hot pursuit, before going off a cliff. Maybe she was looking for her cue again.

"She stopped aging 25 years ago? Oh, OK.
What's for lunch?"

Wait, hold it! How did Christine survive that accident?!  Obviously, you didn't pay notice the original tagline on the one-sheet at the top of the page: CURSED WITH ETERNAL YOUTH! The woman we thought was Christine was actually Judith, who stayed the same age after the panther attack, because... something about a shock freezing the aging process, but really just because it was just in the script. 

I hate to drag you into this mess, but what would your reaction be upon hearing that the young woman you were in love with was actually her mother frozen in time? Whatever it is, it likely wouldn't be like Warburton, who looks like he's been told his wannabe fiancée has a cold. It's as if the writers just threw up their hands and said, Oh what the hell, this is a Vera Ralston picture, nobody's gonna take it seriously anyway.

"Darling, how wonderful to see you again! But why
couldn't you stay young?"

But for reasons that escape me -- I think it has something to do with seeing Anthony at the hotel in Rio earlier -- Christine Judith, now in a Pasadena hospital, transforms to her real age, which is still younger than her husband, but too old to be considered attractive to any man over the age of 21. She meets her husband at the cemetery, where they limp into whatever future they have left, without discussing what the heck's transpired over the past two decades.

One of a couple dozen or so movies that Herbert J. Yates made in an attempt to turn his sweetie into the next Ingrid Bergman (or any other actress with a foreign accent), Angel on the Amazon came when Republic was trying to shake off its B-movie past and play with the majors. And while it occasionally made good on its attempts at classy movies -- John Ford's The Quiet Man and Orson Welles' Macbeth, to name two -- it took more than a 90-minute running time to deserve the top of a double bill. 

"George, get us back to 
civilization -- like Warner Brothers!"

Just the title tells you Angel on the Amazon doesn't succeed, even if it does feature two former A-listers, George Brent and Constance Bennett, in an attempt to draw people who would otherwise turn up their nose at a Republic picture. (Franklyn Farnum, once one of the biggest stars of silents, was reduced here to an unbilled extra. Stars of today, take note!).

Brent, never the liveliest of actors even at his peak, walks through Angel on the Amazon as if thinking about last night's dinner. Constance Bennett, though, makes you wonder what an ace like her is doing in this dreck. While it's never made explicit that her character has a thing for Brent, Bennett's subtle body language, right down her eyes, suggests there's more to her than a stethoscope and a supply of malaria pills. It's almost as if she's reminding the audience who the real actress around here is. 

Herbert B. Yates makes an honest woman, if not an
honest actress, of Vera Ralston.

But who are we kidding? New York's Museum of Modern Art didn't show Angel on the Amazon because of two former lead actors, nor is Amazon Prime running a newly restored print to introduce a new generation to the classics. 

These screenings are strictly to marvel at Vera Ralston, the actor whose emotions run the gamut from nothing and back again, in a role that defies explanation with a script that makes even less sense than her career. Somebody should make a movie about her relationship with Herbert J. Yates -- that would be even less believable than being frozen in time after a panther attack.

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