A Slight Case of Murder.

Review #2370: A Slight Case of Murder.

Cast: 

Edward G. Robinson (Remy Marco), Jane Bryan (Mary Marco), Allen Jenkins (Mike), Ruth Donnelly (Nora Marco), Willard Parker (Dick Whitewood), John Litel (Mr. Post, banker), Edward Brophy (Lefty), Harold Huber (Giuseppe 'Gip'), Eric Stanley (Mr. Ritter, banker), Paul Harvey (Mr. Whitewood), and Margaret Hamilton (Mrs. Cagle) Directed by Lloyd Bacon (#562 - It Happens Every Spring, #898 - Larceny, Inc, #1340 - 42nd Street)

Review: 

Edward G. Robinson doing comedy isn't too out of left field, really. Actually, Roy Del Ruth had directed him in 1933's The Little Giant (which dealt with a bootlegger trying to go into the legit business) and John Ford had directed him in a crime comedy with 1935's The Whole Town's Talking, which dealt with a lookalike killer. A Slight Case of Murder is based on the 1935 play of the same name, which had been created by Damon Runyon (the famed writer and his one attempt at making a play) and Howard Lindsay (who actually became noted for his work in Broadway plays and musicals with Russel Crouse beginning in 1935). Earl Baldwin and Joseph Schrank were credited for the script behind this movie. Incidentally, Bacon (a very busy director in the 1930s, he apparently made over three dozen movies in that decade)* and Robinson would team up again with a gangster-related comedies with Brother Orchid (1940, which had Baldwin as a writer) and Larceny, Inc (1942), which is probably the more famous Robinson movie about a convict trying to go straight. Incidentally, Roy Del Ruth would direct a remake of A Slight Case of Murder with Stop, You're Killing Me (1952), which starred Broderick Crawford.

With a plot involving a bunch of corpses turning up in the middle of foreclosure and a cop for a possible son-in-law, you've got plenty here for a neat little comedy, even with the apparent age on display in terms of its subject matter. Every so often, I have to remember that there was some pretty crappy beer people had to deal in the old days (as opposed to now, I suppose). To be honest, even with the amount of movies that I've seen with Robinson in the cast (ten, now), I sometimes think I haven't given him his proper due as an actor, and this is saying something for a guy who honed his talents for several years on Broadway and thrived when it came to dramas, particularly since he had the temperament to sell damn near anything, from the tough guy role to the biopic (sure, that doesn't include dancing, but who's asking?). He clearly seems to be having fun here, having the talent to make the hijinks bounce off him with useful timing without turning it into straight farce or just being the straight man to strange stuff, he just happens to be involved in a silly little dark comedy that won't have too much violence but will have enough silly shifty people for 85 minutes. Donnelly pops into the action with attempts at playing natural class that results in a few chuckles, although the cast of goons-turned-assistants such as Jenkins and Brophy are worth a few laughs as well. The buildup to resolve the dead body problem is pretty amusing if not a bit abrupt (seriously it goes from calling the cops to fainting like that). These are the kind of movies that could be stamped out a dime a dozen in the old days that will work exactly for those who like something that will deliver most of the time with colorful enough people and execution in a specific age and place (dated or not) that you could call the epitome of "quick yarn". Hit or miss, you won't have your time wasted here, suffice to say. As a whole, if you are in the mood for Edward G. Robinson and a bit of silly fun with a quick pace and resourceful company around him, you will find a neat little movie here to enjoy from the old years.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

*Welcome to the four-timer club, Lloyd Bacon.

Mad Love (1935).

Review #1907: Mad Love.

Cast: 

Peter Lorre (Dr. Gogol), Frances Drake (Yvonne Orlac), Colin Clive (Stephen Orlac), Ted Healy (Reagan), Sara Haden (Marie), Edward Brophy (Rollo the Knife Thrower), Henry Kolker (Prefect Rosset), Keye Luke (Dr. Wong), and May Beatty (Françoise) Directed by Karl Freund (#622 - The Mummy)

Review: 

There is something that appeals well to my being for films that got a bit of a bad rap in contemporary times, especially with a useful actor or director at the helm. You may remember that there was already an adaptation of the novel Les Mains d'Orlac (as written by Maurice Renard) with The Hands of Orlac in 1924. This was not only the first American film appearance for Peter Lorre but also the last film directed by Karl Freund. Freund was born in Bohemia (modern-day Czech Republic), and his interest in film began as an apprentice projectionist in the early 20th century. He would work as a newsreel cameraman before he became a cinematographer, which he would do for many films in Germany, most notably with films such as The Golem: How He Came into the World (1920) and Metropolis (1927); the unchained camera, one that involved a camera without a tripod, was his invention. He moved to the United States in 1929 and continued his work on the camera, even winning an Academy Award for The Good Earth (1937). He had directed one film with The Sensational Trial (1923) in Germany before his move, but the majority of his ten features as director came in America, with The Mummy (1932) and Mad Love (1935) being the most known. With Lorre, he was born in Austria-Hungary to Jewish parents, and he had begun acting in stage since the 1920s in Vienna before moving onto Germany for films. M (1931) made him a noted face with audiences, as it was his first major role as an actor. Alfred Hitchcock's The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934) only made him more noted. He left Germany for America when Hitler came to power, and this was his first American production. Over the next couple of years, he would do a handful of features as either the menacing heavy or in B-movie fare before his death in 1964. The film was released by Metro Goldwyn Mayer (as part of a deal with Columbia Pictures that had him do the film there in exchange for him getting to do Crime and Punishment), which apparently did not want the film to show a trainwreck of any scenes of...handsy play with statues.

Florence Crewe-Jones was behind a translation of the Renard story while also doing an adaptation with Guy Endore. John L. Balderston and P.J. Wolfson did the screenplay while there were a handful of contributions done by other writers such as Gladys von Ettinghausen, Leon Gordon, Leon Wolfson, and Edgar Allan Woolf. The film was not a considerable success, making less than $400,000 with audiences. Oddly, it became a strange point of contention with a film essay involving Citizen Kane decades later. See, Mad Love and Citizen Kane had the same cinematographer in Karl Freund (brought in to do additional filming after Chester A. Lyons had been the sole cinematographer) and film critic Pauline Kael accused the director as copying the visual style of the earlier film for his feature. In short, let us close out this diversion by calling the essay a sloppy and incorrect piece of junk and move on. The movie, unlike the previous Austrian production, focuses more on the doctor character rather than the character with transplanted hands. Of course, it is hard to top Conrad Veidt in terms of lead dominating performance, so going with Lorre in a different way does make things seem a bit fresher. This results in a curious movie that only runs at 68 minutes that rewards viewers who like Lorre and his endearing presence of creeps more than anybody else in the film. For one, his character is a tragic one, a guy who happens to like weird horror plays in the time not spent curing sick kids...well, that, and the obsession with an actress to the point where he buys a wax figure of her. It is the descent of the doctor rather than the descent of someone with new hands that is the focus here, going from savior to mastermind. He proves quite creepy when it comes to be a master manipulator, one who oozes on an efficient scale that makes the movie entirely his to control in disturbing obsession. You know who liked him in this? Charlie Chaplin, because he called him "The Greatest Living Actor" when he saw this film. Well, it doesn't mean the other actors are bad, it just means they get a bit overshadowed by such fun, most of being on Clive, who makes for quite a mild breakdown, although Drake (known mostly for her work as a terrified heroine on numerous works in the 1930s) does make a quality presence that Lorre can match up with in offbeat mannerisms, which is certainly odd when it goes up against the relief done by Healy, Beatty, and Brophy. At any rate, it is a movie about the outsider in a time where people wanted something a little more escapist that has certainly aged well despite its limitations. The pacing hasn't improved from the last one, and it certainly makes a shaky leap to get to its ultimate end goal, but as a whole it makes for a solid deranged cult classic that probably ranks a bit higher than The Hands of Orlac in the long run when it comes to efficient and off-putting horror.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

The Thin Man.

Review #1887: The Thin Man.

Cast: 

William Powell (Nick Charles), Myrna Loy (Nora Charles), Maureen O'Sullivan (Dorothy Wynant), Nat Pendleton (Lt. John Guild), Minna Gombell (Mimi Wynant Jorgenson), Porter Hall (Herbert MacCaulay), Henry Wadsworth (Tommy), William Henry (Gilbert Wynant), Harold Huber (Arthur Nunheim), Cesar Romero (Chris Jorgenson), Natalie Moorhead (Julia Wolf), Edward Brophy (Joe Morelli), Edward Ellis (Clyde Wynant), and Skippy (Asta) Directed by W. S. Van Dyke (#231 - San Francisco)

Review: 

Admittedly, a movie with a director known as "One Take Woody" sounds like a recipe for an interesting time. W. S. Van Dyke entered film in 1915 after a wide variety of time spent in business school and numerous part-time jobs and theater company tours. He went from assistant director with D. W. Griffith to director in the span of two years. When it came to sound, he was adept in his craft that made him a solid company man for Metro Goldwyn Mayer that served him well until his death in 1943. Of course, this is something worthwhile to mention because of the fact that he was one of the key parts behind what ended up becoming a film series. The Thin Man saw five further features: After the Thin Man (1936), Another Thin Man (1939), Shadow of the Thin Man (1941), The Thin Man Goes Home (1945), and Song of the Thin Man (1947). Van Dyke would direct three of the sequels while its main stars in Powell and Loy starred in each of the movies (one would notice that the "Thin Man" actually originally refers to a missing man played by Ellis, but people referred to Powell as "Thin Man" pretty early on). The movie, if you didn't know, is an adaptation of the 1934 novel of the same name by Dashiell Hammett. Hammett was a member of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency (both private law enforcers and aggressors against organized labor) before he was a writer, which led him to write numerous stories and novels with characters such as Sam Spade (as it turned out, this was the last novel written by Hammett, who dealt with tough health and other struggles before his death in 1961). Husband-and-wife duo Albert Hackett and Frances Goodrich wrote the feature, with instruction by Van Dyke to loosely adapt the novel while having concentration on providing witty banter for its lead actors, with Van Dyke often shooting the first take due to his belief that actors lose spontaneity with every passing take.

Go figure that a movie shot in less than three weeks ended up being a complete success for all involved.  The chemistry between Powell and Loy in banter is one that other filmmakers would be jealous enough to wish they could steal for themselves. Van Dyke knew he had magic with these folks, so he made a movie with resourceful pacing and spontaneity that makes for a capable mystery with chuckles to go around. Powell may have been considered a bit too old for the part (42) when compared to Loy (29), associated with exotic roles at the time. But they are so dazzling here, zinging off each other without serving as distraction for tired plotting. Powell knows exactly what to lend to the material in his timing and mannerisms, sophisticated in deduction without coming off as a Sherlock pastiche. He glides through 91 minutes as if the plot wasn't particularly important to having fun. It wasn't his first crack at playing a detective (he had played the character Philo Vance in four films from 1929 to 1933), but it was his first crack at having a film that wanted to show him with sophistication and charm. Powell and Loy would star in fourteen total movies together. Loy makes a quality partner in her own wiry charm that pushes things along with easygoing flair that matches wit (and alcohol) with Powell all the same in pure escapism. O'Sullivan and the others have to play a bit of catch-up in maintaining the plot to some sort of believable level (i.e. things that you've probably heard from a detective story but not completely cliche), in order to not be completely overshadowed by the duo, much less the dog and his paw movement. The dinner sequence where all are seated in order to gradually explain the whodunit is particularly effective in execution in closing the romp. This is the kind of movie where a guy can sock someone from behind before getting into a scuffle or have lines like "didn't come anywhere near my tabloids", you should have a real good time with this movie. Regardless how the follow-up films went, Dyke cultivated in record time a work of useful entertainment that saw one of the best pairings in film history (Powell and Loy) come together for one of the most interesting films of its era that practically walks on air with its sophistication that all would be proud to be part of.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Great Guy.

Review #1834: Great Guy.

Cast: 

James Cagney (Johnny Cave), Mae Clarke (Janet Henry), James Burke (Patrick James Aloysius Haley), Edward Brophy (Pete Reilly), Henry Kolker (Abel Canning), Bernadene Hayes (Hazel Scott), Edward McNamara (Captain Pat Hanlon), Robert Gleckler (Marty Cavanaugh), Joe Sawyer (Joe Burton), and Edward Gargan (Al) Directed by John G. Blystone (#926 - Our Hospitality)

Review: 

I don't think you need to say many words about a semi-obscure 1930s movie, but why the hell not? Even an average movie from the era could be interesting, provided it does not bore the senses, if only because sometimes you can find something quizzical when doing a quick look for an "old-fashioned" movie. Besides, there is more to films of the 1930s than just looking at the year of 1939 and all of those classic times. At any rate, James Cagney started his film career during this particular decade. He had a decade of vaudeville and stage work behind him before Warner Bros. signed him to a contract (one that went from short-term to long-term extension), and The Public Enemy (1931) cemented him as a star. The film was based on the stories of James Edward Grant, who had written several stories involving the character played by Cagney that appeared in The Saturday Evening Post in 1933 and 1934. Henry McCarty and Henry Johnson wrote the screenplay while Henry Ruskin contributed additional dialogue (Horace McCoy apparently had been listed in earlier reports as a contributor but was dropped). The film was released by Grand National Films, who managed to snag James Cagney because he had sued Warner Bros. for breach of contract, owing to conflicts about top billing and monetary disputes. Grand National was a newly formed independent studio led by Edward L. Alperson. Cagney starred in two films for the studio: this film and Something to Sing About (1937), but neither were particularly successful for the studio, which would liquidate in 1939 after releasing a hundred films in its time, with many of the films being available in the public domain. Cagney returned to Warner Bros. after getting a substantially better deal. In the end, Cagney acted regularly in films until the 1960s that thrived in a variety of roles that ranged from "tough guy" to comedic. The film was directed by John G. Blystone, who directed dozens of films in both the silent and sound eras (after starting as a shorts director in the 1910s) before his death in 1938 at the age of 45.

So yes, this is a film...drama (calling it a noir is a bit too far) involving a fight against systemic cheating, with a man from the New York Department of Weights and Measures. Technically, there is a bit of light tone present here, since Cagney isn't the violent lead here (instead, he plays someone who just happens to have been a prizefighter before becoming a department man). Instead, it is a light film of 66 minutes that moves on one beat of a likably rigid lead fighting against the dangers of...shopkeepers that give you less product for their weight and gasoline guys that don't give you the proper gallon of gas. To be honest, I actually didn't know the Weights and Measures Department was actually real, because it sounds like the line to a cheeky joke one makes involving making a super-serious movie that is actually time for deadpan, but it actually is a real thing. In that sense, maybe it makes sense that this is a light film, one that can be watched with mild curiosity that doesn't have too many pretensions about being tightly packed suspense. Of course, it isn't anybody's idea of a great Cagney film to start with, but he is still game for what is needed in terms of drawing charisma where it is needed in confidence that carries the film through the potential leaky holes for a reasonable winner. It becomes a winner because of Cagney rather than in spite of him, since he elevates material that is borderline serviceable and makes it work just enough. Of course, the others aren't too bad themselves, with Clarke getting a few little moments with Cagney to make diverting chemistry together in differing approaches to the "racket" of things in life. Burke provides a few little moments with light humor as the momentary partner with Cagney (which mainly involves Irish references). The film does lack a suitable threat, since shifty aldermen (an okay Kolker and an ornery Gleckler) and heavies (Burton) could probably be utilized a bit more usefully. The only substantial fight scene is at the end, if only because having a scene where a cop "looks to smoke all of his cigar before intervening" is different from the usual showdown. As a whole, Great Guy is brisk and mildly involving that may be curious enough to just slip through as a win depending on the viewer and their attention to seeking out the films of James Cagney. To me, it is fine enough to work, for which one can thank Cagney and his confident swagger for making one want to stick through and keep the eyes open for what could happen next.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

The Cameraman.

Review #1774: The Cameraman.

Cast: 

Buster Keaton (Buster), Marceline Day (Sally Richards), Harold Goodwin (Harold Stagg), Sidney Bracey (Edward J. Blake), Harry Gribbon (Hennessey, the cop), with Josephine the Monkey, Richard Alexander, Edward Brophy, and Ray Cooke. Directed by Edward Sedgwick and Buster Keaton (#757 - Seven Chances, #762 - College, #805 - The Navigator, #877 - Three Ages, #908 - The General, #926 - Our Hospitality, #941 - Sherlock Jr, #1037 - Go West, and #1058 - Battling Butler, #1173 - Steamboat Bill, Jr)

Review: 

“When we made pictures, we ate, slept, and dreamed them.”

Buster Keaton, as is the case with several folks that thrived in the silent era, deserved better. He thrived best as one of the comedy pillars of the silent era, but his popularity underwent its demise not long after his decision to sign a contract with Metro Goldwyn Meyer. Of course, it actually really started with The General (1926), arguably his greatest film. The mixed success of the film at the time led his distributor in United Artists making sure to monitor him more carefully in expenses. With this film, it fell to MGM to try and manage him, with Keaton not even given credit for co-direction; Sedgwick, known for his un-credited work for 1925's The Phantom of the Opera (#774), shouldn't be diminished, since he tried to maintain his authority before quietly telling Keaton to help guide him. Keaton would later call his decision to join one of the worst of his life, one that would last until 1933. Instead of doing all the stunts, now he had stuntmen (after this film, anyway). Perhaps it is a coincidence that a movie involving cameramen name-drops the studio in the film. done by MGM. He wanted Spite Marriage (1929, the film released after this one) to be done ss a sound film, but the studio (headed by Irving Thalberg in production) wanted it to be done simply and under their control. As his workload got tougher in the next few years (which came with attempts at pairing him with Jimmy Durante for three films), his personal life fell apart, and he was fired from the studio midway through the 1930s. At any rate, this film managed to do quite well with audiences, even though it was believed to have been lost because of the 1965 MGM vault fire; three years later, a print was found in France, proving that is important to keep looking (a 1991 print was combined with this one to make the restored version one knows today). The film was written by Clyde Bruckman and Lew Lipton, with Joseph W. Farnham for titles. 

For what it is worth, the studio would show this film to new directors over the next few years about what a well-constituted comedy looked like. It is always hard to say just which Keaton film is the best, because he managed to do so well as one of the masters of the deadpan, the visual gag, and all-around master of charm. Even with a lessened capacity in terms of control with his comedy (i.e. not just him having an idea he could flesh out in the middle), he still is at the top of his game. His expressions in the face of amusing situations manages to never waver, always seeming to zone in on what is needed without becoming a malleable prop or just a stone face. He might not have as many dangerous stunts to pull around, but he still finds ways to make worthy humor come from arranged sequences, such as a street skirmish or sequences in a pool room. Day accompanies him with fair timing that fits what is needed, since one just has to make sure they don't look overmatched when it comes to being together. They match well, and the boat sequence is a useful one to note. At any rate, there are a few folks that Keaton pairs himself with for a gag, whether involving a monkey or with a hapless Gribbon (Goodwin does fine as the stooge). Of course, maybe the biggest smirk on my face comes with his scene at Yankee Stadium (an improvisation on his part), acting out the game to an empty crowd. At any rate, the sequence involving him shooting (or at least attempting) with the camera prove quite interesting, as a sort of film-within-the-film (which in that sense might remind one of Sherlock, Jr), complete with "mistake shots" and a climax with an absolute zinger for a line. The 67 minute run-time is effective to where one might want to see it twice just to absorb those visual gags again and again. It is the last great classic with Keaton in control, and he does everything one might see from him, never seeming compromised or constrained in his comic vision. No matter who stands out as your comic favorite of the silent era, Keaton's The Cameraman is still a great triumph for its era.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

I want to close this review off by acknowledging that today is the eleventh anniversary of the beginning of Movie Night. What a time we live in. 4,018 days since that day has seen 1,774 reviews, which means a review has been done every 2.26 days on average. As always, I wish to express my gratitude to anybody who has had the curiosity to check out this show over the years and anyone who has stuck around to check out what somebody on the Internet has to say about some random movie, whether good or bad. I hope that the years that follow lead to a continuation of interesting films to encounter and ponder about and that you are there to read all about it. Onward to the next row of films for the holidays.

Dumbo.

Review #1768: Dumbo.

Cast: 

Edward Brophy (Timothy Q. Mouse), Verna Felton (Elephant Matriarch / Mrs. Jumbo), Cliff Edwards (Dandy Crow), Herman Bing (The Ringmaster), Sterling Holloway (Mr. Stork), Margaret Wright (Casey Junior), and The Hall Johnson Choir [Crow Chorus: Hall Johnson (Deacon), James Baskett (Fats), Nick Stewart (Specks), Jim Carmichael (Dopey)] Directed by Samuel Armstrong, Norman Ferguson (#511 - The Three Caballeros), Wilfred Jackson (#178 - Peter Pan, #373 - Cinderella, and #683 - Alice in Wonderland, #810 - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs), Jack Kinney (#511), Bill Roberts (#511), Ben Sharpsteen (#810), and John Elliotte.

Review: 

Dumbo is one of those timeless classic movies, pure and simple. Whether two or twenty-two or even one-hundred two, it manages to captivate its audience with a short run-time (64 minutes) while being a unique feature among the number of features that was created by Walt Disney Productions (with distribution by RKO Radio Pictures, who tried to get Disney to lengthen the film a bit), particularly when you look at the studio for just the 1940s or in the eight decades that followed the release of the film. Of course, Dumbo (1941) was released as the fourth animated feature film released by the studio that followed along the heels of 1940's Pinocchio and Fantasia, which while regarded well by critics were actually not major hits for the studio at the time, owing to a lack of distribution in Europe because of World War II, while Dumbo was made for less than a million dollars and became a modest hit for the studio. It would not be an easy production, however, since an animator strike would occur for a couple of weeks in the Disney studio (which was later immortalized by the clown characters in the film, who are depicted wanting to go to the boss for a raise). The film was the second-to-last feature film to be released by Disney in the decade, with Bambi (1942) was followed by six package features). The movie is based on the story Dumbo the Flying Elephant, which was written by Helen Aberson-Mayer and Harold Pearl (while having illustrations by Helen Durney), a married couple of writers that had sold the book to a company called Roll-a-Book in 1939, who in term sold the story to Walt Disney Productions that same year (no copies of it apparently exist, since the "roll-a-book" was a cardboard contraption with a little wheel on it, although Dumbo was turned into a softcover book later); Joe Grant and Dick Huemer were tasked to write a script outline over the course of a month in 1940, which Disney made into a feature rather than a short film, and Otto Englander would head a story team to turn the outline into sketches (as such, Grant, Huemer, and Englander were credited as story writers).

What can I tell you that you did not already know about it? I hadn't seen the movie for over a decade and yet it still managed to seem quite refreshing and meaningful regardless of that fact. It has a delightful pace and quality to it, one that is quite joyful and curious with its subject matter without becoming mired in too much cotton-candy sentimentality; in other words, it doesn't just go for "cute" with its animation or even its lead character, since there isn't a voice for him (one of the few times you can say that in an animated film). The folks that are present to speak prove right for the task of delivering right to the point when it comes to engaging atmosphere, whether that means smart-mouth do-gooders (Brophy, a character actor making his first and only voice role, which was both un-credited and memorable) or amusing folks that close the film with a song led by Edwards (a face and voice familiar for his roles within film and in music, most notably with Pinocchio) and the choir of Hall Johnson and company (familiar to folks who have heard Lost Horizon (1937), while Baskett would end up starring in Song of the South). Besides, finding a way to overcome an obstacle, such as say, being made fun of because of one's look, is a tradition like no other when it comes to honing a lively fable for everyone to enjoy. Well, that and showing folks up when it comes to provine oneself, although most would only dream to be as humble as a flying elephant. Everyone will have their own little favorite moments or sequences to chuckle or appreciate, whether that involves a little bit with a train engine, or as one might expect, a dazzling sequence involving pink elephants. The animation is exactly what you would expect from Disney's animators, crisp and effective in what needs to be seen on screen that can look as interesting on the first viewing to the next one, and I'm sure most would say this applies to the films as well when it comes to having variety (i.e. one can see where they have done in features since Snow White). By the time the film soars towards its conclusion, it sticks the landing with dazzling its audience with the art of seeing flight take place that doesn't diminish whether one was familiar with the subject matter or not (there will also be that one person who does not latch onto Disney films early). In essence, it is the movie for all kids at heart, ones who appreciate the fine touch of animation done by Disney's animators (most notably with Bill Tytla and Art Babbitt) that makes a sure winner anytime for all time.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

It Happened on 5th Avenue.

Review #1613: It Happened on 5th Avenue.

Cast: 

Don DeFore (Jim Bullock), Gale Storm (Trudy O'Connor), Victor Moore (Aloyisius T. McKeever), Charles Ruggles (Michael J. "Mike" O'Connor), Ann Harding (Mary O'Connor), Grant Mitchell (Farrow), Edward Brophy (Patrolman Cecil Felton), Arthur Hohl (Patrolman Brady), Alan Hale, Jr. (Whitey Temple), and Dorothea Kent (Margie Temple) Directed by Roy Del Ruth (#395 - The Maltese Falcon (1931), #432 - The Babe Ruth Story, #807 - The Alligator People, #949 - The First Auto) 

Review: 

Once upon a time, there was a studio called Monogram Pictures. They were created to make cheap movies under the guise of two folks: Trem Carr and W. Ray Johnston in 1931. Several series came out of the scraps of former stars and fresh unknowns, whether it involved Westerns or the Bowery Boys. Fifteen years passed before an argument was made by producer Walter Mirisch to do work in costlier productions to evolve. The result was a new unit in Allied Artists Productions that would make more expensive films - in other words, they went from making films at a fraction of the usual Hollywood production to trying to make Hollywood budget-level films. Monogram Pictures continued on until 1953, while Allied Artists would make a variety of films for 31 years (which ranged from films like Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) to Love in the Afternoon (1957) to Cabaret (1972), which they co-produced). This was the 63rd of 75 films that were directed by Roy Del Ruth, who one will recognize from his plentiful output of dramas, crime films, and various others (some obviously better than others). The film fell into the hands of Ruth after the rights of the story were brought to Allied Artists after Frank Capra let the rights to the script go. The film was written by Frederick Stephani and Herbert Clyde Lewis, who later received the only Academy Award nomination regarding this film for Best Story (for 17 years, the Academy Awards honored films with Original Screenplay, Screenplay, and Best Story...confusing, but this was the case), which it lost to another classic involving Christmas in Miracle on 34th Street (1947), which like this film also received subsequent remakes in television and radio.

What we have here is the quirky story of folks that move into a mansion while the owner happens to be away for the holidays...which just happen to lead into a love story, a redemption story, and so on and so forth (how the rich man disguised as a hobo is never recognized by anybody besides his ex-wife and daughter as the actual owner of the house is up to you to interpret, because I suppose house portraits aren't present). Basically, it is the kind of film that goes for the heart string of being a better person than just the size of a wallet, where the tramp can be a king, and heartwarming goo is plentiful. Actually, it is an okay film, although its place on the totem pole of Christmas movies depends on one's preferences. I certainly was surprised at first to hear about the connection with Capra and this film (or more specifically, the "almost" connection), but then I realize that Capra had done It's a Wonderful Life (1946), which was released four months before this film - the funny thing is that this was actually delayed for some unknown reason, as research suggests that this film was delayed six months in its release to line up with Easter of all things (as much as I would like to mock this for not being released on Christmas like it should be, Miracle on 34th Street was released a month after this film) - Capra, alongside other famous folks of the time, also gave a recommendation to the film. It sure is a shame too, because one is a film that became a (public domain) classic after it wasn't an initial success with audiences (which is played every year as a tradition), while the other was a light success (making $1.8 million on a budget of $1.2 million budget) that had a shelf life with other Monogram and Allied Artists films for a few decades that has a fair amount of air-time. Besides, both have those moments of trying to sweet-talk their audience with sentiment, but it just so happens one is more efficient at handling what is needed with a film like this at 115 minutes. In other words, it can be funny for those who like what it offers in sentiment, while others will want it the same as getting a hole drilled in their head. The acting is certainly alright from what is needed in earnest from a few solid actors that while not quite well known were at least ones known to give effort. For example, Moore had been an actor on Broadway (in 1896) before being brought in to appear in films beginning in 1915, and this was his fifth-to-last role; here, he is the patron of interlopers with warm kindness, which obviously makes for worthy appeal. DeFore had a steady work in theater and film that would find footing with the advent of television in the following decade, and while he may not make a great romance angle, he at least makes for a spirited effort in the can-do attitude that the film wants. Storm was an actress that spent twelve years acting with a variety of low-budget studios, mostly with Monogram (she ended her film career for television, which worked out for two lengthy sitcoms) - however, the strangest thing to note is that fact that while she sings in the film, it is actually just her lip-synching to someone else (decided by Ruth, much to her disappointment); she does fine here, although the idea of her playing a teenager (while being six years older) is probably a bit much to swallow. Ruggles (who did work in the theater, film, radio, and television in six decades of work) plays the stuffy comic elements well, although the redemption aspects seem a bit more silly in being drawn out. Honestly, it might have worked better with one real story to it, either keeping with the interlopers or the redemption of the rich man into a rich happy man, since instead we have a muddle heap of sap that can only go so far, one that makes a few gags go fine but otherwise feels like an odd egg in the cornucopia of Christmas material to look around for. If one is curious for something that isn't just the usual classic Christmas fare done every time, this might work out just fine. As a curiosity in the eyes of seeing a low budget studio trying to re-invent themselves, it most definitely has a place for cinema, average or not.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Larceny, Inc.

Review #898: Larceny, Inc.

Cast:
Edward G. Robinson (J. Chalmers "Pressure" Maxwell), Jane Wyman (Denny Costello), Broderick Crawford (Jug Martin), Jack Carson (Jeff Randolph), Anthony Quinn (Leo Dexter), Edward Brophy (Weepy Davis), Harry Davenport (Homer Bigelow), John Qualen (Sam Bachrach), and Barbara Jo Allen (Mademoiselle Gloria) Directed by Lloyd Bacon (#562 - It Happens Every Spring)

Review:
A mix of comedy and gangster films, Larceny, Inc. manages to be a fine combination of the two genres by being itself with enough snappy charm from its cast along with some fine lines as well to make for a fine little gem. Easily the best part of the movie is Robinson, in part because of his great screen presence, in a movie all about timing and straight-laced fun. Crawford and Brophy are good accomplices to Robinson, with their own quirks and lines that make them so endearing. One fun scene is their exchange about one of them having a walk onto moving traffic as part of a quick scam...and having him show them how he would bounce off a bumper. Wyman and Carson have some bit of chemistry, but they aren't given too much to do (outside of contributing to the plot), though they certainly don't hurt the movie. Quinn proves to be a decent little villain. Davenport is also pretty decent in a small but key role as a shop owner, with one good little scene where he keep reminiscing over and over as he leaves the store after selling it. Jackie Gleason (of "The Honeymooners" fame and other things) makes a brief appearance as a soda shop clerk, getting a bit of time to be involved in the background. There is something so interesting about seeing how the plot threads of the heist and the business wrap themselves so cohesively, where the laughs never seem to cease up (and even when they do, not for very long). This is an easy movie to have a good time with, in part because even when the movie isn't about getting laughs it still manages to have its own kind of talent and sort of finesse. This is a fine little spoof of gangster films with the right kind of fun and sensible writing that surely delivers on its premise.

Countdown to #900: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2...

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.