The Black Room (1935).

Review #2454: The Black Room (1935).

Cast: 

Boris Karloff (Baron Gregor de Berghmann / Anton de Berghmann), Marian Marsh (Thea Hassel), Robert Allen (Lt. Albert Lussan), Thurston Hall (Col. Paul Hassel), Katherine DeMille (Maska), John Buckler (Buran), Henry Kolker (Baron de Bergman), Colin Tapley (Lt. Paul Hassel), and Torben Meyer (Peter)

Directed by Roy William Neill (#846 - Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, #873 - Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon, #925 - Sherlock Holmes in Washington, #936 - Sherlock Holmes Faces Death, #1021 - The Spider Woman, #1040 - The Scarlet Claw, #1056 - The Pearl of Death, #1161 - The House of Fear, #1216 - The Woman in Green, #1262 - Pursuit to Algiers, #1620 - Terror by Night, #1681 - Dressed to Kill)

Review: 

Sure, let's see someone play double for historical horror. This was made by Columbia Pictures with the original intent of being titled "The Black Room Mystery" that had Boris Karloff appear in a one-off from them, doing so in the year where you could see him in Bride of Frankenstein and The Raven but without being billed as just "KARLOFF" or with as much makeup this time around. The evident choice to direct was to go with Roy William Neill, a dependable vet for many movies (some for Columbia, as one does when directing since the 1910s) in one of his last films before moving to London for a five-year visit in 1935; for whatever reason, he is billed as "R. William Neill" in the movie. I assume from the varying levels of information one could find about the movie (i.e. one that had a story from Arthur Strawn, who was credited with writing the film with Henry Myers) that the movie has languished a bit in obscurity, but Karloff kept busy with performances at any rate.

It is a neat little movie, when you get down to it. The 68-minute runtime lends itself to a welcome surprise when you figure that Karloff really is playing three roles: a benevolent nice twin, his evil (and older) twin brother...and the impersonation of the former by the latter. You might wonder what the title is about, and, well, it refers to a room where apparently an older brother will be killed by his young brother in a certain room of the castle (yep, it's a baron who worries about his sons, particularly since he'll die before they get old). Why the room wasn't just sealed up way, way before is anybody's guess (of course it is sealed up early in the movie only to be revealed to be in use again). For a movie that has a good chunk spent in a castle setting to go along with the usual melodrama approach of its time (a bit of haughty stuff and stuff you hear about more than see, some for obvious reason). It is evident Karloff is pretty good in the movie, specifically when playing his dastardly evil twin that shows more malice in what he is shown to do more than if he was simply in an effects-laden role (or in a less subtle movie about someone throwing women in a pit). His impersonation of the good twin (remember he is meant to have a bad arm) is especially fascinating, one that we know has cracks in the foundation but is still amusing to see how long he could actually pull off the act of benevolence. The rest of the actors are fine, with Marsh pulling in a bit of despair to come from being the object of a supposed nice person that can't even write their own fate (spoiler, it is a dog who plays into the climax). At least the climax is a hoot, finding a way around the whole "wait, how does one die by someone's hand?" thing before swiftly ending. In a way, it is like a fairy tale (okay Joe Dante said that [in regard to the sets], but judge for yourself anyway) with a dash of macabre that is worth looking into more than just being for those who like Karloff. In general, you have a solidly fine movie, not a great one by any means beside possibly its set design and ways around having someone play two roles on the same screen, but it is still a neat one to go with for those who like a bit of Gothic melodrama.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

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.

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.

Bluebeard (1944).

Review #1364: Bluebeard.

Cast: 

John Carradine (Gaston Morrell), Jean Parker (Lucille Lutien), Nils Asther (Inspector Jacques Lefevre), Ludwig Stössel (Jean Lamarte), George Pembroke (Inspector Renard), Teala Loring (Francine Lutien), Sonia Sorel (Renee Claremont), Henry Kolker (Deschamps Lutien), Emmett Lynn (Le Soldat), and Iris Adrian (Mimi Roberts) Directed by Edgar G. Ulmer (#797 - People on Sunday, #803 - Detour, and #943 - The Man from Planet X)

Review: 
Surprise, surprise, Onward will be delayed, since I could not view it in time before movie theaters began their temporary closure in light of the coronavirus. In any case, time to move on to continuing the tribute for the month.

Who better to deliver low budget noirs than Edgar G. Ulmer and Producers Releasing Corporation? The two almost seem made for each other. The film was inspired by famous French folktale Barbe bleue (written by Charles Perrault), first published in 1697 that told of a wealthy man who had a habit of murdering his wives. The story has been adapted to numerous media over the years, from a 1901 film by George Melies (among at least six other adaptations) to opera to ballet. Ulmer had first come to Hollywood in 1926, having worked as a stage actor and set designer in Austria (living in Vienna after being born in Olomouc, Austria-Hungary, now considered part of the Czech Republic). He would go on to a distinguished career with films in four different decades. His first directorial efforts were People on Sunday (1930), a production written by Billy Wilder that Ulmer co-directed with Robert Siodmak before moving on Damaged Lives (1933), an American/Canadian exploitation film about diseases. His one main studio film in The Black Cat (1934) was a huge box office hit. However, he was relegated to doing films for Poverty Row studios because he had an affair with Shirley Kassler, who was married to a relative of a studio head before divorcing him for Ulmer. She would later serve as script supervisor on most of the films that followed from Ulmer, spent primarily with ethnic dramas and low budget studios like PRC, which had been founded in 1939 to do low-budget fare that could be used for double bills while never spending more than $100,000 for productions, which worked for 179 films in seven years total before being acquired by Eagle-Lion Films (which later disbanded in 1950).

With a shooting schedule of six days, it is a triumph of Ulmer that this film noir (written by Arnold Lipp, Werner H. Furst and Pierre Gendron) turned out so well for what it does, a decent little gem. One must be impressed by how he made a spellbinding experience with a standout performance from Carradine, a prolific presence given a chance to deliver chills. He has quite an alluring power to him, trapped with obsession that makes it worthwhile to spend time with. Parker keeps up with him just fine, an innocent yet manageable counterpart. Asther does fine with making some authority seem to mean something without being completely washed away by Carradine and Stossel makes for a sniveling secondary aspect of the film count. One has an inkling of where the film is going to go (crime doesn't pay, or at least that's the lesson one is meant to get from films of the era), but it doesn't mean the methods are going to be cut and dry, where Ulmer makes something out of what would've likely been just another B-movie. It is an interesting experience at 72 minutes, a movie that is stagy but watchable when it needs to be that overcomes cash-strapped foundations with a can-do cast headlined by Carradine in generating interest in something that makes for a solid public domain pick. It's the journey that counts, and this one is helped by Ulmer in getting its foot in the door.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Coquette.

Review #1331: Coquette.

Cast: 
Mary Pickford (Norma Besant), Johnny Mack Brown (Michael Jeffery), Matt Moore (Stanley Wentworth), John St. Polis (Dr. John Besant), William Janney (Jimmy Besant), Henry Kolker (Jasper Carter), George Irving (Robert Wentworth), and Louise Beavers (Julia) Directed by Sam Taylor (#667 - The Freshman, #727 - For Heaven's Sake, #758 - Safety Last!, #864 - Hot Water, #903 - Dr. Jack, #918 - Why Worry?, and #938 - Girl Shy)

Review: 
"I am no longer in pictures for money. I am in them because I love them. I am not in vain. I do not care about giving a smashing personal performance. My one ambition is to create fine entertainment."

Mary Pickford was a star in a time of transition for Hollywood in 1929. Born in Toronto, Canada in 1892, she had grown up with the theatre from a young age, with her mother having taken the suggestion of one of her boarders, a theatrical stage manager to give her two daughters small roles in a production. Years of touring with her family in the theatre were soon changed in 1909 after encountering D. W. Griffith (of the Biograph Company at the time) for a screen test, which led to her being hired to appear (both in bit parts and lead roles) in the company's films; despite not being credited, she received notices from audiences. She left for Adolph Zukor’s Famous Players studio in 1912 and found continued success with films such as Tess of the Storm Country (1914) and The Poor Little Rich Girl (1917). Pickford was also an innovator when it came to studios, as she was one of the co-founders of United Artists in 1919 alongside Griffith, Charlie Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks, which was formed on the premise of giving creative control to the actors and directors. The burgeoning of the sound era did not deter Pickford from acting. Although she had famously said that adding sound to film would be "like putting lip rouge on the Venus de Milo", Pickford was nervous but ready to debut her voice onto film (she had not appeared in a film since My Best Girl in 1927). When she heard her voice for the first time for a test, she remarked that she sounded like a pipsqueak (ironic for someone who had played numerous child characters since a teenager). She soon did voice training to try and get herself ready to play this southern role with equipment that would try to stick out from the stagey static sound films that encompassed the early sound films.

The film was adapted to the screen by John Grey, Allen McNeil, and director Taylor from the play of the same name by George Abbott and Ann Preston Bridgers, which had featured Helen Hayes in the main role. The play was about a flirty young woman who has to decide what to do after her father kills the man she loves. The manner of who commits suicide is actually the choice of the main character (who was pregnant), as opposed to the film, where it is the father who does so in the midst of his court trial, where his daughter struggles to try and save her father from a death sentence. As for the film itself, it is one that seems more appropriate to give slack for rather than one to give much credit for. It is a middling affair, helmed by a fairly confident Pickford and not much else. It is a fairly clunky affair, filled with plenty of stagy staleness begging to be drawn out more through a 76 minute time that somehow seems ten minutes too long. One would wish more from Pickford, only to realize that she is the key in keeping it from collapsing into being forgettable all together. She seems bright and vivid in a way that the rest of actors are left to act around her with a bit too much camp to go around. There would be plenty of stories to tell about flirtatious or quirky Southern folk to come, some classics and some not: this is one that twists in the wind of the latter category.

Pickford (a founding member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) lobbied with a publicity campaign when it came time to awards season (whereas other nominees didn't even know they were nominated), the first of its kind that seems routine nowadays (with this case being inviting the judges for tea at her estate Pickfair). In any case, Pickford won for Best Actress at the 2nd annual ceremony. She would appear in four more films in the next four years before retiring from acting (although she would keep producing before selling her UA stocks in the 1950s). While the film may not hold itself too well after nine decades, it has not stopped Pickford from enduring as one of film's first and brightest stars, where the term of "America's Sweetheart" just seemed fairly appropriate for her.

Overall, I give it 6 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: As you could tell, Tribute to the Decades decided to go all out and actually try to cover each year for the 1920s. As such, it will continue for the 1930s.