Glenn Ford can’t help being won over by Geraldine Page’s charm.

We are rather peeved.

We’ve just finished viewing the 1964 comedy Dear Heart and are shocked – shocked! – to discover Geraldine Page was not nominated for an Academy Award for her performance.

Dear Heart centers around two strangers who happen to stay at the same hotel in New York. Evie Jackson (Page) is a bordering-on-middle-age postmistress from Avalon, OH, attending a national Postmasters’ Conference. Harry Mork (Glenn Ford) from Altoonah, PA, is a middle-aged greeting card salesperson. He’s just been promoted to his company’s marketing department and is in New York to attend business meetings.

As viewers, we don’t immediately warm to Page’s character. She’s too friendly and clingy and, frankly, a bit silly. But her smile is warm and her heart is generous and she has the endearing ability to laugh at herself. Before you know it, you find her utterly charming. So when her long-lost friend meets her for coffee and quickly escapes because she’s “busy”, your heart breaks a little for Page.

She and Ford meet by chance in the crowded hotel restaurant and his first reactions to Page mirror our own. He wants to like her, but her personality is too overwhelming and he finds an excuse to leave. Again, we feel for Page; we see the disappointment, then the resignation on her face. This is how life goes for her.

Ford’s character has more of a complex story. He is engaged to Phyllis (Angela Lansbury), but he’s uncertain about their relationship. We know this by the way he twists the signet ring on his left hand. When he wants people to think he’s married, he turns the signet inward. When he wishes to appear single, he rotates the signet to the outside.

Meanwhile, Ford has met June (Barbara Nichols), a vivacious dyed-blonde woman who sells postcards and magazines at a kiosk in the hotel lobby. He tries to start an affair with her, the results of which are hilariously unsuccessful.

Page observes Ford’s attraction to Nichols, which adds to her loneliness. After all, she is a woman who arranges to have herself paged in a busy lobby because it verifies her existence.

The first half of Dear Heart is a laugh-out-loud comedy; but the last half of movie starts to feel like a sluggish drama – until Lansbury makes her scene-stealing appearance. Her character is everything Page’s is not: a sleek, sophisticated woman in a gorgeous designer suit. She tells Ford she’s counting on him to straighten out her 18 year-old son because, she declares, she “is done with doing.”

But it is with Page that Ford’s character has the most chemistry, and an unlikely romance develops. We see him softening towards her, then truly appreciating her qualities. Ford is extremely likable in this film. He’s a man who can be too smart for his own good, and accepts the inevitable misfortune with a wry sense of humour.

We felt surprisingly weepy at the end of this movie because the outcome of this romance matters - really matters. We do not want Page to go back to Avalon alone, with the added burden of heartbreak.

Dear Heart is a sweet movie with an excellent screenplay by Tad Mosel. He has created a completely plausible situation with quirky characters and very funny lines. You’ll be glad you made the effort to see it.

Incidentally, in case you were wondering, the 1964 Best Actress award went to Julie Andrews for Mary Poppins.

Dear Heart: starring Glenn Ford, Geraldine Page, Angela Lansbury. Written by Tad Mosel. Directed by Delbert Mann. Warner Bros. Pictures, B&W, 1964, 115 mins.

Pat O’Brien (right) is no match for the calculating Adolphe Menjou (left).

How does Adolphe Menjou do it?

How is he able to portray a manipulative, callous backstabber and still be likable? Why do you almost want to cheer for this cold-hearted lizard?

We marvel over this every time we see a Menjou film, but we’re really wondering about it since we’ve seen The Front Page, a 1931 comedy-satire about newspapermen covering an execution.

Now, you wouldn’t think a hanging would be the subject of a comedy, but this script actually uses humour for its sharp critique of social issues. Hollywood felt the gamble paid off: The Front Page was nominated for three Academy Awards.

The film opens as workers test the rope on the gallows at a city jail; they are arguing about the tension needed to hang a prisoner. Across the street is a waiting room for the press, where “the boys” are gathered in anticipation of the execution. They play cards, trade insults and holler at the jail workers every time the weighted rope plunges through the floor of the gallows.

There are many people who are keenly interested in the timing of this execution. The reporters want the accused hanged at 5:00 a.m. so they’ll have the story printed in time for the morning papers. But the politicians want prison officials to wait until the following Tuesday which is just before a civic election.

Back to Menjou. He is a newspaper editor/tyrant who is trying to prevent his star reporter, Hildy (Pat O’Brien), from quitting the newspaper racket and moving to New York with his fiance. Menjou convinces O’Brien to stay long enough to write the story of the execution. He tells O’Brien that when the story is finished he is free to marry his fiance and catch the train to New York. O’Brien, the poor sucker, believes him and agrees to stay.

Here’s an example of Menjou at work. Naturally, O’Brien’s fiance leaves for New York without him and he mourns her departure, saying a girl like that comes along only once in a lifetime. “You’ll sleep it off,” replies Menjou with a shrug.

This movie is deliciously set up with satire and social commentary, and even the minor characters are really interesting. What more could you want in a movie?

Nothing! You think the movie is fine just as it is.

Then the prisoner escapes.

Because this film is over 80 years old and has not been remastered (to our knowledge), the sound quality is rather poor in places. It’s a shame because some actors deliver their lines quickly and you can just tell – darn it! – that you’ve missed a real zinger.

But its age does not obscure the truly innovative cinematography. There are some really interesting shot compositions and clever angles. The movie basically takes place in one room but it doesn’t feel closed in, thanks to Lewis Milestone‘s direction.

(Side note: Director Howard Hawks would remake this movie in 1940, but with some significant changes. The popular His Girl Friday stars Rosalind Russell as a female Hildy, and Cary Grant as her editor and meddlesome ex-husband.)

The Front Page provides social commentary that is as relevant today as it was in the early 1930s. It’s worth a look – if not for the wonderful cast and witty script, for Menjou’s performance alone.

The Front Page: starring Pat O’Brien, Adolphe Menjou, Mary Brian. Written by Ben Hecht. Directed by Lewis Milestone. United Artists Corp., B&W, 1931, 101 mins.

Jean Arthur eyes a Beef Pie at the Automat.

Here’s a movie they don’t make anymore: Boy Meets Girl, Boy Likes Girl, Boy Helps Girl Get Free Beef Pie.

Yup, we’re talking real meat pie with flaky pastry, mouth-watering gravy and tender chunks of premium beef. Diamonds have their place, but sometimes nothing can beat a truly great beef pie.

This timeless tale of courtship is explored in the 1937 comedy Easy Living, starring Jean Arthur and Ray Milland, and written by that master of classic screwball comedy, Preston Sturges.

Easy Living has a delightful collection of interesting characters, each one with a motive that, when combined with all the other characters’ motives, can only end in disaster.

Jean Arthur is a gal struggling to make it in the big city; she works for a kids’ publication which keeps her employed but barely pays the bills.

One morning, as she rides to work in an open-air double-decker bus, a sable coat – thrown from the roof of a nearby building – lands on top of her, crushing the lone decorative feather in her hat. (The hat is the better for it.)

The coat, which is valued at $58,000 (in 1937 dollars!), causes Arthur to be fired from her job and embroiled in rumours of an affair with a prominent, married banker (Edward Arnold).

But back to the beef pie. Milland, who plays Arnold’s son, is tired of people saying he cannot live without his father’s money. To prove ‘em wrong, he gets a job in an Automat, the same Automat where a desperately broke and hungry Arthur decides to scrounge for food one evening – in her $58,000 sable coat.

This movie is an interesting study in excess. The rich and the wanna-be rich are greedy and excessive, a theme that would surely resonate with a Depression-weary audience in 1937. Even the sets are lavishly (and weirdly) decorated, but the scene with the biggest excess of all has to do with food – that tasty beef pie in particular.

Arthur arrives at the Automat with only enough money for a cup of coffee. Fortunately she meets Milland who takes a shine to her and creates a diversion so she can help herself to a beef pie.

Of course, Milland is caught Aiding And Abetting A Pie Thief and a big fight ensues, with lots of spilled food and broken dishes. In the confusion, an Automat patron throws pepper into the portable fan on the wall which makes the air very ticklish. As people sneeze and fumble for hankies, the patron quickly stacks trays of beef pies one atop another and scrambles for the door. Unfortunately, he trips over someone who is bent over mid-sneeze, and the food – all that glorious beef pie – tumbles to the floor.

And, after all this, Jean Arthur still has not had her supper.

Easy Living is a prime example of the 1930s screwball comedy genre – a situation that spirals out of control with amusing characters and terrifically funny lines. If you want to see why Preston Sturges became a legend, make the time to see Easy Living.

If you’re like us, however, you may want to source a tasty beef pie beforehand.

Easy Living: starring Jean Arthur, Edward Arnold, Ray Milland. Directed by Mitchell Leisen. Written by Preston Sturges. Paramount Pictures, 1937, B&W, 89 mins.

Farley Granger (right) tells Lon Chaney, Jr. to back off.

Dear Reader, we know that sometimes you’re in the mood for an odd, quirky film.

Here’s what we have for you: Behave Yourself, a 1951 comedy that doesn’t play by the rules. You’ll like this – when listing the players at the end of the movie, the credits read: “Cast, in the order of their disappearance.”

The plot is too complex to fully detail here but, in brief, Farley Granger is a newlywed who accidentally gives a dog to his wife (Shelley Winters) as an anniversary gift. The dog is adorable and Winters falls in love with it; however, Granger finds it too meddlesome and tries to give it back to the previous owner. In doing so, Granger ends up implicated in one murder, stumbles upon a second, and leads police to a third.

And we haven’t even touched upon the counterfeit money, or the disapproving mother-in-law (Margalo Gillmore), who thinks Granger is guilty of all the murders.

This comedy is a cheeky homage to film noir. In one scene, a thug murders a man just before the dead man’s phone rings. The thug picks up the receiver and mumbles, “Sorry, wrong number.”

There are a million great lines in this movie, and Gillmore has most of them. When Granger first arrives home with the dog, she sniffs, ”Hmph! Such a little dog.” Later, in another scene, she is with a distraught Winters when Granger doesn’t return home.  She pats Winters’ shoulder and says soothingly, ”Aw, he’s probably on a bender.”

We love Granger in a comedy. You may be more familiar with his tense-jawed work in Alfred Hitchock’s Rope or Strangers on a Train, but he is really funny here in Behave Yourself. In one scene, he tried to coax the dog to go outside. He circles a lamb chop in front of the dog’s nose and sings, “A dol-lar for-ty nine a pound!”

Winters has an impressive wardrobe in this film, and she looks thin and glamorous. However, her character is kind of a baby and sometimes it’s hard to muster sympathy for her.

We also think this movie has the best collection of gangsters’ names of any Hollywood film. Check these out: Gillie the Blade, Fat Fred and Max the Umbrella. (What on earth is an umbrella in the organized crime world?)

Behave Yourself is one of those refreshingly off-beat movies that you shouldn’t analyze. You just have to take it at face value and enjoy it for what it is. The next time you’re in the mood for a film that does whatever the heck it wants, have a look at Behave Yourself.

Behave Yourself: starring Farley Granger, Shelley Winters, William Demarest. Written & Directed by George Beck. RKO Radio Pictures, 1951, B&W, 81 mins.

This post is part of the ongoing NOSTALGIATHON Blogathon, hosted Andy Watches Movies and Cinema Schminema.

Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer (left) and George “Spanky” McFarland are oblivious to hungry Petie.

When we were young, our family lived in a rural area without cable. There were two channels on our television set, and neither of them aired classic movies. Ever.

Not that we’re bitter about this.

Fortunately, our grandparents lived in a city with amenities: a public library with thousands of books; corner stores filled with junk food; and cable! Lovely, precious cable that featured old movies on Sunday.

In our grandparents’ living room, we learned about film from Hollywood’s early days. We discovered Abbot and Costello, Astaire and Rogers and, reluctantly, the Our Gang series.

The Our Gang shorts were our least favourite. We felt they wasted valuable airtime should have been devoted to More Important Movies. (Yes, at the age of 10 we felt Abbot & Costello Meet Frankenstein was more important than the Our Gang series.) We felt these kids were irrelevant and uninteresting.

The Our Gang series, also known as The Little Rascals, centered around the adventures of a group of poor, street-smart city children and their dog. Rumour has it producer Hal Roach first conceived the series as he watched a group of children play in a lumberyard across from his office. It occurred to him that a series of short films about kids being kids might appeal to the movie-going public.

He was right. Our Gang had a remarkably long run, from 1922 until 1944. It was also a ground-breaking series for its time because of its treatment of African-American children; they played and went to school with their caucasian friends. This was unheard of in other motion pictures.

During a recent sleepless night, we re-watched some of the Our Gang shorts. We wanted to see how they compared to our childhood memories, and we were astonished.

We love them.

We love that the kids seem so natural on screen. We love the scripts and the really funny lines. We love the series’ charm. (Of course, we try very hard to not think about what happened to some of these children when they became adults.)

Some episodes are funny, like the one where two boys go to outrageous lengths to set off firecrackers at school. Some are surprisingly moving, like the one about a boy adopted from an orphanage. They’re all entertaining because of those crazy kids. The kids are simply terrific.

If you haven’t seen the Our Gang series, we urge you to check it out. But be warned! These shorts are like potato chips; you can’t stop at just one.

Our Gang Series: starring 41 child actors. Produced by Hal Roach. Directed by Robert. F. McGowan (original director). 1922-1944, B&W, approx. 10-20 mins. each.

Bachelor David Niven shows Ginger Rogers the proper way feed a baby.

They say 1939 was Hollywood’s best year. The Golden Year, they call it.

Some real heavyweights were released in 1939, such as Gone with the Wind, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Stagecoach and The Wizard of Oz. That’s quite a roster!

But there were some other, lesser-known movies released that year which, by themselves, still would have made 1939 a glorious year.

Take RKO’s comedy, Bachelor Mother. This delightful movie, starring Ginger Rogers and David Niven, is about a young, single woman struggling to pay the rent in the big city. On the day her boss hands her a lay-off notice, she stumbles upon an abandoned baby. Everyone assumes the baby is hers and convinces her to keep it, despite her loud and rigorous protests.

Yes, this is a ridiculous premise for a movie. Yes, this sort of thing would never happen today, and it likely never happened in 1939, either.

But who cares! There are so many great situations to explore and Bachelor Mother does not disappoint. We ourselves consider it to be one of the funniest movies ever made.

One of the reasons this movie is so amusing is the great Charles Coburn. He’s a professional scene stealer, but it’s easy when you have all the best lines. Check this out: Coburn, who plays Niven’s father, says, “I was young once, like you. I lived like you, looked like you. Then suddenly – overnight – I looked like this.”

We love the scene of a heated breakfast-table argument between Coburn and Niven, where a well-meaning butler keeps interrupting and Coburn keeps slamming – and losing – his spoon on the table.

This is not a movie of dramatic, thought-provoking performances; it’s light and breezy and extremely well done. Nivens is everything you expect him to be – suave, articulate, rich. Rogers, as a hapless department store employee, is credible as a bewildered woman who suddenly has a baby thrust upon her. And that baby! He is one of the cutest, chunkiest babies on film.

Bachelor Mother is not usually considered a holiday movie, even though it takes place during the holiday season. But do yourself a favour and try to set aside time to enjoy it. You’ll find yourself quoting Charles Coburn’s lines days later.

Starring Ginger Rogers, David Niven and Charles Coburn. Directed by Garson Kanin.  Written by Norman Krasna. RKO Radio Pictures, B&W, 1939, 82 mins.

Joan Blondell teaches Leslie Howard the ways of Hollywood.

Quick! What is widely considered to be the highest-grossing film of all time?

You knew the answer, didn’t you? We bet you didn’t even have to Google it.

You see, this is why Hollywood is Serious Business; movies are valued by how much money they make. So it’s a treat when Hollywood pokes a little fun at itself, as it did in the 1937 comedy Stand-In.

Stand-In is the story of an independent Hollywood studio (Colossal Film Company) that is losing money so fast, its financiers want to dump it in a fire sale. However, they decide to give the studio one last chance and dispatch their resident financial wizard, Atterbury Dodd (Leslie Howard), to straighten things out.

In this film, Howard portrays a punctilious efficiency expert who can add a column of six-digit figures in his head in milliseconds. When he arrives in Hollywood, he goes dancing with an actress and has the following conversation:

Actress: “Do you dream, Mr. Dodd?”

Howard: “Not habitually.” [Thinks about it.] “Occasionally. When I have something to eat that disagrees with me.”

Upon his arrival in Hollywood, Howard meets a Miss Plum (Joan Blondell), who impulsively climbs into his cab while it’s waiting at a stop light. Blondell, who is unfailingly cute and funny, explains to Howard that she is a “stand-in”, someone who stands in for the actor while the lights are set up on a movie set. Blondell tells Howard that, as a stand-in, she does the sweating for the star.

Howard realizes he’s the stand-in for the fianciers and, by the time the film concludes, he’ll have done a lot of sweating, too.

There is so much to enjoy in this film. Every character is a treat, including the amusing bellhop who tells Howard that the hotel suite’s bathroom is painted “dramatic jungle red!”

Howard is extremely funny and says his ridiculous lines without a trace of irony. His character’s primary concern is money; there is no time for frippery. When he learns that ruthless movie mogul Mr. Nassau (C. Henry Gordon), is gunning for Colossal, Howard remarks with geekish alarm, ”That is a very startling piece of information.”

(Digression #1: This movie was released by United Artists, which was formed in 1919 as a backlash against the studio system. UA was originally created as a distribution company for independent Hollywood filmmakers. It was acquired by MGM in 1981.)

(Digression #2: Before you watch this movie, we must warn you of an uncomfortable scene that involves a harmonica-playing stage mother and her inappropriately-dressed preschool daughter. When the daughter finishes her dance routine, the mother says, “Now do that Mae West number.”)

If you’re in the mood for an amusing send-up of old Hollywood, we recommend Stand-In. It’s movie-making satire that’s been done many times but, as one character remarks, “Great pictures are not made. They are re-made.”

See? Who says Hollywood can’t laugh at itself?

Stand-In: Starring Leslie Howard, Joan Blondell, Humphrey Bogart. Directed by Tay Garnett. Written by Gene Towne & Graham Baker. United Artists Corp., B&W, 1937, 90 mins.

This post is part of the Fabulous Films of the 1940s Blogathon, hosted by the Classic Movie Blog Association. It runs February 17-23, 2013.

Free-spirited Veronica Lake hitches a ride with serious-minded Joel McCrea.

Don’t you love a movie that makes you feel like a better person, even though you’ve done nothing to be a better person?

We’ve been mulling the notion of being a good person ever since we screened Sullivan’s Travels, a 1941 comedy written and directed by the screwball comedy maestro, Preston Sturges.

Sullivan’s Travels is the tale of idealistic Hollywood director John L. Sullivan (Joel McCrea), who wants to make a Meaningful film about Suffering. He’s bought the rights to O Brother, Where Art Thou? and is determined to make an opus on anguish. Problem is, with his privileged background, an Ivy League education and stacks of money in the bank, he doesn’t really know what suffering is.

McCrea decides the only way to experience affliction is to don roughed-up clothes and hitchhike through Depression-hardened America. He wants to see the disadvantaged and get a taste of life on the other side.

But he runs into another problem when every mode of transportation he chooses unfailingly brings him back to Hollywood.

During his travels, McCrea meets a broke and disillusioned actress (Veronica Lake), who can’t get out of Hollywood fast enough. She’s finished with show business, she tells him, and she’s headed home. But she smells adventure in the wind and persuades McCrea to take her with him.

Even though Sullivan’s Travels is comedy with laugh-out-loud lines, it also has thought-provoking messages. In one scene, McCrea and Lake spend a night in a homeless shelter, where McCrea’s shoes are stolen. You then realize how much of life depends on a single pair of shoes.

In another scene, McCrea is knocked unconscious and his money stolen. This is after he has given donations to various homeless folks so they can have a warm meal or find a warm place to sleep. This is where you are reminded of how quickly the value of human life plummets in desperate circumstances.

These are the scenes that make us want to be better people and to try, in our own way, to make the world a better place. Through laughter, Sturges packs a social-activist punch that we never see coming.

The role of movie director Sullivan was written specifically for McCrea. Sullivan’s vaguely cynical worldview and his desire to help his fellow man fits McCrea like a well-worn sweater. McCrea, whom we always find extremely likable, is appealing as an everyman trapped in a rich man’s circumstances – if such statement even makes sense.

McCrea’s co-star, Veronica Lake, had a reputation in Hollywood for becoming increasingly disliked by her colleagues as filming progressed on just about any movie, but as a fan we couldn’t care less. Lake is charming and funny in this film, and has terrific chemistry with McCrea.

If you haven’t seen Sullivan’s Travels, we urge you to do so. It’s a wonderfully uplifting film that will try, as much as it is able, to make good citizens of us all.

Sullivan’s Travels – starring Joel McCrea, Veronica Lake, Robert Warwick. Written & Directed by Preston Sturges. Paramount Pictures, Inc., 1942 B&W, 90 mins.

Has Shirley Temple resorted to knocking down liquor stores?

Dear Reader, are you having financial difficulties? Are you worried about losing your job or paying the rent?

You are not alone! Did you know that Shirley Temple has navigated those same choppy financial waters? True! In addition to that, she’s given us a blueprint so that we, too, may dance and charm our way to prosperity.

Just Around the Corner is a 1938 comedy about a rich girl (Temple) who is abruptly sent home from boarding school to discover that her architect father has lost his job. If that weren’t bad enough, the pair has been kicked out of their lavish penthouse apartment and dumped into a basement suite where they can see people walking on the sidewalk above them. Fortunately, Temple’s father still has a job…as the building superintendent.

Now, you are not going to believe this movie’s subplot: Temple lives with her widowed (?) father, and she encourages him to pursue a lovely young tenant who could become her New Mother! Surprise! (Bet you never expected that.) Here’s another shocker: Temple orchestrates a happy solution for all the muddle-headed adults around her. Hooray!

So, given these familiar themes, what makes this movie different from other Shirley Temple movies?

1. The script. While the pro-capitalist script embraces racial and socio-economic stereotypes, it has a lot of surprisingly witty lines. For example, the poor children in the neighbourhood refer to each other as “mugs” and tell each other that they’ll “get a sock in the kisser if they don’t button their lip”.

In another scene, when Temple first returns to her swanky apartment building – blissfully unaware of her dire financial situation – a building employee studies Temple’s face and says, “You got a good strong chin, darling. Keep it up no matter what happens.”

2. The luscious 1930s-era sets. The building in which Temple & Co. live is a swanky New York high-rise, with floors as slick and polished as a brand-new nickel. (The floors present a running gag throughout the film; characters often slip and slide on these intensely shiny surfaces.) The footage of New York itself, shot from the harbour, presents a sturdy, efficient city that seems full of possibilities.

3. The characters. There are a terrific assortment of people who work in the building, such as the wise-cracking dog-walking lady (Joan Davis) and a saxophone-playing chauffeur (Bert Lahr). Never has being broke been so much fun!

All of this chaos is presided over by the snooty building manager (the ever-delightful Franklin Pangborn) who suffers the inevitable fall into the pool, a drop down the laundry chute and a kick to the seat of the pants.

Temple also befriends the boy (Benny Bartlett) who is the new tenant in her  penthouse. Bartlett sports round glasses and talks like Rudy Vallee. After a haircut, he analyzes himself in the mirror and remarks, “I do look more vigorous, don’t I?”

4. Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. Robinson is the building’s doorman who’s also a fabulous dancer. Whatever your opinion of Shirley Temple, her dance number with Robinson is pure joy to watch. But be warned: the tune for this number will stick in your head for the rest of the day.

The movie also has the trademark Temple optimism. When her father expresses sorrow at not being able to afford the penthouse apartment, Temple outlines all the positives to living under a sidewalk. “There are not so many stairs to climb,” she says, “and the rooms are small. I don’t have to walk around so much.”

You may feel that if you’ve seen one Shirley Temple movie, you’ve seen ‘em all. But Just Around the Corner is a clever, fast-paced movie that will make you laugh – even if it doesn’t really show you how to regain prosperity.

Just Around the Corner: starring Shirley Temple, Joan Davis, Charles Farrell. Directed by Irving Cummings. Written by Ethel Hill, J.P. McEvoy, Darrell Ware. Twentieth-Century Fox, 1938, B&W, 70 mins.

This post is part of the Fashion in Film Blogathon, hosted by the lovely Hollywood Revue. It runs March 29-30, 2013.

L-R: Debbie Reynolds, Gene Kelly, Jean Hagen. Hagen, the ultimate pro, was able to keep the cake from spilling onto her sparkly dress.

We love good movie villains. We like ‘em smart, witty and well-dressed.

And who is better dressed than Jean Hagen as super-celebrity Lina Lamont in the epic 1952 musical Singin’ in the Rain?

Yep, we’re talking about you, Lina Lamont – you and your monkey-fur-trimmed coat* that you joyfully flaunt on screen.

*Note: We’re not accusing MGM of using real monkey fur, from real monkeys, in Lina Lamont’s wardrobe. Monkey fur did gain popularity with the wealthy in the early 1900s, and today you can purchase vintage coats made with this material. (Just do a search on etsy.com.) For our purposes, however, we’ve convinced ourselves the MGM Wardrobe Department would never harm monkeys in the making of this or any other coat:

No monkeys were harmed in the manufacture of this coat. La la la – we can’t hear you.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we’ve also resolved to not refer to Lina Lamont a villain. Because she really isn’t. She’s just a regular, misunderstood celebrity – like the rest of us.

Singin’ in the Rain is based on actual Hollywood events. When Warner Brothers introduced a “talking picture” in 1927, movie studios were tossed into the spin cycle. Was sound a passing fad? Or would studios have to spend money on the bizarre idea of mixing visual with audio?

Actors, too, were faced with some ugly possibilities. Some celebrities, who were big box-office draws during the silent era, would be unable to make the transition to sound.

In Singin’ in the Rain, Lina Lamont’s studio is shooting their first film with sound. While the problems they encounter are laugh-out-loud funny, they’re also based on actual frustrations encountered by pioneer film crews. For example, a large microphone is sewn into Lina’s dress on the set but as she says her lines, she swings her head back and forth like someone watching a tennis match. As a result, the sound crew is able to record only every fifth word.

It is clear that our Lina is not going to make it in the era of sound. She has a squeaky voice and a thick, strange accent. The studio assigns her to a diction coach but it is of no use. Lina talks the way she talks.

“And I cain’t stand ‘im.”

But so what? Lina is a big star and she knows it. “People? I ain’t people,” she explains to a dim-witted studio exec. “I’m a shimmering, glowing star in the cinema fir-ma-ment.”

Such a glowing star needs top-notch wardrobe designer and for this film, it is the award-winning Walter Plunkett. Plunkett’s costumes are lavish and colourful satires of his own designs from the 1920s. The total cost of the Plunkett-designed wardrobe? A whopping $157,000.

Lina’s opulent costumes would steal every scene if Jean Hagen weren’t a pitch-perfect comedic actor. Her wardrobe incorporates ostrich feathers, sequins and crystal, and the aforementioned monkey fur trim.

Her costumes also reflect her moods. For example, when Lina first learns the awful news that the studio is implementing sound in its pictures, she wears rather modest attire, although Plunkett can’t resist a little sparkle:

Lina Lamont’s demure crystal-studded morning suit.

In another scene, Lina ambushes studio executives with a list of demands. She wears a soft lilac ensemble, complete with a wide-brimmed hat that could double as a flying saucer. She looks as sweet as a southern belle, with the same iron will.

Lina Lamont smiles as she threatens studio executives.

Poor Lina! Her efforts – and her shimmering career – are eventually hamstrung by conniving co-stars Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor. If the end of her career isn’t bad enough, she is also (get this!) publicly rebuffed and humiliated by Kelly, that snake.

We suppose there are reasons to watch Singin’ in the Rain, other than Walter Plunkett’s spectacular costume design, but don’t think that anyone other than Lina Lamont is the glowing, shimmering star of this movie’s fir-ma-ment.

Singin’ in the Rain: starring Gene Kelly, Donald O’Connor, Debbie Reynolds, Jean Hagen. Directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen. Written by Adolph Green and Betty Comden. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1952, Colour, 105 mins.

Jack Benny (second from left), tries to get a rise out of Alexis Smith (left).

Yup, what they say is true: Timing is everything.

Once upon a time, comedian Jack Benny starred in a movie that did so poorly at the box office it became a running joke for the rest of his career. The reason it bombed? The timing of its release.

The infamous WWII comedy The Horn Blows at Midnight, about an angel sent to destroy the earth, opened in theatres a few days after the 1945 death of U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Now, can you imagine: (A) a wartime comedy about the destruction of the earth; and (B) Jack Benny as the Tool of Destruction? Exactly.

However! The Horn Blows at Midnight is surprisingly good. The film is so fun, in fact, we watched it twice in a row.

Benny is a trumpet-playing angel who is unexpectedly summoned to the office of heaven’s Deputy Chief of Operations. This Deputy Chief angel instructs Benny to take a special horn down to earth and blow it at exactly midnight to signal mass destruction. (Heaven has decided to get rid of earth due to all the violence, something to which war-weary audiences could relate.)

One would think that such an important task would not be allocated to just anyone; however, heaven feels everybody deserves a chance. This is comforting theology, but bad project management.

Benny descends to earth and prepares to blow the Trumpet of Doom at the appointed location (on top of a New York hotel), but he runs afoul of two “fallen angels”. These are formerly good angels who were sent on prior missions to do heaven’s bidding, but decided instead to stay on earth where they could drink hard liquor, smoke cigars and throw lavish parties for beautiful women.

Benny, as an angel, is unfamiliar with earth’s customs, which makes for plenty of great lines. There is a little dark humour as well. In one scene, Benny tries to find out what time it is, because it’s important he blows the trumpet precisely at 12:00 a.m. He approaches the clerk at the front desk of the hotel:

Clerk: “Are you staying overnight, sir?”

Benny: “No, and neither are you.”

There is also a running gag about the elevator in the hotel being commandeered by angels descending from heaven, while frustrated hotel patrons grumble angrily about not being able to return to their rooms.

The supporting cast could not be better. Franklin Pangborn is the house detective who is dispatched to solve the mystery of the disappearing elevator. Reginald Gardiner is a glib, oily-haired thief who hangs about the hotel, targeting rich older women. Benny’s romantic interest is Alexis Smith, who is exceptional in what might otherwise be a forgettable role.

This movie is obviously written for Benny, and he isn’t asked to stretch his abilities as an actor. But Benny is good in his role as a hapless angel who strives to do the right thing while battling circumstances beyond his control. He delivers his lines like the seasoned pro he is. In one scene, Delores Moran is trying to seduce Benny so a hoodlum can steal the Trumpet Of Doom.

Moran: “Can’t you see what my eyes are saying to you?”

Benny: “Yes, and you should watch your language.”

There’s a reason Benny is considered one of the all-time great comedians. He was often the butt end of jokes on his own radio program, and his writers gleefully latched onto the box-office failure of The Horn Blows at Midnight. It’s to Benny’s great credit that he encouraged these gags instead of squelching them.

The Horn Blows at Midnight deserves recognition as an amusing film that pokes fun at life on earth. Its observations of human foibles is as timely today as it was in the 1940s.

The Horn Blows at Midnight: starring Jack Benny, Alexis Smith, Dolores Moran. Directed by Raoul Walsh. Written by Sam Hellman and James V. Kern. Warner Brothers, 1945, B&W, 80 mins.

Roscoe Arbuckle prepares to ask Mary Thurman to marry him.

In 1920, comedian Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle made a movie that was banned in the United States, and wasn’t shown to an American audience until 1981.

It wasn’t the subject matter of the movie that brought about the ban. It was Arbuckle’s unfortunate circumstance; he was arrested for murder shortly after filming wrapped. Because of the arrest, all of Arbuckle’s films were banned by the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA).

The case went to trial three times without a conviction. Arbuckle himself was spared, but his career was not. The MPPDA ban and unfavourable popular opinion meant he was never able to star in a film again.

(We’re not covering the details of the murder, and all that went with it, but you can read more about it here. It is juicy stuff.)

This last movie Arbuckle starred in was Leap Year, a farce about a well-meaning and wealthy young man who keeps giving women the impression he wants to marry them.

We can guess what you’re thinking: Arbuckle does not have the traditional leading-man looks or physique. But as you watch the film, you see he is funny and charming, and you can understand why so many women fall for him.

The one woman, though, who has stolen Arbuckle’s heart is Mary Thurman, a nurse who cared for Arbuckle’s ailing uncle and was fired by said uncle because he didn’t like her haircut.

Arbuckle truly is the star here, and he makes acting look effortless. He is surprisingly agile and appears to be very strong. In one scene, he is golfing – with a club that resembles a hockey stick – and, when he is finished, he shoves his giant clubs and his junior caddy in his golf bag, and carries them with one hand as he strides off the course.

Everything about Leap Year is cheeky. The title cards include playful commentary and very witty lines. There are, of course, lots of great sight gags. For example, several of Arbuckle’s would-be fiancés move into his large house, each unaware of the others’ presence; these poor women keep entering rooms just as another is exiting. This is a premise we have seen many times in movies, but it would still be fresh material in the early 1920s.

Leap Year is so much fun, you’ll forget that you’re watching a silent picture. It pokes fun at infatuation, misplaced loyalties and the way many of us behave in a relationship.

It’s a film that everyone can enjoy after an unnecessary 60-year absence.

Leap Year: starring Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, Mary Thurman. Directed by James Cruze. Written by Walter Woods (adaptation) and Sarah Y. Mason (story). Paramount Pictures, 1921, B&W, 60 mins.

This post is part of the Children in Film Blogathon, hosted by the lovely and talented Comet Over Hollywood. It runs May 24-26, 2013.

Billy Chapin (right) tells Lloyd Bridges what’s wrong with his swing.

Some kids are born with old souls. You know these kids – they act in an oddly responsible manner and they look at you as though they feel a little sorry for you. (Which they probably do, who are we kidding.)

This is the type of kid Billy Chapin portrays in the 1953 comedy-drama, The Kid from Left Field. Chapin plays Christy Cooper, a nine year-old who gets a job as a bat boy for a losing major league baseball team.

In an early scene, the team’s owner (Ray Collins) reveals his discouragement about the team’s record, and lets us know how bleak the situation is.

Collins: Ty Cobb. There! There was a ball player.

Chapin: No one’s ever gonna beat all the records that he set.

Collins: Nobody in my ball club is, I’ll tell you that.

Eventually, with the help of his father, Chapin begins to coach these hapless players.

Okay, we can tell by the raspberry you’re blowing that you’re not buying the idea of a child coaching professional ball players.

But this is exactly where Chapin’s performance makes the plot believable. Chapin wears a serious expression and has slightly sad, soulful eyes; when he says you’ve gotta choke up on the bat, you find yourself taking his advice.

Chapin’s father/mentor (Dan Dailey) is a failed major leaguer who was sent down to the minors and never made a comeback. Even though he is relegated to selling peanuts, he is a brilliant baseball analyst. He easily identifies the team’s weaknesses and shares practical solutions with his son.

Chapin and Dailey have a respectful, tender, father-son relationship. (The screenplay makes no mention of Chapin’s mother.) Dailey is a flawed but sympathetic character: he sometimes disappears in the evenings to drink at the bar, and he has a testy relationship with his boss. It pains us a little to see how much love Chapin displays for his father because it can’t be long before disillusionment whacks the poor kid in the gut.

Chapin is a serious boy with a serious job. He doesn’t mug for the camera or do anything to draw undue attention to himself. He may not be the best child actor Hollywood has ever produced, but he has enough integrity to comfortably carry the movie.

(Digression: Chapin’s more famous role was as the defiant John Harper in the uber-creepy The Night of the Hunter, directed by Charles Laughton.)

The movie loves to poke fun at Chapin’s age. In one scene, Chapin and the umpire get into a heated argument during a ball game. The umpire orders Chapin off the field and, when the lad refuses, the ump simply picks him up by the waistband and carries him off the field.

The Kid from Left Field has a more complex script than many baseball movies. Lloyd Bridges plays an aging ballplayer who benefits from Chapin’s coaching. Anne Bancroft, in one of her earliest film roles, is the front office secretary in love with Bridges. And Richard Egan, in a Golden Globe-winning role, is superb as the slick manager who takes all the credit for the team’s winning streak.

This film was remade in 1979 as a made-for-television movie starring Gary Coleman, and a similar story was produced again in 1994′s Little Big League. The 1953 version, however, is a thoughtful look at fathers and sons, forgiveness and missed opportunities. The Kid from Left Field is a warm, hopeful film that reminds us redemption comes in unlikely ways.

Another review of The Kid from Left Field is available at Classicfilmboy’s Movie Paradise.

The Kid from Left Field: starring Dan Dailey, Anne Bancroft, Billy Chapin. Directed by Harmon Jones. Written by Jack Sher. Twentieth Century-Fox, 1953, B&W, 80 mins.

Frances Langford and her tresses hunt for a job on Broadway.
(Image: Songbook)

Sometimes you have to respect a movie for reasons other than the movie itself.

You’re probably thinking, “Next!” But hear us out.

Today we’re looking at the 1944 comedy Career Girl, a “B” movie about aspiring Broadway actresses who live in a girls-only boarding house in New York. This modestly-priced flick stars Frances Langford as a gal determined to hit the Big Time.

If you look closely at our movie, you’ll see that it is a knock-off of 1937′s Stage Door, the designer version of the aspiring-actresses-in-a-girls-boarding-house tale. The MGM A-lister stars Katharine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers, and a million other big-name movie stars.

So we, as viewers, have to decide right away that if we’re going to get anything out of Career Girl, we have to pretend the MGM film was never made. But once you shut off that part of your brain, you’ll actually enjoy this charming little movie.

Langford plays a spunky singer who leaves her fiance in Kansas City in an effort to make a Name for herself on Broadway. We learn this in the opening scene as Langford calls her irritated fiance, who insists he come to New York and bring her home:

Irritated Fiance: “Your real career is being back here in Kansas City, being Mrs. James Blake.”

Langford: “If and when I’m ready to come home, I’ll buy my own transportation.” (Ca-lick!)

Langford moves to the budget “all-girls’ hotel” because she doesn’t have a job and she’s running out of cash. Here she meets aspiring actresses and – bonus! – a potential new boyfriend (Edward Norris). She’s presented with opportunities to sing which, of course, is what made real-life Langford a star in the first place.

There are plenty of great lines in this film. For example, when a producer’s secretary (Gladys Blake) brings Langford to the office to meet The Boss, Langford is visibly impressed:

Langford: (looking around) ”It’s quite swank.”

Blake:  ”When you get ‘no’ for an answer around here, you get it with all the trimmings.”

When she finally meets the producer – a man with a grand piano in his office – Langford is persuaded to sing and we realize why she was so famous in real life.

(Digression: Langford is accompanied on piano by Blake’s character, who, apparently, can play any tune at a moment’s notice. Why her boss hasn’t gotten her a gig on Broadway is beyond us.)

Langford has real star power – when her hair isn’t stealing the scene. (See photo, above.) Her singing is impressive, of course, but she isn’t entirely without acting ability. There is a scene where Langford, discouraged by not finding work on Broadway, gives a little speech about how hard it is to break into show business. The scene is surprisingly touching.

Now, our descriptions may not be enough for you to respect Career Girl, so you may have to respect the movie for Langford herself.

Langford was a huge supporter of the American troops during WWII, and was a regular fixture on Bob Hope’s USO tours as he traveled to entertain troops overseas. Rumour has it that during one of these tours, Langford impulsively climbed into a fighter plane that was actually used in an attack on a Japanese ship.

The Telegraph says that Langford “would sweetly sing the ballad I’m in the Mood for Love in a way that reminded GIs of the girls they had left at home…”

By itself, Career Girl is a forgettable “B” movie but, considering what Langford meant to troops and the American war effort, you can respect it as a film that was trying to give audiences more of what they wanted.

And what they wanted was Frances Langford.

Another review of Career Girl can be found at The Motion Pictures.

Career Girl: Starring Frances Langford, Edward Norris, Iris Adrian. Directed by Wallace W. Fox. Written by Sam Neuman. Producers Releasing Corp., B&W, 1944, 67 mins.

Bob Hope (left) and Big Crosby (right) vie for meaningful employment and Dorothy Lamour’s affections. Image: Everyscreen

At first glance, the 1940 comedy Road to Singapore appears to be a silly movie with a thin plot, strung together with musical numbers to give it a legitimate running time.

But there’s more to this film than it would seem, not the least of which is the chemistry between its two stars, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope.

Road to Singapore is a yarn about two buddies (Crosby and Hope) who flee to southeast Asia to escape the prospect of marrying two perfectly lovely women. (Rejecting these women by bolting to the other side of the world seems a bit harsh, no?)

Crosby and Hope take refuge in Kaidoon where they rent a hut and try to live a life of leisure. No more women for them – no siree! – until they meet Dorothy Lamour, with whom they both fall in love. Two questions then dominate the remainder of the movie: (1) Which man will Lamour ultimately choose, and (2) what will be their primary source of income?

Now, let’s not write this movie off too quickly. For one thing, there are plenty of laugh-out-loud lines. An example is when Crosby’s displeased father (Charles Coburn), learns that Crosby has fled via boat. Coburn responds ruefully, “He must be somewhere – unless he’s fallen overboard, which is too much to hope for.”

In another scene, Hope and Crosby compare notes on their love lives:

Hope: “The minute women look dreamy at you, you send for a preacher.”

Crosby: “Well, the minute women look dreamy at you, their father sends for a preacher.”

Believe it or not, Road to Singapore is a significant film for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was a spoof of popular movies of the era that were set in southeast Asia. Some of these films include Red Dust, Lady of the Tropics, and The Letter. The Crosby & Hope send-up has the exotic feel of these movies with none of the seriousness.

Secondly, Singapore is the first of seven road movies that Crosby and Hope made between 1940 and 1962. All of these comedies were satires of movie genres of the day, and feature running gags introduced in previous films.

Thirdly, the film introduces a couple of elements that would become trademarks of the series. The first is improvisation. Crosby and Hope were clever entertainers and, while the some of their humour may seem outdated, you have to admire their nimble thinking. The series’ second trademark is known as “breaking the fourth wall” where characters address the camera directly. Hope’s characters used this most often in this series but, in the first film, it a woman who addresses the audience when she realizes Crosby has dumped her.

Finally, this was the first movie in which Crosby and Hope starred together. This film cemented a friendship that began in the 1930s in their New York days, when their improvisational banter was the hit of every party. They shared a love of comedy, golf and a great admiration for each other. Their close friendship lasted until Crosby’s sudden death by heart attack in 1977. Hope later said, “If friends could have been made for each other, I would have asked for one just like Bing…. I miss him.”

You could say Road to Singapore is a lighthearted romp through Paramount Pictures’ Polynesian-style sets, but it’s a significant cultural marker and a testimony to a true friendship.

Road to Singapore: Starring Bing Crosby, Dorothy Lamour, Bob Hope. Directed by Victor Schertzinger. Written by Don Hartman and Frank Butler. Paramount Pictures Inc., B&W, 1940, 85 mins.

This post is part of the “Dynamic Duos in Classic Film” Blogathon, hosted by the lovely Classic Movie Hub and Once Upon a Screen.

Robert Morley (right) welcomes Tom Poston (left) to The Old Dark House. Image: Midnight Only.

*SPOILER ALERT!*

Let’s get one thing straight.

William Castle‘s The Old Dark House (1963) is often pooh-poohed as an inferior film. Just do an online search for this comedy-horror-mystery and watch the disdain fill your screen.

Listen to us, Dear Reader; forsake these naysayers. We think that if you’re ever in the mood for a rather dark and twisted comedy, The Old Dark House will be just the ticket.

But first: Who is this guy by the name of Castle?

William Castle (1941-1977), American producer and director, is best known for low-budget horror flicks that have gained a sizable cult following over the decades. Castle was also famous for his innovative movie “gimmicks.” For example, when 1959′s House on Haunted Hill was released, Castle rigged a plastic skeleton in movie theatres to fly through the audience at a crucial moment during the film.

SO! How do you like him so far?

The Old Dark House was the only movie that Castle made at British Hammer Films. The film itself is a remake of the highly-praised 1932 version, and is loosely based on the 1927 novel Benighted by J.B. Priestley.

The only trouble with this film, in our opinion, is that you’re supposed to figure out which character is a murderer but you end up having too much fun to even try.

Tom Poston plays Tom Penderel, an American car salesman who lives in England. One stormy night, he is asked to deliver a car to Femm Hall, his friend’s old stone fortress. When he arrives at the decrepit citadel, Poston discovers his friend is newly and suddenly deceased. Poston is invited to stay the night with his friend’s bizarre but delightful relatives, some of whom will come to an untimely end during the night.

By the time the movie is over, there will also be several attempts on Poston’s life via acid, quicksand, a meat cleaver and – worst of all – an angry father.

The utterly fantastic Robert Morley, who portrays the head of the household, has some of the funniest lines in the movie. We marvel that he is able to deliver such droll lines with a deadpan face. For instance, when he invites Poston to stay, Morley says meaningfully, “It’s not every day we have an American for dinner. It will be a treat for us all.”

Another wonderful cast member is Joyce Grenfell, who plays the mother of Poston’s deceased friend. She is a habitual knitter who knits the story of her life into her creations. In one scene she shows Morley her knitting and cheerfully explains, “[This is] the day I lost my earrings, the day we lost mother.” It’s a pity she’s killed off so early in the film.

Every character is outlandish and entertaining, but we’ll leave the rest to discover for yourself.

We also wanted to touch on the brilliant set design of Femm Hall. Light fixtures are askew, curtains are disheveled, and expensive china is placed everywhere to catch leaky rainwater. You almost want to watch the film again to gaze at the abundance of quirky props: mismatched furniture, stuffed animal heads and a painting that says, “Don’t Worry – It May Not Happen.”

And what of William Castle in all this? Castle takes pains to develop the plot, with all its intricacies, but the movie doesn’t feel long. It clips along at a fast pace and when it’s finished you can’t believe it’s over already.

The Old Dark House was not well received by critics when it was first released, and there are folks today who dismiss it. But we think you’ll find this movie charming in a dark sort of way. You’ll have as much fun watching it as, we suspect, William Castle had making it.

The Old Dark House: Starring Tom Poston, Robert Morley, Janette Scott. Directed by William Castle. Written by Robert Dillon. Hammer Film Productions, Colour, 1963, 86 mins.

This post is part of The William Castle Blogathon, hosted by the lovely Last Drive In and Goregirl’s Dungeon.

You really haven’t seen anything like it. Image: moviepostershop

Have you ever become a fan of a movie that is everything you dread in a film?

We did when we screened the 1948 comedy Bill and Coo, a movie starring, well, birds.

We (as in, yours truly) have nothing against birds. We’re just a little fussy about animal movies, is all. If they’re not animated or packed with Important Information About Nature, we have no use for ‘em.

Bill and Coo is about birds but it’s not a documentary or animated feature. It’s a live-action film where trained birds act out the story. Yup, actual birds are the stars here – lovebirds, mostly, but parakeets, owls and ducks have supporting roles, too.

It’s not much of a narrative, as far as narratives go. The birds live in Chirpendale, a quaint town that has all the amenities. There is a beauty parlour, public transportation and a dodgy-looking “juice” bar. In Chirpendale (and we quote), “love, happiness and contentment blend together in harmony.” We don’t doubt this, judging by the popularity of that juice bar.

Even The Starling Bros. circus rolls into Chirpendale with its acrobatic birds and caged animals…one of which, ironically, is a cat.

But Chirpendale lives under a dark shadow. The town must contend with the ever-looming threat of the Black Menace, a large black crow, who destroys houses and carries away baby birds. The Black Menace is the worst kind of villain; he waits until everyone is happily enjoying the circus, then he attacks with vigor. EEEK! How will the good citizens of Chirpendale fight him off?

See? The film sounds silly, yet we don’t intend to mock it. The narration is amusing, the music is cheerful and the sets (which are the world’s second smallest, according to Wikipedia) are carefully done to scale.

You want to see something weird? Do a search for Bill and Coo on any major search engine, and this little movie appears at or near the top of the search results. One can only assume folks are still curious about these crazy birds.

The birds were trained by George Burton, a one-time silent film actor. In the short before the film, Burton gives a demonstration with his birds. Using a wand, Burton plucks the lovebirds from their perch and sets them on a mini tightrope. The birds don’t even flinch when Burton transfers them onto a new surface; they stick to it like velcro.

Now, you may have objections about birds being forced to wear little hats and pulling each other around in little wooden carts. Perhaps we should be morally outraged, but we’re not. This 60-minute Trucolor film is utterly fascinating. Why?

It’s because of those busy little birds. They are Just! So! Cute!

Burton’s lovebirds are terrific actors. They run fast and do neat tricks. (One of them turns somersaults, for pete sake!) Clearly, these are smart birds. Sometimes you swear they KNOW they are filming a movie.

We hope you’ll make a Note To Self to see the quirky Bill and Coo at your next opportunity. Like the poster says, you haven’t seen anything like it.

Bill and Coo: starring George Burton, Elizabeth Walters, Ken Murray, and  George Burton’s Birds. Directed by Dean Reisner Written by Royal Foster & Dean Reisner. Republic Pictures Corp., Colour, 1948, 60 mins.

Projectionist Peter Sellers (left) waxes nostalgic about the good ol’ days at the Bijou Kinema. Image: Vintage Norwich

Hey, guess who’s on this week’s Forgotten Filmcast?

We are! Whee!

Forgotten Filmcast, hosted by Todd at Forgotten Films, is a podcast that looks at movies abandoned by time.

This week’s film is The Smallest Show on Earth, a 1957 British comedy about a young couple who inherit a derelict movie theatre. There are lots of fab British actors in this film, including a young Peter Sellers.

Here’s how you can listen to the discussion of this delightful movie:

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If you haven’t been following the smart and witty Forgotten Films blog, click here to sign up. You can thank us later.

The Smallest Show on Earth: starring Virginia McKenna, Bill Travers, Peter Sellers. Directed by Basil Dearden. Written by William Rose and John Edridge. British Lion Release, B&W, 1957, 80 mins.

Billie Burke (2nd from left, seated) offers no sympathy to Pola Negri (standing). Image: polanegri.com

Sometimes, when we watch Billie Burke on screen, we feel a little envious at her ability to portray blithe characters who skate across life, leaving barely a scratch.

These are not people who burden themselves with the Deep Questions Of Life. They take life as it comes, refusing to get sucked into its undertow. Fortunately for us, scriptwriters usually endow these characters with very witty dialogue.

In the 1943 wartime comedy, Hi Diddle Diddle, Burke plays the mother of a young bride-to-be (Martha Scott), whose wedding is planned during her fiancé’s 48-hour leave from the navy. Alas, this will be the ultimate econo wedding because Burke has been swindled out of $50,000 by a young man infatuated with Scott. Said young man believes the naval fiancé to be after Burke’s money, so he’s going to spend it all first. (?!)

(Burke, however, is still able to put on a lavish pre-wedding breakfast by telling guests not to accept the invitation without giving her food coupons – and people oblige!)

Hi Diddle Diddle, like the nursery rhyme of a similar name, is a movie that does what it wants and doesn’t seem to care what you think. It’s a comedy that operates under its own set of rules, made by independent filmmaker Andrew L. Stone, who didn’t have a major studio meddling in things.

The tone is set in the opening title card: “[This] is a picture with a purpose… Try to find it.” Stone is winking at us; he knows he’s whipped up a frothy confection and he ain’t going to to pretend otherwise. We respect that in a picture.

Billie Burke is a perfect fit in this madcap film. Her warble-y dialogue is a treat, a wonderful contrast to the other characters. The cast includes Adolphe Menjou as the naval fiancé’s father, a gruff man with dodgy business practices. Pola Negri is Menjou’s new wife, an over-the-top-but-endearing opera singer who wonders about Menjou’s extra-curricular activities.

In a film brimming with great dialogue, Burke is not the only one with laugh-out-loud lines, but hers are the most memorable. For example, when she meets a new mother holding twins, she chirps, “Twins are so practical. It’s always nice to have a spare.”

This film is not about Burke, sadly, which means she doesn’t have much screen time but we, as an audience, are so busy trying to keep up with all the subplots that we don’t notice it till later. There are so many questions:

1. Burke: Will she recover her swindled fortune?
2. Menjou: Will his scam prove to be a money-maker?
3. Negri: Does she believe Menjou is having a dalliance with a nightclub singer?
4. Scott: Will she discover her naval fiancée is not, in fact, on a secret government mission?

See what we mean? All of this in 73 minutes. The mind reels!

Still, there could have been a wee bit more room made in the script for the talented Burke who made a career out of playing fluffy, rich women. Burke was married to Florenz Ziegfeld, who died in 1932 and left her deeply in debt. Even though she loved the stage, Burke worked in film to pay off Zeigfeld’s debts, and even received an Oscar nomination for 1938′s Merrily We Live. Her impressive filmography includes Dinner at Eight, The Wizard of Oz, Topper and, of course, our movie today.

We’ve been wondering why Hi Diddle Diddle isn’t more well known. Perhaps the title makes people gag – but don’t let that put you off. We think you’ll like this unconventional screwball comedy featuring the gifted Billie Burke.

Hi Diddle Diddle: starring Adolphe Menjou, Martha Scott, Pola Negri. Directed by Andrew L. Stone. Screenplay by Frederick Jackson. United Artists Corp., B&W, 1943, 73 mins.

Bud Abbott (left) tells Lou Costello (right) there’s no such thing as an Invisible Man (centre). Image: fanpop.com

In 1933, Universal Studios released a horror film about a scientist who develops a serum that makes him invisible. The film was based on a novel by H.G. Wells, and starred Claude Rains as a man who loses not only his body, but also his mind.

In 1951, Universal Studios decided to pull the Invisible Man concept out of the drawer and try it on again, this time featuring comedy superstars Bud Abbot and Lou Costello, they of “Who’s on First” fame. Abbott and Costello had already made several comedy/”horror” films for Universal, such as Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein and Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy.

But Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man is not a horror film, and it’s not much of a mystery. It’s actually an amusing film about the world of boxing. Or, rather, Invisible Men in the world of boxing.

In this madcap adventure, Abbott and Costello are detective school graduates. While they move into their new office and brag about how smart they are, a man bursts through the door. They don’t realize that this intruder (Arthur Franz) is a boxer who has just escaped from jail, where he was imprisoned for the murder of his manager.

Franz hires the pair to drive him to a doctor’s home – the same doctor who has uncovered Claude Rains’ Formula That Makes People Invisible. Franz, desperate to clear his name, takes the serum so he can better spy on people. Meanwhile, Abbott and Costello learn Franz’s identity and plan how they can turn him over to police so they can collect a hefty reward.

The usual Abbott and Costello formula is at play in this film: Costello discovers the Invisible Man first; Abbott doesn’t believe him. When the Invisible Man plays tricks on Abbott, Abbott blames Costello. There are lots of fun, if low-tech, visual effects: doors opening by themselves; floating cigarettes in the hallway; and Costello fighting with the Invisible Man over a plate of spaghetti.

We also cheer when the Invisible Man lands some terrific punches on an opponent (a bad guy) in the boxing ring. The opponent is in a fixed boxing match with the hapless, in-waaay-over-his-head Costello, and we can’t wait until the Invisible Man shows this thug a thing or two.

The dialogue is pretty good, too. In one scene, Abbott and Costello are in a car that is being pursued by police and driven by the Invisible Man:

Abbott: [motioning to Invisible Man] I hope he has his driver’s license.

Costello: I hope he’s in the car.

One thing that bothers us about the Abbott & Costello schtick is that Abbott always comes across as SO unsympathetic. In this movie, he refers to a woman as a “swell-looking dish” whom he wants to “order as a side dish”. A line like this would be more palatable coming from the likes of Jack Carson, but from Abbott it sounds a little creepy and it makes you say, in your out-loud voice, “Eww.”

Abbott & Costello Meet the Invisible Man has a completely ridiculous ending, but what Abbott & Costello movie doesn’t? Besides, if you’ve bought into the premise of an Invisible Man, the ending shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man: starring Bud Abbott, Lou Costello, Nancy Guild. Directed by Charles Lamont. Screenplay by Robert Lees, Frederic I. Rinaldo, John Grant. Universal Pictures Co., B&W, 1951, 82 mins.