Film Reviews by Steve

The wildest, craziest picture ever imagined. It is set in Madrid and claims to be a true story told by carnival folk... Lon Chaney plays a serial killer known to the police only for his unique double thumbs. So he straps his arms behind his back and joins a travelling circus as a knife act, throwing daggers at Joan Crawford with his feet. Who he loves...

Due to previous abuse, the girl can't stand to be touched. So she is neurotically repulsed by the attentions of the circus strongman (Norman Kerry). As the police close in, to hide his incriminating thumbs and to indulge her fetishistic attraction to him, Chaney has both his arms removed by a surgeon he is blackmailing! 

Unfortunately, when he returns to the circus, the showgirl has got over phobia and married the muscleman. The now insanely jealous knife thrower devises a hideous revenge! Phew. This is pretty uninhibited stuff. The story was created by Tod Browning who left home as a child to join a circus. Chaney's upbringing was equally unconventional.    

Many silent horrors have the illusory mania of a febrile dream. And that is the attraction here. And it's a lot of fun watching Chaney (and his stand-in) acting with his feet. Browning and Chaney did astonishing work elsewhere, but there was an alchemy when they worked together. It feels like absolutely anything is possible.

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES.

The second in a pair of period films made by 20th Century Fox with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce as Arthur Conan Doyle's immortal Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. These and the further 12 updated stories at Universal have widely established the duo as the definitive Holmes and Watson on the big screen.

This stands out among the 14 because it is such a handsome production. The plot stands little scrutiny, but the film was made with a lot of love. There is is an atmospheric London of foggy, gothic graveyards, beautiful Hansom cabs and gas lamps. The excellent sets are painted in deep shadows. There's a touch of the exotic too, which is classic Doyle.

The story leans on the psychological war between Holmes and Moriarty (George Zucco) who intends to steal a priceless emerald from the Tower of London. But more thrillingly, the professor intends to destroy Holmes, who is the Napoleon of Crime's only realistic adversary. Obviously Scotland Yard is just a storage facility for idiots.

Bruce's bumbling doctor is a matter of taste, but he does bring some effective humour and he looks the part. But Rathbone is perfect casting. He's a ringer for Sidney Paget's original drawings in The Strand Magazine. The stars and the dense ambience of Victorian London make this a strong candidate for the best ever feature film about the great detective.

SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE SECRET WEAPON.

The second in the Universal trilogy of Sherlock Holmes vs. the Nazis throws Professor Moriarty into the mix, wonderfully played by the cultish Lionel Atwill. Obviously he's on the side of the Germans and competes with the intrepid sleuth to locate an invention which will alter the course of WWII.  

Thankfully this is more upbeat about the war than the previous entry, The Voice of Terror. There's more comedy, with Dennis Hoey making his debut as Inspector Lestrade, who is also engaged in a struggle- to demonstrate who is the biggest imbecile, vs. Nigel Bruce's flummoxed Dr. Watson.

But the nation has Holmes (Basil Rathbone) to lean on. And he at least proves a master of disguise. This is notionally based on Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventure of the Dancing Men (1903), but it's really an original story with an uninspired plot and little deduction.  

And what may be the least significant role for the female lead (Karen Verne) in the whole series. Yet the formula always works. It's a lesser entry, but still an attractive production for a programmer and reliable entertainment for the fans. And the exciting climax is pure James Bond!

Heavily fictionalised biopic about RJ Mitchell, the designer of the Spitfire, which is repurposed for propaganda, and to acknowledge the UK's survival of the Battle of Britain. It begins in 1940 during the Blitz, and then reflects on his life from 1932 to his death in 1937. But while it is understandable that audiences would wish to salute their heroes, some of the liberties taken are questionable.

This was written, directed and starred Leslie Howard who claims Mitchell as an English gentleman, a genial toff in his pastoral sanctuary. Whereas he was from Staffordshire and worked his way up from the shop floor. More problematically, an aristocratic sponsor is portrayed as a patriot, when in reality she supported Hitler and Mussolini through her newspapers.

This rewrite of history didn't even survive WWII as the nation turned to socialism and meritocracy. However, it has some value as a record of the times, including footage of actual spitfire pilots and their machines. Howard and David Niven as the test pilot/narrator are easygoing and likeable, with Rosamund John steadfast support as Mitchell's wife.

The other main negative is it is too long. It is competently made and works as propaganda, with the rousing Spitfire Prelude composed by William Walton. Yet, almost nothing of this actually happened, beyond Mitchell designing the Spitfire. It brought inspiration and hope to a nation still in peril. And in 1942, that was the greater good. It couldn't possible have a similar impact now.

Elia Kazan's beautiful epic only tells the last part of John Steinbeck's long novel and simplifies what remains. It is a loose updating of the biblical story of Cain and Abel relocated to California, which plugs into the landmark, method inspired performance of its debuting star, James Dean.

The generational schism between the introverted, maladjusted son (Dean) and his domineering, righteous father (Raymond Massey) captures the spirit of the '50s rather than the early century setting. The search by the young man for personal identity and freedom was a sensation with teenagers.

What most attracts now is Kazan's spacious, artistic rendition of the Salinas Valley, California on the edge of WWI, in Cinemascope. It is a gorgeous production. The colour and camera effects still look amazing. Though its only Oscar went to Jo Van Fleet as Dean's estranged mother.

Sadly the film ends badly with the boy seeking and finding understanding from the stubborn, dying patriarch, which negates the rest of the story. But it remains an ambitious blockbuster about all the big biblical sins. And the legend of James Dean still lives in his only starring film released before his death.

Epic biography of murderer Robert Stroud who was sent down in 1909 and remained in solitary for 50 years, and in prison until his death in 1963. From his cell he began to keep and study birds and develop remedies for disease. Given a simple microscope he researched haematology and histology. To keep his menagerie, he studied law.

When first jailed, Stroud (Burt Lancaster) wears stripes and chains. He feeds his birds with insects infesting the jail. Under a reforming public servant (Karl Malden) the cells become cleaner and safer and less physically brutal. But the message is that prisons are instruments of revenge, and fail because they do not mend the psychological faults of the convicts.

Stroud is sociopath, resentful of anyone but his mother, and he kills a warden. But his sullen malevolence is ameliorated by nurturing birds. At first this is to ease the monotony of solitary, but then he lives vicariously through them. Eventually his obsession releases his talent.  Or maybe his genius.

Lancaster does well to maintain interest in this troubled, unlikeable introvert. The direction overcomes the limitation of shooting within a tiny space, by dealing mostly in closeups and expressionistic angles. We don't get a realistic idea of what motivates the prisoner. The aim is to advance a reformist agenda, and it makes this case with intelligence.

This is set in the midwest but employs all the archetypes of '50s southern melodrama: the nonconformist who drifts back to his old hometown; the beautiful/frozen female intellectual; the floozy; the weak and shifty brother who stayed behind to pocket the filthy lucre; and the aristocratic relics of old money. 

Frank Sinatra is the alcoholic soldier who returns home after WWII, with Shirley MacLaine's dim bulb nightclub 'hostess' in tow. He develops a close relationship with an outwardly charismatic/inwardly repulsive poker shark (Dean Martin) and aspires to an inhibited, censorious schoolteacher (Martha Hyer). But he is repelled by the near limitless hypocrisy.

The drifter ultimately settles for the unconditional love of the moll, which leads to tragedy. This is Sinatra's best performance, as a morally ambiguous anti-hero, disgusted by small town sanctimony. But it's MacLaine's film, and she's a heartbreaker as the abused, exploitable girl who seems to have no personality other than the prodigious intensity of her feelings.

 The film is intelligently directed by Minnelli with long camera edits which allow the actors to develop each scene. The mood gets progressively darker until eventually quite like film noir, but in luscious colour. The climax, with the stunning, impressionist kaleidoscope of lights, scored by Elmer Bernstein's piano led jazz big band, is an absolute knockout. 

The first of Universal Pictures' 12 contemporary updates of the immortal sleuth, also begins an informal trilogy, with Sherlock Holmes now taking on the Nazis. They retain Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Dr. Watson from the two period adventures released by Fox in 1939. But there's almost nothing left of Arthur Conan Doyle's credited story, His Last Bow.

In fact there's just the famous patriotic speech at the end. There isn't much narrative and little deduction. This is intended to be pro-British propaganda. There's a fairly horrifying portrayal of the blitz, but reassurance that with the great detective, the nation will prevail. He investigates the link between a Nazi broadcaster and industrial sabotage. And a planned invasion.

Presumably the voice of terror refers to Lord Haw Haw's pro-Axis radio transmissions. The mystery is, who in the British security council is a traitor? There's a relishable support cast, including Henry Daniell as the prime suspect and Evelyn Ankers as the leader of the cor-blimey Cockney criminals doing their bit for the country.

Great to see Thomas Gomez on his screen debut, as a cold-hearted killer. The main positives are the rich, noirish photography and the wonderful orchestral score written for the series. Minor director John Rawlins creates little suspense, but it still entertains because whatever else is uncertain,  the characters of Holmes and Watson will never let you down.

The second Preston Sturges picture as writer/director is an update of his own unfilmed screenplay from 1931. And it feels like it belongs back then, in the worst years of the depression. It's another pro-New Deal comedy. Sturges hasn't yet found his groove and this doesn't have the screwball craziness of his classics.

This is a satire of US capitalism- with similarities to his script for Easy Living (1937). Dick Powell plays a frustrated working drudge who can't afford to marry and start a family with his colleague (Ellen Drew). When he is duped into thinking he has won a fortune on a caption competition, all his dreams have come true.

Only it was a gag and he is still poor. The themes of corporate exploitation, and social hardship make this a political film. Plus the incompetence of the bosses. And the drug of consumerism makes it feel contemporary. The fake winner is going to spend, spend, spend on a lot of shiny, gimmicky future landfill. 

Powell plays a likeable everyman who lives and works without opportunity. And there's a fine support cast of Sturges regulars. There isn't a single laugh, but the situations resonate still. What if the super-rich executives gave a little bit more to accommodate even the basics of life for the staff? Wouldn't that stimulate the moribund economy? 

This is rated a critical landmark because it is the first major studio western of the sound era... Well, that is debatable, but it is at least a key release for genre superstar John Ford, as his breakthrough picture set in the old west. However, if it was innovative at the time, it has been copied so relentlessly, it has lost any impression of originality.

A group of conflicting western archetypes take a stagecoach journey through 'Indian' country. There is the outlaw (John Wayne), the good hearted sex worker (Claire Trevor), the gambler (John Carradine), the whisky doctor (Oscar winning Thomas Mitchell), the aloof lady of manners (Louise Platt). And many more. And they overcome their differences to see off an Apache attack.

There are the standard virtues of a Ford western, with the Utah landscape, the artistic photography, the wistful score... which all builds to a well-staged action climax. Though it might be acknowledged that many horses were killed during the shoot. And there are the usual negatives too, with the native Americans serving no other purpose than as targets for the heroes' guns.

The characters and situations are formulaic, but that's expected in a genre film. The actors are well cast with a star making role for Wayne. This is a decent Ford melodrama with lots of atmosphere, and stunts which are still impressive. It's even interesting as an insight into the conditions of stagecoach travel in the old west! But it's not going to convert anyone who doesn't already love westerns.

Tiresome screwball comedy which bombed at the box office but was subsequently rediscovered by French film critics. There's a genre defining plot with Katharine Hepburn as a wealthy socialite who snags an inhibited, bookish palaeontologist (Cary Grant) into the vortex of her strategic chaos- including pet leopard Baby- and accidentally liberates him.

Sounds like it can't miss, eh! And there are some assets, such as the motifs of gender reversal, though hardly unique for screwball. Plus some decent support performances, including Charles Ruggles as befuddled big game hunter. Howard Hawks directs with imagination.  And the cinematographer does fine work in placing the stars in the same frame as the big cat...

Though surely no one goes to screwball comedy for the in-camera effects. The key weakness is Hepburn who is miscast. Her natural abrasiveness makes her unsympathetic as a romantic lead, and crucially, seems entitled more than adorably ditzy. She hasn't the relatability which half a dozen contemporary romcom stars could have brought to the role.

I nominate Jean Arthur. This comes at the back end of the screwball cycle and may have felt even more lethargic at the time than it does now. There's a witless script and the narrative keeps on getting stuck. The main reason to watch is for Cary Grant's all time great performance as the ultimate screwball male. But not even he can save this highly rated turkey.

Really strange adaptation of a novel by Compton MacKenzie, which combines extreme melodrama with the comedy of masquerade. It was conceived as a vehicle for Katharine Hepburn who plays an adolescent girl who presents as a boy to protect her crooked father (Edmund Gwenn) from the law... And in disguise, falls in love with a male artist (Brian Aherne).

Most of the interest now is in the theme of gender fluidity, especially in the context of its gay director, George Cukor.  And there is some pleasant midsummer make belief as the cast- including pre-stardom Cary Grant as a matey Cockney rogue- transforms into a company of players who travel by caravan to entertain rural audiences.

Hepburn has that abrasiveness which made her an awkward romantic lead in the '30s. This is her spell as 'box office poison'. But she is perfectly androgynous. Grant is fun and keeps the mood buoyant. This can be enjoyed as that odd kind of amplified melodrama which was everywhere in the early studio period, but really can't be done anymore.

The RKO bosses hated it, and it bombed. Anyone looking for subtlety, should go elsewhere. This is a dreamlike fantasy of a time and place that never happened, where people behave in whimsical ways and romance transpires by irrational means. This is hardcore melodrama; a long ago realm of magical escapism. And on those terms, it has considerable charm!

Another frantic yet unsuccessful attempt to update the silent-era box office appeal of Harold Lloyd to the talkies. Which only ever really happened on Movie Crazy (1932). He's a dedicated milkman who gets involved with some crooked boxing promoters and hyped to a world title fight, despite his feeble anatomy and powder-puff punch.

But he's an enthusiast who kind of gets to believe in the publicity himself. It's based on a big Broadway hit from a couple of years earlier and would be remade as a vehicle for Danny Kaye a decade later (The Kid from Brooklyn). But this version doesn't spark. Leo McCarey's direction is flat, and the slim premise is stretched way too far.

And Harold sadly just isn't a good sound comedian. There are a few positives, mainly Verree Teasdale (real life wife of co-star Adolphe Menjou) who is a fine fast talking dame and gets all the best lines. And Harold's horse is also pretty good... This gets called screwball comedy, but that's marketing.

There is no viable romance or feel for the state of the US in the depression. The thrill for hardcore fans of the star is that Harold's shuffle in the boxing ring recalls the one he did in The Freshman (1925)! There was a troubled production (apparently the milk made everyone sick) and it shows. 

Crazy Paramount comedy with a title that suggests another of their many precode anthologies, but actually refers to the cast; there are three of the studio's frequently matched double acts. Charles Ruggles and Mary Boland are a nice middle class/aged couple driving to California on a second honeymoon, who advertise for similar to share the cost.

And are unfortunately lumbered with George Burns and Gracie Allen... and their astonishingly huge Great Dane, who insists on the front seat! They make a fine comic quartet, especially Gracie as the screen's ultimate airhead. And just for bonus fun, a bankrobber has swapped one of their suitcases for a duplicate full of money...

But there are six, no? WC Fields turns up on halfway as a sheriff, with occasional sidekick Alison Skipworth. And he lifts an amusing road comedy with some genuine laughs. This is mainly a few of his old vaudeville routines. The standout is his explanation- while playing pool, intoxicated- of how he got the nickname 'Honest John'.

It sometimes gets labelled screwball, maybe because it is directed by genre superstar Leo McCarey. Though there is no romance. Which is a bonus as the fun is with the stalwart stars. It's another minor Paramount programmer which the unique comic talent of WC Fields makes a little bit special.

IF I HAD A MILLION

This is one of those 1930s anthologies developed as a showcase for a studio's roster of talent; in this case Paramount.  It is more auspicious than most. Their biggest star of the period- Gary Cooper- makes an appearance as an army halfwit. And among seven (!) decent directors, the great Ernst Lubitsch contributes a short sketch with Charles Laughton as a wage slave who blows a raspberry at his boss...

The concept is that a dying tycoon (Richard Bennett) elects to give away his fortune to random members of the public rather than his deadbeat relatives or disengaged employees. Hence Laughton's rebuke of his manager. The responses are usually comical, but also take the story into the gas chamber. And there's some precode naughtiness.

In one of the more satisfying strands, George Raft can't even give his cheque away for a dollar while he is hunted down by the law. However like most of these Paramount anthologies, they are watched now for the appearance of WC Fields. Here as a motorist who spends the dough on dozens of cars to take revenge on the 'road-hogs' who are the principal cause of his misery.

It's the first of a few delightful double acts with Alison Skipworth, as his old vaudeville buddy. By the final episode in which the multi-millionaire gives his legacy to a threadbare home for elderly widows, which is more of a prison, it becomes obvious we are watching a proto-New Deal picture. The old man is sick because of his miserly lifestyle. When he gives his money away, he becomes well! Go on, try it!

TILLIE AND GUS 

Knockabout rustic comedy which is elevated by the star quality of WC Fields. This isn't his script, but he obviously improvised all over it. His sweet young niece has been gypped out of her legacy by a crooked lawyer, so the legendary curmudgeon leaves his gambling racket in Alaska to save the ferry service, which is the last of her inheritance.

The story ends with a steamboat race and much slapstick besides. Fields performs his familiar misogynistic rascal, introduced while being run out of town. And this is noteworthy for a couple of sidekicks. It's his debut with Baby LeRoy, a one year old who was on a contract at Paramount! Of course, this allows Fields to register his infamous animosity towards children.

And he repeats his relishable alliance with Alison Skipworth, as his wife. She's sort of a female version of Fields, but with a deeper veneer of fake gentility. And she's excellent. Of course, Julie Bishop and Philip Trent are utterly anonymous as the swindled girl and her husband, but that's often the way with romantic leads.

In vaudeville, it's the grotesques who are the stars; the scurvy villain (Clarence Wilson) and the dubious, but good hearted misfits. It's not as great as the vehicles Fields developed for himself, but among the pick of those he was parachuted into. It's still precode, but his act has been cleaned up... Well, he's not a drunkard. This could easily have been shown uncut to an audience of church-goers in Kalamazoo.

FIRST A GIRL.

Instant remake of German musical-comedy Viktor und Victoria (1933), later adapted as a vehicle for Julie Andrews in 1982. Admittedly, the theme of gender fluidity is probably more congruous to Weimer Berlin than '30s London, but it still works and it's interesting to see British attitudes to sexuality in the period.

Jessie Matthews plays another starving showgirl in the depression. She finds success filling in for Sonnie Hale's female impersonation act. So she is a girl pretending to be a boy, pretending to be a girl. And there's plenty of opportunity for Jessie to exhibit her diverse talents for dancing, singing and comedy.

She and her real life husband (Hale) make a fine double act, and occasionally slip into broad comic routines- like Laurel and Hardy. Anna Lee offers quality support as a waspish aristocrat who wants to expose the deception. She's actually quite broadminded, unlike her fiancé (Griffith Jones) who resents his attraction to the fake boy.

He eventually gets the girl- it's the same thing!- so is not punished for his prejudice. There isn't an an agenda. It's just an entertainment; though quite liberal. While there are good songs and choreography and decent gags, it principally survives due to the star quality of Matthews, who delights with her offbeat screwball x-factor.

FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH.

First of all, what an amazing lineup of '30s UK stars and support actors! It's an anthology film which scrambles a few separate stories into a single overarching narrative. The characters are ultimately connected by being on a London bus which crashes...

As we know two of them are killed, there is an extra frisson... Who will survive? It's staggering that this is actually the same conclusion as Krzysztof Kieslowski's 1994 arthouse classic, Three Colours: Red! But this is more of a comedy-drama, led by the adorable Jessie Matthews.

She's a hoofer divided between a future on the Parisian stage, or marriage to a dreary schoolmaster (Ralph Richardson). The problem is that the appealing characters get limited screen time. Like Sonnie Hale and Cyril Smith, as the bickering conductor/driver, obsessed with the horses.

Still, it's the same for the annoying performances. Like Emlyn Williams as a slimy blackmailer. Or Max Miller whose fame is now as enigmatic as the Rosetta Stone. The amusing dialogue is co-written by Sidney Gilliat. It's just a diversion, but look again at that cast!