The
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope “Road to…†series began in 1940 with Road to
Singapore (click here for review), a landmark musical-comedy
that teamed the dueling popular radio personalities for the silver screen.
Road
to Morocco continues
the successful formula begun in Singapore. Two playboys (Crosby and
Hope, whose character names change with each movie, although their “charactersâ€
are always the same) find themselves traveling to some exotic locale in order
to either escape a woman, gangsters, or pursue some con job, only to get mixed
up in a farcical plot with an equally exotic woman (always Lamour). There are a
few songs performed by both men or solo or with Lamour, comic hijinks
(especially from Hope), and even some action and adventure. A running gag
throughout the series was a bit that Crosby and Hope did—playing “Patty-Cake,
Patty-Cake,†reciting the verse and slapping their hands in front of
adversaries as a distraction—and then surprising the bad guys with sudden
punches, thereby starting a fight and the means to escape.
This
time, Crosby and Hope are Jeff and “Turkey†(yes, that’s his nickname), who unwittingly
find themselves on a life raft after the sinking of a freighter in the
Atlantic. The pair wash up on the shore of Morocco, which is presented in all
its stereotypical Arabic glory. Princess Shalmar (Lamour) encounters Turkey on
the street and arranges for him to be “bought†from Jeff, which Turkey’s
partner and friend is only too happy to oblige. It turns out the princess wants
Turkey to be her first husband instead of Mullay Kasim (Anthony Quinn), who is
intent on marrying Shalmar. A soothsayer has predicted that Shalmar’s first
husband will die tragically after a week of marriage, and that her second
husband will bring her lifelong happiness. One of the handmaidens to the
princess, Mihirmah (Dona Drake) is sweet on Turkey, too, so she conspires to
save him from the dastardly fate. Meanwhile Jeff wants to woo the princess
himself, however, and of course Shalmar becomes enchanted with him,
especially after he croons a tune.
One
thing that can be said about Road to Morocco is that it is loads funnier
than Singapore and contains some truly hilarious set pieces. Both Crosby
and Hope are winning, charismatic performers who take full advantage of their
screen time. There are more nudge-nudge-wink-wink moments in which they break
the fourth wall and speak to the audience and make a few comments referring to
the fact that they are indeed actors in a film. A line in one of the early song
lyrics even foreshadows that they will meet “Dorothy Lamour†later in the
picture!
However,
as filmmaker John Landis states in the “Trailers from Hell†episode on the film
that is a supplement on the disk, Road to Morocco is “cheerfully sexist
and cheerfully racistâ€â€”boy, is it ever, especially the latter. It also has an
uncomfortably politically incorrect sequence—albeit a funny one—in which Hope imitates
a person with a developmental disability and has a speech impediment in an
attempt to gain sympathy from a shop owner, except that the shop owner has the
same developmental disability and speech impediment!
But,
hey, this was 1942, a world war was raging, and Hollywood churned out
entertainment for the masses and the troops. Morocco was also timely in
that the North African campaign was starting to pick up steam when the movie
was released. Social mores changed, so one must view these films within that
context.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray looks quite good and comes with English subtitles for the
hearing impaired. There is an audio commentary by film historian Jack Theakston.
Three previously issued supplements accompany the film: a short documentary on
Hope and the Road pictures, with appearances by Phyllis Diller, Randall G.
Mielke (author of The Road to Success), and Richard Grudens (author of The
Spirit of Bob Hope)—this same extra is also included on the Road to
Singapore and Road to Zanzibar disks; a short featurette on Hope on
“Command Performance,†a short that went out to the troops to accompany movie
screenings (different from the one included on the Zanzibar disk); the
aforementioned “Trailers from Hell†episode; and a musical excerpt from the
film presented as a “sing-along†with lyrics to follow. The theatrical trailer
to this and other Kino Lorber titles round out the package.
Road
to Morocco is
good fun when viewed through the “film history†lens... and it will give you
many moments of laughter.
A
sub-genre of film noir is that of the so-called “docu-noir,†a
crime drama usually based on a true story and told as a Dragnet-style
procedural. Most likely there is an omniscient voiceover narrator, a focus on
the lawmen who are investigating the case, and all the other stylistic and
thematic elements associated with film noir in general: starkly
contrasting black and white photography, urban locations, shadows, gritty
realism, angst and cynicism, and sometimes brutal violence.
Eagle-Lion
Films was a British/American production company that existed for only a few
years in the late 40s, disbanding in the early 50s. There was some talent
involved, and they produced a variety of genres and pictures of varying quality
(Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes was a rare Best Picture
nominee). Many of the studio’s pictures were films noir that were shot
as B-movies with low budgets and barebones casts and crews. Anthony Mann
directed a couple of their classic crime movies—T-Men and Raw Deal,
both of which fall into the “docu-noir†category. Unfortunately, due to bad
management or foresight, many of Eagle-Lion’s titles fell out of copyright and
currently reside in the public domain. Hence, one can often find bargain bin,
cheap knock-off DVDs and Blu-rays of these films.
Classic
Flix is a company relatively new to the home video scene, and they have begun
restoring and issuing some of these relics of yesteryear. He Walked by Night
is a prime example of a quality presentation of an equally impressive little
movie. Made in 1948, Walked is a true story loosely based on the crime
spree by Erwin “Machine Gun†Walker, who shot cops and committed burglaries and
armed robberies in Los Angeles in the mid-40s. In real life, Walker was
arrested and sentenced to prison, but he was paroled in the 70s. This is not the
ending to the story that is depicted in the film.
A
young Richard Basehart portrays disturbed war veteran Roy Morgan, a habitual
burglar and armed robber. When an off-duty cop on the street suspects Roy of
being a burglar, he is shot and killed. The POV switches to the police,
especially Lt. Marty Brennan (Scott Brady), who is based on the investigator of
the true case, Captain Breen (Roy Roberts), and forensics man Lee Whitey (Jack
Webb, in an early screen appearance). The story follows the police
investigation juxtaposed with Morgan’s eccentric and lonely existence, and the
criminal’s increasingly violent crimes. The big break comes when a stolen item
is recovered by an electronics pawn dealer (Whit Bissell), who has been
unwittingly fencing for Morgan.
It’s
all engaging stuff, and Basehart delivers an outstanding, creepy performance as
Morgan. The police procedural sequences are done well, such as when a composite
drawing of the suspect is created by all the witnesses to the crimes. The
climactic set piece of a chase in LA’s sewer system is exciting, atmospheric,
and pure noir. Oddly, it is similar to the ending of The Third Man,
which was released a year later.
Even
though Alfred Werker is credited as director, the talking heads in the “making
of†documentary supplement on the disk speculate that Anthony Mann stepped in
to helm some of the movie. Is it one of those Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks (The
Thing) or Tobe Hooper/Steven Spielberg (Poltergeist) controversies?
No one seems to know. He Walked by Night, however, does contain several
sequences—including the final sewer chase—that are stylistic stamps of Mann. That
said, much of the credit for the picture’s success goes to celebrated noir cinematographer
John Alton.
Another
sidebar related to the picture is Jack Webb’s meeting and further networking
with the picture’s technical adviser Detective Sergeant Marty Wynn. This led to
the ultimate creation of Dragnet as a radio and television show.
Classic
Flix’s new high definition restoration looks quite wonderful, a remarkable
step-up from other public domain transfers that are out there. It comes with
English subtitles for the hearing impaired, as well as an audio commentary by
biographer and producer Alan K. Rode, and writer/film historian Julie Kirgo.
Both appear in the aforementioned documentary about the making of the film,
which also includes critic Todd McCarthy, cinematographer Richard Crudo, and
film historian/director Courtney Joyner. There is also an image gallery with
rare stills and ephemera. The package contains an impressive illustrated 24-page
booklet with an essay by author Max Alvarez.
For
fans of film noir, police procedurals, and gritty crime dramas, He
Walked by Night is a good time at the movies.
Film
historian Jeremy Arnold, who provides the excellent audio commentary as a
supplement for the terrific Blu-ray release of Kiss the Blood Off My Hands, says the movie’s title is
remarkably “lurid.†The Production Code people obviously had a problem with the
title and tried to get it changed, but an appeal from up and coming star Burt
Lancaster, whose newly formed production company (co-founded with Harold Hecht)
made the picture, resulted in the “lurid†title staying in place.
The
film does not live up to the implied sensationalism. While we do get a dark, at
times brutal, and cynical piece of film noir, we also get an atypical
love story at the picture’s heart.
Kiss
the Blood Off My Hands, from 1948, is based on a novel by Gerald Butler, and
was adapted by Ben Maddow and Walter Bernstein (one of the Hollywood Ten). The
screenplay is by Leonardo Bercovici, with Hugh Gray credited as providing additional
dialogue. The director, Norman Foster, had been an actor throughout the 1930s.
He helmed a slew of Mr. Moto movies starring Peter Lorre, some of the Charlie
Chan pictures, and several films noir in the 40s and early 50s. Foster
brings a good deal of style to the proceedings with the help of cinematographer
Russell Metty. It’s an impressive little picture.
The
movie contains many of the signature traits associated with film noir—black
and white high contrast photography, many scenes at night and/or with rain, a
cynical protagonist, violence, crimes, excessive smoking and drinking, locations
in seedy pubs and flats, and an urban setting. What makes Kiss the Blood unique
is that it’s an American film noir production set in London (but it
wasn’t filmed there aside from some second unit shots).
Bill
Saunders (Lancaster) is a Canadian World War II veteran bumming around in
London. He has no desire to return home, but he is lost and aimless in the UK.
He also has a devil of a temper and is quick to start a fight if someone so
much as looks at him funny. Heaven help you if you say something he doesn’t
like—he might kill you. Which is what happens in a pub when the owner tries to
kick him out so the place can close. It’s an accident, but Bill knows the
police won’t take kindly to the incident. He manages to run away, but a
witness, Harry Carter (played by slimy, weaselly Robert Newton) takes note. Bill
hides from the police in the first open window he can slip into, and it happens
to be the flat of nurse Jane Wharton (Joan Fontaine, who receives top billing).
At first, of course, Jane is frightened by Bill, but he manages to ease her
fear. Despite his tendency to fly off the handle, Jane falls in love with Bill,
and he’s head over heels for her at first sight. Too bad he gets into a scuffle
with a copper and lands in prison (a sentence that includes a vicious lashing
with cat o’ nine tails). Jane waits for him, though, and once he’s out she gets
him a job as a delivery driver transporting drugs. That’s when Harry steps in
to blackmail Bill unless the former con will help him pull off a robbery.
What
happens next would spoil the fun. Kiss the Blood is an engaging small
picture with fine performances. One can see that Lancaster is still green and
tends to overact, but his passion is tangible. Fontaine is always lovely and
handles her role with grace and honesty. Newton, always perfect as a Cockney
baddie, is suitably over the top.
There
is one oopsy, though. The lorry that Bill drives during the second half of the
movie is an American vehicle—the steering wheel is on the left side of the
dashboard. In England, that wheel would have been on the right!
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks remarkably good. The images are
clear and sharp, with the right amount of soft focus in certain scenes. The
aforementioned audio commentary by Jeremy Arnold is informative and
entertaining. Sadly, the only other supplements are trailers for this and other
Kino Lorber releases.
Kiss the Blood Off My Hands may not sound like a date movie, but the romance
noir elements of the picture are surprisingly potent. So, grab your spouse,
significant other, or someone you pick up in a seedy pub and settle in for a
romantically brutal experience!
Sometimes
a little Bob Hope goes a long way. There’s no denying that Hope was one of the
more popular comic stars of the 1940s and 50s. His star began to wane in the
60s, and then most of the Baby Boomer generation knew him as perhaps the
greatest host that the Academy Awards ceremony ever had.
During
Hope’s most active years, he made many solo pictures that were truly funny. He
was also established as Bing Crosby’s partner in the massively successful “Road
to…†movies, which arguably launched Hope’s career as a leading or co-leading
man in 1940. When the scripts and direction were good, then Hope’s solo films
were superb. That was not always the case.
The
Paleface
(1948) was co-written by Frank Tashlin (with Edmund Hartmann), who would also
go on to write and direct the sequel, Son of Paleface (1952, co-written
with Joseph Quillan and Robert L. Welch. Tashlin spent many years making
cartoons, hopping in and out of big studios such as Warner Brothers’ Looney
Tunes/Merrie Melodies unit (Tashlin made Porky Pig and other characters’
shorts), Disney Studios, and other indie animation companies. His approach to
directing live action shockingly mimicked his methodology for zany cartoons.
Much of Son of Paleface contains the kind of sledgehammer action, albeit
accomplished with visual effects, and slapstick that is more at home with a
character like Daffy Duck.
Both
movies are western comedies and are among Hope’s more profitable pictures. He
is often costumed in ten-gallon hats that no self-respecting cowboy would wear.
For this reviewer’s money, the first title is the better of the two. It is at
least grounded in some degree of reality, whereas the second film is all-out
wackiness. Both movies co-star Jane Russell, who adds not only glamour to the
proceedings, but also a straight-woman sensibility off of whom Hope plays quite
well. It is this reviewer’s opinion that Jane Russell was underrated as a comic
actress and singer/dancer.
In
The Paleface, Hope is “Painless Potter,†a dentist in the Old West who is
mistaken to be a federal agent by smugglers selling guns and explosives to the
Indians. Calamity Jane (Russell), an outlaw herself, is hired by the government
to identify and help bring down the traitors. She eventually uses Potter as
cover, allowing him to marry her, so that they can travel with a wagon train
and weed out the bad guys.
Son
of Paleface is
a sequel in that it features Hope as Potter’s grown son, “Junior†Potter, many
years later—it’s still the Old West, but the modern age is just around the
corner. Junior drives a jalopy (that’s actually years ahead of the time depicted
in the movie). This time, Russell plays a saloon chorus girl named “Mike,†who
is the civilian identity of a gold thief called “The Torch.†The Torch leads a
gang of outlaws who are pursued by “Roy†(the inimitable Roy Rogers, who
co-stars with his horse, Trigger—“the smartest horse in the movies,†as he is
billed in the credits). Junior has come to town to find and collect his
father’s stash of gold, only to find that his dad owed money to everyone. Mike
uses Junior as cover, but Roy soon becomes wise to her and sets out to foil
Mike, her band of robbers, and Junior, who is unwittingly caught in the middle.
The
Paleface is
funny and enjoyable, if embarrassingly sexist and politically incorrect by
today’s standards (its treatment of Native Americans makes one want face-palm
and shake a head). The director, Norman Z. McLeod, had been making comedies
since the silent days, and he had helmed two of the Marx Brothers’ best titles,
Monkey Business (1931) and Horse Feathers (1932). Hope has some
great bits, and he also delivers the Academy Award-winning Best Song of that
year, “Buttons and Bows†(by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans). The movie is decent
entertainment, but there’s no question that it’s dumb.
If
you’ve never seen what is essentially the last starring film appearance by W.
C. Fields, Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (1941), then you’re missing
the most extreme, surreal, and ridiculous motion picture featuring the boozy misanthropic
comedian ever made.
Fields
(William Claude Dukenfield) brought his vaudeville schtick to life in his films
made in the 1920s and 30s and he enjoyed immense popularity until alcoholism
derailed his career. He was indeed a talented man, however, and there are true
comic classics among his filmography. He was often responsible for writing the
initial storylines to his movies, and he used silly pseudonyms in the screen
credits, such as Mahatma Kane Jeeves (“My hat, my cane, Jeeves!â€) or, in the
case of Never Give a Sucker, Otis Criblecoblis.
Even
after the success of The Bank Dick (1940, one of Fields’ best films),
Universal Studios was tiring of the actor’s antics and problems with drink. His
storyline for Never Give a Sucker was roundly rejected as being too
weird and absurd, and yet when the picture was nevertheless greenlit, Fields
and his director, Edward Cline, used the material anyway.
The
result is truly a bizarre and jaw-dropping piece of work that defies most
screen comedies of the day. The film takes place on the fictional studio lot of
“Esoteric Pictures,†where many known actors and comics play “themselves.â€
Fields is himself (called “Uncle Bill†by his niece, Gloria Jean, a teenage
actress/crooner at the time who also plays herself), character actor Franklin
Pangborn is a producer at the studio, Leon Errol is also a comic employed
there, and so on. Fields presents his new picture idea to Pangborn, and then a
series of vignettes illustrate the scenes of the movie in full costume and
sets. These include when Fields falls out of an airplane window (it’s open
during the flight!) and lands atop a mountain where fantasy women Ouliotta
Delight Hemagloben (Susan Miller) and her mother (the inimitable Margaret
Dumont!) have never seen men before. Fields sets out to marry Mrs. Hemagloben
because he’s learned that she’s wealthy. After a succession of other wacky set
pieces, Pangborn has had enough and fires Fields from the studio—but he is
saved by his niece, who, as the studio’s hottest star, threatens to leave if
her uncle is sacked. The climax is a hair-raising car chase through Los Angeles
with Fields at the wheel, which can only mean trouble.
Never
Give a Sucker an Even Break is cited on various W. C. Fields fan pages as
one of the actor’s best movies. However, it is a mixed bag. There are comic
bits that work beautifully and are extremely funny, to be sure, but there are
others that are simply so dumb that one winces at how bad they are. One
extended sequence without Fields involves Gloria Jean having to sing a number
for producer Pangborn in the carpentry shop while workers are noisily attempting
to build a set. This bit goes on way too long and ceases to be funny after the
first “Shuuuttt upppp!†from Pangborn. Any of the scenes that required visual
effects, such as Fields falling through the sky and bouncing repeatedly on a
bed atop the Hemagloben’s “nest,†emphasizes the stupidity of the situation. And
yet, there are moments that produce belly laughs. As usual, Fields’ delivery of
lines are always the best parts of one of the actor’s pictures. While
discussing games with one of his female costars, “beanbag†comes up. “Ah, yes,
beanbag,†Fields says in his drawl, “exciting game. I once saw the world
championship in Paris. Many people were killed.†Or the classic, “I was in love
with a beautiful blonde once, dear. She drove me to drink. That’s the one thing
I’m indebted to her for.â€
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks quite good and comes with an
audio commentary by film historian Eddy Von Mueller and English subtitles for
the hearing impaired. A nearly-hour-long television documentary from the 1960s,
Wayne and Shuster Take an Affectionate Look at W. C. Fields, provides
some background and a decent overview of Fields’ career. There is also the
theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases.
If
you’re a fan of W. C. Fields, then Never Give a Sucker an Even Break is
a must-have. Others may want to start with more conventional Fields titles such
as It’s a Gift or The Bank Dick before moving on to this near-psychedelic
curiosity.
The attitudes toward sex in the U.S. in the 1950s
were pent-up and frustrated, and they sat in a tinderbox. This is reflected in
the cinema of the time, often overtly in noir and crime dramas, or in melodramas
such as Rebel Without a Cause.
Here we have a 1955 melodrama/crime picture starring
the inimitable Joan Crawford, who, in her 50s herself, still looks smashing and
has no qualms against displaying in short-shorts the magnificent dancer legs
she was known for throughout her career. It’s quite possible that Crawford took
on this role to say to the world, “Hey, I’m still desirable, just watch me.â€
There is that brazen exhibitionist quality in her performance, and it suits the
steamy, somewhat sordid storyline of Female on the Beach.
Crawford is Lynn Markham, a widow who visits a beach
house somewhere (Florida? California?—it isn’t clear) that her deceased husband
had owned and was renting to a wealthy woman named Eloise Crandell (Judith
Evelyn). Lynn, who has never been to the house before, is considering selling
it, so she has arranged for Crandell to move out prior to Lynn’s arrival. Little
does Lynn know, but Crandell was involved in a hot love affair with beach bum
and boater Drummond Hall (Jeff Chandler), and things went terribly wrong. The
night before Lynn’s arrival, a drunken Crandell fell from her terrace and was
killed on the sandy rocks below the house. Was Hall responsible? We don’t know.
Realtor Amy Rawlinson (Jan Sterling) seems to be protecting Hall and has lied
about the house, Hall’s relationship with Crandell, and the goings-on around
the beach community. Oddly, Hall resides either on his boat, which is docked at
the Markham peer, or with the Sorensens (Cecil Kellaway and Natalie Schafer),
the elderly couple who live in the next house over and who apparently like to bilk
wealthy widows with rigged card games. Despite the numerous red flags that Lynn
receives, including a revealing diary left behind by Crandell and warnings from
police lieutenant Galley (Charles Drake), Lynn also begins a torrid love affair
with the handsome and hunky Hall… uh oh!
Joseph Pevney directs the tale from Robert Hill and
Richard Alan Simmons’ screenplay with earnest passion, punctuated by a
plaintive musical score (the composer is uncredited). The actors give it their
all, and Crawford and Chandler have the sufficient chemistry to pull it off.
The problem with Female on the Beach is the
believability of Lynn’s actions. It’s obvious that Hall is trouble from the
get-go. He even arrogantly puts the moves on her against her wishes (the #MeToo
movement would have had a field day with this picture if it had existed in the
1950s), and apparently “No†didn’t mean “No†in those days. After near-violent
resistance on Lynn’s part, she of course succumbs to Hall’s aggressive advances
and, well, enjoys it. Okay, if you say so. Additionally, once the “mystery†is
resolved regarding whether Crandell died by accident, suicide, or murder, there
is very little surprise attached.
Still, Female on the Beach is an entertaining
potboiler that shines a light on the social mores of the day. Kino Lorber’s
high definition restoration looks remarkably good in its sharp and clear widescreen
black and white, with optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired. The
film comes with two audio commentaries—one by the always interesting film
historian Kat Ellinger, and one by film historian David Del Valle and moderated
by filmmaker David DeCoteau. Supplements include an animated image gallery of
promotional material, plus the theatrical trailer for this and other Kino
Lorber releases.
So, get out your cocktails, turn out the lights, and
snuggle up for some high temperature action and romance with Joan Crawford and
Jeff Chandler; just be sure to take a few spoonfuls of suspension of disbelief.
The
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope “Road to…†series began in 1940 with Road to
Singapore (click here for review), a landmark musical-comedy
that teamed the dueling popular radio personalities for the silver screen.
Road
to Zanzibar continues
the successful formula begun in Singapore. Two playboys (Crosby and
Hope, whose character names change with each movie, although their “charactersâ€
are always the same) find themselves traveling to some exotic locale in order
to either escape a woman, gangsters, or pursue some con job, only to get mixed
up in a farcical plot with an equally exotic woman (always Lamour). There are a
few songs performed by both men or solo or with Lamour, comic hijinks
(especially from Hope), and even some action and adventure. A running gag
throughout the series was a bit that Crosby and Hope did—playing “Patty-Cake,
Patty-Cake,†reciting the verse and slapping their hands in front of
adversaries as a distraction—and then surprising the bad guys with sudden
punches, thereby starting a fight and the means to escape.
In
this popular sequel, Crosby is “Chuck†and Hope is “Hubert†aka “Fearless
Frazier.†They work in circus sideshows with Crosby conning the populace
regarding Fearless’ abilities as, first, a human cannonball, which results in a
mishap that sets the entire circus ablaze. They try again at other circuses
with different acts, until one day an eccentric diamond mine baron (Eric Blore)
sells Chuck the deed to one of his African properties. It turns out it’s a
fake, of course, so Hubert pawns the deed off to someone else, who insists—with
threatened violence—that the duo lead them to the mine. The boys escape and
hastily board a boat bound for Africa (it had to happen, right?). There, they
are hoodwinked by Julia (Una Merkel) to help her save her roommate Donna
(Lamour) from “slave traders,†when in fact it’s a con between Julia, Donna,
and the slave traders to split the proceeds, repeatedly, from unsuspecting
buyers. This leads to a safari across Africa with Chuck, Hubert, Donna, and
Julia on the way to fame and fortune, when, in reality, the purpose is to
reunite Donna with a man to whom she’s engaged. Of course, Chuck and Donna fall
in love, Hubert at one point believes it’s he that she’s fallen for, and
there is a threesome, and sometimes a little foursome, romantic entanglement.
The climactic sequence involves the boys being separated by the safari and
captured by hostile, Tarzan-style natives, who plan to first pit
Hubert/Fearless against a gorilla (an actor in a suit) to prove the boys are
gods; failing that, the boys will be eaten by the tribe.
Like
Road to Singapore before it, Road to Zanzibar is total nonsense
with some musical number decoration. As it was made in 1941, Hollywood was
still in the era when African-Americans were underused in productions. They
only got work playing maids, butlers, porters, and… African natives. Looking at
the film today, the final sequence produces some wince-inducing moments, but at
least Crosby and Hope don’t darken their skin to disguise themselves as they
did in Singapore.
There
are funny moments, to be sure, and Hope especially was then proving to
audiences that he was a superb talent. Arguably, the “Road†pictures would not
have been as successful without his presence.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray looks quite good and comes with English subtitles for the
hearing impaired. Two previously issued supplements accompany the film: a short
documentary on Hope and the Road pictures, with appearances by Phyllis Diller,
Randall G. Mielke (author of The Road to Success), and Richard Grudens
(author of The Spirit of Bob Hope)—this same extra is also included on
the Road to Singapore disk, and a 1944 featurette on Hope on “Command
Performance,†a short that went out to the troops to accompany movie
screenings. The theatrical trailer to this and other Kino Lorber titles round
out the package.
For
fans of Hope and Crosby and of a golden era of Hollywood that had a long way to
go before becoming “woke,†Road to Zanzibar has its cinema history
charm.
Was
this really a movie sub-genre? Colorful “Middle Easternâ€
action-comedy-adventures loosely derived from The Book of One Thousand and
One Nights? Full of harem girls, saber-wielding swashbucklers, epic set
pieces with beautifully designed sets and “Arabian†costumes, camels and horses
and tigers, and… comedians?
The
answer is, ahem, yes. During the war years of the early 1940s, Universal
Pictures made several of these “exotic adventure†pictures that capitalized on
the success of Britain’s Thief of Bagdad (1940). Hollywood quickly got
into this act, but like the Bing Crosby and Bob Hope “Road to…†pictures, these
movies set in the world of ancient Arabia were filmed on sound stages in
southern California… and it shows.
The
films were hugely popular at the time, but they have not aged well. We shall
examine two of the more successful entries of this short-lived movement—Arabian
Nights from 1942, and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves from 1944. Each
picture shared some actors and a cinematographer (W. Howard Greene). Nights was
nominated for no less than four Academy Awards in the categories of
Cinematography and Art Direction (both richly deserved), Sound Recording, and
Score (by Frank Skinner). Ali Baba did not chart at awards season, but
it is, in truth, the better picture.
The
good: These are gloriously produced old Technicolor extravaganzas that show off
the artistry and imagination that only Hollywood can concoct. The films are
truly gorgeous, and the new high definition restorations bring out the colors with
intensity (of the two, Arabian Nights looks the best, but both are
visually exquisite). Secondly, the films provide some excellently choreographed
action sequences such as battles between Arabs and Mongols. It’s as if the
pirate film genre had migrated to the Islamic Golden Age.
But
therein lies the bad. These films have almost nothing to do with the real Book
of One Thousand and One Nights. They are full of stereotypes and likely
blasphemous depictions of Islam. Arabic characters are played by white
Hollywood actors with darkened skin makeup. If all that weren’t bad enough, way
too much of each movie is played for laughs. Blatantly comic actors are cast in
major roles and they stand out like broccoli in a fruit basket. Consider this: Shemp
Howard plays “Sinbad†in Arabian Nights, and he acts exactly like…
Shemp Howard, complete with New York accent, mugging facial expressions, and squeaky
vocalizations when he’s frightened. Loud, sneezy Billy Gilbert also has a
sizable role in the picture. Ali Baba is graced with the presence of
none other than… Andy Devine in a supporting role as one of the Forty
Thieves. Andy Devine as an Arab? He even speaks like Andy Devine in his
whiny drawl, “Aw, Ali, you don’t want to marry the princess! A thousand gold coins
can get you a girl in the marketplace who’s just as purdy!â€
Jon
Hall stars in both movies as our hero. In Arabian Nights, he’s
Haroun-Al-Raschid, the brother of the caliph. He has the title role in Ali
Baba. Sultry Maria Montez is also in both pictures as the love interest. In
the first, she is the famous dancer, Scheherazade (although in the credits and
promotional materials, this is spelled Sherazade, but the characters pronounce
her name the proper way). In Ali Baba, she is Amara, the prince’s daughter.
Turkish-Czech actor Turhan Bey also appears in both movies in supporting roles.
The popular Indian actor Sabu is a featured performer in Arabian Nights,
having emigrated to Hollywood after the success of Thief of Bagdad.
Arabian
Nights is
the tale of two rival brothers, Haroun and Kamar (Leif Erickson, credited as
Leif Erikson), their pursuit of Scheherazade, and their quest to gain power in
Arabia.
Ali
Baba and the Forty Thieves is the tale of Ali, the true caliph who is in exile
because Bagdad is overrun by the Mongols. He wants to reunite with his
childhood sweetheart, Amara, run the Mongols out of town, and reclaim the city
for the Arabs.
The
eye-rolling aspects aside, one must consider the films within the context of
when they were made and released. Yes, they’re silly and loads of rubbish, but in
their own way they are fun and entertaining. If one can get past Shemp Howard
and Andy Devine, one might have a few laughs and appreciate the scenic beauty
on display in these admittedly superb presentations.
Both
films come with interesting audio commentaries by film historian Phillipa
Berry. The theatrical trailers for each title and others from Kino Lorber are
on both disks as well.
Arabian
Nights and
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, available separately from Kino Lorber,
are prime examples of the Exotic Technicolor Adventure movement that Hollywood
once pushed. So, grab your magic lamp, rub it a few times, sit back, and watch
these vibrant burlesques with your favorite genie.
Okay,
David Cronenberg has made some creepy-ass movies in his career, but there may
not be one as icky as the 1988 Dead Ringers.
Cronenberg’s
horror films seem to always deal with the human body in some grotesque fashion,
whether it be mutant babies being born outside of the womb (The Brood),
heads exploding (Scanners), or a man turning into an insect (The Fly)…
and Dead Ringers fits the bill. It is a movie guaranteed to give women
nightmares, for it’s about insane gynecologists. Identical twins, in fact.
Twin gynecologists with stirrups, strange probing devices, and killer looks.
Let that sink in for a moment.
Dead
Ringers is
somewhat based on a true story about real twin gynecologists, Stewart and Cyril
Marcus, who lived and practiced in New York City in the late 60s and early 70s.
They became addicted to drugs, went a little nuts, and died more or less
together in a posh Manhattan apartment. A 1977 best-selling thriller novel, Twins,
by Bari Wood and Jack Geasland, was loosely based on the Marcus boys, and
Cronenberg’s movie takes inspiration from that as well as the lives of the real
sickos (the screenplay is by Cronenberg and Norman Snider).
Jeremy
Irons delivers the performance of a lifetime as the twins, here named Beverly
and Elliot Mantle, and the trick photography employed by cinematographer Peter
Suschitzky and the visual effects team was state of the art at the time, creating
the illusion that Irons is acting with himself, or rather, another person that
is his mirror image. Irons not being nominated for the Best Actor Oscar is one
of the biggest robberies in Academy Award history, although he did win the
honor from both the New York and Chicago Film Critics. Perhaps Academy voters
found the film too disturbing.
It
is.
The
Mantle twins are successful gynecologists who operate a dual practice. Elliot
is the more confident ladykiller, so he often sleeps with his patients. Then
he, ahem, passes the women on to his brother, Beverly, who is rather shy and
less outgoing. Most of the time, they do this without letting the women know what’s
happening. Yes, the #MeToo movement would have had a field day with these guys.
Enter actress Claire Niveau (Genevieve Bujold), who becomes a patient but is
also addicted to various prescription drugs. Both twins have an affair with
her, and Beverly begins to share the drugs. This leads to delusions and
paranoia, and some of the nightmarish imagery that director Cronenberg presents
are enough to send audience members—female and male—to the lavatory. Of course,
things don’t go well for the Mantles, and it’s a downhill slide from there into
typical Cronenberg tragedy.
Dead
Ringers is
a brilliant discourse of addiction, chauvinism, and madness, and it is arguably
among Cronenberg’s best works. Irons’ performance is a wonder, and the nightmarish
effects and psychological attacks on the audience easily elevate the film to a
slot on “Greatest Horror Films of All Time.†It’s that good.
Shout
Factory’s Blu-ray release is a 2-disk set. The first disk presents the film in
the aspect ratio of 1.78:1. It looks sharp, crystal clear, and so hi-def that
one might think it’s 4K (it’s not). Oddly, Shout decided to give us another
version on the second disk, this time a 2K scan in the aspect ratio of 1.66:1,
which, when all is said and done, isn’t much different from the other version.
The marketing copy on the package claims this is Cronenberg’s preferred aspect
ratio, but there is some discussion among other DVD/Blu-ray reviewers online
that questions that statement. To these eyes, the second version looks slightly
better, perhaps more in line with the appearance of film.
The
first version comes with two audio commentaries: a previously released one with
actor Irons, and a new one with William Beard, author of The Artist as
Monster: The Cinema of David Cronenberg. The second version has no audio
commentaries.
Supplements
include new interviews with actor/artist Stephen Lack (who also starred in Scanners);
actress Heidi von Palleske, who plays one of the Mantle twins’ conquests; DOP
Suschitzky; and special effects artist Gordon Smith. There are also vintage
interviews and featurettes (of poorer video quality) from 1988, and the
theatrical trailer.
Dead
Ringers is
highly recommended for horror film fans, Cronenberg enthusiasts, and for
devotees of good acting—the picture is worth a viewing for Jeremy Irons alone.
