Make up your mind already!

There's a pleasing, mutually-negating symmetry to the titles of these next two films.  Though they have little in common except low budgets (and battiness), how could we not review them together?

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Doomed to Die (1940)

Grade: C

Adequate entry in the Mr. Wong series, with Boris Karloff as the (ahem) "Chinese" detective.  Faced with a seemingly open-and-shut murder case, Mr. Wong unravels a tangled conspiracy that unexpectedly (but, for the viewer, unsurprisingly) connects to the terrible maritime tragedy with which the film begins.



If you have expectations before viewing Doomed to Die, it's very likely to meet them.  (One exception: the silly title, which implies a far more ominous affair than what we get.)

It's got all the requisites: the spunky female reporter and the prickly police captain ("This female reporter's driving me batty!")...



...the irascible old businessman, and his shifty-eyed subordinate...



...and the imperturbable thug who, when threatened with prison, still won't cooperate with the police.  So, naturally, they let him go.



The plot is surprisingly intricate, and we're still not 100% sure if it all makes sense (especially the cui bono aspect).  Some dull stretches, and a cardboard supporting cast, keep the whole thing from being any better than average.

But as we've seen many a time in The Box, average isn't so bad.

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Condemned to Live (1935)

Grade: C



If you get a feeling of déjà vu while watching Condemned to Live, it's not just you: it's practically a remake of 1932's The Vampire Bat.  It even recycles the earlier film's sets and soundtrack, though not its distinctive dance.



Yet Condemned to Live is clearly the better movie, in part because it manages the rare feat of being a horror story with no real villain.  Oh, sure, there's a vampire of sorts, but he's about the nicest vampire you can imagine (when he's not tearing people's throats out, that is).



And the movie's love triangle is played with nary a hint of melodrama.  Instead of rage, recriminations, and pained expressions, the three characters involved actually treat each other humanely and compassionately (when one of them isn't trying to tear another's throat out, that is).



Of course there are lulls, draggy bits, and schlocky moments.  But Condemned to Live somehow taps a vein (!) that, outside of a few standouts like Frankenstein, has been explored all too seldom by horror movies: the horror-tragedy genre.

In Condemned to Live, awful things happen to nice people through no fault of their own, and the film doesn't wrap their suffering up in a neat moral package to make us feel smug about ourselves.  There's no fatal flaw, no moment of hubris or duplicity: simply a case of shit happens, flows downhill, and thereby gets poo on everyone.

If loving you is Wong, I don't wanna be white

The Fatal Hour (1940)

Grade: C

It's 1940 in San Francisco, and the titular fatal hour has already claimed its first body. Don't worry, Secret Asian Man is on the job!



("There's something Wong here . . . very Wong . . .")

Yes, here we have Frankenstein's monster starring as a Chinese detective, and not just in this one, but in four of the remaining five Mr. Wong films. (The sixth installment of the short-lived series starred -- amazingly, given the era -- an actual Chinese actor. Imagine!)  To the movie's credit, though, there's a refreshing lack of racism (again, a nice surprise for that day and age). Karloff dons a western suit and spectacles, rather than a changshan and funny hat; speaks with no accent; and wears a Clark Gable mustache, rather than a full-on Fu Manchu (as he did when playing the actual Fu Manchu in 1932).
 



("What, did I say something Wong?")

What we lack in racism is more than made up for in female reporter spunkitude, as Bobbie Logan sticks her intrepid little nose wherever the shout-em-down, is-he-or-isn't-he-her-boyfriend head cop tells her she shouldn't. Nothing new here as far as the hot scoop trope is concerned, though because the film is one in a series we missed out on the usual offer of marriage that swoops in just before the ending title card (though Bobbie did manage to put in a good swoon, just to make up for it).



(Wong place, Wong time)

So far, nothing too memorable, right? Well, there's nothing really wong with this film -- excepting, of course, the strange effect it has on our desire to make increasingly hackneyed rhotacistic puns. The acting is fine, the plot is believable, and there are enough red herrings so that things aren't too predictable. It's short, too, which is always a plus. That's really about all, though -- nothing so bad or so good that it can be singled out for recommendation. It's fine as a break from marauding apes and freaky vampires, but given the option we wouldn't miss Wheel of Fortune for it.



("Yolanda? You must have the Wong numbah.")