One thing leads to another

To quote Robert Frost:

The deception with tact
Just what are you trying to say?
You've got a butt face, which irritates

And with these wise words from the old master, let's go postal and "dwelve" into two films where the fix is in, and deception is often the matter at hand:

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A Shriek in the Night (1933)

Grade: C-



Humdrum murder mystery starts out with a man falling to his death, goes downhill from there.  It has Ginger Rogers as a spunky female reporter, Lyle Talbot as a not-spunkless male reporter, a passable plot, and not much else.




Now, though we get some stock characters (the superstitious black maid who won't go near a dead body) and sequences (the obligatory denouement in which we're reminded that "a woman's place is in the home"), it'd be unfair to say that the whole movie is purely by-the-numbers.



But a few clever touches (the cards, the little games of tit-for-tat that go on between Rogers and Talbot), plus a subtle hint of pre-Code edginess (the incinerator!), still aren't enough to elevate A Shriek in the Night beyond mediocrity.  Too much of the film is slow and, alas, not terribly engaging.



Perhaps A Shriek in the Night's biggest liability is Lillian Harmer's performance as the dull-witted, hysterical housekeeper Augusta. Seldom has "comic relief" been so actively grating, so categorically unfunny.

No doubt there are vaudeville antecedents for the approach she brings to the role -- but then again, a lot of vaudeville sucked. Maybe there's some kind of Andy Kaufman-esque "unperformance" angle going on here, but we doubt it.



You might want to bump this grade up a bit if you're a Ginger Rogers fan (we're not) or a Lyle Talbot completist (we're working on it). Otherwise, no need to bother.

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The Amazing Mr. X (1948)

Grade: B-



Stylish tale of two wealthy sisters who fall under the influence of a charismatic medium. The elder sister, Christine (Lynn Bari) -- a "handsome woman" if one there ever was -- is haunted by the memory of her late husband Paul, a mercurial pianist with a fondness for Chopin (particularly the Prelude in E Minor, i.e. the same damn piece everyone uses in every movie with a piano).

Nonetheless, Christine has recently become engaged to an attorney, a debonair but predictable man. He's the kind of guy who's never neglected to dot an I or cross a T in his life, but he's clearly wild about her.



Somehow, though, she still can't quite get over Paul. (It probably doesn't help to have a crappy oil painting of the dead guy glowering at them, Bea Arthur-style, whenever they make out.)



Enter the psychic (played by Turhan Bey), the Amazing Mister...



...well, Alexis, actually, since despite the title of this movie, no one ever calls him "Mr. X".  Even his business cards say "Alexis", so we're guessing Marketing just picked the most interesting letter in his name and ran with it.

Anyway, he offers Christine a chance to reconnect with her deceased spouse, and also attracts the attention of her fresh-faced younger sister, Janet (Cathy O'Donnell).



We leave our viewers to discover what happens next, lest we spoil the story's ensuing twists and turns (many of which surprised us).

That said, The Amazing Mr. X is really one of those films where atmosphere and mood are almost as important as the plot.  And it does achieve a kind of quirky, haunted ambience, thanks to the restrained score, impressive visual effects, and creative shot compositions.  (Whoever handled the cinematography had a real fondness for unusual camera angles: one scene is shot from the bottom of a sink!)



So despite a few hokey moments, The Amazing Mr. X stands as a worthwhile effort that might not please contemporary tastes (and certainly won't scratch the itch of a blood-and-guts horror buff), but would be a fine option for a rainy afternoon with Grandma.

Well, unless Grandma's still getting over Grandpa, and Grandpa was a douchey pianist (or had a bit o' the boot-fa-chay).

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.

It ain't enough

If we went to the doctor, and we said "Doctor, it hurts when we laugh", he'd write us a prescription to watch...

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The Gorilla (1939)

Grade: D



Unfunny, primate-centric Ritz Brothers vehicle gets a boost from quick pacing, good production values, the always-welcome presence of Béla Lugosi, and a couple of decent one-liners, to wit:

Seaman: "Listen, what are you doing in Poe's cage?"
Kitty: "What do you think I'm doing, waiting for someone to feed me peanuts? Get me outta here!"
Seaman: "But you know Poe hates women!"
Kitty: "So does Kipling -- so what?!"




Otherwise, what's the use of a horror-comedy that yields neither chills nor laughs? Well, at least the plot takes a few clever twists and turns, offering something more than the usual "get a monster to kill the heiress" fare.



But the Ritz Brothers' schtick really hasn't aged well, and the other comic lead, Patsy Kelly, has an abrasive voice that's the rough female equivalent of Gilbert Gottfried on speed.



The rest of the cast is wasted or peripheral, other than Béla who (naturally) steals every scene he's in.  Among other things, he pulls off a judo flip, proves handy with a firearm, and generally makes everyone uncomfortable.



Is his charisma enough to make this schlocky soirée worthwhile?  No, we should say it's not: there are too many good murder-mysteries out there to bother with this one.  Sure, there are a lot of umbrellas, but we can't be bought so easily.



But nothing with Béla in it is ever a complete waste of time.

Ripoff city

Today's entry features two movies that were clearly "inspired" by other films.  How do they stack up to their predecessors?  Let's see...

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Monster from a Prehistoric Planet (1967)

Grade: D



Two-thirds Godzilla and one-third Jurassic Park, but not half as good as either, this film seems like a rebuke to every reviewer who's ever complained that a B-movie is too "talky".

The titular monster -- or rather, monsters -- are the Gappa, giant bird-lizards who vaguely resemble Sam the Eagle, who lead quiet lives on a secluded island (surrounded by a primitive people who worship them).



Enter a party of explorers, who can't quite decide whether they're treasure hunters, reporters, or scientists.  Maybe it's all of the above, but either way, they're sponsored by (ahem) Playmate magazine and its avaricious owner.  And they sure do smile a lot.



When the Gappa's newborn offspring is stolen by the party, and brought back to Japan...well, you can guess what happens next, and what it takes to resolve the situation.

Which is: a kid in blackface.



Sure, we know Monster from a Prehistoric Planet was meant to be a satire of monster-movie clichés; yes, the Gappa are kind of cute. But holy mother of Vlad, the action sequences in this thing are interminable.  Minute after minute of Gappa wreaking havoc, people shooting, missiles flying, buildings laid to waste, fleeing bystanders screaming...it's enough to make you pine for an Ed Wood-style monologue.

If an endless barrage of 1960s shock-and-awe special effects is enough to keep you entertained, then by all means, sit down with Monster from a Prehistoric Planet for 90 minutes.  But it'd be better for everyone if three-quarters of its effects sequences were siphoned off and sprinkled onto a half-dozen other movies with smaller budgets.

(The Day the Sky Exploded came to both our minds, for some reason...)

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Bloodlust (1961)

Grade: D+



Mediocre ripoff of The Most Dangerous Game, with Mike Brady at the helm of a quartet of "teenagers" who end up trapped on an island as prey for the mad Dr. Albert Balleau (Wilton Graff).



This crossbow-wielding character was once a mild-mannered museum curator, but a stint as a WWII sniper left him with an incurable hankering for hemoglobin...a passion for platelets...rarin' for red cells...or, uh, the title of this movie...



So, caged in, they take to numbers. (It aids them in their clamor.)

There are a few little wild cards here and there, like the crazed hipster who shows up, "reckless and loose", for no particular reason (other than our mild amusement).



But overall, Bloodlust is a by-the-numbers affair, and our memories of it resemble the quality of Mill Creek's transfer: fuzzy and grey.

Lies and the lying liars who...

...yeah, you know the rest.

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Tormented (1960)

Grade: C-



John Lennon once creepily sang:

I'd rather see you dead, little girl
Than to be with another man

Tormented's equivalent, as performed by short-lived chanteuse Vi (Juli Reding), would be something like:

 I'd rather be dead, big boy
Than to see you with another woman
(But if you do, I'm'a creep you out)
(BTW, little girls are OK, go nuts)

And our protagonist, Tom Stewart, does indeed enjoy hangin' with the pre-teen...



...though mostly he likes to play the piano.  The jazz piano.

He also has the pre-teen's older sister, Meg (Susan Gordon), lined up to be his bride, though her rich father doesn't approve: "It's bad enough to accept a musician into this family, but a jazz musician is asking too damn much!"



Anyway, Vi really puts the fatale in "femme fatale", as her demise happens in the first few minutes of the movie (so no spoilers here). That's her cue to start (ahem) tormenting Tom from beyond the grave: whereupon hallucinations, apparitions, and other poltergeisty hijinks ensue.

She also tries to off Tom's sweet-natured blind landlady, steals various trinkets, and makes annoying noises.  (So basically, she's a crow.)



It's all schlock and offers few surprises, but at least we get a few good one-liners, to wit:

"You're not scared of me, are you?"
"I didn't used to be."

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The World Gone Mad (1932)

Grade: B



"It's the Bernie Madoff story, starring Brian Peppers Sr. and Grandma Edelstein!"

Corporate fraud, deception, and double-dealing are the order of the day in The World Gone Mad...and sadly, it's every bit as timely today as it was 80 years ago.

The film's surprisingly intricate plot and incorrigibly fast-talking characters -- especially Pat O'Brien as manic reporter Andy "Cyclone" Terrell -- made The World Gone Mad a bit hard to follow our first time out, and we certainly benefited from a second viewing.  A spoiler-free plot summary is nearly impossible, but suffice it to say the film revolves around the murder of a DA who's pursuing a subsidiary of the "Cromwell Investment Corporation" for possible fraud.

Those who investigate are plunged into a maelstrom of hitmen, crooks, and corruption.



As an early talkie made on the cheap, it's all the more impressive that The World Gone Mad is loaded with little ironies and symmetries of the sort normally reserved for higher-class films from later years.

(Our favorite was the wry commentary on middlemen toward the beginning.  Follow the math: they contribute nothing, but take a 95% cut!  The reappearance of the train motif was also an elegant touch.)




Now, we at the Umbrellahead Review are not film scholars -- though anyone who's seen M (for example) knows that the best films of the 1930s were about as sophisticated as any movie ever made. And there's hardly been much new under the sun since, unless you count Jar Jar Binks (please don't).

Maybe, with all the bad movies we watch, we're too easily pleased: who knows.



But we quite liked The World Gone Mad.  It has complex characters, kept us guessing, and basically felt like A Real Movie (you know, the kind they stopped making around 1995).

And the plenitude of Depression-era eye candy certainly didn't hurt: Grandma Edelstein, aka Evelyn Brent as Carlotta Lamont, was kinda foxy!



Like many films from the 1930s, it has practically no score, which we appreciate -- though a strange clack-clacking, like a room full of typewriters, underpins almost every scene (we assume it's background noise from a lazy transfer process, but who knows).  The print's fine, though.

Of course, the elephant in the room: The World Gone Mad is not, in any way, by any Procrustean stretch of the imagination, a horror movie.  Nope, not a bit, not at all, not even if you're sleeping with a member of the Mill Creek production staff.  Sorry, friends, but as my drunken Bulgarian comrade used to say, "Dazzbu'shi'man."



And speaking of bu'shi', we'll leave you with the words of replacement DA Lionel Houston:

"The public looks to the law for protection from these leeches who chisel and gouge them out of their hard-earned dollars, giving them nothing but death and misery in return. If I had my way, I'd line 'em up against a wall and shoot 'em."

Plus ça change.

Not Lebanese, Blanche! (Part 2)

And, another movie where it's all about the ladyfolk.  But nothing much Sapphic happens in:

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Swamp Women (1956)

Grade: C-



Bad "beauties" bust out of brig to bring back buried baubles from bayou, but babes' boat = broken. Bad break for big Bob & Bob's bayou-besotted beloved!

Babes "borrow" boat -- bye-bye beloved (blub-blub-blub).  Babes bicker, bathe, brood, bitch, battle over booty (and Bob).



But, betrayal: brunette babe's bogus -- not a baddie, but a badge babe!  Bob benefits.



Beheld, Swamp Women's brown, blobby, blown-out -- basically, brightness- & brilliance-bereft. (Brief bit's bizarrely #00BB00, because...??)

Bad, Mill Creek, bahut bad!  But, bargain box be bargain box: better buyables = big bucks.

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BTW, speaking of Roger Corman, another one we're not going to review is Little Shop of Horrors (1960), since it's been more than amply discussed by many, many other writers.  It's pretty funny, though.