Reviews

I found this film well-acted, paced, and photographed. Where it collapsed was in its ending. It should have been an alternative history, but was not, due to a failure of nerve or imagination.

Consider this movie was filmed in the midst of the cold war. Had it portrayed Nimitz's forces destroying the Japanese fleet and planes before Pearl Harbor, broadcasting what had been accomplished, and then announcing they were next going to bomb the hell out of Japan, followed by Berlin, so that the world could have a peaceful future (true or not), I think audiences would have jumped out of their chairs cheering.

And I would have given this picture a 10.

If you watch A Boy, a Girl, and a Bike (1949), you want to watch it for its portrayal of small town Yorkshire life in the late 1940s, to see Diana Dors and Anthony Newley as adolescents, and to relish the performance of some actors. As a movie, however, I would not recommend it. It is handicapped by being a tad too long and having too many plots.

As several reviewers mention, given the time and place, being outdoors seems to have been much more desirable than the cramped and dreary homes most workers lived in. And lacking TV, the internet, and cell phones, social activities were more prominent than they are today. In fact, as a longtime college professor, I witnessed, within ten years, cell phones virtually wipe out all student interactions before and after class. No longer was there talking, just texting. Here the community activities focused on are biking clubs and races: activities which took off in the 1880s. Indeed, in the United States, the Wheelman, a magazine devoted to cycling--which can be found online--began in 1882. (Later after morphing into The Outing Magazine, it covered, and published stories about, numerous sporting activities.)

Both Dors and Newley who were in Oliver Twist the year before, appear as teens. Dors, carrying baby fat, performs well as a plumpish, oversexed young girl. I don't see her as the siren other reviewers do, but to me, at least, she appears more wholesome at this age, then as the adult, rather hard-looking, Marilyn Monroe clone she became. Newly is much taller and closer to adulthood, than as the Artful Dodger. However, his performance in this film is, in my opinion, far weaker.

All others do a good job--setting aside the Yorkshire accent, which I know nothing about. But two actors stood out for me in particular: Leslie Dwyer, as a wise and level-headed cafe owner in love with Meg Jenkins, playing Newley's mother, and Maggie Hanley, as Newley's loyal girlfriend.

Finally, the movie could have been cut and clarified by reducing its plots. There is Newley being driven into crime to pay off his gambling debts; McCallum's attempt to woo Blackman away from her boyfriend, Patrick Holt; Dwyer's desire to marry Jenkins; the club's pursuit of the cycling trophy; and Cyril Chamberlain's attempt to avoid discovery as an army deserter. Indeed, several reviewers complained the ending was too abrupt, not all plots were wrapped up, and there was little reason for McCallum handing Blackman back to Holt.

All could have been resolved by dropping the deserter plot. It was the least interesting, and Chamberlain's disqualification from racing could have been explained by leg cramps, which he had previously experienced. Not only would this have saved time, but it would have helped explain McCallum's action, which is only hinted at. Though he and Blackman love each other, he is upper-class and rich, and she is working class. At that time in England, that was an enormous barrier. After the cycling race, when McCallum introduces Blackman to his family you can see their frostiness. At the end of the film McCallum tells Dwyer he is giving Blackman to Holt because he's not the marrying kind. But that is obviously baloney. When he took her back with his family to see his home (a scene which should have been portrayed), he must have realized his kind would never treat her well. And loving her as much as he did, he stepped aside to protect her.

Had those two changes been made, my rating would have jumped from a 5.5 to a 6.5. What a shame they were not.

If ever a film deserved to be remastered, this is it. The commercially released copy I watched was in bad condition. There were numerous lines and widely oscillating sound levels.

That is too bad, for I thought it was an excellent, and overlooked, film. Here's why I'd recommend it: the acting (with one exception) was very good; the plot was innovative, believable, and tight; and the pace never lagged.

Raymond Burr had a tendency to overact. Here, however, as in his subsequent (and similar) Perry Mason role, his underplaying was perfection. Angela Lansbury, whose range is even greater than that of Bette Davis, nailed it as a bad girl. (It foreshadowed her later acclaimed portrayal as Eleanor Shaw Iselin in The Manchurian Candidate). As district attorney, John Dehner, who was always reliable, also did well. And Lamont Johnson, as Lansbury's other man, came across as likeable and naive. But, unfortunately, Angela's husband, Dick Foran, seemed over-matched. I thought his performance was weak, with little nuance. Ironically, this is a problem which could have been resolved easily. Foran and Denver Pyle (who was very effective in a minor role as lead detective) should have been asked to switch roles.

Now, as to the major criticisms of other reviewers' that sacrificing your own life to destroy another is absurd. They are both right and wrong. Absurd it may be, but infrequent it is not. In a relationship, particularly when one is a man and the "dumpee," he is likely to shift into a "you lose," or threat orientation. Here the object is to destroy the other--by, for example, killing his children if he loses custody of them in a divorce. Yes, he dies, or spends the rest of his life in prison, but his ex.-spouse loses. And that's his goal.

Considering how he was portrayed, I don't see what Raymond Burr's character did as all that unusual. He had a strong bond with Foran (who had saved his life on Iwo Jima). He was betrayed by Lansbury, the woman he loved. He was dumped by her. And he had a strong belief in justice (as testified to by the district attorney).

So for Pete's sake, won't someone please remaster this thing?

Basically, what I'm presenting is a brief plot summary. I'm placing it here because I think IMDb's powers-that-be might consider my comments have too many plot spoilers to fit into their plot summary niche.

The movie, itself, is based on Adolf Rudnicki's "Wniebowstąpienie" (AKA: "Ascent to Heaven"), a novella appearing in his similarly named 1948 collection.

It takes place in Poland in 1941. Raisa Volkov, a conservatory student and Sebastian Goldstein, a Jewish psychiatrist, get married. But instead of fleeing from the Nazi invasion, they decide to hide in Warsaw. Gradually, however, Sebastian goes mad from the increasing pressure. So, to stop his suffering, Raisa considers poison. And although she finally decides not to give it to him, their relationship still ends tragically.

(Note: this film is based on director Konrad Wolf's 1945 diary. It is, therefore, pretty much an autobiographical story about his own life and experiences.)

In 1934, to escape Hitler, a German Jewish family flees to Russia. In 1945, the son, now a nineteen year-old lieutenant, returns as a member of the Soviet army. Among the many things he experiences on his way to Berlin is a tour of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp. There a demonstration of the workings of a gas chamber is performed. The film as a whole, however, suffers greatly from having been produced in East Germany. The protagonist's Jewish identity is never introduced. This seriously weakens the ambiguous impact of his return "home." Also, in general, the Russian soldiers invading Berlin behaved badly. For example, a hundred thousand rapes or more are said to have occurred. Yet, the film presents not even a whiff of this. Indeed, only one German girl is shown to be worried, and she is reassured and sent upon her way. Meanwhile, throughout all the movie, Soviet personnel deport themselves in noble and gentlemanly ways. Thus, a potentially realistic classic is ultimately doomed by ideology.

On November 9, 1938 (Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass), Germans went on a rampage against Jews, carting off 30,000 Jewish men to concentration camps, and wrecking 1,668 synagogues. But, despite its title, this movie has nothing to do with Kristallnacht. Instead, it is a mystical fantasy about serial reincarnation and supposed soul-mates. It begins during the German occupation of Greece. An officer's wife, with supernatural powers, falls for a young Jewish Greek iceman she believes to be her soul-mate. But when he marries someone else, she starts chasing him through time. She kills herself and is reborn as "Anna," a Jewish girl, and when that doesn't work, she tries again as "Marianna"—apparently determined not to stop until his reincarnated soul is hers.

I really like Dana Andrews as an actor, and he is quite good in this movie, playing a wartime fishing captain. But what should have been a lights-out war film because of plot, pacing, and performances (with one exception) flounders instead.

First, the film messes up its believability.

During World War II ships ran without lights to reduce enemy detection. On clear nights, even cigarettes could be seen miles away. Yet as Captain Andrews' vessel creeps through the fog to investigate the explosions and flames up ahead (and, incidentally, why would he want to take that risk?), its lights are all ablaze. (And this incredible goof, by itself, spoils much of the movie for me.)

Later Andrews finds the schooner he aided contains a hidden torpedo compartment. (In reality, the ship is a disguised u-boat tender.) But the compartment's dimensions don't work. From what we are shown, it appears nearly as large as a carrier hanger deck. And clearly that is too big to fit within the diminutive vessel of which it is supposed to be a part.

Second, the film sabotages its suspense.

Of Captain Andrews' two new "Danish" seaman, we are led to believe one is a good guy, the other a spy. But since a much bigger star is cast as the good guy, that decision trivializes most of the "who could be whom" suspense.

Finally, Claude Rains plays the Captain of, and the only man found aboard, the rescued schooner. This too is a mistake. For his sinister demeanor (and apparent lack of "Danishness") suggests funny business from the start. Oskar Werner (Decision Before Dawn, 1951), for example, would have been a better choice. A great actor, he was baby-faced and innocent-looking to boot, both qualities which would have helped keep us guessing.

Those seeing U-Boat Prisoner's IMDb score of 8.1 may think it a little known classic. They would be wrong. Based on six votes only, the average is an outlier. (It is, for example, quite inferior to Operation Pacific, a 1951 submarine story rated as 6.5.) After another ninety or so responses, U-Boat's score should fall to about a 5.5--which is where it should be.

As to what happens in the picture, seaman Archie Gibbs is torpedoed and thought to be a German agent by the crew of the sub that rescues him. He is confined--as an informer--with four previously captured scientists. But a day or so later, a destroyer sinks the sub. Gibbs then employs torpedo tubes to help the few survivors escape until, seemingly, only he and the sociopathic captain are left. And in order to fire the tube for one, the other has to stay behind.

As to what happened in real life, since the movie is based on Mr. Gibbs' similarly titled experiences, the answer is virtually nothing that the movie claimed happened, happened. To wit: In May of 1942, Mr. Gibbs' ship was torpedoed. He was picked-up almost immediately. Twenty-four hours later that ship was also torpedoed. That was when he was picked-up by the U-126 (no spy was involved). A destroyer did not sink the sub. He was released a few days later and reported most of his experiences were positive.

As to why the picture is substandard, there are several reasons. There's much bad dialog:

Gibbs (to enemy spy on raft): "You Nazi skunk!" Enemy agent: "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! The U-boat will pick us up. I'll save your life." Gibbs: "I'll take care of you first."

There's little character development (the sub's crew is virtually indistinguishable from one another). There's obviously a low budget (which shows in tons of stock footage, crypto-cheesy sets, and ultra-tight shipboard shots). There's an unrecognizable cast (except for Bennett). And, finally, there's bad acting--particularly by the so-called Germans--though Bennett, it has to be said, does acquit himself well.

This film has a lot going for it. It is a sports mystery with a fabulous cast (there are cameos by Ward Bond, Walter Brennan, and Mickey Rooney). It has great chemistry between Young and Evans as the leads and Pendleton and Healy in comedic relief. Finally, it has (with two exceptions) fine acting and a good pace.

Sure there are flaws. When the murderer talks early in the picture, more of his motivation could and should have been provided. That would have shortened the film's resolution, and reduced much of the histrionics others have noted. Also, in the locker room, the panning camera cheats when the poisoned player looks for his killer by not including the murderer—we are simply informed of his reactions later. Still, neither of these annoying things, by themselves, spoils the picture.

Unfortunately, however, they're not all the bad news. There is a third glitch, and it completely destroys the mystery. It proves the murder couldn't have committed one of the killings. To wit: at the top of the stands, we are shown an umpire treating his player friend to a hot dog after one game. But suddenly everyone is distracted by loud bangs from below. A black-shirted arm reaches around the stand to substitute poisoned mustard for the regular stuff, and three seconds later (by my watch) we see two umpires and the murderer (now clad in a white outfit) examining firecrackers down on the diamond. Now considering the field is at least one hundred yards away by any route the perp could have taken, he clearly couldn't have committed that particular crime.

Since the director and editor made films for a living, it's hard for me to comprehend how they could have overlooked such an egregious error. Still, they obviously did. But there is an easy solution. Just re-shoot the brief field close-up. Put two period-costumed umpires (with no murderer) by a home plate on some field. Film them picking-up and examining some firecrackers. Then cut the new footage in. Voila! The film is saved; the mystery works, and the DVD can be released.

"Front Page Woman" (1935) uses the same feminist "rivals in business; partners in love" motif that "Traveling Saleslady" (1935) does. However, "Woman" is a murder mystery involving reporters; "Saleslady" is a comedy involving salespersons. Still, it's interesting to compare the two.

Both films have great supporting performances, excellent pacing, and flawless plots. Playing masters of their fields, both leading men (George Brent) and (William Gargan) perform well. Indeed, a surprisingly animated Brent does, for him, an absolutely charming job. (Perhaps the mutual sexual attraction he and Davis had was the spark behind it.) Where the films differ, however, is in their leading ladies' performances, and in their romantic resolutions.

Bette Davis, like Joan Blondell, keeps claiming she is her rival's equal. But clearly, unlike Blondell, she is not. She doesn't have Brent's creative mind, his street smarts, his social skills, or his stomach for the job (she faints, for example, at the execution she demanded to attend). When he offers her help, she turns him down, and when, out of revenge, he sets traps for her, she falls into them.

The film's end, however, does offer redemption. Not only does Davis solve the mystery, and get her job back--she also gets her man. Brent, in a rare feminist resolution for its time, tells her how much he respects what she has done, and seems willing to have her continue working after marriage. (One wonders how much the steel-willed Davis influenced this outcome?) Whether she chooses to, however, is more ambiguous. While Blondell, in stark contrast, blithely tosses away a terrific sales career to placate her "oinky" husband to be.

Nowadays movies portray business-persons as greedy, twisted, conspiratorial individuals. In the thirties, however, they generally were seen as at least useful, if not heroic. And perhaps I'm anachronistic, but that's still the way I think things really are.

In this quasi-feminist film, the wonderful Joan Blondell seizes upon an inventor's idea for liquor flavored toothpaste. (Indeed, if you Google that term you'll find such a product actually exists today.) When her knuckle-headed father won't sell it through his company, however, she finds a way around him, and cuts a pseudonymous deal with his more foresighted rival.

Then great fun results as she, the opposition's chief salesperson, and William Gargan, her father's chief salesman, try to constantly double-cross each other on-the-job, while falling for each other off-the-job.

The picture's pace is swift, the dialog snappy, and the plot has no holes. I highly recommend it, and have only three caveats:

1. The script overlooks what I believe would have been "cocktail" toothpaste's greatest selling point—that of deniability. Neither your boss nor your spouse could ever prove you were drinking 'cause you could always claim they just smelled the toothpaste.

2. While Gargan does a fine job with his role, his part itself has Jimmy Cagney written all over it. Had Cagney been Joan's opposition, "Traveling Saleslady" probably would have been considered a classic.

3. Finally, I say quasi-feminist film because; at very end Joan, who clearly is the smartest person, and the best business mind in the picture reconciles with Gargan by telling him she wants to go to Niagra Falls and cook for him thereafter. What really should have happened, however, is this: she should have said "I want to go to Niagara Falls with you (a smiling reaction by Gargan) before taking over as your boss (a stunned Gargan promptly collapses to the floor in a faint)."

"Roar of the Dragon" (1932) and "Barricade" (1939) have essentially the same plots (as well as length). In China in the 1930s, Mongol raiders corner westerners in a building. It is in a hotel in the former; it is in the US embassy in the latter. They are refugees from a riverboat in the former; they are refugees from a train in the latter. The leading man in the former is an alcoholic riverboat captain; the leading man in the latter is an alcoholic reporter.

The IMDb rating for the former is 6.5; the rating for the latter is 5.7. Those ratings, in my opinion, should be reversed. The "Roar of the Dragon" lacks memorable scenes, while, despite its many production problems, "Barricade" has several (such as Baxter and Faye fleeing across a wheat field while the raiders try to burn them out).

Additionally, the "Roar of the Dragon" suffers from numerous problems. And it is hard not to have them detract from one's enjoyment. There are plot problems. No one suggests boarding-up the hotel's windows and doors, and, as a result, one person is killed and another kidnapped. The raiders make no attempt to destroy the refugee's only means of escape, the riverboat, even though it is docked nearby and virtually undefended. There are stupidity problems. The hero makes no attempt to ferret out the spies he has been informed lurk within the hotel, or even to exercise caution by having guards protect his limited water supplies. There are coincidence problems. A main character is killed when the hero's machine gun jams just as the other is being attacked. On the other hand, other than the question of "who put the rug over the trap door?" when the embassy refugees retreat into the cellar, the actions in "Barricade" proceed quite logically, given the situation cast members are said to be in.

So my advice, therefore, is to skip "Roar of the Dragon" and watch "Barricade" instead

During the second half of the 1930s, Jonathan Latimer wrote five screwball mysteries featuring Chicago private eye Bill Crane. When not boozing or snoozing, his highest priorities, he cleverly unraveled complicated crimes.

Universal "crime club" filmed three of the books. While all three had different directors, all three starred Preston Foster as Bill Crane and Frank Jenks as Doc Williams, his assistant. The Lady in the Morgue (1938), based on Latimer's similarly titled 1936 novel, was directed by Otis Garrett. It is the second, and best, of these films. The other two are The Westland Case (1937) and The Last Warning (1938).

There are four mysteries in The Lady in the Morgue. Who was that young blonde found hanging in the Darlow Hotel? Was she Edna Brown, Agnes Christy, Katherine Courtland, Kay Renshaw, Alice Ross, Mrs. Sam Taylor, or Arlene Vincent -- or perhaps even someone else? Was she a suicide, or possibly a murder victim? Who purloined her corpse from the morgue? And where did they hide it? Colonel Black, owner of a Chicago detective agency, directs Crane and Williams to discretely find out if the girl was Katherine Courtland. (Though she is missing, her wealthy family wants no scandal.) Naturally, discretion doesn't work out and Crane ends up wanted by the police for body snatching and murder, targeted by rival gangsters, double-crossed by his boss, and condemned by local papers.

Otis Garrett, who directed The Lady in the Morgue, was a rising star who tragically died just three years later. This may be his best film, containing, as it does, strong mysteries, snappy dialog, fast pacing, snazzy cutting, and many clever bits – some of which reappear several times. Having previously edited The Westland Case, Garrett was quite familiar with the Crane series, and, perhaps because of that, he successfully repaired one of the first film's major weaknesses: Foster and Jenks' over the top performances. In addition, he elicited strong supporting performances from Bill Elliot (as Katherine Courtland's brother), Thomas E. Jackson (as Police Lieutenant Strom), Don Brodie (as Crane's taxi driver), and Bryan Foulger (as the morgue attendant). (Indeed, soon afterward "Wild" Bill Elliot became a "B" western star.) The movie also contains, however, one extremely uncomfortable scene. Having bribed the Black elevator man to get into the dead woman's room, Crane tests his murder theory by casually stringing up the man, without even so much as an explanation. The detective expects the clothes hook will break as soon as the man begins to struggle. It does and Crane has been standing by in case he's wrong. Still, as insight into the racial attitudes of the era, it is horrifying.

Finally, there is a climactic graveyard scene which bothers me, but which I cannot explain, not having read Latimer's novels. It basically repeats another scene from a prior movie, Hi, Nellie! (1934). To wit: both scenes take place at night, both involve disinterring bodies for identity checks, both involve prior removals, and both involve the bodies' new locations being detected in the same way. Is this coincidence, or plagiarism? And if it is plagiarism, then who's responsible? Could it be the author, the screen writer, or possibly even the director? I just don't know the answers. Do any of you, by any chance?

During the second half of the 1930s, Jonathan Latimer wrote five screwball mysteries featuring Chicago private eye Bill Crane. When not boozing or snoozing, his highest priorities, he cleverly unraveled complicated crimes.

The first of three Universal* "crime club" films made from the novels is The Westland Case (1937). It is based on Headed for a Hearst (1935). The other two films are The Lady in the Morgue (1938) and The Last Warning (1938). All three starred Preston Foster as Bill Crane and Frank Jenks as Doc Williams, his assistant. All had different directors, and while the second, The Lady in the Morgue is the best by far, all are well worth watching.

In The Westland Case, six days before his execution, a wealthy businessman convicted of murdering his wife, retains an attorney (who then hires Crane and Williams) to exonerate him. (Look closely for a cameo by uncredited Ward Bond. He plays Connor, Westland's death row neighbor.) Unfortunately, however, all initial breaks end in more killings.

There are several highlights. The film's brisk pace engages and holds you. It is difficult to ascertain who actually perpetrated the murder, although it is much easier to guess how the "locked room mystery," itself, occurred. Then there is Foster and Jenks' camaraderie. They made a good team, playing well off each other. Lastly, mustachioed Clarence Wilson, a short, weaselly looking man, absolutely embodies everyone's worst lawyer stereotype.

However, there are also two major weak points. Several performances, including those of Foster and Jenks, should have been toned down. (In the second film, they were.) Foster needed less oafishness and more subtlety and Jenks, whose face was very mobile, needed fewer over-the-top reaction shots. Finally, Barbara Pepper, with a very bad Mae West imitation, gave a terrible performance. Indeed, I found the film's biggest mysteries were how she got the part and why all three leads were irresistibly attracted to her. In real life, most men would have fled.

*As an interesting aside, 15 years later, the Universal logo theme music for these films was reused as the TV theme for George Reeves' Superman series.

On the cusp of WW II, Ben Fallon, NYC radio station WECA's roving reporter uncovers a massive sabotage ring, only to be threatened and discouraged by the government and his boss.

The film's good news is threefold. It moves along briskly. There are several stand-out performances. As the lead, John Beal has a strong and enthusiastic voice. He comes across as a believable and likable reporter. As his clever secretary, Mary Treen steals the picture with her wisecracking. She adds oomph to all the scenes she's in. As the chief German saboteur, Alan Baxter conveys quiet menace. But he humanizes it with subtle nuances. Finally, the stock disaster footage is incorporated well.

Unfortunately, the film's bad news is its script. Chicken wire has more holes. Here are just some of the problems. 1) Beal accumulates important evidence, but never thinks to turn it over to government authorities. 2) Monty, Beal's detective, burns up the incendiary evidence that proves a warehouse fire was set by demonstrating how it works. 3) While the government can't seem to figure out whether sabotage is occurring, or who's responsible, Monty discovers the gang's ringleaders overnight. 4) Apparently neither the undercover government agent, nor the station manager (who helped place her) report Beal has received Monty's list. 5) Beal is framed for murder and treason, but police demonstrate no interest in strong evidence to the contrary. 6) Rice is kidnapped, and Beal tells his boss he is going after her, but doesn't say where he's going. 6) When the police search the boat on which Beal and Rice are being held, Victor, the one-armed villain, says: "Don't move, Mr. Fallon, we're all well armed." (Oy!) 7) Then, at the film's climax, Beal and Rice escape their bonds, but are not killed or even retied when recaptured. Thus they escape again, and save the day.

Jeez! Talk about a film being wronged by its writers. Its script only works for an audience that's been lobotomized. If the writers were paid, they should have done a better job, and if they couldn't, they should, at least, have been perceptive enough to credit their work to "anonymous."